Sputter. Bump. Choke. The buzz of the engine skipped and garbled as the last of the ethanol-based fuel had been consumed. A lone rider dismounted the snowmobile. Dark eyes looked at the trees that dotted the distance, barely visible against the timid moonlight of the evening sky. There was a pale expanse to cross before then, swirled with the tracks of migratory creatures that had passed before. At least there was still life. As long as there was life, there was hope.
Unfastening a hiker's backpack from the snowmobile, the woman abandoned the vehicle and continued on foot. There was a stream of smoke, reflecting the amber light of fire in the distance. With a destination now in view, she trudged on.
The smell of smoke drifted ever closer, carried on the feeble breeze that barely stirred the latest dusting snow. A low wall made entirely of old automobile tyres separated the now defunct fields from the hub of the community. A lit torch, ensconced above an iron gate, illuminated the outline of a huddled figure.
"Hrrrmf? Oh... right... who goes there?" the somnolent guard asked, blinking away the weariness as he watched the figure approach.
"I seek shelter." Her sultry voice clearly got the guard's attention, who lit a second torch to examine the woman further, from her oversized kuspuk to her fur-lined mukluks and hood. She brought up a hand to make sure her veil was still covering her nose and mouth adequately.
"That's nice and all, but I asked WHO goes there, not what you want," the guard reiterated. The woman stared at the guard in silence. "Look, I ain't letting no mysterious stranger show up and just walk in."
"What would you have me say? A name won't tell you anything."
"But it's a start," the sentry retorted. Uncanny stillness and silence followed. "Is there a reason you aren't telling me your name?"
"Layla. Layla Samara. I am passing through," Layla relented. The only animation seemed to be the flickering fire, as even the wind seemed to stall.
"Layla. Alright, Layla, where're ya headed?" the guard asked, now that she was being a bit more forthcoming with her answers.
"To what was once Calgary, Alberta."
The man choked and then began laughing. "You'll be walking for months!" The guard slapped his thigh, although it barely made a sound due to all the padding. "...Ain't no trains going down that way."
"I heard rumours they have operational steamships in a port south of here." Layla tilted her head, but otherwise remained statue still.
"Oh, yes, and they go all up and down the coast. But their prices are steep and I don't see's you got anything to barter with. And don't think your body will sell for much these days." the guard snorted. "A ride in bed ain't worth a ride in the sea." He waited and watched as if expecting disgust or offence. All he got was that same calm stance and steady stare. The guard shifted his torch to his offhand, and let his other hand rest over the hilt of his hunting knife.
"Thank you for the advice. But I'd still like shelter for tonight," was Layla's unflappable response.
"Fine, fine. We got a pub. But touch anything that ain't yours, and you'll lose your hands." The guard whistled and a sound of a rattling chain could be heard. Slowly, the gates opened and the guard held up his torch, standing aside for Layla to enter.
What had likely been a small tourist trap had grown into a small community. Buildings from before the Flash stood in the centre of the community pompously, while smaller huts and tents huddled all around as if in worship of a long gone age. Electric lights glowed around the central buildings, one advertising itself as the Lodge. Only some of the letters of its neon Vacancy sign were still illuminated. Unlike most of the towns she had passed on her long journey, the activity didn't grind to a halt at sundown; there were still people out and about, bundled up against the harsh cold.
The clinking of glasses could be heard as Layla stepped into the dimly lit hotel lounge. Several patrons were scattered among the tables. The clatter of pool balls could be heard off above the soft din. No one paid any attention to Layla until she reached the bar, where a bartender looked up, illuminated by the potlights above her. "New in town? What'll it be?"
"A room, actually..." Layla said quietly. The portly woman nodded her head. Although she had an excess of chins, her thick arms were formidable beneath the deceptive layer of blubber. Creases in her forehead suggested an arched eyebrow, except it appeared some catastrophe had rid the woman of hair on a considerable portion of her head and face. The rest of her hair was kept short and spiked.
"Sure," she said with a grunt as she turned to the peg board, snatching down a fob, tossing it the key to Layla. "Lodging's free."
Layla caught the keys and stared at the room number printed on a piece of plastic before looking up, arching her own thick but well groomed eyebrow. "Free?"
"Sure. But bedding, soap, and heat costs." With a lopsided smirk, the woman leaned on her counter. "We even still got some rolls of toilet paper for the right price."
Eyes gazed into each other, neither budging or impacting the other. Layla then looked down at the key in her hand, then turned to find her room. The proprietor straightened up, her mangled brow furrowing. Layla could hear her mutter, "She'll be back..."
