Morley shrugged. "Then let them die. I'm sure you'll have no problem listening to their screams."

Someone was, in fact, shouting on the other side of the door now, not so much battering on it as knocking. "Michael! Michael, it's Jacob Goldman! Open the door! They're coming!"

Michael exchanged a quick look with Claire, then Eve, then Oliver. Oliver nodded briskly.

Michael grabbed the desk and pulled it backward, nearly knocking Jason to the ground in the process. "Hey!" Jason protested. "A little warning next time, man!"

"Shut up." Michael shoved him back as the door pushed open from the outside, and vampires started flooding into the room.

Morley's people. They, like Morley, hadn't come through this unharmed; every one of them, including Jacob and Patience Goldman, looked as if they'd fought for their lives. A few were wounded, and Claire knew from experience that it took a lot to hurt a vampire, even temporarily.

Jacob was cradling his right arm, which was covered in blood. Patience was supporting him from the other side. Even Eve looked a little concerned at the sight of his ice white face and blind-looking eyes. He seemed to be in serious pain.

Patience settled him against the wall and crouched next to him as Morley and Oliver, with Michael's help, engineered some kind of barrier for the door when the last of Morley's people were crammed into the small room.

There weren't nearly so many as before.

"What happened?" Claire asked Patience. The vampire girl looked up at her, and there was a shadow of fear in her face that turned Claire cold inside.

"They wouldn't stop," Patience said. "They came for our prisoners. They wouldn't-we couldn't make them stop. Even when we destroyed one, two came out of the shadows. It was-we couldn't stop them." She looked down at Jacob, who had closed his eyes. He looked dead-more dead than most vamps. "Jacob almost had his arm torn off trying to protect them. But we couldn't help."

She sounded shocked, and deeply distressed. Claire put a hand on her shoulder, and Patience shuddered.

"You're okay," Claire said. "We're okay."

"No, we're not," she said. "Not at all. These are not vampires, Claire. They are animals-vicious beasts. And we-we are just as much prey for them as you are."

"Right," Morley said, raising his voice over the rising babble of conversation. "Everybody, shut it! Now, we can't stay here-"

"The bus is burning," someone said from near the window. Morley seemed to pause, obviously not expecting that, but he moved past it at light speed.

"Then we don't use the bus, clot-for-brains. We find another way out of this accursed graveyard of a town."

"In the sunlight?" Jacob asked. His voice was soft and thready with pain. "Not all of us will survive for long, and those who do will suffer. You know that."

"Your choice-go and burn; stay and be torn apart." Morley shrugged. "For my part, burns heal. I'm not sure that my disconnected pieces would, and I'd prefer not to find out."

"Something's coming," a voice called from the window. "A truck. A delivery van!"

Claire shoved through the crowd of vampires, ignoring the cold touch of skin and the hisses of annoyance, and managed to get a clear space right in front of the window, where a solid couple of feet were still bathed in sunlight. Eve had already claimed it, but she let Claire squeeze in beside her.

The van was a big yellow thing, some kind of bread truck, with a boxy, windowless back. As Claire watched, it jumped the curb and bounced up onto the lawn, charged forward, and knocked down the leaning iron fence around the Civic Hall. It missed the statue of what's-his-name, the town's patron saint, but the vibrations caused the whole thing to wobble uncertainly, and as Claire watched, it toppled over that last couple of inches, and gravity took over, slamming the smug statue's face into the grass once and for all.

Thankfully, not in the way of the van.

The van reversed, turned, and then backed up fast toward the window. It stopped a few feet away, and Shane hopped down from the driver's side. He ran to the window and grinned at Eve and Claire.

His grin faded fast as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, and he saw all the vampires in the room. "What-"

"Morley's people," Claire said. "I guess we're all in this together right now."

"I'm ... not loving that."

"I know. But we all need to get out of here."

Shane shook his head, shaggy hair sticking in damp points to his face, but he turned and opened up the back doors of the van. Inside, there wasn't much space, but there was enough to hold all the vamps-maybe. "I'll take as many as can fit," he said. "But seriously, once they're out of here, all bets are off."

"Agreed," Morley said, and stepped forward into the sun. If it bothered him, it was only to make him narrow his eyes a little. He grabbed the frame of the window and, with one hard pull, ripped it right out of the stone and tossed it out into the overgrown grass. "Right, youngest first. Go, now."

There was a hesitation, until Morley gave a low-decibel growl, and then vampires started stepping up, quickly throwing themselves out into the sunlight and moving fast to the sheltering darkness of the van. In only a few seconds it was just her, Michael, Jason, Eve, Morley, and Oliver, with Shane standing outside the window.

"I said youngest first," Morley said, glowering at Michael. Michael raised pale eyebrows at him. "Idiot."

