“I’m an adult and not some stuttering little girl anymore,” she declared. Her nostrils flared. The tip of her nose and upper lips were beaded with sweat.
“Even you can’t tell me what to do. I was never a blood cow or one of your people. If I choose to live alone, then that’s how it’s going to be.” And do you really expect me live with you, to see you with your woman everyday?
“Megan wants you here to see her give birth safely. If you can stay another week after that, I’ll make sure you’re taken home safely if I have to fly you all the way there myself. But if your home is gone, you can choose to live here with me or another safe place of your choice.”
“This whole thing is about Megan’s pregnancy?”
she asked incredulously. Her red-haired friend used to be in love with Sainvire who happened to be her great-uncle. “Is my neighborhood really in trouble, or did you make that up?”
“They will eviscerate the Sawtelle neighborhood right up to the Los Angeles-Santa Monica city boundaries. Kawana assured me of that,” he explained. Kawana was one of Trench’s cops and Sainvire’s loyal spy. She was black but was rescued from the drudgery of being a janitor because of her unwavering beauty. She also had the strength of a hundred men. “The fire you set created great interest, trickling up the ranks and eventually reaching the ears of Downtown players like Trench and Nesbitt.
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But, yes, part of this has to do with Megan wanting you near her. She’s been wracked by nightmares since conceiving. Joseph and I aren’t enough protection for her. She specifically wants you to protect her child.”
Poe couldn’t speak. She could rant endlessly about the brutish selfishness of Megan or how easily influenced Sainvire was when it came to his last remaining kin. Despite her need to return to her childhood home, Poe felt in her gut that staying there was the right thing to do.
“I’ll stay until the birth,” she said. Her brown eyes challenged his gray. “After that, don’t try to contact me again. I’m through with all of you.”
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CHAPTER 6
“I’M NOT SUCKING UP anymore,” Poe told Joseph who looked as carefree as he did the last time she had seen him. He, Morales, and a half-dozen vampires returned to Gilroy with a bang, their dodgy looking police chopper landing haphazardly on the barn roof.
By the time the much nicked helicopter nose-dived and spun before finally eating the ground, a gaping hole on the roof was left and debris showered those asleep below. The pilot apparently had learned his flight skills from flight simulator games. Luckily no one was seriously injured. Rufus, the fly man, was the halfdead who had eaten her left earlobe for revenge. She had ripped out his ear in a sham fight Joseph threw to gauge her fighting skills two years ago.
Joseph sat in the kitchen snapping green beans in halves. His ponytail was immaculate. Who would have thought he was a vampire? Morales, always dressed for a date, lounged on the seat across from him and peeled shells off of boiled eggs. The smoldering ex-real estate agent with bow legs and solid upper body strength listened to Poe with rapt attention.
“Whatever I bring, be it game or firewood, everyone harrumphs and gives me the evil eye. They 143
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think I owe them meat and work for getting Jorge killed.”
“They’re afraid of you,” Joseph shrugged. His chiseled face looked neutral. “You were never cattle.
And some vamps in this camp still haven’t forgotten that you killed their friends in a fit of rage. I mean, you even shot me in the balls!”
Poe reddened. She remembered the day she had mixed up an address and ended up going to the shady side of Downtown Los Angeles warehouses where ancient undead anted up humans for poker. She had shot up Sainvire and Joseph and killed five good vamps when she saw them again.
“And for someone as puny as you, you sure kicked some vampire butt and not to mention rescued a changeful of ex-cattle,” added Morales, as handsome and charming as ever. “That’s humiliating to some.”
“I saved your hide a couple times, Morales. Do you hate me?”
“Nope. I love you!” he said. He kissed his fingers as if admiring a gourmet meal. “I’ve always said so, and I always will.”
“You still have that cheesy Vegas tongue of yours, I see,” said Poe. “But you know, you’d have a fighting chance if it weren’t for your grody cologne.”
She waved at the air under her nose. “As it is, I can only be in your company ten minutes or else I’ll get a migraine. So anyway, I better be off on my run. Oh, Joseph. If your woman pees, send Sainvire to pluck me quick and deposit me to her bedside.”
