Paris, 1794 Ch. 10: Rachel Regroups

[Rachel's POV]

Rachel blinks, opening her eyes. The sunlight hurts her eyes. Sun, that's good she thinks. Looking at the position of the sun, she sees that it must be only a few hours until sundown. Rachel finds herself on a muddy bank of the river, outside of the city core but still very much within the walls of Paris. Her head is splitting. She reaches up, feeling a gash on her forehead. I must have hit a rock and lost consciousness she thinks, amazed that she hadn't drowned. Vampire blood... she thinks. She winces as she sits up, the pain in her head and twisted ankle being severe. I'm in no shape to fight she thinks. I need blood to heal. Looking around, her bag of weapons is nowhere to be found.

Hobbling to her feet, Rachel roots around in the muck for stick to use as a crutch. Realizing she must look like hell, she spots a farmhouse in the distance. I can get clothes there she thinks. Rachel walks towards the farmhouse, thinking over the past day. I was stupid to fall into that trap. Rachel recoils, thinking about the mindless beasts that Elizabeth had so callously unleashed on people in the square. Monstrous. While Rachel's resolve only hardens, she is uncertain about next steps. I can't fight in this state she thinks. Rachel's craving for vampire blood, ever present, is impossible to ignore now. Her battered body is crying for it.

Rachel comes to the door of the farmhouse. She knocks, and the door is opened by a grizzled old farmer, who looks her up and down. He pauses entirely too long on her wet body, before looking up and asking what Rachel wants. Rachel is uncomfortable, but short on options.

"Miseur, my name is Rachel. I was thrown into the river" Rachel says, hoping to evoke some sympathy. "By any chance do you have a dress that I could borrow? And some food? I can pay you back."

The old man rubs his stubbly chin. "Thrown into the river?" he says incredulously. Rachel realizes the story is bizarre. She wouldn't trust it. What am I supposed to say? Vampires?

"I know it sounds crazy" she says. "Please, if you could help me out..."

The old man grunts what Rachel thinks is assent, and clears the doorway, ushering her inside. Rachel walks into the cramped, dirty farmhouse, and the man closes and bars the door behind her. Rachel is creeped out, but gives him the benefit of the doubt.

"This way" he says, gesturing her upstairs. "I have some old clothes from my daughter up here..."

Rachel follows the man up the stairs, and into a little room. The room is sparse, no closets or dressers. A filthy mattress lies on the floor. She look back, and the man is standing between her and the door. He flashes a toothless smile at her. The man reeks of ****.

"Thrown into the river, eh?" he repeats. He reaches out, and pulls a lock of her hair between his fingers. Normally, this old fool would be no match for Rachel, but in her weakened state she isn't sure. Rachel tries to dart around him, but he catches her, smacking her hard into the wall. Rachel's ankle is on fire. Pinning her shoulders against the wall, he leans in to look at her in the dim light. Rachel gags on his fetid breath. Rachel swiftly lifts her knee, making contact with the man's crotch, and he stumbles back, howling.

"I'll kill you, you cunt" he sputters. Rachel limps from the room as quickly as she can, down the stairs, the man following right behind. She hears him curse, losing his footing. Quickly moving to one side of the stairway, the man tumbles down the stairs past her. Rachel watches as he hits the ground headfirst, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch. Rachel is exhausted more than anything -- she doesn't have time for this. Blood begins to seep from the man's head, and Rachel can smell it from the top of the stairs. She is disgusted when she finds herself salivating. Vampire blood would heal me immediately. Maybe human blood will work too? she wonders. How much has feeding on vampiric blood for all these decades changed me?

Limping to the foot of the stairs, she kneels next to the lifeless man. Sticking her finger into the blood, she tastes it. It's rancid, but she forces herself to swallow. She feels her headache dull a bit, but she could be imagining it. Lifting the man's arm, she bites into his wrist, and suppresses a gag. She sucks on the wrist, swallowing the man's cooling blood. She feels the throbbing in her ankle subsiding. It is tender, but usable. She keeps drinking, and reaches up, feeling the gash in her forehead shrinking. Her headache dulls, but doesn't disappear. Standing up, Rachel rotates her ankle. It hurts, but she can put weight on it, run even. Her head is clearer.

Rachel roots around the house, finding an old dress that looks like it has been unworn for decades. It fits. Putting it on, she looks for weapons. She finds some old knives, and stores them in a satchel. Rachel carves some stakes from the man's furniture. Dressing in a cloak she finds on the wall, she leaves the house, walking briskly back towards the city.