David stood in the center of the room, surrounded by bodies, panting not with physical exertion but with the emotional reaction to his rage. Then he took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. His bruises made themselves known to him and he groaned. An attempt to bend and clean his sword off on one of the few bits of cloth in the room not spattered with blood revealed the sharp pain of what was probably a cracked rib.

But his attention went again to the whimpering human form, still huddled against the wall. He sheathed his sword, and slowly approached the man, whose neck was a red horror of dozens of bite marks, many of them much larger and rougher than could possibly be necessary. David had a sudden thought, and paused to briskly rub his hands together. So when he gently touched the human's arm, his hands were warm.

"It's okay. They're all dead. It's over, they can't hurt you any more. They're all dead, its okay." He didn't know what else to say, but the his words and gentle touch seemed to reach the man. He looked up at David. His face was gaunt. He probably wasn't much older than David himself, but the hollowed cheeks made him look old.

"They're dead?" he whispered, in a hoarse, dry voice.

"Yes. They're all dead," said David. "Look."

The man lifted his head further, turned to survey the bloody scene. He looked for a long time, and then with a groan he tried to get to his feet. David put an arm around him and helped him, hoping the man wouldn't notice through the layers of cloak and shirt that David's body was cold. He had the feeling that after what this man had gone through, letting him know he was touching another vampire wouldn't be a good idea.

The man limped over to the nearest body, and regarded it for a moment. Then with a sudden, unexpected savagery, he somehow found the energy to kick the vampire's head across the room. "Ha! Dead, you bastards!" he screamed hoarsely, and David realized that the man's voice was roughened not by thirst but by screaming. Another flash of rage went through him, but the vampires were all very firmly dead, he couldn't kill them again. "Dead, and I'm alive! I hope you rot in hell!" Then he staggered and nearly fell. David quickly moved to support him again. The man was much taller than David, but he was rail thin, nearly a skeleton, and seemed to weigh almost nothing. David tried to guide him across the room to the stairs. Suddenly the man collapsed against him and slid to the floor, shuddering, and started weeping. David crouched by his side, concerned, not sure what to do.

"Sir?" David spoke carefully, not showing his fangs. "Sir, I need to take you away from here. Do you think you can walk, sir?"

The sobs came to a shuddering halt, and the man looked up at David again. "Sorry. Yes," said the man. "Away from here would be good. Maybe I can walk a little."

"I'll help you." David lifted the man upright and draped one arm over his shoulder. They made their way across the room, both their shoes liberally coated in gore by the time they reached the stairs. But the man couldn't even lift one foot high enough to get up the first step.

David considered. "Sir... I'm going to have to carry you. I won't hurt you, I promise."

The man nodded. "Yes. There's nothing left in me now. Just dry bones... nothing left..." he started giggling, and then dissolved again into sobs. David felt enraged all over again by what the vampires had done to him. He shook his head. His strength might well make the man realize what he was, but there was really nothing for it. He caught the man up in a fireman's carry and climbed the stairs. He had to put him down again near the top to shove the concrete slab aside, but the man didn't seem to notice. He was whimpering again, and trying to curl up into a fetal ball. David carried him out into the starlight, leaving the stairs gaping open behind him.

David winced as the man shuddered in his arms. He wanted to somehow comfort him, but there wasn't anything he could think of to do. So he set off across the desert, towards Cottonwood, the nearer of the two cities. He ran quickly, and as smoothly as possible, though he couldn't avoid a few jostles and the man's whimpers intensified whenever there was a rough spot. The sound of it pained him more than the twinge of his own cracked rib did.

He ran on until he reached the point where the light was too blinding to look at, and it began to feel warm against his skin.

"Light," whispered the man.

"Yes, light," said David. "We're almost there."

He squinted at the city. It was still quite a ways off, and the man couldn't walk on his own. If David put him down, he'd have to just stay there until somebody found him. David shook his head. Most likely no vampires would come by between now and the dawn, but after what he's suffered, to leave him alone where there were still shadows... He shrugged and walked forward. Only his hands and face showed, so he wouldn't burn that much. The light seemed to get hotter the closer he came. From a faint warmth it grew to the furnace heat of the hottest desert days. He could see the skin on hand hands reddening, as if he were getting sunburned. He squinted at the city again. He could go a little farther. So he walked on, until his hands were blistered and cracking, and then at last he knelt and set the man down. He turned, so that his hat and cloak shielded him from the unbearable light.

"Here. This is as far as I can come," he said. "You're nearly to the city, you're safe now. I'm sorry I can't take you all the way there."

The man looked at him, and there was something that might have been a dawning comprehension in his eyes. But he said nothing. Perhaps he couldn't think of anything to say to a vampire.

David stood and sprinted back to the darkness as fast as he could. Soon the relief of cool, dark night air was all around him and he dropped down to sit on the ground. He held out his hands and examined them. The palms had been protected by his burden, but the backs were a mess of blisters and cracked skin. A careful examination by touch revealed that his face was similarly burned. Well, he would go find something to feed on then, and hide himself away in a bolt hole after, to rest. The pain was intense, but he could tell he was already beginning to heal. A little blood and he'd be fine.

He thought then of the human he'd rescued. He hoped that the man could heal, mentally as well as physically. He felt somehow guilty, as though merely by being a vampire, by having tasted human blood, he was a part of the man's torture. He shook the feeling off. He had never harmed a human more than absolutely necessary, and he had saved dozens of human lives. He couldn't do any more than that.