by Alex Dire
“Here,” he said grasping a human skull which functioned as a paperweight. He opened the jaw to reveal the teeth inside. As he did so, two incisors along the top row of teeth slid down to reveal their true length. Garcia grasped one and slid it back into a channel in the skull, then pulled it in and out to display how it retracted. “Impressive, no?”
He knows! He knows about us. “You….” Norman faked a cough to cover his surprise...
“It’s a fake,” added Garcia. “These fangs are carved ivory. And the groove they slide into has clearly been drilled. Look. You can see the machine markings.”
Norman tried to mask his relief with the appearance of curiosity. He surely failed.
“Representative Garcia,” said Chip extending his hand. “I’m Charles Harding. It’s an honor to meet you.” Chip glance around the room. “You’ve got an…interesting sense of decor.”
Garcia smiled. “Oh, thank you. Most people who come in think I’m a kook. It makes for a less busy office.” Garcia noticed Norman eyeing the metal helmets along the wall. “You like these? Some say they keep the aliens from reading your thoughts.” He placed the skull back on his desk and picked up one of the heavier helmets that looked less DIY. It was a smooth, dull grey metal. He placed it on his head. “What do you think?” He waited a moment, and when no reply came, he grasped Chip’s offered hand. “Mr. Harding, what can I do for you and your friends today?” He sat back down still wearing the bizarre helmet. His broad smile combined with the head peace made for a goofy appearance.
“Please, call me Chip,” he replied. “We’d like to talk to you about a matter very important to your district. In fact, this matter goes far beyond your district boundaries.”
Garcia’s face twitched to a sterner look. He sat up in his chair more erect than before. He clearly had a game face he saved just for such meetings. “Yes, this sounds serious. I hope I can help,” he declared. “Please sit.”
Norman and his friends moved chairs from the perimeter of the room to a neat semicircle around the desk. As Norman lifted a chair from the back of the office, he paused for a moment, noticing a wooden spike mounted on an oak plaque. An inscription read “1327.” Norman turned back to Garcia with the chair. What had he gotten himself into?
As the group settled into their seats, they looked to Chip to plead their case.
Clearing his throat Chip began, “Our story may seem very different than those of your typical constituents. We are different.”
“Oh, believe me,” smiled Garcia, “I’ve heard it all. I’m sure that if I can’t help you, I can point you to someone who can.”
“Okay then,” said Chip.
Norman could feel the apprehension dripping from Chips words. This rarely happened to the politician. Chip displayed an expertise for recruiting individuals to his cause. Moreover, this very moment represented the key plank in his pre-war political platform. He’d always sought to create formal alliances with humans. To create a cooperative existence. Now he put his ideology to the test. No wonder unease gripped his larynx. If he played this meeting wrong, it may never come again. Worse, it may create the opposite kind of relationship than Chip wanted, one based on fear, distrust, hatred.
Chip continued, “We’re not like the others who come through your office. We were once, but no longer.”
Norman sensed something. A tingling entered his brain. Glands in his skull sprang to life, pumping adrenaline throughout his body. He nearly rose from his seat.
Rae interrupted Chip’s thought. “Representative, we came to you instead of Senator Walsh because you have a reputation among most of the city as being more…open to new ideas.”
“You flatter me, Madame,” said Garcia smiling, the helmet negating his gallantry.
She smiled back and looked to Chip nodding.
Norman’s tingling faded a bit. He held off on interrupting.
Chip cleared his throat. “Mr. Garcia, in truth we’re not human at all.”
Garcia displayed no change in demeanor.
“We’re vampires.”
Norman’s tingling returned full on. His spidey sense. They were in danger. This was a bad idea, and they needed to get out now. He subtly glanced about the room. The others didn’t seem to sense the danger.
Chip continued, “We’ve come to you because our species is about to become extinct. Some of our members have created a genetically altered version of our species. A version with no weaknesses who only see humans as food.”
