Adrift 3: Rising (Adrift Series) (6 page)

The Craven ranch was a blemish on the barren Colorado landscape; a human stain on nature’s perfect canvas.

Set against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains, with the dense foliage of the White River National Park nestling against its northern perimeter, the ranch existed in near-total isolation, with no sign of civilization apparent for thirty miles in any direction. Only a single winding track—only the most charitable observer could label it a
road
—offered any indication at all that there might be something to see in this part of the country. Yet the track was little more than a scratch in the dirt, really, and only those few who knew to search for it would ever truly see it. Fewer still would even consider attempting to steer a vehicle along its treacherous length.

Where the Rennick family had been forced to carve out a hiding spot for their compound at the heart of a thick forest in the overcrowded south east of England, the Cravens had encountered no such difficulty. The vastness of America handed them obscurity on a plate.

Hundreds of years earlier, the Craven compound had begun life as a single large ranch house surrounded by smaller farm buildings, growing slowly over time until recent years, when it had swelled up like an out-of-control infection.

Roughly circular in shape, and with a high wall that ran around the entire circumference, the ranch was comprised of three main areas. The largest, the initiates’ area, was at the edge of the circle.

There, widely-spaced, single-level buildings provided a home for the new recruits, as well as training and recreation areas. The initiates’ area, which those at the ranch called the
Outer Ring
, was the newest part, and it was still a work-in-progress, always building. One of Jennifer Craven’s key methods for instilling loyalty was to put new faces to work on constructing their own homes and infrastructure. Making them feel invested in their new home. It made the eventual realisation that they were serving a strange new religion all the easier to take.

Beyond the Outer Ring, the road led to another wall, and to the clerics’ area. Only those who had passed the Ascension Test—murdering one of their fellow initiates in a grim re-enactment of a medieval duel—lived in that part of the ranch; all wore the tell-tale black robes that marked them out as true believers. Yet even they didn’t know the whole story, not even close. The truth—or, at least, what Craven and her forebears had believed to be the truth—was reserved only for those in the inner circle, who lived in or around the old ranch house, at the heart of the settlement.

Dan saw none of it, of course. The hood was still firmly on his head when Mancini hollered at somebody to open the gate, and the trucks rumbled inside. He listened intently, and heard the distant chorus of many voices, the background chatter of scattered crowds of people. It sounded like there were a lot of them, and overwhelmingly, the voices that he heard sounded young. Children; not nearly the hardened army of fanatics he had anticipated.

Anxiety shivered in his gut as he considered for the first time that, maybe, the newfound confidence and assurance he had discovered might have led him in the wrong direction.

The trucks continued on.

Transporting Dan and the others toward the middle of the great circle drawn in the Colorado wilderness.

Toward the centre of the bullseye.

*

Dan blinked as the hood was whipped from his head and harsh sunlight hit his eyes for the first time in an hour.

He was sitting at a huge table in what looked bizarrely like a corporate boardroom, lit by a single window at the far side of the room. Through it, he got his first glimpse of the ranch, and felt a rush of surprise.

Ranch in Colorado
had conjured images in his mind straight out of old cowboy movies: he had half-expected to see rickety wooden buildings and horses, leather chaps and six-shooters, maybe even saloon-style doors. Instead, the low buildings he saw beyond the window were functional brick constructions, apparently erected with no consideration for aesthetics. Most were a single storey in height; none boasted anything in the way of decoration.

He was instantly reminded of the Rennick compound back in south eastern England. There, the main house—a huge gothic mansion—had also been orbited by similar, newer structures, presumably built to accommodate the slowly growing population.

Here, though, the effect was magnified: the rapid expansion of the place that Mancini had described had prompted Craven to create something like a fast-growing shanty town. The overall effect—completed by the series of high walls he could see in the distance, dividing the place into distinct, secure segments—gave the place the feel of a military base, or one of those giant American superprisons. The only thing missing was watchtowers.

Which would
, he thought,
probably come in handy right about now
.

He lifted his gaze to the sky above the buildings. The sun was high now, and strong. He guessed it was already around midday. Time was slipping away, darkness approaching unnoticed.

He turned his attention to the room itself. The walls were made of old, dark panelled wood; bare aside from three large LCD televisions which sat at head-height, their screens dark. Other than the dormant TVs and the huge table, Dan saw only one other feature in the room: a single side-table with a few decanters of liquor and some upturned glasses sitting atop it.

The main table had seating for twelve, but for the moment, only four of the chairs had been taken. The British prisoners were still alone with Mancini.

The American pulled a knife from his belt and slashed away the plastic cuffs that had bound Dan’s hands together since they had landed.

Dan winced, rubbing at the sore flesh on his wrists, watching as Mancini freed the others in turn and removed their hoods. When it was done, only Remy remained shackled—leashed to one of the huge table’s sturdy legs by a length of rope. The dog looked distinctly unhappy about
that
, and peered up at Conny, as if silently asking for her permission to begin chewing through it.

Conny scratched Remy’s ears, and he dropped his nose, chagrined.

Mancini tossed the hoods into the centre of the table.

“Nice place, Mancini. Decor needs a little work. Splash of colour would really make the place pop, you know? Hey, is that
whiskey
I see?”

Mancini sighed heavily, and Dan chuckled to himself. Herb was just
relentless
.

