That night, if Shannon Malone and Robbie Edwards had been just two streets over they would've seen Officer Rudy Potts out on patrol. He and Huey Granado had drawn the short straws and been tasked with the night patrols. The first few nights had come up empty; not a single thing had been seen or heard, aside from a baby with lungs of steel screaming and crying at midnight one night. The winter chill made the patrols nasty business, and Rudy Potts spent much of the time trying to keep his hands and feet from freezing. He was sure there was a hole in one of his boots even though he hadn't been able to find it yet; every night his sock would be soaking wet and stuck to his foot. He could use a new pair of gloves too, if he was honest with himself.

It's probably better Shannon and Robbie never crossed his path; they would've certainly been in trouble for breaking the curfew, and that was not the half of it. No one could have known it, but the night patrols led Rudy Potts straight to his death.

Rudy Potts's biggest headache that night was the wind. Every few minutes he'd hear something that he thought meant trouble and turned out to be nothing more than a tree branch scratching against the side of a house or a loose shingle jumping around. He was not ashamed to admit he was jumpy. He knew all too well the things that had happened in town at night. The wind was making it worse, pushing his frayed nerves to their limits. He was glad for the moon and the streetlights because his flashlight cast a pitiful swirl no more than a few feet in front of him. He walked slowly, checking behind him with a frequency that was a bit ridiculous. The snow swirled around the sidewalk in front of him, shimmering in the moonlight.

He heard her before he saw her. He figured at first that it was just the wind playing tricks on him again. It was just a quiet noise, a low moan that could have been anything: the wind catching hold of a rusty chain or blowing through some sort of tube or opening. It got louder as he walked on and he realized it was certainly not the wind. Whatever was making that noise was alive. It got worse as it got louder, fierce and almost savage in its intensity. An idea formed in his head that it was some kind of wild animal. And then she came sprinting out from among a group of snow-covered bushes, moaning and weeping, and ran right into him.

The first thing he noticed was that she wasn't wearing any shoes. It shocked him; it was bitterly cold out, and she had nothing on her feet. Then he realized she had no coat, no gloves, no hat, not even a pair of pants. All she had on was a baggy flowery dress. He wondered how long she could have possibly been out in the cold like that.

He realized next that he dress was stained. All along the front in big patches, splotches, and circles were brown discolorations, some faded and some much newer. Shock ballooned in his chest as he realized it was blood.

She grabbed onto his arms desperately, digging blunt, dirty fingernails into the sleeves of his coat. She was still making that awful keening noise and she thrashed around as if she was trying to break free from him—though she was the one who held him. Her hair was brown and matted; her eyes were sunken and so dark they were almost black. The area around her mouth and chin was red but the rest of her appeared to be turning blue.

"Help me," she rasped, finally stopping that terrible wailing. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. "Oh god, help me, please."

"Settle down, now, darlin'," Rudy said, trying to ascertain if she had any wounds. He couldn't see anything, but the blood all down her dress was telling a different story. He was still working through his surprise, his mind trying to contextualize what was happening.

"Please, help me, help me," she whimpered, whipping her head every which way. Her eyes were manic.

"Just settle down, dear," Rudy said. "Tell me, are you hurt?"

"Oh god," she cried. "I—she—she's in trouble." She pointed back to the bushes from which she'd come. "She needs our help—help her, help me!"

"Dear, I don't know what's going on," Rudy said, struggling to keep his voice even. "Slow down, tell me what's happening."

She didn't get another word out before collapsing into his arms. He thought for a moment that she'd fainted, but looking at her face he could tell she was still conscious. Her legs had simply given out. He couldn't say he was surprised, not when she must be near freezing. He barely noticed as his flashlight fell to the ground. The woman let out a short, devastated wail.

"Come on now," he said soothingly, shifting her weight to hold her more stably. "What's your name, dear?"

"I-Iris," she said shakily. She was still leaning heavily on him, but she'd taken some of her weight back.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asked, looking warily at the blood stains on her dress.

"No," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "It's not me. It's her—it's Verna! Oh please, help her!"

"Iris, who's Verna?" It was a task just to get the woman's attention; her head was at constant movement, checking every angle as if she was expecting to see someone. She was sagging heavily against him. He wasn't sure how long she could hold out.

