The Pilgrims of the Damned: A Vampire Thriller, page 13
She took a long sniff and followed the scent through a set of double doors and down a hallway to another fire escape. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and as she passed two closed doors in the hallway, she had to stop and regain her composure. She reached the fire escape door and pushed it open with a little more force than she’d meant to, leaving a dent in the wall of the small room beyond.
Lauren crouched by several fresh blood drops just beyond the fire door and looked up at the metal door in front of her. There was a keypad beside it, and a bloody smear on the door itself, as if someone had tried to grab hold of it when they were dragged through.
The smell of the newcomer reached her despite the scent of blood, and she turned to see two men in the hallway beyond. One was tall, muscular, with broad shoulders and huge hands. He had a smirk on his face that told of something unpleasant. The second was shorter, skinnier; he looked ill, as though he should be in a bed resting, not out in the middle of the most dangerous state in the country. He wore a silver pendant in the shape of a teardrop with a blood-red jewel set in the middle.
“My name is Stuart,” the sickly man said, stroking the pendant with one finger as he spoke, as if it gave him comfort.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, it will end badly for you,” Lauren said. “I promise.”
“Not here to fight,” Stuart said, his hands up, palms out.
“He is,” Lauren said, nodding toward the man behind Stuart.
Stuart turned a little as if seeing his companion for the first time. He looked back at Lauren and shrugged. “I figured it was better to bring backup.”
“You knew I was here?” Lauren asked.
“We knew since you arrived in the state,” Stuart told her. “You’ve been drawn to this place, yes. We were told that you would arrive, and that we were to take you to Ellsworth.”
“What’s at Ellsworth?” Lauren asked. “And what’s behind this door?”
“Honestly?” Stuart asked her before he started to cough. He held up a finger for Lauren to wait as he removed a bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, before replacing it back in his pocket. “It’s a bunch of scientific labs where a group of idiots who didn’t know what they were playing around with decided to piss off a god. There’s nothing down there but death and pain. We were told to come here and wait for you, that this place was better for you to get to rather than traipsing across the rest of Maine to Ellsworth. The person who wants you here has spent a long time making sure that people are afraid of this place. Ellsworth is close to where the initial outbreak happened. We’re going to take you there so we can go see the person who wanted you here.”
“That’s all very cryptic. Who?”
“It’s probably better we show rather than explain,” Stuart said.
“Why do you smell strange?” Lauren sniffed the air. “Both of you. Not human, not vampire. Not desolate. What are you?”
Stuart slapped the stomach of his companion. “My friend here is a werewolf. I am a witch. A chaos witch, I guess is the technical term.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m dying,” Stuart said. “I came here looking for a cure, but that is a conversation for later.”
“Am I the cure?” Lauren asked; she did not like the sound of that.
Stuart shook his head, pushing aside the frustration he was feeling. “No, you’re just important to someone who once made people like you.”
“Made people like me?” Lauren asked. “What does that even mean?”
“You needed to come here,” Stuart said. “You’re a Desolate Queen; you had no need to ever come to Maine, yet you did. I was told that you’ve been expected for a long time. I assume at some point you decided to just make your way here.”
Lauren opened her mouth to argue and closed it again. “Yes,” she said softly.
“I assume you’d also like to see the person who put that idea in your head,” Stuart said.
Lauren was about to say something when she felt the air behind her change slightly. She turned just as a third man plunged a needle into her neck, injecting her with… something that made her feel terribly sleepy. She threw a punch at the man, who caught her hand easily in his open palm, and with his second hand injected another needle into her neck.
Lauren wobbled, her legs going out from under her as she crashed down to her knees.
“She was coming along willingly,” Stuart said.
“We don’t have time for this,” the third man said.
“Liam,” Stuart argued.
“No,” Liam snapped. “She needs to come now. We’ll use the tram, it’ll be safer.”
Lauren lay on the cool floor. It was quite comfortable, all things considered; she was so sleepy. It felt as if she hadn’t slept in years. She needed to sleep. She welcomed it. Part of her brain screamed at her to fight it, to stay awake, but another part liked the idea of a long rest.
“Hello, Lauren,” a man’s voice said. He sat on a throne of skulls, wearing a pair of black trousers, shoes polished to a mirror shine, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat. He had pale skin, a short dark beard, and long dark hair that fell over slender shoulders.
Lauren looked around the crypt that she found herself in. It smelled of old water and decaying plants. There was a stone sarcophagus in the middle of the room, next to a small waterfall. It made her feel calm. There was a throne made from black stone at the far end of the crypt. “Is this a dream?” she asked the man who sat on the throne.
The man leaned forward in the throne. “Yes,” he said softly. His accent had a heavy Scandinavian quality to it. “But soon, you will wake up, and we will get to work.”
Lauren looked over at the seated man. “What work?” she asked. She felt no fear or concern about what she was seeing, just a need to know what was going on.
“We’re going to finish what these idiots started here all those years ago,” the man said with a warm smile on his handsome face.
