The Immortal Rules (3 page)

My stomach growled, and for a moment, I had visions of sidling up to the deer and plunging the blade into her neck. You almost never saw meat of any kind in the Fringe. Rat and mouse were highly prized, and I’ve seen nasty, bloody fights over a dead pigeon. There were a few stray dogs and cats running around the Fringe, but they were wild, vicious creatures that, unless you wanted to risk an infected bite, were best left alone. The guards also had leave to shoot any animal found wandering about the streets, and usually did, so meat of any kind was extremely scarce.

A whole deer carcass, cut into strips and dried, would feed me and my crew for a month. Or I could trade cuts for meal tickets, blankets, new clothes, whatever I wanted. Just thinking about it made my stomach growl again, and I shifted my weight to one leg, ready to ease forward. As soon as I moved, the deer would probably bolt out the door, but I had to try.

But then, the doe looked right at me, and I saw the thin streams of blood oozing from her eyes, spotting the floor. My blood ran cold. No wonder she wasn’t afraid. No wonder she had followed me here and was watching me with the flat, glazed stare of a predator. She had been bitten by a rabid. And the disease had driven her mad.

I took a quiet breath to slow my heartbeat, trying not to panic. This was bad. The doe was blocking the door, so there was no way I could go through her without risking an attack. Her eyes hadn’t turned completely white yet, so the sickness was still in its beginning stages. Hopefully if I kept calm, I could get out of here without being trampled to death.

The doe snorted and tossed her head, the jerky movement causing her to stumble into the door frame. Another effect of the sickness; diseased animals seemed confused and uncoordinated one moment but could switch to hyper-aggressive fury in the blink of an eye. I gripped my knife and eased to the side, toward the broken window along the wall.

The doe raised her head, rolling her eyes, and gave a raspy growl unlike anything I’d ever heard from a deer. I saw her muscles bunching up to charge, and I bolted for the window.

The deer lunged into the room, snorting, hooves flailing in deadly arcs. One of them caught my thigh as I darted past, a glancing blow, but it felt like someone had hit it with a hammer. The doe crashed into the far wall, overturning a shelf, and I threw myself out the window.

Scrambling through the weeds, I ran for a partially collapsed shed in the corner of the backyard. The roof had fallen in, and vines completely covered the rotting walls, but the doors were still intact. I squeezed through the frame and ducked into a corner, panting, listening for sounds of pursuit.

For the moment, everything was silent. After my heartbeat returned to normal, I peered through a crack between boards and could just make out the doe’s dark form still in the room, stumbling about in confusion, occasionally attacking the mattress or broken dresser, blind in her rage. Okay, then. I would just sit tight until psycho deer calmed down and wandered away. Hopefully, that would be before the sun went down. I needed to head back to the city soon.

Easing away from the wall, I turned to observe the shed, wondering if anything useful was still intact. There didn’t seem to be much: a few collapsed shelves, a handful of rusty nails that I quickly pocketed, and a strange, squat machine with four wheels and a long handle that looked like you’d push it around. To what end, I hadn’t a clue.

I noticed a hole in the planks beneath the strange machine and shoved it back, revealing a trapdoor underneath. It had been sealed with a heavy padlock, now so rusty a key would’ve been useless, but the floorboards themselves were rotten and falling apart. I easily pried up several planks to make a big enough hole and found a set of folding steps leading down into the darkness.

Gripping my knife, I descended into the hole.

It was dark in the basement, but at least an hour of broad daylight remained, enough to filter in through the hole and the cracks in the ceiling above me. I stood in a small, cool room, concrete lining the walls and floor, a lightbulb with a string dangling overhead. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, and on those shelves, dozens upon dozens of cans winked at me in the dim light. My heart stood still.

Jackpot.

Lunging forward, I snatched the nearest can off the shelf, sending three others clattering to the floor in my excitement. The can had a faded label wrapped around it, but I didn’t bother trying to figure out the words. Digging out my knife, I jammed the blade into the top and attacked the tin furiously, sawing at the metal with shaking hands.

A sweet, heavenly aroma arose from inside, and my hunger roared to life in response, making me slightly dizzy.
Food! Real food!
Prying back the lid, I barely took the time to glance at the contents—some kind of mushy fruit in a slimy liquid—before I dumped the whole thing back and into my mouth. The sweetness shocked me, cloyingly thick and pulpy, unlike anything I’d tasted before. In the Fringe, fruit and vegetables were almost unheard of. I drank the entire thing without pause, feeling it settle in my empty stomach, and grabbed another can.

This one contained beans in more glistening liquid, and I devoured that, too, scooping the red mush out with my fingers. I went through another can of fruit slime, a can of creamed corn, and a small tin of sausage links the size of my finger, before I finally slowed down enough to think.

