Page 27 of Abiding Blood

“I will. And you and Mark take care of each other.”

Tears filled my eyes. “We will, Dad. Don’t worry about us,” I said before hanging up.

Two more days passed with no word from my dad. I’d been willing the phone to ring the entire time, but I still jumped at the sound when it finally did.

The number was unknown, and my anxiety, already at an all-time high, spiked even further. It was the hospital. Both my mom and dad had the flu. I told the nurse I would be there as soon as possible, but she told me to stay where I was. Going back to the city was a bad idea, and they were no longer allowing anyone into the hospital except patients, not even family.

After hanging up, I sat on the cabin’s polished wood floor, staring at my phone. I didn’t know what to do. I desperately wanted to pack up and drive to the hospital, just to be as close to them as possible, but to what end? Would I camp out in the parking lot? Go to their house? I didn’t want to risk staying at a hotel during the chaos. No, the smart thing to do was to stay where I was, but it broke my heart. I felt so helpless.

I searched for something to do. The only plan I could come up with was to busy myself by cleaning and organizing the cabin. I told myself it was good to prepare for when my parents got out of the hospital and thought about how I would care for them when they arrived. But deep down, I knew they weren’t coming.

The cleaning didn’t take long, and as the days went by, I sat glued to the television. I watched hours of news coverage as the situation spiraled downward. All the time, I kept a grip on my phone, checking for calls or messages. I tried reaching the hospital several times a day for an update, but each time I was put on hold or couldn’t connect at all. I finally texted Emily, but she never answered. Eventually, my messages stopped being delivered altogether. In my desperation, I even tried calling Mark, needing to hear a familiar voice, but the call didn’t go through. So I waited.

One morning, the TV went blank, displaying “No Signal” in bold letters. I tried to check the news on my phone, but that wouldn’t connect to the internet either. The information blackout deepened my loneliness and isolation and scared me almost as much as waiting for news about my parents. I hoped it was due to the weather and my remote location, but I knew it was a bad sign.

The last call I received before the cell service cut out for good was from the hospital. The person on the line apologized for not reaching me sooner. It seemed the nurses and doctors were all falling ill, complicating not only care but also communication.

My parents had died. They’d been dead for days.

The woman on the phone sounded kind and was doing her best, but I could hear exhaustion and defeat in her voice. I found myself saying, “Thank you,” realizing how ridiculous it was to thank her for delivering news of my parents’ deaths. I hung up without saying anything else, unable to get any more words out. They were gone, and I was on my own.

After the call, I pulled Samson onto my lap and absently petted the cat while staring out the window at the picture-perfect forest scene. Everything looked so peaceful, so untroubled, yet it was all falling apart.

Samson nudged his head against my hand as I rubbed his chin and scratched behind his ears. My surroundings were at odds with the storm raging inside me, but there was nothing I could do. So I sat, taking comfort in the soft weight of my pet and the gently falling snow outside.

It was quiet and still here, I thought. Then the power went out. And what I’d only thought was quiet was replaced by a new, heavier silence.

14

VINCENT

Ifumbled for the candles in the bedside drawer. All I needed was a little light, and I could see reasonably well. However, my inner rooms, protected from the sun’s rays, let no light from the moon or fires penetrate, and they were as dark to me as to anyone else. Once I made up my mind, I knew it was time to act. I found an old rucksack in my closet and began deciding what to take.

Walking around my apartment, lit only by candles, made me nostalgic for my youth. Yet the nostalgia didn’t stop me from hitting the light switches when I entered a dark room. It was an automatic response, but I still felt like a fool.

While I would travel far, the journey wouldn’t take long. I knew I could easily return, but I had a feeling it would be some time before I did. So I decided to bring along what I would if I were moving on. I selected a few practical items, including sturdy, thick clothing to protect against faint sunlight in an emergency. I packed a handful of documents that might come in handy if things righted themselves soon, my cellphone and charger—though neither worked at the moment—and a good map with my destination and route marked out.

I chose a few items for comfort, too. I selected my cigarette case and lighter, my favorite robe, and a small stack of books. Some of the things I chose held only sentimental value. I tucked the carving of the dog among my clothes. The last item I packed was a painted wooden cup from my bedroom. I carefully removed it from its glass container and ran my fingers over the designs and the well-worn handle. It had gone everywhere with me since before I’d been turned. I wrapped it for protection and nestled it into my bag with everything else. With preparations mostly complete, I settled in for one last day’s sleep in my bed before my departure, feeling hopeful.

The next evening, I awoke still in good spirits. I finished the last of my packing, including the few remaining bags of blood Nathaniel had left, and went to my study. The last thing I had to do was leave Karl a note in case he returned. I sat down to write by candlelight and noticed the calendar on my desk. I calculated the date and was surprised to find it was January first. New Year’s Day. It felt appropriate to start this journey on the first day of the new year.

I walked through the rooms for the last time, extinguishing candles and bidding farewell to the place that had been my home for the past fifteen years. As I swung my bag onto my back and snuffed out the last candle, I reminded myself it wouldn’t be forever. I believed things could turn around, maybe not for years, but this would eventually pass. I just hoped I’d still be around to witness it when it did.

I took the emergency stairs down to the ground floor. Beyond the lack of light, I sensed something was seriously wrong as I opened the lobby door. The large front windows were shattered, and the place was in disarray. Someone, or perhaps several people, had come and gone, taking anything of value they could carry off. Seeing the place in such a state was disheartening, but it only reinforced my decision to leave.

I stepped over the broken glass and made my way out into the night. Although the streets were dark, they were not empty. There were still people alive and well enough to be out causing trouble. I’d only taken a couple of steps from the building when two individuals ran past, carrying armfuls of looted goods. Their quick movements tugged at my instinct to chase them down and feed, but the scent coming off them told me it was pointless; they would not make a satisfying meal. I would have to make do with the blood I carried in my pack, as unappetizing as it was.

Now that I was on the move, excitement built within me. I wanted to reach my destination, even though I knew it would take hours. I let myself move at a more natural pace for a vampire. Anyone who saw me was unlikely to know what they were looking at, and what harm could it really do? It was clear I no longer had to fear things like social media or the human government. And it felt good to run, to really run. It was also nice not to have time to study the destruction and death all around me.

A short time later, I reached the city’s main arteries and slowed my pace. They were completely clogged with stalled vehicles. People trying to escape the tragedy were forced to abandon their cars because breakdowns, accidents, and violence had made the roads impassable. I saw evidence of roadside camping and hastily erected shelters along the major thoroughfares.

And more death.

Whether from sickness or misadventure, many hadn’t made it out of the city alive. I was shocked by how quickly things had worsened. It had only been weeks since the epidemic was identified. I passed the long line of cars and realized some hadn’t even made it out of their vehicles. More than a few bodies were left to decompose in the still line of traffic. I held my breath and moved away from the river of misery, picking up my pace again as I made my way through the tall weeds far off the side of the road.

I left the city behind and ran down the broad streets of an adjoining suburb. Things were no better here. Evidence of destruction was everywhere: ransacked businesses, impassable roadways, heaps of trash, and the stench of death. I waded deeper into the neighborhoods, but not much changed. I headed off-road, leaving the filthy asphalt behind for the nearby woods.

It wasn’t a proper forest but rather a series of strips of nature that hadn’t yet been swallowed by civilization. These patches grew larger and wilder as I moved farther from the city, and soon I found myself surrounded by wilderness.