The Vault (A Farm Novel) (12 page)

Fortunately, there was one thing Muscles One and Two didn’t know.

I’d planned on getting captured all along.

MEL

I wait until well after dawn before I head outside alone, feeling queasy and light-headed. I’m not sure if it’s hunger or revulsion. It’s been almost three days since I’ve eaten. Three intense, physical days.

I need to eat almost as badly as Sebastian does.

I don’t know what I’ll do if Roberto’s hand and eye won’t open his vault. Or worse, if I go to all this trouble and it’s filled with something useless like money instead of blood. I do know this: I can’t feed off Ticks anymore. Or rather, I don’t want to.

Any Tick I feed off of will regenerate as a vampire, something I cannot risk. I would have to kill any Tick I feed directly from.

Could I kill a Tick, knowing how close we are to having a cure? Knowing that somewhere out there, my sister is slowly transforming into a creature just like this? That this Tick is someone else’s sister or brother?

If it comes down to my life versus theirs, will my resolve hold?

I guess I’ll find out.

Crossing from the house to the green where Roberto’s body is, I choose stealth over speed. The Ticks are as fast as I am. I can’t outrun them. In a fight, my big advantage isn’t strength or speed but intelligence.

Though it’s too bright for me, I can see okay. The Ticks have retreated from Roberto’s house. I’m not sure if it’s his lingering presence that keeps them away or mine and Sebastian’s. Though they aren’t close, they’re still out there. I can feel them, like the buzz of a computer fan, whirring in the background. They’re groggy and sated—overfed, like guests at Thanksgiving.

When I reach Roberto’s body, I pull out the katana. His body is already sprawled on the ground, arms stretched out like he died while making snow angels. I aim for his wrist, but miss. The blade hits bone, which shatters and splinters. My stomach roils. I think of my Nanna again and the hours I used to spend in her kitchen watching her carve chickens for frying and the easy way her knife sliced between the joints. My butchery would not impress her.

Of course, my blood lust wouldn’t, either.

My stomach squirms as I pick up the hand. It’s as cold as raw meat, but I can’t shake the fear that his fingers are going to grab me, and when I look around for his head, I’m afraid his eyes might still be open. Blinking at me. Knowing.

I fear him, but I fear my own fate as well. Because what if Sebastian has lied to me? What if chopping off a vampire’s head doesn’t kill him? What if there is no death? What if there is only eternity lived in smaller and smaller pieces?

Suddenly I’m desperate to find that head. To confirm that Roberto really is dead. That it will be possible to kill me. That I won’t be trapped like this for eternity. That I
won’t
live forever.

Tucking Roberto’s hand into the pocket of my hoodie, I look around for the head, but I don’t see it.

The final battle took place on a rise in the green. I see the discarded swords Roberto and Sebastian fought with. I see Roberto’s body. But his head is gone. Did it roll away?

Was it here when I came back for Sebastian? I search my mind, but can’t remember. Not for sure. I think so, though. Wouldn’t I have noticed if it wasn’t?

I dash back to the rise and turn in circles, looking for any sign of Roberto’s too-pale hair. He was so blond, his hair was as pale as corn silk. Surely I should be able to see that in the morning light. His hair should practically glow. I spin until my head swims, and then I close my eyes, dropping my hands to my knees.

Standing there, eyes shut, I force my mind back. It wasn’t that long ago. I kneel by Sebastian’s side, checking for his pulse, listening for him. My head on his chest, my eyes open. And, yes, I saw Roberto’s head off to the side.

I stand up. If it was here last night, then where is it now?

There’s only one explanation: one of the Ticks took it.

A shiver of disgust runs through me. Why would someone take his head? Ticks eat hearts, not brains. They’re not zombies.

But who knows what goes through the mind of a Tick. Whoever has Roberto’s head may not have eaten it, but that doesn’t mean they’re not doing something else with it. I need it—intact. Eyes in place.

