Saying Goodbye to the Sun

by David McAfee

  Without thinking I tossed the corpse aside, marveling even in my duress at how far it flew before crashing in a broken heap at the rear wheels of the truck.

  It had all happened so fast, in fact, that the engine on the motorcycle was still running. I heard it idling even though the bike lay on its side. The man must have put it in neutral just before I grabbed him. It took me a second to realize the rumbling of the bike’s exhaust offered an escape. I grabbed it, placing one hand on the handlebars and one on the bar behind the seat, with my back against the side.

  “Anna! Come on!” I yelled, not really sure why, especially given the fact that mere minutes ago I’d been ready to leave her behind. Something inside me wanted her to come. Something had shifted a little when I fed for the first time. I couldn’t really pick up on it then and I didn’t have time to examine it closely, already Kagan and Sanders were too close.

  It was a big bike. The side cover labeled it a Yamaha V-Max. I started to use my legs to walk the bike upright, which is the best way to pick up a big bike when you lay one down, but it wasn’t necessary. It lifted from the ground as easily and effortlessly as if I’d been lifting a bicycle. Overbalanced and unprepared, I nearly fell over, but I managed to catch myself. I swung my right leg over the seat, squeezed the clutch with my left hand, and kicked the bike into first with my left foot.

  “Come ON!” I yelled again, “Hurry up!”

  Anna sprang down from the side of the truck and landed lightly right next to the V-Max. In the rearview mirror, I saw Kagan and Sanders still gaining ground. Not seventy-five yards anymore but fifty, their faces twisted with rage at the sight of their prey about to escape. I felt the weight shift on the bike as Anna sat behind me, grabbing my shoulders and asking if I knew how to ride this thing. I didn’t answer; instead I let go of the clutch and twisted the throttle, a little too quickly.

  The bike lurched once, sputtered, and died.

  “Shit!” I said.

  “Shit!” Anna echoed.

  Behind me, I heard dry, twisted laughter that told me our pursuers had realized the engine died. As I squeezed the clutch again and pushed the bright red START button, I glanced in the mirror. Twenty-five yards away, Kagan and Sanders loomed. A few seconds, that’s all I had left.

  The starter whirred, and then the engine roared to life with a loud, low growl. I looked in the mirror. Fifteen yards now. Their faces painted with bloodlust.

  Don’t panic. I reminded myself, you know you won’t get another chance if you stall this thing again.

  Ten yards away, Kagan and Sanders probably knew it, too.

  I let the clutch out a little slower and eased into the throttle softer than before, and the bike moved. It moved! We were moving! Once assured of forward momentum, I cracked open the throttle, and the bike leaped forward like a racehorse from the starting gate. The front wheel lifted off the ground and I leaned over the handlebars to keep from flipping over.

  Anna yelled something, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as though caught by static energy. I heard a dry sizzle and Kagan’s pain-filled shout, then we were away. The front of the bike finally settled onto the asphalt and we sped off down the road in a roar of exhaust. A quick glance in the mirror showed Kagan lying on his back in the street while Carl Sanders watched us go, his fury evident in his glowing eyes. Kagan held something in his twitching hand that looked like a piece of fabric from Anna’s coat.

  Which is exactly what it was.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  Blood and Bachyir

  The trip from New York to Boston isn’t long, no more than four hours on a bad day. That night it seemed there was not another soul on the highway but us. When we saw a sign that read “Jct I-95”, we followed it, and before long we were speeding north along Interstate 95 into Connecticut, where we would switch to Intersate 84 into Massachusetts. It was a lonely ride for the most part; even the interstate was deserted. Probably a good thing, as the last thing I wanted was to see other people or, even worse, to be seen by them.

  The blood that covered the lower half of my face and upper portion of my shirt had stiffened and dried in the wind, creating a crackly coating over my chin and turning my shirt into cardboard. I needed to clean up. All I needed was for some State Trooper to come blazing out of concealment in a flash of blue and red lights and see me covered in dried blood, and that would be it. Well, for the Trooper, anyway.