"I stay with my friends."

"Then it would appear you get to tan with them, as there's no more room in the back."

"No," Oliver said. "Michael goes in the back. You and I ride outside."

Morley let out a black bark of a laugh. "Outside?"

"I'm sure you're familiar with the concept." Oliver, without even looking at him, grabbed Michael by the shoulder and almost threw him across the open space to the back of the van. Michael crashed into the small open space left and was pulled inside by Patience Goldman, who looked anxious, almost frightened. Shane slammed the back doors of the truck and ran to the front. "Right. Move it, ladies."

Jason didn't wait for girls first; he jumped out and went. Oliver boosted Eve up to the window, and she ran for the cab of the truck, where Jason was already climbing inside. Claire followed, avoiding any help from Oliver, and as she pulled herself up on the truck's mounting step, she saw Oliver and Morley jump out of the building and flatten themselves on top of the truck, in full sun, arms and legs spread wide for balance. She banged the door shut behind her and squeezed in next to Eve, with Jason on the other side next to Shane.

"We couldn't have done this boy/girl?" Shane complained, and started up the car. "Back off, freak!" That last was for Jason, who was pushing too close for Shane's comfort, evidently. Claire tried wiggling closer to the passenger door, but the cab wasn't made for four, no matter how relatively skinny they might be. And Shane wasn't small.

"Just drive, smart-ass," Jason snapped. Shane looked like he was considering hitting him. "Unless you want the two on top baked golden brown."

"Crap," Shane spat, and glared at the steering wheel as if it had personally offended him. He put the truck in gear, ground the gears, and got it roaring through the grass. It bumped hard over the curb, sending Claire into the dashboard, and she flailed to regain her balance as the truck slewed back and forth, got traction, and roared off down the street.

"Where the hell are you going?" Jason yelled.

"Your sister gets to talk. You don't."

"Fine," Eve said. "Where the hell are you going, Shane?"

"The library," he said. "I promised I'd bring the truck back."

Claire blinked, looking over at him, and Eve, wide-eyed, shook her head.

"You know it's desperate," she said. "Shane is going to the library. "

And in spite of everything, that was actually funny.

11.

The library was about a block down, on the left. They passed a lot of empty, blank buildings, broken windows, destruction that seemed like the aftermath of a good looting. It didn't seem recent, though.

The library's windows were all intact, and there were people patrolling outside it-the first living people Claire had seen in Blacke, actually. She counted four of them, armed with shotguns and crossbows.

"My kind of library," Shane said. "What with all the weapons and everything. I tried to boost the truck, and they finally let me have it, but I had to bring it back. This looks like the place to be. At least we can find out what the hell is going on, maybe get a bus or something."

The guards outside the library were certainly paying attention. The guys with shotguns tracked the truck as it approached, and they looked really serious about firing, too. Claire cleared her throat. "Uh, Shane-?"

"I see it," he said. He slowed the truck to a crawl. "So, I'm guessing, Hi, we're friendly strangers with a bunch of vampires in your bread truck probably isn't the way to go here." He put the truck in reverse. "Guess this wasn't as good an idea as it looked at a distance."

"Maybe we should-"

Whatever Eve was about to suggest became useless, because two police cruisers, carrying more armed bubbas, came screaming out of alleys on either side of the library building and blocked Shane's exit. Shane hit the brakes. In seconds, Claire's door was yanked open, and a huge man with a shotgun glared at her, grabbed her, and dragged her out onto the hot pavement. He pressed fingers to her throat for a second, then yelled, "Live one!"

"This one, too!" yelled his buddy, who was pulling a fighting, screaming Eve out of the cab. "Watch it, girl!"

"You watch it, you pervert! Hands!"

"Hey, leave her alone!" That was Jason, flinging himself out after Eve, looking every bit the feverish little maniac Claire remembered from the first time she'd seen him. Maybe a little cleaner. Maybe.

He must have moved too fast for the armed guard's comfort, because he got hit in the guts with the stock of the shotgun, and collapsed to the street. Eve screamed his name, and got picked up and bodily carried into the library, along with Claire. "No!" Claire screamed, and looked back at the truck. Shane was getting wrestled out of the driver's side, and Jason was being dragged to his feet.

This was not going well. And where the hell were Oliver and Morley? They weren't on top of the van anymore....

Oliver dropped from the overhanging roof of the library and drop-kicked the bubba holding Claire. He shoved Claire out of the way as the one holding Eve aimed a crossbow and fired; Oliver snatched the arrow right out of the air and snapped the thick shaft with a twist of his fingers, grinning. "Let the girl go," he said. "I've played this game with many better than you. And they all died, friend."

He was looking pink from exposure to the sun, but not burned. Not yet. Uncomfortable, maybe. The guard's eyes darted around, looking for support, and found it in the form of two more cowboy-hatted men racing to the rescue.

