There was one man in Bedford who knew the truth. He stood in front of the new all-night convenience store on the main turnoff from SR37, holding the pay phone to his ear but calling no one. He waited. And he watched. He was bundled in an overcoat he had stolen from a car earlier, though not because he was cold, and the knit cap he wore was less to warm his ears than to cover the bullet holes in his forehead and keep that ornery flap of scalp from coming loose and blowing away in the breeze. Every few minutes Dutch Larson would creep over and peek through the big bay windows of the convenience store like a child at a candy shop, and his mouth would water at the sight.

There was someone in there. A human—alive, warm, luscious . . . full. He felt a knot of excitement in his gut. It had been days since he’d fed well, since he’d tasted human blood. Cows and hogs were loathsome to him but had sustained him for the past two nights. He’d been on the run constantly since he’d left Isherwood and bypassed the cordon of crosses. Hounded by that bastard Charlie Bean and his stake-wielding posse. It was all he could do to stay hidden, let alone find prey. But tonight . . . it finally appeared to be blowing over. He hadn’t felt anyone on his trail since rising, and it was a good thing. The hunger within was now a raging need, all-encompassing. It would have brought him out this night, regardless.

He looked around him and made sure the area was deserted, the parking lot, the street. Then he sauntered along the big display windows of the convenience store and peered longingly inside.

There was a boy perched on a high stool behind the checkout counter, nursing a Cherry Coke and lost in a comic book he’d borrowed from the rack a few aisles over. He was a tall, skinny kid barely out of his teens, his face still plagued by a complexion he could’ve grated cheese on. To make matters worse, he celebrated his rebellious lifestyle by wearing a shirt that read, SHUT UP AND SUCK THIS, and by shaving the sides of his head and letting the rest grow long and wild like a horse’s mane. Freedom of appearance was one of the few perks of the graveyard shift.