The Beat – Chapter 8
When we returned, the community was in an uproar of accusations. Turtle family members were mixed in with Birchtree people, and the Wolf family was trying to figure what was what? The fire was out, but tempers were flaring. Sam and I deposited our captives before them. The two looked up into the troubled faces of their elders and cast their eyes down again. Several of the older people were wearing regalia like Sam's grandmother, for the council meeting. Although it had to be postponed, something of the sort was about to take place. Mrs. Birchtree and Sam's parents sat together at the singed picnic table, comforting each other over the loss of their home.
Mrs. Birchtree waited until Sam and I backed away from the two on the ground. She pointed at them with her cane. "How could you?" she asked them. Instead of replying, both looked both miserable and ashamed. They had failed to kill Sam and they had been caught. Was that the reason for their shame, or was it for what they had done? Someone approached them. He kicked out, his foot hitting one of the captives squarely in the chest. The young man cried out at the shock of the impact, but made no move to defend himself.
"Terrance, move aside," said an elderly woman. "He's your son, but he's put our whole family to shame. It's up to me to reprimand him." The man named Terrance backed away from her, back into the circle of his family. The old woman approached the captives. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" she asked.
"Grandmother," one said softly and with a great deal of sorrow. "I did it for us. No one was supposed to be hurt, except for Sam. He doesn't belong here anyway. He shouldn't matter."
"That's not acceptable," said Mrs. Turtle. "You will answer me as honestly as you can. Was this your idea, Walter? Or was it yours, Pete?" It was odd hearing the names of these community terrorists for the first time - such ordinary names.
The men on the ground looked to each other for support. Pete must have been elected spokesman by some communication between them. "The idea came to us during the night. Since the only thing standing in Jacques' way was Sam, we had to get rid of him. My father had some dynamite left from his mine work a few years ago, and we always keep gasoline on hand."
"So you thought it was all right to kill Sam, and to destroy a family's house to further Jacques' ambitions? Did he put you up to this? Is this the way we raised you? What has Sam ever done to you?"
He only answered the last question, although the others were more important. "It's because of Sam's ways. He doesn't care about us."
"You don't know what's in his mind. Only Jacques could have known that. If Sam came back at his grandmother's request, he was showing more respect for our traditions than either of you. The election was to be between Matthew and Jacques, and it was for the elders to decide. Sam never asked for the position. Tell me, Pete, since when is there honor in cheating?"
He lowered his head again. "Sam would have interfered."
"And you know this because you heard his thoughts?" Pete looked as if he preferred to sink into the ground rather than answer. Obviously, he had no such talent. "Why does it matter to you who is head shaman?" the old woman persisted.
"For the honor to our family."
The elder Mrs. Turtle said, "Pete and Walter, your actions have disgraced your family. At least you were lucky enough that you didn't kill anyone. There was no one in the house." She raised her voice, looking to Sam's grandmother to make sure she had her attention. "My grandsons haven't been in their right heads for some time, but they'll be punished for the damage they caused and for attempted murder. We'll share our supplies with you while your house is being rebuilt."
"There's more that needs to be settled for justice to be served," Sam said. For the first time everyone looked at him. No one interrupted him as they had when he spoke out of turn last night. I could easily see him holding a position of authority within the community, if he wanted it. They were willing to let him take command of the conversation. "Where is Jacques? He should be here."
Mrs. Turtle sent her sons to look for Jacques. A few minutes passed before one of them returned. "He left a note," said the retuning son. He handed it to his grandmother. There was enough light left in the dusky sky to read the writing. She read it silently, and then looked to her waiting audience. "Jacques says he's going to spend the night alone in the forest. He said he hoped a vision might come to him concerning the accident."
Dynamite and accelerant didn't sound like an accident to me. Maybe the accident was that the perpetrators had been caught, if he'd sent them. "When did he leave?" asked Mrs. Turtle.
Someone said his car was still here when he ran out to see what happened. I took a better look before I recognized the speaker as the husky man with the dog from last night. His shaggy dog trotted up to me, the stranger amongst them, sniffing and curious. As soon as he caught my scent, he retreated with a whine, his tail held low between his legs. It's hard to fool a dog. They know predators.
"You're scaring my dog," the man said to me accusingly. "He's usually not scared of anything, except for bears." I raised my hands and shrugged, the universal gesture of innocence. No one spoke until he led his dog away.
"Well. It's too late for a council meeting now," Mrs. Turtle said. "Can everyone agree to meeting at the Longhouse tomorrow morning at 10:00?"
The main participants called out their acceptance. I turned to Sam, thinking that I would probably have to miss it. He lifted his palms as if to say the decision was out of his hands. The other family heads agreed, and his opinion had not been sought. The sky was black by then. It was a clear night with stars shining between the skeletal trees and half a moon riding low above the eastern horizon. People began to walk away.
Sam said, "My mom and dad are going to sleep with my grandmother in the longhouse tonight. Matthew's folks are bringing them sleeping things and blankets. They'll be guarded all night to keep them safe."
