The Relict (Book 1): Drawing Blood (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Ian knew well the species he had originally been born into.

All were “pattern seekers.”

It was part of their original genetic code.

His strategy of accumulating more blood donors had been to assign patrols to work a circular sweep within a five-mile radius of the CCC facility. The success of his strategy had been based on his decision to schedule all the sweeps at exactly the same time, lasting for exactly the same amount of time. Every day.

Then he changed the pattern.

Ian would randomly choose a night to assign all the patrols to make their rounds thirty minutes earlier or later. It didn’t matter which. Either way, the patrols on that one night always would rope in a new collection of blood donors.

“We’ve got two donors moving through Sector RR85.” The alert came over Ian’s walkie-talkie less than a minute after they had begun their second sweep of the night.

He knew the sector very well. It was Halcyon Ridge, a township that once serviced the needs of the Morris canal, which had been in operation for about a century. From the 1820s to the 1920s, the area included an inn, a general store, a church, a watermill, and a blacksmith shop, which serviced the mules that serviced the canal.

Halcyon Ridge was also where Ian had his first job as a busboy at an Italian restaurant.

Heat was radiating from two humans hiding behind the garbage cans in the alleyway of the Rocklin Bar and Grill. It was in that same back alleyway where Ian first kissed Kathy Peterson, who turned out to be his first girlfriend.

His outreach team had yet to come across a potential donor who chose to commit suicide rather than be taken. Though they still followed the VC-recommended acquisition technique implemented months ago in response to all the self-inflicted wounds by potential donors that had occurred during the first weeks of the takeover in the Eastern Hemisphere.

The rest of his team served as the “decoy.” They would make their presence known immediately while they encircled the perimeter. While the target donors focused on what seemed like an impending attack, he would suddenly swoop in and apprehend the donors flatfooted.

Oftentimes one of the donors in play would jackrabbit from the hiding space. This was expected and planned for.

Tonight’s quarry did not disappoint.

As Ian moved along the roof toward the alleyway, one of the donors bolted across the parking lot.

None of his patrol made a move to stop him until he was out of the view of the other, who still remained hiding.

As Ian silently descended, he could see the other donor was not even looking to see how his friend had fared in his flight from their hiding spot. He was too busy getting loaded on a 1.7 liter bottle of Ketel One Vodka.

Ian waited before announcing his presence. The donor only realized he had company when he went for another swig and discovered Ian was holding the bottle.

“How long had it been since your last drink?” Ian asked.

“Six weeks, three days…”

“And how many hours?”

“Five. Can I have just one more taste before you take me in…?”

He handed him the bottle.

Ian let him drink more than a third of the bottle, then grabbed it from him.

“That’s enough. It’s been six weeks, three days, and five hours. We don’t want you to get sick…”

After helping the man stand, Ian marched him across the parking lot to a member of his team, who would lead him the rest of the way to the transport truck, which would have him to the CCC camp just after daybreak.

He had been leading the outreach program for months, and there was an element of his nightly ventures that continued to repeat itself, to the point that it had stopped surprising him – many of the living he had taken in often greeted him with relief. They had been hiding for so long, and seemed to welcome his gentle touch and guiding hand. Their capture put an end to the running, hiding, and hunger. It also meant that they would no longer have to take care of themselves.

***

He grabbed Matt by his right wrist.

Then he sweated and strained as he pulled him up to the center beam in the barn.

If his little brother had fallen, he would probably have died.

And Ian would have blamed himself.

Even his parents would have blamed him.

Maybe not immediately, but one of them would have said something, even if it was years after Matt’s funeral.

“Why weren’t you looking after him…?”

All of those thoughts ran through Ian’s brain as he stood on the cold ground of the barn, staring up at the rafters.

After he saved his life, not once did Ian think about the stupidity of Matt’s action.

His brother had taken a huge risk crossing the longest beam in the barn’s ceiling.

What could he possibly have been thinking about?

He heard a noise.

And in a split second, Ian became one of the shadows in the barn.

There he waited until he was satisfied that what he had heard was his own outreach team in the distance sweeping the nearby area.

Ian entered his parents’ family room and looked around.

It was smaller than he remembered.

And the low ceiling felt like it was trying to crush him.

Could things have really changed so much since the last time he had walked around as part of the living?

After the takeover, he had no desire to revisit what he had left behind.

It was another life.

Ian stood at his father’s horseshoe bar, next to one of the stools.

