Undead to the World

by DD Barant

  “Found me,” he murmurs. His eyes are slits, barely open. “So happy you found me. Everything … fine now.”

  “If that’s his blood, he’s in shock,” Charlie says. “I’m calling nine-one-one—”

  “No, please,” Jimmy says. His voice is so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. “No ambulance. Just need … just need—”

  “What? What do you need, Jimmy?”

  His eyes snap open. They look as if every capillary in them has exploded; the whites are now bloodred. He opens his mouth wide, and I can see two long, very sharp fangs jutting from under his pale lips.

  “Just need a drink,” he says.

  SIX

  I have Charlie to thank for my life. He grabs me by the collar and yanks me backward at the same instant that Jimmy lunges forward, and I go sprawling down the aisle on my butt. I don’t have a real clear view of what happens next, but I can see the only light source in the room, Charlie’s cell phone, go spinning wildly into the air. I hear a loud smack followed immediately by a thud, and then I’m in the dark.

  With a vampire.

  I scramble to my feet. “Charlie!”

  “Get outside!” he shouts.

  Outside. Sunlight. Right. I turn around and stumble toward the door, knowing that’s our best chance. Strangely, every instinct I have is screaming for me to turn around and fight, but I know that’s suicide. Charlie’s got size, muscle, and Army Ranger training—I’ve got a smart mouth and a bad attitude. He stands a much better chance of holding off an undead shopkeeper than I do, and once I’m outside I’ll have the advantage—

  Uh-huh. So why am I suddenly running the wrong way?

  Because, apparently, sometimes doing the unexpected is the best strategy. Even when it’s stupid. I mean, running full tilt toward a supernatural monster is bad, but doing so in the dark borders on the insane—in fact, it’s so close to the border there’s a little guardhouse there, with a full-time customs officer and a duty-free shop where you can get straitjackets at a killer discount.

  My foot skids on the floor, and I go crashing to the ground again. Jace Valchek to the rescue, armed only with her deadly wit and astounding pratfall skills … but a second later someone trips over me, and by the disgruntled unf! I hear on impact, it’s Charlie. Vampires don’t generally unf, I don’t think.

  All of which sounds terrible, except immediately after the unf there’s a scream, coming from behind me. Jimmy must have leaped for Charlie’s throat, except Charlie—thanks to me—was no longer there, putting newbie neckbiter Jimmy in a much longer leap than he was expecting. His touchdown point seems to have been the patch of sunlight coming in through the open backdoor—but from the sounds of Chinese cursing that follow, I guess he didn’t get a fatal dose.

  And now he’s between us and the exit.

  “Head for the front,” Charlie whispers, and then he’s gone. For a big man, he can move pretty fast—not to mention quietly.

  I’m alone again.

  I understand why Charlie took off like that—our chances are better if we split up, and if we try to take Jimmy on head-to-head he’ll probably overpower us—but for a second I feel kind of abandoned. I feel—

  Zhang, hovering in midair, wearing a black three-piece suit. His skull glowing a faint green through his translucent flesh.

  What?

  I shake my head. Some kind of vivid hallucination? No. Not a hallucination. Something more familiar …

  I don’t have time to think about it, so I don’t. I make a beeline for the swinging doors that lead out to the retail area, not bothering with subtlety; I just put my head down and charge right through.

  This time I luck out and don’t crash into anything, as the door opens onto the main aisle of the store. I skid to a stop before I smack into the plate-glass windows at the front, and whirl around to make sure Zhang isn’t right behind me. Somehow, it’s hard to think of him as “Jimmy” anymore.

  Charlie darts through a moment later. Late afternoon sunshine is streaming through the windows, and we stand as close to them as we can. In the dim shadows at the back of the store, I can see the double doors swinging back and forth, squeaking softly as they slowly lose their momentum. I’ve heard that squeak a hundred times before while I was shopping, but right now it’s the eeriest, creepiest sound in the world.

