Carnies Page 16

  ‘I was just a pup when it happened, halfway between forms, like the ones you’ve seen around the place here. I’m an oldblood, as I told you...’

  ‘You mean you were born this way?’ Paul asked, welcoming the distraction. Happy to think about anything else.

  Ben nodded. ‘Though not like this, of course,’ he said, showing his clawed hands. ‘But yes, my parents were both carnival folk, like most of us here. Only a handful are newbloods, chosen carefully by the alphas and brought into the fold.’

  ‘Like me,’ Paul murmured.

  Ben laughed a little. ‘No, you weren’t exactly chosen. But the effect was much the same.’

  Paul had nothing to say to that.

  ‘So, as I was saying,’ Ben continued, ‘I was a pup, only a few years old. I was roaming the woods one night, playing amongst the trees, chasing down rabbits. But I went too far, and ended up on one of the townspeople’s property.’ He laughed, bitterness running deep through it. ‘That didn’t mean much to me, of course. I kept going, running through the fields, enjoying the freedom.

  ‘I heard the gunshot a split second before the bullet hit me.’

  ‘They shot you?’

  Ben nodded. ‘But that wouldn’t have been so bad. We heal, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  Paul flexed his ankle, nodded.

  ‘But the man who shot me wasn’t just an ordinary person. He knew about us, hated us, was prepared for us. The bullet was cast of silver.’

  Paul blinked a few times. ‘A silver bullet? Like in the movies?’

  Ben nodded again. ‘Our kind has a serious allergic reaction to silver. It interferes with the healing process, and once it enters the bloodstream, it disrupts our whole biology. Even touching our skin with silver can cause burns and blisters.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Paul breathed.

  ‘I collapsed in the grass, convulsing. The bullet had gone across my side, and the pain was all-consuming, especially to a child. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. But even through the pain, I heard the footsteps, and saw the man carrying the rifle looming over me. He raised it and pointed it at my head.

  ‘The shot was deafening, but the bullet tore into the grass to my left. A child, no more than ten years old, had pushed the barrel aside at the last second. The man’s son, as I later found out.

  ‘At that moment, a group of adults from the carnival burst from the trees and rushed towards us. The man dropped his rifle, gathered his child up in his arms and ran away, back towards their homestead.

  ‘The adults took me back to the carnival. They expected me to die.’

  Paul frowned. ‘I thought the bullet didn’t go through you?’

  ‘No, it didn’t, but most times injuries caused by silver, even relatively minor ones, result in a slow and painful death. The alpha at the time, Matthew, suggested that the others finish me off, to spare me the agony. My parents begged him not to. So, against the better judgment of the alpha, they let me live.

  ‘For the next ten years or so, I hated them for that.’ Ben turned a little, baring his side, and pointed along his ribs. In the flickering light of the gas lamp, Paul could see a ragged scar, pink and shiny, like mother of pearl.

  ‘It’s been over thirty years, and it still hurts,’ Ben said.

  ‘And I can’t change, one way or the other.’ Paul shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Ben’s rumbling laugh was soft but genuine. ‘Don’t be. It’s really not a bad life, and I have my friends and family around me. My pack. They protect me.’

  A strange pang of envy struck Paul. Despite Ben’s misshapen form, and his constant pain, he belonged here. Paul wondered if he ever would himself.

  ‘What happened to the man who shot you?’ he asked, curious. ‘Did they...?’ he trailed off.

  Ben shook his head. ‘My parents, may their spirits rest, were gentle souls. They pleaded with them to let it rest, not to seek retribution. Again, Matthew let it go.’

  A connection formed in Paul’s head. ‘Matthew was Rachel’s father, yes?’

  Ben nodded. ‘The man who shot me was - and still is - a powerful member of the community. Take revenge on him, and who knows what would happen in turn. You don’t cross Sebastian Parkes lightly.’

  ‘And the son? The man’s son, the one who pushed the rifle aside? What happened to him?’

