Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  They locked eyes, and confusion wrinkled her brow. Then recognition settled over her. Bram. The young man who’d been stoned with a can of beans.

  When she took too long to say anything, he rolled his head with exasperation. “Yes, I haven’t killed you yet, because I’m going to release you first, and then, only once you’ve begun to trust me, am I going to kill you. I’m in it for the long game.”

  Despite his dry tone, Graciela’s heart raced.

  For a moment, he broke their eye contact to search the street. There was anxiety in his darting eyes.

  Satisfied by whatever he found—or didn’t find—he returned his attention to her, two pearly blue eyes freezing her solid. He showed no malice or ill will, but somewhere lingered a tempered fury that she didn’t want to provoke. “I’m going to release you now, but no more attacking me. I think that’s a fair deal since you just tried to gut me like a fish.”

  The knife shown in a glimmer of fading light to her right. Worst-case scenario, she would dash for the weapon and hopefully find the courage to thrust it into his heart this time. Threat or not, Graciela wasn’t sure she could kill someone though, even if it meant her life.

  Graciela nodded at Bram who, in return, freed her from his hold. Without any instruction, she turned around to face him.

  For the first time, she noticed that, like the bald man, Bram was also covered in inked designs. A sleeve of artwork submerged his arm into an enthralling, aquatic tale of a siren who’d doomed a ship of sailors to their watery grave. Other sea life encroached, sharks, an octopus, all accomplices to the siren, all invested in the sailors’ demise. Graciela followed the blue watery surface and became distracted by another tattoo on Bram’s neck, the tail end of a skeletal fish. Its fin curled at the notch in his throat, while the head of another chomped at it. More permanent streaks of black peaked from the collar of his shirt in thick, illegible, cursive lettering. All of it was covered except for what she guessed was a capital P in the center.

  Bram’s lips fidgeted while he took a moment to examine her as well. She was familiar with a twitchy mouth, something she oftentimes would find herself doing when deciding between different verbalizations of the same thought. For him, a speech played in his mind, and somehow Graciela knew he was considering which pieces to omit and share.

  Graciela didn’t have the time to wait for him to figure it out though. With as much courage as she could muster, she began her interrogation before he could begin his. “What do you want? What are you going to do to us?”

  There was no response, and none was needed. Judging by what his boss had instructed, Bram would either kill her now or bring her to the bald man and do it later. So far, he hadn’t seen her brother though, and if she had to die, at least Santiago would have a chance to live.

  As if Bram could read her mind, he suddenly noticed the unconscious man sprawled on the ground behind him, no longer much concealed by the dumpster. “What got into him?” He jerked his head at Santiago, avoiding her previous questions entirely.

  Graciela swallowed hard, and suddenly felt a rush of energy consume her again, like when he’d approached earlier.

  Protecting Santiago overruled all rational thinking, so Graciela blurted hastily, “I don’t know who he is. He was just here.”

  “You said ‘what are you going to do to us’.” Bram said with mocking bemusement. “What do you people call them…empaths, right?”

  It wasn’t uncommon for people to assume she was Awakened once they realized Santiago was. Usually she would be upfront about not having any powers, although people rarely believed her. Given the current circumstances, Graciela considered lying. Having an Awakened ability might be the only leg-up she’d have against these people. On the other hand, it could also turn Bram against her, depending on his beliefs.

  Bram mistook her hesitation for ignorance and elaborated. “An empath. You know? Someone who senses people’s emotions, passions, reactions. Their feelings?”

  He again waited for recognition, but Graciela forced herself to show none. Inside her heart was a jackhammer. It had been so long since she’d spoken to anyone other than Santiago and they’d promised to keep it that way. No outsiders, not until they reached the sanctuary.

  “You’re not though. You’re Unawakened.” Bram cocked his head at her shock. “No need to look so guilty. There’s no hiding something like that. I’ve known since the moment we found your bag.”

  How did he know she wasn’t Awakened? What about the backpack gave that information away?