"All your grandmother has left is the clothing she was wearing," I said. I felt sad for her loss. "What a shame about her house."
"My grandfather built that house and I was born there. As for my grandmother's dress, it was the most important clothing she owned. She's glad she saved it from the fire." I could understand that.
"Will you stand guard too?" I asked him.
"No." He gave me a faint smile someone else might have missed in the dark. "Do you remember when we began our trip up here, when I told you we might do some night hunting before we reached the reservation?"
I couldn't hear Sam's thoughts, but I guessed what he was thinking. "I do."
"Now would be a good night for it. Are you coming?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
I helped Sam load his car. "Your cooler?" Sam asked. He had not been into the remains of his smoldering house. I knew what he meant.
"Smashed. So were the jars in the refrigerator. Everything's gone."
"I see," Sam said. "Then, we have a double reason for hunting," Sam said.
I don't know how Sam maneuvered his car though the blackness his human eyes could barely see. He must have had the way memorized. We came to the western road leading out of the reservation. The road was so narrow, only one car could transverse it at a time. Sam drove at a fairly fast rate for a while before he slowed. "We're coming up to a fork in the road," he said. "Tell me which way he went."
A car could not have come from the east or we would have had to pull over to let it by. Jacques couldn't have driven into the woods; the trees were too close. I would have seen broken twigs in the brambles and the dry brush on either side if he'd attempted to hide his car and gone in on foot.
I opened the window. We had reached paved road. The tire tracks were too faint even for my eyes here, but I sniffed the smell of exhaust. It was the car we were trailing, not the man. "To the right. Keep going," I said. Another few minutes went by. I directed Sam until we came up to the old, dark blue Chevy parked halfway into the brambles. Summer leaves might have helped to hide the car, but spring had not yet reached this part of Canada. I could see the broken branches where the paler pulp showed under the scraped bark.
"So he got out here," Sam said. He pulled over as well and we exited his car. "Guide me," he said. Moonlight reflected off the bits of quartz his feet had turned up, showing me his direction. The quartz didn't sparkle as it might have under sunlight, but it was enough. The other would have hurt my eyes. Every scraped twig showed itself like a beacon to my enhanced vision. Suddenly, I lost the trail. I stopped and spun, looking around, rubbing my eyes and sniffing, but there was no trail left to follow. "I don't sense anything," I said. "It's like he disappeared."
Sam looked above us. I followed the direction of his eyes, but there was nothing in the trees. "How did he disappear?" I asked. "We had him a minute ago."
"He's using shaman powers," Sam said. "I haven't been cultivating mine, because I didn't think I would need them. Obviously, he has. He doesn't want us to find him. He's throwing us off with mind tricks."
I walked the area, head down, looking for signs. I hated to let Jacques escape. He might have been responsible for the loss of Sam's home, where his parents and Mrs. Birchtree lived. True, we had no definite proof that he had set Pete and Walter on their destructive path. If we couldn't question Jacques and he kept on going, the chances were we'd never learn if he was guilty of putting the idea into their minds.
Whether we found him or not, I would not be attending the ten o'clock meeting at the longhouse. I could stand the sun if I had to, but without feeding, I could become too dangerous. I didn't trust myself. Sam, Matthew and his grandmother would have to do the best they could without me.
Even if Jacques returned to the village on his own, I would not be there to help Matthew. Jacques was a powerful shaman, powerful enough to obstruct my vampire senses and Sam's shaman abilities. Maybe he was exactly what the people needed, if he wasn't guilty of attempted murder.
There was a loud sound with echoing reverberations. Thunder. "Great," I said. I had felt the wind pick up, but in our chase, I had not noticed the clouds moving swiftly to cover the night sky. The moon and the starlight were cut off and the air smelled of the coming storm. "It will rain soon," I said. "If he's moving at all, his footprints are going to be washed away. What can we do?" I shouldn't have had to ask, but Sam knew better than I about the tricks Jacques might be playing on us. I couldn't believe he had sent for the rain. That would have been too much.
Sam stood still, eyes shut and arms stretched out. I guessed he was reaching out with his mind. "He could be a few feet away, but I can't feel him. I have no doubt he's blocking me. He knows we're here. If he were innocent, he would have shown himself. Let's go back to my car and wait for him to show up. He can't outrun us without his car. He'll be banking on us giving up and going back without him."
We took the straightest path back to Sam's car. The Chevy was empty when the rain began. "I can disable his car," I offered. Sam smiled and nodded. It didn't take me long to disconnect the wires. Unless Jacques planned to cross the forest and continue to elude us on foot, he wasn't going anywhere. If Sam was alone, he might try to take it instead of his own; but I would not let that happen.
In the dark of the storm, the lightning seemed all the brighter. Sam dozed through the pounding rain. I stretched out my feet, alert and watching, but nothing came near the Chevy. The hours passed. I could feel the movement of the sun behind the clouds.
"What?" Sam asked. He was suddenly awake.