I’d stumbled upon a treasure trove, one so vast it was staggering. These kinds of hidden caches were the stuff of legends, and here I was, standing in the middle of one. With my stomach full—a rare sensation—I started exploring, taking stock of what was here.

Nearly one whole wall was dedicated to cans, but there was so much
variety,
according to the different labels. Most were too faded or torn to read, but I was still able to pick out a lot of canned vegetables, fruit, beans and soup. There were also cans containing strange foods I’d never heard of.
Spa Gettee Ohs,
and
Rah Vee Oh Lee,
and other weird things. Shelved in with the cans were boxes containing squarish bundles of something wrapped in shiny, silvery paper. I had no idea what they were, but if the answer was more food, I wasn’t complaining.

The opposite wall had dozens of clear gallon water jugs, a few propane tanks, one of those portable green stoves I’d seen Hurley use, and a gas lantern. Whoever set this place up sure wasn’t taking any chances, for all the good it did them in the end.

Well, thanks, mysterious person. You sure made my life a lot easier.

My mind raced, considering my options. I could keep this place a secret, but why? There was enough food here to feed my whole gang for months. I scanned the room, pondering how I wanted to do this. If I told Lucas about this place, the four of us—me, Rat, Lucas and Stick—could come back and take everything in one fell swoop. It would be dangerous, but for this amount of food, it would be worth it.

I turned slowly, regretting that I didn’t have anything to carry the food back in.
That was intelligent of you, Allison.
I usually took one of the backpacks the crew kept in a hall closet when venturing into the ruins—that’s what we kept them for, after all—but I hadn’t wanted to run into Rat again. Still, I had to take something back. If I was going to convince Lucas to risk a very dangerous trip out of the city, I’d need some kind of proof.

Scanning the room, I paused. A pair of bulging garbage bags lay on the top shelf, shoved against the wall. They looked like they might hold blankets or clothes or other useful things, but right now, I was more concerned with food.

“That’ll work,” I muttered and walked up to the shelves. Without a ladder or a box or anything to stand on, I was going to have to climb. Putting a foot between the cans, I heaved myself up.

The board creaked horribly under my weight but held. Gripping the rough wood, I pulled myself up another foot, then another, until I could reach my arm over the top shelf and feel around for the bags. Gripping a corner of filmy plastic in two fingers, I pulled it toward me.

The wood suddenly groaned, and before I knew it, the entire shelf tipped backward. Panicked, I tried to jump clear, but dozens of cans rushed forward, slamming into me, and I lost my grip. I struck the cement floor, the ring and clatter of metal tins all around me, and had a split-second glance of the shelves filling my vision before everything went black.

Chapter 3

A pounding in my skull brought me back to reality. My ears rang, and when I opened my eyes, darkness greeted me. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was or what had happened. Something heavy pressed on my chest and legs, and when I shifted, several small, metal things rolled off me and pinged to the ground.

“Shit,” I whispered, remembering. Frantically, I wiggled out from beneath the shelf and limped to the steps, gazing up. Through the hole in the roof, the night sky was hazy and starless, but a sickly yellow moon peered through the clouds like a swollen eye.

I was in trouble.

Careless, stupid mistake, Allie.
Creeping up the steps, I scanned the darkness and shadows, my heart crashing against my ribs in the silence. Below me, the cans made soft metallic sounds as they rolled across the floor, but I couldn’t worry about the wealth I was leaving behind. I had to get back to the city. I couldn’t stay here. I’d heard stories of rabids tearing through walls and floors to get to their prey; they never gave up once they sensed you. I couldn’t let anything slow me down.

Carefully, I eased myself out of the hole and crept to the door, reaching out to push it open. Froze.

Along the side of the shed, something was moving.

Weeds hissed against the wall as footsteps shuffled over the ground, and low growling that might’ve belonged to an animal slithered through the cracks. Withdrawing my hand, I silently eased into a corner and put my back to the wall, squeezing my knife to stop my hands from shaking. Outside the shed, it was nearly pitch-black, but I caught glimpses of a pale, emaciated figure through the cracks in the wood, listened to its steps as it moved along the outer wall…and stopped at the door.

I held my breath, counting the seconds with every frantic heartbeat, biting my cheek to keep from panting.

The door creaked and swung slowly inward.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I felt the rough wood at my back and imagined myself a part of the wall, part of the shadows that cloaked me, hiding me from everything. On the other side of the door between us, the slow, raspy growls grew louder as the shadow turned its head from side to side, scanning the walls.

An eternity passed.

Finally, the door slowly creaked shut, and the shadow turned away, slouching off into the weeds. I listened to the shuffling footsteps as they moved away, growing fainter, until the only sounds were the buzz of insects in the night.

