6

ou’re looking better,” said Gale.
Lori stood in the doorway to the kitchen and watched as the woman continued slicing some vegetables. The bracelets on her wrists jingled with each quick movement. The jostling sounds struck Lori’s ears like pins dropping onto a sheet of glass.
“I…” Lori began. She stopped and took in a deep breath, boosting her inner strength. “I want to thank you, again. It’s not everyday that someone goes out of their way to help me.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, scooping up the diced carrots and tossing them into a glass bowl.
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days.” Gale picked up the bowl and sat it on the counter beside the sink, adding, “Please, have a seat.”
Pulling out an old, scuffed chair, Lori sat at the table, her eyes squinting at the sunlight entering through the window. She blinked away the burning and pressure, easing the annoyance, but the irritation remained.
Gale saw her shy away from the light. “I thought your kind can wasn’t harmed by the sun.”
“I’m just not strong enough right now,” she said, using her hand to shield the light from her face. She fought to look at the woman through her parted fingers. “How is it that you know so much about my kind?”
“Well,” began Gale as she closed the short curtains to the kitchen’s only window, “my mother taught me everything I know about this world.” She went back to the table and sat across from Lori, her work-worn hands picking out a potato to peel. “My mother practiced the old art of Death Charming.”
Lori removed her hand from her face at the mentioning of the odd term. “Raising the dead?” she asked, skeptical.
“Death Charmers do more than raise the dead.”
“Like control the undead?”
“I suppose if one’s powerful enough. But you’re not undead, and I’m not that powerful.” She flashed another one of her warm smiles. “No, I don’t deal much with that side of my family history anymore. Too many checks and balances, and not to mention the downside when someone discovers your talents. Then you become more popular than a priest after Mardi Gras.”
“So you come from a family of necromancers?”
“I don’t like that word,” said Gale, her lips pursing in disgust. “Such a foul word, and so eagerly adopted by The Brotherhood.”
“Do they have the ability to control the undead?”
She shrugged. “They have ways to bend vampires to do their dirty work, but I don’t know if they can gain complete control. Why are you so concerned about this? It’s not like they could break you.”
“I just… I know someone who was taken over by a necro, I mean, Death Charmer. He’s been trying to find the one responsible. It’s been centuries since it happened, but he’s certain this guy is still alive.”
Gale gave a slow nod, recalling the stories told to her by her mother. “There are Death Charmers who have learned to erase their own death. They have many names, but we call them the Shadowed Ones. It’s an ancient technique that even the simplest of humans can master. But to know this secret… Who really wants to live forever on this rock? Anyway, I believe the technique was lost ages ago. Only a handful of those Shadowed Ones are said to still exist.” Gale picked up a new potato as she asked, “Who is this friend of yours, the one who had the run-in with the Death Charmer?”
Lori sat back, her hands sliding from the table and into her lap, fingers intertwining. “He’s not really a friend. Just someone I know.”
The woman’s brown eyes lifted to study the girl. “I’d venture to guess that he’s much more than just a friend.”
“What makes you say that?”
Gale continued peeling the potato. “I’m very good at reading between the lines. And when I add that to your body language, it tells me you hurt thinking about him. So I’ll change the subject. What do you like to eat?”
“Eat?”
“Chicken, pork, beef, vegetables? Any preferences? I know you must be hungry.”
“I’m not that hungry,” she lied.
Setting the potato with the others, Gale went to the refrigerator and removed a plastic pitcher covered in foil, and sat it on the table. She then grabbed a glass from the cabinet. Lori’s breathing slowed as she caught a whiff of the pitcher’s contents. Pig’s blood. The chilled liquid left the pitcher, filling the glass with a thickness of watered-down syrup. There was no warmth—no life to the blood staring back at her. Though her taste buds revolted at the pending first sip, Lori knew the strength it would still grant her. Lifting the glass to her lips, she held her breath and drank. Once settling within her stomach, her body took over, working its magic as it used every part of this foul substance to heal herself even further. She missed the fire and electricity given to her by fresh, human blood. She missed the feeling of a living human in her arms. She even missed the taste of vampire’s blood and how it filled her with an unhindered strength. Five years may seem like a blink of an eye to most vampires, but to be away from the things she loved and lusted for, it was an eternity to her.
