5

REVELATION 2:16

[I] will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.

~ * ~

Dr. Perlman found the videotape of the vampire child's behavior disappointing. It revealed nothing except that this particular creature functioned on little besides instinct: eat and sleep. He discovered no wonderful insights or clues, though he viewed the tape so many times that the rubber eyepiece of his battery-rigged camera felt fused into his skull. Still, he didn't give up until the batteries were starting to lag.

The boy could only be described as a beast. When he'd dragged the vampire back yesterday, Perlman had found it impossible not to wonder who the child had been in his original life. Where were his parents, how old was he, and how had he ended up like this? Had he been a mischievous little boy a year and a half ago, a playground bully, or had the one-night transformation taken him from angel to monster? All those questions were unanswerable; while the boy was frozen in eternal childhood, his skin was wrinkled and gray, bagging where body fat had once been plentiful and stretching elsewhere to give him the awful countenance of a mobile, ancient mummy. One thing Perlman noticed right away, though: the small meal had already caused a marked improvement in the vampire's appearance. While his skin was still in a sorry state, it had improved; there weren't nearly as many split places in the creases and the face was already fuller around the cheekbones.

Perlman sat back and rubbed his eye where it had been pressed against the camera viewer in between scribbling notes and staring out the window. He could learn nothing more from the tape; what he required was blood and tissue samples, and for that he needed help.

The first thing the video had revealed was the terrible ease with which his "thin little boy" had torn through the carefully crafted bonds. A tapping made Perlman glance around; Calie stood in the doorway with C.J. behind her, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. She smiled, her gaze clear and unwavering, and Perlman's thoughts veered for a moment. He forced them back stolidly, ignoring Calie's warm look. "What can I do for you?"

Her smile grew a little beneath her solemn brown eyes. "We came to do for you, Dr. Bill." She glanced at C.J., who was studying the walls with a bored expression, then back at Perlman. "Thought you could use some help in your research or something."

Perlman scrutinized his notes. It was eerie the way they'd shown up at just the right time, as if Calie had known he was ready to move forward. He pushed out of his chair, careful not to bump his injured toe as he had earlier this morning. As a matter of fact, I was thinking just that. I'm ready for a tissue specimen."

"A what?" C.J. asked.

"A tissue specimen. Samples to put under the microscope." The doctor hobbled to a cabinet and began gathering the items he would need: a surgical knife and tongue depressors, rubber gloves, a Petri dish and a couple of clean towels. "I'll probably need a hand with him."

C.J. snorted. "Shit. You're going to need more than a hand when you start cutting. That bloodsucker's going to rock and roll."

"I only need a small sample," Perlman said. "Hardly more than a scratch from the skin surface." He paused, then chose another dish. "Though it would be helpful to get a scraping from one of the mucous membranes."

“From his mouth?" Now even Calie looked doubtful.

"Well, that would be best but probably far too dangerous—"

"You're not kidding!" C.J. interrupted.

"—so I'll settle for one from the nasal cavity."

C.J. threw up his hands. "Big fucking difference, Doc! A whole half inch! I'm sure it'll be happy to lie still while we stick a knife up its nose!"

"I think we can do it," Calie said. "He'll have to be retied first, of course." C.J. rolled his eyes. "And we'll still have to hold him. But as long as there's three of us, we should be able to keep anyone from going under."

"Going under?" The doctor stepped into the hallway with the other two. "What do you mean?"

C.J. sighed in exasperation, dipped his fingers into a vest pocket, and pulled out a battered cigarette butt. "Hypnotized, Doc." He glanced at Calie and gave a hard shake of his head, his black hair swinging wildly. "I can't believe he trapped that thing by himself and lived to talk about it. What a crock."

"Actually"—Perlman limped behind them down the stairs—"I had thought about 'going under.' I had no intention of trying this alone."

"God bless you," C.J. muttered as he came up with a match as they descended to basement level and Perlman pulled a flashlight from the top of a fire extinguisher box. He snapped it on, but its beam was a disappointing puddle of light; while it was daytime, Perlman couldn't rid himself of the paranoia that the sleeping child had woke and was now waiting, ready to leap from shadows that deepened with every step. Finally they stood at the steel door that led to the bomb shelter. Anything but pleased, C.J. bent and gathered the coil of rope and another roll of the silver duct tape Perlman had placed beside the entrance, then looked at Calie and the older man.

"Ready?"