“Will do, sis,” Joseph grinned. “And correction.
It’s not pee, but ‘break water.’ Amniotic fluid to be exact.”
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“Whatever,” Poe said and headed outside. She detested sounding ignorant, but she’d relied on movies, comic books, and music for education.
It had been four days since she’d had a talk with Sainvire. If it weren’t for Joseph and Morales coming back, she would have gone batty. A very plump Megan had given her some nice Adidas sweats and encouraged her to go running. And she was ever so glad to listen to her friend.
Poe tried to phase out people in general when she was about the grounds. She focused on her own breathing and the condition of Penny who always seemed to tail her once she left the farmhouse where dogs were barred. It was easier that way. She followed the highway then looped back after a couple of miles. For a finale she lashed out at a stumpy oak tree across the road from the farmhouse and used it as a kicking bag.
No matter how her running schedule varied, she always encountered Michelle running in the opposite direction, tank top and short shorts showing off her unmarred, densely muscled body. That day was no different. The girl with the curlicue hair and navel piercing squinted her hazel eyes at Poe.
“That girl keeps dogging me,” Poe gritted, and she refocused her energy on abusing the tree with her shins and forearms. She and her dog were joined by Chops who still limped. The pig would undoubtedly have followed Poe’s jogging route had she been a hundred percent.
She’d see Michelle sparring with a sixty-year-old ex-boxer in the morning and practicing judo with a few former cattle in the afternoon. No wonder she acts so tough. People who take a martial arts course 145
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or two suddenly believe they’re ready to kick Jet Li’s butt.
“I’ve seen the judo club doing Tae Bo in the barn,” Poe said under her breath and shook her head.
“How embarrassing is that, Penny? Billy Blanks as a fitness guru? Sounds like a porn star name to me.”
On the way back to the farmhouse, Poe came upon a familiar figure she hadn’t seen since arriving in garlic land.
“Hey, Maple!” Poe waved and jogged to the middle-aged vampire standing with a bowl of porridge in her hand. “I’ve been looking for you, but nobody seemed to know where you were. Or at least they didn’t want to tell me.”
“Hello, Poe,” Maple smiled. “Sorry about that.
I’ve been busy this past week.”
“No problem,” Poe said. She wiped the sweat off her nose with a sleeve. She had overactive sweat glands on the very tip of the proboscis. “Yeah, I sort of wanted to see a familiar face, I guess. I was meaning to ask you about Perla, too. I know she’s busy being a scientist and all. I’ve been wondering since I got here if she still wears pajamas seven days a week.”
Maple kept up her smile, but her composure was tight at best. “Ah well. If you’d like to see her, you can follow me to that Winnebago over there.” Half a dozen RVs could be seen parked about the farm grounds.
“Perla hasn’t been herself, Poe. You can only stay for a minute.”
“Sure. I just wanna say hello,” Poe said nervously without knowing why. The plump scientist was one Sainvire’s invaluable knights. She was a 146
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grand woman who had treated Poe with kindness during her stay at the Los Angeles Central Library where Plasmacore had been researched and produced.
She ascended the set of stairs that led to a door.
With a catch in her throat, the girl turned the knob and entered. Softly tinted floral wallpaper decked the narrow interior. In the corner opposite the lace curtained window was a couch where her old friend sat.
“Hello, Perla,” Poe greeted, walking toward the woman wearing Mr. Potato Head pajamas. “I see you’re still wearing neat PJs.”
The Mexican American scientist with meticulously brushed hair did not stir. Vacant eyes looked out the window. No smile touched her normally energetic face. For the longest time Poe stared at her.
“M-Maple? What—” stammered Poe.
“She was bitten six months ago during a raid,”
Maple explained calmly. “She’s become cattle.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Poe. Her usually steady hands trembled. Overcome by melancholy as clinging as fly paper, she began to cry. Silently. However hard she tried Poe could not stop herself.