Lori sat the empty glass on the table. Gale went to refill the glass but found Lori’s hand waving her away. “I’m fine. One glass is plenty.”
“Are you sure? You need to rebuild your strength.”
“I don’t need much,” she lied, again.
“All right. But if you want anymore, then feel free to help yourself.” Gale returned the pitcher to the refrigerator, then gathered up potatoes to finish cleaning them in the sink.
During her five year stay, Lori learned to enjoy the weekly meals in the form of medical blood. Owen would sneak in an extra bag on his visits. It was his twisted way to form some kind of friendship or trust between them. But Lori never fell for his bullshit. She let him do whatever he wanted just to fuel the special treatment he bestowed upon her. Blood in exchange for his pathetic, carnal games was a small price to pay. There were plenty of times when she saw the opportunity to kill the bastard, but the drugs in her system kept her as weak as a human child. She had to play along to survive.
But now, free of the wretched drugs, Lori could feel her fangs begging to strike flesh. For five years they sat dormant, held prisoner under The Brotherhood’s command. Even the chilled pig’s blood teased her fangs into life. Gale and Maurice were in no danger around her wakening body, though. It was Owen who needed to fear this dhampir’s wrath.
“The Brotherhood,” said Lori, smothering her building rage, “what can you tell me about them?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”

If peacefulness could live side by side with a blinding fury, then Lori was a master of the technique. The days she spent on Gale’s farm almost, at times, caused her to forget the real reason she carried her hate. But as many forgotten dreams eventually return, Lori’s focus shifted back to her goal.
She had known this hate before, but on a stronger level. The ones responsible for that particular incident were punished in a gruesome manner, delivered by her father’s own hands. She, however, would never be able to express the hate left within her. The years between her death and rebirth were too many to kept hold of such a draining emotion. To survive in this new world she had to let go of her past.
And on this day, miles away from any town, Lori saw a side of existence she wanted to protect.
Gale’s farm was surrounded by the dry, Arizona lands. A small river ran through the southern edge of her property, supporting wild vegetation for her grazing animals. She didn’t have many animals to take care of: most were chickens, hogs, and goats. The rickety, old barn that sat near the house contained the rusting remains of a 1928 Ford Model A. The tires had rotted away years ago, and the bare rims were sunken into the ground as plants grew onto the metalwork, locking it in place.
Lori stepped further into the aging barn. Mounds of forgotten hay bails lined the back wall and loft. Along the side wall, bridles and degrading tack still hung. The barn, once holding horses, mules, and other large animals, was left to decay under the harsh sun.
Out of the many forgotten objects left inside, the old car spoke to Lori, whispering images of her own past. Her hand moved toward the car, passing through rays of dotted sunlight that came from the warped roof. She ran her fingertips along the car’s body and stopped as she reached the passenger side door. Giving the handle a tug, the door wouldn’t open. She tried again, careful not to damage the relic. The door finally opened with a hollow, metallic pop and loud squelch as the hinges yielded under her efforts. The interior shown the signs of dry rot and the damage left by rain water.
Lori recalled the car’s heyday, as well as the other cars from the era. The mental images brought forth the fashion of the time—the sequin and feather adorned dresses, to the perfectly tailored suits the men wore. But these were all images from her past, the high class society she once immersed herself. It was always fun playing pretend. But this car probably saw neither sequin nor suit. This car lived a middle class life, if even that. Other images filled Lori’s mind as she saw a similar car hurrying down a dirt road, herself behind the wheel, dressed in simple, men’s clothing, and a dying human in the passenger seat. She was outrunning a mistake that cost her the life of a close friend.
She could remember the lights from the car as they shown on the river bank. It was a moonless night when the fun turned deadly. The creature that followed them inflicted the injuries to her friend, and Lori was certain that it continued its hunt after the two robbers. Dragging her friend from the car, she placed her on the river’s edge. The blonde haired girl took in her last breaths as Lori begged for forgiveness. Fearing the beast was closing in, she rolled her friend’s body into the water and stood, watching her disappear in the rush of the dark river.