  And then one of the doors stops on the backswing.

  It’s too far away and too dark to see, but I know four fingers must be clutching the edge of that door. Four pale fingers, stained with their own blood. I wonder how long Zhang was in there, how long ago he was bitten. From his condition, I’m guessing I was going to be his first meal as a creature of the night. I might still be.

  “We need to get out of here,” Charlie whispers.

  “You think?” I whisper back.

  “I remember you,” Zhang croaks. “You. Bloodhound.”

  I’m standing in bright sunshine, but it feels like someone just slid an icicle down my spine. Zhang still sounds like he has the world’s worst sore throat, but that’s not all that’s changed. His diction, his accent is different; it’s like he’s an entirely new person. And the venom in his voice—he’s way past angry, or even enraged.

  Hatred. That’s what I hear. Pure, black hatred.

  Part of me wants to call back, to say Of course you remember me—I’ve known you for years. I’m the one who always makes bad jokes about your zucchini. I’m the one who makes sure you stock those vegetarian TV dinners and then complain about how bad they are. I’m Jace.

  But I don’t. Because part of me remembers him, too.

  The person I remember didn’t have a first name—just Mr. Zhang. He didn’t own a grocery store and he didn’t wear plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up and I never joked with him about produce. Mr. Zhang was smooth and cold and powerful, and I’m pretty sure he sent me to hell once.

  So I don’t say anything. Because I’m also pretty sure he’d love to send me there again.

  “Time to go,” I say. There’s a steam cleaner standing by the front door that you can rent by the hour or the day, and I pick it up. Make sure I’ve got a good grip on the handle.

  “Jace,” Charlie says. “What are you—”

  “Hammer time,” I say, which is a lame early nineties reference as well as a pun on an Olympic event, but I don’t have time to explain either because I’m spinning around in a circle while holding onto the steam cleaner with both arms extended and then letting go.

  SMASH!

  We leap through the shattered window. By some utterly amazing piece of luck, absolutely no one’s on the street to see us do this.

  We don’t stop running until we hit the town square. Then we slow to a trot, try to ignore the few stares we get, and stroll at a not-too-hasty-but-definitely-determined rate back to my place.

  * * *

  “That went well,” Charlie says.

  “Oh, absolutely. What was your favorite part? I can’t choose—there were just so many.”

  “Well, tripping over you in the dark while being attacked by a bloodthirsty monster is in my top three.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then there’s the part where the guy I’ve been buying breakfast cereal from for the past couple of years tries to turn me into a protein shake.”

  “Also a contender.”

  “And let’s not forget the whole breaking out of a locked store and bolting away like—like—”

  “Small children running from a clown? Japanese extras being chased by a guy in a lizard suit? Panic-stricken penguins fleeing from a crazed nun?”

  He stops his pacing and studies me for a second. “You know, I may have to rethink the whole you’re-not-crazy thing.”

  “I thought a little nuttiness might help derail you.”

  “Derail me? Why would you want to derail me?”

  “Because until about ten minutes ago, you were the biggest bad-ass in town. Now we’re hiding from the guy that sells us toilet paper. It’s kind of a shock to
the system.”

  He abruptly sits down on the couch. “Yeah. I guess. I mean—goddammit, that guy was a vampire!”

  “Pretty much.”

  I watch him carefully. Me, I’ve lived with crazy for a while, so I’m sort of used to it; but a regular guy like Charlie, whose beliefs and values sit firmly on a foundation of stable assumptions about the world, isn’t used to this sort of thing. He’s just found out what he thought was bedrock is in fact quicksand, and he’s struggling to keep from going under.

  He shakes his head. “Up until now, I thought I was handling this pretty well. Evil cults, messages from other dimensions … but—but that guy was a goddamn vampire!”

  “What gave it away? The blood-filled eyeballs, the overbite from hell, or the instant sunburn?”