Not behind the bar itself.

He would never have dreamed of standing on the other side while his father was alive.

He heard the sound of his father’s whistle to get his attention.

“This is for your Uncle Teddy.”

His father would then slide to him a glass of something he had mixed together that promised to make Uncle Teddy remember what it was like to be… alive.

Bernard Rickard Haynes.

Clara Maria Haynes.

Years ago his father and his mother’s full names was what Ian stared at before he read the rest of their obituaries. They had died in an auto accident while travelling north to meet with a real-estate agent to sell their vacation home on one of the Canadian islands.

He read only the first two paragraphs.

Whatever else had been written about his mother and father would be coming from someone else. Maybe even someone who didn’t know them at all.

One of the most important rules about being a “shadow” was to embrace the concept that what the living accomplished was not ultimately important. Any achievement, of any stature, would eventually disappear and become insignificant with the passing of time.

“Those riding the train do not see what those who stand at the station staring at the passing trains see,” wrote Lehand Mast.

But Ian could think of nothing that Winston had said or quoted that could stop the pain he felt as he finally got up enough courage to stand behind his father’s bar.

As he stood there, Ian looked all around the room, trying to see what his father might have seen.

Then his eyes caught sight of his father’s humidor right underneath the bar. It was where he would store his cigars. There was a scotch taped note to the lid that read simply, “Mom & Dad.”

Ian recognized the handwriting.

He was forced to look away.

And then he was forced to step away.

Everything about death repulsed his kind.

But Ian forced himself to return back behind the bar.

He took off the lid and saw the ashes of both his father and his mother. He could smell their very essence floating from the box to his nostrils.

The stink of death began to overwhelm him, even as he tried feeling something about the sight of his parents’ wedding rings resting atop the ashes.

Ian was about to slam shut the cigar box when he saw something else that stopped him.

It was a dog-eared card that looked like it had been carried around in his father’s wallet or his mother’s purse for years.

He grabbed the card and dropped the lid back onto the box of ashes.

It was a clipping entitled “The Chimes Before Midnight,” and had 12 edicts matching the numbers on a clock.

I

Believe your existence matters in this world.

But never live like you are the center of the universe.

II

Our life on this planet is relatively short.

Some we love will have an even shorter life.

III

Beware of predators amongst us who kill or maim.

Sometimes with no discernible reason.

Someone we trust, even love, may be one of the predators.

Ian stopped reading after the third edict. He dropped the clipping, and fled the house where he had grown up.

He no longer needed any words of comfort from his mentor or any of his kind who had crossed before him.

What he had read only reaffirmed that he had made the right choice a lifetime ago.

His parents would never have understood the fate he had embraced.

Chapter Fifteen

It was just a little past 3:00 a.m. when the CCC alarms blared through the barracks building.

Seconds later the doors were thrown open and the goons rolled in.

“Okay, juice boxes, assemble immediately in the compound!”

The order was repeated three times through the loudspeakers as the prisoners all tried to respond.

Tyra did not move. She was staring at the ceiling in dread.

A baton tap from one of the goons finally got her to hop out of her bunk and join the rest of the prisoners. As she walked with the others, Tyra was aware of a low-level grumble about being awakened in the middle of the night. But she knew their discontent would be swept into silence once they realized this was not a drill.

Approaching one of the exit doors to the barracks building, Tyra caught sight of someone she did not expect to see – Eric Murphy. Confusion quickly gave over to optimism. Perhaps what she had dreaded was not the cause for the late-night assembly.

“I thought you guys were going out tonight?”

Murphy couldn’t look at Tyra as he responded to her question. “Chast and Tulliver did go out tonight, but I changed my mind.” He then sped up, so he was not forced to answer any more of her questions.

Other prisoners brushed past her as Tyra stood there, afraid to join the assembly, frightened about what she now felt sure was waiting in the compound.

Matt was about to move past her, but then stopped.

They looked at each other.

All she could see was a face without a trace of guilt.

He had warned them – “Suicide mission.”

Her words to him – “I’m a facilitator... The person who makes things happen… “

Before Matt could say a word, Tyra broke away, cutting across the flow of streaming prisoners, to the building’s latrines.

She rushed into one of the stalls and threw up into the toilet.

Before she threw up again, she began to cry.

It was the first time Tyra had shed any tears since she had come to the CCC camp.