They nodded. Calie seemed as calm as ever, and though C.J.'s callused hands were shaking, Perlman suspected it was more from adrenaline than nerves. Personally, he was having trouble swallowing around the pretzel-sized knot of fear in his throat; even his breathing had escalated to just ahead of hyperventilation, and he forced himself to inhale and hold it for the count of three. The child vampire's nearly successful hold on him was a nightmare memory that he was afraid would lunge when the door was opened; to put him further on edge, the door screeched like a crypt entrance from a stupid old horror movie as Calie yanked on it and C.J. stood ready with the crossbow.

Nothing sprang from the blackness beyond the door and Perlman’s breath escaped in a rush, but neither of his companions noticed. He wondered if C.J. was disappointed and thought it would have made the kid happier to kill the childbeast and be done with it.

"You have another light?" Calie asked. "We're going to need more."

Perlman cleared his throat and his voice came out raspy. "Yes," he croaked. "High-powered." He gave his own flashlight to Calie and handed another to C.J., then clipped a small battery pack to his belt and held up a black-case spotlight connected to it by a coiled cord. "So I can see what I'm doing."

C.J. hit the flashlight's ON switch, then played its bright beam down the stairs. The backwash made his face dark and chiseled, like an ancient Mexican god with deep, glittering jewels for eyes. "Let's do it."

Bill stepped forward but Calie pushed past and was halfway down before he could protest. "Wait—“

C.J. followed Calie like a magnet, weapon up and ready. "Come on, you're bringing up the rear."

Perlman clambered down, half hopping, using his hands to keep his graceless body and the equipment in his pockets from bouncing against the walls. At the stairwell's bottom, Calie had already freed two of the three bars and was waiting for him before removing the third. C.J. stood by with the crossbow, a complicated thing of strings and metal loaded with a thin arrow tipped by a deadly, four-sided razor head. For the first time, Perlman saw C.J.'s crossbow as a real weapon which could kill as effectively as a firearm, or literally pin a target in place. He was suddenly very grateful for C.J.'s presence.

Calie didn’t hesitate; as Bill took the bottom step she yanked out the final bar and leaned it against the wall in a smooth, swift motion. An instant later she grabbed the handle and pulled the metal door wide.

The three stood, frozen. Beyond the pathetically dim circles cast by the flashlights, something stirred in a darkness thick with the smell of decay. "Your light, Dr. Bill," Calie said urgently. "Turn on your light!"

"What—oh!" He was too terrified to feel stupid as his fingers fumbled to find the switch. Light, unbelievably bright and piercing, flooded the small room, bringing into sharp black and white the cracked concrete surrounding them. The child vampire was lying against the wall a few feet away, in the same position in which the physician had last seen him on the tape. In places his gray, filth-streaked skin was nearly indistinguishable from the mottled pattern left by the dismantled shelving.

It definitely looks better, Perlman realized instantly. Healthier. Fascinated, he studied the creature from where he stood, noting that the gray tint was not as pronounced, the skin, though still loose and hanging, not as flaccid. The scalp hair was thicker, the face fuller—

Daddy! A child's sweet voice cut through his thoughts. You came back—I knew you would!

Perlman blinked as his gaze found and locked with that of the child's through transparent eyelids. He tried to pull away but it felt as though he were dragging his eyes over coarse, sticky sandpaper.

This is not my son! Perlman could almost see the thought as a physical thing in his mind, cold and indisputable—a given, a fact, something he knew was inarguable—

Yet his feet still moved him forward.

Without warning the memories returned, bubbling from some long-plugged well within him: the pleasant smell of baby powder, the velvety feel of tiny arms, feathery hair tickling his cheek next to the infant's gurgling laugh and toothless smile.

"No—"

Perlman thought he heard someone talking, then felt a sharp tug on his head; he dismissed it as insignificant. If there was even the remotest chance that this child was his son, perhaps gone through some accelerated growth because of the change, wasn't he responsible for the boy? Shouldn't he do anything to give comfort—

Pain, then agony, clearing Perlman's mind like the sweep of a chalk eraser and literally dropping him to one knee; when his vision cleared he realized he was a scant two feet from the childbeast. He didn't remember crossing the distance, but Calie was crouched beside him with one hand hooked around his elbow, and her face was twisted with a mix of fear, anguish, and sympathy. His foot felt as though he had shoved it into an incinerator and Perlman hissed through his teeth, then cursed as he tried to stand. Floating beneath the swells of pain was a stinging in his scalp that generally added to his misery.

"You all right?"

