Bride of the Night

GRIMLY, FINN STARTED WALKING back to the camp.



"Wait!" Tara cried, catching up and grabbing his arm to stop him. "I don't understand. You think that there's a vampire or a band of vampires out there on the water somewhere? I don't understand-why would they be here? There's really not much along these islands. What would they gain coming here?"



He paused, looking down at her. "Tara, most vampires want to survive in the world around them. They've learned how to fit into society. Then there are those, and there always will be, who want to exert their power and be monsters. The possibilities I see? Someone out there wants to start up their own killing clan, or maybe someone out there wants to sway the tide of the war, one way or another. We just discovered a dead man, an obvious vampire kill. Where did he come from? We believed that a ship would come, that Tremblay's flare was seen. It's quite likely that man came off the ship-and that rescue won't be coming at all now. But, obviously, some kind of chaos is planned. If it was a hunger kill, the man would have been decently dispatched, not ripped to shreds, as well as possibly coming back to life. You grew up on an island alone, knowing that there were others, but not who they were. It's possible for a new vampire to survive-if the person was decent while living, and has someone to guide him into being the new self he becomes. But the newly created undead, if you will, have a hunger, and that hunger can bring out the greatest cruelty, the greatest evil, if you will. Come on. We've got to get back to the camp. Darkness is coming."



He started walking again. "Finn."



"What?"



"How- I mean, what will you do? You can't just announce that we're half-breeds, and that evil vampires are coming. What would make anyone else believe that-that we're not just as evil?"



"I'm not making any announcements. I'm setting up some barriers, and we'll watch. We'll watch through the night."



She looked up at him with troubled eyes. He was startled to feel a tremendous surge of warmth sweep through him. She looked at him with trusting eyes.



He steeled himself and turned away quickly. War was quite one thing, and bitter and brutal at that. But the dead man caught in the mangrove roots added another dimension to the danger. Men wouldn't be shot, injured, captured or killed.



They would be consumed in a bloodbath.



He felt Tara hurrying behind him as he headed straight back to the camp. Looking to the sky, he could see that dusk was falling, and falling quickly.



He walked over to Tremblay. "I found the remains of a dead Union seaman, sir. I'm afraid that our rescue ship might have been attacked."



Tremblay seemed puzzled. "Most of the time, the blockade runners don't even carry guns. They don't really attack Union ships, just try to evade them."



"I don't think that they were attacked by a Confederate ship, per se. There's an unknown enemy at work here. Someone terribly brutal. The victim wasn't simply shot. He was torn apart. We need to take precautions against...whatever's out there."



Tremblay stood. "Attention! Bosun, call all men to the campfire. Agent Dunne, if you'll explain your findings to the men?"



Some of the seamen had been cleaning their rifles; others had been reading, doodling. One played a mournful harmonica.



They all gathered by the fire; he noted that Tara took a seat on a log by Richard. He didn't think that she'd had a chance to tell him anything, but Richard was watching him as if he knew exactly what he was going to say.



"We have to be on our highest guard tonight, seamen. Someone in the vicinity has committed an atrocious murder."



"Excuse me, sir!" Billy interrupted. He cleared his throat. "We're at war. Shooting the enemy isn't murder."



"This man wasn't shot," Finn explained.



He waited as a silence fell upon the men. He heard the fire crackle, and he began to speak again. "He wasn't shot, he wasn't the victim of an explosion and he didn't die by bayonet. We'll take shifts tonight-not just one man or two on guard. We'll split the detail. I don't know if we're looking for one man who might be perpetuating these crimes, or several. Recently, in Harpers Ferry, they had an outbreak of a...a disease, a form of rabies. The strain makes savage killers of those infected, so if you are attacked, you must make sure that the enemy is down. You've all seen bloodshed in this war, bodies torn and maimed. But if this enemy has been afflicted, as I suspect, we'll have to tend to the bodies quickly. Heads severed, hearts crushed, the whole of the body burned."



He heard someone muttering toward the rear. He attuned quickly to the whispered conversation, fully aware that he couldn't have the seamen thinking that he had been afflicted by a mental disease.



"Pinkerton men! They see spies in their coffee, and goblins in the sand!"



"I assure you," he said, his voice strong and rising well over that of the whisperer, "this is a real threat. You there, seaman." He pointed to the whisperer. "What's your name?"



The man stared at him, a dark flush over his face. "Lafferty, sir. Charles Lafferty."



