Strays Read online

  Max’s eyes wandered from them to the back of Reagan’s head. Her dreads hopped like thick snakes around her shoulders. She walked straight to the wall, grabbed a sconce and picked it up. “Watch your step. Don’t want to knock any of the candles over.”

  The fire did nothing to illuminate the hall any more than it already was. Even though the place was dimly lit, it was bright enough to see all that went on. There was a woman bathing her children, both younger than six, in a large, silver tub. Clotheslines hung low from the high ceiling from thick string, and a short, dark-skinned girl with curly brown hair was tending to them. She squeezed a sleeve with her hand to see if it was dry. Max tried not to look any of the people in their eyes, but they stared at her.

  Can you see me, daddy?

  Max wanted to be invisible. She wanted to be a ghost in this place. She wanted everyone to stop staring at her like she was some new species. She wasn’t Stray. She wasn’t a vampire. She was as human as human got. She knew one thing, as many people as it was in this place, there was no way she was about to be cooked for anyone’s dinner. She saw no one with red and silver rings around their eyes so she didn’t think any of them were vampires.

  Reagan turned into a classroom on the left. A few of them were asleep on wrinkled piles of blankets, while others stared out of the windows with binoculars. She noticed that most of them—most of the men anyway—carried weapons. Guns were attached to their hips or palms or legs. “Through here.” Reagan stepped carefully through an enormous hole in the wall, into another classroom. “We keep this door locked from the outside too.”

  It didn’t seem safe to Max, but she wasn’t going to question their practices. She did things differently with her own group. Now, if only she could get back to them. She looked around at all the women who occupied the tiny space. The desks had been moved somewhere out of the room, leaving neatly stacked canned foods. Green beans, baked beans, mixed fruit, and various soups lined the walls. Curious, wide eyes watched her move about. Compared to them, she was a train wreck.

  “Mom,” a male’s voice came from behind her and she jumped mechanically and whipped around. Her hair smacked Reagan’s face when she did.

  “Relax,” Reagan said, laughing. “It’s just Dante, my son.”

  “Who’s this?” the man she had called Dante said. His blond hair was thick and curly and looked as if it had been bleached by the sun. He was dressed in all black and geared from head to toe with weapons. Once upon a lifetime he might have been a soldier. “Is this the chick from last night? We thought you were dead, girly.” He shoved her shoulder hard with his hand, knocking her off balance. “You’re banged up, but you can run like hell.” His dark green eyes were watery like he’d just come in from a blizzard cold day.

  She didn’t know if she was supposed to say yes to that. “Only my mother calls me Dante. Everyone else calls me Curly.” He held his gloved hand out.

  “Max.”

  Another male, just as tall, but not as heavy, stepped into the room. He sniffed hard at the thick aroma of beans in the air. Max observed his mint green eyes, the same as Reagan’s. The only difference was the ring of silver and red around them. He was vampire. He was paler in comparison than his mother and brother, but clearly related. His sandy brown dreadlocks were tied back in a ponytail and hanging down his back. Lose strands of soft and curly blond hair escaped from the locks, making him look more animalistic than human. Max ducked her head. She felt like she shouldn’t look at him for too long. “Mom, where the hell’ve you been? You can’t just leave without telling anyone.”

  “Watch your mouth, Dakota,” Reagan said. “We have a guest. This is Max. Max, this is my youngest son, Dakota.”

  “Kota,” Curly said, rolling his eyes at his mom. “You’re literally the only person who insists on calling us by our real names.”

  “Well, those were the names I gave you when you were born.”

  “It’s a new world, ma. We get new names.”

  “Oh, is that how it works?”

  Max looked up, ignoring their bicker, but Dakota was gone. Thank God.

  “Kota and I’re going to check the perimeter.”

  “You most certainly are not.”

  “The good thing about having a vampire for a brother: great smelling. Not so good hearing, but great smelling.” He walked off with a playful salute.

  Reagan stood there, shaking her head. She looked at Max with a shrug. “I never wanted those two to grow up… and it seems they never did. Hungry?”

  Max nodded.

  “Well, how about you get cleaned up first? We’ll get you some clean clothes. Clean up those wounds for you. Hm?”

  Like she could argue that. She agreed with a quick nod.

  “Great. Then I’ll show you to the bathing room, Baby Doll.”

  Three

  Max

  ●

  I danced in Swan Lake when I was fifteen. It was a silly, small high school production with a short budget, but I was excited to play lead. I had danced ballet since I was five and just remembered thinking that now everyone got to see how special I was. When it was over, my parents took Eric and me for ice cream. My dad had put his arm around me and pulled me close to him. The pungent smell of his cologne, fading as I breathed it in, must have formed a stain on my memory. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” my father had said to me.

