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The Colony was allowed to claim basic medical supplies—antibiotics, painkillers—so long as they registered each year with a medical facility nearby. That was how Athelinda had made contact with Dalton. The doctor had been useful in more ways than one. Henny did the best she could with the rudimentary tools they had available, but it was blood—human blood—that had kept Merilyn from deteriorating for so long.
“Miss Athelinda.” Henny bobbed her head. “Thank you for coming.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Henny held the door open wider and Athelinda stepped inside.
“How is she?” Athelinda asked. A pointless question. She would not be here if things were well.
Henny’s lip trembled and she shook her head. “Not good, miss. That’s why I called for you.”
Athelinda nodded. “Let me see.”
Henny led her through the main ward. A hole in the ceiling let in small flurries of snow. A couple of candles set on tables provided a vague, flickering illumination. Beds still ran down either side of the ward, the mattresses moldy and waterlogged. Abandoned medical trollies had been pushed to one side. They reached a door on the right. A private room. Henny nodded and Athelinda pushed the door open.
The stench hit her first. Ripe, rich and sickening. The smell of rot and decay. It felt stuffy and warm, despite the fact that a window was open and the temperatures outside had dipped below freezing. The room was febrile with putridity.
Merilyn lay on the bed, plastic sheeting beneath her to soak up the bodily fluids that seeped from her loose and cracked skin. In places it had broken down completely, revealing the blackening flesh beneath. Her scalp had shifted on her skull, giving the impression of a badly fitting wig, and her eyes had gone, just deflated yellow sacs. Merilyn had been this way for almost five years.
And there was the irony. The unspeakable horror that even the elders of the Colony rarely spoke of. A fate they tried to keep from the youngsters for as long as possible.
There is no such thing as immortality. Death visited us all eventually. The only difference was when he came and how long he lingered.
When you lived for centuries, you died for decades.
Athelinda sat down on a chair beside the rotting woman. She wasn’t sure if Merilyn could hear her, or if the woman was aware of anything other than her own agony, but Athelinda gently held her wet, disintegrating hand.
While the lives of humans seemed frustratingly short, there was something to be said for brevity when it came to death. Yet, as fleeting as human lives were, still they held power over the colonies.
Athelinda remembered an older vampyr once saying to her: The tree has lived here for two hundred years. The man only a few decades. But the man has an axe. And the tree cannot run.
And now man had more than axes. They had powerful, automatic crossbows, they had UV guns that could flay the skin from a vampyr in one burst. They had armies and tanks and helicopters. Technology that had been denied to the colonies.
Of course, vampyrs had genetic traits that gave them an advantage over humans. Strength, speed, less fragility of the body. They could attack the town in the dead of night and kill many. But, despite her threats to Tucker, Athelinda knew it would by a pyrrhic victory. An attack would only result in retribution. The Colony would be hunted down, obliterated.
“But I promised you justice, Merilyn,” she said. “I won’t renege on that promise.”
Not tonight, dear Athelinda. Tonight is for mercy and release.
Athelinda sighed and stroked the putrefying flesh of Merilyn’s arm. She was not that old by vampyr standards. Barely five centuries. But grief had sucked the life from her. First her husband, killed by hunters when her children were still young. Her daughter-in-law had died during childbirth. Then her sons and her only grandson. Murdered by Beau Grainger and his cronies. Human scum. And still he denied Merilyn her kin. She would never see them all returned to her now. It was too late. But Athelinda could offer her some small solace.
“I brought him to you, Merilyn. I couldn’t bring the others, but I have your grandson.”
She reached into the sack and placed Aaron’s head on the pillow beside Merilyn, so she could hear him. Then she picked up Merilyn’s hand and laid it upon his skull. Athelinda watched as her fingers gently traced the shape of his face. Together, at last.
Athelinda stood and walked to a medical table by the wall. Rusted surgical instruments lay on top. On the shelf beneath, other older instruments: a sharp wooden stake and a mallet. Athelinda picked them up.
It was strictly forbidden for a vampyr to kill another vampyr. To do so would see a vampyr branded and ostracized from their colony. That was why no one spoke of what took place here. Leadership came with its own heavy burdens.
Athelinda placed the tip of the stake above Merilyn’s chest.
“Forgive me, old friend.”
She raised the mallet and drove the stake deep into Merilyn’s heart. The woman’s chest gave with a sickening squelch. Blood and bodily fluids spurted hotly into Athelinda’s face. Merilyn bucked once, briefly, and then released a final, foul breath. Her body settled, seeming to somehow deflate as the life flickered out.
She was gone.
Athelinda took a moment. Her throat swelled with grief and tears burned behind her eyes. She composed herself and walked from the room. Henny waited outside. A good girl. A good nurse. And discreet.
