Ask me no questions...

Chapter 12: Die Harder on a cruise ship, with vampires

Dashiell

"I'll be back in a minute," I say, squeezing Skyler's shoulder.
"Just take care of yourself," she says, kissing my cheek.
"Get her home, all right Q? I can keep, get her home," I say, into my phone.
"Message received but I'm getting you both home. If you can get power back to the ship we can hopefully get you back on the grid so I can track where you are properly and send help."
"I thought you said we could pilot the ship?" I ask.
"I was being optimistic. Get the generator going, we'll work on that up here," Q says, over the phone. Sounds like he's eating. So he's recovered the shock of me turning that's nice.
"Copy that," I say, handing Skyler the phone. She kisses me once more then we undo the barricade for me to leave.
All right. Time for round two. This time I have, no shoes, no Skyler, and a slightly better stake.
I advance out to the main ball room. The vampires we killed are either lying there dead, or the ones we didn't properly stake are long gone. That's good I suppose?
I step into the stairwell. The thud of Skyler's and the baby's hearts is getting fainter. I know they're barricaded in but I really want to get back there now. I wouldn't put it past the vampires to be planning some sort of trap.
Oh. They were planning a trap. Just for me.
I step into the stairwell to find no less than fifty vampires, lined up on the stairs. Just waiting.
"Oh come on fellas. No hard feelings?" I ask, raising my hands.
They charge me.
Not my first time fighting my way out of a mob, but it is the first time on a cruise ship, in a stairwell, barefoot, an actual vampire. So. New experience.
The first one hits me with a shoulder to my chest, and I use the moment to throw him over the side of the stairwell. Just means he'll respawn and come back but I am not worrying about that right now. The next one comes and I manage to stake him. My bare feet are slipping on my and their blood on the cement stairs. I struggle to drag the stake out of one's chest as another piles on my back, teeth in my shoulder.
"I'm already turned, dummy," I snarl, "Can't you smell it?"
"Then why are you protecting the girl?" He cries, as I throw him off my back and another nearly bowls us both over.
"I'm gonna marry her! It's like a requirement!" I say, right before staking him. Two more drag me off my feet, to throw me over the railing of the stairs. I catch myself, by one hand, just hanging.
"Oh this is gonna hurt like a mother," I mutter. And then I let go.
I flip mid air, catching the next railing and launching myself over it.
"Take that, Port Angeles Cheer Squad. You didn't deserve me anyway," I say, rolling to a painful landing.
At the foot of ten vampires.
"You tried to join the cheer squad?"
"I like girls and flipping through the air?" I shrug.
"Fair," one says, diving a stake at my chest.
I roll out of the way just in time the stake goes harmlessly (sarcasm) through my shoulder.
I hop up. Now I've got two stakes, okay. I tug the one out of my shoulder and spin them in my hands, sizing my opponents up.
"There are more of us than him! Get him!"
They pile on me. I stake two but in doing so lose my stakes. They are ripping me a part, biting, trying to hoist me onto their shoulders to throw me over the side of the stairs, again. I get a hold of the railing, using it to steady myself enough to kick one in the face with one of my bloody, bare feet. My foot hits teeth and I hear my skin tear, but I kick again with both feet, bracing myself against the rail. That vampire staggers backward and I retrieve my stake just in time for another to come down on me.
And there are seven more coming up the stairs.
"Oh what the hell," I sigh. I pick up one by the back of his shirt and pants, and dive at them like a battering ram.
Together, we tumble the last two flights of stairs. We land at the base of the stairs, in a bloody, groaning pile. My head smacked the concrete painfully. I appreciate not passing out but damn does my head hurt.
I pull myself to my feet just as the vampires do. I pick up my stake, wearily, sizing them up. Seven left, four more coming down the stairs.
"All right, who's first?" I ask, shrugging.
They charge as one. Which is about what I figured. I was hoping for better. But this is fine.