The room Layla unlocked was stripped down to the essentials. There wasn't much other than a bare, stained mattress, a small table and dining chair, a closet, and a bathroom. Layla doubted whether the fixtures were operational. The room was chilly, but far warmer than outside. Her main concern was the bare windows without any blinds or curtains. Layla walked over to the closet, testing the space out. Alas, the bifold door was jammed and would not close. There would be no shelter from the sunlight there.
The bathroom was investigated next. There was a single stall shower, a free-standing sink, and a toilet, the grout between the green and white tiling caked with mildew. The bathroom didn't feature a window, but it didn't have space to lay out a bedroll. This narrowed her options considerably. It was time to pay the publican another visit.
"I knew you'd be back. Well. Would you like the whole bundle, or pick and choose your luxuries?" the proprietor asked, when she saw Layla return. Layla fixed her with a hard stare, her face still obscured by a black veil.
"Do you have blackout curtains?"
"Now we're talking. Planning on partying hard? I've got curtains. Question is, what have you got?" the larger woman asked, interlocking her hands and holding them on the counter.
Layla stuck her hands into her pouch and tossed down a pack of cigarettes. The woman looked perplexed as she picked up the package, examining it closely. The cyrillic left her confused, and she picked at the plastic seal. "What're these?"
"Cigarettes."
The woman swore and laughed, shaking the package and then sniffing it. "Ain't been a 'bacco smoker in these parts in ages. No way to get it up here. But hey, I like novelties." The package disappeared into the woman's apron pocket. "Alright, that'll get you the curtains. Anything else?"
Layla shook her head. The woman squinted at Layla, before raising her brow and shrugging. "Hey! Graw! Mind the bar!" she hollered. One of the men who had been playing pool looked up, then shrugged and walked over. He hopped over the bar, eyeing Layla up and down.
"Ain't you worried about overheating in all that?" he asked. Layla shook her head. He drummed his fingers on the bar, and then decided to help himself from one of the two kegs they had. "So, where you from?"
"Where I'm from... is no longer there," Layla answered, dropping her gaze, placing her hand on the bar counter.
"Ah. Sorry to hear that. Raiders, or disaster?" The man known as Graw asked casually, as though the loss of one's home were commonplace.
"Avalanche." Graw sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head.
"Never build close to the mountains. Seems like a good idea until you get whited out," Graw observed. Layla stared at Graw until he looked away. "Anyway. Lucky you survived." Still no answer. Graw rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, so not a talker."
Silence existed between the two, and Graw fidgeted and grew impatient until the proprietor came back. He whispered to her when she showed up, "...something's not right about her. I think we should call you-know-who..."
Layla made no response to the conspiratorial whispers or looks the locals shared between them. She lifted her chin and stared expectantly at the proprietor.
'Well, got you some curtains installed. Should be good to go."
"Thank you." Layla said and she turned to leave. Her eyes darted about her and she gave everyone else a wary glance, trying to sum up the potential threats in the building. She also noted every possible escape, and what could be used as a weapon.
When Layla finally made it into her room, she locked the door. Rings jangled and hissed as they slide across the rod; Layla opened and closed the curtains thoughtfully as she inspected the quality of the fabric. It should do well enough. Layla spread out her bedroll and undressed. She was going to sleep with one eye open that night.
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Layla's vigilance was not wasted. Early the next morning, she was roused to the sound of metal scraping metal. Her eyes came open and she sat up, sitting in the dark, waiting. "She's in this room..." she heard a voice whisper out in the hall.
The door swung open and a man stepped in, shining an electric torch on the recently vacated bed. "Where is she?"
"I know she didn't leave this room!" the proprietor hissed. The flashlight slowly swung around. The man slowly walked towards the bathroom, peering inside, while the proprietor stayed out in the hall.
"You said she was pale and kept completely covered?" the man asked.
"Yes. Probably to hide the signs," the proprietor explained from the hall.
Layla watched the man from the shadows, where she could remain unseen by mortal eyes. The man had a gun tucked into his belt, but did not otherwise look formidable. In isolation, he was no threat to her. She knew she could tear out his throat before he drew his weapon. But there was the proprietor. She could kill her too. But then what? They'd be missed. Suspicion would arise after her arrival. They could come at her during the day when she truly was vulnerable. No. Best to play it safe.
Layla remained melded with the shadows until the man had checked everywhere again. "She must have been tipped off and crawled out through the window."
The proprietor finally walked into the room, nudging the neatly folded pile of clothes and winter wear that Layla had left on the floor. "She'll freeze out there."
"If she is an infected, then better she freeze before she becomes a ghoul," the man responded. He clicked his tongue and gave a third glance around the room, and then shrugged. "No one's here. There's not a lot of places to hide."
"That's intentional," the proprietor responded. She shrugged and walked over to the backpack. "Guess if she's gone, I get her stuff!"
"Guess so," the man said, cracking a smile before he turned and left. It was just the proprietor now. Layla had little as it was. To lose it all now would delay her plans significantly. She could not afford that. Creak. Click. The door swung close and the proprietor jumped, her hand in the battered backpack. "Not funny!"
No response. The woman dropped the bag, getting to her feet. In the dark one might not have seen the vexation that played across her brutish features, but Layla's eyes were adapted for night time prowling. Gliding on the shadows, partially there, and partially not, she materialised in front of the woman, her pale hand thrust out and clenching the large woman's throat. The woman gasped for air and flung out her hand, unable to see her assailant. Thick, calloused fingers gripped into flesh. Layla turned her head aside, breaking free from the clenching and splaying fingers, while another arm swung lower. The impact was not inconsiderable and Layla let out a small grunt, but she did not let go of the woman's throat. Her mouth opened and shut, trying to scream, but only producing a few spit bubbles. The woman grabbed Layla's wrist with both of her hands, trying to wrench free.
"They said those who touch things that aren't their own... lose their hand." Layla intoned, watching as the woman's eyes became wider and wider, bulging out of her ungainly face. Layla's free hand grabbed one of the woman's thick wrists and she dug her nails on the underside, slipping past the fat and between the tendons, causing the woman to thrash. Layla was nearly bowled over by her sheer mass, but she stretched back a foot and stabilised herself. "Don't worry. I'm not a savage."
The woman's eyes rolled up into the back of her head as her struggling became less and less. Layla grabbed the woman's elbow so she could gently ease her bulk down onto the floor once she'd lost consciousness. The woman gasped for breath and then settled into a deep, even, breathing pattern as her eyes remained closed. Layla placed her on her side in the recovery position.
Layla had limited time to act. The woman would not be down long. She dressed herself for the cold and put her backpack back in order. As a last act, she crouched down beside the woman, picking up her limp arm and tearing open her wrist with her teeth. She sucked out just enough blood to keep herself going, then wadded up a large reservoir of saliva in her mouth. Tongue well lubricated, she began licking the wound like a paintbrush applying varnish. The wound closed up, leaving no evidence that the woman had been bitten. There was nothing she could do about the bruising on her neck, but by the time she was discovered, Layla intended to be long gone.
Pity, Layla thought to herself as she pried the window open. A cold chill seemed to blow right through her. She would have liked to have some shelter for a change. But it could not be helped. Her pale skin would arouse suspicion no matter where she went. Layla jumped down, landing on the ground two storeys below, unharmed. Once again melding into the shadows, Layla made her escape. She'd need to find or make shelter somewhere else.
----------------------------------------
"Can I move in here?" Cyrus asked, throwing out his arms as he looked around the laboratory he was standing in. Electric lights flickered overhead, casting a cool, sterile glow over the rows of sturdy counters with metal tops and laden with various lab equipment. Some of it was salvaged from other buildings, while crude implements were hand crafted but did their job. He stood in front of a large refrigerator, where a mousy man in a white lab coat stood, holding it open and displaying their impressive blood storage.
"This blood is for all our villagers," the lab worker said as he handed a blood pack to both Cyrus and Rena. "So, no."
"This is whole blood, right?" Cyrus asked, peering at the blood bag. "....How do you get the pouches to put the blood in?"
"Ah.... we salvage or trade for them. We're experimenting with finding an alternative storage solutions but can't find anything that won't threaten contamination. We've tried bladders, intestine lining, goatskin..." the lab worker scratched his shaved head as he closed the fridge. "If you could both just sign the log book," he said, holding up a clipboard and pen.
Cyrus and Rena both put in their signatures and the man smiled. "We have the best medical facilities in the area." He beamed.
"I bet." Cyrus looked around, admiring the lack of windows while Rena quietly tore open her bag and began sucking out its contents. Cyrus followed suit, cringing. "Oh. What do you use for anticoagulant?"
"That's a secret," the lab worker said with a smile. Cyrus snorted and continued drinking, but continued to scrunch up his face.
"Thank you for the tour, and the blood, Richter." Rena said once she had emptied her bag. Cyrus eyed her empty bag, then looked at his which was only half drained. He sighed and tried to finish it all, endling with a few lip smacks, his tongue sticking out in distaste.
"Yeah, thanks..." Cyrus muttered, passing the emptied bag to the lab assistant. He took it gingerly, taking it to the appropriate waste receptacle.