“It’s alright, Poe,” said Maple whose brow was lined with worry. “We’ll have her back by early next year.”
Instead of consoling Maple, Poe needed cheering up of her own. The lover and tender nurse to Perla gave Poe a reassuring hug that made the girl cry harder. Perhaps it was the pressure of the past week, but she simply couldn’t stop herself.
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“I’m s-sorry, M-Maple,” Poe managed to say. “I d-don’t want to upset her, so I’ll just go.” With one last forlorn hug, the girl left the Winnebago.
She hadn’t taken five steps when Maclemar crossed her path.
“What’s wrong, Poe?”
“N-nuthin! Outta my way!” she said, embarrassed by her irrepressible crying.
“Did anyone do anything to you?” he asked. His green eyes looked stormy.
“L-leave me alone, Maclemar,” Poe cried, and she pushed him away from her. She saw faces turn their way, agitating her further. “I swear I’ll d-drop you if you don’t shove off.”
Maclemar, who’d been keeping busy servicing cars, trucks, and buses the past week, rested his grimy hand on her arm in concern. He was like an annoying pest asking a crying kid what was wrong.
Of course constant egging would make a kid bawl louder and longer. That was the last straw for Poe who didn’t like being the center of attraction for ex-cattle with mouths agape.
“I said leave me the fuck be!” she shouted clearly without a stutter. Anger seemed to keep her articulate. A quick sweep of her right leg under Maclemar’s much longer ones and a shove to the chest left him sprawled on his back. In a wink the muscular fisherman was on the floor staring incredulously into Poe’s callused fist itching to strike his face.
“I’m sorry, but you just won’t let me be!” she said. She was already wracked by guilt as she ran toward the farmhouse. She sped past a blur of faces and heard a buzzing of voices. It wasn’t until she 148
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passed a sneering Michelle and her judo partners that Poe’s mind cleared.
The girl wearing a snug tank top ignited Poe’s already incendiary mood.
“What the fuck did you just say?” asked Poe.
She wiped her snot with the sleeve of her jacket. She was glad her stutter had called it quits. Sounding tough with a stammer wouldn’t have been very effective.
“What a mouth. What a mouth. I said,” Michelle taunted, “some tough chick vampire hunter you turned out to be. One look at cattle and there you go.
Snotfest.”
Poe’s nostrils flared, and her fist was keen to connect with the girl’s petty jaw. Remember the guy you disemboweled? No revenge fights, please. Karma never forgets, said the officious voice in her mind.
However hard it was to turn her back and swallow the elephant that used to be her pride, Poe walked away.
“And some of you still say she can save us,”
Michelle scoffed, fiercely proud of her audacity for stumping the legendary Julia Poe. Her normally pleasant lips were now a twitching line. Unlike most freed cattle after the mass rescue, Michelle had worked on strengthening her body and mind by learning about self-defense with dogmatic single-mindedness. She refused to be intimidated ever again.
If she appeared thuggish, the attitude was born out of defiance. “I say we can save ourselves! We shouldn’t look to vampires and their sluts to get us out of this rut.”
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The hell with karma! I’m going to kill that smug bitch. Pivoting around, she approached the bodacious curly-haired jerk who had been yanking her chain.
“Michelle, right?” Poe asked with barely contained energy. “Let me tell you a fact about me. I saved you and your friends. And you know what? It was a fucking thankless gesture, and I nearly broke my back for it. Dangerous work for a kick in the ass.
I don’t intend to put my life on the line again.”
She glared at Michelle, dressed in an outfit as provocative as a cheerleader’s, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Nope. First sign of invasion, me and my animals are outta here with a ‘see you later, suckas’ sign glued on the back of my Death to the Pixies shirt.” She always packed at least two of her favorite t-shirts in case of emergency. Leisurely she looked at the crowd that had gathered expecting entertainment. Besides living in fear of being retaken, most survivors hated living in constant boredom.
Repetition reminded them too much of their days as vampire food.
If they want a show, I’ll give them a pay-per-view worthy spectacle. Girl-on-girl action. We’ll duke it out to see who’s the baddest chick in the roost.
