Authors: Brandon Massey
Jahlil wanted Poke to stick with him, but it was obvious
that just getting Poke to come outside had pushed his friend
to the limits of his courage. Jahlil decided to let it ride.
Jahlil crept across the grass, closer to the Oldsmobile.
The music's earthquake-bass pounded in his bones.
Don't vampires have supersensitive ears? Jahlil wondered. If so, how in the hell can T-Bone stand this music?
He grasped the handle of the passenger-side door. Pulled.
The door opened with a creak, releasing the mingled
odors of marijuana, stale beer, and funk.
The car was empty.
"Is he in there?" Poke said.
Jahlil turned to respond-and that was when he saw the
shadowy shape on the roof of the house. The figure crouched,
muscles bunched, as though ready to leap.
"Run, Poke!" Jahlil said.
But as the words flew out of his mouth, the creature was
already bouncing off the roof, as if catapulted into the air by
a trampoline. It swooped to the ground and landed behind
Poke, and by the time Poke heard Jahlil's warning and started
to dash, the vampire had already twisted its arm around his
neck.
Poke let out a strangled scream.
The vampire had used to be T-Bone, but it bore little resemblance to the kid Jahlil remembered. Its braided hair was
messy and full of dirt. Dried mud was caked on its face, like
war paint. Its eyes were bloodshot. Saliva dribbled from its
lips, and glistening snot trailed from its nostrils.
A big, fake platinum cross dangled from the vampire's
neck, the same necklace T-Bone wore all the time.
Jahlil's testicles felt as though they'd retracted inside his
pelvis.
He had been out of his mind for leaving the police station
to hunt these things. This was ten times worse than the vampiric mutts.
"Get it off me, get it off me!" Poke said in a garbled
voice.
Jahlil raised the shotgun.
But the vampire and Poke were so close together that he didn't feel confident about blasting the vamp without hurting Poke.
"Let go of him, T-Bone!" Jahlil warned. "Or I'm going to
nail you"
The vampire snorted. It jerked Poke higher in the air, lifting him up by his neck. T-Bone was several inches taller than
Poke, and the height advantage allowed him to punish Poke
with an excruciating stranglehold.
"Go ahead and shoot, you punk ass nigga," T-Bone said,
in a coarse voice that sounded nothing like the kid that Jahlil
remembered. "You ain't about shit."
Jahlil's finger tightened on the trigger.
Poke's feet kicked in the air, feebly. He was screaming,
but due to the choke hold, it came out as a high-pitched
whine. The veins in his neck looked ready to burst.
"Last warning, let him go!" Jahlil said. He steadied his
aim on the bloodsucker's head.
I've got to drop him now, he thought. Pull the trigger,
man.
Glowering at Jahlil defiantly, the vampire opened its
mouth. Ropes of saliva coated its fangs, like grotesque taffy.
Shoot him.
Swift as a snake, the vampire buried its teeth into Poke's
neck.
Jahlil finally squeezed the trigger, the gun's hard recoil
snapping through his arms.
The bullet cleaved across the top of the beast's skull, tearing away a chunk of scalp and hair. The vampire screeched.
Its arm loosened from around Poke's throat. Poke slumped to
the grass like a bundle of clothes.
But the vampire, though wounded, was not dead. It
charged Jahlil, teeth bared, hissing.
Frantic, Jahlil pumped the shotgun for another shot-and
it got stuck.
Shit!
He heard his dad's voice in his mind, admonishing him to
oil and clean his firearms regularly, to maintain their effectiveness. Now, son, got to take care of your guns. Take care
of your guns, and they'll take care of you.
The vampire ripped the shotgun out of his hands.
Jahlil spun, and, without thinking, dove into the open
passenger side of the Oldsmobile. He slammed the door
and mashed down the lock with his fist. Found the automatic lock and hit it, too, engaging the locks on all four
doors.
The thunderous music made his teeth rattle.
The bloodsucker hopped onto the hood of the car, the
metal creaking under its weight. It planted itself there on its
knees, drew back its fist, and punched the windshield.
Jahlil screamed and covered his eyes.
Glass shattered, fragments spraying over his head.
The vampire shoved its long arm through the jagged rupture in the window. It seized the front of Jahlil's shirt.
Jahlil could not help thinking that the monster's dirtsmudged nails looked exactly like T-Bone's after a long day
of basketball.
He wrapped his hands around the vampire's wrist, trying
to break its grip on him, but it was like trying to loosen a
steel vise.
The monster pushed its hand forward and closed its long
fingers around Jahlil's throat.
Jahlil gagged. The thing's fingers were so chilly they
might have been formed of ice.
I'm dead, this is it. He's gonna yank me out the window
and suck me dry.
Like a powerful robotic arm, the vampire began to draw
Jahlil forward. His body was too wide to fit through the hole,
but he doubted that would stop the creature from forcing
him through, scraped and bleeding.
As he was lifted forward, his chest pressed against the steering wheel, activating the horn. It blared a futile warning
to the uncaring night.
Stars swarmed at the edges of Jahlil's vision. He couldn't
breathe. He was blacking out ...
A whoomp filled Jahlil's eardrums. Then, a howl of pain.
The vampire let go of him.
Jahlil dropped against the seat, dizzy. But he saw the
vampire: it was on fire. It snatched its hand out of the window and leapt off the car, screaming, covered in flames.
Jahlil tried to open the door, remembered that it was
locked, popped up the lock, and rolled out of the Oldsmobile.
Bent over, he sucked in lungfuls of sweet air.
The burning vampire stumbled to the edge of the yard,
and collapsed on the ground. The stench of torched flesh
poisoned the air.
Jahlil staggered to where Poke sat on the grass, near the
porch.
"I got that motherfucker," Poke said. The cigarette lighter
lay in his hand. He blinked, sleepily. "You was right, he wasn't
nothing like our boy no more. He was a fucking monster,
man"
Gently, Jahlil turned Poke's head. A bite wound burned
bright red on Poke's neck, like marks seared with a branding
iron.
Soon, Poke would be one of them.
Across the yard, the vampire lay still, gray-black smoke
twisting from its corpse and rising into the stormy night sky.
Taking in the loss of both his lifelong friends, Jahlil could
do only one thing.
He lowered his head, and cried.
Although his fellow patients were in a haste to leave the
premises, Franklin had the presence of mind to understand
that he did not want to venture outdoors in this ridiculous gown. He opened the closet and found his regular clothes.
He was grateful to find his favorite pair of khakis, and a
shirt.
He closed the door, shutting out the commotion in the
hallway. His female roommate had departed with the rest of
the mob.
As he dressed, he admired the still, peaceful body of his
wife. He had placed her on the bed after he had satiated himself on her blood.
Yes, blood. Finally, he could admit the object of his
hunger. He felt no shame about his craving, not anymore.
The pleasure that blood provided was too sweet, too nourishing, too fulfilling, to ever engender unwelcome feelings.
Easier to despise a thirst for water.
He was aware of what he had become. He had metamorphosed into the blood-crazed monster that David (and himself, in his prior life) feared and conspired to destroy. The
vampire!
How easy it was to hate that which one did not understand. Such behavior was typical of the ignorant and those
who allowed unfounded fear to dictate their lives.
Now, he knew better.
Comfortably attired in his clothes, he approached the
bed.
Ruby, as lovely as ever, floated on the tranquil waves of a
perfect sleep. Bite marks blemished her neck. He had taken
much of her blood, but had intuitively sensed when to cease
drinking, to prevent ending her life. It was his earnest wish
that she would join him in this wondrous new existence.
Without her, immortality would lack meaning and purpose.
He lifted her warm hand to his lips, kissed her fingers.
He did not know how long it would take for her transformation to complete. Perhaps a day, perhaps sooner. She was
safe, here. The master would not allow harm to come to
those that obeyed him. And to disobey was as unthinkable as
refusing to breathe.
He carefully tucked the bedsheet under his wife's chin.
He kissed her cheek.
"Sleep well, my dear. I'll return for you soon"
He left the room, fastening the door behind him.
The dark corridor buzzed with activity. The valduwe (the
unfamiliar but somehow fitting name came to his mind, like
a memory of a dream) raced around in a frenzy, seeking to
feed on any human in the vicinity.