"Mr. Lafferty, I hope that I'm wrong about this. I don't see goblins in the sand. The danger I'm describing is real, and I pray that your dismissal of my warning does not cost you your life."



"No, sir, of course not, sir. My apologies," Lafferty said. He looked hopefully to Tremblay, who stood to Finn's left. Tremblay nodded toward Finn, giving him the authority to continue.



"Sleep with your guns at your side, but know that bullets alone will not stop this enemy. Have your swords ready. Be ready to move in with bayonets, and always make sure that you strike true and hard-not the gut, but the heart, or to sever the throat. And when a man falls, do not expect him to stay down. The rabid possess unusual strength. Mr. Lafferty, perhaps you could see to it that the arms trunks are opened, and every man is assigned a cutlass, saber or sword and a gun-with a bayonet. I'll take watch with Captain Tremblay during supper. We'll hope for good light until then. Most likely, they will come in the darkness."



He heard the sound of the fire crackle again in the dead silence that followed his words.



"Billy? Men, see to your arms," he said.



They all began to move; Captain Tremblay shouted orders then, instructing Billy and Doc MacKay to make sure that each man had his rifle at his side, while others were ordered to dole out rum rations and prepare supper. Tremblay stood by Finn.



"What you speak of is some kind of monster, Agent Dunne."



"Men can become monsters," Finn said.



Tremblay looked at him hard. "What about the prisoners, Dunne? Do we arm them, too?"



"I'll keep watch of the prisoners," Finn assured him. "If it comes to it, we'll allow them to protect themselves."



Dr. MacKay walked over to stand by them. "What did you do with the dead man's body, Agent Dunne?"



"I removed the head, sir, and sent his remains into the current-fitting, Doctor, I believe, for a navy man."



"Have you ever had a patient with such a disease, Doctor?" Tremblay asked.



"I have not treated such a patient. But I have heard something about such illnesses."



"Rumor, sir? Or truth?" Tremblay asked.



"From men of good faith," MacKay said. "I'll do my best to see to it that everyone in our company understands that, in this battle, the enemy must be...dead."



MacKay walked back to the tent, pausing to talk with the Union men along the way.



Finn looked over to the log that lay near the fire; Tara and Richard were still there, now deep in conversation. He strode over to the two of them.



"Stay by me," he instructed.



"If there is an attack, do I get to defend myself?" Richard asked him.



"If there is an attack," Finn said.



That night, there was little conversation while dinner was prepared. There was fresh fish; while diving, some of the men had taken down a big grouper, and the meat was soon cooking while beans were ladled out of tin cans and rum rations went around.



Watching the night sky, Finn noted the pile of brush and tree limbs for the fire.



Not enough.



He rose. "We need more tinder. We've got to keep that fire going through the night." He looked down at Tara. "Stay close to MacKay while I'm gone. I have a feeling the good doctor has heard of this kind of event before."



Tara rose. "I should be helping. I should be doing something."



Richard stood at her side. "Certainly, I can be trusted to help forage about for more fire tinder."



Finn nodded. "Fine, we'll stay close to the camp. Even damp wood, if we have to take it. It will dry enough if set by the fire before it's needed. I'll tell Tremblay what we're doing."



Finn felt the intense need for everyone there to know exactly where everyone else was. He reported to Tremblay, telling the captain to keep an eagle eye on those around him, as well. As he walked away, he felt Billy watching him and he turned back.



"You won't be gone long?" Billy asked anxiously.



"Just to gather what we need," Finn told him.



Billy looked back at the camp, and then at Finn again. There was a look of longing in his eyes, as if he felt that he was being left behind, without defense.



Giving Billy a salute, he headed off, beckoning to Tara and Richard. They followed him into the interior, over the route they'd traveled so often already, breaking down foliage and tamping down the grass.



"We've about stripped the area right here," Richard said. "But there are some pines ahead that we haven't taken yet, good branches."



"I can start gathering the small branches here for kindling," Tara said.



"We stay together," Finn said.



She looked at him with exasperation. "I'm not going to try to escape."



"He doesn't think you're going to try to escape," Richard said. "He's worried about your life, actually."



"The better to discover the truth, of course, when we're brought to trial," Tara said lightly. "Fine."



Finn looked up. The sun seemed to take another shift down the horizon. "Let's hurry," he said.



They reached the pines. Richard and Finn set about breaking off some of the low branches while Tara scoured around on the ground. When Richard had a problem getting one limb to break, Tara came over and snapped it easily.



"Thank you," Richard said.



