Empire of Blood: A Dystopian Vampire Trilogy (Bundle, Boxset) (Plus Two Empire of Blood Short Stories)

by Robert S. Wilson

  "I'll send you right back to that Imperial orphanage, if that's what it takes. I don't have to put up with this constant rebellion." His father's eyes seemed to be waiting, expecting something from him as his hand blindly underlined the words "Act natural" and Toby knew then what to do.

  "Fine," Toby said.

  Hank started to write more.

  "Send me back there. Fuck you. You're a shitty father anyway. I liked it better there." Spittle launched from Toby’s mouth as he saw what his father had written.

  Letter in your desk drawer. Explains everything. I love you.

  His father raised his hand as if to strike and a tear rolled down his face. Toby knew what was coming, but it hit before he could prepare himself. His jaw stung sharply with the force of Hank's slap. The tears that came were partially from the pain, but mostly from a mixture of fear and, strangely enough, joy. Both came from the same realization.

  His father wasn't being himself on purpose.

  Knowing this had brought the joy. It had all been an illusion. But why? Why hadn't he told his only son? That was where the fear reigned. The unknown. Toby picked himself up from the couch holding his jaw and whimpering, partially as an act, and partially unable to hold in the confused, conflicting emotions inside himself. He took one sharp look at his father's tortured face and ran for his bedroom and slammed the door with all his might. He could only hope, pray even—but to who?—that he had been convincing enough.

  The sound of his father's weeping outside crushed his heart as he pulled open the top desk drawer and saw a neatly-sealed envelope sitting lonely inside. That solitary envelope seemed to embody exactly how he had felt ever since the day his father had first been taken from him. When he'd been taken physically. But that hadn't been nearly as painful as when he'd come back. When his father had been taken from him in a much more subtle way.

  Chapter 7

  The Fledglings

  Simon had been running at a human pace for a while when he made his decision. Leaping from building to building with the ease of a bird. His shoes scraped against the rough concrete as he continued along the angled roof of an old apartment building. At first he ran to release the tension. But now he continued with a chosen destination in mind. The sky was black with nighttime clouds and the wind kept testing his balance. Still he made his way without fear.

  When Simon came to the edge of the building, he looked down at the dimly lit streetlights below. The light reflected on the apartment windows surrounded by tan concrete beneath him. Other than that, not a single window glowed from the inside. The giant skyscraper in front of him returned his stare with its dusty glass windows and mighty steel frame, taunting him to attempt the impossible leap to its heavenly pinnacle.

  One solitary row of windows about halfway down the building gave off a mild white glow.

  A gust of wind caught Simon off guard and he had to adjust his stance to keep from falling. If he didn't concentrate hard, it would be a particularly unpleasant landing. He focused his eyes forward and stepped from the roof. Rows and rows of glass blurred together as the upward thrust of air reminded Simon why his existence wasn't completely unpleasant.

  Landing as softly as a cat, Simon walked at a human pace onto the granite steps surrounding the skyscraper. A group of eight dirty glass doors, once transparent and gleaming, stood at the top of the granite walkway. He went straight for the middle door, grabbing and pulling at the grimy steel handle at its midsection. It was stuck. And he knew better than to pull harder as his strength would surely shatter the glass buried under the dry muck. He tried another and it treated him the same. He almost decided to simply call up to her, but stopped himself. She wasn't alone, and he didn't want to disturb the rest of them.

  After trying several more of the doors, he heard movement from around the corner of the building. It came from inside. He walked toward the sound and sure enough, the other side of the building revealed several vampires dressed in brown overalls walking from a small modest blue door. Two of the vampires turned at the sound of Simon's footfalls and gave him a long look before deciding to turn and ignore him.

  Across the top of the open door it said MAINTENANCE in big black letters. He walked to the doorway and stepped inside. A large dark room greeted him with rows of teal metal lockers along the walls, various tools, cleaning supplies, and machinery scattered against them. Beyond the maintenance room was a huge lobby with a long gray information desk and equally gray furniture strategically placed around it. Small darkly stained wooden tables sat holding stacks of colorful magazines and paperback books. Behind the desk, what was once a grand waterfall stood dry as the desert outside. In the middle its base, a tall white sculpture of a man with curly hair and empty eyes reached up to the ceiling with his index finger outstretched.

  Simon passed the statue and stepped onto the luxurious stairway that sloped down to the floor like a fully blossomed flower. Thirteen floors later, the glow from the hallway caught his eye and he knew he was nearly there. The glow came from a single door that led into a huge open room filled with office partitions and desks. Computers, printers and an array of other items littered the floor in random places. A short male vampire with green eyes and a bald head looking just as filthy as the windows outside, glanced up from a desk just inside the doorway. He was leaning back in a red plastic chair, a thick magazine lay open in his lap.

  "Well, either it's your first day and you were too stupid to read the orientation guide, or you're in the wrong goddamn place."

  Simon smiled. "Neither, I'm here to talk to someone. I'm Simon, Simon Withers, council mem—"

  The bald vampire leapt to his feet, dropping the magazine to the floor. His skin turning somehow paler, he reached out his hand for Simon to shake. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, we don't often get visits from council members here." He grabbed Simon's hand and shook it jarringly. "Please, forgive me, sir. Sometimes my big mouth has a mind of its own."

  "No, no, it's okay, I just wanted to have a word with Jackie White. Is she almost done with her day's assigned labor?"

  The vampire kept shaking Simon's hand and seemed to almost have to snap himself out of a trance. "Sure, let me look in my logs real quick. Even if she's not done for the night, don't worry about it. If you need to talk to her, I'm sure it's important." He ran his finger down a long sheet of paper with names scribbled in blue ink within black printed boxes. "Walton, Weinberg, Wending, White, Ruby—no, you said Jackie, right?."

  Simon nodded.

  "She's in section G-12. Just go right down this open walkway here to the far end of the room until you get to the area labeled G," he pointed up to the sign hanging from the ceiling labeled A, "and she should be in partition twelve." The bald man smiled with a sincerity that surprised Simon.

  "Thank you."

  "Hey no problem. Just let me know if you have any trouble finding her, okay?"

  "I will. