The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions (6 page)

Chapter 7

“You will be given time to mull over my proposal. One week, to be exact.” 

Brian swallowed hard. Could he even consider such an invitation? He wanted to cure vampirism, or at least curb the disease so it didn’t continue to catch like wildfire. He didn’t want to become a vampire. 

Did he? 

Barnaby stood before him in all of his grand clothing. The smile was gone now, just a blank stare. “If you choose to accept my invitation, I will offer you a place by my side. To be royalty in my ever-growing community.” 

“And if I decline?” Brian looked over at Ruby as he said it. She scowled, glaring at him. 

“Then you walk. You and Miss Paige shall be allowed to catch my jet back to Arizona, where you may continue negotiating and begging your small-minded president to allow you to fulfil your goal.”  

Barnaby strode to the stairway, then stopped. He faced the two scientists inside their tiny cages. “Choose wisely. The fate of the world may very well rest in your hands.” 

“Wait!” 

In one fluid movement, Barnaby was in front of Brian’s cage. The torches along the wall flickered undisturbed. “What is it, Koltz?” 

He was really starting to dislike the way Barnaby used only his last name, as if they were old college chums. “Is it true you’re the oldest vampire? The patriarch?” 

“Hmm, curiosity killed the human.” Barnaby licked his lips. “Koltz, I witnessed the dawn of man. I frolicked with dinosaurs. I braved the Ice Age. I have watched every major war in history. I met the men you read about in history books. When Darwin wrote his theory of evolution, it was because I whispered the idea into his ear.” His chuckle was mocking. “Yes, I am the first.” 

Then he was gone and there was nothing to mark that he’d even been there.  

Ruby kicked the bars of her cage. “You’re not seriously considering this crap, are you?” 

Brian shrugged. “Kind of, yeah.” 

“What? Why?” 

“It makes sense. I’ve just been offered immortality and a seat of royalty from the Undead patriarch. I’d be protected, plus have all the time I need, with all the equipment I could ever want. Even if it took centuries, I’d be able to see it through.” 

“That doesn’t justify becoming a vampire.” 

“Yes it does.” He crawled to the edge of the cage and peered through the bars. “The platelet mushroom was a mistake and I haven’t been able to recreate it. I’ve performed experiment after experiment, and the only possible solution—the only missing link—is a human body. A live one. And you know Strajowskie’s stance on that.” He paused. “Barnaby would let me create one without restraints.” 

She snorted and laughed. “You’re delusional. He’ll kill you.” 

He frowned and looked away. He’d never shared much about his past with Ruby, but now was a perfect time for her to see his intentions weren’t misguided. Now was the time to show her why he did what he did. Why he fought for peace in a world that had all but absolved such an idea.  

“I don’t have much of a choice, Ruby. I have to create the platelet.” He swallowed and glanced up, unable to hide the sadness in his eyes. “It’s what my mother asked of me before she died. Before I killed her.” 

***

He helped his mother upstairs to her room, then went back downstairs and cleaned the blood up. He put Brownie’s corpse inside a trash bag, grabbed a shovel, trudged up the cellar stairs and out into the back yard. Nobody was around to see him dig the shallow grave.
 

He didn’t see his mother again that night nor had he wanted to. He kept replaying the scene of her gnawing on the entrails of Keith’s puppy, becoming more appalled each time he thought about it. He went to bed that night, unable to sleep. Did his mother need a doctor? Was she becoming demented? Was she going to be okay? 
 

What would he tell Keith about his dog?
 

The following morning, they ate breakfast in silence, avoiding eye contact or the usual small talk. She left for her day job as a cashier at Gas ‘N’ Go and Brian headed to school. He hoped it was behind them, that perhaps it had just been one of those strange, surreal instances. 
 

During weight training, Keith asked him if he’d seen Brownie. Brian lied and stated he hadn’t. He felt horrible, but what could he say? For the remainder of the class, he pushed his body to the limits, pumping and running and exhausting himself to keep his mind preoccupied and avoid speaking to his best friend. Keith didn’t press the issue.
 

When he returned home that afternoon, Brian called out for his mom. Silence answered. He ran down the basement stairs to ensure her absence, then bolted back up. The events of the previous day lingered in his mind and still chilled him. She had gone to work at the meat plant, then.
 

He went to bed early that night, worn out from his exertion in the weight room. He fell asleep instantly, mind still preoccupied with school and other matters that required less stress than trying to figure out what was going on with his mom.
 

When he awoke, his body was sore. He hadn’t heard his mom come in but he might not have heard a tornado had it been right on top of him, the way he slept that night. He crept to her room and opened the door.
 

She was sobbing on the bed. Her white cotton sheets were stained crimson. Blood was splattered all over the walls and carpet. Chunks of what could’ve been ground beef were strewn everywhere.
 

“They fired me last night.”
 

His lip quivered. He wanted to rush over and hug her but the blood kept him at bay.
 

“I blacked out. Then I came to, here, in bed. Like this.” She sat up, eyes turning black again.
 

Brian stepped backward, ready to bolt. He remembered those black eyes. He would never forget them.
 

“I can hear your tiny heart fluttering. I can almost taste that sweet, coppery blood that courses through your veins,” she whispered, sliding off the bed. She stepped forward, reaching out for him. Her fingernails were dark, longer, pointier than he recalled. “I don’t want to hurt you, honey.” She was suddenly in front of him. “But it’s almost like I need to.”
 

She reached around and gripped him by the back of the neck, her nails digging into his flesh. Her mouth opened and two fangs glistened. 
 

Brian elbowed her in the ribs and pushed her to the floor, then started in disbelief. “Mom, I didn’t mean—”
 

“You little son of a bitch, you’ll die for that!” She stood and slapped him so hard he flew into the hallway wall behind him. 
 

Drywall buckled. Wood split. Dust and debris tumbled upon him as he coughed up blood and brought himself to his hands and knees.
 

He knew then that his mother was lost to him. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the kitchen. If he could make it to the basement and out the cellar doors to the back yard, he could alert a neighbor. But she was on his heels. He grabbed a large knife from the counter and wheeled about, arm back so he could throw it at her. But she advanced so quickly, he didn’t have time to toss it. He chucked it to the floor instead and cursed under his breath.
 

“Ah, ah, ah, Brian. Cursing isn’t allowed in this house. Now you have to pay!” She giggled in his ear, right beside him.

He reached for the basement door and almost pulled it off its hinges. Searing pain wracked his back as she raked those deadly claws against him, but it didn’t matter. He needed to get out and find help. Fast.
 

He took the stairs two at a time. He miscalculated the height of the final two steps and fell flat on his face. There was heavy panting behind him, like a wolf on the prowl. He rolled over and stared in horror as his mother—the thing who used to be his mother—bounded down the entire flight of stairs and landed with her legs straddling his prone body. He stiffened and fought back tears.
 

“Quiver, honey. Quiver.” She bent close, her breath rancid, like rotting cabbage. 
 

A nail dragged across his cheek. Blood trickled down his face and he relaxed, dropping his head to the cement floor. There was nothing he could do. Resigned to his fate, he rolled his eyes back into his head and awaited the final deathblow.
 

The shovel. His eyelids fluttered open and he craned his neck back, sighting the tool. It rested against the wall perpendicular to him, feet away, where he’d left it the previous day after burying Brownie. 
 

He made eye contact with his mother. Tears flowed down his cheek, mixing with the blood. He licked his lips, tasted salt. He’d never forget her or all the sacrifices she’d made in order to better his future.
 

“I’m sorry, Mom.”
 

She raised an eyebrow and paused. It was long enough for him to kick off the last stair and slide out from under her. He held his hands in front of his head and gripped the wooden handle of the shovel. In an over-handed swing, he strained and brought the spade down on top of her head. There was a sickening thud. She stiffened. Her head shoved down into her neck. 
 

Sobbing and wailing, Brian stood, gripping the shovel like a baseball bat. 
 

His mother braced the palms of her hands against her temples and pulled up. Amidst the loud popping noises, he heard her giggle.
 

She stalked toward him again, a mischievous grin spreading from cheek to cheek.
 

Chapter 8

Brian reacted out of fear and hammered her over the head again and again until she crumpled to the floor and was left lying in a pond of her own blood.
 

But she still didn’t die. She was unconscious but not dead.
 

His mind was clouded. He was frightened and disgusted with his actions but knew he had to restrain her. He located thick chains and dragged his mother over to the largest grounded pipe he could find. He looped the chains around the pipe, then around her torso, wrists, and ankles. He rifled through old toolboxes, found the largest lock, and secured all the ends of the chains together, around her back so it would be more difficult for her to get loose.
 

Then he curled up beneath the stairs and cried himself to sleep.
 

When he awoke, his mother was still unconscious. He spared several hours to clean everything the best he could, trying to estimate the damage to the wall in the hallway. Luckily it was the weekend and he would be able to focus on repairs and nursing his mother back to health. 
 

…If that was even plausible. He’d never heard of any type of disease that could explain her recent behavior. He was reminded of folklore, of a creature of the night. The resemblance to his mother’s condition was uncanny but impossible. 
 

Such creatures didn’t exist.
 

When he returned to the basement, she was awake. Her eyes remained black but her demeanor was more complacent. Blood caked her skin in dark layers, hair matted to her head. Abrasions had somehow knitted themselves back together. No scratches, no bruises. She beckoned him. 
 

He sat down cross-legged and just out of her reach. His lips trembled. He needed to hug her, to feel reassured that he hadn’t harmed her or invoked her disapproval.  “Mom, I’m—”
 

“I know, honey. I know. You did well,” she said. “I didn’t mean to attack you. You have to believe me. It’s just that…Well, I can’t control it.”
 

“What’s happening to you, Mom?”
 

“I’ve become an abomination even God would shun.” She glanced at the window above her and reached her arm out into a ray of sunlight. Smoke billowed and the stench of burning skin filled the room. She pulled her arm back in toward her body, pain etched onto her features. “I think I’m a vampire.”
 

He shook his head and held his ears. “Vampires aren’t real!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face once again.
 

She sat before him, wrapped in chains, dried blood covering her from head to foot. “Whatever it is, it’s an infestation, a disease—not something to turn a blind eye to and destroy. I want you to swear you’ll find a way to cure it. Can you promise me that?”
 

“I can get help for you, Mom. Just let me get you some help. A doctor, someone.”
 

“That won’t do. You need to kill me, Brian. Kill me and take what I’ve bequeathed upon you and cure this disease.”
 

“No!”
 

“Brian James Koltz!” She lunged. The chain holding her right wrist snapped. She plucked him off the ground, squeezing his neck. “I-I can’t control it any longer!”
 

Brian wrenched her hand away and stepped out of reach. He looked into her eyes. Unadulterated fear. Sorrow. Anger. There lurked an inner struggle she couldn’t possibly win. Her lips were pressed tight together. Tears streamed down her face as it twisted into something far more evil and feral.
 

She lurched once again. All of the chains confining her exploded, metallic links flying across the room. Brian ducked under her outstretched arms, knowing she wasn’t human anymore, knowing he couldn’t save her. He grabbed the shovel that rested against the wall, turned to face her, and swung with all of his might.
 

The spade sliced through his mother’s neck. Her head plopped to the ground, mouth agape, black eyes wide.
 

There was a brilliant flare followed by a cloud of smoke. Brian closed his eyes against the glare. 
 

When he opened them again, a pile of ashes greeted him. 
 

***

“I stayed home for a week. Cleaned the entire place. Hardly ate. I lied to anyone who happened by or called, told them my mother and I were both ill. Contagious. 

“I discovered my mother had left me everything I needed to forge ahead on my own. Credit cards with sky-high limits. A six-figure savings account. All of her check books. She also left me something in the refrigerator: A test tube filled with blood. I thought it’d been a snack for her, but I remembered her exact usage of the word ‘bequeathed.’ It implied something more than her dying wish for me to find the cure to what she called a disease.  

“She’d left me a vial of
her
blood.

“I went out and bought a freezing kit and every piece of scientific equipment I could find. Another week passed and finally I couldn’t contain it. I told Keith. First I made him swear he wouldn’t tell anyone what’d happened. Vampires didn’t exist, point blank. Until I could come up with something more plausible and logical, I asked him to remain silent. He agreed, even helped me cover up her death. Since I had access to my mother’s amassed fortune, it wasn’t difficult. I called her daytime job and told them she wasn’t coming back. They never questioned it. There were no headlines in the local newspaper regarding any incidents at the meat plant either.” Brian paused and swallowed hard. “She disappeared and not a goddamned soul cared.” He raked his arm across his face, tasting the salt of a tear. A wave of heat rolled through him. He shouldn’t allow Ruby to see him at his most vulnerable.  

“Oh, Brian.” She reached through the bars and caressed his upper leg. “I had no idea.” 

“Not many people did. And no one believed me anyway. I mean, I’d discovered the parasitic, symbiotic organism that existed in my mother’s blood and presented evidence to the government, top world scientists, anyone willing to listen. Still, they scoffed at me, thought I had created some bullshit virus and fictionalized its origin.  