Norman’s sense flared up further. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He turned his head about the room, this time evaluating it for threats.
Garcia’s face grew serious. “Vampires,” he said.
Norman noticed that he had subtly moved one of his hands underneath the surface of his desk. Norman snapped up to his feet. “We’re sorry, Representative. We won’t take up any more of your time.”
The whole group looked to Norman, puzzled. Norman’s guts exploded inside him. Something was coming, but from where? Norman couldn’t wait to find out. He dropped his head and looked into Representative Garcia. His attention fixed on the human figure sitting in the chair. He hadn’t planned on glamoring him. It defeated the purposed of winning him as an ally. However, now winning him didn’t seem a priority. Getting out alive had somehow become the crucial task of the moment. Didn’t the others feel it?
His brain discerned all the details of the room and the people occupying it. They existed for him but did not distract him. His focus sought out only the floating orb of Representative Garcia. The mild glow of his companions hovered around him. He reached out with his smooth flowing tendrils. However, they found no purchase. In fact, Norman could detect no will at all. Nothing occupied the space where Garcia’s sphere should be. Norman honed in further to no avail. He couldn’t sense the representative’s will. It was invisible to him.
Norman released his effort. Sweat had coated his forehead from the exertion. Now he saw Garcia staring at him, into him. The bizarre display of no will and the knowing stare startled Norman to distraction.
“Now wait just a minute, young man,” said Garcia burning his gaze into Norman’s retinas. “Have a seat.” Garcia crinkled a brow, and finally looked away from Norman.
Norman’s chest muscles unclenched in relief. He struggled to hide his near hyperventilation. His thoughts screamed so loud in his head that he could barely make out Garcia’s words.
“You say you’re all vampires,” said Garcia.
“That’s right,” said Chip.
Norman’s spidey sense overwhelmed his other senses. He abandoned his confused train of thought and sat up at attention his back erect, ready to move in an instant if necessary.
“You drink people’s blood?” asked Garcia.
Norman concluded that this endeavor was a serious mistake.
Chip shifted in his chair betraying mild discomfort. “Yes, sir. But it’s not like you think.”
Garcia waved a hand, interrupting Chip. “And there are other, ah, ‘super vampires’ who are coming after you?”
“And you,” added Chip.
Garcia raised an eyebrow. Norman couldn’t tell if it displayed mockery or curiosity.
Chip shifted again. He was in new territory here. He could sway most vampires with his words and body language. However, he’d never matched wits against a politician from the human world.
Norman wished Garcia’s words telegraphed at least curiosity, however, his intentions remained unclear.
Garcia leaned further forward. His hand remained under his desk. What was it doing? Summoning security? The ‘out there’ nature of the office convinced Norman that this politician may have taken unorthodox measures to protect himself from the bizarre things in the world: both real and imagined.
Garcia’s visage finally showed his cards. A giant open-mouthed smile erupted on his face and a fierce laugh bellowed from his lungs. It seemed to last for minutes. His hand came out from under his desk. As Garcia ran out of breath, his laug
h turned raspier.
Norman’s spidey sense ramped back to almost zero. Almost.
“Oh man. Great job,” said Garcia between cackles. “Did Walsh put you up to this? I knew he was an asshole, but I never knew he was this creative.”
“Sir?” said Chip.
Garcia interrupted, “And you. You’ve got the gift. If you ever want to get into politics, definitely give me a call.” His laughter once again overtook his words as he wiped a tear from his eye.
Norman noticed Rae looking over at him. When he met her glance, she nodded back toward the door.
Norman put a hand on Chip’s shoulder suggesting their retreat. Chip slowly turned his head up to Norman. His face seemed stuck. The moment he’d worked for his entire career had passed. The opportunity slipped by. Norman gave him the tiniest of nods. Chip dropped his gaze back to his lap in slow motion. Then he slowly nodded his head and rose. He turned his back on the chuckling politician and stepped toward the door. The rest of the group followed.
