There were only five men left, including Andre. Two men strained in vain to open the door, Booker T hid under a table, and Mr. Clyde had vanished behind the bar.

Diallo strolled to the guys near the door. They began to cry.

One of the men kneeled, arms raised in supplication.

Now 's my chance, Andre thought. I'm not kneeling before that motherf.u.c.ker. No way.

Staying low, he bolted into the black hallway. Heart beating so hard he thought he might pa.s.s out. He couldn't see a d.a.m.n thing back here. Where was the door?

He shouldered open a door, went into a small room lit with a candle. It was the washroom. s.h.i.t. How could he get out? He saw a square window high up on the wall. But the window was too small for him to squeeze through it.

He had to find another way.

He ran into the hall. A giant hand closed over his throat.

Andre gasped, beat his hands at the body in front of him, but it was like punching a concrete wall.

The vampire lifted him in the air. Andre's feet dangled above the floor.

Just when he thought he would black out, the vampire threw him. He whammed against a table, pain barking in his shoulder, salt-and-pepper shakers knocking against his head.

He was woozy, and in a universe of pain, but he had the presence of mind to look around. Four men, including Mr. Clyde and Booker T, knelt near the bar, like sinners at a confessional. Diallo towered above them, an unholy priest.

"Join us," Diallo said. He extended his hand. His eyes, black as bottomless wells, fixed on Andre.

Andre spat out a mouthful of blood.

He crawled across the floor, straightened up.

And kneeled.

"King!" Nia whistled. "Come on, where are you, boy?"

She was in an alley, between rows of houses and short brick buildings. Thickets of darkness surrounded her on every side. Wind blew sc.r.a.ps of litter around her, the sc.r.a.ping of trash against gravel sounding like a bony finger scratching against a coffin lid.

She hugged herself against the chill breeze and the deeper chill that had sunk into her marrow.

"King, wherever you are, come on out"

No answer. Only the rasping wind.

What had gotten into the dog to make him to run off? He had seemed like such a well-behaved animal, as clever as a person, in some ways. Much like her own lost dog, Princess, she remembered with a pang of sorrow.

She walked along the alley, her running shoes scattering pebbles here and there.

"King, come here, boy. It's Nia."

She might as well have been addressing the wind; it would've given her more of a response.

She checked her watch. Ten minutes until she had to meet David. She didn't want to return without his dog. Although David didn't blame her for King's slipping away, she felt responsible for allowing the canine to scramble out of the truck. King was like a kid brother to David. Losing the dog would crush him.

"King, come on out, boy!"

The wind died. A hush fell over her.

She heard, somewhere ahead, a low growl.

Her fingers tightened around the leather dog leash. She jogged forward, lightly, to minimize the sound of her shoe soles striking the ground.

On her left, there was a brown wooden fence. The big gate, wide enough to admit a truck, gaped open.

She thought the growl had come from that direction, but she wasn't sure. It was worth a look.

She stepped inside the enclosure. A blue Dumpster on her left. Stacks of wooden pallets and milk crates on her right. In front of her, a low, gray brick building.

After performing a quick mental reorientation, she recognized that she was behind Mac's Meat and Foods.

One of the steel double doors at the back of the store hung open, giving her a glimpse of a slice of darkness beyond. It puzzled her. Mac ran a tight ship; everyone in town knew that. He would never have closed the market without fastening those doors.

What was going on?

The soft canine growl reached her again. It was definitely coming from inside the store.

What was King-if it was really King inside-doing in there? What was he growling at?

The dog could have been agitated by anything. Something as small and harmless as a cat. Or something bigger and far more dangerous.

Her hand went to the revolver on her hip holster. She unsnapped the holster's buckle, drew out the gun. She wrapped the dog leash around her wrist to get it out of the way.

She moved to the doorway. She c.o.c.ked her head, listened.

Silence, taut with tension, as if whoever-or whatever was inside, was holding its breath. Just like she was.

She dug the mini flashlight out of her f.a.n.n.y pack. She swept the thin blade of light across the darkness inside.

A small chamber, full of crates and boxes. But no one was inside.

In the far corner, there appeared to be another door, half open.

She checked her watch again.

Seven minutes, then I've got to go. I want to find King and I think he's in there, but I promised David that Id return on time. Promised him that I'd find the dog, too.

She pushed open the door and crept into the darkness beyond.

Jahlil had to get his father to a hospital immediately.

The siren wailing on the patrol car, Jahlil sped along the dark streets. He ran through stop signs without slowing. No one was out driving, and even if they were, he was in a cop car, and they should get the h.e.l.l out of his way.

In the backseat, Dad groaned.

"I'm gonna get help for you, Daddy," Jahlil said. He glanced fearfully at the rearview mirror. Dad was slumped in the seat, eyes shut, his face greasy with sweat. Jahlil squeezed the steering wheel. "Just hold on, Daddy, hold on, please."

After that f.u.c.king vampire, Kyle, had stabbed Dad in the chest (not in the heart, thank G.o.d), Jahlil had shot the monster between the shoulder blades. But he hadn't killed the vampire. Screaming in anger, the creature had jumped out of the truck and flown away into the night, like a giant bat. He hadn't attacked Jahlil, which was weird. Maybe the a.s.shole figured that the worst thing he could do to Jahlil was try to take his father away from him. If that's what he'd been thinking, he was right.

