by Matt Kincade
Carmen raised her right hand, flexed it, turned it this way and that. A dimpled red scar encircling her forearm was the only evidence. “It’s fine. You were right. I just stuck it back on, and it stayed. It was about the weirdest damned thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t doubt it. Hey, that was some good thinkin’, handin’ that pistol off to Mia.”
“I didn’t…” She paused. “I hate to say it, but I gave it to her in case things didn’t work out. So she wouldn’t have to suffer. She came up with that last part herself.”
Alex grinned. “Well, good on her. Looks like smarts run in the family.”
“So, hey. I’m glad you made it. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around. I did what I could. But I didn’t want to hang around a house full of vampire hunters.”
“Naw, it’s all right. I understand. Where did you end up at anyway?”
“That place had four hundred years’ worth of tunnels. It wasn’t hard to find someplace to hide away until dark. Then I took a car and got out of there. I holed up at a hotel for a few days, and then I came back here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t usin’ the place.”
She smiled. “We actually did it, didn’t we?”
“Damn right. We got the bad guy, and we rescued the girl. By the way, where’s—”
“She’s here,” said Carmen. She called out to her sister.
Mia came out of the bedroom. Dressed in blue jeans and a Coca-Cola T-shirt, she was as beautiful as ever, delicate as spun glass. She wore no makeup and was prettier for it. Alex knew with a sudden certainty that it had all been worthwhile.
She stood awkwardly with her hands at her sides. She looked down, never quite meeting Alex’s eyes. “I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “Carmen says she couldn’t have found me without you. She says…she says you saved my life.” She stepped forward and hugged him. She was warm, strong but fragile, like a bird. She smelled like the same shampoo her sister used. She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Shucks, little darlin’, weren’t nothing,” said Alex. He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That was some real good shootin’, by the way.”
“Mia,” said Carmen, “why don’t you go get the car started? I’ll be out in just a minute.”
Mia slipped out the door, with one last glance and a smile at Alex.
“So,” said Alex. He scuffed at an imaginary piece of dirt on the floor with his boot toe. “What’re you gonna do now?”
Carmen shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Alex leaned down and unzipped the duffel bag to reveal piles of bundled bills. “If it helps any, half this money is yours. Works out to ’bout three million each.”
She smiled despite herself. “Yeah, I guess that simplifies a few things.” She looked away and ran a hand through her hair before saying, “Look, I’m sorry. About the way I left before. I just—”
“Naw, ain’t nothin. I ain’t sore.”
“I should have listened to you.”
“I shouldn’t a been such an asshole.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Alex said, “Look, I’m worried ’bout you is all. If I was you, I’d light out for someplace else. You ain’t gonna find many friends ’round here. Too many folks know your face.”
“I know. I hadn’t planned on staying. I don’t think I should say where I’m going.”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, probably better you don’t.”
“I, um, I hear things. I hear there are other people like me. Other good vampires like me. I guess good is the wrong word. But you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” Alex sat down on the couch and began divvying up the money, stacking his half on the coffee table. “Carmen, I hope to hell y’all make it. I hope you both can find some peace in this world.”
“Right back at you, cowboy.”
“Ain’t gonna be no easy life for you.”
Carmen smiled. “It never was.”
He handed her the now half-empty duffel bag. She hung the strap over her shoulder. “The sun’s down. I guess this is it.”
“Yeah.” Alex stood dumbly. He felt a sharp pressure behind his eyes. He reached out and took her hand and squeezed it. She leaned in, and they hugged.
“Take care of yourself, Alex,” she said, then kissed him.
A tear brimmed and ran down Alex’s face. Carmen let go of him and turned her back. He stood in the doorway as she walked away.
“I don’t think I wanna see you no more,” he said to her retreating back.
She half turned around. “You won’t.”
She climbed into the car. The headlights came on, and she pulled around in a circle. Alex saw a flash of raven hair, and Mia cast one last glance at him as he stood there, his hands useless at his sides. He watched the car disappear down the driveway.
He stood there for a long time, a lanky silhouette leaning against the doorframe as the dust settled. Somewhere a coyote howled, and in the sky, deep blue faded slowly to black.
Epilogue
A cold, damp fog blew in off the Pacific, blotting out the stars, painting the sky a dull, uniform gray, illuminated by the dockside lights.
Carmen pulled her knee-length wool coat tighter around her waist and jammed her hands deeper in her pockets. The damp, Northwestern cold cut right through the coat. She heard the rhythmic splash of seawater against the pilings, the clang of a bell. Farther out in the harbor, the green-and-red navigation beacons on the big ships shone, softened by the fog.
She heard a sound—a shoe scraping against concrete—and turned. A young Asian man appeared, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. He stood with his hands at his sides, looking Carmen up and down.
“Are you Kasem?” asked Carmen.
Two more young Asian men materialized out of the fog, carrying Uzi submachine guns.
“I might be.”
After a moment’s silence, Carmen said, “Well, are you trying to work up the nerve to ask me to the prom, or are we going to do some business?”
Kasem smirked. “You have the money?”
“You have the merchandise?”
“Money first.”
Carmen, out of the corner of her eye, caught a hint of movement high up in the scaffolding of the dockside cranes. She ignored it. “Okay. Take a look.” She dropped the duffel bag and stepped back.
The two armed men kept a close watch while Kasem knelt and unzipped the bag. He pulled it open to reveal a stack of neatly bundled cash. He looked up at Carmen. “Is it all there?”
“Do you want to count it?”
The man zipped up the bag. “You rip us off, we’ll come find you.”