And I go to work. Like it or not I was bred for this. At the moment I'm choosing to like it. I'd like to say that I dispatch them with grace and efficiency. But I'm spitting blood, undead, barefoot and slipping in my own blood on the now stained cement. I'm fighting like an animal and barely distinguishable from my victims. If I can't get a good shot in to stake them, then I throw them to the floor and out of my way and go after another one. They get back up, and I kill them properly. And we do it again and again. I keep missing the heart so several I have to restate. And my stake keeps getting stuck in their chests and I get battered by the others as I pry it out. More than once I take a hammer to the face, a crow bar to my chest. I'm only avoiding getting staked. And in a moment they realize that.
Finally, I drive my stake through the last one. I'm a raw, bloody mess. My own poison blood, rank and undead, is dripping in clots down my face from wounds to my head. My one eye is swollen closed. I'm battered absolutely everywhere.
Now where the fuck did they say the control room was?
I limp down the hall, my feet trailing blood. I have to lean against the wall to stay up right, and I keep wiping blood out of my face so I can see.
"Control room. Of course you're locked," I sigh, "Okay."
I body slam the door, crying out in pain as I do. All right. Open. That's nice. That's good.
I walk up to the control panel. Hm. Losing to Spencer at video games prepared me for this. I press every single button I see, until I come upon a red lever. I pull it.
The lights flicker on. The generator whirs to life behind me. Okay it might not be a generator. Whatever powers the ship. It's so loud it's painful. I clap my hands over my ears, crawling out of the room. I slam the now broken door.
At the end of every hall is a red telephone. Emergency communication with the control deck.
"Hey baby," I say, cradling the phone against my ear.
"It's all back on you did it."
"Good," I sigh, my voice is ragged.
"Dashiell are you okay?" She asks.
"Best night of my life. I got you don't I? You're okay?" I ask.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," she says, "We're trying to figure out where we are."
"Good. I got—real used to listening to your heartbeat. It sounds so quiet now. Yours and the baby's like, you'd think it would be annoying but it's not. It's great. I could hear it, all the time. That you were both okay. I liked that," I say, closing my eyes.
"Dashiell, how bad are you hurt?"
"Don't you dare move. I'm fine. I'm gonna be fine," I say.
"Q is ordering you to go and get something to eat."
"There is nothing left with blood on this damn ship," I sigh.
"Check the kitchen, then come back up. There should be meat, or something. Can you walk?"
"Yeah," I say, looking down at my self. Mistake. One of my feet is nearly torn open and I'm standing in a pool of my own blood.
"The galley—,"
"What I thought you said kitchen?"
"Same thing. The kitchen is on that floor, other end of the hall. I am going to ring that phone and then you are going to follow that sound okay?"
"Okay," I sigh.
"Are you sure you can walk?"
"Yes," I say.
I was lying, apparently. I cannot. I have to mostly lean against the wall. I'd crawl but I'm too afraid if I go down, I won't get back up.
The phone is ringing at the end of the hallway. I put one foot in front of the other, slowly. My feet slip in my own blood. I lean against the wall for support, sort of crawling down it.
The phone's ring is harsh and unpleasant in my ears, but I know that it means hope. I don't remember why I'm going there.
I limp on, my ankle gives out and I nearly fall. I dig my fingers into the plaster of the wall, desperately pulling myself back up. I know that if I fall I won't rise again. And I don't know if I have the strength to crawl.
I keep on walking. Slow. Nothing like sure. My feet keep slipping in my own blood from them. Blood is draining down my face. I spit it out. I close my eyes, just walking forward. Closer and closer to the dull ringing.
I hit a wall, groaning a little. I'm at the doorway. I work my way around it, blinking blood out of my eyes to find the phone.
"Hello, beautiful," I say, cradling the receiver to my head. Blood runs onto the plastic.
"Hey Dash," she sounds like she's crying.
