Vampire Nation

by Fisher, Sean Thomas

  “You said that, White Boy Rick,” DeSean responded in a shaky voice. “This is some seriously fucked up shit right here, man.”

  “What’s wrong?” Paula screamed. “Let me see it!”

  DeSean looked at Taylor, who gave him a slight nod. Cautiously, the big man rotated the screen to face her, lighting up the dark veins tunneling through her insipid skin.

  Her jaw slowly lowered. “I-I don’t understand,” she said, coughing into a fist. “What’s wrong with your phone?”

  “Not the phone, lady.” DeSean took a step back. “You.”

  “Me? No, that’s not true.”

  Andrews snapped a picture of her on his smartphone and inspected the screen. “It’s not the phones, Paula,” he said, turning it for her to see.

  Her forehead creased, aging her in the gray light.

  “How many are outside, Paula?” Taylor asked, bending to intercept her wandering eyes.

  She blinked at him while twisting bony fingers in her lap. “I-I want to see a mirror.”

  “Paula! How many are out there?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “I don’t remember anything.”

  Andrews slipped the phone in a coat pocket and returned both hands to his weapon. “You didn’t see anyone?”

  Her gaze fell to Earl’s ashes. “So cold,” she whispered, rubbing her hands together.

  Nina unzipped her coat and Taylor shot a hand out. “Don’t! I want everyone to stay back.”

  “Sheriff, what’s wrong with me?” When he failed to answer, Paula raised her voice. “Why can’t you see my face in those pictures?”

  “I’ll explain that later,” he said, dropping to a knee before her like a faithful subject. “Right now, I need you to focus. How many are out there?”

  Tenting her hands, she slipped them between her legs, eyes gravitating to Johnny. “So hungry.”

  Nina glanced at the dark pie cabinet that was no longer spinning. “Stay with Huck,” she told Johnny, setting the knife down and grabbing a fresh slice.

  “Nina,” Taylor moaned, getting to his feet. “That’s not what she wants!”

  Huck took her place next to the paperboy as she came around the counter and shot Taylor a warning glance that made him move out of the way. Everyone aimed their weapons at Paula, laying down an imposing line of cover as Nina set the plate on the edge of the table. Her long, dark ponytail fell over a shoulder, dusting a napkin dispenser set off to the side.

  “Thank you,” Paula said, reaching for the spoon with an unsteady hand. She studied the slice of apple pie for an unnerving amount of time before dropping the spoon to the table and snatching the slice up in both hands. Shoving it in her mouth, crumbs stuck in the glaze collecting around the corners of her lips, her grunts and smacking sounds making Andrews squirm.

  Finishing in record time, she licked her fingers clean. “More,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Please.”

  Nina traded a tentative look with Huck before rushing behind the counter and taking a slice of French silk from the cabinet.

  Paula’s eyes lit up, the hint of color bleeding into her cheeks. Like before, Nina set the plate on the edge of the table. Her ponytail fell over a shoulder in an oily river, knocking a desert menu from its stand. Paula shot both hands out in a blurry flash, face tight with anticipation. Seizing the pie, she dispensed with the pleasantries and shoved it into her mouth. A beard of whipped cream piled around her lips, teeth scraping as she violently chewed. Paula breathed through her nose and moaned her seal of approval, cheeks flushing with heat. She made quick work of the mess on the plate and licked it clean. Setting it down, she caught her breath and searched the stunned faces looking back, seeming surprised to find them standing there.

  “Meat,” she panted, the color in her cheeks already beginning to fade. “Please.”

  Perplexed, Nina swapped a look with the sheriff.

  “Raw,” Paula added, the ghost of a grin brushing her chocolaty lips.

  Nina grabbed the pie knife and didn’t budge.

  “Please!” Paula bent over in the chair and sprayed her running shoes with vomit. Apple and French silk pie shot out, mixing with something that looked like blood. Everyone withdrew when the stench hit them. Slowly straightening up in the chair, she wiped her mouth with the back of a hand, smearing a brown streak across her cheek.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she coughed out.