  Ben laughed again. ‘Ah, he’s cut of cloth different from his father. In his twenties he renounced the family name and left home. He also came to the carnival to give me a gift.’

  ‘A gift?’

  Ben clambered to his feet and walked to the back of the caravan. He opened the old chest that was there, and pulled out something wrapped in rough canvas. He crossed the floor and handed it to Paul.

  It was surprisingly heavy. Paul unfolded the canvas and looked inside, eyes wide.

  It was a revolver.

  ‘It has a single bullet in it, made of solid silver,’ Ben explained.

  Paul looked up at Ben, appalled.

  ‘No, no,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t feel like that. I know what it means.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Paul said in a disgusted tone. ‘It means he thinks you should kill yourself.’

  ‘No,’ Ben said again. ‘It means he thinks I should have the choice, something I didn’t have when I was younger. I didn’t choose to be shot, and I didn’t choose to survive. This,’ he said, taking the gun from the canvas in Paul’s hands, ‘represents freedom.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Paul admitted.

  Ben put the gun back in the canvas. ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. ‘But I do, and that’s all that matters, really.’

  There was a bang at the door that made Paul jump. He turned as the door opened. It was Carl, and the big man looked impatient.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to Paul. ‘We gotta move out.’ Paul glanced back at Ben.

  ‘I’ll be along later, Paul,’ the creature said, still smiling. ‘Go on.’

  Nodding, Paul turned back to Carl and walked down the steps to the ground. The door closed behind him. Before he could say a word, a huge rough pack was thrown against his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

  ‘Carry this,’ Carl ordered. ‘Follow me.’

  Back to mule work, Paul thought, as he slung the pack over his shoulders and hurried to keep up with Carl. He didn’t mind some hard labour, though. It would keep his mind occupied, stop him from thinking about...

  I killed him.

  It always came back to that. His smile dried up like the blood on the pebbles outside, leaving only a dusty residue.

  I killed him.

  -26-

  He tried to kill me!

  The sedan swerved as David attempted to steer it with one hand. His other was clamping a bunched-up shirt to the wound in his neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. The cloth was soaked, and thick, warm liquid trickled between his fingers. He turned his head and spat onto the passenger seat, another glob of half-clotted blood splashing into the sizeable puddle that was already there.

  He’d been driving for over an hour, after waking up at the bottom of the shallow hill where he’d fallen. At first he’d thought he was dead and in hell, but managed to shake himself out of that illusion. He could still hear people moving around in the distance, beyond the hill and the car park, and had realised he had to get out of there as fast as he could.

  Luckily he’d fallen less than fifty metres from where he’d parked his car. It appeared God was smiling on him, at least a little. He’d scrambled to the car and opened the door, dragging himself inside and closing it gently, trying not to make too much noise. Once he was inside, he’d reached into the back of the car and opened his overnight bag, the one he’d thrown some clothes and toiletries into for this unplanned return to Tillbrook. He’d pulled out a shirt and used it as a compress on his neck, and the pain there flared up again beneath the pressure.

  His stomach had lurched then, like his ulcer had grown beyond measure, engulfing his entire abdomen. It sizzled in h
is twisting gut, and he felt vomit surge up his throat. He barely had time to turn his head before it jetted out of his mouth, splattering on the passenger seat next to him. He vomited for a long time. Every time he thought he’d finished another wave of nausea gripped him, and he’d start all over again. He genuinely believed he was dying by the time it finished.

  Once he was certain there was no more, he’d started his car and put it into reverse, leaving his headlights turned off. He tried not to look too closely at the pool on the seat next to him, but he couldn’t help glancing at it. It looked like blood - blood and meat. That couldn’t be good.

  As he backed away, he saw a big silver van pulling up in the driveway. It looked kind of familiar, but he couldn’t gather his thoughts together well enough to figure out where he may have seen it before. It was all he could do to avoid backing into any trees as he got clear of the football field and onto the highway. Then, feeling a little safer, he’d put the lights on, taken the car out of reverse and driven away down the highway.