“Then Ashmore stumbled upon vampires, and the government busted down my door and asked me to head the URC. They offered me everything I could want, but I turned down the initial offer. I figured somebody else was more qualified. Someone more prominent in the field of vampirism, like a folklorist, someone more familiar with the creatures as we’d always imagined them to be. 

“Strajowskie had done some in-depth investigative work, though. When I declined the offer, he used my past as leverage. He told me I’d have everything I needed to accomplish what my mother had asked of me. I never questioned how he got the information. I’d revealed the truth to several Harvard colleagues, although they thought I was eccentric. 

“I figured if he’d gone to such lengths to dig up my past, he was willing to help me. I accepted the offer and began my work at the URC, gathering data on vampires, using my mother’s vial of blood as a control.  

“I also pursued my hobby in the meantime: Botany. Mycology, actually. I was multi-tasking late one night, transporting a vial of vampire blood from one room to the next, and it spilled on a Morel mushroom I’d been transplanting to a new pot. Glass cut my thumb. I grabbed the mushroom and veins suddenly sprouted atop it. I was able to extract a few milliliters of blood before it withered away, and the proof was irrefutable: It had produced human blood. 

“But even with the platelet mushroom a possibility, Strajowskie wouldn’t budge.” Brian snickered. “Stubborn ass.” He stared into Ruby’s eyes. “Now do you see why I have to do this? Why I think it might be the best option?” 

“You feel betrayed by someone who offered you a way to honor a promise you made to your mother years ago.” Ruby lowered her voice. “But do you really believe Barnaby will help you any more than Strajowskie has?” 

Brian hesitated. She was right. She usually was. In the one year she’d been his intern, Ruby had been right about everything from debunking vampire mythology to football team history. But he had to trust his instincts, muddled as they were. 

“It’s not like I have any other choices at the moment. I’m stuck in a cage inside the vampire leader’s castle. And as much as I’d like to believe he’ll let us go if I say no, I’m not so sure he will.”  

“Good point,” she muttered. 

“Completing a platelet mushroom with a willing volunteer and full financial backing are decent fringe benefits of accepting the offer, too.” 

“Do you really need to become a vampire, though? Why not see if Barnaby will allow you to do everything without becoming immortal?” 

Because one lifetime may not be enough to perfect the platelet mushroom. 
But he couldn’t admit that aloud.  

He yawned, suddenly weary. The drugs in his system were wearing off, causing his body and adrenaline to crash as well. He leaned back, fingers laced behind his head. “I’ll sleep on it.” 

Ruby also yawned and settled back into her cage. “Just don’t rush into this. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” 

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t tell her that he was wracked with fear of his uncharted future. That he feared losing his humanity. 

That he’d already made his decision.  

***

Around the bend in the stairway, a figure stood rigid until he was certain the occupants of the adjacent room were asleep. He’d overheard a majority of their conversation. Some of it had been muffled, garbled. Had he heard his own name once or twice? He wasn’t certain.  

Not that it mattered. If it was true Barnaby had offered the male scientist immortality, then that marked him as an enemy. His master had never offered him the chance to be immortal. His master had never offered to give him whatever he wanted. His master had only offered a pitiful life of servitude. 

He was disappointed that the scientist would be of no help. He might have been, had the master not shown such favoritism. Together, they could’ve exacted revenge. But if the scientist was pondering the proposal, that made him a dangerous ally to his master. And that wouldn’t work at all.  

John Ashmore pulled the cowl of his robe lower, until it touched the bridge of his nose, and walked back up two steps. He pressed a jagged stone in the side of the stairwell, one marked with a nearly indiscernible blue tint. A hidden door swung inward, the hinges recently oiled. 

The castle kept no secrets from him. He knew the secret passageways and stairwells, and he knew the secrets of many of the inhabitants. Now he knew the secret weakness of the scientist.  

He hadn’t glimpsed either of the guests in the old prison chamber, but images came to mind: a male who resembled his master and a female who resembled a Gorgon of forgotten mythology. Ugly, horrible, vile creatures. Perfect for each other. 

With a look of utter disgust etched onto his face, he walked into the hidden passageway. The door swung shut silently behind him. He trudged down hidden stairs deeper into the bowels of the castle, his mind mulling over the upcoming plans. 

The voices buzzed in his head, returned after a one-day hiatus.  

The scientist must die.