"Don't cry. Not for me. I'm fine," I wheeze, hearing blood bubble in my mouth.
"You're in the kitchen. There should be some freezers. Try to find something to eat, okay? If you're sick just stay there and call me."
"I'm gonna come up. I'll come up in a few minutes," I say. My voice is so raw and dry, even though blood is draining from my lips. I feel like my mouth, all my insides, are nothing but sandpaper.
I hang up and step carefully over to a table. I support myself on that, nearly tripping on a dead body. A body, not fully drained of blood. No. No that way madness lies. We don't have proof consuming human blood makes this worse. But the dhampires are usually punchier if they've had human blood. And I am not that far gone. Not yet.
My slippery hand finds the freezer door and I wrench it open. Deserts? Cake? Twelve year old me would have loved this. I laugh and splatter blood on the freezer door.
I tug open the fridge.
Steaks.
I snatch the first one up, with my broken fingers. I can see bones jutting out of my hand. I bring it up to my mouth, quickly sucking any and all blood from it. I drop the meat to the floor and find another one. There are dozens. They were defrosting, well it all defrosted now with the power out. There's precious little blood in each but god is it better than absolutely nothing.
I get through the steaks in short order. The more I eat the quicker I'm able to move. I'm healing, albeit slowly. Enough to move properly at any rate. I find hamburger. There's little blood in that, but I eat it anyway. Raw. God I'm glad I can't see myself. The slippery, cold meat is like ambrosia to me now.
I find some bone broth. It's not blood but close enough. I drink that. Better. I'm better. That was barely as much as I got out of that dog. But it's something. I search another freezer. Chicken which has no blood. No, nothing else that'll be worth my time now.
I limp back to the stairs. The wreckage of my battle is well laid out, and I have to step over corpses. My the kills I'd have to report if I were actually going home like normal. My father would be proud. I laugh bitterly. What would he think of his son if he could see me now?
The stairs are slow going. But the blood is getting in me. And I'm getting better. A bit. Enough to put one bloodied foot in front of the other. I clutch the railing till it's slippery with my blood. Then I have to let go and rely on the wall.
I reach the control deck probably hours after I first set out. I'm staggering. But the lights are all on. And outside the stars are out. A fine night.
Skyler un-barricades the door, quite tugging me in.
"Jesus, Dash," she says, arms around me. Arms around me. Touching me like I'm me and not some monster like I feel. Her heart steady thumping in her chest. And the baby's heart sure and true, beating in her belly.
I lower my head, letting her hold me and getting lost in the sound of their heartbeats. They're okay. They are still okay.
"Come here," Skyler guides me to one of the chairs. I'm more than happy to slump in it, "Let me clean you up."
"No, it's healing, I'm okay," I say, well aware my picture right now should be under the urban dictionary definition of 'not okay'.
"Is he all right?" Q is still on the phone apparently.
"I'm fine," I say.
"He's banged up pretty bad."
"No more vampires though, what have we got?" I ask, leaning my face into my hand, "We're still lost at sea?"
"Yes, we think we've charted a proper course towards shore. We've not notified any coast guard or the like," Q says.
"Well notify them," I growl, "Now."
"I'm not leaving you," Skyler says.
"I will make it, you need a hospital now," I say.
"The baby is fine you said you can hear its heart," she says, hand over her belly all the same.
"Your leg isn't fine, and if you're losing the baby then we don't know what that's gonna do to you. You need medical attention if something is—messed up inside, Q help me out on this," I sigh.
"Dashiell I don't know how we're going to get you out, if the coast guard responds," Q says, heavily, "I don't—know quite how we'd get around that."
"I died yesterday. This is all just bonus, you know that," I snarl into the phone, "She's alive and god-willing the baby can live."
"Dash don't make me leave you, please? We'll get out together, I don't want to do this without you," Skyler says, tears in her eyes.
"You may have to," I say, reaching out a hand tentatively, to put it on her knee. "I'm really sorry. But you may have to."