  Charlie glares at me. “I’ve never run from a fight in my life. Never. I tried to fight him. But it was like—like he was a robot, almost. Rubber over steel. Soft on the outside, but unbreakable underneath. Nothing I threw at him fazed him. And he was so fast … fast, and strong, and impossible to hurt. It’s as if he were—like he was—”

  “A goddamn vampire?”

  “I need a drink.”

  “I need a distillery. But we’ll both have to settle for this.” I grab a purple teddy bear from where it sits on the mantel and hand it to him.

  “Thanks,” he says wearily, “but I think I’m beyond being comforted by a stuffed animal.”

  “That’s because you’re not doing it right.” I reach over and unscrew the bear’s head, revealing a bottle sticking up from its neck like a glass spinal column. “You like scotch, right?”

  “At this point, I like paint thinner.” He lifts the bear and takes a slug, then considers the headless body in his hand. “Hey. That’s pretty good.”

  “That’s why it’s stashed inside a plush toy. If I ever get burglarized, I want to be able to sit here and console myself with some quality booze. Now gimme—can’t you tell he’s a Share Bear?”

  He passes it back to me and I take a pull. “Okay. Obviously, we need a plan.”

  “How about we sit here and drink until we pass out? That way, when he shows up after dark to drain us, we kill him with alcohol poisoning.”

  “Mmmmm—no. Unless we’re drinking fermented garlic, I don’t think that’s gonna work. And the only source of garlic in town has just become inaccessable, anyway.”

  “We need to go back there, Jace. We can’t let that thing kill or bite anyone—”

  My phone chimes. I used to have a ringtone that played the theme music from The Bloodhound Files, but after my stay in the State Home for the Sanity Challenged I changed it to something a little less obsessy: Bauhaus’s cheery little number “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.”

  I pull out my phone, check the number. I don’t recognize it, but it’s local. I don’t answer, though, just stare at the phone in my hand. Galahad whines.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” Charlie asks.

  I should, but I don’t want to. I have the sudden, overwhelming feeling that it’s going to be Zhang. Hello, Jace. I just thought I’d let you know that I’m going to be paying you a visit tonight. And after that, you and I will be together for a long, long time.…

  I hit the TALK button and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Jace Valchek?” I don’t immediately recognize the voice, but it sounds naggingly familiar—like getting a call from someone you haven’t talked to in years.

  “Speaking. Who’s this?”

  “You don’t know me, Ms. Valchek, but please don’t hang up—I’m not a telephone solicitor. I’m calling from a bed-and-breakfast in Thropirelem, and I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to meet with me.”

  “About what?”

  “About certain events that are happening in your town. Unusual, even distressing events.”

  He sounds educated, confident, friendly without being overly familiar. Not a salesman—someone in authority. Somebody used to telling people what to do and having them obey.

  “Can you be … a little more specific?”

  “Not over the phone. But I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry; I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is David Cassiar.”

  Cassiar. Once again, I have the overwhelming feeling that I should know him—that I do know him, or at least who he is. “That name—I’ve heard it before.”

  “I have a certain reputation that surrounds me, but I assure you it’s not deserved. Meet with me in person and you can see for yourself.”

  Now what? He sounds like he might have some answers—or at least be aware of what’s going on—but I don’t want him knowing where I live; I don’t even want to be alone with him. “Okay, but it’s got to be someplace public.”

  “How about a restaurant? I saw a diner on my way into town.”

  “Yeah, okay. When?”

  “Let’s say … eight o’clock?”

  “Fine. I’ll see you there.”

  I hit the OFF button, then stand there looking at my phone like maybe it’ll tell me more if I wait long enough.

  “Who was that?” Charlie asks.

  “Some guy named David Cassiar. Says he knows about what’s happening, wants to get together to talk about it. Supposed to meet him at the diner tonight.”

  “Jace, the only people who know about this are either bad guys or in another dimension. Guess which one he has to be?”

  “I know, I know. But we’re meeting in public, and I’ve got you as my ace in the hole. Besides, I don’t want to be trapped at home after dark.”