  “More importantly, I also know that he won’t get better until the rest of us are long gone, which means you need to find a place to hide until we leave. Unless, you’re looking to be caught?”

  “No!” Graciela’s voice quaked.

  His shoulders lost some of their bravado. “It’s nice to see at least some of your instincts are intact.”

  Graciela hardly noticed the insult as it suddenly dawned on her that he’d implied to help them hide. She considered the possibility that maybe Bram wasn’t as dangerous as the rest of the people she’d seen him with. After all, seeing him abused in front of his group did make him seem like more of an outsider. Although if Santiago were awake, he’d tell her she would hug a crocodile if it was running toward her screaming, “I’m going to eat you”.

  “Don’t jump into action right away or anything.” Bram pulled her out of her thoughts, his eyes bulging with annoyance. “Look, I said you could finish hiding, but the longer you take, the more you risk Zane finding you and if that happens—” he let out a deep, sorrowful sigh and ran his fingers through his pitch colored hair. When he returned his gaze to Graciela, it chilled her to the bone. “You’re on your own. I won’t even pray to the moons before…”

  Graciela didn’t want to think about what could be so terrible that Bram couldn’t even bring himself to say it, so she focused on something else. “Zane, he’s your leader?”

  “That’s one word for him.” Bram shrugged. “Sometimes his methods are a bit…” his gaze fell to the dirt as he winced, “unusual. But truth is he’s helping us.”

  Graciela lowered her head. “I watched him throw a metal can at your head. How is that helpful?”

  Judging by the way Bram flinched, the question struck a nerve. In an instant, his remorseful demeanor changed. Not angry or aggressive, but guarded, curt. “I’m not going to sit here and debate it with you. You don’t get it. You couldn’t. You’re not Awakened. Every one of us Sanguinatores, we’re inflicted. We experience…a great desire. And…” he hesitated. “He has bigger plans, a larger purpose that you just wouldn’t understand.”

  Although Bram had managed to create more questions than answers, Graciela didn’t want to risk striking another nerve. So far, he was proving to be more of an ally than an enemy and she intended to keep it that way. Instead, she steered the conversation backwards a little. “What did you call him? A Sangoon…”

  An eyebrow raised. “Sanguinatore.”

  Her head bobbed, more in acknowledgement than complete understanding. “And what is a Sanguinatore?”

  Graciela felt herself fall under Bram’s scrutiny. He wanted to tell her, but something held him back. She thought it might be that he didn’t think she could handle the information.

  “I don’t really have the time to educate you. Either you want my help or you want to sit here and die. I wouldn’t judge you for either choice, and I will willingly assist you with whichever. So, what’s it going to be?” He closed his eyes and smelled the air. “I’d make that decision quick. Someone else is close.”

  It reminded her of what Zane had said earlier, that it smelled like they were still nearby. “Did you just smell for people?” she asked, becoming frightened again.

  “Maybe,” Bram said with a sly grin, giving his shoulder a single bounce.

  Graciela faltered a step backward, bumping into the alley wall.

  “Look—” he rolled his hand.

  At first, Graciela didn’
t understand the gesture or the elongated silence that came with it. But after he stood there for a moment with his hand held out, she realized it was an invitation to share her name.

  She considered the harm in responding truthfully and weighed the benefits of lying. No immediate consequences came to mind. “Graciela,” she whispered with guilt, certain her brother might wake up any second now and scold her for being so trusting.

  “Graciela, I’m sorry that you have so many questions. Believe me when I tell you, your top priority right now should be to save your brother, because if Zane gets ahold of him, he will kill him. And then he’ll kill you.”

  Graciela blanched. He’d said brother. “How did you…” Before she could finish, the gravity of what he was saying sank in. Nothing mattered but living. Answers would have to come later. “You’re right. Okay. Will you help me get him in the dumpster?”

  Carefully, Graciela pushed the lid until it was resting against the wall behind the bin. Without her assistance, Bram’s face reddened as he dragged Santiago closer so that the two of them could lift him up. While he lifted her brother’s torso, Graciela struggled with the legs, but neither ever came close to clearing the bin.

  “Here,” Bram huffed, lowering Santiago after another failed attempt. “Climb in and I’ll hand him to you.”

  Somewhere in the not so distant distance, Graciela was beginning to hear the scuffling of a pair of feet. Time was running out and soon all of them would be caught if they couldn’t get Santiago’s body inside. It was as good a plan as any, so she climbed into the dumpster.

  Sinking into heaps of trash, she leaned over the edge of the container to grip Santiago’s arms. As she pulled, Bram pushed from below. Once he cleared the ledge, Bram climbed up to help her lower Santiago on top of the stale refuse as quietly as they could.

  When she turned back to thank Bram for his help, despite his abrasiveness, she found the young man staring at her with an unreadable expression.

  Before she could ask him what he was thinking, he answered her. “You won’t like the next part of this plan, Graciela, but I’m going to need your other bag.”

  “What? No, you can’t,” she protested and clutched the backpack tighter. “Please—”

  “I can’t return empty-handed. It would be suspicious. He knows someone is out here, and now if I go back, I will smell like you anyway.” Before Graciela could interject, Bram answered the question piercing through her. “Our little scuffle. You scraped your cheek on the wall.”

  Graciela gingerly touched her face. A sting confirmed the injury. “But, how did—”

  “Still stuck on thinking you have the luxury of time? All you need to know is that your blood, your scent, it’s all over the area now. It’ll be all over me too. Zane will know the moment I walk back that I found you. If I return without anything, he will kill me for it. Then he will send everyone back here, and they will find you.”

  “But…” It frustrated her that her voice was so weak, but she couldn’t muster anything more than a plea. “We need it. He needs it.”

  “Not my problem, and that’s not really your problem right now either.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes as she looked down at her helpless brother. Helpless, that word had never before been associated with Santiago. He was her much larger, yet younger brother; he was supposed to be the one protecting her. In that moment, she found herself feeling utterly destitute.

  She also found herself once again feeling unlucky to be a mere Unawakened. Under these circumstances, having some preternatural ability or power would’ve significantly benefitted them. Maybe she could’ve protected them better if she had uncanny strength. Maybe she could’ve hoisted Santiago on her back and flown away if she had wings. Maybe she could’ve impaled everyone in this group with bolts of lightning.

  Bram let out a disgusted sigh. “Fine, you really are pathetic, you know that? I will leave you some of what you have. But I’m taking the bag and the majority of what’s inside.”

  He gave her a moment to accept the situation: it was either forfeit the bag or their lives, and the second of the options wasn’t much of a choice at all. Defeated, she lowered the bag from her shoulder and handed it to him.

  Bram tossed her two cans of food, their flashlight, and her journal. “There is one more thing, and if you didn’t like parting with your precious bag, then you’ll like this even less.” Bram gazed up at her with hungry, unforgiving eyes, but through them, she thought she saw remorse.

  “What more could I give?”

  He cleared his throat. “I need your blood.”

  “My…blood.” Alarm boiled inside her again. Just as she was beginning to trust him, she was reminded of why she and her brother remained suspicious of strangers.

  “I vow to the Morden, if you ask one more question, I’m blowing the whistle. We will circle you and one-by-one take turns slaughtering the both of you in the slowest death you can imagine. Not out of joy, but because I value my life more than you are valuing yours right now. If you knew what a Sanguinatore was, you’d understand the alternative I’m offering is a mercy.”

  For a brief moment, she wrestled with the inclination to ask him who the Morden was, but it was his harsh warning that dissuaded her. Time was not in abundance.

  “Zane won’t believe me if I show up with a full bag of supplies and I haven’t spilled any blood. Furthermore, he’d be livid if I returned and said I let someone go. I need to bring back something that shows I killed the owner of this pack. Either that can be your blood-soaked shirt or your head. Which will it be?”

  Graciela’s eyes widened at the thought. Decapitation—is that really what it had come to? She surveyed Bram, taking in his appearance. Originally, he had appeared to be a nice guy, or at the very least, someone who wasn’t expected to kill others.

