The Becoming

I unclip the Taser from my belt and hold it at the ready.

I hug the wall, following it until it forks about a quarter of a mile in. The fork to the left is dark, the lights continue to the right. I do, too. It's damp inside, and smells of earth and the musk of compressed humanity, but so far, I've seen no one. Nor have I heard the hum of conversation, or picked up on a stray vampire communication. The place seems deserted.

Cautiously, I creep forward. I come upon compartments, hung with blankets that seem to be living quarters. There are piles of personal belongings in each—clothes, shoes, the occasional book, radios, even a television or two, though I can't imagine what the reception would be like in the bowels of a mine. Beds consist of piles of straw, hot plates and ca

Except for the vampire lairs, of course. There are no hot plates in those. I wonder if the vamps go outside Beso de la Muerte to take their meals or if they've worked out some kind of deal to feed off their neighbors. For a price, I'm sure.

There's a makeshift medical ward, too, set up like a MASH unit with a couple of stainless steel gurneys and those racks that hold IV and blood lines. A cabinet along the back and a refrigerator are the only other things in the room. Not much in the way of medical technology—no monitors or computers. Of course, a criminal ending up here with a medical emergency couldn't expect much more.

I turn away and make another sweep, trying to determine which vamp bedroom is Donaldson's. I find it when I spy a picture of his wife and kiddies tucked atop a pile of magazines beside his bed. It seems very out of place, not only because it's in a cave, but also because I had the impression Donaldson had left that world behind. Why would he hold onto a picture that could only remind him of what he'd chosen to abandon?

I'll have to ask him when I get my hands on him.

I poke around, but there's nothing to indicate that David is here. I don't know what I expected to find, but something should point to his presence. Even if only food or water. The fact that there isn't anything at all brings back a familiar feeling of dread. Has Donaldson already killed him? Is David lying hurt somewhere in the desert outside the tu

There's only one way to find out.

Now I have a decision to make. Should I wait for Donaldson to return from the saloon or should I go get him? I'm debating this as I work my way back to the tu

quarters, I expected more than the fifteen or twenty I estimate to be here. Doesn't seem to be any women, either. I guess female desperados don't find the idea of living like a bat in a damp cave very appealing.

Except for Miss Mammary back there in the saloon, of course.

Which brings me back to Donaldson. I could summon him with a vamp signal. But would he alone catch it, or would the other vampires pick up on it, too? I don't want to be distracted or attacked by a mob. I just want Donaldson.

So I hunker down behind the saloon and wait. The desert air has turned cool, but the sand beneath my feet retains the warmth of the day. I send out tentative probes to see how he's doing with the girl in the bar. All I get in response is that same, lascivious carnal longing now fueled to greater heights by alcohol. He's hanging out with the other vampires and they're placing bets about who will bed her tonight. If she has a choice in the matter, it doesn't come up.

After an hour of this, my patience is at an end. Donaldson shows no sign of making his move so I make mine. I let myself into Donaldson's head, at first just a gentle prod to let him know someone is reaching out to him.

He responds immediately. I knew there was someone there. Who are you?

I wish I could see his face, read his reaction. But I can't so there's no choice but to continue.

Come outside and see.

A snort. I don't think so. You come inside.

I don't like crowds. Our business is private.

What business?

You'll find out when we meet.

What's in it for me?

What do you want?

There's a pause while he considers his answer. I use the time to regroup. It's hard work to keep all traces of my identity out of our conversation. When he sees me for the first time, I want it to be a surprise. How he reacts will tell me a lot.

What do you look like?

What?

What do you look like? I want to know if what you have to offer is worth giving up what I have going in here.

Jesus. Typical male. Thinks with his dick. Maybe I can use it to my advantage.

I put a purr in my voice. You didn't have any complaints the last time we were together.

In spite of the alcohol, I sense his interest level spike. So, we've met before?

That's one way of putting it. Yes.

There's a grin in his voice. Where did you say you were?

Right outside. In back.

I'll be right there.

He closes his mind, which puts me at a disadvantage. I'm assuming he's doing it so his friends won't pick up on his plans, but since it shuts me out, too, I don't like it.

I take out the Taser again and hold it at the ready. There doesn't seem to be a back door, which means Donaldson will be coming either from the right or the left around the building. There's no cover, either, and Donaldson's night vision will allow him to see me at the same moment I see him. Maybe I should have arranged the meeting back at the tu

Too late to change plans now.

The saloon doors creak open. I crouch down, waiting for the sound of footsteps to tell me which direction he's coming from.

One minute passes, then two.

There are no footsteps.

What's he doing? Has he changed his mind? Is he standing on the steps smoking a frigging cigar while he decides whether or not to meet me? Should I ask him?

No need, A