Fatal Bargain by Caroline B. Cooney

people he had hurt, the car thief had not acquired any cash.
    He had no particular destination in mind as he roamed the streets. He had no particular plan in mind. All he had in mind was greed.
    He was panting with it.
    He could think only of money and what he would do with it; what he would buy with it; how much better life would be once he had some.
    He did not normally walk down the valley road. Of course, he did not normally walk anywhere, but he had lost his various forms of transportation, and so he was reduced to this pathetic, loser style of going someplace.
    He had to walk.
    It outraged him that he was on foot. People like him did not deserve this humiliation. Somebody would pay for this, he would see to that.
    The car thief walked onto the site where the shopping mall would soon begin to rise. In the dark, it was a shambles. Piles of dirt and trash. Ruts from immense tires. Metal barrels, old railroad ties, and discarded junk. A few scattered, white-painted barriers making a feeble attempt to close off a huge area.
    He crossed the acreage hoping to find something — anything — that he could steal and sell. Perhaps a backhoe worth tens of thousands of dollars that he could somehow start up, drive off in the night.
    There was nothing.
    He walked toward a huge shapeless stack. It had no shadows because there was no light to cast them. It was not until he was very, very close that he realized the stack had no theft potential; it was a bunch of huge old dead trees bulldozed down and left to rot.
    He was furious.
    He kicked a tree.
    But it was not satisfying to kick a tree. It didn’t whimper, or cry out, try to run, or hand over its wallet. He wanted a human to kick. Something where you could laugh when it cried out.
    He kicked the tree again, and felt no better that time, either.
    But he saw something.
    Something…something large and glossy glittered faintly within the trees.
    He began to work his way around the branches to get at the thing within them.
    It was, thought Roxanne, a vampire without its cloak.
    A vampire without its skin.
    Nothing but the interior: the silhouette of its bones and its organs.
    It seemed to come out from between the shutters, first as flat as a pane of glass, and then thickening, and becoming more visible. It was grinning, its teeth exposed like a dentist’s drawing. It peeled Zach off the windowsill and grinned even more widely as Zach screamed and fell.
    Zach’s screams came from everywhere.
    Then they ceased.
    He could not have lived.
    Well, thought Roxanne, that’s one way to escape being the vampire’s victim. Die first. Poor Zach. Poor, poor Zach! He had so many plans.
    Roxanne found that she was weeping. Her face was covered with tears for Zach. Or was it for herself?
    How selfish am I? thought Roxanne. I will know tonight. We will all know tonight.
    She thought of the vampire’s requirement. Oh, it was truly evil! Not only did they have to witness the “event” — they would have to participate in it; they would have to choose and live with that choice.
    She found that while Zach was falling and her eyes were weeping, her hand and her hammer had continued prying up floorboards.
    “What are you doing?” hissed Randy, hearing the creaks and snaps.
    Roxanne shook her head, but, of course, he couldn’t see her. She had managed to lift a whole length of board and now she shifted her hammer to start on the adjacent strip of wood.
    She had no idea what she was doing, or why. Perhaps since they could not go out the windows, and they could not go out the door, they could just descend right through the floor.
    “What are you doing?” hissed Randy again. Louder.
    Randy’s such a stupid person, thought Roxanne. The vampire hadn’t noticed yet. Roxanne certainly didn’t want him to notice her now — let alone the possible escape route she was uncovering.
    Ten miles away, in an isolated subdivision of only nine houses, a mother and father were furious because their