  “You just stay right there and relax; everything is going to be fine,” Taylor told her. “Where did they bite you? Show me.”

  Paula’s eyelids turned heavy. Tipping her head back, she shut her eyes and sniffed at the air like a dog catching the scent of something nearby. Then she turned to stone. Unable to look away, Huck thought she passed out cold sitting up in the chair. Then he realized she was dead. He startled when her eyelids peeled back in their sockets. Awakening, her hollow gaze lowered to Johnny.

  Paula jerked her head to the side and spread a sinister grin. “So sweet.”

  Johnny backed into a tall coffee maker, knocking a full pot from the top burner to the counter with a loud crash. “She’s definitely one of them,” he cried, grabbing a silver meat tenderizer from the counter. “Shoot it!”

  Sheriff Bob Taylor pointed the revolver at her. “I’m sorry, Paula,” he whispered, the silver star rising and falling on his beige button-down.

  “Sheriff, wait!” Nina cried.

  “There’s no other choice,” he fired back. “She’s infected!”

  Paula laughed out loud. “It’s just the flu, Bobby,” she explained, coughing up more pie. “I’ll be right as rain in the morning.” When her eyes found Huck, a crimson smile pulled into her whitish cheeks. “They’ll take RaeAnn from you, ya know.” A bloody giggle bubble slipped from her nose. “You can’t stop them.”

  His heart lurched in his chest, pumping too much blood through his capillaries. Lightheaded, Huck blinked at the waitress who was slowly changing before him. “How do you know her name?”

  Her shrill laughter made everyone shrink. “We know everything, Mr. Law.”

  “Don’t listen to her; she’s messing with you. The new ones do what they’re told.”

  Huck’s body trembled from head to toe. “Shoot her,” he heard himself say, not recognizing the sound of his own voice.

  Spreading his legs, Taylor kept his gun trained on Paula. “You want to see what we’re up against?” He glanced at DeSean, who stood watching through terrified eyes. “You have to starve them.”

  “But she just ate two pieces of pie!” Johnny contested from behind the counter.

  “Human food only provides a small amount of nutrition and doesn’t last long.” He watched Paula shift uncomfortably in the chair. “An entire Thanksgiving meal to her would be like a candy bar to us.”

  Her heavy-lidded gaze bounced between them as she turned something over in her head. Something Huck could only imagine. She was choosing. Choosing who she’d lunge at first. Deciding who would provide the quickest sustenance to give her the necessary strength to overpower the entire group. But she was new at this alternative lifestyle and had no idea what was awaiting her down the revolver’s long, dark barrel.

  “Bob, come on, man.” DeSean looked to the others for help. “Just end this bullshit already.”

  “Yeah, no doubt!” Andrews tucked the submachine gun into a shoulder. “I ain’t turning into no bloodsucker!”

  “I thought you wanted to see what we’re up against!”

  “I want to live!”

  “Look, if you want to survive, you have to know how important every decision is. Second chances are an endangered species.” Taylor pressed his lips together and carefully examined their faces. “You have to listen to everything I tell you and do exactly what I…”

  A drawn-out creak pierced the night, stopping him midsentence. Swinging their weapons around, they took aim at the darkened restrooms around the corner. The ghostly creak stopped and a clammy silence swept in on long, black win
gs, freezing them to the floor. Everyone stared past the charred Christmas tree, waiting for something they couldn’t see but knew was there. Something that could only lead to more pain and anguish. Footsteps dragged through the deathly silence, accompanied by a metallic scratching sound that hurt Huck’s teeth. His pulse raced, breath as uneven as the footsteps slowly coming closer. It was like watching a video of a horrific car accident – one where you knew people would die a terrible death. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  Tightening his two-handed grip on the Beretta, Huck glanced back at Paula and spread his wet Pumas, mentally preparing himself for whatever was getting nearer, and nothing was off the table tonight. He must be ready to fight through the fog of war or he’d never see his little girl again. Whether it be vampires or zombies or werewolves, going deer in headlights tonight was a one-way ticket to six feet under. Lining up the gunsights, his eyes widened when Bud stumbled from the bathroom nook.