Surprised, Perlman nodded up at C.J. The teen's face seemed naked for a second, vulnerable and afraid, then it slipped back to its hard, unreadable mask.

"What happened?" Perlman glanced furtively at the vampire and his mouth fell open when he realized that one of his companions had covered its eyes with duct tape.

"You went under," Calie explained. "You didn't hear me or even notice when I started yanking on your hair." She looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, but I had to stomp on your toe to make you come back. I hope it doesn't hurt too badly."

"Only a little," he lied, but she didn't look convinced. "I'll be fine. Really." He struggled with his legs and the injured foot until he was kneeling at the vampire's side, then began pulling out his equipment. "Let's get this over with."

"The man finally has something good to say." C.J. set the crossbow carefully against the wall and took a stance at the head of the child on the floor. "What's first?"

Perlman forced himself to think through the mist of pain as he studied the child critically. "I think we'll do the tissue sample last. How much can he do while he's sleeping? Shouldn't we tie him up?"

"He's getting smarter," C.J. told Calie as he held up the rope and twisted slipknots around the vampire's arms and legs that would only tighten in a struggle. The length of gray rope nearly vanished against the boy's dull skin. When C.J. started to cover the mouth with duct tape, the doctor stopped him.

“I want to get the mucus sample from his mouth," he said.

"Great." C.J. looked disgusted. "Just ask him to say ahhhh."

"Let's not make this harder than it has to be," Calie admonished, then looked at the doctor. "Okay, then. What now?"

Perlman sucked in a breath, then jabbed a hand toward the vampire's face, swiping his fingers below the nostrils just out of touching range. As he had suspected, the child could smell fresh blood even in sleep; as his hand pulled away, the vampire's mouth stretched in a parody of a yawn, revealing a blackened maw ringed with jagged yellow and brown teeth from which strands of rancid saliva dripped. A second later the mouth closed.

"Gross." C.J.'s face twisted. "How the hell you gonna get him to keep it open long enough to cut? I'll bet he chomps on anything you stick in there, including your finger."

"He's right," Calie said. "You're likely to lose a piece of your hand if you try it."

"We'll tape his mouth open," Perlman suggested. "I don't need to cut, just run the depressor along the inside of one cheek. I will take a little flesh for a tissue sample, and for that we'll turn him facedown so it'll be harder for him to bite."

"Fine," C.J. said. He tossed aside the piece of duct tape he'd been holding and tore six longer pieces, layering them into one thick strand as he knelt behind the vampire's head with the tape spread like a garrote. "We're ready. But you'd better be quick. I really don't think this'll hold for long." Calie grimaced in revulsion as she grabbed the child's ankles to keep it from kicking; the body trembled slightly at her touch, and somewhere beneath the pain still sharpening his senses Bill thought he heard the word cold in plaintive tones. He pushed it away and bent to his work, thankful he no longer had to worry about avoiding the creature's eyes.

Slipping on a glove, the doctor pulled a tongue depressor from his pocket and tore it free of the sterile wrapping, then leaned forward. Before he could find an excuse, Perlman again passed a hand over the child's face. When its mouth widened he stared into the moist blackness leading down the thin throat, one glance lasering the image into his memory. All the internal tissues were black, including the tongue, though the doctor thought he could see an undertone of deep red. The front teeth were hideously overdeveloped, especially the canines, but the premolars sloped into the line of malformed gums on both the upper and lower jaws, and molars no longer existed at all, hence the sunken-cheeked appearance.

C.J. brought the tripled strip of tape into the open mouth with admirable speed, hooked it behind the bottom premolars, then yanked down, forcing the jaw open farther. A clot of nasty-smelling fluid sprayed from the vampire's mouth and settled over the skin of its face as it began to struggle sluggishly, trying through the coma-like sleep to snap its teeth. Muscles bulged in C.J.'s arms as he fought to keep the head against the floor while at the other end Calie leaned on its writhing legs with all her strength. Perlman didn't need to be told to hurry this time, though he had to fight his sense of self-preservation to make his fingers thrust the tongue depressor into the contorting mouth and drag it along the inside cheek. He was profoundly thankful for the protection of his glove; his thumb and forefinger had reached beyond the child's lips for only an instant, yet they and the depressor were covered with vile-looking, stinking saliva.