  She didn’t even know how he planned on killing anyone to begin with. Bram hadn’t pulled a weapon out when she’d jumped him. He was of no great muscular stature either: average height, average build. Although, being of average size and being Awakened was a definite advantage. For the first time, she found herself wondering what type of Awakened a Sanguinatore really was.

  Protectively, her hands crossed over her chest. “You…want my shirt?”

  “It doesn’t have to be that one. I can use another.” He pointed at their other bag, the one she always carried, full of food, water, and all the other essentials they’d collected. Everything except spare clothes.

  “I don’t have another. Our clothes were in the other backpack, the one Zane already has.”

  “Oh.” For a second, she thought she noticed a hint of empathy in his expression, but it quickly dissipated. “Then yes, I’ll need the one you’re wearing. It needs to have your scent on it.”

  Graciela winced and clutched her body tighter.

  “That’s the way it has to be. So I’ll say it again. Give me your shirt or make peace with whatever Gods you believe exist.”

  The distinct sound of hustling bodies could be heard from down the street.

  This time her response elicited no hesitation. It was either give up their belongings or their lives. Today would not be the day they died, not if she could help it.

  In an attempt to maintain her modesty, Graciela kept one arm over her chest as she slipped the shirt up overhead. She sat with her arms crossed, hands grasping her shoulders, the weight of them softly resting on her soft, bared skin. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she wondered where he would get the blood, but she didn’t want to think about the suffering she would have to endure.

  “Great.” Bram said as he averted his eyes to offer her some privacy. He reached out, and the soft, musky fabric fell into his hand. “All right, now this part will hurt a little.” A regretful curve tugged at his lips. “But look on the bright side, at least this should answer some of your questions. Or create new ones. Probably both.”

  When he saw the fear in her eyes, he shifted on his feet, his face contorting to convey seriousness. �
��Nothing will prepare you for what you’re about to feel, but believe me, you’ve made the right decision today. Just…try not to scream.”

  Once his eyes closed, the ritual began.

  The pain came at full force. In an instant, Graciela felt the chilled blades of his ability ripping through her torso. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like millions of needles slowly pushing themselves out of her skin. As quick as the stabbing came, it magnified tenfold. Her lip was likely bruising from where she bit it to prevent herself from audibly releasing the agony.

  The invisible needles expanded until they reached the size of nails and her vision began to gray.

  A wary glance to her abdomen revealed her grim fate. Tiny droplets of red beaded across her stomach and chest. It wasn’t needles, it was her blood. It oozed down her torso like hundreds of red worms, slowly bringing her one step closer to her impending death. A cold sweat drenched her, head to toe.

  Before her, the sticky crimson fluid began to peel from her skin like dried wax, slowly gliding away from her body and over toward Bram’s hands. It wasn’t until then that she noticed he was humming, whistling, or some combination of both.

  Traumatized and helpless, she watched as the blood swam into the shirt—her shirt—in his hands. Seconds went by, maybe even minutes. Before long, the trail of levitating blood had dowsed her former top in at least a liter of blood.

  When Bram’s chanting stopped, she collapsed. Graciela panted, unable to move, the stabbing pain gradually diminishing.

  Through flickering eyes, Graciela saw Bram lean over the garbage bin edge. “Good luck, Graciela. And by the After, if you’re going to be Unawakened, at least train so you can hold your own in hand-to-hand combat.”

  There was no more fighting the fatigue. Graciela’s eyes fluttered, her thoughts sluggishly wondering if he was going to bandage the wounds he’d made or leave her to bleed-out in the dumpster.

  And then everything became black. Graciela heard the faintest thud near her head, sealing them both in the garbage bin haven.

  °°°

  When Graciela’s eyes finally opened, golden rays of sunlight were breaking through the crack where the lid did not meet the body of the dumpster. The pungent, musty odor surrounding her brought forth a sneeze, and she noticed her right pant leg was soaked in something fetid.