  The cook’s ashen skin contrasted sharply with the darkness coiling in his eyes. Dragging a headless mop behind him, Bud stopped in his bare feet and when he tried to speak, a dark substance oozed over his lower lip and cascaded down his apron, splattering to the floor in gooey globs.

  A choked squeak crept past Taylor’s lips and it was the sound of sheer terror, the sound of a man confronted with something out of the deepest bowels of Hell. “What happened, Bud?”

  Staring blankly, urine began soaking through the apron, dripping to the floor around his arthritis twisted toes. The potent stench of vinegar wafted across the room, stinging Huck’s eyes. “They happened,” Bud groaned, mopping the floor with just a mop handle.

  The sheriff nervously glanced at the others, cringing as the metallic screw-tip scraped against the tiles. “How many are out there?”

  Bud kept mopping, screw tip scratching the floor like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Buddy!”

  He stopped and swayed in his crooked stance, something clear running from his bulbous nose.

  Clearing his throat, Taylor pushed past Huck and stopped in front of the old cook. “You need to help us while you still can.” He tipped his chin down. “Can you do that, Bud?”

  “No time.”

  “You can fight it.”

  Wincing with a sharp pain slicing through him, Bud lifted a crooked finger. “They want him and the boy. The rest of you are free to leave this place,” he said with an unsettling lisp.

  DeSean looked at Huck and Johnny, bafflement smeared across his face. “Why them?”

  Bud turned to the window and watched snowflakes bounce off the glass.

  “How many are out there, Bud?” the sheriff repeated, following his gaze outside. “Tell me.”

  “Seven.”

  Taylor swallowed dryly, the color bleeding from his face. “Where?”

  Bud turned and stared up at him, either mulling something over in his head or thinking about nothing at all. Maybe his mind was as blank as his stare. “Behind you,” he whispered.

  Shrieking, fingernails dug into DeSean’s shoulders from behind. It happened so fast, Huck didn’t have time to react. Paula’s wretched face rose a little on her hooded neck, the malevolence in her eyes giving him pause. Nina yelled something he couldn’t make out and before he could sink a round into Paula’s head, Huck’s entire body locked up. He couldn’t squeeze the trigger, let alone lift the gun. Watching Paula pull DeSean to her bared fangs in slow motion, it was all Huck could do to draw breath. He was paralyzed, forced to watch another atrocity he would take to the grave. Breaking through the silence ringing in his ears, Andrews unloaded the Uzi and Paula’s head snapped back. Stumbling, her claws took a piece of DeSean’s Carhartt with her. He jumped clear and the deputy held down on the trigger, body jerking with each explosive round. Johnny dropped the meat tenderizer to the floor and covered his ears, tensing his muscles against the deafening blasts. Holes jumped in Paula’s uniform as she fell backwards over a table and crashed to the floor with a bottle of ketchup and ramekin of sugar packets.

  Andrews let up on the trigger and stumbled forward with the release in pressure. The smoky silence gave way to their ragged breathing and overworked hearts. Taylor covered Bud with the six-shooter while Paula got to her hands and knees. She stared at the grotesque floor with hair hanging in her face and Huck was certain Bud would use the distraction to his advantage. But the old cook just stood there and swayed in his crooked stance, a mop handle hanging in his hand like a wizard’s staff. Then, in a breathtaking moment Huck would never forget, Paula looked up and smiled at them through her hair.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Andrews looked away from her enchanting eyes and popped the long magazine out, slapping a new one in as she slowly stood up.

  She set her jaw and moaned in pain, shifting into the same scaly creature as Helen did before. Hissing, her neck bloomed into a protective hood, raising her shrunken face higher into the air. Huck struggled to look away but her tar-like eyes bolted him in place with the glorious promise of a terrible death.

  “Big man,” Johnny whispered over the counter.

