The Fugitives, A Dystopian Vampire Novel: Book Four: The Superiors Series (9 page)

CHAPTER sixteen

Draven didn’t see Eva again, but one night, not long after their encounter, he saw her saps again. One night, when most Superiors were at work, he carried each of the sapiens out and granted them freedom. The process proved slower than he’d expected, with some of the sapiens screaming and fighting him and some not waking to consciousness. Trying to explain what he was doing, the reason for it, took even longer.

What was wrong with saps? Even when broken and starved and dying, they could only argue when he tried to grant them freedom. He knew this freedom was frightening and dangerous. But at least they had a chance. When he’d had that chance, he’d taken it. Were they so much changed from when he’d been one of them?

The people who had brought them there had done a thorough job of terrorizing the saps against the blood bank. It loomed in their minds as a mythical place, filled with each one’s private nightmare. Somehow they believed they were free already, that they had chosen this life and that the blood bank would be the bondage they dreaded so much that they would die horribly in a basement to avoid.

They did not know freedom, not enough to know they hadn’t found it. Draven didn’t imagine he knew, either. Once, he’d thought he found it. But now he only ran from one person and then another, his life growing more violent and desperate each time he fled. But this thing he had done, without regard to punishment, was right. In some way it made up for the wrong he’d done Cali, even if she never knew it.

Perhaps he was no more free than these skeletal animals squatting on the broken pavement in a huddle. He only thought he’d found freedom, and he would do anything for it, even take another’s freedom. And perhaps all along he remained as trapped as they were.

Draven left them, wondering to what lengths he would go before the cost of freedom became greater than the thing itself. What was it, this freedom he wanted so badly? Was it only an idea, like love, that never became reality? Perhaps it wasn’t freedom at all, but his own human youthfulness that he chased, the feeling he’d had in those years he’d spent as a sapien, when all ideas carried such optimistic conviction. When he had believed in all of them, freedom and love and absolute truth, even equality, as he lay with that first woman who had educated him so thoroughly with her ideas that he thought them his own. Afterwards, when he had thought himself free, but was only running, as he did now.

When he returned to the stone house, he stood outside Cali’s hut for a moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to enter. Instead, he turned away and went into the Superior house, the prison-grey walls of his freedom, the prison of illness in his mind that he could no longer deny or escape.

CHAPTER seventeen

Meyer arrived at his office in Moines to great fanfare. The staff had decorated his office with banners, the screen had been expanded to fill all four walls, and 4-D fireworks exploded on them when he entered. Meyer laughed, delighted by their happiness at his return. Perhaps it was the power they knew he possessed, but he didn’t see the difference between respect for money and respect for person. He was a person with money. The reason was irrelevant, as long as they showed him proper respect.

It wasn’t until nearly morning, when one of his PR girls came by his office, that his day got really interesting.

“Hello, sir,” she said, inclining her head. “May I speak with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Meyer said, gesturing grandly to the seat across from his desk. “I’m catching up on some files and figures. What can I do for the lovely Eva?”

“I only wanted a word with you, sir.”

“Yes, I know. Get on with it, please. I’m happy to spare you a moment, but you know I am busy.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry. You know how Jerry and I have that…side project?”

“Right, yes, go on.”

“There has been…a…”

“Spit it out, dear. What’s wrong now? Did one of your pets die?”

“No, sir. Not exactly. We had a…break.”

“A what?”

“I may have…mistakenly judged someone,” she said, then hurried to explain. “I met a man at a bar. He didn’t have papers. You know, a drifter. I gave him your card, told him to look you up. He was so hungry he couldn’t take his eyes off my drink the whole night. So I wanted to feed him.”

“Ah, so he stole your saps?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you gave him charity, and he betrayed your trust? And you want me to get them back and punish him?”

“I, uh…”

“Here now, just tell me straight, alright? Don’t waste my time beating around the bush, as my mother would say.”

“What bush?”