"We'll show ourselves out," Rena said, tilting her head to Cyrus. He fell in step with her and the two were silent until they had left the hospital. The night was particularly dark due to the thick, moody cloud cover that had rolled in.
"Come on, be honest, you'd prefer to drink from the source," Cyrus said. Rena nodded her head. "So they demand more from you, and give you homogenised, nasty cold blood. That sounds like a raw deal."
"It's give and take. Sometimes they need to feel they have the upper hand. There will be opportunities to renegotiate in the future," Rena responded as she drew her fur cloak close about her.
"Yeah, but I'm getting the short end WITH you," Cyrus grumbled.
"You could always leave and go terrorise some other ward." Rena suggested, holding out her hand. She stared up as a few flakes drifted down, like the forward party of an invasion.
"But how will you know I'm upholding my pact? No, no, you better keep your eye on me," Cyrus playfully bumped Rena with his elbow.
"Change of topic. I am still trying to determine how best to help Lily," Rena said, failing to react to the jostling from Cyrus.
"Well if you are thinking of making her an actual vampire, don't do it. The human population is in decline, which means food sources are scarce. Now is not a good time to create more vampires," Cyrus cautioned. Rena crossed her arms, her pace slowing. Cyrus easily matched her pace, almost as if anticipating her change in speed.
"What is the blood ratio for creating a new vampire?" Rena asked, some scant snowflakes catching the fur fringe of her hood.
"What, you think I'd tell you not to do something, and then give you the knowledge to do it? Well, aren't you a darling," Cyrus laughed quietly to himself.
"I'm wondering what introducing vampire blood to an infected would do. I don't know if it has been attempted," Rena pondered out loud.
"When did you become a mad scientist? Well, I mean, I've always known you were mad but..." Cyrus looked away when she gave him a sideways glance. As she looked forward, he smirked at her again.
"I have all the tools to draw and measure blood and record my results. But without another infected as a control group, how would I know if something were progressing?" Rena continued to explore the idea. Cyrus raised his eyebrows and held up his hands.
"If you're thinking of getting me to bite someone to infect them just for an experiment..." Cyrus said, his voice reproachful. But then his face shifted to impish delight, "...just tell me who to nibble. Linda, perhaps?"
Rena went silent, her eyebrows drawing together. She came to a stop, standing and looking about the sleepy town. When the sun set, most people went indoors where it was safe and warm. Rena chewed on her lower lip. "No. It's too risky. I can't ask that of anyone, not even to save Lily."
"What about saving the world?" Cyrus asked, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, placing a hand on his leather swaddled hip.
"I'm not arrogant enough to think I could save the world. This town, perhaps..." Rena shook her head. "For as long as it takes for the world to end, anyhow. What will be, will be."
"Ever the defeatist. I miss your fire." Cyrus stared up at the sky, the soft flakes coming down in greater number. "Seems the only thing you have the will to fight is me." He looked over at her as this prompted no verbal response. "I guess that makes me special."
"I fight abominations," Rena protested, lifting a gloved hand. Cyrus stared at the one flippy finger and then looked back at her face. Rena also glanced at the empty glove finger and pinched it gently, holding it up with the rest of her fingers.
"No,no! Let me be special. Don't take this one thing away from me," Cyrus hammed.
"Still, why try to save the world? Maybe this is the way it is supposed to be," Rena said, placing her hands behind her back and staring down the wide pathway between the buildings.
"If it's the way it is supposed to be, then it's not like I can upset the balance by trying. And if I don't try, then I suppose I deserve to be rubbed out of existence." Cyrus shrugged his shoulders, staring in the same direction as Rena. It was just a snowy village at night, nothing really worth looking at. His gaze shifted to Rena who, even bundled up, was a sight more interesting to view.
"Fine. Make your token attempt. I know when it gets too rough you will give up and run. You've always been a coward."
"You're right and you're wrong. The idea of the world ending terrifies me, so of course, as a coward, I am far more motivated to succeed," Cyrus said, placing a hand to his chest in evident pride of his flaws.
"And how do you plan on saving the world, exactly?" Rena arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. Another cold blast of wind froze her cheeks and she began walking again just to keep warm.
"Well, I thought I'd leave the actual planning to you, and then swoop in and take the credit," Cyrus admitted, throwing out his arms as he trailed after her. Rena shook her head as she rolled eyes eyes, tilting her head back and staring up at the sky.
"Just like you did with the Order of Chamrosh," Rena said, her pace quickening. He quickly matched her, as if tethered to the other vampire.
"Exactly! See, you get it!" Rena came to a pause outside the Relay. "Well, let's go inside and warm up. I know the perfect way!"
"...Go snake a fish."
"What does that even mean?"
"I think you know."