“Hey,” said Garcia. “By the way, what did you say your name was? I want to compliment Walsh on your performance.”
Chip turned his head. Words devoid of emotion came from Chip’s mouth. “Call me Chip.” He turned back silently and continued on his way out the door. Norman replied to the representative. “I’m Norman Bernard. Sorry to bother you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother, I haven’t had a good laugh in a while. This job can be down right depressing.” Then he waved a finger at Rae like an elementary school teacher to a naughty toddler. She chuckled in reply.
They closed the door and quickly shuffled down the hall.
22
Dodge
Norman sliced into the seared pork. The taste of cumin and cilantro exploded in his mouth. He knew he’d get no nutrition from this food, but damn, it was good. He washed the morsel down with water. Blood would have served better.
Felicia sat next to him and reveled in the food. Her abuela spooned rice into Chip’s dish who sat across from Norman, dejected. He didn’t even lift his fork.
Rae looked to Chip, her faced covered with concern.
Georgios stirred something on the stove as he and Abuela hustled to cook like restaurant chefs. The junkies sat on the couch and about the floor with dishes on their laps. They’d recovered considerably now that they were off the infected blood. Each day they appeared less and less threatening and more and more pathetic. Bronte sat on Norman’s other side, pushing the food around on her plate. He couldn’t tell if she didn’t like it or their lack of hope drained her of any appetite. MacManus sat on the floor with the junkies. He seemed at home with them.
“Done,” said Georgios from the kitchen nook. He strode out with a steaming pot. Dipping a wooden spoon in, he scooped a lightly sauced mushroom and onion mixture onto their plates. He pulled a chair to the table and sat down with the group.
“Mama, come, sit with us,” said Felicia.
“Wait, wait,” said Abuela in her old country accent. She whirred around the stove and counter like a magician.
“She’s always cooking,” said Felicia.
Norman brought up the conversation that nobody wanted to have. “So, what’s our next move? We seem to have burned through plans B and C.”
Chip looked up at him, then back down at his plate, taking a cue from Bronte and pushing his food around with his knife.
Norman glanced to Bronte.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I’m just the muscle. I’d happily go down in a good fight. Full-on charge. Then we’d all be dead. Dead, but glorious.”
“Bronte,” said Norman. “There’s a Nymph at the table. Be sensitive.” He delivered an apologetic glance to Felicia.
“It’s okay, Mr. Bernard. I'm not a little kid. I know what our chances are,” said Felicia.
“Do you?” said Bronte. “Then clearly your math teacher has failed you, because if you envision our probability of survival as any number greater than zero, then you’re dreaming.”
“I can fight,” said Felicia. Her eyebrows bunched, bristling at the remark. She tightened her hands around her utensils.
Bronte let out a breathy chuckle. “So you can. Picking off other Nymphs is the easy part.”
Felicia’s adolescent emotions bubbled to the surface, “I held my own against those super V’s.”
“I’ve been fighting since before your abuela was even born,” said Bronte. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I could cut through a dozen newbies without breaking a sweat, Nymph.”
Felicia stood up with a jolt.
Norman stood and put a hand on Felicia's shoulder. “Let’s just take a moment and enjoy this delicious food.”
“Tell her,” said Felicia.
Norman shot Bronte his teacher look. He knew the warrior was goading Felicia.
“Bronte, Felicia’s grandmother has been gracious enough to house and feed us. A little respect is in order,” said Norman.
Felicia nodded at Norman and sat.
Bronte let out a quick breath through her nose and leaned forward, cutting a small square of meat from her dish.
Felicia took a quick bite of rice mixed with beans. “Gracias, Abuela. Es delicioso.”
Abuela smiled back. Then she looked at Norman and raised her glass of water. “Salud, dinero, y amor.”
They all raised glasses and replied in kind.
Norman scooped a portion of mushrooms. A subtle buttery flavor coated his mouth as the food practically dissolved and slid down his throat. “My god. These are fantastic.”
The others stopped eating, noticing his change in mood.