"My pleasure," Tara said, and walked past him, searching out more of the smaller sticks and branches to feed the fire while the heavier branches caught the flame.



"Oh!" Tara cried suddenly, jumping back.



"What?" Finn was instantly at her side. She looked at him with horror in her eyes.



"Another!" she breathed.



Finn stepped past her and hunkered down. The man had been wounded in the arm, the gut and the left leg. But touching his face and turning it, Finn found ripping bite marks around his neck. As he touched the dead man, he began to move, bolting up and reaching out blindly, teeth gnashing in a broken jaw.



Tara let out a gasp. Finn knew she'd never seen the making of this kind of undead. And this one was particularly horrible. In time, in his new "life," the man would discover that his wounds would heal.



Right now, they were gaping and horrible. His face a mask of the macabre, his eyes burned with the waking hunger and rage that was his rebirth.



Finn leaped to his feet, drawing his sword. The newly made vampire lunged for him, saliva dripping from his mouth. With one clean motion, he decapitated the monster. The force of his blow made a sickening sound.



"Holy Mother of God!" Richard breathed.



Finn turned. Both Richard and Tara were staring at him, wide-eyed, in horror.



TARA COULDN'T GET the picture of the dead man out of her mind. Especially the inhuman movements he made while coming back to life.



She had been taught something about her father's world, and she had thought that she knew what she was, knew her strengths, and could always handle herself in any situation. But tonight had taken her by surprise. She knew that she hadn't been made a vampire but been born one. She'd never imagined what it would be like to see someone who was made a vampire.



She'd always been so sure of her own power, and she had honed many of her abilities. She could move so that she couldn't be seen, she could cover great distances easily and she could certainly hold her own in a fight against any mortal man.



But she'd not imagined something just as strong as herself-existing in a state of raw hatred.



She shivered to think that, if she had not gotten Finn, if she had come upon the dead man alone, when the darkness was falling and he was awakening, she would have been taken by total surprise. She was unprepared and would have died as easily as any human.



They all sat again by the fire, watching. The night was wearing on, and they had shifted the guard. Neither Finn nor Richard intended to sleep, she thought. They had held their positions at the rear of the group, watching the inner island. Now, the bracken and trees that had sustained them seemed like an ominous shadow as the minutes passed by.



"Anything?"



Tara started as she heard the word spoken softly by Dr. MacKay. He had come from the tarp, and took a seat by her on the log, a brooding look on his face as he peered into the darkness.



"Nothing. The sun rises in another few hours," Tara said.



"A few hours can be a lifetime," MacKay said.



She nodded. "You've really heard of such a...disease before?"



"Not all that long ago. It ran rampant up at Harpers Ferry. The outbreak was quelled. You've never known about any such event?"



The way he studied her scared her. She prayed that he didn't suspect her of being a monster-nor the Gator assassin.



"I spent most of my life in Key West," she said. "I've traveled, of course. But...no, I've never heard about anything like this."



Finn moved over to her then, watching the sky.



"Shh!" he said.



He wasn't holding a gun; he carried a sword, and his fingers were tight on the grip.



She fell silent, trying to listen as he was listening.



"I hear nothing," MacKay said.



But then, what Finn was hearing became more evident. It was like the sound of wings, the air being beaten in the night, and a chattering sound.



"They're here! Everyone, up and at arms!" Finn shouted.



There was confusion beneath the tarp as men sprang up, grabbing their weapons. But even as Finn looked to the sky, Tara saw movement in the bushes.



"Finn!" she cried, and his eyes darted in the direction she indicated.



Richard moved forward, grabbing a burning log from the fire; she did the same. As the first of the corpses moved out toward the camp from the interior, Finn shouted to Richard, tossing him a rifle. Richard caught it grimly in one hand, and held the burning torch in another.



Four burst out from the brush, and the chattering sound seemed to be that of other, perhaps older and more experienced monsters appearing from somewhere-the water, out of the sky. Her mother had taught her well, and in time, vampires could become exceptionally good at appearing, disappearing and protecting themselves-and becoming killing machines. There were at least sixteen falling upon them. Screams of shock and surprise filled the air as men began to fight for their lives. Dr. MacKay snatched up a burning log from the fire, waving it ahead of himself. Tara saw Finn rush forward; with his strength, he was able to slash off the head of one and twirl to catch a second with the same sweep of his sword. One came at Richard, and he thrust out the burning torch. The thing caught fire, and began to burn, screaming with fury as it ran off down the beach. At her side, MacKay fumbled with his rifle as a hulking red-haired man in sailor's breeches and a cotton shirt came toward him. But the shot caught the thing in the foot, and didn't give it pause at all. Before the creature could descend on MacKay, Tara stepped forward, snatching the rifle and thrusting the bayonet with all her strength into the thing's heart.



