The bags being unloaded are too big and heavy-looking to hold communion wafers. Should I move closer?

I look toward the shack where the girls were taken. The door remains closed. It’s quiet inside. I’m torn between attempting to get a look inside the church and rescuing those girls. Part of me wants to burst in, haul the girls out before the pig gets his hands on them. But the saner, logical part of me says there’s another reason I’m here.

The village courtyard is deserted. The church bell has stopped ringing. Whatever was being delivered, is now inside the church. Everyone in the village seems to be inside, too. The van stands open and empty. I can do more good in the long run if I go after the truck that took the girls and get the driver to tell me what’s going on.

If I’m going to get away, it will have to be now.

I slip out of my hiding place, pulling brush tamped down back into place. I keep an eye out for any strays, but everyone seems to have marched like good little ants into the church. I only have to scurry a little deeper into the brush before I can safely pick up speed. I run parallel to the road, watching for the truck.

It hasn’t gone far.

The truck has been pulled off to the side of the road. I don’t have to use vampire hearing to know what is going on. The driver has climbed into the back, the cries of his victim shattering the early morning quiet. When I leap inside, I can scarcely believe what I see.

Two of the girls are lying in pools of blood, their throats slashed. The third is barely visible under the half-naked body of the man on top of her. He is pushing at her and grunting, a knife at her cheek.

I feel my control slipping. Fight to get it back.

You need the man. Take control, Anna.

It’s too late. The smell of spilled blood turns my mind as black as night. Vampire roars in blood lust and rage. I can’t hold back.

The driver turns to look at what beast screams in a human voice but with such inhuman fury. His eyes widen and he pulls away from the girl, backing himself into a corner. His member shrivels and the sharp smell of urine staining the front of his pants is evidence that his fear has made him lose control.

I approach like a stalking tiger.

He holds out the knife.

As if that flimsy blade is any match for vampire. It takes the merest flick to break his hand at the wrist and fling the knife away.

He screams.

I want him to scream. I want to break every bone in his body, tear limbs one by one, until there are only pieces left and I can suck the life juices from them.

I make him cower in that corner. Make him wait for the pain to come.

But vampire is too caught up in the feast she is about to devour. She doesn’t see until it is too late.

The girl. She is on her feet. She snatches the knife from where it fell on the floor. Too fast and too filled with rage even for vampire, she lunges before I can stop her. The knife slashes across the man’s throat. The arterial spray covers my face, and its smell and texture is too compelling. His body spasms. With a glance back at the girl, I grab him, hold him to my chest, bury my face in his neck and drink.

CHAPTER 28

REALIZATION AND REASON RETURN WITH A JOLT.

The human Anna comes back in an eye blink, horror at what vampire—at what I have done.

Shit. I sit back on my haunches, wiping blood from my face with the sleeve of the pristine white shirt Maria gave me.

Pristine no more.

What do I do now?

A sound, a small, mewling whimper makes me jerk around.

The girl, the one attacked who became attacker, sits beside the bodies of the slain girls, crying softly.

Surprise that she’s still here, that she didn’t run away in horror when she saw me feed, that she’s not screaming, shakes me.

She looks up when she feels my eyes on her. Her expression doesn’t change. There’s no fear, no tensing of her body in preparation for fight or flight. There’s only resignation in her gaze. As if surrounded by so much death, she accepts that hers is inevitable.

After all that’s been done to her, does she welcome it?

I don’t know what to do. I rack my brain for some phrase to offer comfort, to offer assurance that I mean her no harm.

“No te hará daño. Soy amigo. ¿Habla Inglés?”

Even as I say the words, I mean no harm, I wonder how she can believe it after what she saw me do.

But she only shrugs and replies, “Sí.”

Relief washes over me. At least we have a chance to communicate.

She wipes at her eyes with the corner of the blanket she’s pulled back around her trembling body. But she says nothing. She’s waiting for me.

I place a hand on the center of my chest. “My name is Anna. What’s yours?”

She squares her shoulders, sits up straighter. “Adelita.”

Still no emotion. She doesn’t seem to care what I am or what I did. She asks no questions.

Better not to push. She is calm. I will be, too.

“That’s a beautiful name. You are very brave, Adelita. Now we need to move this truck off the road and hide it until we can decide what to do. I have some friends not far from here who will help us. You are barefoot. Do you think you could walk if I gave you my shoes?”

She shakes her head. “I will take his,” she says, pointing to the man, spitting the words as if having to mention him raises bile in her throat.

I am sitting closest to him so I reach over and untie the shoelaces on what looks like a brand-new pair of Nikes. Thankfully, they are clean inside. I hold them out to Adelita. “He has surprisingly small feet for a pig,” I say.

She understands and a slight smile touches the corners of her mouth. She holds up a thumb and forefinger and squeezes them close. “He was small in many respects,” she says.

She slips the shoes on her feet and laces them. She has delicate features, brown eyes and hair. The small smile she showed me before is gone, her lips pinched tight. But it gave me a hint of the pretty girl she must have been.

I wish I had clothes to offer her but I didn’t exactly pack for this trip. I motion to the open door and climb out. She follows, trying to manage the blanket. It’s too coarse too wrap like a sarong.

“Maybe I can fix it a little,” I offer, holding out a hand.

I think she may object, but surprisingly, she simply hands the blanket to me and stands naked and still.

Maybe she’s been through so much, she can’t imagine things could possibly get worse.

Her frail body is mottled with bruises.

I think I guessed right.

I fold the blanket in two and rip a hole in the middle with my teeth. When I hand it back, she slips it over her head, and it falls around her like a poncho, the ends reaching almost to the ground. There is a roll of twine and some duct tape lying in a heap by the door. I measure out a length of twine and snap it off. She winds it around her waist, tucking the sides of the blanket close so her body is covered.

She nods her thanks.

And waits for me to take the lead once more.

We walk to the front of the truck and I peek inside. The keys are in the ignition. “Get in. We’ll move the truck so it can’t be seen if someone comes by.”

She crosses to the passenger side and slips in. The windows have been rolled up and the cab smells of sour breath and sweat-stained clothes, nauseating reminders of the dead man in back.

For the first time, the young girl, the raped and beaten little girl, cannot control the responses of her horrified mind and body. She flings open the door, leans out and retches.

I don’t move. Don’t offer a comforting hand. Don’t utter false comforting words.

Nothing I say or do could make things better. She’s been through hell. Maybe her body’s way of coping is to purge. Vomit out some of the misery and despair and make room for something better. Maybe with the emptiness can come a little hope.