  I wasn’t afraid of them anymore. I felt invincible. The tiny pangs of guilt that had tried so hard to be heard above my newfound immortality were losing the fight, and the ride north into Massachusetts was nothing short of exhilarating. The speedometer on my stolen V-Max read 107 mph, and I didn’t have a thought or care about anything so mundane as a helmet. The wind tugged at my hair and sent it billowing around my face. It felt wonderful.

  A tug on my shoulder forced my mind back to the present. Anna was pointing to a sign that said ‘Rest Area – Next Right.’

  “Pull in there,” she said, shouting to be heard above the wind.

  “Why? What do we need there?”

  “You need to clean up, you’re covered in blood.”

  Anna was right. I did need to clean up. When the exit ramp for the rest area came up I took it, albeit grudgingly. The place was deserted except for a few cars parked on the edges of the lot. Travelers too tired to continue their drive, yet either unable or unwilling to get a hotel, slept inside them. I passed them on my way to the restroom, watching them sleep, all of them blissfully unaware that the only thing separating them from their own deaths was a thin pane of automotive glass.

  I lingered next to a red Cavalier, staring at the woman dozing inside. It would be like opening a tin of sardines. I reached out to grab the handle but a something grabbed my shoulder. I turned, angry, and saw Anna shaking her head. The Bloodlust was strong, and I tried to pull free. The initial high from my first feeding had waned, leaving me like a junkie on his way down, and those annoying little voices in my head, the ones that spoke of my guilt, grew louder with every passing minute. I didn’t want to hear them; they said too many things I didn’t like. But I knew how to shut them up.

  Blood. Blood would fix everything.

  Anna held firm, her grip like steel. The message on her face was clear: I could either go along with her or she would drag me.

  As bad as I wanted to go to one of the cars and feed, I chalked it up as a defeat by a stronger being and went along, consoling myself with the thought that Anna had better not teach me too much. For her own sake, at least. She’d best keep some of the more dangerous shit to herself.

  I got to the men’s room and went in, and to my surprise Anna followed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Wash up and be quiet,” she replied, “We have to get out of here soon. Dawn is coming.”

  The implications of impending sunrise did not escape me. I turned on the water, now in a hurry to get cleaned up and be gone. After I washed the blood from my face, I took off my shirt and soaked it under the sink. If we’d still had the car, I would have at least had a change of clothes with me. But of course the car was lost in the woods somewhere behind us, probably leaking radiator fluid and oil into the topsoil.

  “Why did you stop me?” I asked as I scrubbed the blood out of my shirt under the lukewarm water. “We have time for one more bite.” And yes, I smiled when I said it, as though the whole thing were a game of sorts, a joke the two of us were playing. The guilty voices were getting louder, by God, and I needed to drown them.

  “Because I had to. We all feel invincible and insatiable after our first feeding, and want to run around killing everything we see.”

  I could relate to that.

  “If left unchecked,” she continued, “a new Bachyir can kill many humans in their first night. Not only is that counterproductive to concealing our existence, but once such a thing begins, it cannot be stopped.”

  “What do you mean it can’t be stopped? Ever?”

/>   “Shut up and listen. A vampire who rampages in such a way will never be sated; he or she will continue to devour as many people as possible. At that point their only purpose or want is to get from one kill to the next. They are little more than animals, and must be put down swiftly to keep them from doing immeasurable damage.”

  Oh, so that was why she’d stopped me. I was almost grateful. Almost.

  “Control of the Hunger is the first thing we all must learn. Without control, a new vampire would not last more than a few nights. Since my restored status hinges upon you living long enough to do your job, I am not going to let you run off and devour everything in sight. You have fed already, and that should sustain you for the next three or four days. Longer, if you conserve your energy.”

