Judith Merril - The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 4

“Not a man?” His voice rose a little. “Then what am I?”

“A vampire.”

“A what!”

“A vampire.”

“Now I know who is crazy.” Smith forgot about his leg. “All that guff is for the birds. Superstitious rubbish! Old wives’ tales! Nonsense, all of it!”

Sammy shrugged.

“Well, it is,” insisted Smith weakly. He brooded for a long time. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll ride along with what you say. So I’m a vampire.” He leaned forward, triumph glinting in his eyes. “But if I’m a vampire what does that make you?”

“A ghoul,” said Sammy. He threw some dried twigs on the fire, blinking in the sudden flare of light.

“Satisfied?” Sammy sucked reflectively at a tooth as the light died.

“I don’t know.” Smith had been shaken by the sight. “You’re either the most deformed human I’ve ever seen or you aren’t human at all.”

“I’m not human,” admitted Sammy patiently. “I told you that. I’m a ghoul.”

“Incredible!” Smith shook his head. “I simply can’t believe it.”

Sammy grunted and rolled over on to his back. His ears twitched a little, he was listening to the sounds of something moving in the woods.

“It’s not that I’m calling you a liar,” said Smith. “I wouldn’t want you to think that, but the whole thing’s so crazy!” He shook his head as if it hurt a little. “And another thing. I must have walked for miles; if I hadn’t seen your fire I’d have stumbled around all night, and in all that time I haven’t seen or heard a soul. Not even a dog. Where is everyone?”

“Around,” said Sammy vaguely. He suddenly caught on to what Smith meant. “Oh, you mean humans!” He stabbed a finger downward toward the overgrown concrete slab of The Tombstone. “At a guess I’d say they are about half a mile down.”

“All of them?”

“All that are left. In this part of the world anyway, I wouldn’t know about over the oceans.” He stared at the young man’s expression. “Didn’t you know?”

“No.” Smith was breathing fast from the top of his chest. “What happened?”

“The Big Bang.” Sammy grimaced. “The thing everyone knew would happen, said they didn’t want to happen, yet made happen anyway.” Speculation narrowed his eyes. “Say, just when were you buried, anyway?”

“I fell sick in 1960,” said Smith, dodging the leading question. Sammy pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“That accounts for it The Big Bang came a couple of years later and they certainly made a good job of it. A better job than the embalmer did on you or you wouldn’t be sitting there now.”

“Embalmer?” Smith looked blank. “I don’t get it. Are you sure that you know what you’re talking about?”

“Listen,” snapped Sammy, he was getting annoyed. “I may look a little odd, to you at least, but I’m no dumbbell. I can read fifteen languages and speak twenty more and once I went to school; spent most of a year there before I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“It was a medical school,” said Sammy shortly. “What I’m getting at is that I know what happened to you. If the embalmer had done a better job you would have died for real. And even then you were lucky; your folks must have cut corners when they planted you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been washed out at the right time.”

“Uncle Silas was always a tight-wad,” admitted Smith. “He fancied himself at carpentry too.” He fell silent, thinking. “I guess that all this must be real then.” He chuckled. “Me, a vampire! Well, what do you know?” A thought suddenly wiped the smile from his face. “Say! If you’re a ghoul—” He swallowed. “What I mean is that ghouls are supposed to—well, aren’t they?”

“Forget it,” said Sammy. “We’ve a Gentleman’s Agreement, neither touches the other.”

“Well!” Smith dabbed at his forehead. “That’s a relief. You had me worried for a while about that.”

Sammy didn’t answer; he was busy listening to the stealthy approach of a visitor. Smith, now that the sounds were loud enough for even his dull hearing to catch, stiffened in sudden alarm.

“Say, what’s that?”

“Relax,” said Sammy, setting an example. “It’s just one of the boys.”

“Who?” Smith seemed anxious.

“Who?” Sammy gave a grin. “Well, now,” he said deliberately. “At a guess I’d say that it was your pappy.” He was always one for a joke.

Boris was of the old school, a tall, thin, cadaverous vampire who believed that the old traditions should be maintained. He came striding out of the woods, his cloak swirling around him, his monocle gleaming red in the reflected light. He sat beside the fire, warming his thin, almost transparent hands, then nodded to Smith.

“Who’s the new one?”

Sammy chuckled. He had seen the expression on Smith’s face and now awaited the denouement.

“I know you,” suddenly blurted Smith. “You’re the doctor who attended me when I was sick.”

“That’s right,” said Sammy. “Boris, meet your son. Smith, meet your Pop.”

“He’s not my father,” denied Smith. “Anyway, my old man died way back in a car crash.”

“Your new father for your new rebirth,” explained Sammy. “Boris infected you when he snitched your blood. If it hadn’t been for him you wouldn’t be here now so, in a way, he’s your Pop.” He became serious. “It’s the only way vampires can breed, you know, they depend on their victims to perpetuate their race.”

“And ghouls?” said Smith shrewdly. “What about them?”

“Like humans,” said Sammy shortly. He didn’t want to talk about it. Neither, it appeared, did Boris want to discuss his new offspring.

“Lupe here yet?” He shivered a little and drew closer to the fire. Sammy shook his head.

“He’ll be along.”

“I hope we have better luck this time.” Boris sucked at his bloodless lips. “Seven years now we’ve been waiting and still no sign of them coming out.” He looked suddenly panic-stricken. “Could they be all dead?”

“Lupe said that he could hear sounds the last time,” reminded Sammy. “And we know they took care to stock up well on supplies.”

“But something could have happened.” Boris was a natural pessimist. “Maybe something went wrong with their water supply, or they took a bug down there with them and it wiped them out.” He began to chew at his nails as he thought about it. “And they’re the only ones we know of.”

“Take it easy,” said Sammy; he was becoming infected with the other’s doubts. “They’ll be all right, I know they will.” He changed the subject. “Anything new?”

“Nothing.” Boris hunched closer to the fire, his evening dress, dirt-stained but still retaining a traditional dignity, giving him the appearance of an old and slightly moth-eaten aristocrat. “I’ve covered a pretty wide area and haven’t seen a thing. I guess that we’re the last, Sammy, you and me and Lupe, and we’re not going to last much longer unless they come out from under The Tombstone pretty soon.”

“Don’t forget me, Pop,” said Smith. “I’m one of the boys now.” He grinned at Boris’s expression. “What’s the matter, Pop? Touch you on the raw?”

“I am not used to being addressed as ‘Pop,’” said Boris with simple dignity. “And don’t kid yourself that you are something special. Why, I remember the time when young pups like you were ten a penny. And a lot of trouble they caused too, back in the old days. Made life very hectic for a while.”

“That’s because you weren’t organized,” said Smith brusquely. “Now, take me. I’m modern with modern ideas of how to go about things. You’ve got to be organized to get anywhere in this world.” He stared disdainfully at Boris’s garment. “Take you now, dressed up like a Continental Count playing a bit part in some crummy production.”