I shudder again and this time I can’t keep my revulsion down. My stomach threatens to crawl up my esophagus. I bend over and retch. Nothing comes up and I’m left shaking and even weaker than before.

Only after I straighten do I hear it. Or sense it. That primal screech that the Ticks make. I look around, certain there’s one nearby.

And then I see her. She’s sitting just down the hill at the base of the sprawling live oak in the square. She’s small, but I can’t tell if she’s petite or if she’s just young. I haven’t seen any Ticks who are children, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. I have no idea what she’s doing out here in the morning, when she should be asleep. The roots of the tree stretch out around it, and she’s nestled against the trunk. Her hair is a wild mass of blond tangles. She’s sitting cross-legged with Roberto’s head in her lap, running her fingers through his blond hair.

Her touch is both gentle and clumsy. The way a toddler finger-combs the hair of a beloved doll.

I have nothing left to vomit, but my stomach churns away, and my heart clenches in sorrow. This girl—for she must be a child—has lost so much. Whatever family she had in the Before is dead now—for surely if her parents were here, they wouldn’t let her sit outside alone. For all I know, she killed them herself. Whatever childhood innocence she once had is gone forever. Yet clearly she still aches for what she’s lost, because she seems to be stroking his hair to soothe herself.

My throat closes over my own loss. I think of the things that comforted me in the Before. My Slinky. My squirrel Beanie Baby. My pink backpack. They were my holy trinity on the Farm. My magic talismans. They kept me calm and grounded. With Lily by my side and my backpack of magic, I could do anything.

Now I have none of those things. But I still need to keep moving. Unlike this girl, I can’t take false comfort from a mere stand-in.

I creep down the hill to her. She doesn’t look up until I’m right in front of her. Her eyes are dark and feral, her too-big teeth have twisted her mouth into a snarl. I have to bend her will to mine, just as Sebastian once bent my will.

I bare my teeth at her, growling low in my throat, until she looks down, giving a faint whimper before thrusting her fingers deep into Roberto’s hair and clutching his head tighter to her body.

I hold out my hands and growl again.

She ducks her head, looking at me with barely restrained anger. I lean in, forcing her to rock back slightly. I growl again, and this time, when I thrust out my hands, she pushes his head forward into them. I hold up Roberto’s head and look at his eye. It’s still there. I fist my hand in his hair like it’s a handle and I stand.

Apparently, this is too much for her. She launches herself at me, aiming right for my middle so she knocks me down. I go flying back, with her on my chest, the head in between us. I roll out of the tackle and hop back to my feet. She’s now unwilling to let her prize go. She throws herself at me again, this time howling. Which is sure to attract the attention of every Tick at El Corazon.

I elbow her sharply in the sternum, cutting off her cry, but it’s too late. Other Ticks are already yelping in return. She’s woken them, and they’re pissed off. I don’t know what their howls mean, not precisely, but still I understand. She’s called for help. And they’re on their way.

I spin on one foot and kick hard with the other. She staggers back a step. It’s all the advantage I have or need. I run for it. Roberto’s front porch is only fifty yards away, but there are Ticks melting out of the shadows from everywhere.

I clench my fingers more tightly in Roberto’s hair and sprint for the house. I don’t look back. I can hear thundering footsteps behind me, but still I don’t look back. Hands are reaching for me, grabbing me. I fling out an arm, trying to swat them away while running, but there are always more hands.

Then I hear the familiar twang of a bow firing. The phffft thump of an arrow lodging in someone’s chest. A set of hands falls away as I hear someone stumble to the ground. But there are more hands, more Ticks, ready to fill in the gaps. They’re stronger and faster than I remember. Maybe stronger and faster than me.

Then I hear another arrow shot and another.

Maybe they are stronger than I am, but I’m not alone. Sebastian is with me. Fighting for me. And he’s only fifty feet away. Then twenty. Then I’m on the porch. I reach him and whirl around, pulling out the katana as I spin. I slice and jab, trying not to aim for the hearts, trying only to knock them back.

