"Is anybody there?"
"There...there...there..." the distant cave walls replied in Hank's voice.
The light was weakening now, the pinpoint of it shrinking slowly. Hank began to pick up speed, stepping on an occasional sharp rock, cringing, and moving on, slipping on his own blood as he went. What if that light was the only way out. He remembered the crack of light he saw when he first awoke. No. Somehow, he knew that wasn't safe. Somehow, he knew he had to move forward. Had to get to that solitary glow up ahead. It was the only way.
The closer he walked, the more treacherous the terrain became. The rocks grew much larger the further he came. He found himself having to climb them and crawl across to avoid the sharp hanging points above. The rough surface scraping against his naked flesh. And still the glow ahead continued to fade. He was making his way, elbows and knees, across one of the rocks when the running water stopped, a deafening silence left in its wake.
Then came the screeching.
It was one of them. One of the ancestors. The high-pitched shriek echoed from behind him growing closer. Hank quickened his pace, scraping his knees and arms against the slick stone. Beyond the large rock was a clearing. He started to run. Another throaty wail spread across the cavern walls and Hank's foot splashed into a small hole and became caught, sending his body forward toward the rocky ground below and twisting his ankle beyond where it should turn. His body met the ground painfully. He reached back to pull his foot loose when he saw the dark outline of his pursuer. A pair of shimmering burgundy irises floated in the air, growing closer with increasing speed. The outline of the creature was black on lighter black like a poorly inserted special effect in an old movie.
Hank freed his bloody twisted ankle from the rocky hole and immediately put his weight on it. He almost fell over, his body becoming faint and nauseated with the sharpness of the pain. Another echoing screech from behind brought him to full awareness and he pushed past the pain. Even though he knew he was getting closer, the glow was still shrinking. He'd lost his chance.
Hank's feet went out from under him. His face slapped against the rock with a jarring crack. The darkness of the cave seemed to swim around him. Cool hands gripped his legs as clammy, lumpy flesh and soft coarse hair slid against his back. A chill of terror and a wave of excitement fought for dominance as he realized what was rubbing against him. Breasts. Icy breath brushed the back of his neck, sending a strong scent of mold and dead blood to his nose. He opened his eyes. The glow was still there, but disappearing fast. He reached his arm out toward it and felt only moist, cold air. A hand as clammy and cool as the rest of the thing gripped Hank's forehead and sharp fire pierced into his neck, sending his body into convulsions and blurring his vision. He could feel the fire spreading through his veins and burning his very soul. The glow was almost gone now. His only hope just out of reach…
* * *
Awaken, child.
It hadn't been a voice, not an audible one. It was in Hank's head. Unfamiliar. Female. Husky, yet sultry. He opened his eyes. Blinking several times, he squinted hard from the light of the sun. He lay naked in a field painted yellow with dandelions. Sitting up, he noticed the land was equally covered in them as far as the eye could see. Thin white wispy seeds floated on the air all around him as he got to his feet. In an altogether different way than the cave, it was like a dream.
A warm joy spread through Hank's every pore as he reached out with his hands and cupped some of the seeds. They were soft and willowy. He put the backs of his palms to his chin and blew the seeds into the air. The sky sparkled blue like sunlight reflecting off of the ocean.
That was when he saw her. She was coming up a distant hill, wearing tight jeans and a western style button up shirt, her dark hair blowing in the wind. She waved to him and he waved back, hesitating at first. Her smile outshone the sun, hitting Hank like a sledge hammer straight to his gut. It wasn't real. Diana? Couldn't be. Unless he was... She was almost close enough to reach out and touch now. Her presence brought the familiar scent of sweet spice and vanilla. Without words she embraced him immediately, her arms clutching him with eager strength. She began to sob into his chest.
Hank felt his very being melt into pure emotion. Warm tears streamed down his face, his body shaking as he squeezed hers in return.
"Wha-what's happening?" he said. "How is this h-happening?" His voice cracked as he bumbled out his words.