“As for your insinuation that I’m Sainvire’s slut, I could snap your head for that.”
Maclemar’s tense face towered over the crowd.
For an instant Poe lost her train of thought. She’d glimpsed a very pregnant Megan standing by the second floor window of the farmhouse. Joseph and Morales flanked her spherical form with beatific expressions. Jenna, the beautiful vampire with pixie hair, stood not a few feet away.
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“Beat the crap out of her and get it over with,”
Megan told her more than once.
“Just try to snap my head, why don’t you. I’m no tree to just take your kicks without retaliation. You’re not the only toughie in these parts,” Michelle dared.
She took Poe’s silence as a cue for her to say something ironic.
“Oh don’t worry. I will,” Poe said, and she smiled for the first time. “‘If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you,’” she said with a pretty fair Kentuckian accent, eliciting some befuddled noises from the crowd. Her naturally throaty voice lent credence to the quote.
“What the hell did you just say?” Michelle asked. She was as confused as those in the crowd, and she turned to her silver-haired boxing coach. “Is she comparing me to mold?”
The man named Ted who acted as her mentor shrugged his shoulders, and his rosacea-prone face looked hot. “Dunno, but it sure sounds familiar.”
Suddenly all worries and insecurities left Poe. A genuine chuckle escaped from her throat. Her tears had dried in the heat, and Poe did not particularly care about offending the crowd that had treated her with incivility ever since she had arrived. With the Champ on her side, she couldn’t help but feel elated.
“‘Only the nose knows, where the nose goes, when the door close’. Now, where was I? Ah yes, the slut question.”
A little cruddy girl that pushed her way to the front waved at her. It was Percy, her one fan. Poe winked at the girl. “I’m nobody’s slut,” she said with intent. She looked briefly at Jenna who stood out in 151
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the crowd of wobbly-kneed ex-cat
tle still recuperating from years of forced bed rest.
She spotted Sainvire, elbows resting on both knees, hunched on the scallop roofing of the farmhouse. She wondered how long he’d been sitting there. Apparently he wanted a box seat to the spectacle of the week. If it’s entertainment you want, vampire, then sit tight.
She removed her damp hooded jacket and handed it to Percy, who looked mighty pleased to be singled out. Arms crisscrossed, Poe grabbed the ends of her Clash t-shirt and pulled it up, exposing her unmarred belly, tight from years of hard training. Her lean and nicely muscled body usually hidden by outsized clothing was presented to over seventy-strong observers. Many a fly could have darted in and out of the mouths in the crowd that had slacked open at seeing the full cleavage of her black sports bra.
“Psyche!” Poe sniggered. She tugged her shirt down and ended her brief career as a stripper.
“Michelle, that’s what I call slutty!”
It was a cheap shot, but even some hard asses cracked tightwad smiles.
“Oh please. Let’s get this on already,” cried Michelle, gesturing with her hands.
Without the jacket, Poe’s strong arms revealed myriad scars. Her damaged face scratched by a vampire nail when she was eight and a missing earlobe made it obvious to onlookers that the girl had fought the fight.
Poe tightened her ponytail and began dancing with fancy Muhammad Ali footwork, shadow boxing a confused Michelle. “‘Float like a butterfly. Sting 152
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like a bee. Your hands can't hit what your eyes can't see.’”
“That’s it,” Ted the coach said. He clapped his hands together. “She’s been reciting Cassius Clay stuff.”
“Who?” asked Michelle. Her eyes were wide from the pageantry.
“Muhammad Ali, the boxer!” the old man explained, tsk-tsking the girl for not knowing about the legendary fighter and poet.
“He’s only the best boxer that ever lived,” piped in Maclemar in his strange accent that was growing on Poe, “and possibly the most charming athlete there ever was.”
“Don’t forget the bravest,” added a distinguished black man named John who used to dabble as a San Francisco lawyer when the world was normal. The man did his share of work around the camp with aplomb. He was gracious but meager with words.
Dead Surround - The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles Page 13