It fell, clutching its throat. Finn jumped in front of her, hunkering down with his knife to dispatch the head.



"Here!"



Finn took the dead man's sword and tossed it to Tara. She managed to catch it deftly.



"Watch for the eyes, men! Watch for the eyes if there's any question! They seem to have a red glow in them, all in this bloodline of monsters!"



They turned to join the desperate fray now taking shape on the beach. Richard let out a cry, racing forward into it, his momentum allowing him to flatten one of the beings, and then savagely destroy it. Tara paused, felt something behind her and swung around.



He was tall and ruggedly built, without a wound showing. He wore no uniform, but had a waistcoat and shirt of some elegance. He didn't lunge at her without control, but paused, looking at her, and laughing. This was no new vampire, she thought.



"Ah, what a tempting morsel! A rose among the thorns, as they might say. Delicious..."



She pulled back her sword and aimed for his throat with all her might. He saw her intent just in time, and ducked; the sword caught his shoulder, ripping hard, and he bellowed in rage. Then he rushed toward her like a maddened bull.



Using her sword as a stake, she let him impale himself. But he was massive and strong, and though her sword hit home, catching him dead in the gut, his impetus brought him falling down on top of her. He straddled over her; her weapon caught in its torso, and once again he laughed. "Pretty, pretty, pretty creature! Fierce-lots of fire! I like that."



There was no way, being flat on the sand and straddled by the man, that she could draw it out. She gritted her teeth, trying to twist the sword more deeply through him. But her efforts didn't seem to have an effect on him. He leaned down toward her, bringing his face to hers.



"So tender, so naive...delicious," he whispered.



She felt the sand and grabbed a handful, throwing it into his eyes. As he cried out, he lifted a fist-



But the blow never landed. She winced and turned away, closing her eyes...and felt something hot spray on her arm.



His weight fell from her.



She opened her eyes. Finn was standing over her. The big man's head rolled to the side.



He reached down for her hand. "The throat, go for the throat!"



"I couldn't get to his throat!"



"He was old, experienced," Finn said. He spun around, slicing a creature coming his way, almost in half. But he didn't let it lie. He sliced off this head, as well.



"It's over," he said quietly.



Keeping her hand in his, he walked back the beach. Dr. MacKay had given up his weapons for his physician's bag. Men were groaning, holding wounded arms.



Tara looked for Richard.



"He did himself quite proud," Finn said, walking slightly behind her.



She stopped. "Richard? What happ-?"



"Of course Richard. And he is alive and well. There," Finn said.



He pointed. She looked through the grotesque piles of bodies and heads, staggering men and wounded men, and she saw him. His shirt was drenched in blood.



"Richard!" she cried, rushing to him.



He caught her, hugging her close. "It's not my blood," he assured her.



Finn had followed her, and was looking at the remains of the battle. "Gather up the bodies-they should be burned. We'll assure ourselves that it's over."



"Wind is to the north-northeast," Dr. MacKay commented.



"Then we'll move them northward, and set the fire a distance from the camp," Finn said. He raised his voice to be heard by everyone. "Those who are able-bodied, gather the dead, head up the beach. And keep your eyes open."



Finn headed to gather wood and kindling from the campfire. Richard told Tara, "I'll help Finn."



"I'll come."



"MacKay needs help," Richard said, indicating the doctor.



She looked to the doctor. He seemed to be checking over every man carefully.



Tara had to wonder how he knew what he was looking for.



She came to his side, kneeling down by him where he sat with a man on the beach. It was Charles Lafferty, the man who had questioned Finn's warning of the assault.



He was bleeding from an arm wound. His eyes were dazed.



"There's bandaging in the bag," he told Tara. "Can you get me some...and that pail...? Bathing wounds with seawater will help." Then he turned to Lafferty, warning him, "It will hurt."



"I'm not going to lose the arm, am I?" Lafferty asked.



"Let's hope not. As long as there's no infection," MacKay told him.



Lafferty shook his head. "No...no, it was a sword wound, the bastard got me with his sword. Oh, holy hell, but the bastard was trying to bite me!" Lafferty said.



"He didn't manage to do so, did he?" Tara asked, unfolding the bandage.



Lafferty let out a yelp as the cold seawater washed out the wound.



