"Son of a bitch," the voice said. Peter burst into a run toward the sound at what he estimated to be 174 kilometers per hour, faster than Peter had ever ran before.
Chapter 4
Render Unto Caesar...
Toby sat down at the far end of the long table in the back of the cafeteria with his tray of food and his copy of Caesar's Bible. The orphanage, like everything else, was run by the Empire. Therefore, everyone followed imperial rule to the letter. This meant that everyone carried the Good Book and everyone went to church on Sunday. It was the first day Toby had been allowed to join the other boys for lunch. He would have rather eaten in his room again, but all the energy it had taken to attack one of the attendants and get himself confined to his room had drained him fully with his first attempt. However, being alone for three days left him with nothing to think about but his father and he became flushed with grief. He had no way of knowing when they would take his dad to the city where he would die. All he knew was the sentence. For all he knew, his father could already be dead. He could feel the pain flow from his heart, up his chest, and to his face. It felt as though it would pour from his eyes but only tears came and still the suffering went on.
He looked down at his tray of mostly uneaten food. He had consumed about one full meal's worth in the past three days of bites he had choked down here and there. Absentmindedly, he opened the book and turned to a random page. The top of the page told him he was looking at the book of Hosea beginning with chapter 13. He read through the first verse on the page, verse 16, and immediately slammed the book closed. There would be no comfort for him in this book. His father told him about the parts that had been taken out of the Bible. Before the Empire, there had been a man named Jesus in it. In fact the book had even been split into two sections titled the Old and New testaments. Toby's father told him about the now mostly missing New Testament. And about how the one book that remained from it had been altered, replacing the name Jesus with Caesar. Toby had to fight himself back from weeping again. Everything he thought about always reminded him of his dad. He looked over at the other boys sitting at the table. They were all eating, joking, and laughing with each other. Some of them were laughing at him as he expected.
From watching the other boys, he learned some of them were part of some kind of gang. Not an ordinary gang. This gang was actually encouraged by the staff. It was called The Enforcers and they were always on the lookout for nonbelievers and sinners. They were led by a boy named Craig Thompson. Thompson was a tall, powerfully built 17-year-old with gritty black hair and crooked teeth who looked more like he was thirty. Billy Featherston, a younger boy in the next room from Toby, had told him all about Craig Thompson. Thompson wasn't like the other boys. He had parents who could take care of him. The reason he was here was far different than the other boys. He had barely escaped getting the same sentence as Toby's dad. The story went that Thompson had a best friend named Joey. Joey had been your typical jock. The two played on the high school basketball team together. They were as close as brothers. So close that one night when Joey was spending the night at Thompson's, having been under a lot of pressure between basketball, grades, and regular high school stuff, Joey confided in his friend. The two went for a walk out in the woods to have some privacy and Joey told Craig his darkest secret.
After Joey had exposed the truth, Craig did what he knew would make his father proud. He knocked Joey over the head with a large rock and then beat him to death with it. Craig Thompson would gladly be drained of every drop of blood by the most gruesome of beasts than have a faggot for a best friend. Of course the judge had been torn on whether to send him to Necropolis or have a parade in his honor. He had committed murder, an offense that usually meant death. However, homosexuality was one of the major morality offenses requiring the death sentence.
So, the judge sentenced him to spend the rest of his high school years in an orphanage because juvenile detention centers would be too rough for a "hero" like Thompson. Toby even once overheard the "hero" brag about his kill. Mysterious disappearances happened often since Thompson and The Enforcers started watching the other boys. When Toby was around any of the boys from the gang, they had made it obvious they were watching him, waiting for him to slip up and show his true colors. And it was well known that sinners begot sinners in most cases.
The grief took over as Toby looked away from the boys at the other end of the table. His face crumpled with anguish as his eyes gushed out liquid. He felt it run down into his mouth as he looked down at his feet and tasted the salt from his tears. He did his best to wipe them away with his hands. Then, he took his napkin and blew his nose with it. When he felt strong enough, he got up and started walking toward the opening in the wall next to the exit doors. He could hear the cold laughter behind him. It felt as if the boys were watching him through a microscope. Toby watched as his tray began its conveyor belt ride to wherever it was they all went. Then, he managed to mentally push himself onward through the double doors and down the hall. He felt some slight relief as the doors sealed away the vicious sounds the boys made. When he got back to his room, he went straight to bed.
The next morning when the breakfast call came over the intercom, Toby pulled himself out of the small bed with reluctance. He wanted to stay in bed and never get up but knew if he tried, the counselors would just make him. He had been warned during his time of solitary confinement if he kept up such behavior he would be sent to an asylum and be one step away from following in his father's bloody footsteps. After he pulled himself up out of the bed, he took his change of clothes from the dresser, walked out of the room, and down the hall. When he arrived at the shower room, he became nervous. He would be going with the next group, made up mostly of Enforcers. Thompson wasn't with them, but they were all fairly brutal in their own respects.