“Right back at you. Where’s the merchandise?”
Kasem put his hands out. He smiled wider. “Hey, pretty lady, don’t worry. You’ll get what you paid for. This way.”
With the two gunmen following, Kasem and Carmen walked down the docks in silence for five minutes. Kasem stopped at a stack of steel cargo containers, each one the size of a semi trailer. He fished a ring of keys out of his pockets. After a few tries, he found the right key and pulled the lock off one of the container. He pulled the handles, and the door scraped open.
Behind the door was a welded grate of steel mesh. Behind that was a sick parody of a dorm room. A row of bunk beds, a chemical toilet bolted in the corner, a pallet of bottled water, and another pallet of snack food.
And two dozen girls. They were huddled among the bunk beds, filthy, hungry, terrified. They were Asian, young, and pretty. Not one of them could be over eighteen. Their black hair was tangled and matted, their faces smeared with dirt and God knows what else. When the stench from the container hit Carmen, she gagged.
“Hey, don’t worry.” Kasem laughed. “They clean up nice.”
“I’m sure.” Carmen composed herself and counted the girls. “There’s only twenty-one. You said twenty-two.”
“Sometimes they don’t make the trip.” Seeing Carmen’s look, Kasem laughe
d, his vampire teeth on full display. “I know what you’re thinking, but she died of dysentery. I’ll tell you what, we’ll give you a credit toward your next purchase.”
“So no one has sampled the wares? In any way?”
“Guaranteed. They’re pure as the driven snow. Or as pure as they were when we got them, anyway.”
“Good. My buyer is very particular. I’ll take them.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Kasem tossed her the ring of keys then turned to walk away.
“Oh, one other thing,” said Carmen.
Kasem turned back. “Yeah?”
Carmen was silent for a moment. She made a face. “I was trying to think of something witty to say. Fuck it.” She reached into her coat. Instead of a sword, she pulled out a forearm-length section of steel pipe. She swung with all her vampire strength. The pipe connected with Kasem’s head hard enough to bend the steel. He dropped like a slaughtered ox.
The gunmen opened fire. Carmen flung the section of pipe, taking out one of the gunmen in a spray of blood and shattered teeth. She spun around, launching a low kick at the second gunman’s legs. He hit the ground, and Carmen was on him in a heartbeat. She held his Uzi with one hand. With the other, she administered a surgical punch to the gunman’s jaw. He spasmed once and went limp.
Carmen felt something hit her left shoulder, hard. She watched blood spray on the pavement, and a fraction of a second later, heard the following crack of a high-powered rifle.
She ran for the cover of the storage containers, her arm numb and hanging at her side. She bent down with the other hand and scooped up the now boomerang-shaped piece of sewer pipe before she slid into a gap between the cargo containers.
Already the feeling was returning to her left arm. She hefted the pipe experimentally and peeked her head out. Another bullet pocked the pavement as she pulled her head back.
“Asshole.” She flung the pipe side-armed. It whipped off into the darkness, and a moment later, she heard a clang and a cry of pain. She sprinted across the pavement to the base of the crane. She spotted the gunman above her, frantically trying to angle a shot down through the maze of girders and scaffolding. Carmen didn’t give him the chance. She climbed and jumped and scrambled up the structure, and then she was there next to him. She snatched the rifle out of his hands and pinned him against the wall. In a flash, she bared her teeth and bit into his neck. When she was finished with him, he tossed his lifeless body from the crane and watched as it splattered on the concrete like a bug on a windshield.
Carmen leapt from the crane and landed next to Kasem, who groaned and began to sit up. She planted a knee in the middle of his back and handcuffed him. She drew the short Japanese sword from beneath her coat.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he spat. “You have no honor. Put a sword in my hand, and we’ll settle this by the ancient laws.”
“I don’t give a shit about your ancient laws.” She walked right by Kasem and beheaded the fresh corpse on the pavement.
“Then just kill me already.”
Carmen sheathed her sword and knelt to cuff the still-unconscious gunmen. “You aren’t going to die for quite a while. I have a lot of questions about your organization.”
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “It’s clear,” she said. “Come on in.”
Moments later, a familiar-looking van pulled up beside the cargo containers. Jen got out, her medic’s kit already in hand. An Asian woman climbed out of the passenger seat and approached the cargo container. She spoke to the girls in Thai while Carmen unlocked the metal grate on the cargo container. Jen entered the portable prison and cautiously approached the girls.
Moments later, an old school bus pulled up next to the van. Its brakes squealed as it stopped. The bus’s door hinged open. Mia was at the wheel. She grinned childishly and waved. “Hey, Carmen!”
Carmen, despite herself, smiled in return. “Hola, hermana.”
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About the author
Matt Kincade, the son of a librarian, was often left to wander the fiction shelves for hours as a child, happily lost among the stacks, soaking up a love for words and the smell of books.
Since then he has been a pizza chef, a sandwich artist, a cash-register jockey, a night manager, a furniture assembler, and a creepy one-hour photo clerk, all while dreaming of being an author of sci-fi and supernatural fiction.
Matt lives in Northern California, where he enjoys the outdoors and gets out into the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains every chance he gets, whether to hike, camp, or just go jump in a creek. When not writing or working at his slave job, Matt reads entirely too much, makes music, rides his bicycle, watches movies, and plays video games.
If Matt drank as much alcohol as he does coffee, his family and friends would have staged an intervention by now. Matt shares his apartment with a cat who grudgingly tolerates his existence. Check out his blog, (Matt’s blog, not the cat’s) at http://www.matthewkincade.wordpress.com/
