Thirst No. 1 by Christopher Pike

trees. A trail of bullets chases us. One of them catching me in the butt, the right cheek. The wound burns, but I don't mind. The woods are mainly pine, some spruce. A hill rises above us, a quarter of a mile to the top. I pull Slim to the pinnacle, and then back down the other side. A stream crosses our path and we splash through it. The old belief is not true; running water does not bind my steps.
    By now I have badly wrenched Slim's neck. Behind us I hear men entering the forest, six of them, spread ing out, searching for us. I can hear others at the gas station, moaning in pain, the sputtering breath of still others dying. I literally pick Slim off his feet and carry him a half mile upstream, running faster than a deer in her prime, even with the bullet in me. Then I throw Slim down behind a cluster of bushes. I straddle his chest. He looks up at me with eyes wide with fear. I must be little more than a shadow in his vision. Yet I can see him perfectly. I reach around to my back side, digging my fingers into the torn tissue. I pull out the bullet and toss it aside. The wound begins to heal immediately.
    "Now we can talk," I say.
    "W-who?" he stutters. I lean over, my face in his.
    "That is the magic question," I say. "Who sent you after me?"
    He is struggling for breath, although I am no longer holding him by the throat. "You are so strong. How is it possible?"
    "I am a vampire."
    He coughs. "I don't understand."
    "I am five thousand years old. I was born before recorded history began. I am the last of my kind ... I believe I am the last. But the person who sent you after me knew of my great strength. You were carefully prepared. That person must know that I am a vampire. I want that person." I breathe on his face and know he feels the chill of the Grim Reaper.
    "Tell me who he is, where I can find him."
    He is in shock. "Is this possible?"
    "You have seen a demonstration of my power. Do you really want me to give you another one?"
    He trembles. "If I tell you, will you let me live?"
    "Perhaps."
    He swallows thickly, perspiring heavily. "We work out of Switzerland. I have only met my boss a few times. His name is Graham—Rick Graham. He is very wealthy. I do odd jobs for him, my people and I. Two years ago he set us searching for someone who fit your description."
    "How did he describe me?"
    "The way you look. Other things as well. He said you would be rich, private, have no family. He said there would be mysterious deaths connected with your name."
    "Did he know my name?"
    "No."
    "Has he had you look for anyone else?"

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    "No. Only someone who fit your description." He grimaces in pain. "Could you get off me? I think you broke several of my ribs when you pulled me through the trees."
    "You were not concerned about my comfort in the car."
    "I stopped to let you go to the bathroom."
    "That was your mistake." My voice is cold.
    He is very afraid. "What are you going to do to me?"
    "What is Graham's address? Is he in Switzerland?"
    "He is never in one place. He travels constantly."
    "Why?"
    "I don't know why. Maybe he looks for you."
    "But is he on the West Coast now? In Oregon?"
    "I don't know."
    He is telling the truth. "But you were taking me to him tonight, weren't you?"
    "I don't know. We were to drive you to San Francisco. I was to call from a certain phone booth. I can give you the number. It is in Switzerland."
    "Say it." He gives me the number. I consider. "I faxed you in Switzerland earlier tonight.
    Yet you were here. It is possible Graham is here as well?"
    "It is possible. We have relays."
    "Do you have a business card, Slim?"
    "What?"
    "A card. Give me your card."
    "My wallet is in my front right pocket."
    I rip away his pocket. "So it is." I stuff the wallet in my back pocket. My pants are soaked with blood, some of my own, some of the woman's. In the distance I hear two of the men coming my way. Farther off I hear a