Relict (Book 1): Drawing Blood

by Richard Finney

  “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang… but with soup and Spam.”

  It was Juarez paraphrasing T.S. Elliot.

  Matt was not in the mood to be amused, and tried to keep on moving forward, but that was when he realized Barrett, Juarez’s straight man, was standing in front of him.

  “My pal back there is a poet… and I didn’t even know it,” said Barrett.

  “How can you look forward to three meals a day when all of it is crap?” said Juarez.

  When Matt didn’t respond, Juarez used his tray to tap him on the shoulder.

  “Wanna know what’s for lunch?” asked Juarez.

  Matt wouldn’t respond.

  “Barrett, tell the new recruit…”

  “Sugar sandwiches.”

  “He’s not fucking joking.”

  “I heard through the camp grapevine the bloodsuckers have trademarked the recipe,” said Barrett.

  “That might explain why we’ve eaten it every single day since we’ve been here,” shouted Juarez. He shoved his tray into Matt’s back. “Wanna know the secret recipe for ‘sugar sandwiches’? Tell him Barrett…”

  “Lots of butter spread over white bread and then covered with sugar,” Barrett answered without missing a beat.

  “Yum, yum, right?”

  Matt got his drink and left the line for a table.

  It didn’t stop Juarez from talking. He just directed his comedy routine toward one of the goons standing nearby, supervising the meal.

  “Somebody should tell the bloodsuckers that we might taste better if they didn’t keep feeding us sugar sandwiches and pig anus!”

  “Hold on there, partner, Spam is not pig anus,” protested Barrett. “My stepbrother grew up in Hawaii, and there’s no way he would eat pig anus every day and still be able to say ‘aloha’.”

  Whatever Juarez’s retort was, Matt didn’t hear it. He quickly made his way across the mess hall to the first empty table.

  After a few bites, he raised his eyes to look around the enormous mess hall.

  There were a lot of tables, but not many people. Were there other mess halls? For the first time, Matt started to realize that perhaps the crowded barracks building was just one of the buildings in the compound.

  As he ate his meal, Matt made it a point to take in the sights of the other prisoners sitting around him.

  The twin brothers were eating together… still sharing an iPod while they ate their breakfast.

  Dietz was just a couple of tables away, sitting by himself. Matt watched as the doctor waited for both of the supervising goons to look the other way before pouring some green liquid into his coffee. After he stirred the cup with a spoon, he tasted it, then scribbled his reaction on a ledger next to his tray.

  Sitting nearby was Matt’s new bunkmate. He looked even more creepy in broad daylight than at night. Grouse had a tray of food in front of him but wasn’t actually eating, just mumbling to himself as he stared at his food with disdain.

  “There he is, the man of the hour…”

  Tyra’s attempt at a sing-song greeting came from several tables away as she got up and began carrying her tray of food toward his table. Three middle-aged, white guys, also toting trays of food, followed right behind her.

  “So what’s the verdict, Matt? In your opinion does the concentration camp’s mess hall deserve its recent ‘Michelin’ star?”

  Her attempt at humor was simultaneous to her grabbing a place on the bench right next to him.

  Matt reacted to Tyra’s joke and her unilateral decision to sit beside by staring into space. His silence froze the three men who had accompanied Tyra, and it prompted her to pick up the conversation.

  “Gentlemen, don’t be turned off. Sometimes the silent have the most to say. I assure you, the man I sit next to could be the key to your…”

  Tyra lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “…freedom.”

  One of the men held out his hand to Matt.

  “Great to meet you. My name is Erik Chast. These are my buddies, Pete Tulliver and Rory Murphy. We all worked in the same financial-planning office together.”

  “Before the takeover,” Tulliver chimed in after Chast had finished speaking.

  Chast finally realized that Matt was not going to shake his hand and he lowered it.

  “I warned you, didn’t I? He’s either a germaphobe… or cracking through his shell will be half the fun…?”

  He turned to her with a blank stare. Matt wanted her to know that what he had said to her yesterday still stood. But all he got back from Tyra was a smile that made her look like a village idiot. Perhaps some of the bombs that had gone off in the Green Zone had caused some brain damage.

  “Ty tells us you’re smart and could be a real asset to our plan.”

  Matt looked over and saw that all three of the guys tagging along had found their seats on the bench opposite him.

  He just looked hard at each one, down the line, then turned his attention back to his soup and Spam.

  “I thought you said this guy could help us,” said Chast.

  “I said ‘could’ help you. There’s an abyss between the words ‘could’ and ‘would’.”

  “Great, we’re fighting for our lives,” said Murphy, “and we’re carving out time for a grammar lesson.”

  Both Chast and Tulliver turned to Murphy with irritated looks, as if what he had said was completely out of line.

  Tyra kept her focus on Matt, still watching him carefully for anything that might help her figure out how she could get through to him.

  “Even though Matt has spent two tours of duty serving his country, I know he has some problems right now helping others. Do you mind, Matt, sharing with my fellow prisoners a clue as to what your objections are?”

  He chewed the Spam in his mouth very slowly before answering.

  “Team jerseys.”

  “Is that supposed to be profound?” asked Murphy.