The light from the car’s headlights dimmed around Lori. She could hear the heavy breathing and footsteps behind her. Taking a calming breath, she turned to face her pursuer. The beast crouched between her and the car, its silhouette the only thing she could see. With ears flattening, a deep growl left the beast as it slunk forward, its entire body ready to strike. Lori closed her eyes, her head rolling back to take in another breath. As her head dropped forward, her eyes opened, the golden irises pressed to a slender ring around each pupil. The beast leapt for her, its teeth aiming for her delicate neck.
The vision left her with a snap. Lori looked back at the car and saw a large spider scurrying up the dusty windshield. Still reeling from the onslaught of images, Lori’s anger at herself boiled over. She swung her hand at the windshield, smashing the spider as it neared the roof. Grinding her hand against the glass, she felt the spider’s body reduce to a gooey mess of legs, tissue, and innards. Lori then wiped her hand clean on the car’s rusty hood. She wanted something bigger to kill.
Outside, a dark SUV entered the dirt covered driveway before the quaint farmhouse. Gale stepped from the front door to greet the men. Maurice stopped feeding the hogs as he noticed the familiar car.
Lori watched from a crack in the barn’s wall. This was as Gale feared. She warned Lori that they might come, angered by their wayward cleaning lady. But after a week of waiting and no visit from The Brotherhood, they were beginning to breath a sigh of relief. And though Lori was strong enough to leave, she stayed out of obligation and the fear of losing this peaceful place.
Lori counted the men who stepped from the vehicle. Three. The odds are in my favor. Three human maggots were child’s play. But as the back, side door open and closed, Lori saw more men inside, waiting to be called into action. The SUV was packed. This was no reconnaissance mission. They were here to kill.
Get out of there! Lori wanted to scream at Gale.
The woman boldly stepped off the front porch and spoke to the three men. She gestured in the direction of the goats paddock, sticking to her story of her pregnant animals ready to deliver. The lead man waved away the explanation and pointed a stern hand at her, and then at the land around, his words explaining the true ownership of her farm. Gale’s composure grew ridged as she threw her hands on her hips.
“Don’t you go around lecturing me on the rights of this property,” she snapped back. “I’ve worked this land since I could walk. You and your crew can go without this cleaning lady for a couple more weeks. Your boss knows where the mops are kept.”
The man crossed his arms, amused at her feistiness. “Where is she?”
“Who?” Gale asked.
“The half-breed. We know she’s here. Her tracking implant is still active. So I would advise you to be a good team player and hand her over. If not”—he nodded at one of the men, who then removed a gun from his holster and took aim at Maurice—“you’re gonna find yourself awfully lonely out here.”
“I removed the tracking device,” explained Gale. “She hasn’t been here in days. I woke up this past Tuesday and she was gone. I don’t know where she was going.”
The man’s lips tightened as he shook his head. “You don’t know much about the technology we use. The device she has shuts off when the temperature around it drops below 80 degrees Fahrenheit. As of”—he glanced at his watch—“five minutes ago, her signal was still in this valley. You have ten seconds to bring her to me.”
“Do you even care about your test subjects?” asked Gale. Her defiance was a suicidal move in Lori’s eyes. “These are people with lives of their own. What gives you the right to pick them out of society to perform your little experiments on? They aren’t disposable lab rats!”
Turning to the man with the gun, the leader ordered, “Wound him.”
The shot rang out, echoing over the valley. Maurice’s screams followed as he grabbed his knee and fell to the ground. Gale jumped into action, trying to hurry to his side, but the man held onto her.
“Tell us where she is,” he said.
Gale ripped herself away from him and staggered back, her eyes falling to Maurice moaning in pain. “She isn’t here!” she yelled. “I haven’t seen her since last night!”
“Oh, Gale,” he mocked, “you shouldn’t have stuck your nose in our business.” He looked at the man with the gun. “Kill him.”
Lori heard Gale’s desperate scream as a second shot echoed throughout the valley. Maurice’s body jolted once before ceasing all movement. The single bullet to the head was enough. Gale’s screaming blended into hysterical cries as she went to his side, her hands hovering over him, afraid to touch.
The man gave his last order, “Let’s finish this.”
Three more shots filled the air. Gale’s body fell to the ground beside Maurice.