  Max brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The tub was only big enough for her to sit comfortably one way anyway. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting in that little, gray tub, but the water was cold and brown now. She had washed the blood from her skin with a scratchy blue cloth, so now all she had left were the bruises. She looked at the folded clothes Reagan had given her, a dark pair of jeans, a gray sweater and black anorak jacket. She had been reluctant to give the jacket up and laughed as she handed it over, saying how she needed to break out of her crazy obsession for material things. The world had gone to shit. The last thing Max cared about was some stupid, fashionable jacket.

  Her eyes darted to the door. Two vampires stood guard outside of it. The room was a bath room, a science lab once upon a time. There was gray tub after gray tub, separated only six feet apart. They used black buckets to carry the hot water from the sink to the tubs and all the clothes were dumped into one large basket and washed. They became fair game after that, for anyone to wear. Max’s clothes weren’t season appropriate and they were torn. So they would probably just be recycled as washing rags or something.

  She had washed the dirt and grime from her hair, but it still felt greasy. The result of weeks without washing it.

  “I’m”— she cleared her throat. “I’m finished now.” She couldn’t understand why the towel hadn’t just been given to her with her clothes, but at least they were being hospitable.

  She covered her body with her arms as one of the guards, definitely a vampire, walked a wrinkled, damp white towel to her. “Sorry, they weren’t all dry.”

  Max took it. “Thanks.”

  “Are you still bleeding?”

  She was sitting in a tub of bloody water. “Not sure.” Vampires and their damn high sense of smell. “Do you mind?”

  He turned quickly and left the room, closing the door after him. Carefully, checking to make sure the room was clear, she climbed out of the tub. She dried off quickly, dressed quickly and walked to the door. Her bare feet were cold on the tile. She wanted socks and her boots. Her feet were still scarred from dancing. They would be permanently scarred.

  “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

  After getting her wounds bandaged by a child no older than twelve, Max made her way back to the room where someone had started a portable fryer and was heating pots of beans. At least five or six pots full. She didn’t see Reagan and wasn’t comfortable being there without her, so she backed up. She was about to back out of the room, but her body smacked against Curly’s and she jumped forward and turned around.

  “My bad, little one,�
�� he said, laughing and carrying a bag of something that looked heavy. He carried it to a brown table and slammed it down. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Max heard him, but she couldn’t respond. Something else had caught her attention. Sticking up from the front of his pants was her gun. The only reason she recognized it was because she had gotten bored the other day and colored red on the grip with a Sharpie she had found. She would know it anywhere.

  “Could I—could I have my gun, please?” Normally, she wasn’t so polite about people stealing her things, but she didn’t know these people.

  “Huh?” Curly faced her. “What did you say? You’ve got to speak up.”

  We learned to live quietly.

  “My gun,” she said, louder. She hadn’t missed the depth of her voice. “That’s my gun.” She had dropped it, trying to get away from that Stray.

  Curly looked at his waist and then back at her. “This is yours?” he said, laughing and pointing his junk in her direction. “Hm? No smile?” He shrugged and backed off. “Just messing around. You look like you need a good laugh.”

  Despite how unfunny he was, Max found solace in his attempts to make her feel better. He pulled the gun from his pants and held it out to her. She took it and examined it. None of the bullets had been removed. She felt like hugging it. Already she felt stronger with it back in her possession. She tucked the thing safely into her jeans and sighed in relief.

  “Hungry now?” Curly nudged her shoulder and walked off. He was a tall and bulky man of about twenty-five years old. His arms were five times her size. God. He could kill her if he squeezed her too tight. She watched him walk away, tilting her head. His butt wasn’t bad either. It had been a long time since she had had any intimacy with the opposite sex and it wasn’t making her feel any better with all the opportunity here. Curly had to be the third guy she’d seen with hair and arms like that. A girl could dream.

  Without thinking, Max went to the bag he had brought and opened it. She thought it might have been something of use, something she could use to help her out of that place, but it was just a bunch of old cans. She didn’t have a chance to dig any deeper. Her arm was snatched away and then her body was moved from one place to another all in a matter of seconds. She had to catch her balance and figure out what had happened.

  “Does that have your name written on it?” Dakota stood there, chewing something. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses. “Are you used to touching things that aren’t yours?” There was a nude hearing aid in his left ear, which blinked a blue light every few seconds.

  At first Max had thought he’d had an accent, but now she could see that he just had a hard time hearing. “Uh yeah, that’s kind of how we all survive.”

  He smirked. “Well, don’t touch it. It’s not yours. Come get something to eat.” He walked away.

  Max sighed. All she could think about was how different he was from his brother, smaller but just as tall, probably nineteen or twenty. She couldn’t tell. It made her think of her own brother. Eric was four years younger than her, only thirteen, and there was no telling what was going through his mind. She prayed to goodness he didn’t think she was dead. They had already lost their parents.

  An old woman—who had been going from pot to pot and mixing the beans—used a giant wooden spoon to slop a load of beans in a red mug. She handed just the cup to Max and waved her hand for the next person. Max backed away. Not a spoon in sight. She avoided eye contact with the others in the room. She wanted to be alone and think about what her next move would be. Before she could find a corner to sit in, Curly was strapping something around her waist, an adjustable gun holster. He handed her a knife sheath.