“And what was that?” Lauren asked. “What did they try to do?”
The man clapped and got to his feet. He walked over to Lauren and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, they tried to use me to change the world. I aim to show them how it’s done properly. I need you to learn how to control the desolate you didn’t create.”
“And how am I meant to do that?” she asked, feeling lightheaded and strange. It was as if being in the presence of the man before her calmed her, made her trust him. Somewhere deep inside her, a part of her screamed not to give in to it. She tried to hold on to that part of her as she turned to the man and smiled.
“With practise,” the man said, his own smile never wavering. “And if there’s one thing in Maine we have a lot of, it’s desolate. Before then, rest. You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Twelve
The first night of the drive through Maine had been uneventful, with the lights of the military camp giving way to open stretches of dark countryside. Miles sat up to watch the darkness turn to morning and saw the devastation to the town they’d reached. The buildings had been all but flattened, and there was nothing to see in all directions but the remains of a civilisation that had been gone for decades.
The roads that hadn’t been completely reclaimed by nature were bumpy to drive along, and Miles was grateful for the four-wheel drive capabilities of the vehicle they were in.
The Winnebago interior consisted of two bedrooms at the rear which were, in reality, little more than a double bed. But there was also a bathroom, with shower, and a small kitchen area next to the comfortable sofa bed, which was where Church had slept the first day as the House Idolator familiar had stood watch outside.
The convoy had pulled over during the morning at Scarborough and the vampire contingent had hunkered down to rest. Miles had left the familiar to watch over the Winnebago and had quickly fallen asleep in the rear bedroom of the vehicle.
Miles realised he hadn’t said two words to the familiar when he’d woken up on the second night and found himself alone in the kitchen with the man who had started the engine for the convoy to continue on into Maine.
“What’s your name?” Miles asked. “It feels rude to nae know.”
“Arvid Holmlund,” he said.
“You’re Scandinavian?” Miles asked, picking up on the accent.
“From Norway,” Arvid told him without looking back from his position as driver.
Arvid was a large, barrel-chested man, with long plaited light-blond hair and a matching beard—also plaited—which had several silver charms in it. Miles had to admit, there was a definite Norse characteristic to his look.
“So, how long have you been a familiar?” Miles asked him as the kettle boiled.
“Ten years now,” Arvid said.
“You’re familiar to which member of House Idolator?” Miles asked.
“First Lord Fuller,” Arvid said.
“Is that why you do this?” Miles asked, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a seat behind the driver.
Church looked up from her place on the floor, decided it wasn’t worth moving for, and promptly went back to sleep.
“This?” Arvid asked.
“Drive the pilgrimage?” Miles clarified.
“It is my way of helping the pilgrimage,” Arvid said.
“Are all the familiars from the First Lord?”
“No, some are from the First Captain, or First Authority,” Arvid said, seemingly more at ease not talking about himself. “Only the First members of House Idolator have their familiars run the pilgrimage.”
“In hope that you’ll be turned full vampire,” Miles suggested.
“That is the aim, yes,” Arvid said. “This is… our testing of a sort. To prove that we are trustworthy and capable. To prove that we can aid the House in its aims.”
“What aims are those?” Miles asked, blowing on the hot coffee.
“To spread the Word of the Dusk,” he said proudly. “In time, it is hoped that we can ascend back to our rightful place as a Great House.”
“I hope you achieve it,” Miles said.
Arvid looked in the rearview mirror. “Really?”
“Of course,” Miles said, taking the first sip of coffee and letting out a little sigh. “I hold no ill will against any of the Houses, Great or Minor. I only hope that the Great Houses have the needs of vampire kind at heart and nae just the needs of their House. Everyone’s job is easier if no one is trying to fight for supremacy within the vampire world all the time.”
One of the bedroom doors at the rear of the vehicle slid open and Amelia walked out. Miles pointed to the freshly brewed coffee.
“Oh, I could marry you,” she said as she poured herself a cup.
“I didn’t realise coffee had that effect on women,” Miles said. “I should make it more often.”
Amelia laughed and sat down beside Miles.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Changing my sleep patterns to be nocturnal is a weird thing to do,” Amelia told him. “The bed was comfortable, though, so I won’t complain too much. Did I miss anything exciting?”
“No,” Miles told her. “I was just talking to our driver, Arvid, about his time in House Idolator. He drives the pilgrimages for them.”
“Oh, that must be exciting,” Amelia said, with no hint that she thought otherwise. “How many times have you done it?”
“This is my fourth,” Arvid said. “In six years.”
“So, you’re an old hand at this,” Amelia said. “How is this one comparing so far?”
“We have only just started, so it’s about the same as any of the others. It won’t be until tomorrow night that we start to see the real changes to the state. The desolate here don’t seem to die. They’re relatively small in number, thankfully, but we kill a few, and the next time we go through, there are still more. We don’t know where they’re coming from. The weather swaps and changes on a dime—I think the expression is. We aren’t due any storms, but then, that means little here.”
