“Stick. I. Am. Tired.” I rose from the mattress and, taking his elbow, steered him to the door. “If Lucas is still up, tell him I need to speak to him tomorrow. It’s important. Really important.” He started to protest, but I firmly pushed him over the threshold. “Look, if you want to stay up and worry about vampire hunts, you can do it for both of us. I’m going to sleep while I still can. Wake me when it’s dawn, okay?” And before he could make any more excuses, I shut the door in his face.
Collapsing on the mattress, I turned my face to the wall and closed my eyes. Stick’s news was troublesome, but I’d learned that worrying about things you couldn’t change was useless and just kept you from getting sleep. Tomorrow, I’d talk to Lucas and tell him about the food cache I’d found, and he could convince the others to go after it. Before the city went into lockdown, of course. Working together, we could probably clear that whole room in two or three trips and not have to worry about the coming winter. Rat was a dick and a bully, but he was part of my crew, and we looked out for each other. Besides, it would take a single person forever to clear that place, and I didn’t want to be in the ruins any longer than I had to be.
With plan firmly in mind, I dismissed all thoughts of that night—of rabids and manhunts and vampires in the sewers—and drifted into oblivion.
Chapter 4
“Allison,” Mom said, patting the cushion beside her, “come up here. Read with me.”
I scrambled onto the threadbare couch that smelled of dust and spoiled milk, snuggling against her side. She held a book in her lap, bright happy animals prancing across the pages. I listened as she read to me in a soft, soothing voice, her slender hands turning the pages as if they were made of butterfly wings. Except, I couldn’t see her face. Everything was blurry, like water sluicing down a windowpane. But I knew she was smiling down at me, and that made me feel warm and safe.
“Knowledge is important,” she explained patiently, now watching an older version of me from across the kitchen table. A sheet of paper lay in front of me, marked with scrawling, messy lines. “Words define us,” Mom continued, as I struggled to make my clumsy marks look like her elegant script. “We must protect our knowledge and pass it on whenever we can. If we are ever to become a society again, we must teach others how to remain human.”
The kitchen melted away, ran like water down a wall, and turned into something else.
“Mom,” I whispered, sitting beside her on the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest under the thin blanket. “Mom, I brought some soup for you. Try to eat it, okay?”
The frail, white form, surrounded by long black hair, stirred weakly. I couldn’t see her face, though I knew it should be somewhere within that dark mass. “I don’t feel well, Allison,” she whispered, her voice so faint I barely caught it. “Will you…read to me?”
That same smile, though her face remained blurry and indistinct. Why couldn’t I see her? Why couldn’t I remember? “Mom,” I said again, standing up, feeling the shadows closing in. “We have to go. They’re coming.”
“A is for apple,” Mom whispered, falling away from me. I cried out and reached for her, but she slipped away, into the dark. “B is for blood.”
Something boomed against the door.
*
I JERKED AWAKE, THE DOOR TO MY ROOM still rattling from the sudden blow. On my feet, I glared at the door, heart pounding. I was already a light sleeper, hypersensitive to footsteps and people sneaking up on me while I slept, so the first bang nearly made me jump through the ceiling. By the fourth, I had wrenched the door open, even as Lucas was pulling his fist back to knock again.
Lucas blinked at me. Dark and muscular, he had large hands and a curiously babylike face, except for his thick, serious eyebrows. When I first joined the group, Lucas had been intimidating; a serious, no-nonsense figure even as a twelve-year old. Over the years, the fear had lessened, but the respect had not. When our old leader started demanding a food tax—a portion of everything we scavenged—Lucas had stepped in, beaten him to a pulp and taken over the gang. Since then, no one had challenged him. He was always fair; survival was his priority, regardless of feelings. Like me, he’d watched members of our gang die of starvation, cold, sickness, wounds, or just vanish off the face of the earth. We’d burned more “friends” than anyone should ever have to. Lucas had to make hard, unpopular decisions sometimes, and I didn’t envy him the job, but everything he did was to keep us alive.