“Never mind. So, do you know the name of this tosser?”

“Actually, sir, there’s something else I should tell you.”

“What is it?” These Third Orders always bumbled about and couldn’t put a sentence together for a truckload of sap.

Eva paused before answering. “He may not have stolen the saps.”

“Then what’s the problem? He killed them? Brought his friends along?”

“No, he, uh…let them loose?”

“He left the door to the shelter open?”

“Not exactly. He let them loose.”

Meyer closed his eyes and summoned patience. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“He opened the door, and took them out. They said—more than one of them, too, told me the same story—he carried them all up the stairs and told them he was granting them freedom. He even gave a few of them the clothes he was wearing.”

“A drifter with more conscience than appetite? Impossible. I’ve never known one to refuse a drink.”

“I haven’t, either. But he got very upset when I showed him the place, threatened it. I moved the key, but I guess he found it. He wouldn’t eat, though he took every drink I offered.”

“You shagged?” Meyer asked. Although shagging hadn’t turned out to have the same appeal for him as it did for most Superiors, Meyer knew its power. He was glad not to be distracted by such silly physical sensations, but it was a handy tool when used properly.

Eva frowned at Meyer’s drumming fingers. “Uh, yes. A few days after I showed him the shelter.”

“After he let the saps out? Was he that thrilling, or were you trying to catch him?”

“Actually, he let them out a few days after the…shagging.”

Meyer laughed. “Not impressed, I see. I’m surprised. Usually men are quite taken with you, aren’t they?”

“I suppose.”

“Did he get his rocks off with any of your saps?”

“Of course not.” Meyer enjoyed Eva’s scandalized expression. “But,” she added a moment later, “He didn’t with me, either.”

“Here now, what a shame,” Meyer said. “Different strokes for different folks, my mum used to say. Everyone has his own tastes,” he explained before she could ask. Thirds never understood old sapien expressions. “So, what would you have me do?”

“Punish him? Threaten, at least. Or better yet, give me a place for the shelter.”

“I don’t want to get involved. You know that. Too risky for me. I condone what you’re doing, but I don’t want to know anything, not even where the shelter is. If you want to make it a legal, charitable organization, I’ll put my finger in the pie then.”

“What’s pie?”

“Oh, bollocks. Never mind,” Meyer said, waving a hand. “I’ll see what I can do about the man. He needs papers?”

“I guess. Unless he was some left-wing human-rights nut who was just faking it to try to find something to get up in arms about.”

“Awfully big coincidence that he’d find you, isn’t it? Besides, it would be all over the news by now if one of those activist crazies were involved.”

“True. I don’t mean to keep you. His name is Draven. I don’t know his last name. But I know you’ll find him. You have a way of finding things.”

“Yes, anything can be found with the right motivations. Draven, is it? I’ll let you know.”

When Eva left, Meyer leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs while he studied his shiny shoes with a frown. Draven Castle was in Moines. Was it the same man? He did have a record of stealing saps. Although apparently he had enough on his plate with Byron’s and had left Eva’s to fend for themselves. His record hadn’t indicated much of an activist inclination, but he had that one arrest some years back…

The legs of Meyer’s chair hit the floor with a sound like gunshots. He would indeed look into this. If it was the same man, this was getting more and more interesting. True, this Draven fellow wasn’t anywhere near as clever as Meyer, but he seemed to have an affinity for law-breaking, and Meyer could appreciate defiance. It was his pastime, something to break the monotony and give his enemies’ hatred credence. He wouldn’t have been so keen on breaking the law if he’d been a desperado, but each had his own style. He was looking forward to meeting this Draven character.

On the other hand, he hoped it wasn’t the same Draven that had stolen Byron’s sap. He wouldn’t be begging for drinks at a bar unless he’d lost Byron’s sap or she’d died along the way. That was a pity. Meyer would have liked to use his knowledge of Byron’s weakness against him a little longer. He’d only toyed with the Enforcer a little. There was so much more fun he could have had.