The bell rang for the current group of showering boys to come out, dry off, and change. That bell was always followed by another, three minutes later, to cue the next group to come in and shower. The next bell rang. Toby walked in and took off his clothes quickly, careful not to look at any of the other boys. Staring off into space, he put all his will power into standing still and didn't so much as flinch when one of the other boys started antagonizing him.
"What's the matter, Toby? Daddy like whores more than his own son?" he hissed from behind Toby.
The other boys laughed hysterically, some of them doubling over as though the boy's pain were a riot to them.
"Aw, does the little boy not want to talk about his piece-of-shit, blaspheming father? What's the matter, Toby, Daddy not like you because you're a faggot? Is that what it is?"
Some of the other boys laughed again, but one boy in particular turned and looked at Toby fiercely with hazel eyes. He had bright red hair and freckles.
"If we find out you're a faggot, Toby, I'll kill you myself. I hate them. My dad was one of them. But I turned him in and he got what he deserved!" the boy said, looking proud of every word.
"Go on, James," the boy behind him said. Some of the other boys had already headed into the showers and James had been too busy warning Toby. James gave Toby a long dark look then turned and walked on. A moment later Toby followed the boy in front of him into the showers. He did his best to stare at the wall in front of him as the water pelted his skin. He lathered himself quickly and focused on the lines between the bricks and the details of cleaning his own body. While he reached over his shoulder to clean his back, he felt a sudden pull on his arm and the next thing he knew he was being held by two boys from behind. James appeared a moment later, having been hidden from a cloud of steam. He walked right up to Toby and grabbed him by the jaw, turning his face side to side and looking him over.
"You look awful girly. That's the first sign. I can spot ‘em from a mile away. Hell, I lived with one for thirteen years. No wonder my mama left when I was little. A woman can't stay with a man when he only likes dick," James said through clenched teeth. A second later, James swung so fast Toby didn't
see it coming. He felt a blast of pain and then warm, thick liquid running down from his nose. Then, James shifted his weight and swung again, this time barely visible to Toby. A fist, like a concrete block, busted into the core of his gut. He bent forward as much as he could while still being pinned by the other two boys, the air sucked from his lungs. The boys dropped him and he hit the hard, wet floor and began gasping for air. As he struggled to breathe, he noticed the sound of the bell muffled by fading laughter.
When he opened his eyes, all he could see was steam all around him. A moment later, he felt himself being pulled up from the floor. He opened his eyes to see one of the counselors, the one who stood at the shower doors making sure no one skipped a group in line, hovering over him and looking at him suspiciously.
"What are you doing playing around in here? We have a schedule to keep with. I'm marking this in your record, Evans. Go to the nurse's office, now," the man commanded him.
After Toby left the nurse's office, he went back to his room, his abdomen sore and his nose bandaged up. He found a piece of paper taped to his door with a crude drawing made with crayons. It showed a poorly drawn man colored all in pink being bitten by another man drawn in purple with large fangs outlined in black, complete with pools of maroon coming from the pink man's neck. Above the drawing was the word Justice scribbled violently in black. He ripped it from the wall, crumpling the piece he had gotten hold of, and fell to the ground. Curling into a ball, he released the flood of agony from within him.
Chapter 5
The Ancestor's Call
Hank had been pacing in front of the open front door of the house for several minutes when he finally admitted to himself he didn't have the courage to go inside in his current form. With that decided, he relaxed and sat down in the rocking chair while pulling off the backpack. Once he was sitting, he put the backpack in his lap and opened it. He fished out the two thermoses and took a long drink of water again. Then, he put the water thermos back in the backpack and stared at the other thermos for several minutes.
An idea had occurred to him. What if he drank some of the vampire blood? Would it give him the confidence to do what he knew he had to do? His stomach gave him constant warning that any moment it would start digesting his vital organs if he didn't give in to its demands. It probably wouldn't be so bad, he figured, if the last meal he had eaten hadn't had the nutrition content of a single toothpick. His stomach growled again as he looked into the thermos of blood. He wondered if the thick, black liquid would satisfy some of his hunger.
Oh well, he thought, down the hatch. He lifted the thermos and took a big gulp, forcing himself to swallow. The taste was akin to bitter metal but amplified a hundredfold or so. It was so strong it actually made his head hurt until the tang of it faded from his tongue. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, even though there was nothing to really wipe. Then, he put the lid back on the thermos, slipped it back into the backpack, took the flashlight out, and zipped the bag shut.
He stood up, put the backpack back on, and turned to face the front door again. He turned the flashlight on and shined it in the open doorway. After about a second of standing there looking in the house, Hank started to feel the effects. Then, he literally began to see the effects as well. The glare from the flashlight was suddenly quite bright. He turned it off. He could now see clearly and normally in the dark with just his eyes. Then, he noticed that he could now zoom in on specific things with his vision without exerting any more effort than any other physical movement.
At one point, he accidentally zoomed in on one of the spiders and nearly jumped off of the porch. He even found that controlling his fear was quite simple now. No wonder he had been so calm taking on that vampire. He focused on the different spiders on purpose now, trying to assess what he was up against. He didn't recognize most of them, but one stood out easily. Its body was like a huge black bulb with a blood-red hourglass shape on its abdomen. He had never actually seen a black widow before, but he knew for sure this was one. It surprised him to find himself thinking of it less like a monster and more like a simple obstacle to avoid. In fact, he had been mapping out a course in and around the complicated pattern of silver webs subconsciously the whole time.