“I’ll be back with the Grand Cleric in a few minutes,” Mancini said gruffly. Apparently, he had decided that the best way to deal with Herb was to flatly ignore him. Dan didn’t think that would last long. “If anyone else enters this room while I’m gone, keep your mouths shut.”

Mancini stared balefully at Herb for a moment and then, without another word, he stalked away. Moments later, Dan heard a door slam behind him and a lock engaged with a soft
snick
. Silence fell upon the room.

“Alone at last,” Herb said, heaving a mock-sigh. He stood, making his way to the side-table and picked up a decanter, taking a large swig directly from it.

“Rum,” he said grimly, wrinkling his nose. “Who keeps rum in a decanter?”

He held out the drink, offering it around the table. No one responded.

“What do we do now?” Conny said.

“Now,” Herb replied, shrugging and taking another hit from the decanter, “we listen, and Dan talks.”

Dan blinked in surprise as Herb turned toward him and met his eyes with a piercing stare. “You can start with the black river.”

At the mention of the river, Dan felt a jolt of the old anxiety lancing his chest. Talking about it was the one thing he had avoided. For
years
.

“You first mentioned it back in London,” Herb said. “It didn’t seem to me like something that had just occurred to you. It seemed important, and I’ve had a gut full of people keeping important information from me. So I want to know what it is, Dan. Right now. No more keeping us in the dark. If you know something, I...” he glanced at Conny, “
we
want to know it.”

Herb sat back in his chair, folding his arms, and glared at Dan expectantly.

Conny nodded, and her eyes, too, fell on Dan.

Dan’s shoulders slumped.

And he sucked in a deep breath.

*

Herb watched Dan’s reaction carefully. At the mention of the black river, his body stiffened momentarily, and his eyes lost their focus. Fear lined his face. It was, Herb thought, an instinctive response, like watching somebody snatching their hand away from a flame.

Dan’s shoulders slumped, and for a second he stared straight through Herb. He looked like he was weighing up some terrible decision, some choice where every alternative was undesirable.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Two years ago, I was attacked by a mugger.” Dan reached up to his thick mop of hair, pulling it back from his forehead to reveal an ugly scar that ran down his temple. Herb blinked. He had noticed the scar once before, and had been aware of how keen Dan was to hide it. It was a subject Herb had meant to bring up, before events in London pushed it from his mind.

“He stabbed me in the head,” Dan continued, letting his unruly fringe fall back into place. “I nearly died. Maybe should have died. I was in a coma for weeks. ‘Serious brain damage,’ the doctors said. “I was...lucky to be alive.”

Tears filled Dan’s eyes, and he shook his head suddenly, as though he regretted saying anything. For a moment, his eyes were lost in memories.

“I started to suffer panic attacks. Post-traumatic stress. That’s what the doctors said, and the therapist. It made sense, I suppose, and they told me that what I was going through was perfectly...
normal
. But each time I had a panic attack, I’d see the same thing. Visions, nightmares, whatever you want to call it. Always the same thing. A river of black water, pouring over me, sweeping me away. And every time I fell into the river, I would feel the same, like the current was dragging me toward something…awful. Death, perhaps. Insanity; I don’t know. Medication helped, a little, but I always knew it was there, bubbling away under the surface, waiting to take me away.”

Herb’s eyes widened. “You think that injury changed you. You think
that’s
the reason the vampires can’t affect you.”

It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t need to be. Herb saw the answer clearly. It was written plainly across Dan’s face.

Dan remained silent, and stayed that way for what felt like an eternity.

“I saw the river aboard the Oceanus, the first time one of the vampires tried to break into my mind. I saw it again in London, but it was different. When I was in the vampire’s head…” Dan’s voice thickened. He swallowed audibly. “When I was in the vampire’s head, I think
it
saw the river, too, not just me. I think the river was
speaking
to it. Not controlling it exactly, but...I don’t know.” he shrugged. “I think the river is real. I think it is…how they communicate.”

He shook his head again, slowly.

“No, that’s not it. It’s more like something that is communicating with them. With
all
of them.”

Herb frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

Dan snorted a humourless laugh.

“That makes two of us. It’s hard to explain.” He paused, heaving a deep sigh, as though searching for the right words. “You know how ant nests operate?”

Herb’s frown deepened.

“I saw a show about it once,” Dan said, becoming more animated. “The ants have a queen, right? Each nest has a queen. And all the ants, all the soldiers and workers and flying ants, all the different types, they all operate in perfect harmony, because they are all directed by her. They work together, but it is the queen that lays down the rules, the queen who controls the whole nest. She is connected to all the other ants, and all her little footsoldiers are like one huge organism. I think the vampires work the same way. They are like insects. The ones we see are the soldiers, but something out there is commanding them. Organising them.”

“So…each nest of vampires has a queen?”

Dan grunted.

“I think all the nests have
one
queen. I think the whole world is one nest. All the vampires, all over the planet, they are all in thrall to this one entity. They all swim in the black river. It is the river that directs them, that gives them purpose. The river that organises them; tells them when to wake, when to breed, when to attack.”

“A
river
,” Herb repeated dubiously. The tale Dan was spinning was incredible, and difficult to believe, but it was abundantly clear that
Dan
believed it. As far as Herb knew, there was nothing in the history of the Order that suggested the existence of a vampire ruler, but that proved nothing. Virtually everything the Order believed had already turned out to be a lie, or poor guesswork.