Oh well. He’d find out soon enough. Maybe this was something else he could use to his advantage. Knowledge in itself was power. And he knew exactly where Draven was, because he had arranged his living situation.

CHAPTER eighteen

Cali woke before dawn and sat up. The faint sound of the door to the house closing must have woken her. Shivering, she rose from her bed and pulled her blanket around her. Rain had seeped under the door while she slept, and the packed earth floor had a thin layer of water on it. Her feet made wet sounds as she walked to the door. More water came in when she opened it, flowing eagerly into the opening. She found a bag of food by the door and went back to her mat on the floor. Lightning flickered, illuminating the room for a moment, long enough for her to snatch the flashlight from beside the bed. She dried it on her shift and began cranking the handle.

When the light had charged, she switched it on and looked into the woven plastic bag. Draven had brought good stuff—a package of cornbread squares, two cans of corn, a small round cake, and a box of crackers, three shriveled sweet potatoes with tender white sprouts. She stashed the food on the single shelf, the lightning giving her as much light as the flashlight. It had been raining for two days and two nights without stopping. Everything was wet.

She looked out the small square window. Draven had covered it with smudgy glass with black stains on it, like it had been burned. But it was better than having the cold and rain come in. The glass didn’t fit exactly. A corner of it was missing, but Draven had stuffed a t-shirt in the opening, and it didn’t leak unless the wind blew right at it. Outside, water pooled on the flat ground of the backyard, now too wet to absorb more.

Directly under her window, a pile of soggy cornstalks lay molding, perfuming the night with its musty smell. She’d woken one morning to find huge stacks of the dry stalks piled outside her house. Draven had come inside and showed her how to bend and twist the stalks, how to tear the leaves off to use as kindling, and instructed her on when to feed the fire. He hadn’t looked at her the entire time.

She’d burned most of the pile—it burned much faster than she’d expected—and he’d brought more, which now lay limp and bedraggled in the rain. She had no heat, but the walls had warmed from her nightly fires. Long before her arrival, smoke had stained them grey, and they’d absorbed the smell, so she didn’t worry about damaging the house.

Besides the visit to teach her how to make fire, Draven had stayed away from her house after the first few days. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, although she woke sometimes when he did things to her house, like installed a window or improved the hinging mechanism on the door. In the dark, she’d hear him moving around. To her surprise, she found herself missing him. Except for a few stiff conversations with Draven, she hadn’t talked to anyone in a month. Back home, she’d had people to talk to every day. Even at Byron’s, she’d had Shelly.

Hearing Draven working around her house reminded her that he still took care of her even when it seemed he’d forgotten her. He hadn’t, of course—he brought her food every few days without asking if she needed it, fixed things on her house, brought her fuel. But he didn’t read to her anymore, didn’t eat. She wondered if he did these things with the women he went to see.

It was her own fault. She could have gone into the house and talked to him if she wanted. But something had changed that day, something in the way she saw him. He’d always been the capable, strong, infallible one. He looked after her and kept her safe. She’d thought of him as remote and inhuman, even when she saw how similar they were. That day, though, she’d seen that other thing inside him. Of course, she’d seen him naked before, and she knew he had the same thing as a human man. But the other thing—the desire to use it—had remained a vague notion.

She could still feel him in her hand, that thing that she’d never fully realized he had. Until she’d touched it with a sort of curious wonderment, that soft thing that suddenly had changed. She hadn’t wanted to stop exploring even when she knew what had begun to happen; she had so much more she wanted to know. But she hadn’t thought of what exactly she was doing to
him
. She knew he went to see women, but it hadn’t seemed so real before then—that he did the thing he called sex, that he wanted it the same as any human, that he was a living, sexual being.

