The Becoming

Chapter Twenty-Two

Once past the rock, the tunnel entrance yawns open. There are lights here. Electric lamps hang on hooks that stretch past my line of sight like a string of oversized Christmas lights. There are no hiding places, though, so if I meet anyone I'll have two choices—talk my way in, or subdue them with the Taser.

I unclip the Taser from my belt and hold it at the ready.

I hug the wall, following it until it forks about a quarter of a mile in. The fork to the left is dark, the lights continue to the right. I do, too. It's damp inside, and smells of earth and the musk of compressed humanity, but so far, I've seen no one. Nor have I heard the hum of conversation, or picked up on a stray vampire communication. The place seems deserted.

Cautiously, I creep forward. I come upon compartments, hung with blankets that seem to be living quarters. There are piles of personal belongings in each—clothes, shoes, the occasional book, radios, even a television or two, though I can't imagine what the reception would be like in the bowels of a mine. Beds consist of piles of straw, hot plates and canned goods provide sustenance.

Except for the vampire lairs, of course. There are no hot plates in those. I wonder if the vamps go outside Beso de la Muerte to take their meals or if they've worked out some kind of deal to feed off their neighbors. For a price, I'm sure.

There's a makeshift medical ward, too, set up like a MASH unit with a couple of stainless steel gurneys and those racks that hold IV and blood lines. A cabinet along the back and a refrigerator are the only other things in the room. Not much in the way of medical technology—no monitors or computers. Of course, a criminal ending up here with a medical emergency couldn't expect much more.

I turn away and make another sweep, trying to determine which vamp bedroom is Donaldson's. I find it when I spy a picture of his wife and kiddies tucked atop a pile of magazines beside his bed. It seems very out of place, not only because it's in a cave, but also because I had the impression Donaldson had left that world behind. Why would he hold onto a picture that could only remind him of what he'd chosen to abandon?

I'll have to ask him when I get my hands on him.

I poke around, but there's nothing to indicate that David is here. I don't know what I expected to find, but something should point to his presence. Even if only food or water. The fact that there isn't anything at all brings back a familiar feeling of dread. Has Donaldson already killed him? Is David lying hurt somewhere in the desert outside the tunnel?

There's only one way to find out.

Now I have a decision to make. Should I wait for Donaldson to return from the saloon or should I go get him? I'm debating this as I work my way back to the tunnel entrance. I've still seen no one, and it's kind of spooky. Is everyone in the saloon? Have some left to go to town? Avery never said how many desperados made Beso de la Muerte their home, but from the looks of their “living”

quarters, I expected more than the fifteen or twenty I estimate to be here. Doesn't seem to be any women, either. I guess female desperados don't find the idea of living like a bat in a damp cave very appealing.

Except for Miss Mammary back there in the saloon, of course.

Which brings me back to Donaldson. I could summon him with a vamp signal. But would he alone catch it, or would the other vampires pick up on it, too? I don't want to be distracted or attacked by a mob. I just want Donaldson.

So I hunker down behind the saloon and wait. The desert air has turned cool, but the sand beneath my feet retains the warmth of the day. I send out tentative probes to see how he's doing with the girl in the bar. All I get in response is that same, lascivious carnal longing now fueled to greater heights by alcohol. He's hanging out with the other vampires and they're placing bets about who will bed her tonight. If she has a choice in the matter, it doesn't come up.

After an hour of this, my patience is at an end. Donaldson shows no sign of making his move so I make mine. I let myself into Donaldson's head, at first just a gentle prod to let him know someone is reaching out to him.

He responds immediately. I knew there was someone there. Who are you?

I wish I could see his face, read his reaction. But I can't so there's no choice but to continue.

Come outside and see.

A snort. I don't think so. You come inside.

I don't like crowds. Our business is private.

What business?

You'll find out when we meet.

What's in it for me?

What do you want?

There's a pause while he considers his answer. I use the time to regroup. It's hard work to keep all traces of my identity out of our conversation. When he sees me for the first time, I want it to be a surprise. How he reacts will tell me a lot.

What do you look like?

What?

What do you look like? I want to know if what you have to offer is worth giving up what I have going in here.

Jesus. Typical male. Thinks with his dick. Maybe I can use it to my advantage.

I put a purr in my voice. You didn't have any complaints the last time we were together.

In spite of the alcohol, I sense his interest level spike. So, we've met before?