All of those who had assembled turned as they heard a noise coming from the security building. The door flew open and, after an advanced guard stepped aside, Spector emerged. He was followed closely by Chast and Tulliver, both being dragged by the collar of their prison fatigues by a pair of CCC goons.

As they made their way across the dirt of the compound, each of the captured men tried to regain their own footing, but their efforts to reclaim some dignity before they met their fate fell short.

When the guards released Chast and Tulliver in front of the rest of the prisoners, they both collapsed to the ground – two piles of beaten, battered, and almost lifeless mounds of flesh.

A subsequent noise coming from the black tower turned the heads of the assembled prisoners.

Julian Macy emerged from the cloud of darkness surrounding the base of the tower. However, he was almost halfway across the compound before any of the prisoners could see him.

He was thin, pale, his skin almost completely transparent as beams of moonlight shone down upon the CCC compound.

Julian’s appearance was consistent with all the previous sightings of the vampires during the takeover.

But there were also distinct differences.

Unlike some of the bloodsuckers, who could be unsightly and repulsive in the clear moonlight, Julian was eerily beautiful, with jet-black eyebrows, crystal-blue eyes, and chiseled cheekbones that made his appearance hypnotic and alluring.

The way he moved was also of note.

His approach to the assembly of prisoners was as if he controlled all of the airspace around him, as if Julian was walking on air.

Four other vampires emerged from the shadows a few paces behind Julian. None of them had the presence, style, or power of their leader, but all four were moving in lockstep with whatever or however their leader rolled.

This occasion marked the second time Tyra had seen all five. Her first experience came as a result of one her punishments.

While she was waiting in a grey-building stall, Julian came in first, followed by the others. All five of the vampires sported chains around their neck with beautifully carved wooden stakes attached.

Clearly the wardrobe accessory was hung in plain sight for anyone who dared to dream about killing a vampire.

Later, when she recounted the experience to the other prisoners, she referred to Julian’s entourage as the “Bat Pack.” The moniker stuck, but she regretted the reference over the following months, because it downplayed the fear and respect she not only had for the “Bat Pack,” but their leader.

Julian planted himself next to Spector. The head of CCC security wasn’t bothering to sell the close proximity of the vampire as an honor.

Since the last time all the prisoners saw him, Spector’s intimidating stature had undergone a transformation. Now he stood in front of the assembly with several lines of perspiration running a track meet down his face, along with patches of flop sweat soiling his black uniform, which completely contradicted the dry, cool, early morning temperature.

He took his time before actually addressing the gathering. Julian stared at the prisoners with his crystal-blue eyes as he slowly pulled a pair of black, leather gloves off of his hands.

“Some of you standing before me are recent arrivals. But the rest of you are not new to our system. All of you should have known better.”

Julian folded his gloves and put them into his long, dark coat.

“No matter. Tonight all of you will come together in a shared experience that I’m positive will prove to be… life-changing.”

Those prisoners who were watching, but blinked at that very moment, would be convinced that Julian had vanished.

Instead, he had moved, like only a vampire can cover ground - without being seen - to be suddenly standing in front of Ron Chast.

The prisoner was barely conscious, his pummeled head falling side to side.

Julian’s body blurred for a split second, then somehow… was standing right next to Spector again.

Blood sprayed from two puncture wounds on Chast’s neck.

A few away, the Bat Pack waited, like well-trained dogs salivating for their food.

Chast fell face-first into the already sizeable puddle of his own blood, and Julian allowed the sensation of the splash to settle over the other prisoners before he snapped his fingers.

The Bat Pack swarmed Chast like ants attacking an outsider who had fallen to die near the entrance of their colony.

Tulliver’s weary eyes had watched his friend’s demise, but suddenly his view of the desecration to Chast’s body was blocked.

Julian was on his knees, inches from the fugitive prisoner’s face.

“There’s something you won’t be using anymore…”

The vampire stood up, and all the prisoners flinched when they saw Tulliver’s still-beating heart in Julian’s hand.

The organ stopped beating at exactly the same time that the body it had been snatched from fell to the dirt.

Julian once again addressed the prisoners. “I’ve been walking amongst you for over two hundred years and this is what I’ve come to believe – The living end up behaving as if they are truly alive only when facing impending death.”

The vampire tossed the heart in his hand onto Tulliver’s back.

“Yes, yes, I know… it is a sad conclusion, but it’s also an existential reality that all of you must make holy from this point on. If you doubt my word, then just ask yourself: how am I feeling at this very moment?”