Sebastian and I are shoulder to shoulder as we back through the door. I have to grab Chuy to keep him from launching himself at one of the Ticks. Sebastian fires one last arrow before I slam the door shut and throw the dead bolt.

I look down at myself. I hold the katana in one hand and a severed head in the other. I am splattered with blood and grief and regret. Chuy wedges himself under my sword hand, whimpering. He buries his nose in my pants, like he’s trying to hide from Roberto’s head. I wish I could do the same.

Sebastian is beside me looking as war worn as I feel. There’s a crossbow at his feet and a rapier in his hands. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blade clean before sliding it back into the sheath. Suddenly the rapier is once again a cane.

Outside, the Ticks throw themselves at the door. One loud thud follows another.

“Good job not getting their attention.”

I just stare at him. “Seriously?”

“You can thank me for saving your life later.”

LILY

The yelping in the distance stirs a fear deep inside. This bothers me, but I can’t remember why. Something about safety. About movement. About night.

We’ve been walking for so long I no longer know where we are going or which direction we came from. Marcus stops, looking over his shoulder in one direction and then the other.

“Is that them?” he asks.

“Keep moving.” I practically growl the words, even though I don’t mean to.

My father is a deadweight across my back, a heavy burden I’m tired of carrying. He must have passed out, but I can’t remember when. I shift him but the new hold feels no better on my burning muscles.

“We have to run!” Marcus says frantically. “We have to hide.”

“No,” I bark. “We can’t run. Just keep walking.”

Marcus stops. I turn to find him glaring up at me, his jaw jutting out stubbornly, his eyes filled with challenge. “You don’t know where we’re going, do you? We’re just wandering. We need to go back.”

“Back where? To the—” But my mind blanks. Back to the . . . the what? “The crash?
They
are back there. The others. We can’t fight them. But we might still make it.”

“Where?” he asks. “Where are we going?”

Where? Where are we going?

Why can’t I remember?

We’re going to . . . the place. With food. And safety. And hope.

Where, though? And why can’t I remember?

“A Farm!” I say as the word suddenly comes to me. “We’re going to a Farm. When we get there it’ll all be okay.”

“A Farm?” he asks. “No, Farms are bad. They hurt people.”

“No, Farms have food and safety. We’ll be safe there. I promise.”

He believes me. Almost.

Then someone howls in the distance. Someone calling to us. Demanding we join them. Others answer. And the call beckons to me, pulls at me, moves me like nothing I’ve ever known. And I want to . . . I want . . . to.

Marcus has already turned to the calling. He’s almost out of my reach when I drop my burden and run after him. I yank him around, grab his arm, and shake.

“No!” I command. “We can’t go! We can’t go back! We have to move forward.” He pulls away, but I throw myself at him, pull him to the ground under me. “We can’t go back! We have to keep walking!” I’m on top of him now, my weight on his, my hand on his neck, holding hard to this control, to this one thing, to this hope. “You’re coming with me.”

“Yes!” he yelps. “I’m with you!”

His obedience soothes me. It dances along my nerves like peace and food and warmth.

I back away from him, a growl low in my throat, but he doesn’t fight back, only whimpers. I growl again and stand. I move forward, and he falls in beside me, on my left, one step behind, where he belongs and it feels good.

The land around me is suddenly clear—not the glaring too-bright of day, but the soothing gray of silver and black. I can see so clearly. I can see the path before me. I feel the way to go. The way home has never been so certain.

CARTER

I nearly cried when I first saw Sabrina’s compound.

I’d been picturing something like El Corazon, part fortress, part archaic snapshot from Texas history. It had been this dusty, quaint little town, as creepy and atmospheric as the set of a Coen brothers movie. The whole thing had been one clown short of a horror novel. Except, wait, it already had its own bloodsucking monster.

Smart Com was nothing like that.

It was—quite literally—a shining beacon in the desert. From the gleaming skyscrapers to the acres of greenhouses, this was the product of modern human invention. This was civilization.