"Oh, please, hurry!" She was tugging on his arm then with a strength and vitality that didn't seem possible. He had no choice but to follow as she pulled him towards the snow-covered bushes she'd appeared out of. His unoccupied hand went to the pistol in the holster on his hip, preparing for the worst.

Another woman was lying on the ground on just the other side of the bushes. She looked young, like Iris. She also was clad only in a flimsy dress, hers bright and polka-dotted. She had brown stains along the front to match Iris. Immediately, Rudy could tell the woman was desperately emaciated; the bones in her arms and legs stuck out in knobby stumps. The skin was stretched tight against her face. He could not tell if she was breathing. At first glance she had all the trappings of a corpse.

He dropped to the ground beside her, unheeding now of the snow. Iris impossibly remained on her feet, making a low half-moaning, half-sobbing sound. Rudy put a hand on the other woman's shoulder, and it felt as if he was holding pure bone.

"What's happened to her?" Rudy asked in shock, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. She was like an ice cube.

"She's so thirsty," Iris groaned. She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands and sobbing so helplessly Rudy was taken aback.

Rudy watched the other woman intently, trying to make out the rise and fall of her chest. He could see nothing. He grasped her freezing wrist and tried to locate her pulse but he didn't feel anything. She was completely still, limp in his hands.

"Iris," he said gently, trying to get her to look at him. "I'm sorry, I think she's passed."

"Oh, of course she has!" Iris sobbed, refusing to move her hands from her face. "Oh, help her, please!"

"Iris, I don't think you understand," Rudy said, setting the woman's arm gently back on the ground and grasping Iris's shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting. "She's not breathing. I'm sorry, Iris, but she's deceased."

Iris made a choking noise in her throat but her sobbing seemed to be abating. At a snail's pace, one hand left her face and reached to hold onto the hand Rudy had on her shoulder. Her dark eyes stared unseeingly at the ground.

"Come on now," Rudy said. "We've got to get you to a hospital. I'm sure you've got frostbite—I'll get people here to come take care of your friend—"

Quietly but forcefully, Iris said, "No."

"Dear," Rudy said, "we really have to get you out of the cold. Are you hurt? Where did all this blood come from?"

"No," Iris repeated, her voice much harder. Rudy had to repress a sigh as he realized she was going to be difficult, and he tried to rise to his feet. He could manage no better than an awkward squat; Iris's hand had become like a vice grip on his own. She had removed her other hand from her face and she looked at him with a savagery that nearly made him gasp.

"What—"

"Help her," she demanded. Rudy would have wondered what exactly the deal was between these two women if he hadn't been distracted by the crunch of bone in the hand Iris held. He dropped back to his knees as she said, "She's thirsty."

"Iris—my hand—" Rudy gasped in pain, too surprised to scream. A thin trickle of blood ran down the back of his hand, and Iris smiled, revealing a mouth full of teeth like razors. Rudy's head was so clogged with pain he couldn't be sure what he was seeing.

"I knew you'd help," Iris said. All semblances of the fear and the desperation from just moments earlier were gone. She looked predatory.

Iris pulled his hand to the space above the other woman's head. Rudy finally shrieked when he felt his middle finger snap like a twig. Iris paid no mind to him as he struggled, only using her other arm to keep him on his knees.

"I told you we could get something better, Verna," Iris said, smiling like she was relaying a private joke.

"Took you long enough," the woman on the ground—Verna—said.

Rudy swore his heart stopped a moment when she opened her eyes, sitting up and stretching like she just awakened from a nap. He stared at her and realized with foggy trepidation that she was still not breathing. Worse—and how he hadn't noticed it was beyond him—was Iris wasn't either.

"It's uncomfortable on the ground," Verna grumbled. She looked at him and smiled, ready to pounce. "Worth it, though."

"First taste?" Iris asked.

"Think I deserve it, dear," Verna said before grabbing onto his battered hand. He cried out again and struggled, but Iris's arm on him was like steel. He was powerless to do anything except scream as, repugnantly, Verna licked the blood off his hand. Her eyes closed in bliss for one second, and then she looked at her partner and said, "Tastes like fear."

"Help!" Rudy shrieked, thrashing against Iris's hold. She didn't budge. Verna grimaced.

"Do something about him, will you?" she said. "He's being very loud."

Rudy Potts barely felt a thing as his arms were ripped from his chest. Looking at the blood gushing out of the ragged wounds like they'd never seen anything more beautiful, Iris and Verna began to drink.