"It was as if he was some kind of a cannibal. And he had one eye! He only had one damned eye left," Lafferty said. "But do you know the worst part?" he asked, looking at both of them. "I knew him. He was stationed at the fort and called out just three months ago for duty in Baltimore. I knew the bloody bastard! Pardon me, miss."



Tara gave a wincing smile at the absurd mannerism amid so much death. She'd wielded a sword right along with the men, and they were surrounded by carnage. And still Lafferty wanted to be polite.



"Get some sleep. There's an extra ration of rum for the wounded," said MacKay, finishing the bandage and rising.



Tara rose along with him.



"Any other wounds?" MacKay called out.



Captain Tremblay came walking down the beach; he silently caught the feet of a dead man, and started dragging him back along the sand. He looked old and exhausted, and there was blood dripping from his arm.



"Captain!" Tara called, rushing after him.



He paused and looked at her. "Ah, lass, I'm sorry for this. Sorry that one so young and tender should be here. You're well-unharmed?"



"I'm fine. But you're bleeding."



"It's nothing. A scratch," Tremblay said.



Down the beach, the fire being ignited suddenly snapped, shooting flames up into the sky. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air.



"Let Dr. MacKay bandage your arm, Captain, please," Tara said.



Finn and Richard were returning at an even pace.



"Agent Dunne!" Tara called. "The captain is wounded."



"See the doctor, Captain," Finn said, taking the body the captain had been concerned with. "You can't let yourself fall prey to a wound."



Tremblay nodded. Wearily, he turned. He headed for one of the pallets beneath the tarp, and Tara and the doctor followed. MacKay cut away his shirtsleeve, and Tara gasped when she saw the deep slash in his upper arm.



"That's not a little flesh wound, sir," she said, unfolding the bandage while MacKay bathed the wound. MacKay didn't seem happy with seawater alone; he found a rum bottle and uncorked it, pouring some of the alcohol over Tremblay's arm.



"A waste of fine spirits, surely!" Tremblay protested.



"Ah, but good for all that ails such a wound, sir. Now, Captain, here's the bottle. Take down a good portion- I've got to stitch up that arm."



"I'm good at pain, MacKay."



"Then take a healthy swig so that you'll be good at sleep. The sun is nearly up, and we need our captain to have rest," Tara said.



Tremblay sighed and lifted the rum bottle, wincing as it burned down to his gullet. Tara assisted, preparing the needle and sutures, and when they were done, Mackay told her, "Some of us will have to get some sleep now, or this whole sad little party will be useless."



"I will close my eyes and rest," Tremblay said.



Tara rose. Down the beach, a group of the men stood, watching the fire.



She realized that she was exhausted.



"If the injured are all tended, then I will lie down, too," she told MacKay. He nodded. She asked him, "What were you looking for on the men?"



"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.



"You were searching them over-beyond their wounds."



He stared at her for a moment. "Bite marks, Miss Fox. Bite marks." He smiled grimly.



All she could do then was return his scrutiny, and nod. "Good night, then," she said.



Tara found her pallet and blanket and lay down. She was so tired, and yet, there was still commotion around her, and the sun was rising.



She closed her eyes. She heard conversation. The men were back from the mass cremation. Finn was assigning the current guard duty.



A moment later, she felt warmth at her side. Cracking her eyes, she saw that Finn had lain down at her left side.



And Richard was at her right.



Her protectors, she thought, before she did fall asleep for a bit.



WHEN SHE AWOKE, RICHARD still dozed at her side. The sun was steadily moving toward its apex.



But she could see that Finn had walked to the shoreline and stood there with Dr. MacKay and a few of the men, looking out at the horizon.



She quickly found her feet, made sure the blanket still covered Richard and hurried down to the shore to join them.



"What is it?" she asked, coming to Finn's side.



He pointed. "There."



She looked out. Far on the horizon, she saw a ship. The sails were tattered, hanging limply. The main mast was broken near the top, and hanging precariously.



"She's a ghost ship," MacKay said.



"Among other things," Finn muttered.



"She'll just drift on by."



"She might. But we can't take that chance."



"There's no one at the helm!" Mackay insisted.



"Looks can be deceptive. She's more than a ghost ship, Doctor. I'm going to take a longboat out to her, and see if we can make sure that she is...abandoned. Those things came from somewhere last night, Dr. MacKay. I think that was our rescue ship. And I do believe that her crew is past help. No matter, we must search her out. And," he added, "when we make her seaworthy, she may still be our salvation."