Undisturbed, he proceeded down the hall, to the exit.
Upon pushing through the glass doors, two unexpected
surprises greeted him. Number one: a street bicycle in good
condition stood in the metal bike stall, unlocked. Number
two: his old dog, Malcolm, was among a pack of hounds that
had brought down a number of hapless humans.
"Malcolm!" Franklin said. He whistled.
Tail wagging, the dog trotted to him. Franklin scratched
behind the canine's ears, something he used to do all the
time in his prior life, much to Malcolm's pleasure.
But Malcolm did not allow himself to be stroked for long.
He whined, licked Franklin's fingers, then dashed off to rejoin his pack.
Franklin rolled the bicycle out of the stall. He mounted
the saddle.
He pedaled across the sidewalk that led to the parking lot.
He passed Kyle, the master's son. Kyle stood at the end of
the path, hands clenched behind his back, viewing the action.
Kyle did not look at him-Franklin understood that Kyle
did not need to see him in order to sense he was near-but
Franklin gave him a wide berth. Instinct warned him to keep
his distance from vampires like Kyle. It was a bit like a child
exercising caution in the company of a stern adult.
However, he would obey any commands Kyle issued. The
master had granted his son authority over them.
But for the time, the valduwe were allowed to roam.
Franklin pedaled across the parking lot and onto the road that fronted the medical center. His leg muscles were strongstronger than they had ever been in his prior life, even in his
youth. He felt as though he soared on the wings of the gusting wind.
And oh, the night! Night had never been so beautiful, so
deep, so liberating.
He did not have a destination in mind, but something
would suggest itself, soon. He was growing hungry again.
David, Nia, and King were the only ones in his Pathfinder.
The rest of the team members had piled into other vehicles
to make the five-minute drive to the hospital, where they
hoped to stop the vampires' advance.
David clenched the steering wheel. "I know I'm being
overly optimistic, but I'm hoping that Franklin is still asleep
there. I don't want to have to do this to him."
Although David did not say what "do this to him" meant,
Nia did not ask for an interpretation. Both of them had been
present at Jubilee when the team had destroyed the vampiric
deputy in the cellar.
"Everything's going to be okay, David," Nia said. In spite
of her reassurance, her own voice wavered. David noted that
her fingernails, which had been painted and manicured when
he had first met her, were bitten down to nubs, the nail polish
chipped away.
Even King displayed signs of stress. The dog did not
move around the backseat looking out windows as he normally did when riding. He sat ramrod-straight, brown eyes
watchful, ears raised.
Wind blasted across the town, pummeling the trees and
tossing debris through the air. Several trees, snapped in half
like matchsticks, obstructed the roads. The street lamps were
dead, and the homes they passed were dark and abandonedlooking.
Thunder clapped. Jagged blades of lightning split the
purple-black sky.
Rain had not fallen yet, but when it did, David was certain that it would come in a torrent.
At the next intersection, he turned right, onto Coldwater
Lane. The hospital was less than a mile away.
I'm stalling, he realized. I'm putting along at twenty
miles an hour. I never drive this slowly.
But God, I don't want to see Franklin.
Nevertheless, he had a duty to his team. Poke behind too
long and they would have to fight without him. He was supposed to be the leader.
He pressed the gas pedal more firmly.
Ahead, on the left side of the road, a green Taurus was
parked in a driveway. David would not have paid it any attention, but the interior light was on, as though a door was
open, and no one was visible inside the vehicle.
He slowed to take a closer look.
A low growl rumbled from King.
"What's the matter, boy?" Nia said to the dog, but her attention was riveted on the car.
Feeling as though he had been cast into a slow-motion sequence in a film, David inched past the Ford, and even as he
saw the spectacle on the other side of the car he had known
that this was what he would discover. A young woman in a
blue dress lay on the ground beside the open passenger door,
bags of spilled groceries surrounding her body. Franklin
Bennett, his balding head gleaming in the light, knelt over
the woman, as though giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation-except his mouth was attached to her neck. A blue bicycle lay on the front lawn, rear wheel jutting in the air.