Pain ran through Lori’s hand as she gripped the wooden railing at her side. It took all of her strength to keep herself from running into the fray. She cursed her weakened body. At one time, prior to the current mess, killing these men wouldn’t invoke any second thoughts. But now, even the pain in her hand caused her to doubt her abilities. She had to be patient.
From the SUV, the other men exited to secure the scene. Half of the men entered the house while the others waited outside. Their leader motioned to the two bodies and the men jumped into action, picking them up and carrying them inside the house. Lori’s eyes remained on the leader as he looked around the surrounding valley, mentally daring him to investigate the old barn.
The men from inside the house filed back outside. Black smoke began to roll out from the open windows. The callous men stood before the house, watching as the first signs of flames began to appear within. The leader barked out more orders as he sent the remaining men to scour the property.
The time was now. Lori had to make her move.
Running toward the back of the barn, away from the burning house, she pushed against a loose board. The board beside it gave as well, allowing her enough room to squeeze through. Lori kept her back against the barn and looked for any cover. In the distance, at the edge of the valley, she spotted her destination; an outcropping of boulders. The large behemoths were part of the ridged that outlined the ancient riverbed.
Lori heard the barn’s rusty hinges groan as the door opened. She kicked herself into a full run, ignoring her need to breathe. From inside the barn, the man called out to the others, followed by a gunshot. The bullet missed her by two feet, striking the ground before her. Lori changed her direction and began to weave in and out of the waist-high bushes. Unable to gain a clean shot, the tactic sent the men running after her. The other men went back to the SUV to begin their own chase.
Halfway to her destination, Lori began to breath. Her legs were tiring faster than she anticipated. She wasn’t sure if she could make it. But as the last stretch of land came into view, she picked up her speed, her legs turning from warm jelly and into nothingness—a numbness that left her wondering if her legs continued to move at all.
The men following their target and saw her enter the scattered formation of rocks. As they neared the first set of boulders, they spread out. It was like treeing a cat. They knew she was hiding somewhere within the rocky mess.
One man took the brave route and entered the formation, his rifle ready. Boulders as high as a two-story building loomed around him, blocking the sun. This man’s real skill was in hunting werewolves at night, not rogue dhampirs in the daytime. He was actually insulted by the mission he was given.
Nearing one of the formation’s edge, a hand grabbed hold of the rifle’s barrel and pulled. The man went forward with it and saw the brief glimpse of an elbow before he was struck in the face. The man blindly let go of the rifle and went for his handgun.
Lori dropped the rifle and grabbed the handgun, twisting it free with one hand as she brought up the other, ramming the base of her palm into the man’s nose. As he lost his balance, Lori caught him and held him close. She ripped away his hands from his face. The scent of blood collided into her, teasing every part of her that craved its taste.
She felt the man’s body preparing to call out for help, and before his lungs could finishing filling with air, she wrapped her hand around his neck, her thumb pressing hard to seal off his airway.
Lori leaned in, her eyes catching his. This man wasn’t afraid of her. He was furious at himself for losing to a lowly half-breed. His lack of humbleness infuriated Lori. She gave in to the blood’s calling. A familiar pressure began deep within her gums, magnified by the years spent locked away. As she felt her teeth extend, the release eased the annoying pressure. Oh, how she missed this. She wanted to savor this kill, but the men surrounding the area pushed her to act fast.
The man saw the fangs as the dhampir’s mouth parted. This didn’t make any sense to him. Dhampirs were not suppose to have fangs. His mind continued to scramble over the facts. No answer seemed right. What was she?
Lori forced his head to the side and tore into his neck. The blood poured from him faster than she could drink. As his legs gave out, she released him and went for the discarded handgun, then aimed at his chest and fired. The shot was a stone for two birds. Still holding the gun, she moved deeper into the formation and concealed herself for the next attack.
The final three men that followed her on foot surrounded their fallen comrade. One man kneeled to investigate the bite on his neck.
“This is the bite from a vampire,” he said. “Get on the radio and let them where we’re at. Tell them that we’re going to need something stronger than bullets.”
The man beside him went for his radio. As he pressed the button to speak, a bullet sliced through the air and smashed into his skull. Before his body could hit the ground, a second bullet struck its mark, hitting the other man in his temple. The stunned man still kneeling on the ground, raised his hands and called out, “Don’t shoot!”
