The Watcher
CHAPTER 48

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO EXPECT SO I STAND BACK to watch. Marta's face undergoes the transition from anger to astonishment to utter vacuity. When I am sure she will no longer attempt to bite or gouge me, I step close to her and lower her to a seated position against the wall.
The blood is still flowing freely from her wrist, but it's not arterial blood. I can tell the difference. Whether by chance or on purpose, she did not cut deep enough. I tear at the hem of the sheet wrapped around me and bind her wrist. The cloth quickly soaks through. I tear another piece and fashion a tourniquet above her elbow. I don't care if she lives or dies, but she controls the pilot and those two downstairs. She is going to help me get Max out of this house.
The tourniquet seems to work. Blood no longer flows in a steady stream but rather drips from the cloth into a desultory pattern on the floor. Now that the immediate danger is past, the proximity of this much blood makes me tremble. It's all I can do to keep from lapping at it as it falls. But I don't. Instead, I move away to avoid temptation.
Marta's eyes follow me as I cross the room, but her body remains motionless. Her head lolls against the tiled wall as if too heavy for her slender neck. She opens and closes her mouth and I wonder if she's trying to tell me something. I don't intend to get close enough, though, to find out.
Max is my chief concern now. He hasn't moved since I've been in the room. He's breathing; I can see that. I bend over him and gently tap his cheeks with my fingertips. There is no response. I slap a little harder. His breath catches the tiniest bit, then settles back into the same deep, regular pattern. He could be asleep or comatose. But unless I can bring him around, getting us out of here is going to be a problem. I can carry Max or Marta, but not both.
Marta makes a small sobbing sound. When I turn around, she's on her hands and knees, trying to get her legs under her.
Okay. If she can walk out under her own steam, there will be only Max to worry about. It makes sense that the drug intended for me would not render me completely helpless. Foley was going to use it to get me on that chopper and I doubt he planned to carry me. He just wasn't in that kind of shape.
I grab Marta under her arms and haul her to her feet. She slumps against the wall but remains standing.
"Can you talk?"
She groans an unintelligible answer, but it's enough to make me realize she understood the question.
"Okay. Here's what's going to happen. We"-I gesture to Max and then to her and me-"are going to walk downstairs together. Is there anyone in the house besides the couple I saw earlier?"
She shakes her head.
"Will they give us trouble?"
Another abrupt shake of her head.
"Do I believe you?" This time, I shake my head. She looks at me in confusion, but I forge ahead. "When we get outside, we'll go directly to the hangar. Is the pilot still here?"
This time I get a nod.
"Does he know why Max and I were brought here?"
She waits a second too long to shake her head.
Great. That means I can expect no cooperation from him unless Marta makes it happen. How do I convince her to do that?
I take her bandaged wrist in my hand and squeeze. She whimpers in pain and winces away, her expression clouded and confused. She may understand a lot of what is happening, but she doesn't seem to remember exactly why. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.
"You've had an accident, Marta. We'll need the pilot to fly us to a hospital. We're going to have to let him see that you are badly hurt and in need of urgent medical attention. Are you ready to do that?"
She gives me a nod but before she does, there is an instant when I see something flash in her eyes. Awareness. Craftiness. She's shaking off the effects of the drugs but she doesn't want me to know.
Too late.
It occurs to me that she may have one or two more of those magic syringes in the pockets of her skirt-or another knife. Since I'm sure she has no intention of letting Max or me go, I doubt I'll find anything to help him. But maybe something to use against her when the time comes.
I move quickly, before she "awakens" even more. I hold both her hands in one of mine. With my free hand, I pass it over the contours of her body, even lifting the hem of her skirt to skim her thighs and between her legs. I dip my hand into the pockets of her skirt and lift the curtain of hair that falls to the middle of her back. I find nothing. Her eyes follow my hand but she doesn't try to pull away. She's quiet and resigned.
It makes me very nervous.
I want to bind her hands. But if I did, how would that look to the pilot and her friends downstairs? The ruse is only going to work if they think Marta is in control.
It's now or never.
I pick Max up and turn away from the cot.
A sound like static over a telephone line interposes itself in my head.
I almost drop Max, I'm so startled.
I listen closely.
The sound comes again. Only this time, the static is a garbled message. Gibberish. As if someone is trying to say something but the connection between brain and speech has been disrupted.
Or severed.
My stomach churns.
I lay Max back down and take a step toward the cot where Martinez' body is resting. Martinez' eyes are open. His head, barely connected by strings of flesh to his body, is stirring.
I think I'm going to be sick.
I look at Marta. She is watching, too, with another of those appalling smiles on her face. And I know. Her son did ingest enough of my blood to become vampire.
Marta lied.