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e。 A big one。 He stared pleadingly as it approached； and when the driver saw him； the bike slowed and pulled up short beside him。
〃Where you headed？〃 the biker asked。 The question already seemed familiar。
〃Missing Mile； North Carolina。〃 Nothing wasn't sure if he was really going there； but the name had bee a sort of talisman。
〃Yeah？ I'm going to Danville。 That's almost over the Carolina border。 Hop on。〃
Nothing had never been on a motorcycle before； though he had always wished he could drive one。 This was a heavy bike； chopped and channelled； chrome winking through a layer of highway dirt。 Nothing stood looking at the machine until the biker said； 〃You want a ride or not？〃
〃Yeah； sure。〃 Nothing looked up into the biker's face。 White blond hair going dark at the roots； frazzled by wind。 No crash helmet。 Enormous hollow eyes； as round and glowing as a bushbaby's。 Eyes like little moons； set back in gray hollows of bone。 A young…old face； road…tough yet somehow melancholy； hanging over the turned…up collar of a black leather jacket。 〃What's your name？〃 Nothing asked。
〃Spooky；〃 the biker told him； and it seemed right。
Nothing climbed up behind Spooky and wrapped his arms around the biker's waist。 Under the heavy jacket Spooky's body felt loose…jointed； thin as a whippet。 The wide saddle thrummed； it was like climbing astride something living。 Then Spooky let out the clutch； and the bike leaped forward。 The wind pummelled Nothing's bare head； blew his hair straight back； stung his eyes。 He wondered whether they were going very fast。
Around noon they stopped in a little town and got a bucket of fried chicken； which they ate in an old tumbledown graveyard some miles down the highway。 Nothing wolfed the crisp flesh and sucked at the bones； but Spooky only picked at a drumstick； peeling off shreds of meat and shoving them listlessly into his mouth。 Nothing licked the grease off his fingers and leaned back against the door of a crumbling family vault。 The iron bars shifted beneath his weight； and Nothing waited to see whether he would spill in among the bones。 The door held。 A little disappointed； he looked back at Spooky。 The biker's hands were shaking now。
〃Shit；〃 said Spooky。 〃Are you cool？ I need to fix。〃 He mimed jabbing something into the vein of his arm。
〃Oh；〃 said Nothing； understanding。 〃Oh。 Sure I'm cool。〃 He tried to look cool。 〃Who do you think I'd tell？〃
〃Just gotta be sure。 You never know。〃 Spooky dug through the pockets of his jacket and pulled out several objects。 A tarnished silver spoon； a dirty shred of cheesecloth； a cheap plastic lighter。 From the saddlebag of the bike he took a Thermos full of water。 Last； he reached into some inner partment of his jacket and removed a flat lacquered box inlaid with a bright scene of tropical birds。 He opened it reverentially； Nothing half…expected silver light to spill out； bathing Spooky's face； engulfing him。 But inside the box was only a plastic bag full of little foil packets； seemingly hundreds of them。 And them； as innocuous as a dull gray viper； the syringe。
Nothing watched closely； trying to look as if he had seen it all before。 Spooky removed his studded leather belt； shrugged off his jacket； and pulled the belt tight around his upper arm。 His skin was faintly damp； mottled。 He poured a little water into the spoon and shook a grainy white powder out of one of the foil packets。 Then； as if remembering his manners； he glanced up at Nothing。 〃Oh； hey； you want to fix？〃
〃Yes；〃 said Nothing without thinking。 If he thought； he might panic。 Dead rock stars flitted through his mind。 William Burroughs chided him。
〃I'll do you first。 You're just a kid； you don't know how to do it。 You might shoot an air bubble。〃
Nothing closed his eyes as Spooky unbuckled the belt from his own arm and drew it snug around Nothing's。 He stroked the inside of Nothing's elbow； pressing down； smoothing out the skin。 His touch was very gentle； but had no sexual quality to it。 All of Spooky's erotic energy seemed to go into the handling of his drug。
〃Okay； here's your vein。 Keep your finger on it。〃 Spooky held the lighter under the spoon until the mixture started to bubble。 Then he laid the cheesecloth over the surface and drew the solution into the syringe。 Spooky's hands were steady now。
〃Still got that vein？ Okay； hold it 。 。 。〃 He held up the syringe and flicked the needle's tip with his finger。 〃Don't worry。 I can smell you're scared； but this is good shit。 There goes the bubble。 Safe as milk； like Nick Drake used to say。 Okay。 Okay 。 。 。〃 He bent over Nothing's arm and probed the soft flesh with the needle。 〃There you go。〃 Spooky drew back the plunger。 A diaphanous swirl of blood filled the syringe。 Nothing realized he had been holding his breath。