He looked in the direction the bullets came from and saw a young woman with long, auburn hair and blood covering her mouth. She kept the gun in her hand trained on him as she stepped closer.
His thoughts seemed to pick up where his comrade’s ended. “What are you?” he asked, the question showing no fear.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
“Where’s what?”
“The tracking device that’s in me. Where is it?”
The man, still keeping his hands outstretched, carefully stood. “You were shot in the head six times. I saw the video. You should be dead… What are you?”
Lori lowered the gun and fired, shooting him in the knee, a veiled payback to the same shot that was bestowed upon Maurice. But this man refused to cry out; he instead dropped to the ground, sneering at the pain. Lori tossed the gun to the side and went before the man, lifting him up, his back pressed hard against the rock wall.
“Where is it?” she yelled.
“The left arm,” he answered through shuddering breaths. “Below the elbow, between the bones.”
Lori stepped away. The man struggled to stand on one leg as he dared to look at her. The same question left him. “What are you?”
Refusing to answer, Lori began to check the other men for a knife. The first man she killed carried a large, military knife strapped to his outer leg. She worked fast as the injured man watched.
Lori held her breath once more, preparing herself for the pain. She jabbed the blade deep into her arm and left a long gash. Dropping the knife, she used her fingers to fish around inside the muscle and tendons. Gritting her teeth, she went deeper. The tip of her index finger landed on a small, cylinder object no bigger than a pencil eraser. She pulled it free and held it up. The device was made of a clear casing with a microchip inside. Lori sat it on the hard ground and stood, smashing it with the heel of her shoe.
“Are there anymore?” she asked.
“N-no.”
“Good.” Picking up the knife, Lori looked at the man. “They need to know what I’m capable of. They need to fear what I am.”
“Wha—what are you?”
“The daughter of Jharell.”
The name sent the air out of the man’s lungs. This was the explanation he was looking for. Everything else fell in to place. She wasn’t lying. These were his last moments alive and there was no need for her to deceive him at this point.

The SUV rolled up to the ominous rocks that sat atop the valley’s edge. The final three men left the vehicle and approached with guns drawn. Something was wrong. The radio contact between the two groups fell quiet minutes before arriving on the scene. This wasn’t a part of protocol. The last thing mentioned was the sound of a gunshot.
The leader took the direct path into the formation as the other men followed. Reaching the center, his shoulders dropped upon seeing the mess left behind. The other men stood beside him, aghast at the carnage. Strewn out over the rock floor, the bodies of the four man lay, their abdomens spilt open and intestines ripped from them.
“Where is she now?” their leader asked.
The man at his side raised a small device, the size of a cell phone, and looked for the signal. “I’m sorry, sir. The signal’s gone. One of them must’ve squealed its location.”
A flash of contempt shown on the leader’s face. He looked over the bodies once more and gave his order. “Get Reinhardt on the phone and inform him of our status. Tell him the fish spit out the hook.”

Along the sun-scorched road, carved through the desolate back country, Lori walked. Her hands, arms, face, and the front of her clothes were covered in blood, saturated to her skin and almost dried. The sensation from the hardening clothes was a tolerable one, but the affects from the sun were impossible to ignore. The longer she spent under its harsh light, the further she damaged her body, sending her strength near to that of a human. But her new sanctuary was in sight.
The old gas station and diner were once a part of a small pit-stop area along this stretch of road. Other buildings sat near it, including a garage and unused gift shop. The place was family owned. But as age and progress were the downside to places such as these, the family was nothing more than a father and son. The wife divorced him years ago, taking most of his money and moving west to California. Their son, now twenty-three, stayed with the parent he respected the most.
Lori headed for the diner portion of the old building. She didn’t register anything beyond the vintage bar stool she climbed onto. It was the shade and coolness of this place she took in.
The father saw the woman approach from the road and noticed the terrible shape she was in. He watched her enter the diner and take a seat, propping her arms on the bar as if waiting for service. Carefully, he walked up to her, asking if she needed any help. The woman didn’t reply; instead, she kept her eyes forward, staring at nothing. He looked her over once more, catching sight of the deep wound on her arm.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” he asked.
The woman answered, her voice almost inaudible. “No.”
“I have a phone if you need to use it.”
“I need a car.”
