Darren Shan - 02 Ocean of Blood

One of the four was a high-ranking mate. Larten immediately understood why he had spared this man — even in his murderous rage, he’d known that he would need someone to steer the ship. Right now Larten didn’t care if he lived or died, but a part of him had been thinking about life, even while he was dealing out death to all in sight.

But what of the others? There were two men, and the boy, Daniel Abrams. Why had he let these live? It couldn’t have been mercy or because he needed them for the ship — he would have spared another mate, not a worthless boy, if that was the case. So why…?

The answer came to him and he chuckled drily.

He’d had to keep a few alive. The deck was awash with blood, but it would soon spoil and be of no use to him. He had to assume that they were a long way from land. He might be on this ship a good while yet.

He would need to feed.

Still chuckling — edgily now, the laughter threatening to turn into a scream — he shut the door on the moaning, weeping humans, locked it, then retired to the deck with the baby, to wet his whistle before the pools of blood thickened and soured in the sun.

Having drunk his fill on deck, Larten retreated from the daylight before it burned him. He didn’t care what happened to him now, but if he gave in to bloodthirsty insanity or let himself die, the baby would perish too.

Larten cradled the boy in the shelter of the captain’s cabin, holding him gently as if he was something precious. Nothing would ever set right this dreadful wrong, but if he could protect this innocent child, that would be one less dark mark against his name when he passed from this world of hurt and shame. He felt as far from the gates of Paradise as it was possible to get, so it wasn’t redemption that he sought. He simply didn’t want to add to his crimes, even though in the greater scheme of things one more wouldn’t make any real difference.

He changed the baby’s undergarments when he realized why the boy had started crying again. Then he went below deck to find more milk and look for other food.

They slept in the cabin that night, the baby tucked between Larten and the wall. But although the boy snoozed sweetly, Larten spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t because he had become accustomed to sleeping in the day or because of the baby’s surprisingly deep snoring, but because after what he’d done, he couldn’t face the nightmares that were certain to be lying in wait for him.

Shortly before dawn, after feeding the baby again, Larten returned to the room with the four captives and opened the door. They thought he’d come to kill them, and they cowered against the wall. But he only pointed a finger at the senior mate and said, “You.” The sailor crossed himself, muttered a quick prayer, then staggered out of the cabin. He was sweating and trembling, but otherwise carried himself with dignity.

Larten locked the door and led the way to the deck.

The mate’s face blanched when he cast his eye around, but he didn’t try to run.

“You can sail this ship?” Larten asked wearily. If not for the baby, he’d have lowered himself over the side and gone for a swim with the sharks. But if the boy was to live, this had to be done.

“I’m no captain,” the mate said quietly.

“If we are to live, you will have to be,” Larten retorted.

“If I had a crew…”

“You do not. Can you steer it anyway?”

The mate checked the rigging and shrugged. “We’re not so far from land — a week’s sailing, I reckon. I can get us there if the weather holds. We’ll struggle t’ dock, but we can get close enough t’ set one o’ the scows down and row ashore. If the weather holds. If we hit a storm, we’re finished.”

Larten nodded. “Do your best. I will be taking care of the child. If you need me, shout. Do not try to release the others, and do not try to kill me — I will hear you coming, even in my sleep. If you can drop us ashore, I will set you free.”

“What about them?” the mate called as Larten left. He pointed a shaking finger at the corpses. “They’ll fester if we leave ’em. The stench…”

“I will dispose of them later,” Larten promised. “When the sun goes down. That is when I am most powerful, is it not?” Smiling thinly, he went inside to play with the baby, leaving the mate to steer the ship of corpses through the waves of the ever-hungry sea that would soon receive their lifeless, bloodied hulks.

Feeding the baby and prisoners became the focus of Larten’s time. Daniel and the sailors were easy to care for — he just threw them food and water a couple of times a day — but the baby was a different matter. Larten had no experience with babies and was astonished by how often the child wanted to feed. Keeping the boy content was a full-time job.

The mate in charge of the ship reported to Larten regularly. Larten had no interest in their course — he wouldn’t have cared if they’d sailed in circles forever — but it was easier to let the mate deliver his reports and nod thoughtfully while pretending to listen.

Larten was ravenous — he needed blood — but he waited until the mate said they were a day from shore. Tucking in the baby, he went below to the locked room and opened the door. Daniel and the sailors thought that he was coming to feed them, and they shuffled forward eagerly. They still feared the vampire, but had come to believe that he meant them no harm.

Not wishing to alarm them, Larten moved quickly, as he had when he’d embarked on his killing spree. Darting from one to another, he blew a sharp breath of gas in their faces, the gas of the vampires that sent humans to sleep. Once they were unconscious he drank from each of them, then refilled the vials that, unknown to him, had cost Malora her life.

Daniel stirred as Larten was leaving. The vampire had breathed on the boy last, so Daniel hadn’t been dealt as strong a blast of the gas as the others. Larten took no notice as the boy’s eyes flickered open, only closed the door and locked it, then went to feed the baby.

Larten spent most of that last night on deck, watching by the light of the stars as they drew closer to land, thinking of what he’d done, numbly considering what he must do next. He didn’t know much about Greenland, but he knew it was an ice-covered, sparsely populated country. Many cold, lonely, unforgiving places where a vampire could pass quietly from this world. He would find a suitably desolate spot and let the snow and ice finish him off. A fittingly meek finale for a vampire who had lost the right to die a noble death.

The mate approached late the following evening, as Larten was feeding the baby. “We’re almost there,” he noted.

“Aye,” Larten murmured.

“We should make port not long after sunset, if the wind’s fair.”

“I will disembark before that,” Larten said.

The mate frowned. “Disembark?”

“I will take a scow and sail ashore by myself.”

“Are ye sure?” the mate asked. “There’s nothing much along this stretch and the weather’s fierce inhospitable.”

“Good,” Larten said shortly.

A wave of joy swept through the sailor. He had tried not to think about what would happen when they docked, but whenever he did, he saw no way that the vampire would let them live. They were witnesses to the massacre. He surely could not spare them if he wanted to escape.

But now the mate saw that Larten didn’t care. He was going ashore to die. For the first time in a week, the sailor faced the future with real hope. He almost cried, he was so relieved.

“You will take care of the child when I go?” Larten asked.

“Of course. I’ll take him home with me. I have six already, so one more won’t make much difference.”