“Let them come,” Atl told her sister.
They did. They rammed their trucks through the doors of their home and walked through the property with flamethrowers in hand. She watched from her window, saw the tongues of fire sweep across the patio and heard the shrieks of her cousins, her people.
“Hide,” her sister ordered. “Hide, Atl! Hide!”
And then, when she ought to have grabbed a knife or a rifle or anything she damn could, when she ought to have been the warrior her bloodline dictated, she ran. She rushed down the back stairs, toward the kitchen, opened the lid of one of the flat-top refrigerators where they stored food supplies for their human servants, and slid in, closing the door behind her.
The sounds were muffled by the metal and plastic walls of the refrigerator, like when one swims underwater.
Small spaces.
Atl lay there, waiting. When she finally dared to push the lid open she chuckled, thinking that if anyone was watching her it would be a great parody of a vampire film. Instead of pushing open the door of a coffin, she was pushing the lid of a refrigerator.
But no one was there to watch her.
The house was quiet. She walked slowly through the hallways, stepping over broken glass, coming upon mutilated corpses. Several had been partially burned. She recognized Izel by the bracelet on her arm. The rest was a black lump with a vaguely human shape, mouth open in an eternal scream.
Atl slid down against a wall, resting her hands upon her knees. While she lay there, Cualli came bounding out of the house. She thought she was imagining it, but no. It was her dog. She hugged it, burying her face against the Doberman’s neck.
She stepped out of the compound into the cool desert night, Cualli at her heels. She walked around and stumbled over a tortoise. She looked down at it. The sight greatly amused her and she thought Izel would have known what species this was.
She watched it walk away from her, slowly tracing its steps across the desert, though the desert was strange that night. The sand was red beneath her feet, and the moon had disappeared. She coughed, and this black, disgusting substance oozed from her mouth and she knelt upon the sand, a river of black bile and blood streaming out, and she tried to stop it but it would not stop. It. Just. Did not. Stop.
Someone touched her shoulder and she stood up, opening her eyes …
… and she was no longer in the desert. She was crouching on the floor.
Atl tried to slow down her breathing.
Gray cement walls and there was a metal door … no, a mesh wall with a door. Across from her she saw a dog. Not Cualli, but a mutt. She was in a cell, just like the dog across from her was in a cell.
“You’re awake. Jesus, I’m so glad you’re awake.”
Atl blinked and turned her head. It was Domingo touching her shoulder, Domingo crouching next to her. He smiled.
“I’m … yeah … where am I?” she asked. “I was hurt.”
“My friend, Quinto, he patched you up.”
Atl glanced at her arm and saw the bandage. She remembered the darts. If she was awake it meant they’d taken them out, though much of the damage had already been done. She’d had a noxious substance pumping through her system and her body was still struggling to come to grips with it.
“But then … ah … we are in the Jackal’s place. It’s the kennels where he keeps his dogs.”
“Why?”
“He thinks he can make money off you.”
Atl looked around, at the small space they were sitting in. They’d dragged a mattress in, stained and lumpy. Atl’s balled-up jacket lay on it. Also a blanket.
“He’s not great on hospitality, is he?” Atl muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sitting on the mattress. She flexed her fingers with some effort. She felt slow, tired; pain radiated from every muscle in her body. “How’s he making money off me?”
“He says people are looking for a vampire. After that fight in the street … they, um … I guess there’s a price for your head.”
“Gee, a price,” Atl chuckled. “I’m becoming very popular.”
Domingo did not seem amused by her comment. He licked his lips and stared at her.
“Where’s my dog?” Atl asked.
“I heard it barking a while back. It’s nearby, but I can’t see it from this cage,” Domingo said.
“They better not have hurt him. I’ll cut their balls if they have.”
“I imagine the Jackal wants to keep your dog for the fights. I think it’s safe.”
“So are we. If he thinks we are worth something alive.” She touched the bandage on her shoulder, slipping it off and glancing at the wound. The arm was stained black from the silver nitrate, with wild streaks radiating from the place where the dart had pierced the flesh. When she touched the skin, it hurt, and she winced. She slipped the bandage back in its place.
“Damn it, they had to go with silver nitrate,” she said. “We need to get out of here. I can kick that door down and we can make a run for it,” she said.
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Do you have a better one?”