“What about a food source for the desolate?” Miles asked. “There can’t be enough people or animals for them to sustain large numbers.”
“There is certainly an abundance of small animals, and some deer, but how the desolate are feeding is just another mystery we haven’t solved.”
“Someone else mentioned that the desolate numbers haven’t fallen,” Amelia said. “I wonder why that is. The desolates can be killed, right?”
“Fire, sunlight, decapitation,” Miles said. “They definitely die; I’ve seen my fair share of them turn to dust.”
“Where do we stop in the morning?” Amelia asked.
“The fort of Falmouth,” Arvid said. “Just on the other side of Portland.”
“That’s nae a long journey,” Miles said. “And don’t you ever sleep?”
“I had a few hours during the day,” Arvid said. “My familiar physiology means I don’t need as much rest as a human. It’s one of the benefits I’m most thankful for. And we stop in Falmouth because it takes a while to get through Portland. There are pockets of desolate there, and we stop and deal with them, so they don’t become an issue.”
“You have to keep stopping every time?” Miles asked.
“Yes,” Arvid said.
“So, they’re really not dying?”
“I’m pretty sure they are,” Arvid said. “We’ve killed them, burned them, just to be sure. I’ve seen a few catch fire from the sunlight. I’ve seen them turn to ash. I just think they have numbers to replenish. Although we don’t know exactly where those hidden desolates might be. No one has offered to go search.”
“No one has checked where they’re coming from?” Miles asked.
“There are rumours that there was an underground lab beneath Augusta with tunnels that ran all around the state. Apparently there were tens of thousands of desolates down there when Maine fell.”
“So they are dying,” Amelia said. “There’s just a huge number of reinforcements, not to mention all of the humans who were turned during the mess. Potentially hundreds of thousands of desolates could remain in this state. I didn’t realise it was so bad.”
“House Idolator tends to be the only House that deals inside the state,” Arvid said as the Winnebago slowed, and he turned the wheel to exit the road. “Sometimes I think it’s a little bit of out of sight, out of mind with this place.”
“So, you stop off in Portland and decapitate a few desolates,” Amelia asked, making a note in her book. “How many do you kill?”
“A few dozen, maybe more,” Arvid said. “I think last year was the most, it was nearly a hundred.”
“That’s a lot,” Miles said.
“It was a big jump from previous years,” Arvid admitted.
Miles looked out of the window as if half expecting to see a horde of desolate ambling along the road.
The vehicle pulled to a stop and Arvid unbuckled his seatbelt and turned back to Miles and Amelia. “I’ll go check on the others; if you need blood or food, now’s the time. If you’re planning on helping out, that is.”
Miles waited for Arvid to leave before he said, “Something really weird is going on in this state.”
“Weirder than it being overrun by the desolate?” Amelia asked.
Miles turned back to her. “I guess we’re going to get our first look at just how bad this place is.” He didn’t bother to wait for anyone to come to the vehicle and opened the door, letting Church out into the cool night air. She immediately ran off into the nearby woods as Miles looked around the large clearing that they’d all parked in. It looked as if it had once been a parking area for those who wanted to spend some time in the woods. There were the remains of a sign that said you had to pay to park, although the red lettering was faded to barely anything.
“Miles,” Thomas Reed said as he walked over to him.
Miles nodded hello and paid attention to those getting off the tour bus at the front of the convoy. Everyone was stretching their legs, and there was an air of excitement and nervous energy around.
“What’s about to happen?” Miles asked Thomas as Amelia stepped out of the Winnebago.
“Portland was once a big place,” Thomas said. “Relatively speaking. We like to clear out the desolates who have gathered here. It’s usually only a few dozen, and we don’t go through the buildings as some are borderline about to fall down, and some probably are a danger to anyone stepping aside, but those desolates wandering about at night are fair game.”
“They just stay in the town limits?” Amelia asked.
“There has been precious little work done on desolate behaviour, which is a pity,” Thomas said, the excitement in his tone suggesting it was a favourite topic of his. “Oddly, the desolates in Maine behave a little differently to those outside of it, inasmuch as they don’t appear to be leaving the towns and villages. We tagged a few, tried to follow them, but they don’t do much. They’ve never even made an attempt to get at the checkpoints. Pretty sure they wouldn’t care about being outnumbered; they’d just see the people there are food. It’s a little odd, almost like they don’t want to leave Maine.”
“And New Brunswick?” Miles asked.
“From what we can tell, it has a close to zero desolate population,” Thomas said. “We’ve seen their numbers walking into Maine, but not the other way. Almost like there’s something in this area that they’re drawn toward, although for the life of me I can’t think what it is.”
“Strange,” Miles said.
Thomas nodded. “We’re not sure why, but until they get a whiff of blood they just amble about at night. Once they get that scent, though, they’re like wolves and will hunt over large distances. Still won’t leave a rough approximation of the state, though. They stop several miles before the northern border. Like there’s a gigantic invisible barrier there.”
“That’s exceptionally unusual,” Miles said. “Why hasn’t anyone mentioned this before?”
