Dianne Duvall: Darkness Dawns

“No.”

“Check this out.”

Thud.

Grunt.

“Dude!”

Crap! Reversing direction, she crossed the clearing as quickly and quietly as she could. Her stinging hands tightened around the shovel handle. Sweat beaded on her skin. The bitter taste of fear invading her mouth, she entered the trees and crept forward.

This is crazy. This is crazy.

She was a music professor, not a police officer!

But it would take too long for the police to arrive. She lived so far from town….

“You wanna try it?”

“Won’t they be pissed if we cut him up?”

“Not as long as he’s still breathin’ when the sun hits him. And if he’s not, who cares? How’re they gonna know?”

The trees weren’t as thick here as she had thought. After just a few steps, Sarah stood at the edge (with any luck, still concealed by their branches) and peered anxiously into the next field.

A whiff of rank body odor struck her.

There were three men. One, whose face was hidden from view, lay on the ground on his back, what she could see of him bare. His arms had been pulled away from his sides and appeared to be held down by something she couldn’t glimpse through the tall grasses. Closer to her, his ankles had been lashed together with … rope? The weeds obscured them too much to tell. But they, too, were held down, judging by the way his thigh muscles continually flexed and strained.

A blond in faded jeans and a yellow T-shirt straddled the man’s thighs, his back to Sarah. A second with brown hair stood beside him, mostly turned away, gaping down at the naked man.

Though she only caught a quick impression of their faces, Sarah guessed the assailants were around twenty years old.

The blond suddenly raised both hands above his head, his fingers curled around the grip of a pocketknife, then slammed them down.

Thud.

The naked man jerked and grunted with pain.

The brunet yelled, “Dude! Awesome!”

Sickened, terrified, trembling uncontrollably, Sarah stepped out of the trees, skulked forward, and swung the shovel.

The blond looked up at his accomplice. “You wanna—”

Thunk.

Yellow Shirt slumped sideways, hit the ground, and lay still.

The second man gaped at his friend in stupefaction, then spun toward Sarah … just as she swung again.

Thunk.

Right between the eyes.

“Oww!”

Uh-oh.

Staggering back a step, he swore profusely, blinked hard several times, then frowned.

Thunk.

That did it. His pale eyes rolled back in his head as he sank bonelessly to the ground.

When Sarah turned her attention to the naked man, her stomach lurched and she thought for a moment she might be sick.

He had indeed been restrained. Thick, rough rope stained with blood bound his ankles and had rubbed his skin raw. A T-shaped metal spike as thick as her thumb had been driven into the ground between them, immobilizing him and cutting deep grooves into his flesh. Identical spikes had been driven through the palm of each hand, pinning his arms to the ground.

It was as if they had wanted to crucify him but, lacking the necessary lumber, had staked him to the ground instead.

“Oh shit.” The whisper escaped her involuntarily.

If the stakes weren’t enough, two stab wounds marred his abdomen, courtesy of the blond. Deep gashes, weeping copious amounts of blood, scored the man’s muscled arms, chest, and legs.

As she fought back nausea, Sarah directed her gaze to his face.

He was perhaps in his mid-thirties and handsome, despite the clenched jaw and lines of pain that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Short, jet black hair. Matching brows. Straight nose. Piercing, dark brown eyes that caught and held hers as she unlocked her stiff limbs and forced herself to move forward.

Gritting his teeth, Roland watched the woman kneel beside him and set the shovel down within easy reach.

He had heard someone approaching while the damned blond plunged his blade into him and had expected yet another of the vampires’minions to join them. Gathering what little energy was left in him, he had been preparing to make an unlikely attempt to telekinetically force the bastard to stab himself on the next go-round when the kid had suddenly stiffened, then keeled over, revealing a woman in a Bugs Bunny baseball cap.

She couldn’t be more than five feet tall and wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds dripping wet. As she grabbed pieces of his discarded shirt and put pressure on his wounds, Roland could feel her violent trembling.

Who was she?

She had risked her life to save him. Why?

“Thank you,” he managed to bite out past the increased pain she unintentionally caused him in her attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

She nodded, wide hazel eyes meeting his. “I—I have to call 911,” she said, her voice soft and shaky. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“No.”The vamps who had ambushed him—those who had survived, anyway—had nabbed it.

She looked at the unconscious men. “Maybe one of them has one. If they don’t, I can run to my house, call, and be back in—”

“There isn’t time,” he interrupted, sensing the rapidly approaching dawn. “I suffer from a condition that causes extreme photosensitivity.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that like an allergy to bright light?”

“Yes. If I’m still here when the sun rises, the pain I’m experiencing now will multiply a hundredfold.”

She glanced past him at the brightening horizon, her pretty face filling with dismay. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

She met his gaze. “You’re serious?”

“Very much so. Already weakened as I am, the sun will probably kill me.”

“But I … I mean, you’re … What should I do?”

“Free me.”

“How? There are metal spikes in your hands!”

“Pull them up.”

Her face blanched. “What?”

He couldn’t blame her for hesitating. He didn’t relish the idea himself but would really prefer it to roasting. “Please. I tried to do it myself and couldn’t.”

She looked at the hand closest to her with obvious dread.

“There’s no other way.”

Swallowing hard, she scooted over and placed a knee on the ground on either side of his hand.

Roland braced himself as she gripped the horizontal bar at the top of the spike, squeezing her fingers between it and his palm. Flames shot through his hand and up his arm at the slight jostling. He thought he hid it well until she apologized.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He gave his head a swift shake. Even that hurt. “Just pull.”

Nodding gamely, looking a bit green about the gills, she pulled.

The stake didn’t move.

Lips compressing, she tried again. The spike shifted, lifted perhaps an inch, then stopped.

She paused, tossing a panicked glance at the treetops that were beginning to acquire a golden glow. “It’s in too deep!”

“Keep trying,” he encouraged, imbuing the words with a calm he didn’t feel. In peak condition, he could withstand brief contact with the less harsh light of dawn without sustaining any damage. However, with so many injuries currently sapping his strength and much of his life’s blood soaking into the thirsty ground beneath him, even minor exposure would prove disastrous and, in all likelihood, fatal.

Drawing her feet up under her in a squat, she pulled on the spike again, this time aided by the muscles in her thighs.

Agony sliced through him like razor blades as it moved, slowly ascending. Roland helped as much as he could, biceps bunching as he pressed upward, trapping her fingers between the horizontal bar and his slick, ravaged skin.

At last, the spike released its hold on the earth and leapt free, nearly robbing the woman of her balance.