by Clark Hays
“Can I join you?” asked Tucker.
“There ain’t a whole lot left.”
“I can see that.” Tucker poured a cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. He grabbed the last donut, trailing sprinkles of white powder behind on the yellow table top. Absently, he wiped it up with his finger and became lost inside the reflective plastic patterns of the table, memories of what seemed like millions of childhood meals tickling his mind.
“Dad?”
“There ain’t no more donuts.”
“This isn’t about the donuts,” Tucker said. “I just wonder what you think about all this? Sometimes, I can’t hardly make sense of it.”
Dad thought for a minute. “There ain’t much I know for sure. But I do know that life is precious, a gift from the creator that we can’t ever truly understand. You got to do the best you can, no matter what comes along.”
“Even if it’s vampires?”
“Remember that two-headed calf that was born a few years back?”
“You mean when I was twelve?” Tucker asked.
“I never would’ve believed in something like that until I saw it with my own eyes. But I did. And I suspect this ain’t much different.”
Tucker thought about that for a while, then said, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Dammit, Tucker,” Dad said. “I’m not good at this sort of stuff, telling stories with a moral. They took your girl. Nothing else matters.”
“That I understand,” Tucker said. “Do you think Mom would have liked Lizzie?”
Dad studied his coffee cup. “I reckon,” he said at last. “Lizzie is smart and tough and independent.”
“And dead,” Tucker said. “And hungering for human blood.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Dad said.
Tucker wanted to ask more, to say something else about his mother, to talk about the biscuits and gravy she used to make in this kitchen, about how she’d be mortified to see her boys eating store-bought powdered sugar donuts on her linoleum table. But he said nothing. Something had changed in him the last few weeks, something quiet but big. He knew now what love was, but also that a deep and final sadness came with it, and that sometimes you had to be quiet to keep it from turning to darkness.
“How about we go do some shooting while our guests are sleeping?” Tucker said.
“Sounds like a real good idea,” Dad said.
They drove up to the gun range and shot so much ammo at beer bottles, they had to drive back to town to buy more so as not to be unarmed by night. After lunch at the Sagebrush Cafe, they drove back home and cleaned all the guns they’d used, one of Dad’s favorite pastimes.
They were still sitting cross-legged on the floor with guns taken apart and scattered across the living room among the beer bottles and burger wrappers when Lizzie came in, paler than ever, irritated and sort of dazed. “I have to feed,” she said.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
She tried her best to smile. “Hi. Sorry. I’m starving.”
“Want some beans?”
“Maybe later. I need something more substantial.”
“Please don’t kill anybody,” Tucker begged. “These are a nice bunch of folks around here.” He paused. “Well, except for my neighbor.”
“Oh, Tucker,” she said, beaming, “you just gave me the best idea. Sully, are you coming?”
Sully sat down on the couch. “No, my dear, I think I’ll stay here with the boys. You run on ahead.”
Dad stood and arched his back, his joints creaking in rebellion. He took a seat by Sully.
Lizzie planted a cold kiss on Tucker’s cheek and disappeared into the darkness. In the wake of her leaving there was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence that Dad and Tucker hoped would stretch into several minutes, but Sully would have none of it.
“I’ve never met an honest to goodness cowboy,” Sully said.
“Can’t say I ever met an honest to goodness vampire either,” Dad grumbled, stretching out across the couch.
“You have such a life out here on the frontier. I still remember those heady days when it seemed everybody was loading up their wagons and heading west. The excitement was absolutely dizzying. Of course, I only read about it in the penny-dreadfuls. I could have never left the East Coast. My attachment was not due to birth as I was actually born in Germany. The real Germany, the one before the Reformation. But I have always been drawn to America and your rugged idealism. I have such a soft spot for cowboys. I used to imagine myself out on the range with you. Unrolling our bedrolls under a sky full of stars. The coyotes calling, an old owl sitting in the oak tree…”
“The west isn’t really like that,” Dad said. “Probably never was.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Not the west I know,” he said.
“But what about John Wayne and the Marlboro man? The Last Cowboy, my God, what a brilliant piece that was. You looked so handsome in those pictures,” he said to Tucker.
“Mind if I grab a beer?” Tucker asked.
“Help yourself,” Dad grumbled. “It ain’t like I bought them for myself.” He was getting cranky since it was past his bedtime.
“You see, Mr. Sully,” Tucker said, popping the beer, “cowboys ain’t no different than any other men. We work hard and never make much money. We fall in love and make other mistakes. It’s the same way for people all around the world. Cowboys aren’t special, we just do what needs done. The only real difference is the setting.”
“And the hat,” Dad said.
“How, then, do you explain the romance of the west? Everybody loves cowboys,” Sully said.
“Speaking as a real live cowboy, I haven’t got the foggiest,” Tucker said. “Guess it has something to do with the wide-open country and an honest sort of labor that beats sitting inside all day.”
“But what about the Code of the West?” Sully asked. “The unspoken law of the land? Virtue and all that?”