"Sunrise is near," I said. Sam looked at me, worried. "The cloud cover will protect me somewhat, but since my supplies were destroyed in the fire, I could put others in danger. It's better for me to go away, find someplace to sleep in the forest."
To my surprise, Sam opened his door. "I'll be back," he said. He looked over to Jacques' car, peered in the windows, then walked a bit into the forest. When he returned, he said. "I still can't feel him. Either he walked clear through and he's hitching a ride on the next road, or he's still waiting for us to give up and return to the village without him." His logic was fine. I couldn't debate it. "If Jacques is hiding anywhere in the forest, there's only one way I can think to break through to him."
His words were fading. Hadn't he heard me? It was dawn. All I could think about was blood. I needed it. I would be near to helpless and very dangerous if I didn't get some. Perhaps I could find a deer or something to assuage my growing thirst in the forest. Then, I wanted to escape to darkness. That was the nature of my species. Give us what we need and we could be as civilized as you like. Deny it and take your chances. I was like a heroin addict needing his next fix. I felt the exhaustion and the pain of my growing need and I hated it. "What did you say?" I asked, but my mind was hardly focused on what would help Sam.
"Listen to me," Sam said, insistent. He held onto my arm like he was afraid I might run. No doubt he knew I was thinking about it. I did not want to harm Sam in any way. "Stay here with me, Mick. It's all right."
"What's all right?"
"What you want to do." Of course, he knew what I wanted. Why wasn't he trying to escape? How long did he think I could hold out? "Think back, Mick," Sam said. "What's the first thing you thought when you saw me standing outside the Vanguard? The beat of my drum was fading from your mind. You saw me leaning against the wall. I offered you a drag, but you were wondering about something else. Do you remember what you were thinking?"
"You were listening to me even then?" I couldn't be angry. I wanted him then and I wanted him now.
Sam took off his jacket, and to my additional shock, he pulled off his shirt. "Do it, Mick. Do it now. I'll know how to stop you before you take too much."
I could no longer fight myself. The sun and my nature were teaming up against my weak resistance and he was so willing. "Don't let me kill you," I begged.
"I won't." I took Sam into an embrace from which there was no escape, but he didn't struggle. He leaned closer to me. I felt the muscles under his skin. He was strong for a human, but that was nothing to me. He remained calm. He touched my hair, cradled my head. Then he angled his neck to give me greater access to his artery. I smelled his desire and his blood and I wanted them both. "I don't want to hurt you. You're my friend."
"Yes," he said. "And you're mine."
My eyes frosted over, my canines lengthened. I couldn't escape my own desires, but Sam had given me permission. My fangs broke through his skin. His blood flowed and I drank. My joy and relief were enormous. Sam's goodness penetrated my consciousness no less than my teeth penetrated his skin. I tasted his life. How had I come to love this man in these last few days? I didn't know, but it was there.
His blood was wonderful, thrilling and satisfying, but his mind spoke to me, even as I drank. The Creator sent you to us. You won't harm me. I hoped it was true, even as I swallowed the goodness that was Sam.
I couldn't speak, but I thought to him. Tell me when to stop, I sent. I didn't draw on his wound; I just let his heart give me what I needed at its own pace. I felt Sam's feelings, his happiness and his elation at our closeness. Don't let me kill you, I begged. Please, don't let me.
Stop, Mick. That's enough. He hadn't said it aloud, yet I heard him. It was part of the communion we shared. I pressed my tongue to his wounds to try to stop the bleeding. When I drew back, I listened for Sam's heart rate. It was strong but slow, as if he were in deep slumber. He leaned back against the seat, his eyes half closed. I was so afraid I had taken too much. "Please, don't die. I couldn't bear it," I whispered. That was why I would no longer feed fresh. I had killed too often when I had not intended to. I continued to try to stop Sam's bleeding, pressing on his wound, begging him to live.
He didn't speak aloud. I won't die, Mick, not today. Again, I heard the words he hadn't said. Although we had separated, we were connected in another way. His blood in my veins spoke to me. It told me he felt weak, and that he needed to be strong again to do what was necessary. "What can I do?" I whispered
His blood answered my question for him, and then I knew. Sam had a jackknife in his glove compartment. I took it out, opened it and removed my shirt. I made a small, shallow cut in my chest and brought him to me, setting his mouth against my wound. I didn't want to turn him. I pleaded with the Creator or any deity who might hear. Please don't let me be turning him. Sam drank. It was an amazing sensation to feel his lips drawing against my skin. I felt part my strength flow into him, but I had more than enough for the both of us.
When he pulled back, he smiled to set me at ease. "No, Mick. You didn't kill me and you didn't turn me. You lent me some of your strength and your abilities. They'll last only until we accomplish what we must. Thank you."
I wanted to laugh. "You're thanking me? I might have killed you."
"I'm fine, better than ever. With both our powers enhanced, you'll be able to endure the morning sun. We'll be able break through Jacques' mental block together and set things right for the families. I knew there was a reason I needed to bring you to the reservation." He opened the car door. "Now, let's go find Jacques."