  Tearing his gaze away from Paula, DeSean’s eyes fell to the silver meat tenderizer in Johnny’s outstretched hand. Giving the kid a slight nod, he took it and spun around, clubbing Paula over the back of the head. There was a loud crack and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. Taylor kept his gun trained on Bud because that’s how those things operate. Slide-of-hand was a tactical strategy. Paula staggered to her gory shoes, left arm flapping oddly at her side. She tried to speak but only blood came out. Springing high into the air, DeSean hammered an invisible railroad spike through her forehead, driving her to the floor. Angry grunts pushed through his teeth as he brought the hammer down again and again. Blood splattered the tables and chairs. Brain matter squirted from her nose and ears, bony limbs twitching with each powerful strike. Smoke began to rise from her skin in willowy tendrils as her body slowly turned to ash.

  Huck set a hand on DeSean’s back. “That’s enough; she’s done.”

  He brought down one last swing, smashing through Paula’s skull and denting the floor. Straightening up, he blinked himself back from whatever harrowing place he’d just been. The group exchanged uneasy looks through the nauseating odor flowering between them.

  “Somebody get some goddamn lights on in here!” Huck picked a piece of skull from his shirt. “Jesus Christ, it’s like a haunted house in here!”

  “Where are they, Bud?” Taylor asked, returning to his interrogation.

  Bud stared dully at what was left of his loyal waitress, a red teardrop sliding down his cheek. “Out front and back. There’s no escape.” Doubling over, he sprayed his feet with puke. “It hurts,” he moaned, a string of saliva stretching to the floor.

  “It always does.”

  Wiping his mouth, Bud’s glossy eyes drifted out a nearby window, slipping past the falling snow to the sheriff’s Bronco parked at an awkward angle. “You have to go get it.”

  “No.”

  “I need it, Bobby, or I’ll take yours!” he said, eyes receding into his skull.

  Chasing his breath, DeSean ran a hand down his face, clearing Paula’s brain matter from his eyes. “What’s he talking about, Bob?”

  The sheriff stared at Bud and there was no disguising the sorrow in his voice. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  Black lines spiderwebbed through Bud’s waxy skin. “Me too, son.”

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for this town and thank you for everything you have done for me.”

  Bud blinked another drop of blood out. “Tell Amy I love her,” he whispered, grimacing with a painful spasm and dropping the headless mop to the floor.

  Raising the gun, Taylor pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling. “God is great; to hell with the devil.” A booming round sent Bud flying backwards. Sliding across the floor, he crashed into the darkened jukebox and leaned against it like he was sleeping one off from the night before.
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br />   Flinching from the loud retort, the group of survivors watched Bud meet the same grisly fate as the others. Rancid smoke filled the diner, shifting before their eyes like it was alive. Taylor tried his radio again and swore out loud, not knowing if someone was blocking the signal or if everyone was already dead.

  “Hey, thanks for that, brother.”

  Deputy Andrews looked at DeSean and smiled. “Just doing my job.”

  The big man stared at him for a second or two before breaking into exhausted laughter. Fist-bumping the deputy, he slung blood from the tenderizer to the floor and shook his head at Paula. “Dayum, what a mess.”

  A single bang rang out from the kitchen, drawing everyone’s eyes through the server’s window.

  “Here we go again,” DeSean panted, wiping blood from his face.

  “I say we fuck with them back.”

  “Hang on,” Taylor said, stopping his deputy and taking a quick headcount. “Six,” he sighed.

  “Our numbers are dropping.”

  His eyes fell to Johnny. “Everyone sticks together no matter what, and be careful of distractions,” he whispered, leading the charge through the swinging door behind the counter.

  Following Taylor into the kitchen, Huck wondered what was inside the sheriff’s Bronco. It seemed like Bud… A desperate bang on the backdoor jerked him from his spiraling thoughts.

  In the kitchen, Taylor nodded at his deputy. “Check the peephole,” he whispered, raising the revolver in both hands.

  “It’s frosted over, remember?”

  “Try again.”

  “Why me? I’ve got the Uzi.”

  Another heavy wallop against the door drove everyone back.

  “Jesus Christ, that scared the shit out of me,” Andrews hissed. “Should I shoot through the door?”