“I suspect there are certain things all men should do, want to do, in the name of what is right. And since they can’t, they think there ought to be one kind of man or another that just naturally does right.”
“And that would be cowboys?”
Tucker nodded.
“There must be more to it than that,” Sully said. “I have the advantage of a certain historical perspective, and I’ve found is that at the heart of all myths, there’s usually a single, often-overlooked truth.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Tucker said. “Maybe at the heart of the cowboy myth is …”
“Heart,” Sully interrupted. “The heart of the cowboy myth is just that, heart.”
“This conversation is making my head hurt,” Dad said. “Where’s that woman of yours? How long does it take to kill someone and drain their blood?” He looked at Sully for an answer.
“Not that long, really,” Sully said. “But understand, we only feed on bad Adamites. That’s what I’m supposed to be teaching her.”
“You only feed on bad guys?” Tucker asked.
“And girls.”
“There ain’t no bad people around here.”
“You’d be surprised,” Sully said. “I sensed several as we came through town.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. If we stay long enough, several ‘shocking’ incidents may be avoided, and the good citizens of LonePine will have no clue.”
“I can tell you one person that’s gonna turn real bad if he doesn’t get some sleep,” Dad said. “It’s all well and good for you youngsters staying up half the night.”
“Youngsters,” Tucker squawked. “He’s a thousand years old,” he said, pointing at Sully
Dad stood up and grumbled his way toward the back bedroom.
As he reached the end of the hallway, the front door flew open and Lizzie burst in, her hair disheveled and clothes askew. She was flushed, eyes burning bright, and there were traces of blood still about her mouth.
Dad paused, his hand resting on the knob. “I
bet they’ll have something to talk about at the Sagebrush Cafe tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“Aww, honey,” Tucker moaned. “Who was it? Was it Mr. Harlan? Even he didn’t deserve to die like that. And I sure don’t want to think about you sucking on him. I mean what if I was sucking on some old gal?”
“Tucker, relax,” Lizzie said. “I didn’t kill anybody.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth but then abruptly stopped and ran for the bathroom, her hand cupped over her mouth. The sounds of her throwing up filtered into the living room to the three men standing there. When she walked back in, she was paler and looked weak.
“I guess alpacas don’t agree with me,” she said. Tucker’s eyes flared open and he smiled, then the smile turned into laughter.
Dad shook his head. “You got one hell of a strange situation going on here, boy.”
FORTY-THREE
Elita entered the parlor and sat down silently next to Julius on the red leather settee in front of the fireplace. It was a cool evening, the leaves outside were beginning to turn the greenery of summer into the vibrant colors of fall.
“I am in a famously good mood tonight, darling Elita,” Julius said.
She was overjoyed at the word darling and moved closer, letting Julius toy with her hair, twining it between his fingers.
“You know how important you are to me, how much I need you,” he said. “It was not by accident that through the centuries I killed every female of Malthus’ line so you could reign supreme beside me. Once I have the power my darling daughter possesses, I will destroy her as well. But for now, I must ask you to do something for me.”
He paused, adding drama to his words, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “You must exterminate Sully.”
Elita gasped. Julius held his frozen smile in place.
Destroying one of Lazarus’ key men would mean an end to the antagonistic peace, the uncertain truce that existed between him and Julius for the last seven centuries. It could plunge the vampire world back to a place more hideous than before Malthus, a time she remembered well. Vampire against vampire. And Lazarus would see to it that she paid for this trespass, paid dearly with her own existence. He was no fool. Despite his softening in the last few centuries, Lazarus was still capable of evil on a grand scale, if only against evil.
Elita looked carefully into Julius’ eyes. Nor was Julius a fool. He was sending her to her doom, knowingly. Had he guessed her involvement or was he simply tired of her? Julius hid his motivations behind his smile.
For the last several hundred years, her only happiness lay in the knowledge she had some small measure of power over Julius, the power of his affection for her. She would risk anything for him, had risked everything to be with him. Nothing brought her pleasure outside of his tortured, sporadic devotion.
“You will leave tonight to assure you can join their little party prior to their arrival in New Mexico,” he said. “My senses tell me they have returned to that little town in Wyoming.”
“It pains me to be away from you.”
Julius arched an eyebrow. “Remove my shoes, dear.”
Elita knelt to do as she was bid. She remembered the first time he asked her to do this, pleased he wanted her to perform such a mundane task, to let her touch his body so intimately. Now she was unsure. His pale toes wiggled out of his nylon socks like jaundiced infants, seeking the sunlight.
“Tend to my toes.”
Her mind flashed on the comic dog chase from just a few nights ago. She had felt a moment of exhilaration chasing that insipid dog, however brief — the first time in centuries she felt anything at all outside of Julius’ presence. Perhaps she could feel that again. Perhaps it was time to reconsider her allegiances, time to reconsider her life.
“Yes, Master,” she said, as she bent down to take his toes in her mouth, “I will go to LonePine.”