"Done!" Bill pulled back and nearly fell in his haste to get his hand out of the creature's range. In eerily synchronized movements, C.J. dropped the tape and yanked his arms up as Calie released the boy's feet; the body spasmed and Bill gasped as the vampire tried to sit up. C.J. crouched, the crossbow already in hand, but abruptly the child's shuddering ceased as it sank back into its daytime trance.

"Halfway there," Perlman said grimly as he snapped the depressor in two and dropped the pieces into one of the small dishes, then turned a cover over it. "The best is ahead."

"I can't wait," Calie said. Her calm was still holding, but she looked a little shaky. He glanced at her, worried, but she grinned wanly. "I'm fine."

Perlman pulled off the soiled glove and nodded at C.J. "Let's roll him over. One, two, three—" And it was done, the clammy coldness of the boy's arm lingering against the nerves of the doctor's fingers. C.J.'s face was stony, as usual, but Calie looked green and Bill couldn't blame her. How could a body that moved feel so much like a corpse?

"Where are you going to . . . take it from?" Calie asked in a hoarse voice. "Do you think it will hurt him?"

"No more than he'd hurt us if he had the chance," C.J. said in a hard voice.

"I don't need much," Bill said quickly. This time he pulled gloves on both hands after setting out a dish. He picked up the scalpel. "I think the best place is the back of the calf. It'll be quick." He felt Calie's eyes on him and shook his head. "I don't know if it'll hurt or not. Even if it does, we don't have a choice. You ready?"

C.J. stooped next to the side away from the vampire's face and placed both hands flat on the boy's back just below the shoulder blades. "Go for it."

Perlman glanced at Calie. She swallowed and gripped the boy's ankles, pulling the legs out straight. "Fast as you can, okay?" She looked ready to vomit.

Perlman inhaled, then gripped the knife and hunched over the vampire's leg. "Here we go," he said, and drew the blade in a fast swipe, carving out an inch-square chunk of flesh.

The beastchild convulsed, then kicked, knocking Calie's hands loose and flinging her against the wall. Incredibly, C.J. maintained his hold, keeping the snarling creature's face pressed against the concrete as the doctor dropped his sample into the dish. The vampire hissed once more and fell silent, its suffering apparently ending as abruptly as it had begun.

Calie sat up, then choked and pointed. "Lookl"

Perlman followed her extended finger and gawked. The wound was already healing, the exposed layers of gray flesh filling and meshing before their eyes. He bent closer, enthralled by this instantaneous regeneration; although it had once been a human child, he couldn’t help wondering if, like certain species of amphibians, this creature would actually grow an entire new limb if one was lost. The question was fantastic and frightening, and its potential answer scared the hell out of him.

"Well," Perlman finally said as they examined the unbroken skin on the boy's leg, "if it did hurt, it wasn't for long." He spent a few seconds studying the dish containing the skin sample, afraid that the flesh would disintegrate. So far it remained intact, and he sealed it and peeled off his gloves. C.J. and Calie watched until at last Perlman looked up and grinned. "That's all, folks."

They exhaled in relief, then Calie wrinkled her nose. "Let's get out of here. I need some fresh air in the worst way." C.J. nodded and Perlman thought he could see a sickly tinge beneath the teen's olive coloring. Though the whole escapade had taken less than twenty minutes, Perlman felt as if he'd aged five years.

"Jesus," C.J. said once they were safely upstairs, "I'm glad that's over. It's sure not something I want to make a habit." Calie looked away and the teenager's gaze found Perlman's carefully bland face. He scowled. "Aw, man. You ain't thinking of doing this again, are you?" When Perlman didn't answer, C.J. showed his anger by kicking the wall hard, just once. "Calie? Shit—that's just great. When do we do it again?"

"Tomorrow?" The question came from Calie.

"Tomorrow," Perlman agreed. “And every day after until we find the answer."

Looking at C.J.'s expression, Perlman was very grateful that the heavy Barnett crossbow in the kid's hands wasn't cocked.

~ * ~

"Well, what did you think you'd find? A miracle?" There was no one in the room to answer and Perlman sat back and ran his fingers across his forehead, then massaged his temples. "Yeah, maybe so." Frustrated, he dropped a hand to the sheaf of notes he'd spent most of the day scribbling. And what had he expected? Slice and dice the sample, slap it under the Wolfe microscope he'd power-rigged to a mini-generator, crank the magnification to 100x and Bingo! Instant Answer.

Wrong.