  I finished washing in silence. The water pouring from the tap was the only sound in the men’s room. When I finished, I put my shirt back on and examined myself in the mirror. The blood hadn’t come completely out, of course, but it was faded enough so few would notice it, especially at night.

  “Now,” Anna continued, “let’s go find a place to spend the day before the dawn makes feeding a moot point.”

  As we left the men’s room, another man was walking in. He looked at the pair of us and smiled lasciviously. I tensed as the Hunger rose yet again, longing for blood, for life. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he feel his own death less than two feet away? Probably not, but if he winked – and I thought he just might – I was going to feed again, Anna and her prophecies of doom be damned.

  Anna had her own ideas, and she stuck her leg out just enough so that the man tripped on it and fell flat on his face. He didn’t even have time to get his hands up to block, and I heard a sickening crunch as the bridge of his nose cracked. Anna chuckled, and the stranger growled in defiance. He shot to his feet, anger blazing in his eyes and blood on his face.

  The smell of his blood reached me immediately, and I felt my knees go weak with hunger. The more I smelled, the more I wanted. My teeth grew as he stomped after us. To any normal person, he would have been very dangerous in his enraged state.

  For one thing, he was big. At least six–three and two-thirty. Underneath his “Live to Ride” T-shirt he had a barrel of a chest and arms that looked like small trees. His face was mostly covered by a shaggy, medium length beard that surrounded reddish cheeks and a short, pudgy nose. His beetle eyes glared at us from underneath bushy brows of the same rusty brown color as his hair, which he pulled back into a ponytail that went halfway down his back. On top of his head he wore a Harley Davidson bandana, possibly to hide the fact that his hairline was over the bend and coming into the home stretch.

  To summarize, he was big, he looked mean, and he was pretty damn mad. A week before I would have been afraid. That night, however, I wanted him to start trouble. He looked like he would have a great deal of blood in him.

  I never got my chance. Disregarding her earlier admonition to hurry, Anna turned and squared herself against the brutish biker. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about getting violent with women, because he walked right up to her.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?” He raised his hand to backhand her a good one.

  Anna said nothing, and when he swung, a slow and lumbering blow that nonetheless would have broken her jaw had it connected, Anna’s right hand shot straight out and caught his arm in mid swing. She grasped him by the wrist and spun into him, twisting her body – and his wrist – in a tight circle. With a yelp of surprise and pain, he spun with her and barely managed to avoid having his wrist broken in the process. Anna shifted her weight and bent at the hip, bringing the man up and over her back by his nearly broken arm and slammed his back into the pavement so hard I heard a low whooooosh as the air left his lungs.

  While he lay stunned and motionless she let go of his wrist and sat on his chest, putting one of her hands on either side of his head and holding it in place. She then lowered her face to within inches of his and stared down at him. I saw the slight glimmer of light from her fangs and looked around to make sure no one else could see them. Verifying the coast was clear, I returned my attention to the spectacle a few feet away.

  When the man’s eyes cleared and he started to regain his composure, Anna smiled, a sight so unnerving that even I felt like screaming and running. The guy on the ground couldn’t seem to look away, no matter how much he might want to. Anna’s iron grip held him in place, forcing him to look at her sharp teeth and smell the blood on her breath.

  He closed his eyes, and Anna began to squeeze. She didn’t look like she was straining at all, but the man’s eyes popped open and he sucked in a breath which I am sure was marked for a scream. Anna would have none of it, and she squeezed even harder.

  “Scream and I will pop your head like a pimple,” she promised. “Your brain matter will paint the sidewalk behind you and someone almost as unlucky as you will have to come and scrape it off.”

  He quieted in an instant. The fear and pain in his eyes could be seen from where I stood about ten feet away. He must have known, as I did, that she could and would carry out her threat. The idea of watching his head pop like a zit intrigued me. Some deep, dark part of me secretly hoped he would do something to make her do it. Maybe I could even have some of his blood.