The man was caught off guard by the request. “I can drive you into town, if you like.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh, it won’t be any trouble.”
With shaky movements, the woman turned her head to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Lori threw her hands around the man, grabbing and clawing at the collar of his shirt. The weight of her attack sent the man to the ground with her on top, mouth already at his neck and teeth in his skin. As she took in his blood, she felt it calming her from the core and outward, pushing away the draining effects from the sun.
Feeling his heart stop, Lori left his body and stood. Her eyes searched the diner and gift area for anything useful. A single rack of tee-shirts and souvenirs caught her attention. Looking over the assortment of shirts, she grabbed a light blue one, as well as pair of cheap, beige shorts. She then headed for the back, toward the sign that read “Restroom.”
The small restroom offered a toilet and simple, porcelain sink, with an old mirror above. Lori placed the clothes on the back of the toilet and began to undress. She worked fast, washing off the blood from her hands and using wet paper towels to clean the rest of her body.
In the diner, the son stepped through the door. He saw the woman enter as well, but waited in the garage until his curiosity became too great. From the sight of her he knew something was wrong. But when he entered the diner, his concern went from the woman to his father. He rushed to his father’s side and saw the blood on his neck. Was he shot? Fearing that the attacker was still inside, he went behind the counter and grabbed the hidden shotgun. The sound of running water was the next thing that drew his attention.
The son raised the shotgun and walked toward the restroom door, each footstep slow and gliding across the old floor. Taking in a final breath he paused before making another move. As his fear turned to bravery he kicked open the door and aimed the shotgun. The woman stood before the sink, completely nude, and washing the blood from her body. Her eyes stayed on him, lifeless eyes that shown no remorse. She wasn’t a helpless woman in distress.
The son once again latched onto his fear and felt his trigger finger tighten. The blast from the gun jolted him as it set a spray of buckshot toward the woman. His numb senses returned, surveying the result. The woman continued to stand. Her eyes dropped to her abdomen and saw the damage left by the shot. Her right side, from breast to hip, was peppered with the pellets. The majority of the shot struck the sink at her side, shattering it. The stunned human stared at her.
Lori looked back at him, debating what to do—how to resolve this mess. She chose the easiest route. Stepping toward him, she saw him cock the gun and raise it for another shot. She closed in and grabbed the gun, her finger over his. She twisted, pointing it away from them and fired. In another twist, she pulled the gun from his hands and swung it around, smashing it into his face. He staggered away from her as he covered his numb jaw.
“Men and their guns,” she said, tossing it to the floor. She stepped closer and demanded, “Look at what you did to me.” The man avoided the sight of her as he backed away. “Look at me, boy!” His teary eyes shuddered with each attempt to look at the woman. Blood ran down from the peppered skin, looking worse than what it was.
She continued speaking. “Do you know how long it will take me to remove all of this shit from my body?” She sneered at the stinging flesh. It was beginning to heal around the intruding pelts. “I’m sorry about all of this. I’ll make it quick for you. It will be like a dream. No pain and no fear, I promise.”
Hearing the words, the young man ran for the other side of the diner, the area serving as a convenience store. Lori ran after him, throwing her weight into his body and sending them both to the floor. She rolled him over and fought to gain hold of his flailing arms. Finally pinning them with one hand she used her other to rip away the collar of his shirt. She wasn’t really hungry for his blood, but her body still craved it. As she drank, the unmatched taste of human blood was mixed with the smell of grease from his skin and clothes. The intrusive smell caused her to stop breathing and drink faster. She forgone the feeling of peace she promised him. He fought back, and for that rude act, she allowed him to feel the pain from her bite and granted him a clear mind to realize that this was his death.
Lori sat up, her eyes rising to the shelves of products. A few boxes of first-aid kits sat off to the side, almost conveniently placed. She stood up, grabbed one, and then opened it. A pair of tweezers sat inside, along other helpful items. She went back to the shelves and grabbed more items, filling up a tourist tote bag she saw in another isle.
Back in the bathroom she bandaged up the wounds and redressed in her new, and detested, clothes. With a quick check of the two men’s pockets, she found a set of keys with small, black remote attached. The last thing she checked was the cash register, pulling out all the money she could fit into her pockets.