  “Why not? We could barricade the doors and windows—I think I could make this place pretty defensible, actually. And don’t vampires have to have an invitation to enter a house?”

  I grab the bear from him and take another swig, then screw the head back on. “Maybe, maybe not. We can’t take for granted that it works exactly like the movies—and even if it does, which movies? They all seem to play with the rules. Not that it matters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter how defensible a place is, if it also happens to be on fire.”

  “Good point.”

  “Our best shot is to go on the offensive. Go back to Lucky Foods with some wooden stakes, whatever garlic I’ve got in my spice drawer, and maybe an axe. Chopping Zhang’s head off should definitely slow him down.”

  Charlie nods slowly. “I’m with you. We prepare, we arm ourselves, we go back in. But before we do—you have any idea what Zhang meant when he said he remembered you?”

  I think back to that moment. The image of Zhang hanging in the air, bones glowing through his flesh, comes back to me so vividly I almost gasp.

  “No,” I say carefully. “No, I don’t.”

  “He called you Bloodhound, too.”

  “Everybody in town knows about my obsession, Charlie. I think he was just trying to freak me out. Or maybe that was vampire humor.”

  “If you say so.…”

  * * *

  There’s a major flaw in our plan, of course. The window I smashed doesn’t go unnoticed for long, and by the time we arrive with a bulging duffel bag slung over Charlie’s shoulder, Sheriff Stoker is there, too.

  “Jace. Charlie,” he says. Yellow crime scene tape is already strung across the window. “Looks like we’ve got a regular crime wave happening.”

  “Hope nobody got hurt this time,” I say.

  “Just a steam cleaner.” Stoker points to the machine lying on the sidewalk surrounded by shards of glass. “Funny thing is, it looks like this was pitched through the window from the inside.”

  “Ah, the wily steam cleaner,” I say. “I’ve heard no prison can hold them.”

  “I’d say they broke in through the back,” continues Stoker, “but the security gate was down and locked.”

  “Really?” Charlie says. “That’s … unusual.”

  “That it is. I�
�d like to ask Jimmy Zhang about it, but nobody can reach him.”

  “What about his truck?” I ask. “I mean, has anybody seen it?”

  “Well, it’s not here. That’s about all I know at the moment.”

  Sheriff Stoker regards both of us calmly. A little too calmly. Any second now he’s going to ask us what’s in the duffel bag.

  “Don’t suppose you two heard anything?” he asks.

  “Us?” I say. “We just got here. When did this happen, anyway? We’ve been watching a movie for the last hour.”

  “Short movie.”

  “Crappy movie. We gave up and went for a walk.”

  He nods, slowly. “Well, it’s a nice day for it. Enjoy.” He turns around and walks back over to the window, kneeling to peer at something on the ground. I hope it’s not a Jace-sized footprint.

  “Let’s go,” I murmur to Charlie.

  We cut through the parking lot and back to the alley. Sure enough, Zhang’s truck is gone and the security gate is down and locked. “How’d he get away?” Charlie asks. “The sun’s up—it’s not even cloudy.”

  “I’m guessing he used some clever, high-tech vampy method to defeat that. Like, you know, a tarp over his head. Or maybe one of those newfangled umbrella gizmos.”

  Charlie grunts in annoyance. “Right. And now we have no idea where he’s gone.”

  “Someplace dark, I’d guess. But yeah, there are all sorts of places he could hole up. So much for a preemptive strike.”

  “For our side, anyway.”

  I think about that. We’ve got hours to kill until our meeting with Cassiar … but there’s only one bed-and-breakfast in town. “Maybe not. Maybe we just need to change targets.”

  “Sure. You know of another vampire in town, or are we hunting werewolves now? Because I’m a little low on silver.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m thinking more along the lines of the mysterious Mr. Cassiar. We could surprise him with an unexpected visit at the B-and-B.”