Her only answer was to hold him tighter. She nuzzled her mouth gently against his neck. Hank's eyes squeezed shut in return. Soft kisses touched his chest and moved up his collar bone. Diana's hands pressed hard into Hank's back and he felt himself stiffen against her. The wetness of her tongue grazed against the side of his neck. How was this real?
A loud screech called out from the distance and everything changed. The sunlight extinguished in utter darkness. Diana's fingers broke the skin of Hank's back, clawing into him. Her mouth opened and two sharp fangs tore into his neck. He was down on the ground then, struggling to get away, but her hold on him was too strong and the pain sharpened when he tried to move.
That voice came back, whispering in his head.
Don't fight it, Hank. Many would kill for this chance to be with the one they love. Just one. More. Time.
But it isn't her, his voice replied internally.
Should it matter if it's truly her or not? It's your most desperate desire. To be with the one you love and leave behind the miserable life you've lived without her.
No. Not anymore. It's impossible. There's too much I still need to do.
Diana's head lifted then, red bangs tossing over her head in slow motion, blood dripping from her mouth. She was Rachel now. Her green eyes turned a dark, shimmering burgundy and her shape and skin began to morph even more. The fangs grew longer than any vampire's Hank had seen before. Her hair turned dark again and grew longer than Diana's had been. Her face thinned into an almost perfect oval. Somehow as her body changed, he knew that this was the voice he had heard in his head. As if to confirm this the vampire smiled and her voice filled Hank's head again.
Good. You are closer to accepting your true destiny than I had expected. Her eyes locked onto his.
There is no such thing as destiny. He struggled to move, but she pinned his arms to the ground.
Oh, but you're wrong. Every aspect of matter has a trajectory it follows beyond its control. From the largest clusters of galaxies to the smallest element of measurement. Humans, vampires, we're all merely objects made up of smaller elements and yet we are lesser elements of yet another larger object. Your destiny is real and it will only be a matter of time before you live it regardless of whether you accept it to be true.
Hank stopped struggling and relaxed his arms. Right...and this destiny, just what exactly is it?
If I told it to you in its entirety, you would refuse it and delay its arrival.
That sounds like something I would do. Hank grinned up at the creature. So, where am I? Why am I here? Did I die?
Your destiny has not transcended death just yet. You are in a place of waiting. Before long you will go back into the physical realm. Toby is in danger. You will have a limited amount of time to make sure he finds safety. You will entrust my beloved, Ishan, to take care of this. It is the only way to save your son. She released Hanks wrists and leaned forward, straddling him still, and whispered into his ear. "But first you will see a glimpse of what you have asked for."
Hank's body convulsed as the world around him, the vampire, the cave, all disappeared. Images enveloped him. He didn't just see them, he experienced them. Darkness. War, bloodshed, destruction. He saw the Stratosphere tower falling, its top shattering like a crystal ball. He saw what had to be hundreds of thousands of men and women rioting in the streets, fighting the Imperial soldiers, some managing to overthrow them while others failed. Ancestor vampires flew through the air with soldiers hanging from their teeth. Women and children were slaughtered. Shops exploded, roads were cratered, piles of bodies fi
lled their oversized potholes. And in the middle of it all he saw himself...fighting alongside the rest of them. His face was tight with fury, irises a deep crimson, fangs extending from his mouth.
Chapter 13
The Sleeper Awakes
When George Nelson woke from the darkness he immediately knew something was wrong. His sense of time for one thing. But there was something else much more concrete. Through a haze of blurry vision he could make out the white walls and the suspended television set. His view was angled as he lay in what appeared to be a hospital bed. The rhythmic beeping to his upper right-hand side confirmed that he was indeed hospitalized.
He looked out the window. Waving in the wind with reckless abandon flew an American flag. At first he thought his sense of color hadn't yet returned. But he remembered the streaking flashes of color from the TV. As he puzzled over this the flag straightened from a great gust of wind. Not only were the stripes of the flag indeed black and white, but there was only a single white star clothed in black.