It made her heart catch and her face flush with heat thinking about it, exactly as it had done when it happened. He’d always been so cool and calculating that she’d thought sex was like that for him, too. Until part of him had moved on its own, as if a separate being from him, yearning and undeniable. Like a kitten pushing its head into her palm to be petted, the way it pushed up into her hand, retreated a second, nuzzled her hand again. But it wasn’t a kitten. She’d never known a part of him could be so alive, so raw and primal. That part of him, moving while the rest of him lay perfectly still, terrified her.

Something about it had excited her, too, though. She had to admit that. That she’d wanted to do something…not sex. Not that. But she’d wanted to see it, study all the wonder of it, without worrying he’d hurt her. She’d never known it could grow and throb and contract like that all on its own. Maybe, for a fraction of a second, she’d thought she could ask, could see it underneath his clothes. She’d been so scared, though, and when she looked at him…

He hadn’t thought it was wonderful or mesmerizing. Of course not. He knew all about those things, while she was just a stupid girl who had done something stupid. In return, he’d pulled a joke on her. Though she deserved it, she couldn’t quite forgive him, or herself, for it. So she’d stayed away.

She’d left to punish him, at least partly, but he didn’t even care. It felt more like he was punishing her. She ought to be glad he didn’t suck her blood anymore, that he had found someone else to feed from. But she missed him. Sometimes, she even missed him feeding from her, the way he’d hold her so close and stroke her while he pressed into her nourishment.

Her mattress was wet through. Everything in her house smelled of mud. She walked around the tiny room a few times until the floor developed a squishy, muddy feeling, and then she sat on her wet bed and shivered. When the rain stopped in the afternoon, she splashed through the backyard to Draven’s house. At the back door, she paused. She hadn’t been inside the house for two weeks at least. It didn’t feel like hers anymore, like a place she could just walk into. Draven didn’t seem like a friend anymore.

When she’d waited a while, and he hadn’t come to the door, she went inside. The house was colder than she remembered, as cold as outside. Draven must have turned on the heat for her while she’d stayed inside. In the bathroom, she showered in warm water until she stopped shivering. Still, she felt cold inside. She picked up her damp, dirty sweater, but she couldn’t bring herself to put it on.

After standing in the bathroom looking at her clothes for a long time, she wrapped a big, soft towel around herself and went into the bedroom. Before she met Draven, she’d never worn anything as nice as the towel. If she’d been able to figure out how to keep it on, she would have been happy to wear that. In the bedroom, she moved quietly, remembering with shame how she’d woken him last time she’d been in the room with him. He lay in the bed, deep in his still, silent sleep.

In the dim light from the open door, he looked even deader than she’d remembered. His skin had turned from light brown to grey, and his eyes had sunken into his head, like a very old man but without wrinkles. His face wasn’t thinner, but his cheeks appeared sunken somehow, his mouth drawn down at the corners.

Cali kept glancing at the bed while she looked for clothes, but Draven lay motionless as a corpse put to bed. She opened the drawers as quietly as she could and found a pair of white underwear that looked close enough to the regulation sapien ones she had worn her whole life. Having checked to make sure Draven still slept, she dropped the towel and pulled them on. Then she searched for a pair of pants. Though the person who lived in the house was skinny, when they’d arrived, Cali had been so thin the woman’s clothes hung loose on her. Over the past month, she’d eaten well and regained her natural shape. She could just barely button the pants she’d chosen, but since she’d worn nothing but a shift her whole life, tight clothes felt too restrictive. She peeled them off again.

She heard the sheets rustling, but she didn’t look at Draven again until she’d found a strangely shaped shift and pulled it over her head. Then she turned back to the bed where he lay in the same spot, his eyes open. He wasn’t moving, not even breathing.

“You’re sick,” she said.

“I know.”

His admission surprised her, that he didn’t say he was fine, like usual. “What’s wrong with you? I didn’t know you could get sick.”

“I don’t.” He smiled, a tiny pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And you? Are you well?”

“I’m okay. But I won’t be if you die. What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop being like this,” Cali said, turning to him with her hands on her hips. “Tell me what’s wrong. I know I moved into the sapien house, but that’s where I belong. You don’t have to punish me for it. I said I was sorry about the other thing. Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never angry at you, Cali.”

