23 Hours: A Vengeful Vampire Tale

14.

Thank God,” Caxton said, stepping forward, out of the cell. “I thought he was going to kill me. You saved my life.”

Harelip prodded the half-dead’s headless body with the end of her shotgun. She knelt down next to the corpse and touched its back. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said. She sounded like she was a long way away. “I thought it was Murphy I was shooting. I wouldn’t have used lethal force on Murphy, no matter what. I’ve worked with him for seven years.”

“That thing was a vampire’s servant,” Caxton said, trying to explain. “When a vampire kills someone, they can—”

“Murphy was no fucking vampire!” Harelip shouted.

“That’s not what I was trying to say,” Caxton tried, in as soothing a voice as she could.

Harelip turned and looked at the dead bodies on the floor of the SHU, and at the bodies in the cell behind Caxton. Her eyes stopped focusing for a second. Caxton had seen this before: most people, even hardened law-enforcement types, lost their reason for a moment the first time they saw the kind of violence that vampires or even just half-deads could create. Maybe Harelip had seen murder victims before. Maybe she’d seen people stabbed with shanks more times than she could count. But the kind of chaos the half-dead had created was still new for her, and it would take her a while to process it. Caxton just didn’t have the time to let her work through it on her own.

“There will be more of them. They’ll send ten of those things next time. Or the vampire will come herself. You can’t stop a vampire with a beanbag round. We need to get the door closed. We need to lock down this unit. Right now.”

“You giving me orders now?” Harelip demanded.

“No. No, of course not. This is your show.”

Harelip spun around and focused on Caxton. “You lie down on the floor, hands behind your head. We’re going to do this by the book.”

“Listen,” Caxton said. “Your name is Worth, right?”

“My name is fuck you, bitch,” Harelip said, breaking open her shotgun and taking a fresh beanbag round from a pouch at her belt. “I said get down on the floor, on your goddamned belly.”

Caxton raised both hands to where the female CO could see them and dropped to one knee. “There are vampires in the prison. All that screaming—I know that sound. You must know who I am. I’m Laura Caxton. I’m the vampire hunter. I know all about vampires. I know how to keep us all alive, but you have to listen to me.”

“And I damned well know you know who I am. I am your boss!” Harelip screamed, jabbing her shotgun at Caxton like a spear. “I don’t know shit about vampires, maybe, but I know exactly what to do when I got a prisoner out of her cell and acting violent. You’re going back in your cell, and you ain’t coming out until this emergency is over. We’ve got a protocol for this.”

Caxton knew that if Harelip put her back in her cell, she would be a sitting duck for the next vampire—or half-dead—to come into the SHU. She was absolutely certain that someone would come looking for her again. She had to do something, anything, to keep that from happening. “Your protocol must include calling for backup, right? You’re not supposed to do this on your own.”

“I already tried calling central. Nobody’s responding. It sounds like there’s riots breaking out all over the facility.” Harelip shook her head. “You going to do what you’re told, or are we going to have a problem?”

Caxton knelt down in front of the CO, her hands still up and visible. “We just need to think about this, okay? What’s the next step of your protocol? It’s got to be to lock down the unit. To close that door.”

She looked over at the heavy reinforced door that was the only way in or out of the SHU. Harelip followed her gaze.

“Shit,” the female CO said. She was breathing heavily. “Down. Now.”

Caxton nodded and dropped to her belly, weaving the fingers of her hands together behind her head. She could just crane her head far enough up to watch Harelip run back inside her guard post and slam the palm of her hand against a big red button on her control panel. A buzzer sounded and the reinforced door started to slide along its tracks.

Beyond the door something moved. Caxton heard rubber boots squeaking on a cement floor, running right toward her. There had to be more half-deads out there, she realized. They’d been waiting, maybe waiting for Harelip to get Caxton into her cell. Now that the door was closing they were in a real hurry to get inside.

The door kept sliding closed. But it was taking its time.

“Faster,” Caxton breathed. “Faster!”

It did no good. The door was designed to close slowly so that anyone standing in the doorway would have plenty of time to get out of the way.

Outside, the footsteps were coming closer. It was dark out there, but Caxton thought she could see something moving, moving toward her.

“Come on,” she said. “Come on!”

The door was still open by a foot when the first half-dead thudded against it from the far side. They hammered and beat on it, making a rattling, clattering noise. Then one of them had the bright idea to try to slip through the door as it closed. A hand speckled with blood came through the gap, followed by a shoulder wearing the brown patch of a Pennsylvania corrections officer.

The door kept closing. Caxton watched as the half-dead’s arm came farther inside the SHU—and then as the door crushed it. The half-dead squealed in terror and tried to pull its arm back, but the door was still closing.

It clanged shut when it reached the end of its rails. There was no blood, but the half-dead’s severed forearm, still inside the SHU, dropped with a wet sound on the cement floor.

Then it started dragging itself across the floor. Using its fingers as legs, it pulled along the severed stump behind it. It was crawling toward Caxton where she lay on her belly, intent, she was sure, on no good.

“Holy fuck,” Harelip shouted, and came running out of her guard post. “What the hell is that thing?”

“I tried to tell you,” Caxton said, losing some of her patience. She jumped up and ran over to stamp on the crawling hand until she broke the finger bones and stopped it from moving. “This is not just a riot. This is not just an escape attempt. The prison is under attack by unnatural, evil creatures.”

Harelip stared hard at her. Her nostrils were flaring.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “There are no exceptions. During emergencies prisoners must remain in their cells. The warden will send special teams to remove us when it’s safe, and get us to a secure place.”

“Special teams. You mean teams of COs?” Caxton asked.

“Yes, stupid,” Harelip said, scowling.

“You mean—like Murphy? Maybe like the one who gave us this?” she demanded, stamping again on the hand, which was still trying to wriggle around her bare foot. “He was wearing a CO’s uniform, too.”

Harelip might have responded with a curse, or by hitting Caxton with her baton. She didn’t get a chance, however. The buzzer sounded again, and the reinforced door started to slide back open on its rails.