Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
And Kyle knows firsthand what it feels like to endure that cruel and merciless sun out here in the desert.
The only light he doesn’t mind is the moon, and with it at its fullest tonight, it blankets the desert in its pale, milky color, making the sand look like snow.
“Fuck it,” he blurts, then starts heading east instead—with increased urgency to his movements. “And fuck you and your dumb riddles,” he adds in a growl as well, breaking into a sprint as he makes his way across the dry, hard ground. “We’ve got technology, you know. Could’ve dropped a fucking pin on my phone if you wanted me to find you so badly.”
Another hour later, Kyle is nowhere closer to encountering any sign of some secret vampire hideout, and exhaustion starts to pull on his legs the more he runs.
If he gave up on his quest right now, would he even have the strength to head back home? Or the time?
“Find us hiding beyond a dark mouth,” mutters Kyle under his breath, recalling the words, “itself armed with teeth.” He has moved on to making sense of the second half of Lazarus’s instructions, as the whole “running away from the sun” part is a total gamble as far as Kyle is concerned. “Dark mouth? Is that like a cave or something? Sounds like a cave. Are y’all a bunch of fucking vampire bats?”
Then Kyle stops, his Reach finding something. Frenetic, sparkling, electric, utterly untethered. Like a fly bashing against the walls of a honey jar in its desperate pursuit of a way out.
It is unmistakably human.
Then he spots a speck in the distance—a human being.
Running.
Kyle takes off in the direction of the human. The earth flies under his feet as he gains ground, closing the distance between them, certain that the human is a sign.
The closer he gets, he realizes the human is terrified and running for his life. Running from what? Lazarus? Did Kyle catch them in the middle of a hunt? What’s a human doing out here in the desert in the middle of the night, anyway?
Can Kyle save his life if he reaches him first?
As Kyle grows closer, with a substantial amount of distance still between them, he realizes it’s a totally naked man, which in itself creates a whole new list of questions.
Then the man stops.
Does he see Kyle?
The man frantically waves his arms in the air, as if signaling a rescue plane to his deserted island. Now he changes course, running straight for Kyle. “Help!” he cries across the distance. “Please! You gotta help me!”
The closer he comes, Kyle realizes the man is muscular and young. Sweaty. Short blond hair. Some college football player, perhaps, like Kyle might have one day become had his fate been different. Or a wrestler. A gymnast. Amateur bodybuilder with a side gig in modeling. None of these possible conclusions help Kyle understand what this man is doing running around naked in the middle of the desert at this hour. For all Kyle knows, this is a completely unrelated drug deal gone wrong, and the guy was dumped in the middle of the desert without a thing on him, left for dead. He could have been lost out here for days.
When the man grows close, he slows down, quickly slaps a hand over his privates as if just now remembering his state, and spits out the words, “Please, I need—I need to get—to get a—” He can’t catch his breath, doubling over, grabbing Kyle by the arm to prevent himself from collapsing. “P-Please, h-h-help … I need—I need a phone … Do you have a phone? … Can we—Can we even get reception all the way the fuck out here?”
Kyle reaches out to help steady the exhausted young man, causing him to let go of his privates in favor of clinging to Kyle like a life raft. “You’re okay, you’ll be fine,” Kyle quickly tells him, because what the fuck else? “Take a breath, tell me what you’re running from. Tell me why you’re all the way out here.”
“You … You wouldn’t believe me if I—” The man sucks in air, desperate to catch his breath. He looks like he may pass out. “I just need a phone … P-Please, dude. Please.”
Kyle, with one arm steadying the guy, pulls his phone from his pocket. Utterly no reception, as expected.
“You gotta get me outta here,” begs the man, drooping his head on Kyle’s chest, breathing heavy, nearly in tears. “They’re comin’ after me, dude. They’re gonna kill me one of these days, they’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, I just know it …”
“Who’s gonna kill you?” Kyle tries to straighten the man up, but it’s like fighting with deadweight. “Tell me who.”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” he repeats.
Kyle can’t presume anything. He has to be absolutely sure. He sees no bite marks, no obvious bruises, nothing to indicate this guy is any victim of his kind. “Try me,” says Kyle.