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<h2>33</h2>
<p>Down in Barloan Harbour, Old Mrs Cosgrove, peering through her
thick lenses, had not recognised her when she came knocking on the
door, keeping her face to the shadows. It was no surprise that the
old woman who offered rooms for bed and breakfast did not know her.
She had changed.</p>
<p>The nights had been filled with strange dreams and the days
filed with strange hungers. Her ears buzzed and crackled and her
sense of smell was changing too. She needed hot meat, flesh and
blood. Sweet tastes nauseated her and made her retch violently. She
had pains deep in her belly, wrenching, swelling pains, but they
did not distress her.</p>
<p>She sat in the dark now, most of the time, keeping away from the
light, huddled in the swirl of blankets.</p>
<p>It had been right to move, to get away. There was danger in
staying where she was known, danger not just to herself. Instinct
had had driven her on, tugging her wordlessly, pushing her to
somewhere safe, somewhere she could hide and wait.</p>
<p>The time was almost on her. The pressure in her belly was
intense. The skin was stretched until she felt it might rip
asunder. Inside she could feel the small movements and the hot
pains and the glow spread through her. It had not taken long and
the waiting would soon be over.</p>
<p>In the night, something stirred and she awoke with a ripple of
alarm, but she saw it was the other one turning in her sleep, the
one she had known from that distant time before. Her name was May,
she recalled. Something like May. The name of a month. The name
mattered nothing at all now. No name did. Her sister, her brood
sister, was stirring awake. The moonlight streamed through the
narrow window, fuzzed by the condensation on the glass from the
heat of their bodies and the warmth of their breath.</p>
<p>A third one was already awake and her eyes were gleaming in the
light. The fourth and fifth were starting to move. She did not know
their names. They had no names. She had almost forgotten her own.
Identity too, meant nothing now yet they all recognised her and the
difference inside her.</p>
<p>She moved too, careful of the weight in her depths, careful of
her precious burden.</p>
<p>She hunkered down, ignoring the small and distant pain as her
knee pressed on the bent frame of old Mrs Cosgrove&#8217;s glasses.
Eyes glittered impassively in the dark. Without a pause at all, she
joined the others in the moonlight and they moved slowly, giving
her preference, as was her natural right. She bent and used her
teeth to strip the plump, rich flesh from a cold, spread-eagled
thigh. She gulped it down without chewing and the blood trickled
down her chin and over the swelling curve of her breasts. The
others watched her as she fed, naked in the dark. Over the smell of
the meat, she could sense their own imminent birthings. They would
produce only males.</p>
<p>She was different. The vessel that had been Helen Lamont
nurtured a special burden. No man would ever resist her offspring.
It would live forever.</p>
<p>A drop of milk leaked out to merge with the blood and the birth
pains began to pulse deep inside.</p>
<p><strong>THE END</strong></p>
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