  And he was still driving. He just wanted to go home. He’d had enough of Tillbrook and carnivals and councils and bikies and monsters...

  That last thought stopped his mind dead for a moment. He remembered the carnival people charging forward, and then...

  His head spun. He realised he’d lost a lot of blood, and was very close to blacking out. But he wanted to keep going, keep driving, driving homewards, driving home.

  Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop...

  The world yawed suddenly to one side, and stars sparkled at the edges of David’s eyes. For a moment his entire body went warm, numb. It was... very pleasant.

  Then the car lurched and stopped with a deep crunch. David’s head jerked forward and the bloody shirt flew out of his hand. His forehead hit the steering wheel, then he bounced back and the rear of his skull hit the headrest hard. He sat there, dazed, realising he’d run off the road and into a ditch.

  Don’t stop don’t stop don’t...

  But the voice was fading now, as was everything. He decided he should probably take a nap before continuing. After all, it was dangerous driving tired. He knew deep down that he wasn’t thinking straight, that he’d probably bleed to death if he fell asleep, but at that point it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. At least he was out of Tillbrook - he had left its noxious boundaries an hour earlier. His head nodded forward, and a smile played across his cracked lips.

  They’re demons, boy.

  He looked up, wondering where the voice had come from. It sounded familiar. Very familiar. Impossible, but familiar. Shaking, David looked across at the passenger seat next to him, at the pool of blood in its centre.

  It bubbled.

  ‘Oh no...’ he moaned, wanting to look away. But his eyes were fixed on it, as the half-congealed black liquid churned.

  Something rose up out of it, something quite small and thin. No, two things. Three. Five. They joined together as they extended from the blood, stained dark red in the wan light of a street lamp above them.

  A hand.

  Now another appeared next to it, reaching up from the blood. Two hands, raised in the air, moving upwards, upwards, ever upwards, their fingers splayed wide as if they were reaching for a sun long since set.

  Then between them a larger object, rounded, caked with matted hair. A head, then a neck and shoulders. Slowly, the form rose from the seat, facing the front of the car. The arms folded in on themselves as they touched the roof of the car. The thing stopped rising then. Its waist jutted from the bloody pool, and its arms were crossed over the chest of the body. It stayed there for a long time, still as a statue.

  David knew who it was.

  ‘Father?’

  The form spun suddenly to face him, and he screamed. The face, the horrible, familiar face, was covered in blood, his blood, the blood he’d vomited there, flesh of his flesh. It grinned, its teeth shockingly white amongst the deep red.

  They’re demons, boy, it said, not moving its lips. Soldiers of Satan, sent to corrupt the weak and destroy the pure. They are running sores on the face of God.

  ‘I...’

  You were brought here for a reason, boy. Your whole life has led to this. This is what I brought you into this world for.

  ‘But...’

  You are stronger than them, son. Better than them. You must destroy them.

  ‘Destroy?’ he asked groggily. ‘How?’

  The moon is their strength, but also their weakness. His father’s eyes, those dead eyes, clouded over, became black, then turned completely reflective. David could see his face in each eyeball, distorted, monstrous. You know of what I speak.

  David nodded.

  Destroy them. Cast them back into the fetid pits whence they crawled. Send them to their master with a message.

  ‘A message?’

  That our Lord and Saviour still rules the world above. Carve it into their flesh. Let their carcasses be your canvas.

  ‘But...’

  But? The thing that wore his father’s face raised its eyebrows. Do you challenge me, boy?

  ‘No, no,’ David stammered, ‘but what about Paul?’

  Paul is already dead, his father said, voice cold. The thing that bit you is not your brother. It must be destroyed, the same as the rest of them.

  David began to cry. ‘I’m afraid, Father.’

  The soundless voice became calm, soothing. Don’t be afraid, it said, as the thing’s arms spread wide. I will be beside you in these trials. You and I shall rid the world of the abominations together.

  ‘Yes,’ he breathed, and leaned forward towards his father’s open arms. He rested his head on the thing’s chest and closed his eyes. The blood-smeared arms encircled him, gentle, strong.