It was a moment before I could move or even breathe properly. Once the shaking stopped, I slipped out of the shed and hurried through the weeds, following the same path I’d taken to get there. With a chill I noted that my trail wasn’t the only one cutting through the tall grass; a few other paths now crisscrossed the yard, showing I hadn’t been alone in my time belowground. If it had found the stairs…

I shuddered and hurried onward, stumbling through the empty streets. In the moonlight, the ruins looked even more foreboding, stark and hostile to the intruder in their midst. After dark within the city walls, people vanished off the streets and vampires walked the night, but the shadows were familiar, the darkness comforting. Here in the ruins, the darkness was alien, and the shadows seemed to creep closer, reaching out for you.

Something shrieked in the night, a scream of animalistic fury, and I began to run.

* * *

I
T
WAS
THE
LONGEST
FEW
MINUTES
of my life, but I made it back to the tunnels. Wriggling through the drain pipe, I’d almost convinced myself that something was behind me and sharp claws would close around my ankles, dragging me back. Mercifully, that didn’t happen, and I leaned against the wall, gasping in short, frantic breaths until my heart stopped racing around my rib cage.

In the tunnel, I couldn’t see my hand before my face, and no amount of waiting would help my eyes adjust to the pitch blackness. Digging in my pocket, I brought out the lighter, clicking a tiny flame to life. It barely illuminated the ground at my feet, but it was better than nothing.

With the flickering light held up before me, I started down the tunnels.

Strange how a few short hours could change your view of the world. The once familiar tunnels were menacing now, the darkness a living thing, pressing in on all sides, suffocating me. My footsteps seemed too loud in the quiet, and several times I held my breath, listening for phantom noises I was certain I’d heard over my quiet panting.

The tunnels went on, and despite all my fears and imaginings, nothing leaped out at me. I was nearly home, just another turn and a few hundred yards to the ladder that led topside, when a splash echoed in the darkness.

It wasn’t loud, and in the daylight hours, with sunlight slanting in through the grates, I might’ve blamed a rat or something similar. But in the looming silence and blackness, my heart nearly stopped, and my blood turned to ice. I doused my flame and ducked into a corner, holding my breath, straining my ears to listen. I didn’t have to wait long.

In the darkness of the tunnel ahead, a single flashlight beam flickered over the ground, and low, guttural voices echoed off the walls.

“…what’ve we got here?” a voice wheezed, as I pressed myself into the wall. “A rat? A big rat, come creeping out of the darkness. You sure picked the wrong night to go wandering the undercity, friend.”

Holding my breath, I risked a quick peek around the corner. Four men blocked the exit of the tunnel, thin and ragged, in filthy clothes and unkempt hair. They stood slightly hunched over, their shoulders bent and crooked, as if they spent all their lives in small cramped spaces and weren’t used to standing up straight. They clutched jagged, rusty blades in their hands and grinned maniacally at a lone figure in the center of the tunnel, their eyes gleaming with anticipation and something darker.

I ducked behind the corner again, heart pounding.
You’ve got to be kidding,
I mused, sinking farther into the concealing shadows, hoping they didn’t hear me.
This just isn’t my night. Deer, rabids, and now freaking
mole men
in the tunnels.
No one is going to believe this.
I shook my head and huddled lower, clutching the handle of my knife.
Now all I need is a vampire to come sauntering through and it’ll be perfect.

The mole men chuckled, and I heard them ease forward, probably surrounding the poor bastard who’d walked into their ambush.
Run, you idiot,
I thought, wondering what he thought he was doing, why I didn’t hear footsteps pounding frantically away.
Don’t you know what they’ll do to you? If you don’t want to be on a stick over the fire, you’d better run.

“I want no trouble,” said a low voice, calm and collected. And even though I couldn’t see him, didn’t dare peek around the corner again, it sent shivers up my spine. “Let me pass, and I’ll be on my way. You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh,” one mole man purred, and I imagined him sidling forward, grinning, “I think we d—”

His voice abruptly changed to a startled gurgle, followed by a wet splat, and the faint, coppery stench of blood filled the air. Enraged cries rang out, the sound of a scuffle, blades cutting through flesh, agonized screams. I crouched in my shadowy corner and held my breath, until the final shriek died away, until the last body fell and silence crept into the tunnels once more.

I counted thirty seconds of quiet. Sixty seconds. A minute and a half. Two. The tunnel remained silent. No footsteps, no shifting movements, no breathing. It was as still as the dead.

Warily, I peered around the corner and bit my lip.

The four mole men lay in heaps, weapons scattered about, the flashlight shining weakly against a wall. Its beam pointed to a vivid splash of red, trickling down the cement to a motionless body. I scanned the tunnel again, looking for a fifth heap, but there were only the mole men, lying dead in the pale flashlight beam. The dark stranger had disappeared.