  “That’s it exactly,” said Tyra. “Yin and yang, right Matt? You’re looking for a balance, but right now pretty much all you’ve experienced to date is the rest of humanity fucking you over.”

  He stopped chewing and turned to look at Tyra.

  “Compared to what these ruthless bloodsuckers have done to us,” said Chast, “I can’t believe that’s the way you feel about things.”

  “I agree,” Tulliver chimed in. “Hasn’t it been the vampires behaving like total assholes during this takeover? We should be shoving their yin into their yang if you get my drift.”

  She turned to address Chast. “Wait, I don’t understand. Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t all these asshole vampires part of ‘humanity’ before they became the undead?”

  Tulliver looked over at Chast for help in dealing with Tyra’s point.

  When she was greeted with silence, Tyra tried to clarify. “The fact that they all were once human, means that what they’ve been doing to all of us is probably still an indictment on humanity as a whole… don’t you think?”

  As Tulliver and Chast were taking their time to process Tyra’s words, Murphy became frustrated.

  “If I had known we were meeting for breakfast to discuss philosophy, I would have brought my incense sticks…?”

  “What is your problem?” Chast asked Murphy.

  “Yeah, Murph, you just need to relax,” said Tulliver.

  “I’ll relax… as soon as we actually start talking about something related to our escape plan.”

  “Look, Matt, the three of us are obviously jacked up,” said Tulliver. “As you just heard, we’re planning on breaking out of this dump. I have no idea who you are… or what your beef is… but Tyra brought us to you because we need help.”

  “‘Need help’ might be overstating the situation,” Chast interrupted.

  Tulliver quickly turned to his partner. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  Chast nodded, and Tulliver nodded as well, and after a few nods, both of their chins were nodding in
perfect sync.

  Matt stood up to leave.

  “I was afraid of this,” said Tyra. “Matt can’t help us out because he’s tired. Tired from traveling halfway across the world to see if his ex-wife is still alive. He was stopped by a vampire patrol before he could get to her.”

  She looked up to see if Matt was engaged and, when it appeared as if he was, she continued.

  “I bet if he were to help you guys with a map of the local area, which would be invaluable because Matt grew up around here, you would promise to return the favor by going to his ex-wife’s homestead and checking to see if… she was doing all right. Perhaps even leave a message for her…”

  “We could do that,” Chast said.

  “We would do exactly that,” Tulliver clarified.

  “Yes, we would do exactly that,” Chast said correcting himself.

  “A detailed map of the area around the camp would really come in handy.”

  Matt took a heavy breath… before sitting back down on the bench.

  “What are you getting out of this?” Matt asked Tyra.

  “Still doing my job. When I was in the Green Zone working for the State Department, I was known as ‘the facilitator.‘ I was the one who made things happen…”

  He turned his attention to the guys. “When are you all making the break?” “It all goes down tomorrow night,” said Tulliver, with as much excitement as he could manage while keeping the volume of his voice to a whisper.

  “Did you say ‘night’?”

  “There’s a twenty-to-one prisoner-to-guard ratio…”

  “… and wide gaps in the compound left unguarded,” said Tulliver, interrupting Chast. “Once we cut our way through the fence, the plan is to find a place to hide in the woods until sunrise.”

  “That’s where you come in. Help us find the right place to wait out the pursuit,” said Chast, finishing the pitch, “… and we’ll be home free.”

  “Guys, what you’re planning is a suicide mission.”

  Matt’s words and his tone came down like a black curtain.

  Chast and Tulliver were ready to voice their protest, but Matt continued.

  “There’s a twenty-to-one ratio at night because who needs guards when the compound is swarming with vampires. The bloodsuckers are capable of seeing a rat’s dick swinging from a mile away…”

  “We hear you…” interrupted Chast.

  “No, you’re not hearing me,” interrupted Matt right back. “If I sketch a map of the local area, I will make sure to mark with a big black dot the Halcyon Hills mortuary, because that’s where all three of you guys are going to wind up if you try to escape at night.”

  At least Tulliver waited for some silence to pass before he vocalized his disagreement. “We respect what you have to say…”

  “Absolutely. Nothing but respect,” interrupted Chast.

  “… but we have 110 percent confidence in our plan. We really just need your help on the map,” said Tulliver.

  Matt looked over at Tyra, but she had her head turned away, clearly refusing to make eye contact with him. He dropped his head so that he was looking at his food.

  “We’re doing this,” said Chast. “With or without your help…”

  “Okay, I’ll draw you guys up a map,” said Matt without looking up. “I’ll include a few places you can hide when the vampires come looking for you.” He finally looked up. “And I’ll put in the directions to my ex-wife’s house, along with a message.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Fantastic. Thanks!”

  He stood up, but before he walked away he turned to Tyra.

  “None of this means I’m a team player. Hope we’re clear on that.”

  Before she could offer a reply, he walked away.

  “Thanks, Tyra, for the hookup,” said Chast.

  “Yes, dude, we totally owe you,” said Tulliver.

  “Excuse me…,” said Murphy.

  Chast and Tulliver turned to look at their third partner.