That's one way of putting it. Yes.

There's a grin in his voice. Where did you say you were?

Right outside. In back.

I'll be right there.

He closes his mind, which puts me at a disadvantage. I'm assuming he's doing it so his friends won't pick up on his plans, but since it shuts me out, too, I don't like it.

I take out the Taser again and hold it at the ready. There doesn't seem to be a back door, which means Donaldson will be coming either from the right or the left around the building. There's no cover, either, and Donaldson's night vision will allow him to see me at the same moment I see him. Maybe I should have arranged the meeting back at the tunnel.

Too late to change plans now.

The saloon doors creak open. I crouch down, waiting for the sound of footsteps to tell me which direction he's coming from.

One minute passes, then two.

There are no footsteps.

What's he doing? Has he changed his mind? Is he standing on the steps smoking a frigging cigar while he decides whether or not to meet me? Should I ask him?

No need, Anna. I'm right here.

The voice is so close, it reverberates in my head like a scream. I've been so concentrated on the front, his appearance from behind comes completely without warning.

Just like before.

But this time, I don't drop the Taser and I don't let his sudden presence put me off guard. I straighten and turn to face him.

So you recognize me.

He smiles, a complacent, tight-lipped little smile. Oh, yes.

Then you know why I'm here.

Is it because you enjoyed my technique so much the first time that you've come back for an encore? Oh wait, no need. You took what you wanted from me. You know, I'm the one who should feel violated. I just wanted a simple roll in the hay.

Look what you turned it into.

I'm shaking with fury. The urge to kill him is so strong that it's only the image of David in my head keeping me from attacking him.

Forcefully, I calm myself, motioning at him with the Taser. Let's take a walk.

But he doesn't seem the least bit concerned by the Taser or by my thoughts. Why would I want to take a walk with you?

Because if you don't, I'm going to blast you with this thing and drag you into the bushes where I'll happily bash your head in with a rock.

He clucks his tongue. My, my. That's an awful lot of attitude for a little girl.

He's baiting me and I'm swallowing it. I have to mentally give myself a thump on the head and once more drag myself back from the anger threatening my good sense. Being this close to the bastard who threw my life in such disarray is having a much more profound affect on me than I expected. I have to remind myself why I'm here. David.

He picks through all this and finally reacts. Who's David?

That triggers another spasm of blind rage . Don't play with me, Donaldson. Believe me, I'd love nothing better than to kill you.

The only reason I haven't already is because you're going to tell me what you've done with David.

He reflects a moment, searching my thoughts. David? Oh, the guy from the bar. Now that was a dirty trick. And I saw you with him at the fire, didn't I?

Which is another thing I have to thank you for, you miserable bastard. Why'd you do that, anyway? You must have known I wasn't inside. Even if you hadn't gone in, you would have felt it.

He's shaking his head at me, as if I'm speaking gibberish. I don't know where you're getting your information, but you need a new source. I didn't set that fire. I didn't even know it was your home.

Oh. Right. You just happened to be in the neighborhood when it burned.

As a matter of fact, yes. I was summoned. I don't know by whom. But when I saw you, I beat it out of there. I figured you would be a little pissed at me for—well, you know.

Donaldson, you're a damn liar, but you're right about seriously pissing me off. I don't give a shit about the fire right now. I want to know where you've taken David.

I told you, I don't know anything about your friend.

That does it. I step right up to him, pushing the Taser at his gut. If I pull this trigger, I wonder what will happen? Will you jump and wiggle like a fish on a hook or just drop like a rock? Either way works for me.

He still isn't reacting with anything close to fear. In fact, blind indifference is the only emotion bubbling to the surface. It only makes me angrier. I have the Taser on contact stun and I pull the trigger.

A Taser shoots 50,000 volts of energy at .162 amps to penetrate the nervous system and render the victim immobile. It doesn't matter where you aim either, because the entire body is covered with a neural net. I have the thing shoved right into Donaldson's midsection when I fire, yet I'm not getting the reaction I expect.

In fact, I'm getting no reaction at all.

He's staring down at me with a puzzled expression that turns almost immediately into a derisive grin. Oh, Anna, Anna. You have so much to learn.

Then he backhands me with a wallop that sends me flying into the dirt. It's so unexpected, it takes me a minute to shake away the cobwebs. But he doesn't follow up, which I'm going to make him regret. I jump to my feet, blood pounding with rage. I feel it in my head and coursing through my body, an unrestrained fury. It's feral and ugly and it's going to allow me to do what I should have done the moment Donaldson appeared.