In the nine months since the Tick virus had been released, everything had fallen. Every city, every town, every insignificant blip on the map had been ravaged by the Ticks’ mindless rage. Now even Roberto’s fun house of torture was gone. Ten thousand years of human accomplishment and it was all destroyed.

Except this.

If I looked past the three razor-wire-topped fences, the guardhouse at the gate, and the—oh, forty or so guys with Uzis—if I looked past that, then Smart Com was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.

Unfortunately, I only saw one way in. And no way out at all.

Muscles One drove us through the gate in a Hummer that looked like it had been purchased from paranoid-rich-jerks-r-us. My father had had that model. But, seriously, who could afford to drive something like that now? Every drop of gas was a precious and limited commodity. That alone was a clue to Sabrina’s wealth. She had to have a massive stockpile of gas somewhere.

Even though we were clearly in a company-issued vehicle, we were still stopped at the guardhouse. Everyone piled out of the Hummer and was searched. Again. As if we could have smuggled in a toothpick after the last search.

A few minutes later, the Hummer rolled through the last set of gates into the compound. The relatively barren landscape of Albuquerque meant that there weren’t a lot of trees on the compound. Nothing blocked the view but the buildings themselves. A few years ago, back before I’d been shipped off to Elite, before I first met Lily, my parents had brought me on a vacation to Mexico. My dad wasn’t really the relax-on-the-beach type, but I guess my mom had badgered him into it. Even though the part of Mexico we were in was basically desert, the resort had still been manicured up like it was Disney World or something. Smart Com looked like that. There were stretches of native grass interspersed with islands of sparkling gravel and cacti. Huge spiky agave nestled up against the buildings. Golf carts zipped around transporting VIPs from one corner of the property to the other.

Needless to say, we weren’t considered important enough to warrant the golf car treatment. Muscles parked the Hummer just inside the gate and marched us right across the lawn. I didn’t know where all of Sabrina’s people were—hell, for all I knew, Smart Com was still manufacturing phones and tablets—but there weren’t many people out on the walkways. Those who were out eyed us suspiciously and walked purposely around us in wide, distrustful arcs.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Keep moving,” Muscles One grumbled.

“This compound is huge. There’s got to be room for thousands of people here.” Instead I saw maybe twenty—not counting the muscle.

This time, instead of answering, Muscles One gave me a jab in the back with the nose of his rifle. Good thing I didn’t bruise easily.

Still, I filed away the observation as well as Muscles’s noncommittal response.

Maybe this was a sign that things were not as sunny here in paradise as Mel had thought. Or maybe when you were on the dinner menu for a vampire, you had the option of sleeping in. Sebastian and Roberto had acted like earning a spot on a vampire’s compound was like getting the golden ticket to the Wonka factory. But maybe it was different here with Sabrina. Smart Com’s resources had obviously served her well. How many people exactly could she house here? If Smart Com had employed thousands, how many of those thousands had made it?

At the door to one of the buildings, Muscles handed us off to another guy. This one was a little older, but no less fit. If possible, this guy was even bigger and more muscle-bound. He was roughly the size of an industrial freezer and looked about as warm and fuzzy as one, too. Based on the way Muscles deferred to him, I’d guess this was either Muscles’s immediate boss or maybe even the commander in charge of the whole operation. The handoff went smoothly enough that he’d obviously been expecting us. Which told me someone had called ahead. Which told me that strangers showing up in Albuquerque was a rare occurrence.

The Freezer supervised as a couple of muscle clones escorted us through the building, up an elevator, and into a waiting room.

At El Corazon, Roberto had had cells set aside to hold prisoners. Okay, so they hadn’t been barred, but that had obviously been their purpose. He’d held us in an otherwise completely empty room with a cushionless bench built into the wall. There’d been nothing I could have used as a weapon.

I’d expected Sabrina to have a similar setup.

Once again, she surprised me.