Hank put the flashlight away and then hooked both of his thumbs in the straps of the backpack. Then without even raising his heart rate, he went through the doorway and began crouching and swaying through and around the complex obstacle course of spider webs. An onlooker would have been reminded of jewel-thief movies where the thief had to get through a myriad of laser lights without touching them. The room appeared to be a large living room with blue suede matching furniture scattered around and an old TV against the front wall next to the door. Only a few seconds of sleek gymnastics through the webs and he was at a large clearing toward the back of the living room. Ahead of him was a thin hallway that ended in what looked like a dining room. And in the next room, he could make out a large white refrigerator. There were only the occasional cobwebs in these rooms. He walked into the dining room, slowly at first. When he was sure there was nothing to concern him in there, he continued on into the kitchen.
He began opening cupboards and drawers. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He found the utensil drawer and snatched up one of each kind and slid his backpack around to open it. Once opened, he set the backpack and the utensils on the counter above the drawer. Then he continued foraging within the drawers, adding to the accumulation of dust clouds in the room. A few drawers later and he found another key item he was looking for: a can opener. He picked it up, looked it over, and set it on the counter beside the utensils. When he was done going through the drawers, he began looking through the cabinets. Five cabinet doors later and he opened the jackpot. The smell almost kept him at bay, especially with his senses so intensified. First he had to take a deep breath (away from the cabinet) and blow away all of the dust before he could see what there was.
There were cans of chicken noodle soup, corn, green beans, carrots, potatoes, and even a couple cans of chili. There were also some various boxes of pasta and the like growing strange things on them. That, he was sure, was the source of the smell. He reached in with his hands tucked in his sleeves and began knocking the different boxes of growing things out of the cabinet. Reaching in with both arms, he grabbed about twenty cans, making a circle to hold them with his arms. He turned his face away to get a breath of unspoiled air. Then he took them over to the sink and dropped them in, knocking a huge cloud of dust up into his face. He coughed for a second and waved away the dust. Using the bottled water and a rag he found, he scrubbed the cans clean and then washed his hands. Then, he began piling the cans into the backpack.
He was just about to wash the utensils when he heard the very distant sound of running footsteps. They were too fast to be human and getting louder. As he quickly grabbed the utensils, put them in the bag, and zipped it up, he wondered why the bastard wasn't flying. If Hank had been able to fly, there would be no second-guessing. Anywhere he was in a hurry to get to, he would fly. He put the backpack on in a rush and pulled out his machete. The footsteps steadily rose in volume. His best guess told him he had a little over 15 seconds before his visitor would arrive. He backed away from the kitchen toward the dining room and hid inside to the left of the thin hallway that led back to the front room.
By the time it dawned on him his pursuer wouldn't be using the front door, it was too late. The opposite wall of the dining room and part of the kitchen exploded before him as a thin blonde vampire with fierce, jet-black eyes that looked nothing like the other vampires Hank had seen, burst through, hands reaching out for Hank's body. The fangs were still a dead giveaway.
Hank's first impulse was to swing the machete at his attacker. He didn't make it. The vampire grabbed hold of Hank's arms just as fast as Hank swung them, subduing the blow. Then the vampire squeezed Hank's hands, almost crushing them, until he let go of the machete. As the machete was falling to the floor, the vampire moved to st
rike. He lunged his mouth toward Hank's throat. Hank ducked just in time and, with all of his strength, tackled the slender thing to the ground. In that moment, crashing down to the floor of that dining room, Hank was glad he drank as much vampire blood as he had. Otherwise, he would already be dead.
* * *
As the convict slammed into him, Peter found himself at a loss to understand just what was going on with this ordinary man. It were as if he had almost the same strength as a human vampire, yet his heartbeat was strong. Peter's own heart beat all the time, but never anywhere near the speed of a living human. So, it was easy to tell the difference in others by simply listening. What was even stranger and caught him off guard to the point of being tackled by the man was the man's breath. He could smell it from a good kilometer away. He had the blood of the ancestors on his breath. Peter realized in that split second as he hit the ground that this man must have killed an ancestor. Either way, he had done enough. Peter was not about to lose his place on the council. Not after all he had worked for.
Peter's body rocked backward from the collision with the floor. Using the momentum from the fall, he quickly lifted the man with his legs and flipped him over himself. The man smacked against the wall with a crash and fell back into the dining room table busting it to the floor with his limp body. As the man landed on the table, Peter continued into a backward somersault and landed on his feet inside the kitchen doorway. He ran forward aiming to kick the man in his side. But as he brought his foot forward, the man rolled away from him and jumped into a sideways spin back on his feet. The two stood there a moment watching each other, ready to attack.
Empire of Blood: A Dystopian Vampire Trilogy (Bundle, Boxset) (Plus Two Empire of Blood Short Stories) Page 5
