23 Hours: A Vengeful Vampire Tale(53)

Clara’s heart shriveled in her chest. “What? No—no, that’s not how it’s supposed to happen. Malvern gave her twenty-three hours. Malvern wanted her to join her, to become—”

“Malvern’s not in charge right now. I don’t know why she’s wasting time on Caxton, honestly. I mean, I get the joke. It’s really funny, make the deadly vampire hunter into a vampire herself, ha ha. But that’s like asking a dog if he wants to guard your Thanksgiving dinner. He’s still a dog. He still wants to jump up there and get his snout in the gravy. No,” she said, “turning Caxton is a lousy idea. So I’m going to knock her off before sunset, so we don’t have to worry about her ever again.” She squinted at Clara. “You think Malvern will really be that upset? Caxton’s been a thorn in her side for so long, she’s not going to cry if she wakes up and finds her dead.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t!” Clara said.

The warden grinned through her pain. “Watch me,” she said.

At the next door they came to, the warden reached in and physically pulled a half-dead away from the television set it had been watching. Clara glanced at the screen and saw that it showed one of the prison’s shower rooms, currently empty. She was too frightened for Laura to worry much about what the half-dead had seen there.

“You. Get as many others together as you can and go down to the loading dock behind the cafeteria,” the warden ordered. “Kill Caxton.”

“No! You can’t do this!” Clara howled, but no one was listening.

The half-dead’s ruined face scrunched up in thought. “But, um, Miss Malvern wanted—” it managed to stammer out.

The warden grabbed the half-dead by its shoulders. “Miss Malvern is currently a puddle of goo in a coffin. Whereas I am very much awake and ready to pull your arms out of their sockets. Do this quietly, do it quickly, and don’t give her a chance to fight back. Do we understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the half-dead murmured, and then headed off down the hallway at a run.





28.

Gert,” Caxton said, softly.

Her celly woke up instantly, her eyelids snapping open and her hand reaching for the knife she’d kept tucked under her arm while she slept. “Everything cool?” she asked.

Caxton nodded. “For the moment. I’ve been busy, and—”

“What time is it?”

Caxton shrugged. “I don’t have a watch. If I had to guess I’d say it’s around nine.” It had felt like about three hours since Malvern had made her dawn ultimatum. Twenty more to go.

“You think there’s any coffee?” Gert asked. “Maybe in one of these crates?”

“We wouldn’t have any way to brew it,” Caxton suggested.

“Oh, I’ll find a way. You know how long it’s been since I had caffeine? Way too f*cking long, that’s how long. If I have to snort lines of freeze-dried instant, I will do it. You got me operating on three hours’ sleep, I’ll mainline the shit. What the f*ck are those?”

She was looking at Caxton’s big project. The things that had taken her three hours to construct. The things she wasn’t sure would work, even so.

As she’d said, she’d been busy. She’d had to improvise and put them together from items she could find in the loading dock. She’d started with tin cans. She had as many of those as she could possibly want. In her search for supplies she’d found a small toolkit in one of the trucks. It had included a flathead screwdriver she’d used as a can opener. Very carefully she had emptied out five big cans that had contained creamed corn. She’d scraped them out and then let them dry. Then she had broken open a couple dozen crates and pried all the nails out of their boards. She had driven nails through the walls of the cans, all around, as many as she could without buckling the cans entirely. She’d made that mistake more than once.

The final step had left her gagging and sick, but it was necessary. There had been a garden hose on the dock, presumably used to wash the trucks. With a pair of bolt-cutters she had clipped off a four foot section of hose, which she had used to siphon gasoline out of the tanks of the three trucks. There had been a lot of spillage—the loading dock still reeked of gas—but she had managed to fill all five cans to the brim and seal them back up.

Sealing the cans took some work. There’d been a big economy-size pack of chewing gum in the glove compartment of one of the trucks. She chewed and chewed until her jaw was sore and used the wet gum to hold the lids on the cans and make seals around the nails to make the cans more or less watertight.