Outside, she hit the remote. A car horn sounded beside the garage. Lori rounded the corner and saw a grey, two door Hyundai. She threw the bag in the passenger seat and started the engine. As she neared the road she stopped.
Too much evidence, Lori thought. Looking in the rearview mirror she saw the gas pumps. Fire would erase most of the evidence, but it would attract attention quicker than someone stumbling onto the scene. She looked toward the horizon and saw the light on the landscape beginning to turn orange. Sunset was approaching. Time was against her.
Lori threw the car in park and got out, then headed for the garage. She saw a red gas can off to the side and grabbed it. The plastic thing was empty. Hurrying over to the pumps, she began to fill it, her eyes darting up and down the quiet road, searching for any cars. With the can filled, she went into the diner and began dosing everything she could, taking care to saturate the bodies. Lori had no remorse for her actions. Her conscious was clear when she told them she was sorry, words she honestly said to those who didn’t deserve to die, but would cause her harm if they lived. No evidence. No witnesses.
Tossing the empty can behind the counter, Lori went for the assortment of lighters and a stack of newspapers. She rolled up a few pages and stood by the door. Giving one last look around the store, she lit the paper and dropped it onto a pool of gasoline. The flames raced around, igniting everything the fuel touched.
She hurried back to the car and sped onto the road, her eyes lifting to the rearview mirror and seeing the smoke leaving the building. How long would it take before someone to notice? Then how long would it take before the first fire trucks arrive? And what about the house burning only miles away? Would they connect the two?
SEVEN, Lori thought. It was a group she once feared more than The Brotherhood. But her tracks were cleared. The bodies from the diner would be too far gone to show the real cause of their deaths. It will leave the local boys scratching their heads. SEVEN would see no reason to get involved. But this car, it was her only means of escape and the only piece of evidence tying her to the scene. She had to ditch it before entering the next town.

As night moved in, Lori walked into town. Thirty minutes before entering she left the car in a gully, three miles from the road. Not the cleanest ditch but it bought her enough time.
The town had a laziness about it. Buildings looked rundown and most of the cars looked a decade old, save for the few that were parked near the police station and City Hall.
Lori continued walking. The bandages along her side tugged at her skin, irritating her with each step. She needed to find a place to stay. She searched the main street for anything. Finally, as she neared the other end of town, she spotted a motel. This was her haven for the night.
Strolling up to the front desk, Lori switched on her charm, smiling as the man noticed her.
“May I help you,” he asked. He sounded too tired to even bother.
“I need a room for the night,” she said, ending with another smile.
He glanced out the door’s window and into the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
“Someone dropped me off. I had some car trouble and they were kind enough to bring me into town. I have a friend meeting me here tomorrow to help me out. I just need a room for one night.” Again, another smile.
“So, you had car trouble and didn’t call a garage?”
Lori’s inner voice growled at him. Stop asking me these fucking questions and just give me a damn room! “I don’t have enough money for that right now. My friend works on cars and told me to wait for him. I don’t argue with the man. He’s helped me out one too many times in the past. So, how much for the room?”
He continued to eye her. “Thirty-five.”
Lori reached into her pocket and pulled out two twenties. “Keep the change.”
Taking the money, he opened the register. “I thought you don’t have enough money?”
She laughed. “Could be because I tip so damn much.”
The man grabbed a room key off the wall and handed it to her. “Room 8.”
Lori took the key and nodded. “Thank you.”

Lori closed the door and locked herself inside. She then dropped the bag on the bed and went to the bathroom to undress. The bandages were almost soaked through. She ripped them away to look at the skin.
“Dammit.” They were healing too fast. Going to the bag, Lori removed the first-aid kit and a pocketknife. She retuned to the bathroom, stopping as she saw herself in the mirror. It did look worse than what it was. The damage was enough to send a normal human to the hospital. But digging these things out on her own… She had taken buckshot before and on a much more devastating level. On that occasion, however, someone else dealt with the aftermath, taking their time to remove every little piece. This was the downside to living outside of the Havens. Never in all of these years did she yearn so much to be back at his side. She wanted him to storm into this town and save her from the men playing God.
Lori pressed her back against the wall and slid to the floor, her arms draped over her knees. She hated the life of a nomad.
Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I need you.”