  “Did either of you digest a single word that guy said?” Murphy’s face was flushed red and covered in beads of sweat. “He called the plan a ‘suicide mission’.”

  Murphy enunciated the last two words with as much emotion as he could sum up while still whispering. But his dramatic enunciation still fell on deaf ears.

  “Jesus, Murph, you’re freaking me out,” whispered Chast.

  “I know. What the fuck?” seconded Tulliver.

  Chast took a deep breath, then threw his arm around his former business associate, hoping it would chill him out.

  “Listen to me, Amigo, how many times did the three of us hear those exact same words – ‘suicide mission’ – before we ended up working together at the company’s paintball-team tournament?”

  “About a thousand times,” Tulliver immediately answered in case Murphy was not going to come up with the answer.

  “Exactly,” said Chast. “And now tell me, Amigo, how did each one of those tournaments turn out…?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The veteran prisoners in the camp referred to it as the dairy farm. And now the entire prison population of the CCC facility stood in a single-file line waiting to enter into the building.

  Standing in line, Matt watched some activity going on at the infirmary building. He saw Dietz walking with two of the camp’s guards as they loaded a body bag into a van. After they shut the doors, the van drove past all of the other prisoners standing in line.

  “’Meat Wagon’ right?” Speaking up was Lee Chong, an Asian-American who was blind. “I can smell the dead body.”

  “Yeah, Lee, you called it,” said Tyra.

  “All I can smell is the exhaust from the truck,” said Juarez.

  “So who’s the one getting the ride in the hearse?” asked Chong.

  “One of the goons thought he had a shot at the batting title and went too far with a newbie,” said Barrett. “He died this morning in the infirmary.”

  Matt was standing nearby and could hear their conversation. He had a strong feeling about who it was that had died, but hoped he was wrong.

  “I think Dietz said his name was ‘Bunny’.”

  None of the prisoners that were talking seemed to recognize the name.

  “Where are they taking the body?”

  All the prisoners involved in the conversation were shocked to discover the source of the question.

  “Who just spoke?” asked Chong

  “The shithead I was telling you about… I’m sorry, I meant to say one of the newbies,” answered Barrett.

  No one stepped up to answer Matt’s question, until Tyra finally spoke up.

  “We made requests to bury our dead here in camp, but they turned us down. The vampires insist on burying the dead in the woods about two miles from here.”

  “Does anyone know why?” asked Matt.

  “Apparently the bloodsuckers can’t stand the smell of rotting cadavers,” answered Chong, “even if the body is buried. Can’t say I blame them. It’s hard for me to put up with the way Juarez smells even when he’s downwind from me…”

  Juarez pretended to be offended, and shouted, “Yeah, well, you may have to smell me, but I have to look at your ugly face, so that makes us even…”

  The main doors to the dairy farm flew open, and a dozen of the goons holding batons filed out and surrounded the line of prisoners.

  Spector was the last to emerge. He stood in the doorway, looking out to the line of prisoners like he was the king of the castle addressing his serfs.

  “Okay, juice boxes, most of you know the drill, and the rest of you should just follow along so we can all make the entire process run as smooth as possible. That would make me very proud… ”

  The interior of the building was very similar to a dairy-farming facility. There were hundreds of stalls with complex machinery that looked like it was meant to extract milk from a cow, however, what was being extracted was not milk, but blood.

  Matt was part of a s
ingle-file line of prisoners, who were led across the building floor and positioned in front of their own stall.

  Stepping into his pen, Matt took too long looking at the machinery and felt the tap of a baton to his backside.

  “You can daydream all you want once you’re wired up,” said the goon standing behind him. “Get in there. Now.”

  The goon shut the door behind him. He looked around and the last thing he discovered was a hook attached to the pen door. Apparently that was where he was supposed to hang his clothes before he wired himself up to be milked.

  Spector’s voice came over the building’s loudspeaker system. “Since we have some new juice boxes joining the party today, I will run through the procedures of your blood donation.”

  He looked around for Spector, but all Matt saw was a control center on a platform in the middle of the building manned by dozens of black-shirted goons.

  “Everyone is to strip, then begin hooking yourself up to the donor machine in your containment area. There are instructional cards posted on the walls above your donor machine. One of my men will come by to make sure you are properly hooked up. C’mon, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not make this into anything more than it has to be; the sooner you give two pints, the sooner we can all get out of here…”

  Matt stared at the stainless-steel, blood-donation machine. It had six connection pads, each attached to six long, twisty, plastic tubes that eventually flowed together and became a single thick, plastic tube, which then connected to the mouth of a steel container.

  The noise in the building helped camouflage the whirling noise coming from the first pad Matt held up for observation. But when he held it closer to his ear, he could hear the almost silent running of the extraction needle moving below the surface of the pad.

  He waved his finger directly over the middle of the pad, and almost immediately the tip of his finger was ripped up by a translucent spike whirling in every direction, like a weed whacker, as it tried penetrating the surface of his skin.

  The voice of one of the goons advancing toward his stall prompted Matt not to delay the inevitable, and he slapped the first donor pad to his right arm, exactly where a nurse would have stuck an intravenous needle before the takeover.