COMPLETE! The Wasteland. A woman screams in the night. Spotlights flash on a pile of dust in the desolate patch of land that lay just beyond the tall crosses that picket the boundary of Encampment R-34. A group of curious students leave their bunkho...
That was it, right there. I thought we were all dead. Each of us would be attacked and infected, within minutes. But then we saw her leaping off of him, soaring up at least five feet, directly above him like a cloud over the valley hill in a strong gust of wind. Then she landed on her feet a short distance away with her eyes locked on Lenny. He was holding out the cross to her, his hand trembling, his lips quivering as he muttered some spiritual phrase that none of us could hear.
"It's her!" Rufus said, from my right. "The woman."
I couldn't stop staring. I had only been around women from the Encampment, and this figure before us, who had just been rolling through the grass with Oscar, was the most striking woman I had ever seen. She had silky dark hair that moved in the wind like ripples on a pail of water at night. Her eyes gleamed like light bulbs. Her face was young and healthy, with a soft beauty that I had never imagined possible. She was dressed in polished leathers, with shiny brass fastenings, and unblemished boots that looked impractical. But, by far, the most impressive was that she looked perfectly clean. No bruises or burns, no rattiness in her hair. Her fingernails were long and pristine, her lips rouged and plump. This woman, pale and perfect in the moonlight, was not at all what I had come to expect of the infected. Which made it all too apparent that we were greatly misunderstanding the catastrophe that befell our world.
Bryne rushed to help Oscar to his feet as he aimed at her and fired off every round of his rifle before it jammed. She hardly dodged the bullets, stepping with small and swift movements as if there was no reason to fear. And then her luminous eyes shifted to the man who stepped suddenly in front of us, holding out two revolvers. With ease, he shot at her, making contact with her leg and shoulder. Each time he aimed, the fires were so rapid and her moves were so blindingly quick, that it was impossible for any of us to understand what was happening.
And then our radiant attacker was gone. Just like that. In some other direction.
Even he had not seen her flee.
I say he, and I mean the man with the tanned leathers, buzzed scalp and rugged look. The wanderer, the Waster whom we had all seen on Valley Hill whistling a tune to himself and watching the encampment. He is the one who came to save us.
"You have a Priest. Good," the Waster said, his voice deep and as steady as steel. "Come here, quickly."
Before moving toward the mysterious stranger, Lenny stared at the ground and focused on the Waster's shadow, transfixed for some reason. Then he felt safe enough to move toward him. The man took out a metal canteen and a glass bottle.
"I will pour the contents from this container into the vessel in my opposite hand. As I do this, bless the water as it passes freely. Do you understand me? Do you know the blessing?"
"I do," Luther puffed, staring cautiously at the Waster's mouth. As the water trickled from one container into the next, Lenny uttered the words as if some wondrous act were being performed before us all. "Attero striga ex draconum dentibus. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
"What's your name?" the Waster asked, looking deep into my eyes. I almost didn't know what to say. I've never seen anyone new, and this man was strikingly handsome, with flawless green eyes that glowed hypnotically within the valleys of sun-scorched skin. He hastily placed a cork into the bottle and handed it to me with a forceful but delicate hand.
"Mell. My name is Mell."
"Okay, Mell. If she comes close again, you throw this holy water at her feet. It should buy you some time."
He reloaded from the worn bandolier that swagged his chest, then holstered his revolvers before reaching into his pack for a beaten metal box. He handed it to Oscar.
"I see you're a Watchman. Take this ammo. The bullets are made of oak, and even the casings were blessed by the last standing Pope of the Catholic Church. I get that you don't understand all of what I'm talking about, but trust me. They'll come through. Replace them now with whatever is left in your rifle."
The Waster looked around nervously at the valley and rubbed a hand across the rough nap of hair on his face. "I don't know what you think you're doing out here. You chose the wrong time of day to go sightseeing."
"To go what?" Crevan asked, slightly threatened by the man's presence. "Who are you to tell us what to do?"
"Shut your mouth. You picked a fight with the wrong person. Wherever you were going, whatever encampment number you came from, go back. Most of this area is cleared of ZV's, but I can't be sure."
"What's a ZV?"
"Ask your Scaver friend, here. He knows," the man said, gesturing to Rufus before taking the ammunition box from Oscar and turning from the group. "Now start backtracking,"
"Wait, who are you?" Bryne asked, reaching for the man's leathers.
"Jack," he answered, facing us. "Sweeney. For now, my name doesn't matter. Get to safety. If you want to find me again, if you want some answers, I'll be in the remnants of that town where you just strolled out. But I suggest you forget about this place."
As I turned my back to Jack Sweeney to follow Felicity, who was moving quickly away from where we had been attacked, I felt someone pulling me in the opposite direction. I was terrified that it was the woman.
"Where did you get that?" He looked down to my waist. I hadn't realized in the scuffle, as we all bumped into one another, that the Chrono-tablet had accidentally come to life. Sweeney saw the glow of the dull green light through the pocket of my pants.
"It's from the encampment near us."
"Mell! Why are you telling him?"
"No," Sweeney said, "It's good. You found it, not someone else. Read the letters that were indexed, then tell someone you trust. I've been around a while, but what you've got in that device is something we've always needed to know. I think that whatever you put into the chronoscope told of a time when Dracula could have been defeated and they failed."
"Are you saying he still exists?"
"I'm not certain of anything these days. Just read it," he said to me. "Your content is encrypted to the rest of the world. Only you can understand the Dracula Index. Now go."
He slung his animal hide pack over his shoulder and ran off toward where the woman had come.
The trip back to the encampment was quick because we were terrified. Oscar seemed the most scared of us all. He had cut himself on a scrap of metal during the tousle with that woman. He wiped his shoulder clean and we crawled into R-34 through the pipe heap. And now, as I huddle under the covers, my hand tired from writing so quickly, and my eyes weary and yearning for rest, the smell of sweat and cold air in my nose, I picture that woman and the brief moments I could see her in the moonlight.
She was tall and strong, like a tree standing against a storm. And she smiled just before vanishing in a flash of gun smoke. Yes, she smiled at us. I can recall it now. And there was something different about it. Her teeth, at least a few of them, looked as sharp as razor wire. It may have been the shadows of the moon playing tricks on me, but they appeared to stretch almost past her bottom lip.
If this is what we are up against, I don't know how we have survived this long. I must learn the truth. I must keep reading.
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