We were shown into a room so luxurious that it could have been the VIP lounge at an upscale hotel. There was a sprawling sectional sofa. A TV and gaming system big enough it put my dad’s media room to shame. There were a couple of open doors on the far wall. If I had to guess, I’d say they led off to a bathroom and possibly a full kitchen. There was a wall of windows that overlooked the rest of Smart Com’s campus. A table laid out with a bucket of chilled cans of Coke. And—get this—a friggin’ fruit and cheese plate.

By the time I was done gawking at the spread, the Freezer had disappeared. The guy moved so quietly, I hadn’t even heard him vanish. I gave the doorknob a twist, but it had been locked behind him, of course. We were all alone in the VIP lounge.

Darren bolted for the TV like a kid on Christmas morning. He ran his hand over the spines of the games displayed on the bookshelf beside the TV. “Check it out! They have the latest
Assassin’s Creed
. I didn’t even think they’d released this one before everything happened. And—holy crap—a PS6? I had no idea this was in development nine months ago.”

Dawn went straight for the food. She popped open a Diet Coke and took one long gulp, eyes closed, savoring the taste. A moment later, she opened her eyes, practically blinking back tears, and looked embarrassed. “Dad was always so strict about the no-caffeine thing. He refused to waste any storage space on soda, but, man, I’ve missed it.”

I didn’t tell her not to drink it. Part of me wanted to. That cautious part that didn’t fully trust that this was going to end well. There was a chance—and I didn’t know how great that chance was—that the food was drugged. Or poisoned.

Okay, probably not poisoned. If Sabrina was going to kill us all, she probably wouldn’t waste our blood. Unless she was going to have our bodies dumped far beyond Smart Com’s grounds and she wanted to use our poisoned blood to kill off a few Ticks. But, if that was her plan, Muscles One and Two probably would have just shot us out on the street. Why waste the gas to bring us back or the Diet Coke?

Besides, chances were good we’d be here for at least a few days. We couldn’t refuse to eat during that time. None of us had the fat stores to turn down food. It was possible to justify just about anything when you were hungry enough.

Dawn took another gulp of Diet Coke and then seemed to see the rest of the spread. “Bananas? They have bananas?” she asked, her eyes wide as she looked at me. “Do you think that means they have trade relations with Central America?” She picked up an apple, brought it to her nose, and inhaled deeply. Then a kiwi. “These are fresh. Okay, maybe an apple could last nine months in refrigeration, but not a banana. Not a kiwi. What do you think this means? Does that mean there’s still organized agriculture in other parts of the country? Or other parts of the world? Are there still governments?”

“You ask such excellent questions, my dear,” a warm female voice said from behind me.

I turned to see a woman standing in one of the open doorways. She had to be Sabrina.

She appeared older than I expected, given that both Sebastian and Roberto—the only two vampires I’d ever met that I knew of—both looked so young. The picture in the brochure was too small to even guess at her age. Sebastian had been in his early twenties when he’d been turned, so he still looked about twenty-four. Roberto had looked even younger, maybe sixteen or seventeen. And of course there was Mel—frozen in time at eighteen.

Sabrina reminded me of my father’s first wife, a beautiful but older woman clinging to the fading shreds of her youth. She obviously took meticulous care of herself. She was lean and fit, with a willowy athlete’s body. She was tall for a woman, which still put her a few inches shorter than me. Her black hair fell straight to her waist. Only her skin gave her away. The grooves on either side of her mouth. The sagging just under her chin. The too-taut appearance of her cheeks, as if she’d been carved from wax for a display at a museum. There were some signs of aging that no amount of cosmetic enhancement could cover, and Sabrina had them.

But if she felt self-conscious about those signs—as my dad’s first wife clearly had—Sabrina didn’t show it. She was as confident as a queen.

“I’m so impressed,” Sabrina purred as she strolled toward the table, “that you’re forward-thinking enough to consider such questions. I do have trade agreements with several empires throughout the former United States. Such arrangements have proved to be very”—her lips twisted in a lascivious smile—“beneficial.”

She stopped close to Dawn and looked her over, running the back of her fingers down Dawn’s face, clucking her tongue appraisingly.