FORTY-FOUR
Lizzie and Tucker spent the next few days pretending to have a normal relationship. They held hands and took walks by moonlight, went out to eat in the finest, and only, restaurant LonePine had to offer and watched movies. Tucker started sleeping in past sunrise and staying up past sundown. For the briefest time, it was an oasis in the desert of calamity befalling them. In that quiet corner of the country, they grew even closer.
Sully and Dad gave them plenty of space and, in the process, came to be friends. As it turned out, Sully was a fine shot and there wasn’t much Dad respected more. Dad even started taking naps during the day so that at night they could set cans on the fenceposts in the gully behind the house. There, by the headlights of Dad’s truck, they held moonlight trick shooting contests. Dad shot over his shoulder with a mirror and Sully once struck a match at twenty yards.
All the shooting eventually attracted Lenny, who has a sense for all things gun-related. He drove up in his old truck with a case full of automatic weapons, infrared spotting glasses and a laser scope.
They were having the time of their life and the hillside trembled under the onslaught.
“So, you say you’re a vampire,” Lenny said, the laser scope on his .45 winking crimson in the half light as he shredded paper targets.
“That’s right,” Sully said.
“I have a hard time believing it.” He popped off a long string of shots that rattled the log they had propped up.
“It’s true,” Dad said, holding his ears.
“Maybe you’re just allergic to the sun,” Lenny said.
“Oh, no, I’m undead. You can shoot me, if you like. With one of the little guns. And not in the face.”
Lenny pulled off his hearing protectors. “No. I couldn’t do nothing like that.”
“I could,” Dad said. He raised his .22 pistol, a gift from his father, and pointed it at Sully’s chest. “Can I?”
Sully nodded and looked to the side. Crack-crack-crack. Three times the little pistol discharged point blank. Lenny’s mouth hung open and he struggled to find words.
Sully winced and slapped at his chest dramatically. “Oh my, that smarts.” He pulled his shirt to the side and Lenny bent forward to examine the wounds. They were already healing closed and as they watched, the misshapen bullets popped out and into Sully’s open palm.
“Now do you believe?” Dad asked.
“Definitely. I would say I definitely believe,” Lenny said. “I would also say I am definitely going home now. Very pleasant meeting you.”
“Are you sure you have to run so soon?” Sully asked, dropping the lead projectiles into the dirt. Dad was laughing so hard that he had to hold his sides.
“Afraid so,” Lenny said, as he climbed in to his truck and clattered off down the dirt road.
“Look at him go,” Dad said. “Like he seen a ghost.”
“That was kind of cruel,” Sully said. They both popped open a beer and walked back toward the house, unaware they were being watched from the shadows.
FORTY-FIVE
Lizzie and Tucker drove down to his place and walked through the thick grass past the burnt-up remains of his trailer. Most of it had been hauled away while they were in New York, and all that was left standing was the barn and the water tank, and most of the fence. Mysteriously, the alpacas were shying away from the downed wires.
Rex rolled lazily in the familiar grass, covering himself with the smell of home, dusting his coat with memories. Tucker’s eyes took on an eerie shine as the power of his land transferred through the soles of his boots into his soul. Lizzie slipped her arm around his waist and led him toward the barn.
“Naw,” he said, dragging his feet, “I’d just as soon avoid it for now.”
“Is it because of Snort?”
“I guess so.”
She sighed deeply. “I’m afraid if I start crying, I might not stop.”
“Don’t start then.”
“I don’t want anyone, anything, else to die,” she said.
“People will,” he said. “Death is part of life, except for you. You’re eternal.”
Lizzi
e made a choking, strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She moved close to Tucker and kissed his neck softly.
“Lizzie, you got to make up your mind.” Sully’s words echoed in his thoughts. “You got to live in your world now.”
“I’ve come to one decision already,” she whispered, her hands moving down to his belt and lower. Tucker’s breath came shorter, but he pushed her back gently.
“What are you going to do about your period?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m not sure I even believe it.”
“Julius does. And that’s all that really matters.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up here yet,” she said.
“He will. We have to figure out what we’re doing.”
“The only thing I want to do is live here with you,” Lizzie said.
“That’s a start. Let’s work backward from there. How do you want to do that? As a bored housewife vampire, feeding on an occasional alpaca and waiting to nurse me through Alzheimer’s? Or as a vampire queen ruling the earth, being true to the higher purpose inside you? If what they’re saying is right, you can do a great deal more good making sure all that power don’t get in the wrong hands.”
“Why should I worry about the whole world?”
“Because we owe the world a favor,” Tucker said.
“For what?” she asked bitterly. “Look what it’s done to me.”
“For bringing us together,” he said quietly. “Plus there’s one advantage in you drinking your own blood.”
“What’s that?”
“You could turn me into a vampire.”
“I would give anything to be able to spend eternity with you, Tucker,” she said. “But I don’t believe that you would much like the things you have to do.”
He sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“How about this? We go to New Mexico. Take Lazarus up on his offer to protect me until my period comes. If there really is a power, we let it go back to the cosmos. Then no one has it. After that, we can come back here and live out your life as you see fit.”
