Blood Hunt by Lee Killough Page A

wait for the sun. If nothing happened when it rose, there was nothing wrong with him except that he had gone bananas and needed a room at the funny farm. And if — well, it would be a clean end with no one having to know what a foul, damned thing he had become.
    Garreth crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap, and waited. Eventually the sky lightened. His heart pounded. Feeling it, he scolded himself. Don’t be a fool. Nothing’s going to happen . But his heart continued to slam against the wall of his chest while the sky grew brighter. Pulses throbbed in his aching, burning throat, in his arms, legs, temples.
    The upper rim of the sun appeared over the horizon. Garreth braced himself. A beam of light lanced westward to the great white cross above him. He fought an urge to bury his face in his hands and made himself lift his chin to meet the sun.
    It brought no agony, no searing dissolution. The light burned through his eyes, however, turning the throb in his temples to a pounding headache. A great weight pressed down on him, draining his strength, dragging at his limbs. The earth beckoned to him, called him to the sweet coolness that would shut out this miserable, blinding, exhausting sun —
    “ No!” He lurched to his feet. “Damn you!” he shouted at the sun. “Kill me! You’re supposed to kill me. Please! I won’t be...this...what Lane is!” He screamed into the gold and pink sky of dawn. “No! No! NO !”
    Screamed in fury and despair, over and over and over.
    Garreth did not recall running down Mount Davidson or fishing trooper glasses from the glove compartment of the car and gunning the ZX out of the parking lot, but he found himself driving again, with mirror lenses hiding the eyes of his image in the rearview mirror. Driving where, though? He slowed down, groping for orientation. And slowed still more as a patrol car passed him going the other direction. He carried no driver’s license; that sat in the Property Room along with the rest of his billfold contents, state’s exhibits.
    A street sign finally told him where he was. The Sunset district. His reflexes were taking him to Harry and Lien’s place...to Lien, who had kept him sane the last time his life crashed down around him.
    Garreth parked the car around the corner at the end of the block Harry did not pass on the way to work and climbed over the fences separating the yards behind the neighborhood houses until he reached the Takananda’s. There he sat down behind the big oak tree shading the flag-stoned patio and settled against the trunk to wait.
    From inside the house came the sounds of morning: a shrill electronic beeping of the alarm clock, running water, the murmur of voices. The telephone rang. Harry’s voice rose. Moments later the front door slammed and the motor of the car roared to life. Tires squealed around the corner at the far end of the block.
    Garreth pushed to his feet and came around the tree onto the patio.
    Lien saw him from the kitchen. Her almond eyes went wide.
    “ Garreth!” She ran out of the house to him. “What on earth are you doing?”
    He managed a wry smile. “Visiting.”
    Her eyes flashed. “Don’t lie to me, Garreth Doyle Mikaelian! Harry just had a call about you. Come in this minute and sit down! You look ready to fall on your face.”
    He followed her gladly and dropped into the closest chair.
    She sat on the hassock in front of him, frowning in exasperation and concern. Her nearness brought a warm wash of bath-talcum scent overlying that of blood. “Why did you run away from the hospital?”
    He could give a half-truthful answer. “I couldn’t eat their food or sleep in their bed. I wanted out.”
    She stared. “Have you lost — “ She broke off to resume in a patient voice, “Garreth, you almost died. You’re in no condition to be going anywhere. You need medical care. Come on; I’ll drive you back.”
    She started to rise.
    Garreth reached out to catch her wrist. “No! I can’t go