I couldn’t tell if she was merely admiring Dawn’s youthful skin, or trying to figure out how to make a coin purse from her cheeks. Obviously Dawn wasn’t any more comfortable with Sabrina’s touch than I was, because she leaned back, arching back over the table to get away from her.

Sabrina made a mewling, disappointed sound—though I couldn’t tell if her predatory interest in Dawn was genuine or if she was just messing with her.

Sabrina gave Dawn’s cheek a final pat—one sharp enough to almost be a slap—and then turned her attention to Darren. She walked toward him, her hips slinking seductively.

“How about you, my dear boy?”

“Pardon, ma’am?”

She chuckled. “You like games, I take it. We have lots of games here. More than you can possibly imagine. I’d love to introduce you to all of them.”

Darren swallowed nervously, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his panic. Darren was an impossibly young sixteen. He’d been sheltered in the Before. The obvious sexual connotation of Sabrina’s words seemed to freak him out even more than it did Dawn. I didn’t blame him. My dad’s first wife had come on to me once. It had squigged me out, too, and she probably didn’t want to suck my blood afterward.

“What about Mexico?” I asked loudly.

Sabrina’s attention snapped over to me. She raised one chilling eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You said you had agreements with empires across the former United States. What about empires in Mexico? What about Central or South America?” I pointed to the fruit laid out on the table. “Bananas. Pineapples. Grapes. In the Before, bananas and pineapples came from Central America, right? Maybe Hawaii. Do you have trade agreements with them or are these things grown in your greenhouse?”

Her expression hardened infinitesimally. “Well, aren’t you the curious little kitten?”

“I’m more of a dog person, actually.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and met her gaze. It had been a risk, asking such pointed questions. If she hadn’t guessed it already, she now knew that I was the leader of this little bunch. I wanted her to understand that if she should mess with anyone, it should be me.

After eyeing me for a long moment, she extended a hand toward the table. “My men said they picked you up earlier this morning not far from the compound.”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“Then you must have driven through the night to get here. You must be simply starving.” She gestured toward the table. “Please, help yourself.”

“No thanks.”

She tilted her head as if trying to figure me out. “Is there perhaps something else you’d prefer? We have excellent chefs on staff. I could order something for you.” She looked over at Darren. “Perhaps a burger? Some fries? Maybe a chocolate shake?”

From more than ten feet away, I heard Darren’s stomach growl.

Sabrina smiled, turning her attention back to Dawn. “A slice of cake, perhaps? Or a dish of ice cream? There’s a brand—Ben and Gerald’s, I believe—that’s quite popular among girls your age.”

“You have Ben and Jerry’s?” Dawn asked softly.

“Yes, yes. Ben and Jerry’s. Precisely.”

Sabrina smiled and again I got that sense that she was just messing with us. That she had changed tactics. Now, instead of acting the part of sexual predator, she was playing the part of sweet, nurturing mother. Not only was she well aware of Ben & Jerry’s real name, but there probably wasn’t a single pint of anything on this compound that she hadn’t personally picked out herself.

Still, she smiled at them. “You’ve spent months out there in the wilderness.” Sabrina gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust. “Please, just tell me what you desire and I will do everything in my power to accommodate you.”

When no one answered her, she asked, “Are you sure you won’t eat something?”

“Quite sure.”

“Are you worried that it’s poisoned? I guarantee you, it isn’t. I wouldn’t dream of doing something so Machiavellian.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Because the selection of cheeses is—”

“Yeah. I bet it’s all great. The best money can buy.” Darren was still gazing longingly at the food and I swore he’d inched closer to the table. His hand kept drifting out like he might snatch up a snack without meaning to. Poor guy didn’t know quite what he was dealing with here. “And if we eat it, it’ll be the best meal we’ve had in months. Maybe years. There we’ll be, full and content. Our blood will be pumping with the serotonin that you vampires find so yummy and delicious. That’s the whole point of this spread, right?”