"Please let me try with you? That's my choice," she says.
"I'm not worth saving right now," I say, softly, "You see that, right?"
"No. No I do not see that. And I will never see that," she says, cupping a hand against my bloodied cheek. I close my eyes, listening to their hearts beat.
"I'm sorry," I say, softly, "You have a chance. The baby may have a chance. We both know I really don't."
"Please," she says.
"You two have company," Q says, over the phone. Very unhelpful person. Not really but he could be on my side and call the damn coast guard.
"What?" We say, in unison, looking at the phone.
"Unidentified vessel, you're in international waters but it didn't identify itself when off the coast of Alaska, out ran American coast guard."
"Is he just in every nation's navy scanners or something?" I ask,
"Yes, yes he is," Skyler says.
"Yes he is," Q says, pleased with himself, "Now, the ship could be responding to the distress signal your captain likely got out when the attack hit."
"Okay but why not identify itself?" I ask.
"Smuggler? Something of that kind? Anyway it's headed your way, so, free ship?" Q asks.
"I appreciate your confidence but I am not up to commandeering an entire vessel," I sigh.
"I wasn't implying that. You just may be able to get a ride to shore, since it's not a military ship or the like, the odds of the occupants being able to identify someone with your unique condition is rather low."
"You can call me a vampire it's fine. I'm one good nap away from being able to make puns about it," I sigh.
"Interestingly enough I cannot, I am denying knowledge of the particulars of your illness as you asked me to neglect to inform your parents or anyone who might tell your parents like my strange roommate." He means his husband. I also don't know why he's LikeThis. Maybe it's cause he's from England.
"Okay, point is, Q is right, we could talk our way onto the ship. We get you cleaned up—a little—you're a Hunter, so am I we can prove that, like he said the average person is not going to notice," Skyler points out.
"Okay, okay, you guys are right. It's worth a try. Worst case they find me out and you go on," I say.
"Yes that is the worst case very good Dashiell," Q mutters.
"I'm not leaving you. It's fine, we clean you up a little, bandage—everything, and we just say we fought them off, which we did," Skyler shrugs.
"Worth a try. If they can take you to Russia, and you're quite close, then I have a pilot who can meet you with fake IDs, and fly you into Alaska. Once there a domestic flight south, maybe your family will be organized enough to pick you up from the airport but likely not," Q says.
"Why fake IDs?" I ask. We both have tattoos on our left wrists, of a centaur. The mark of a Hunter. It grants us something like diplomatic immunity and in emergencies acts as a passport through any customs. They know our unique career lands us unique places and most countries are cool with it. Russia has even been known to honor it.
"Because you were both known to be on that ship. If you are seen at a checkpoint in Russia or the US that allows them to track you. Soon the Hunt will know your ship was fully compromised. They will suspect one or both of you was infected. They will come to check. Our best case scenario is for Skyler to say you were killed in the fight—,"
"I kinda was," I mutter.
"—which has elements of truth in it. She admits to escaping the ID is a copy of hers so no harm no foul. We hope and pray they don't match up you were traveling together but little reason to check her story if she explains convincingly enough how you fell overboard. We'll have a nice funeral and you're free to live under an assumed identity," Q says.
"Okay," I hadn't gotten that far. I didn't really believe we'd make it this far, "Okay. Yeah. Fair enough."
"Few years different hair cut you can even appear in public, say you're a long lost love child of your father's or something totally unbelievable that will upset him when we suggest it."
"No, that's a fine plan he won't mind."
"It's a slow burn he will get pissed, but it'll work. In theory," Q sighs.
"Thank you, um—yeah, see? We'll be fine, you're coming home," Skyler says, rubbing my back.
"Yeah," I don't believe it yet though.
"We've got this. I'll have IDs and a pilot standing by, just get yourselves on that ship," Q says.
"Copy that," we say, in unison.