With shotguns.

Claire threw herself forward, throwing her arms wide. Eve let out a warning cry, but Claire stepped in front of Oliver as the shotguns came up. "Wait! " she yelled. "Just wait a second! He's with us!"

The shotguns focused on her.

Oh, crap.

"You're running with the bloodsuckers?" one of them said in a soft, dangerous voice. "Little girl like you?"

"He's not like-like those things at the courthouse," she said. She put her hands up in the surrender position and took a step toward them. "We're not supposed to be here. We just want to leave, okay? All of us. We want out of town."

"Well, you ain't leaving town," the guy holding Eve said. "You or any of your fanged little friends. We're not letting this thing spread any farther. Blacke is under quarantine."

The heavy library doors opened, and a small, gray-haired woman stepped out. She didn't look much like a leader-Claire wouldn't have picked her out of a crowd at first glance-but immediately, everybody looked toward her, and Claire felt the gravity of the scene shift in her direction.

"Charley?" the woman asked. "Why are you pointing a shotgun at this pretty little girl? I heard somebody say she was a live one."

"She's with them!"

"There are no collaborators, Charley. You know that. Either she's infected, or she's not.There's no in-between. Now lower your gun, please." The woman's pleasant voice took on a steely undertone. "Lower it. Now."

"That one behind her, he's infected," Charley said. "Guaranteed."

"Actually," Oliver said, "in the sense you mean it, I'm not infected. Not in the way you're thinking."

The older woman, without so much as a pause, un-slung a strap from her shoulder, loaded a crossbow bolt, and fired it right into Oliver's chest.

He toppled over and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Claire screamed and ran to his side. When she reached for the bolt to pull it out, the woman grabbed her arm and pulled her back, struggling. She shoved Claire at one of her guards, who held her securely. "You know what to do," she said to another one of them, nodding toward Oliver. "Let's get these kids inside. I don't want them to see this."

"No, you don't understand!" Claire shouted. "You can't-"

"I understand that he's a vampire, and for whatever twisted reason, you want to protect him," the woman said. "Now be quiet. You're not in any danger here."

Claire thought about all the vampires locked in the back of the truck. Michael.

She couldn't tell them about that. If they were going to kill Oliver, just like that, she couldn't imagine what they might do to a whole, confined load of vampires. It'd probably be way too easy. The sun was sliding steadily toward the horizon. Maybe, when it was blocked by the eastern buildings and there was enough shadow, they could get out of the truck and scatter.

The woman looked at her sharply. "You seem to be thinking very hard," she said. "About what?"

"Nothing," Claire said.

"I see. What's your name?" When Claire didn't answer, the woman sighed. "All right. I'm Mrs. Grant. I'm the librarian. I'm what passes for authority in Blacke these days, since all our peace officers and elected officials are dead. Now, let's be friendly. I've told you my name. What's yours?"

"Claire," she said.

"And where are you from, Claire?"

Claire looked her right in the eyes and said, "None of your business."

Mrs. Grant's graying eyebrows hitched up, but under them, her faded green eyes didn't seem surprised. "All right. Let's get you and your friends inside, and you can tell me why you thought that vampire was someone you ought to be caring about."

Claire looked back over her shoulder as she was pushed/pulled along. Oliver was being carried away, limp as a bag of laundry.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

The inside of the library was cool and dark, lit mostly by the natural sunlight trickling in the windows, although there were some camp-style fluorescent and LED lanterns scattered around, and even some old-fashioned oil lamps on the tables. The Blacke library was larger than Claire would have expected, with rows and rows of books, and lots of rooms off to the sides. In the middle was a kind of command center, with a small desk, a laptop computer, and some kind of small pedal-powered generator. Ranked on the shelves nearby were weapons, including a pile of silver chains-jewelry, Claire guessed, ransacked from all over town. There were a lot of first aid supplies, too.

Inside the library there were about twenty or thirty people; it was hard to see, because they were scattered around on cots between the aisles of books. Claire heard a small voice, then someone crying; it sounded like a little kid, maybe four or five. "What is this?" she asked, looking around. Mrs. Grant led her over to a long reading table and pulled out a chair for her.

"This is what's left of our town," she said. "The survivors. We're a tough bunch, I'll tell you that."

"But"-Claire licked her lips and settled into the seat-"what happened here?"

Mrs. Grant waited while the others-Eve, Shane, and Jason-were deposited in chairs around the table, with varying degrees of gentleness. Shane was furious, and he looked as if he were seriously thinking of grabbing a fistful of weapons from the racks. Mrs. Grant evidently saw that, because she pointed at two of her burly cowboy guards and had them stand behind Shane, blocking him in at the table.