  Sleep now, my child, his father said. Sleep and dream of me.

  If anyone had looked into the car, they would have seen David sitting upright in his seat, bloodied and alone, eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips. They wouldn’t have heard the voice of his father, speaking to him inside his head as it said: For when we awaken, we shall go to war.

  -27-

  Paul was standing in a small white room, completely empty. There were no windows. He didn’t know how he got there. He looked around, turned this way and that, but all he could see was bright blankness, almost blinding. Then he had a crawling sensation across the back of his neck, and he knew, just knew, that he was no longer alone in the room. He turned, and David was standing there, dressed all in white, but the front of his clothes was soaked bright red with blood from his torn-open throat. His eyes were white, with no irises or pupils, and wide open. One arm was outstretched, pointing at Paul. Pointing in accusation.

  The apparition opened its mouth and screamed in Paul’s face.

  He woke up from the dream, twisting on the blanket that lay on the floor beneath him. He was breathing hard and sweating, his heart racing. He sat up, put his face in his hands and tried to calm himself down. His cheeks were wet.

  Once his pulse had slowed a little he raised his head and looked around. It was still dark, but only just. A few slight hints of pre-dawn faerie glow were seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls of the rough shanty where he’d stayed the night. He figured morning wasn’t too distant.

  Then his heart skipped again, as he realised he wasn’t alone in the room. It was his nightmare, all over again. His skin tingled, alert to the presence of someone else nearby. He heard the soft sound of breathing, the tiny rustle of weight being slightly adjusted. He looked around, but couldn’t make anybody out. But he knew someone was there.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded, his voice a little louder than he’d intended.

  The person drew closer and Paul caught a scent, musky and feminine. A soft voice hushed him.

  ‘Shhh...’

  ‘Rachel?’ he whispered, wondering if he was still asleep. If so, he preferred this dream to the last one.

  ‘Shhh...’ she breathed again, and then her hands were on him, remov
ing his shirt. He sat there, frozen, as the warm skin of her palms and fingertips travelled across his chest and shoulders, tracing delicate patterns in his flesh. Then they moved downwards, across his belly, and lower still.

  He gasped as she reached beneath the sheet that covered him, beneath the loose shorts he’d slept in. His vision sparkled for a moment as her fingers, gentle but firm, encircled him, stroking back and forth along his penis as it stirred from its own dreamless slumber, hardening beneath her delicate touch. He reached out his hands to where he thought she was, and found bare flesh beneath his palms. His hands brushed across her breasts, surprisingly small, catching on the erect nipples at their centres, before moving up to her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. The connection cried out inside him, his blood, hers.

  In a single movement she pulled the sheet away and straddled him, sitting on his lap. One of her hands freed him from his boxers and guided him inside her, the warm moisture engulfing him as all rational thought vanished from his mind. He thrust against her, and she against him, as he pressed his face against her shoulder, nuzzling it, biting. He heard her sighing with each movement, felt her hands running across his back, fingernails scratching the skin there. His nerves were on fire, inside and out.

  ‘Rachel...’ he gasped.

  ‘Shhh...’

  Deep inside he felt the beginnings of his orgasm, and the tiny shivers of hers. He reached up with one hand to run his fingers through her hair, her beautiful, long, luxurious hair...

  But the hair his fingers found was short, too short. And in that instant, Paul knew he’d been mistaken.

  No, not mistaken. Deceived.

  He tried to extricate himself, but the woman’s arms and legs locked around him now, no longer gentle. She grinded up and down, her sighs turning to bestial grunts. He tried not to come, but it was too late. He cried out as the orgasm hit him, pushing against her, inside her. Eventually it stopped.

  The woman didn’t, however. She continued to thrust against him, making him cry out again, this time in discomfort. Her cries soon joined his, though, and then she slowed down and stopped, satiated. She let him go, as roughly as she had clasped him in the first place, and he fell backwards onto the floor, hitting the back of his head.