“Well, then stop acting like it and let me help you for once. You’ve taken care of me and kept me alive this whole time. Now you need me, so let me help you.”

“There’s nothing to be done. I already tried.”

“Well, you look awful. Here, can you eat without being sick?” Cali sat on the edge of the bed and held out her arm.

“Don’t,” he said, turning his face away. “Don’t come closer. It could be dangerous for you.”

“Well, I’ll probably die if you die, so why does it matter? Just eat if it might make you better.”

“I don’t—.”

Cali leaned over and pressed her wrist to his lips.

He flung her arm away so hard her shoulder caught with a jolt of pain.

“Stop.
Merde.
What are you thinking?” he said.  “Do you not know that I am dangerous to you?”

“I don’t care. I’ve staked Superiors before. Do you really think I’m scared of you?”

“You’re a fool if you’re not.”

“Fine, then I’m stupid. Just a brainless sap, right? Now please eat and stop being a baby.”

“A baby?”

“Yes, a baby. So I moved out to the sapien house where I belong. That’s where I should be and you know it. But you can’t just accept that and treat me like a regular master would. No, you slink around pouting and sulking and looking all hurt like I wronged you.”

He looked surprised, but after a moment he said, “I wronged
you.
”

“No, you didn’t. I was the one who looked at your…down there…”

“And I made you—”

“No, you didn’t. I wanted to. Okay? So stop acting all oddball. I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t know what I was touching?”

“I don’t—”

“Good. Then eat something.” She shoved her wrist against his mouth, and this time, he took it. He pressed his nose against it, closed his eyes, and drew in one long breath. When he released her hand, he had a vulnerable look about him, almost like he was the innocent one.

“Did you know,” he whispered, “what it would do to me?”

Her skin warmed, and she could feel him like she had that night, relentless and demanding, lunging into her hand the way her heart gave a little lunge every time she thought of it. She swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. If she admitted she hadn’t known, he’d laugh at her again. If she said she’d had known, he might think…

After an endless moment of silence, he spoke. “Can I…can you…” He didn’t finish, just pulled her towards him. Cali hesitated and then pushed back the blankets and slid under. She’d forgotten the bed’s wonderfulness, although anything dry would have felt wonderful right then. This bed was soft as clouds but cold now. And Draven wasn’t slightly warm like last time she’d touched him. He was as icy cold as the house.

“You want me to lay with you?” she asked.

“More than you know.” He smiled, a ghost of his usual amused smile.

“Well, I’m here. Go on and do it.”

“If you knew what you were saying,” he said, pushing up on one elbow and smiling down at her. He put his hand on her chest, ran his knuckle up her neck and raised her chin. “You look well,” he said. “You’re lovely in a party frock.”

He put his face to her throat, penetrated quickly, drew in a breath, and pulled. Shivers coursed through her, from his cold and the pull she could feel through her whole self. As she breathed past the first moment of pain, she realized how much she’d missed this. His cold breath on her skin, his mouth on her throat, the gentle way he petted her, and the feeling
she
got when he did all that. Like everything was right again. A dreamy, peaceful feeling blanketed her, like she had to relax whether she wanted to or not. And this other feeling, tingly and languorous, while he caressed her in that familiar, adoring way.

The light from outside had quit the sky, and she could only see the shadowy shape of Draven. She raised her hands to his head and petted his hair, still soft. Instead of looking bouncy and floaty, it lay limp and dull on his head. The rest of him had come to life, and his pulls had become less gentle and more urgent. Something in her responded, and she tugged at his hair, pulled him closer, into her arms, rose up to meet his need. He shifted his body around, keeping his hold on her waist, sucking harder and turning so he lay on his stomach beside her. She hardly noticed the small moaning noises he made, the way he pressed against her with every pull of his mouth, or that she still held his hair in both her hands.