Movement from the foot of the bed caught his attention. George attempted to raise his head to see what it was. A man sat in a chair in front of the bed, sipping from the straw of a white Styrofoam cup and laughing as he watched the TV. He wore a long white coat and the top of his head was bald surrounded by a mane of short, bright red hair. George felt somehow disrespected by his presence. He cleared his throat to attempt to speak. The noise of the TV drowned out the sound of it. His voice was hoarse as though he had been screaming. Even the slightest intonation felt like his vocal chords were tearing.
A strange gurgling noise erupted from George as he attempted to say something. The man sitting in the chair started at once and jumped from his chair. When he'd looked to the door and saw no one, he scanned the rest of the room until there was nowhere else to look but the bed. A wave of shock hit him when his eyes found George's face.
"Well, I'll be damned to Necropolis," the man said. He yelled for a nurse and proceeded to examine the readouts on the screen of the machine next to the bed. A moment later a burly, female nurse with a large, dark mole on her right cheekbone entered the room and yelped when she saw George. Before long the room was full of doctors and nurses. Some of them tried to communicate with him while others stood marveling and discussing his state of health.
As the weeks progressed he was given speech therapy and began improving rapidly. All the while he learned bits and pieces of the current state of affairs from watching TV. Eventually he was told it was unknown just how long he had been in the coma, but he'd already figured that out. From television George learned from the date that it had been 21 years.
The first Sunday morning after he awakened brought a startling revelation as well. He was woken by a short, heavily made-up nurse with a huge smile as plastic as the name tag at her breast. Her brown helmet of chemically stiffened hair bounced slightly as she rolled a wheelchair by the side of his bed. She gave off an aura of overwhelming joy as she walked to the window and slid the curtains open, letting the sunlight saturate the room.
"Mr. Nelson, today is your lucky day," she said with that glassy smile. "Today you get to go to church."
Until then George had been tense, but the thought of some fellowship with other Christians was quite refreshing. Maybe that would help him to deal with some of the strangeness of his ordeal. He smiled back at the nurse.
"Sounds good. Will be nice to spend some time worshipping the Lord," he said.
The nurse made a high squeak in agreement and helped him into his chair. One thing George had realized from watching TV, a very monumental change had occurred in the American government. It seemed that Christianity was now the official religion of the country. He was a little curious about how that would work with the sheer number of people of other faiths. Were they still allowed to worship their gods? The moment he could see inside the chapel he saw he had been wrong in his assumptions.
Dead wrong.
As the podium in the open doorway came into view, in place of Jesus on his cross, stood the image of a man with that same black and white flag furled behind him. The figure in the image was Joseph Caesar. George could have recognized him anywhere. Before his accident, George had worked for Joseph. Back then Caesar was starting a revolution. He was originally a Pastor from southern Kentucky who believed he'd been shown a vision from God. Or so he led his followers to believe.
It was all coming back to George. That last night before the darkness, the night of the accident he had found out the truth about Joseph. Being pushed forward into that awful chapel in a wheelchair and surrounded by smiling faces filled with zeal, George knew he had to force back the reaction of horror within him. It took so much at first but once the services began, he found himself in awe of what he was witnessing.
The pastor came out dressed in a long white robe, a thick book at his side. It looked like the bible but something about it was wrong. Aside from the fact that it was proportionately thicker than the good book there was something else that George couldn't quite place at the time. The pastor greeted the congregation with a genuine enthusiasm. The room erupted with reply. Once everyone was quiet again he began to speak.
"Brothers and sisters, today we're going to talk about revival. About second chances. You see, today we have been blessed with a second chance thanks to our loving lord and god, Emperor Caesar."
George's throat went dry and his vision sharpened at once. Emperor?
"With us today is a man who has risen from the ashes of death, from the clutches of the devil, and from the mouth of the lion's den." The man pointed at George with his outstretched arm. "I want you all to welcome Brother Nelson back to the world. Amen to Caesar!"
