Free The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks Page B

‘What’s more,’ he added hurriedly, ‘wecan’t be sure of the outcome. We don’t know if this fellow in Cobar is still living at the same address, or if he gave away some of his bullets. We don’t know anything, really.’ Sanford had been contemplating the polished tips of his sensible brown shoes; now he raised his head and surveyed his dumbstruck audience. ‘There’s no alternative,’ he concluded. ‘Someone will just have to travel out there and investigate.’
    I wish I could tell you that I reacted to this proposal like Zadia Bloodstone. I’d like to report that I nodded curtly and said, ‘Count me in’, adopting the kind of power stance that you can only pull off if you have a belt full of guns, grenades and nunchakus.
    Unfortunately, I didn’t do anything of the sort. Instead I thought about getting stuck on a country road at sunrise. I started wondering how much light would filter into a locked car boot. And then I realised what was happening.
    I was thinking like a vampire.
    While the physical side of a vampire’s transformation only takes about thirty-six hours, the mental change is always a much more gradual process. Slowly, you stop resisting. Slowly, you lose your edge. You cease to engage with the outside world as your feelers retract. Your interests become hopelessly circumscribed; your energy trickles away. In the end, you care only about the state of your stomach and the latest episode of some moronic television series.
    It occurred to me that, if I wasn’t careful, I would turn into a vampire. I mean,
really
turn into a vampire. Not physically, but mentally. Psychologically.
    Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to volunteer for any kind of road trip. And neither could Gladys.
    ‘That’s crazy!’ she blurted out. Even my mum grimaced.
    ‘Bit of a tall order, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Hotel rooms get cleanedevery morning, and the blinds are always broken. I wouldn’t stick Nina in a hotel room – not unless it had a bloody big safe in it.’
    ‘What? Oh, no.’ Sanford was adamant. ‘There’s no question of
that
. No, no, we couldn’t risk using a hotel.’
    During the pause that followed, everyone glanced towards the priest. I remember thinking that he was the perfect spokesman – that one look at his sober cassock and creased, pouchy, compassionate face would surely be enough to calm the fears of even the most rabid slayer. Besides which, he could drive a car.
During the daytime
.
    He was the obvious choice of emissary.
    Feeling all eyes upon him, Father Ramon ran a hand through his silvery thatch. ‘You want me to go? Is that it?’ he said. There were nods all round.
    ‘You can’t make him go by himself,’ Mum flatly objected. She stood up, then went to remove her shepherd’s pie from the oven. ‘You don’t know
what
he’d be up against. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair.’
    ‘Of course not.’ Sanford’s manner was stiff. ‘I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind. Naturally, someone else would have to go with him. Someone who can drive, for instance. Someone like Dave.’
    ‘
Me
?’ said Dave, in faltering tones. Catching his eye, I thought he looked scared. Like a kid. Like a vampire.
    Then all at once he squared his shoulders.
    ‘Okay,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll go.’
    The rest of us gaped at him in astonishment. Before anyone could comment, however, Horace reappeared with a zip-lock bag full of dead guinea pig.
    ‘Where do I put this?’ he wanted to know.
    While Mum was explaining that all guinea pigs had to be placed in the freezer until rubbish-collection night, I slipped from theroom. It was an act of pure cowardice. Being small, I was an obvious candidate for the outback road trip. Not only did I convey a distinctly harmless impression; I could also be folded into a car boot or suitcase during the day.
    It was a prospect that appalled me.
    So I muttered something about taking my turn, and went to fetch a guinea pig from under the stairs.