The other vampires had chased after the rest of the people on the patrol teams. Those folks cut out so fast it wasn't funny, some of them on foot, some of them in their cars. Within minutes, the parking lot was empty, and Jahlil was left with a dead man in the flatbed, and his father.

Somehow, he'd driven to Dad's police car, gotten a first aid kit out of the trunk, and found some pads he used to staunch the flow of blood from Dad's wound. There was so much blood Jahlil had vomited on himself. But he was still able to keep going, and tape bandages on his father's chest. He'd carried Dad to the car and slid him across the backseat. Before he peeled away, he said a quick prayer over Old Mac's body, then peeled the flamethrower off the man's back and stored it in the trunk.

On the walkie-talkie, he tried reaching the other team members, so they could tell him where he could find Dr. Green. But no one answered him. He wouldn't have been surprised if everyone had split town, the cowards. He was on his own.

He didn't know how he kept going in the face of all this misery and madness. He felt as though he were in a feverish daze, or in a really bad dream.

He pushed the car hard. It p.i.s.sed him off that the bloodsucker b.a.s.t.a.r.ds had taken over the hospital in Dark Corner, but there was nothing he could do about it. Outside of town, the nearest medical center was in Hernando, about fifteen minutes away-when driving at the speed limit, that is. He wanted to get there in half the time.

He swerved onto Main Street, at high speed. The tires squealed, and the car tipped to the side slightly, but he didn't roll over. On the straightaway road, he blasted the gas pedal. The engine cried out like a horse popped with a whip, and the vehicle rocketed forward.

The fastest way to Hernando was to take Main Street to the Interstate 55 North exit, then zoom ten miles down the highway. The 1-55 exit was just past the bridge that spanned the Coldwater River. Only a mile or so ahead.

Dad groaned again, softer this time. Weaker.

"Hang on, Daddy!" Jahlil pleaded. Oh, G.o.d, he just couldn't think about Dad not making it. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

But Dad had lost so much blood, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of red paint on him ...

"He's going to make it," Jahlil muttered to himself. That was it, end of story. Period.

Ahead, the metal bridge floated into view.

He rammed the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer ticked to eight-five ... ninety ... ninety-five ... one hundred ...

Hunched over the trembling wheel, he ground his teeth so hard that his jaws ached.

One hundred and ten ...

The bridge was a couple hundred feet ahead.

Then he saw something unbelievable.

"Oh, f.u.c.k!"

He frantically mashed the brake pedal.

The car screeched, skidding to a delayed stop that carried him a quarter of the way across the bridge.

If he had rolled only twenty feet farther, he would have been dead.

Because the bridge had been torn in half. Beyond his side, the support beams had been scorched and twisted, and the roadway was split, as if karate-chopped by a giant; the mangled road dropped steeply into the river below.

Jahlil hammered the steering wheel. "s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t!"

He knew what had happened. That f.u.c.king vampire, Diallo. He had done this. Somehow. He had probably thrown lightning bolts at the bridge, like he was Zeus or something.

s.h.i.t!

His eyes getting watery, he slammed into reverse, rolled off the bridge and back onto Main Street. He switched off the siren.

He looked over the seat to check his dad. Dad was unconscious, and he wasn't moaning anymore, but his chest rose and fell slowly, a good sign. It could be worse.

"Just keep hanging on, Dad," Jahlil whispered.

But what was he going to do now? Without access to I55, he'd have to take a bunch of winding country roads to get to Hernando. And that d.a.m.n vampire had probably blocked those routes, too. He was a slick b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Think, man," Jahlil ordered himself.

He remembered that Dad had advised him to call David Hunter if anything bad happened. He didn't know what Hunter could do to help him, or if Hunter was even around, but it was the only decent option he had left.

The cell phone was stashed in the cup holder. Thankfully, Dad had programmed Hunter's cell number in the phone.

I hope he's not gone, too, Jahlil thought, pressing the b.u.t.ton to dial the number. It seemed like everyone else was.

For once, Jahlil had a stroke of good luck. David Hunter answered on the first ring.

Darkness rendered the grocery store-a place where Nia had shopped frequently over at least the past ten years-as unfamiliar and mysterious as a moon cavern. Her miniature flashlight did little to alleviate the feeling that she had wandered into a strange new realm.

She had crossed the storage room without incident and entered the main floor of the market.

She was at the back of the shopping area. On her left, there were six dark aisles; on her right, the produce area, the open-air coolers filled with cantaloupes, lettuce, watermelons, oranges, bananas, tomatoes, and other items.

The store was crypt-silent.

She edged to the first aisle. Swept the flashlight beam across it. Nothing but shelves packed with cereals, pasta, grits, rice, and more-she knew the contents of the shelves like she knew the inside of a cupboard at her own house.

She moved forward, to the next aisle. No one there, either.

At the end of the third grocery aisle, she spotted King. He was at the end of the row, positioned behind a revolving rack full of packets of Kool-Aid. The dog appeared to be hiding from someone.

When her flashlight beam touched King's flank, he looked back at her, big brown eyes shining. But the dog did not move. He turned back to whatever had captured his attention.

What was he doing up there? She had never seen a dog behave so oddly.

But the dog's obvious alertness to danger nearby had made a ball of ice form in her stomach. The iciness spread from her stomach and throughout her limbs, until her entire body was chilled.

She lowered the flashlight. Clutching the revolver, she lightly tread across the aisle, stopping just behind King.

She rested her hand on his furry back. His muscles were bunched up.

"What's wrong, boy?" she whispered. "What's bothering you?"