Gabby is alive! People are crying in relief, and embarrassingly, that includes me. I hadn’t realised how much she meant to me. Lillith was sitting bent over and I'm sure she was crying too. Other people were crying in shock of what had happened. The camera guy had just announced that he was a Van Helsing. This was not good. Gabby runs off to the toilet and I hear her throwing up. When Gabby had been shot, the bus had slowed to a stop and Zack ran off.
I wait for Gabby to come back. I look nervously at the camera guy, who returns my gaze uneasily. I shake my head and turn away from him, looking out of the window. There doesn’t seem to be anything around, we are in the middle of a load of fields. No where I can stock up that first aid kit then... as my thoughts swirl in my head, I wonder how much of a threat that Van Helsing guy is. I watch the writer kid with the pretty girl. He’s trying to comfort her. I don’t smile. I'm worried about Gabby, if I'm honest.
She just attracts danger and I don’t know how to help her. It’s clear to me. The more I think about it, the more obvious it becomes: she wants to be like me. Even after seeing what I did earlier. There is nothing, nothing, about being a vampire that is good. I know I mentioned the benefits earlier, the ability to heal – which would be useful for Gabby, I suppose – speed and strength. But the price that comes with it – the searing pain I feel as the sun rises, the loneliness, the dependence on blood – are just not worth the benefits.
Gabby comes back looking almost as bad as she did with the bolt still in her chest. She slides into her seat and rests her head on the window. I take her hand and squeeze it, trying to give her some comfort. She shakes her head and sighs wearily. She sits there for a while, quiet. I leave her to it, but make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. Eventually, I have to pull my hood up over my face to stop the sun burning me. It’s not pretty, and it hurts like nothing you have ever felt. I hear Gabby draw in a breath and feel her shift beside me, as if she’s about to say something, but then changes her mind.
I think I have a vague idea of what she was going to say. I don’t press her to tell me. I don’t want her to ask me.