The final word had just left his lips when Julian seemingly vanished, only to appear in front of one of the prisoners standing in assembly.

It was Matt. Julian scraped his index finger across Matt’s cheek, then swiped what he had gathered across his tongue.

“Ooooh, la, la... AB negative,” said Julian with a mischievous grin. “Very rare. If there was a god, you should be thanking him right about now.”

Suddenly, Julian was standing in the row directly behind Matt, in front of another prisoner, Warren Hamilton.

The vampire swept his finger across Hamilton’s cheek and his tongue shot out from his mouth for the taste test.

“O negative. Not your lucky day...”

Hamilton felt a sting on his neck.

He staggered for a few steps… reached out to one of the other prisoners, then dropped to the ground.

The punctures in Hamilton’s skin released a torrent of blood, as if his neck was a fire hydrant in New York City releasing water on a hot summer day.

The prisoners standing nearby attempted to flee, but were curtailed by the goons using their batons to keep them in line. All ended up being completely drenched by the geyser of blood spewing from Hamilton.

Julian was back in front of the assembly, using a silk towel to wipe his hands.

“I hope all of you agree that we’re all just players in a drama that goes on night after night. Tonight is dress rehearsal meant to highlight the casting possibilities that have suddenly become available.”

The vampire strolled over to the bodies of Chast and Tulliver.

“The parts of the ‘rebel prisoners’ are now open for recasting. Anyone interested in auditioning for the part?”

Julian scanned the prisoners.

“No takers. I understand.”

The vampire moved toward the assembly. His walk was not often seen, so it was amazing to watch how Julian moved across the dirt of the compound like a panther moving confidently around the prey he has already killed.

“Perhaps some of you will consider auditioning for the role of the tragic, innocent victim.”

Julian raised the silk handkerchief, now covered in Hamilton’s blood. He went through the motions of waiting for an answer.

“Ah, yes, I understand. The part doesn’t receive any mention in the program; not exactly a role that an actor can use to build a resume.”

He moved back to the front of the assembly.

“Those of us in charge of this production had hoped all of you would be satisfied to play the roles originally assigned to you – as the background talent. And we’re still optimistic that the production could go on to great acclaim without ever casting another actor in the roles I’ve mentioned.”

He fell silent as if he was finished. But then he looked up to all the gathered prisoners with a grin that his undead state allowed to take up half of his face.

“Just in case any of you had any silly ambitions of playing the part of ‘the star,’ let me squash such a notion right now…”

The Bat Pack had long ago finished with Hamilton’s corpse, turning it into a dry, empty shell. They were now moving through the assembly like rabid dogs and pawing at the prisoners that had stood nearby. His entourage was licking a face, sucking on fingers, grazing through a scalp of thick hair that had been sprayed with blood.

But they all came to attention when they heard Julian snap his fingers.

A second snapping of his fingers had all of the Bat Pack surrounding Julian, pretending to take pictures of him from imaginary cameras.

After striking a few poses, Julian waved his entourage away.

“If the curtain goes up and we are not all together on the stage, those who tried to leave us will be found, tortured, and killed. And the rest of the company will suffer as well. For every one who is not here, ready for the next performance, twelve of you, chosen randomly, will be tortured and killed as well.”

Julian took a deep breath.

“Please understand, this was all very difficult for me. I’m old school. We believe the drama should always remain between the lawyers and the agents, not anywhere near the stage.”

The vampire looked around at the prisoners, then turned to Spector. “Get them out of my sight and smell.”

The head of security shouted out to the prisoners, “Okay, juice boxes, return to the barracks until our normal morning roll call.”

After making the announcement, the head of CCC security turned to apologize for the security lapse.

But Julian was gone.

Spector looked around… and discovered the vampire had retreated into some shadows nearby. There was a disjointed, bony finger waving for the head of CCC security to join him.

Once they were under the umbrella of darkness, Julian spoke aloud his misgivings to the stooge he had appointed to run the camp security.

“If you no longer have the capacity to perform your job, let me know now and we can begin to discuss your severance package.”

“Sir, that won’t be necessary,” Spector said. There was a tremble in his voice that betrayed his fear that they had moved into the darkness because he was going to join the three slaughtered prisoners.

“Then what is the problem?”

“The problem, sir, is that there’s only so much I can do to keep the donors in line while staying within the perimeters of your orders not to permanently injure any of them…”

The vampire flashed his crystal-blue eyes, which caused Spector to fall silent and bow his head.