Read Online Vampirus (Book 1) by Jack Hamlyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Hamlyn
Tags: Vampires
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coming. He knew it was.
When they knocked on the door, Luke answered it. He was thinking of hiding, pretending no one was home. But there was no point. He’d been getting medicine from the hospital like so many others and he was certain their names were on a list somewhere. The guy who came to the door was a staff sergeant with the Wisconsin National Guard, 32 nd Infantry. He wanted to know if there were any dead in the house. They—the Guard—were tasked with collecting bodies.
“ What are they doing with them?” Luke asked.
“ They’re being buried to stop the spread of the germ,” was all he would say.
Luke pressed him with questions but he was your typical pushbutton military automaton. He knew the sort. He’d spent plenty of time with them when he was in the Marines.
Buried? This time of year?
Bullshit.
The ser geant said they’d be back, but Luke had no intention of opening the door for them again. Sonja and Megan were not dead but if things got desperate enough, he didn’t think such things would matter to the jarheads in charge: they’d just grab anyone that didn’t move fast enough.
Good God. Body wagons. Siege mentality. It was fucking Medieval.
22
Megan was slipping away.
Lying in her bed, she looked like a skeleton covered in the thinnest veneer of flesh. She was pallid, her skin a waxy, colorless membrane. It took real effort for her to draw in a breath. Luke couldn’t get any food into her. He didn’t know what the hell to do. How was a man supposed to sit there while his daughter died a slow, lingering death? How was he supposed to go on and face the days to come with such memories and such horrible guilt?
He held her hand for over two hours, just watching her. Her flesh was hot and moist to the touch. She trembled and cried out now and again with dreams. All he really could do was hold onto her as he sat there in her room which was a womb of memories while tears rolled down his face and struck the back of his hand. There were posters of Tinkerbell and iCarly on the walls, Junie Jones paperbacks spilling from the bookshelf, Baby-So-Real and Littlest Petshop toys in the corner, abandoned. He could remember good times that made his heart ache and his soul bleed: reading to Megan before bed when she was smaller, Fox in Sox and Ten Apples up on Top and In a People House. He would make up crazy voices for all the characters and she would laugh and laugh, fresh from the tub with that sweet baby shampoo smell to her. Then they’d turn off the lights and he’d cozy her, making up crazy stories until Sonja would come up the stairs and say, all right, Luke, she needs to get to sleep. And sometimes by then he was already asleep himself, holding his daughter, warm and content with the love of her.
Seven-years old. Seven fucking years old.
And dying.
Dying.
His guts were being ripped out and he didn’t know what to do, God help him, but he did not know what to do. Sometimes he couldn’t stop crying and other times, there were no tears left.
She woke around two in the afternoon for a few moments, putting her blue eyes on him. Those eyes had been brilliant as a summer sky not a month ago but were now worn, glazed, used up. He could literally hear his heart breaking.
“ I see him in the corner, daddy,” she said.
Luke wiped the tears away, because he had to be strong. “Who, baby? Who do you see?”
She stared off into space. “The man, the man. He was standing in the corner the other day…now he’s at the end of the bed. He keeps getting closer. I’m afraid.”
There was no one there. It was a fever dream, a hallucination. That ’s all it was and all it could be. He had to keep telling himself that. He could not read too much into it or let himself start believing that the Angel of Death had come for his little girl.
There ’s limits. Limits to what I’m willing to accept and I can’t accept that, because if I did, if I did…
Megan closed her eyes after that.
He was
When they knocked on the door, Luke answered it. He was thinking of hiding, pretending no one was home. But there was no point. He’d been getting medicine from the hospital like so many others and he was certain their names were on a list somewhere. The guy who came to the door was a staff sergeant with the Wisconsin National Guard, 32 nd Infantry. He wanted to know if there were any dead in the house. They—the Guard—were tasked with collecting bodies.
“ What are they doing with them?” Luke asked.
“ They’re being buried to stop the spread of the germ,” was all he would say.
Luke pressed him with questions but he was your typical pushbutton military automaton. He knew the sort. He’d spent plenty of time with them when he was in the Marines.
Buried? This time of year?
Bullshit.
The ser geant said they’d be back, but Luke had no intention of opening the door for them again. Sonja and Megan were not dead but if things got desperate enough, he didn’t think such things would matter to the jarheads in charge: they’d just grab anyone that didn’t move fast enough.
Good God. Body wagons. Siege mentality. It was fucking Medieval.
22
Megan was slipping away.
Lying in her bed, she looked like a skeleton covered in the thinnest veneer of flesh. She was pallid, her skin a waxy, colorless membrane. It took real effort for her to draw in a breath. Luke couldn’t get any food into her. He didn’t know what the hell to do. How was a man supposed to sit there while his daughter died a slow, lingering death? How was he supposed to go on and face the days to come with such memories and such horrible guilt?
He held her hand for over two hours, just watching her. Her flesh was hot and moist to the touch. She trembled and cried out now and again with dreams. All he really could do was hold onto her as he sat there in her room which was a womb of memories while tears rolled down his face and struck the back of his hand. There were posters of Tinkerbell and iCarly on the walls, Junie Jones paperbacks spilling from the bookshelf, Baby-So-Real and Littlest Petshop toys in the corner, abandoned. He could remember good times that made his heart ache and his soul bleed: reading to Megan before bed when she was smaller, Fox in Sox and Ten Apples up on Top and In a People House. He would make up crazy voices for all the characters and she would laugh and laugh, fresh from the tub with that sweet baby shampoo smell to her. Then they’d turn off the lights and he’d cozy her, making up crazy stories until Sonja would come up the stairs and say, all right, Luke, she needs to get to sleep. And sometimes by then he was already asleep himself, holding his daughter, warm and content with the love of her.
Seven-years old. Seven fucking years old.
And dying.
Dying.
His guts were being ripped out and he didn’t know what to do, God help him, but he did not know what to do. Sometimes he couldn’t stop crying and other times, there were no tears left.
She woke around two in the afternoon for a few moments, putting her blue eyes on him. Those eyes had been brilliant as a summer sky not a month ago but were now worn, glazed, used up. He could literally hear his heart breaking.
“ I see him in the corner, daddy,” she said.
Luke wiped the tears away, because he had to be strong. “Who, baby? Who do you see?”
She stared off into space. “The man, the man. He was standing in the corner the other day…now he’s at the end of the bed. He keeps getting closer. I’m afraid.”
There was no one there. It was a fever dream, a hallucination. That ’s all it was and all it could be. He had to keep telling himself that. He could not read too much into it or let himself start believing that the Angel of Death had come for his little girl.
There ’s limits. Limits to what I’m willing to accept and I can’t accept that, because if I did, if I did…
Megan closed her eyes after that.
He was
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