The crowd erupted with "hallelujahs" and "amens." George managed a miserable smile as the entire congregation stood while still applauding, their various faces looking at him with tenderness. When it was finally over everyone sat down and the pastor continued.
"So, now that brings me back to today’s sermon. You see brothers and sisters, we live a rich and wonderful life in this nation. We have been given a second chance by our lord and true savior. He brought our mighty Empire up from the ashes of that pitiful, unclean thing it was before. He brought us out from the clutches of the pharaoh’s of democracy that held its people as slaves.
"Only, unlike the Pharaoh of Egypt, these evil men and women enslaved us to our sins! Nay, they encouraged us to sin beyond our own worldly desires. And like brave Moses, the Second Son came and parted the waters of secularism and brought us through to the other side. He stood up before the corruption and said, 'Let my people go.'" The pastor's hand pounded into the pulpit.
A silence spread over the congregation as an air of united confidence pulsed from everyone else in the room.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our revival. The greatest revival of all. By the blaze of rifles our lord gave us eternal life with him!"
With that, the crowd roared as George watched in amazement.
As the nurse helped George back into his bed he smiled at her and thanked her for taking him and he had meant it. Though his gratitude wasn't likely what she thought it was for. When she was gone, he exhaled all the pressure he'd been holding back for the past several hours. It occurred to him to wonder what else had changed since the accident. He later regretted ever wondering at all.
It became time for George to start physical therapy and he took to it dreadfully at first. But over time the old movements and muscle tone came back to him with great effort. Each day he pushed himself harder compelled by a need to learn as much as he could. All the while he had kept the question of where his brother Bill was and why he hadn't visited. George knew it wasn't likely to be a pleasant discovery when he did find out, but he needed to know. The staff of the hospital were no help either as the records prior to the incorporation of the Empire had been destroyed and the staff then newly appointed.
As the weeks went by, George was soon walking on his own two feet again. Every Sunday he went to
church and learned everything he could about Caesar and his religion. He learned in time that it was mandatory for every able body to go to church the first and third Sunday of every month. He learned that many people fled when the Empire had taken control. He learned that those who openly disbelieved in Caesar's religion or spoke against the Empire were put to death.
There was also a part he couldn't understand about that. When people spoke of how these "Penitents" were put to death they spoke of a city called Necropolis. They talked about demons. Demons drunk on the blood of the sinful. When George heard these words his mind tried to fit a reasonable explanation to the puzzle. All he could think of was maybe they were speaking figuratively. He knew from news reports there really was a city called Necropolis. He also knew that prisoners were transported there weekly. He knew that to be sent there was a death sentence of some kind. But how, he couldn't be sure. It was almost as strange as what he'd uncovered about Joseph before his accident.
Most days George woke up feeling rather lonely. And the world he'd awakened to was no comfort. Everything seemed tainted. Everyone he spoke with, everything he saw on TV. But when he was discharged from the hospital he saw just how much things had changed.
What he'd seen on TV didn't begin to do it justice.
Chapter 14
Nothing as it Seems
Now surrounded by darkness, Hank touched his mouth where he'd seen the fangs in the vision. Only after drinking the blood of a human vampire had they appeared before. Would he become a killer of human vampires or a human vampire himself? Or was it all just a hallucination? After all, he was dead, wasn't he? The Emperor had hit the kill switch. All this crazy dreaming about the future. Did he even have a future?
He was aware that he could no longer move. That everything around him seemed to have been swallowed by darkness. The vampire, the vision, even his own body. All that was left were his own thoughts. Toby's face filled his mind's eye. Would the Emperor send that murderer after his boy? Was there any hope now? If he’d had a voice to use, Hank would have been screaming from the torture of helplessness. In his idle state he pictured the vampire ripping apart his son limb from limb. Or was this a vision too?
Empire of Blood (Book 2): Fading In Darkness Page 8