What he had was cramped fingers and nearly blackened eyes from sitting for hours with his face plastered against the eyepieces. Still, he had to look again. It was as though he'd discovered some incredibly complex insect that no one had ever seen before, and in a way he supposed that's exactly what had happened. His first glimpse of the sample had been hours ago, yet the doctor was still awed to see that everything was actually where it should be. Incredibly, the cells were pliable and even the right color, as long as the slide was taken from a deeper level of the segment; closer to the surface of the skin, it became dried out, gray, and tough. But they weren't alive. They were frozen, trapped in a state of suspended animation from which the vampire's mind could still demand movement, though nothing on the slide was in motion. Predictably, minute colonies of clostridia, common bacterial decay, were scattered here and there, locked into that same permanent paralysis. He could see no fungi and he'd certainly not expected to find any viruses on dead matter. He might as well be looking at a slice of cork.

A blood sample, Perlman thought. Right out of its arm—won't C.J. just love that. And I need to find a way to tie a centrifuge into one of the diesel generators in the basement—now there was an adventure he could cheerfully put off until the next decade. The doctor frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. Obtaining a blood sample might prove nothing but a waste of time, if the blood turned out to be only that of the donor's. Or what if it was absorbed so rapidly that none was left, or no transfer of matter or cells occurred? He wondered if they could open the shelter door and toss in a meal just before sunrise, then chided himself on his foolishness. I'm spoiled, he realized sadly. For years he had simply submitted requisitions and purchase orders to obtain research supplies, samples, and equipment. At worst he had to attend a few administrative meetings. Now he'd have to make do.

A small tinkling from his alarm wristwatch—Calie's idea and a damned fine one—made Perlman realize he only had an hour of good daylight left. This makeshift laboratory was sinking quickly toward darkness, and he couldn't very well examine the tissue samples back in his original lab with its wall of large, northern windows. C.J. and Calie had provided three kerosene lamps to add to the battery-powered spotlight, and now the doctor noted that the spotlight's glow had faded to soft yellow and most of the room’s wan light came from those lamps. He pushed out of his chair and stood unsteadily; fatigue, the pain in his foot, and yesterday's blood loss still working on him. It was time to wrap it up and perform his final and irreversible experiment. He powered down the generator, pulled the slide from the microscope and carefully covered it with dark plastic, then swept the soiled slides, debris, and damaged samples into the trash; it was vital that he had fresh tissue to work with on a daily basis, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. That done, he snapped on the Maglite, extinguished the remaining lights, and hobbled back to his regular lab. Another five minutes' preparation and Perlman was ready.

He estimated that it only took four seconds to get the slide in place and flood it with nearly painful halogen light, yet already the tissue had started to disintegrate. Maybe, he mused, disintegrate was an incorrect term, one that implied decomposition. Dissolve was more accurate, or evaporate. He wished desperately for a higher magnification level. Perhaps a sudden, massive output of enzymes was causing the tissue to digest itself, with the sun’s rays as the catalyst. Or was it something more toxic, or a modulator, a type of noncompetitive inhibitor . . .

The slice of tissue was gone, like a fragment of shaved ice in August heat, before Perlman’s questions had even begun.

He sat back and mentally replayed the tissue self-destruction, comparing this viewing with the first experiment he'd performed on the fresh sample hours earlier. He flipped through his notes to make sure of the time—noon. The sun had been at its peak point beneath the gray clouds that had moved over the city yesterday evening. That small piece of flesh, purposely placed under the microscope by the window, had deteriorated at almost twice the rate of the one he'd just witnessed, a noteworthy example in terms of energy output versus retention. And more reason to get back to Water Tower, as another look at his watch verified. He stood hurriedly, glanced around, and decided everything could be left where it was overnight. His stomach growled and Perlman grinned; he'd quickly returned to forgotten habits—the days without meals and hours of not speaking to another person when he was heavy into a project. The future was sure to get him plenty of sleep though, since it remained impossible to work through the night. He'd be the most well-rested scientist in history.

Satisfied that nothing was running, Perlman slipped on his jacket and limped down to the first floor, letting himself out and locking up. Someone would be waiting for him at the Water Tower entrance, probably ready to come after him in another ten minutes if he didn't show. The freezing temperature and gusty wind made the empty length of Michigan Avenue desolate, especially against his memories of harried lunchtime crowds and the long-gone horns of the once-abundant taxis. Now it was . . . nothing, winding away to a gray, damp haze at either end, making him look forward to the company of Calie and the others, and maybe a hot bowl of canned stew, things that would warm him in body and spirit. He was tired, and it was nice to be heading home.

Home.

Now there was a good word.