I sidled closer. I didn’t want to touch the bodies, but the flashlight was a valuable find. One that would keep me fed for several days if I could find the right trader. Edging around a pale, dirty arm, I snatched my trophy and rose—

—shining the light right into the face of the stranger. Who didn’t wince. Didn’t even blink. I scrambled back, nearly tripping over the arm I’d stepped around, bringing my knife up before me. The stranger remained where he was, though his eyes, blacker than pitch, followed me as I retreated. I kept both the blade and the flashlight pointed in his direction until I reached the edge and tensed to bolt into the shadows.

“If you run, you’ll be dead before you take three steps.”

I stopped, heart pounding. I believed him. Gripping my knife, I turned around, staring at him over the bodies of the dead, waiting for his next move.

There was no doubt in my mind. I knew what I faced, what stared at me across the tunnel, so still he might’ve been a statue. I was down here, alone, with a vampire. And there was no one who could help me.

“What do you want?” My voice came out shakier than I’d wanted, but I planted my feet and glared defiantly. Show no fear. Vampires could sense fear, at least that’s what everybody said. If you ever ran into a hungry bloodsucker alone at night, not looking like prey might give you an edge in surviving the encounter.

I didn’t believe that, of course. A vampire would bite you whether you were scared of him or not. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, either.

The vamp tilted his head, a tiny movement that would’ve gone unnoticed, save the rest of him was so very, very still. “I am trying to decide,” he said in that same low, cool voice, “if you are a simple scavenger, eavesdropping on the conversation, or if you are about to scuttle off to tell the rest of your clan I am here.”

“Do I look like one of them?”

“Then…you are a scavenger. Waiting until your prey is dead to feed, instead of killing it yourself.”

His tone hadn’t changed. It was the same, cool and detached, but I felt myself bristle through my fear. Anger, hate and resentment bubbled to the surface, making me stupid, making me want to hurt it. Who did this murdering, soulless bloodsucker think he was, lecturing
me?
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you let the cattle starve,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “They start turning on each other, or didn’t you know that?” I gestured to the dead mole men, scattered at my feet, and curled a lip. “But I’m not one of them. And I sure as hell don’t eat people. That’s
your
thing, remember?”

The vampire just looked at me. Long enough for me to regret taunting him, which was a stupid thing to do from the start. I almost didn’t care. I wouldn’t grovel and beg, if that’s what he was looking for. Vampires had no souls, no emotions and no empathy to appeal to. If the bloodsucker wanted to drain me dry and leave me here to rot, there wasn’t anything I could say that would stop him.

But I’d give him one hell of a fight.

“Interesting,” the vamp finally mused, almost to himself. “I forget, sometimes, the complexities of the human race. We’ve reduced so many of you to animals—savage, cowardly, so willing to turn on each other to survive. And yet, in the darkest places, I can still find those who are still, more or less, human.”

He wasn’t making any sense, and I was tired of talking, of waiting for him to make his move. “What do you want, vampire?” I challenged again. “Why are we still talking? If you’re going to bite me, just get on with it already.”
Though don’t expect me to lie down and take it. You’ll have a pocketknife shoved through your eye socket before I’m done, I swear.

Amazingly, the vampire smiled. Just a slight curl of pale lips, but in that granite face, he might as well have beamed from ear to ear. “I have already fed tonight,” he stated calmly, and took one step backward, into the shadows. “And you, little wildcat, I suspect you have claws you wouldn’t hesitate to use. I find I am in no mood for another fight, so consider yourself lucky. You met a heartless, soulless bloodsucker and lived. Next time, it might be very different.”

And just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away into the darkness. His final words drifted out of the black as he disappeared. “Thank you for the conversation.” And he was gone.

I frowned, utterly confused. What kind of vampire killed four people, had a cryptic conversation with a street rat, thanked the street rat for talking with him, and then walked off? I swept the flashlight around the tunnel, wondering if it was a trick to get me to lower my guard, and the bloodsucker was lying in ambush just ahead, laughing to himself. That seemed like something a vampire would do. But the tunnel was empty and silent in the flashlight beam, and after a moment, I picked my way over the still-bleeding corpses, hurried to the ladder and scaled the tube as fast as I could.

Aboveground, the city was silent. Nothing moved on the streets; the crumbling stores and houses and apartments lay quiet and dark. Overhead, looming above everything, the vampire towers glittered in the night, cold and impassive like their masters. It was still the predator’s time, this silent hour before dawn, and everyone was off the street, huddled in their beds with their doors and windows barred. But at least on this side of the Wall, the darkness didn’t conceal savage, mindless horrors that had once been human. Here, the predators were more complex, though just as dangerous.