Read One of Them (Vigil #2) for Free Online Page A

of it, but I’d found that I didn’t need much in the way of solid food. A few bites were enough per day—a half a sandwich and a large swig of water. The blood was a different matter. That remained a necessary thing, and I was really pounding it back. I seemed to be needing more and more of the stuff, but it was also making me feel stronger. And in an attempt to be more civilized, I started using the emptied water bottles to scoop from the blood bucket. I could sip at my meals that way, and I made less of a mess than I did when I was drinking it with my hands. I also didn’t feel so disgusting afterwards.
    The days themselves were a drudge, and to better know my limits, I attempted to go as long as I could without ingesting any of the red stuff. The longest I ever lasted was six hours. I felt at my worst then, like I wanted to tear out the throat of the next person I saw. When I drank some of it every three hours, everything about my system was better. I had energy, and I wasn’t thinking about it constantly, which made my overall mood much, much improved. An equilibrium was being established. But I was by no means comfortable with it.
    At the same time I was testing my intake parameters, I received these constant visits from Castellano, additional interrogators, doctors, and even Mac, whenever they actually allowed him in. The others all wanted the same shit from me—obedience and information. I think the plan for me was to eventually go to work for somebody as a vampire hunter, or maybe even an enhanced soldier. But I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s pet Rottweiler, so I refused to respond to every word that was said.
    On the other end of the spectrum, I found Mac’s queries highly stimulating. He wanted to know, in as much detail as I could give him, everything about the night I was turned. The fuse was still burning. He did not seem to be buying the official cover story any longer. But we had to speak carefully, in these whispered, improvised codes words that centered around how we felt about each other.
    His primary concerns about the attack revolved around two issues—the call Beth and I were given to go to the complex, and the situation with the lights turning off in the surrounding townhouses. We didn’t get much in the way of a back and forth, but I answered everything he threw at me, with a smile and a giggle.
    Our exchanges were these crazy tightrope walks. I knew how important it was that my body language toward him be genuine, both for Mac’s benefit, but also for any possible observers. My goal was to have everyone’s head spinning. I wanted them all off their guard. Mac included.

Way Down
    I found a surprise waiting for me in the blood.
    It was early on the tenth day of my incarceration, and I was gathering my first cup of the morning when I glimpsed it—a note written in black marker on the inside of the bucket. I had to tip the container to one side before I could read it completely. The chicken scratch scribbling said: BLOOD COMES FROM BENEATH THE BED. PEDESTAL RAISES UP, TUNNEL BELOW. BE ON YOUR TOES. HOLIDAY. MINIMAL STAFF. MUST ESCAPE NOW.
    Whoever it was who wrote the note underlined the word ‘Now’, twice. Instinct told me it was Mac, but there was no way to be sure. My heart began to race. I guzzled down as much blood as I could stomach and got off my knees. I inspected the bed, strutting my way around it in my bare feet. The thing had been the center of my world since I’d first woken up, and it turned out to be my way out the entire time. I stopped suddenly, planted my left foot and kicked out with my right. I connected with the pedestal, just beneath the mattress cradle. The round post made a cracking noise and tipped over to a forty-five degree angle. I knew I was more than capable of something extra, but the power I’d put into the kick astonished me. The bed was steel, or something just as strong, and after one solid blow, it was now tilting away from me. I kicked at it a