“What did you do to these mushrooms?” asked Norman.
Georgios’ lips wrapped his face in a broad smile. “They’re my specialty.”
“Did you grow these? You could make millions. Literally,” said Norman.
“You don’t grow mushrooms. They are mine, though. Quite proud of them, if I say so myself.”
Bronte wrinkled her brow, half curious, half annoyed. “What do you mean you don’t grow them? Plants don’t just appear out of nowhere.”
“Mushrooms are a curious organism. They’re not plants. They’re a fungus. There are no seeds to plant. They are unlike any other creature on earth,” said Georgios.
“Creature?” said Bronte.
“They grow by spreading these sort of…tentacles underground. Each one is a vast network of the things. When the conditions are right, up pop the fruits,” said Georgios.
Bronte stabbed a mushroom slice with her fork and held it up. “Fruits?” she said looking at the sautéed sliver dangling from her utensil.
“Well, ‘fruiting bodies’,” replied Georgios. “They produce spores which spread on the wind.”
“Sounds like sci-fi,” said Bronte, biting into the portion. Her eyes rolled back into her head. “Oh my. So good.”
“So you got your Ph.D. for agriculture to grow mushrooms?” asked Norman.
“Nope,” replied Georgios. “Genetics. I was looking for a way to mass produce the things. Talk about millions.”
“Tell me about it,” said Norman. His mind needed distraction from his troubles.
“Okay, it’s a bit complicated, but…I was trying to find a way to grow the mushrooms in sunlight. Maybe even enhance their growth using energy directly from the sun.”
“I thought you said they weren’t plants? They don’t grow like that. How would that work?” said Norman.
“Exactly. They’re not plants. So I isolated the gene sequence in plants that make the chloroplast organelle. It’s the tiny structure in plant cells that harvests light and uses its energy to create sugar. It’s what makes plants so special. They transform light into basically all the energy used on earth. Solar, oil, natural gas. It all starts out as sunlight and is transformed by the chloroplasts in plants.”
“So, you mass produced chloroplasts,” said Felicia.
“Not exactly. I inserted the gene sequence into the mushrooms so th
ey could grow their own.”
Chip’s eyes opened and a light seemed to return to them. “How did you get the genes into the mushrooms?”
“I used a virus.”
“Now that’s sci-fi” said Bronte.
“So, the virus did all the work. You basically infected the mushrooms with the gene sequence to produce chloroplasts,” said Chip.
“Not bad, councilor.”
Chip’s forehead dipped and a darkness flashed over his eyes.
“Oh, sorry. Chancellor.”
Norman pushed his food around his plate, taking in this new strange information. He remembered that mushrooms are creatures of the night, feasting on the dead and rotting things in the dirt. They were more part of the earth than anything he’d ever heard of. “Could these genes be delivered to other organisms?”
“Not sure why you’d want to do that. I never actually got it to work.”
“The mushrooms wouldn’t grow chloroplasts?” asked Chip.
“No, the delivery and organelle production worked great. The mushrooms turned green all right. Can you imagine. Green mushrooms?”
“Then what went wrong?” asked Norman.
“Hard to say what was going on at the cellular level,” replied Georgios. “But when they’d grown enough chloroplasts, I’d put them in the sun and they’d just shrivel and turn to a goo. I guess it’s just not in a mushroom’s nature to use the sun.”
“Sounds like some friends of ours,” said Norman.
The whole table stopped eating. They all looked at Norman, the wheels turning in their heads.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Chip.
“Could the virus be modified to infect vampires?” asked Norman.
“Of course not,” replied Georgios. “Vampires are immune to such things.”
“What about a vampire that’s part human?”
“Interesting,” said Georgios.
“On a cellular level,” added Norman.
“Well, in that case, we wouldn’t need to modify the virus at all,” said Georgios. “I used a rhinovirus as a vector.”
“Rhinovirus?” said Bronte.
“The common cold. It should work quite nicely.”