  “I will tell you who I am, since you asked,” Anna said. “I am the last person you want to piss off, and now I own you. You are my pet. My dog. Say it. Tell me whose dog you are.”

  “Yours,” he whispered, a tear creeping from his eye.

  He whimpered a little, and his voice cracked. I thought he would start sobbing soon. A dark wet patch spread across the crotch of his jeans.

  I smiled to myself. Well, he was on his way to the bathroom, after all.

  “That’s right,” Anna said. “You’re my dog. And you’re a good dog, aren’t you? And like a good dog, you want to please me, don’t you?”

  He nodded, tears streaming freely from the corners of his eyes and disappearing into his rusty beard.

  “Good. Let’s hear you bark, and you had better do it well, or you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  He tried, I’ll give him that. He let out a few pitiful yips.

  “Louder,” Anna scolded, “I can’t hear you.” She squeezed harder.

  “Woof...please...woof!”

  Pathetic. I figured the pain of having the sides of his head pushed inward was just too much, and he was losing consciousness. Anna had made her point: don’t fuck with her. I turned and got ready to go, but then I heard a crack. It was followed immediately by another. Then I heard a wet, smacking sound. I whirled back and saw Anna pushing the sides of the man’s head in. His gray matter splattered all over the sidewalk behind him, just as Anna had promised.

  His right leg twitched several times. Anna got to her feet, looking coolly down at the body and shaking her head.

  “That wasn’t good enough,” was all she said, giving me a look as hard as a steel door. With that, she went back into the men’s room to clean up, leaving me staring after her in a mixture of disgust, fear, and yes, even a little admiration. She had made her point, all right. To the dead biker and to me.

  But at least I wasn’t hungry anymore.

  ***

  Later, as Anna and I sat in the basement apartment of a home owned by one of the many Bachyir contacts all around the country, I almost asked her why she killed the biker at the rest stop. I left the question unasked, however, as I realized with growing dismay that I really didn’t care.

  The basement was furnished with everything a vampire would need to wait out the day. Five simple beds dotted the floor, just cots, really. A double sink sat in the corner next to a large trunk full of clothes. The whole place smelled a bit musty, but it was clean, dry, and didn’t have a single window. Perfect.

  The owner of the house was a short, slight, balding man who groveled and fawned over Anna as though she were a princess. He offered to have somethin
g brought for us. It took a second for me to realize what he meant. Anna thanked him and told him we’d both fed recently, and would require no sustenance.

  I went to the sink and turned on the cold water, meaning to wash my face, but the reflection in the mirror caused me to jump. I almost didn’t recognize the pale, tired man who stared back at me. My hair stuck out at a dozen crazy angles, and the hollows under my eyes had grown dark, like I hadn’t slept in days. A few spots of blood dotted my face and neck. I must have missed them at the rest stop. Overall, my face looked gaunt. Hollow. My lips, once full and pink, had thinned and faded to a dull, dusky gray. My skin had gone so pale as to be almost translucent. In several places I noted purple veins hiding just under the surface. They weren’t obvious, and I doubted anyone who didn’t know me would notice them. But I knew they were there.

  The biggest shock, however, was my eyes. They had always been a grayish blue before, but as I stared at them in the mirror they looked much, much darker. Almost completely black. I could just barely make out the smaller circle of the pupil in the center of the iris. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the face was still there. Mine but not mine.

  “What is happening to me?” I wondered aloud.

  “You are changing, Vincent,” Anna replied. She made it sound like it should have been obvious.

  “Gee, thanks for the tip,” I said, rubbing my face with a washcloth. “Good thing you’re here, I never would have figured that out on my own.”

  Anna smiled, looking positively superior in the dim light of the basement. “Do you know why we feed on blood, Vincent?”

  I didn’t bother to answer.

  “It’s not so much the blood we seek, though we do need it. We metabolize it for energy much as humans metabolize food. However, that is only a secondary need. What we really need is the Life that flows within the blood, what humans call the soul. Why do you think that is?