〃My turn。〃 Spooky mixed the solution again and injected himself with a cool eagerness。 He shivered when the needle went in。 A moment later Spooky just seemed to start fading。 His eyelids fluttered； and his voice began to drag like a m…cord played at low speed。 As Nothing watched； those luminous bushbaby eyes slipped shut。
Nothing felt the junk spreading through him； tendrils venturing into his hands and his legs； turning his blood as clear and pure as water。 He didn't feel sleepy at all。 His mind was sharp； cold。 He felt as powerful as a god。
Spooky was pletely gone now。 He slumped against the vault； his eyes closed； his breathing shallow； harsh。 His mouth was slightly open。 Nothing saw the tip of his tongue glistening。
Nothing moved closer to Spooky； moved so close that he was almost on top of the biker。 He encircled Spooky's shoulders with his arm。 At the neck of Spooky's dirty white T…shirt his skin was chill； sweaty； goosepimpled。 With the tip of his finger Nothing stroked Spooky's throat and found the spot under the ear where the pulse beat。 He left his finger there for a moment； then shook his head。 What was he thinking？ If you bit somebody there； you might kill him。 Instead he picked up Spooky's limp arm and bit at the soft skin of the inner elbow； where Spooky had fixed。
The vein was already open； and the blood began to flow easily。 From somewhere deep in his stupor； Spooky whimpered。 A child's sound。 Nothing sucked harder； trembling。 He'd never really tasted anyone else's blood before。 No more than a drop here and there； by accident； as when Laine had cut his finger in Jack's car。 That night seemed long ago。 Now Spooky's blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin mixed with spit； and the coppery sweetness of it mingled with the sweat from the biker's skin； and Nothing pressed closer and licked the last of the blood away。 He couldn't take too much； he didn't know how much would be dangerous。 Never mind that he wanted to eat Spooky； to swallow him whole。 The junk…laced blood tasted so good； so pure。
It hadn't lasted long enough。 He leaned against the vault looking at Spooky。 Spooky's hair drifted across his face； stirred by the wind。
It might rain again。 Nothing picked up the leather jacket and carefully covered Spooky with it。 He knew he couldn't stay here until the biker came to。 He might notice the fresh wound。 And Spooky would probably beat the shit out of him。 Nothing looked at the slack face one more time and touched his fingertip to Spooky's tired lips。 Then he walked away from the graveyard and headed for the road again。
Maybe it was the effect of the heroin； but what he had done did not seem strange to him。 Erotic； yes； sneaky and a little mean； yes…but not strange。 He had wanted the blood。 He had even been hungry for it。 And it had made him feel better； had settled his stomach； just as the albino's sperm had。
The first spatters of rain started ing down ten minutes later。 The cars still went implacably by。 Nothing's wet hair fell in his face。 The rain came down harder； colder。 He was almost ready to turn around and go back to Spooky…the motorcycle wouldn't offer any shelter； but maybe they could hole up in the vault…when the black van came thundering down the road。
It was dingy and dusty； black going gray。 The back window was covered with sackers and decals。 As the van passed him； Nothing caught a glimpse of several legends half…obscured by mud and dirt： PHOTUS/FETUS/VATOS； in dripping red letters； PARTY TILL YOU PUKE； BAUHAUS； with the sketchy face that was the band's logo。 And he thought he saw one that said JESUS SAVES and another that read IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY DRIVING； DIAL 1…800…EAT…SHIT。
Then the van jolted into reverse and pulled up next to him。 Three heads swivelled to look at Nothing； three clumps of hair； three faces defined in blots of dark makeup。 Their hands clawed at the windows； and their mouths opened； laughing； and for a moment Nothing thought they would drive away and leave him staring after the van； his foot already on the asphalt； his skin ready for warmth。 But then the passenger door opened and one of the figures swayed toward him； spat hair out of its mouth； and said； 〃Hi。 Want a ride？〃
The air inside the van was as hot and wet as a kiss； and the sweet scent of cheap wine was so strong he could taste it。 〃I'm Twig；〃 said the driver。 His voice was low and amused； and his sidelong