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But secrets are hard to keep in a small town. One day, Barbara arrived home, hair still damp from the river, clothes dishevelled, and she knew.
Someone had seen them.
Her dad stood outside the front door in just his trousers and vest, taut as trip wire, face a mask of barely contained rage. His battered old truck was parked just outside. Barbara’s heart had started to pound, but she tried to act casually.
“Hi, Dad. Shall I get your dinner on?”
“Where you been, Babs?”
“Down by the river.”
“Doing what?”
“Swimming, reading. You know.”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Okay.”
“You there on your own?”
She hesitated. Admit to meeting Mercy but deny she was Colony? Or deny meeting anyone at all? But then, her dad wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think he already knew the answer.
“No,” she said eventually. “I bumped into another girl down there. We just hung out for a bit.”
Her dad nodded and took a step forward. “That so? What’s she called, this other girl.”
“Mercy.”
“Where’s she from?”
“I don’t know. I think she said her family were travelers…I didn’t say before because, well, she’s black.”
She paused, tasting the panic in her throat, hoping it would be enough to convince him. Who had seen them? How much had they seen? What could they possibly know?
He took another step toward her.
“Well, I’m disappointed, Babs. You know how I feel about blacks.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“But you know what I hate worse? Liars!”
His hand shot out and slammed into the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. She landed on her knees on the dusty, parched grass.
He stood over her. She could smell alcohol and sweat.
“And you know what I hate more than liars?”
He booted her hard in the side. Her kidneys erupted into fire and Barbara retched, feeling like she might throw up.
“Fucking vampyrs.”
“She’s not a—”
Another boot to the spine. She howled and curled into a ball.
“You were seen, Babs. Frank’s daughter saw you. Frank knows all those vampyr scum, and she’s one of them.”