When I attack this time, it's with my fists and teeth. He's taken by surprise at the ferocity, but he recovers quickly. He's holding back, making the mistake of thinking he's stronger because he's male. He's forgetting an important fact of nature. The female is always the best hunter, often the more brutal. When I come at him, he tries to parry the blows, to step out of my reach. I don't let him. I keep inside, putting every ounce of vampire strength into each punch. I aim at his stomach with my hands, his throat with my teeth. I can wear him down, he has the disadvantage of having consumed a lot of beer, but I don't want to take the time. With a final, decisive thrust, I have him down, on his back in the dirt. I'm pummeling his stomach, my teeth at his jugular.

Hey, Donaldson, are you awake? I want you awake. It's no fun otherwise.

For the first time, I detect a little concern percolating through the drunken haze in Donaldson's head. It's finally dawning on him that he doesn't have the upper hand. He starts to send out an “SOS” to his pals in the saloon, but I stop that with a snarl. My teeth are at his neck.

Don't. I'll tear your throat out. It's a little trick I learned from you.

He backs off, his mind closing down. What do you want?

I told you. I want to know where you've taken David.

And I told you, I don't have him. Look, check it out. You can get into my head. What do you see?

I use no finesse this time. I hold his head against the dirt and stab into his thoughts with the power of a blow torch. I read confusion at what's happening; aggravation that I've overpowered him; smugness that he could take me if he really wanted to; lust at the feeling of my pelvis pressing against his crotch. He starts squirming under me as that last thought provokes a physical reaction.

God. Donaldson, you're a pervert.

He starts to sit up, but I push him back down. This time, I have my arm across his throat. I'm still not convinced he doesn't have David. And it's lowering my tolerance level more each minute.

He senses that I've reached the end of my patience. He tries to shake me off, but I'm not about to let him go. I press my elbow against his jugular. It's instinctive, I guess. If he was a mortal, I'd go for the windpipe but since we vampires don't breathe, it makes sense that pressure on the jugular would produce the same result.

It does. When I feel him at the verge of losing consciousness, I ease off just enough to let my voice ring through.

Where is he?

Donaldson chokes and shakes his head.

I apply pressure again.

Where is he?

This time, there's real panic in his voice. I don't know. You have to believe me. I didn't take him. Why would I?

To get me here, asshole. To finish what you started in that parking lot.

What sense does that make? You're no threat to me. Look at us. Who's on top right now?

It rings true. Yet I don't want to believe him. If he doesn't have David, who does?

I think I know.

What?

I think I know who may have your friend.

I lean back a little to see his face. If this is just bullshit, Donaldson—

No. Get off me and I'll tell you.

I don't think so. I think you'll tell me now.

My elbow is back at his throat. I lean into it. His head swims. I detect little pinpoints of exploding light. It's just like watching fireworks. Interesting. I press a little harder.

Donaldson's eyes are wide, the alarm reflected in his head “tastes” like a potent cocktail, part adrenaline, part fear. I savor it, letting it roll over my own thoughts, become part of my own consciousness. It's a great feeling. Powerful. Sexy. I understand the connection between power and sex now. The realization that I can snuff out a life—even one as worthless as Donaldson's—is heady stuff.

Anna, enough.

The same voice that came to me at Avery's is back. My own voice. I respond the same way.

I don't want to stop.

You have to. You can't kill him.

Why not?

Because it's wrong.

Not good enough.

Then think about what happens to David if you kill him. He says he may know who has him.

He's probably lying.

Can you take that chance?

Reluctantly, I ease up. No.

I roll off him and lay staring into a cold, dark sky. I feel him beside me, gathering strength. When I'm sure he's recovered enough to answer my question, I yank him into a sitting position.

This is your last chance. Who has David?

But before he can answer, there is a whine, like the whir of an insect. Donaldson jerks under my hands. He looks down at his chest in disbelief.

I follow his gaze. The point of an arrow protrudes through his shirt. His mouth opens and closes, like a fish struggling to breathe air.

I look on in disbelief as he crumbles under my grip, falling in on himself, dissolving finally in a cloud of ash that gusts away as a breath of air blows over us.

It happens just that quickly, and then he's gone.