  “There was a police station down the block,” he said, before giving her one of his goodbye salutes and walking off.

  His corniness was adorable. Max sat down in the corner of the room, moved her weapons to their new homes and then stared blankly into the bowl of steaming beans. They had things good here. If it wasn’t for Eric, if she had been all alone, she might have stayed. Alas, she needed to get back to her group. They were her family. With them was where she belonged.

  Four

  Max

  ●

  I’m crying. Hard. Like the night my father died. I’m crying so hard that I can taste the salt and the snot all together, which only makes me cry harder because it reminds me of how childish I’ve become. It’s cold outside and since my brother doesn’t have any coat or warm clothes I’ve given him my jacket. At least he’s warm. I can’t keep crying like this. I have to get up and move. I have to move…

  The sun had begun to set. Max didn’t know where the time had gone, but the sun was setting and her fear was kicking in. Reagan, Kota and Curly had gone off with a large group to light candles and set up bundles of cans they had tied together with twine. They would place them in the major doorways. The night would be quiet.

  She should have left earlier, but she wanted to gain more strength. Her brother was somewhere out there, waiting on her. When they had lost their parents, she had tried to be strong for him. She had tried to make him stronger by being stronger, so she had only cried in the night when he was asleep. She wanted to cry now, but she had to occupy herself with something else. So she prayed. She prayed that the group was taking care of each other and that Eric was alive and well. She prayed for his courage.

  Then, because everyone else was asleep, with their children or husbands or wives, and because she had no one to snuggle up with, she left the classroom. The halls were empty now. Most everyone had piled inside classrooms and every door was closed. Homemade recycled cans, turned security alarms, dangled from doorknobs. Max’s boots hardly made a sound. Thanks to her ballet training, she knew how to make her body appear light as a feather. The entire hall was candlelit so she had to be careful not to knock anything over. She pushed open the door to the stairwell, which was also candlelit, and made her way down to the fourth floor. The doors were already secured, which meant they’d already been there. She went down to the third floor, and then second. She heard them on the first floor and ran to catch up with them.

  Their laughter was considerably loud, seeing as the sun was fast setting.

  “Hey,” Max said.

  Curly and Reagan both turned, but Reagan had already had her gun up before they had. “You!” She grunted. “We didn’t even hear you! What on earth’re you doing?” She lowered the gun.

  “I didn’t want to just stay up there and do nothing. I want to help.”

  Curly grinned. “You’re a fierce one, aren’t you? Not even fully recovered and already back into the fray.”

  What choice did she have? She couldn’t just sit on her ass while everyone around her fought to keep them safe. She wanted to be part of it, like she had in her own group.

  “Too late, though. We’ve already finished. Just checking this floor to make sure it’s all clear and then we’re going to head back up and lock ourselves in.”

  “With that stunt you pulled last night, we have to take extra precautions,” Kota said, without looking at her. He sniffed the air and then his hands went up automatically. He cautiously moved forward, with his rifle pointed ahead. “Now every Stray in Michigan knows we’re here.”

  “Don’t listen to my sourpuss brother. It was one Stray.”

  Kota instantly spiraled around. “Exactly! And where there’s one there’re more. Are you stupid, Dante? What do they feed off of?”

  “The same thing you do,” Curly said, rolling his eyes, but facing his brother full on. “Blood.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s a little more complex than that, smartass. For one the only thing I want is the blood. Strays want it all. They want your blood, your flesh, your brain, your heart and everything in between. They devour you inside out and probably save your eyeballs in a little jar. Two, humans aren’t just their life source. They don’t mind picking from vamps, either. All of this—all we built—has just been compromised. We’re responsible for every life in this p
lace! I suggest you keep that in mind the next time you defend her. Everything we’ve built…” He didn’t even let himself finish before walking forward and turning down another lit hall.

  Max was baffled. In a time like this the last thing anyone needed was to be arguing over who did what. They needed to stick together. On another hand, she understood entirely why Kota was upset. If some stranger had come in and endangered her group, she would be pretty pissed about it too. They had fought for and defended their home for so long. It wasn’t fair for her to come in and mess it up for them.

  “I’ll just go,” she said. She should’ve left earlier anyway.

  “You most certainly will not!” Reagan grabbed her shoulder. “The sun’s setting.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just find some place to settle for tonight.” She was already almost two days off from getting back to her group.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Curly said. “He’s dramatic. Ignore him.”

  Kota came strolling from the other end of the hall. “It’s clear.”

  Before he could walk past her, Reagan grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Did we throw you out with the trash when you were bitten?” She said into his ear. “We fight for humanity and vampirism alike. You remember that.”

  “Get off me.” Kota snatched away from her. For a long time he stared coldly into her eyes, unfalteringly. “You didn’t throw me out, no, but you were damn close. And made no secret about it.” He walked coolly away, as if he hadn’t just hurt her heart.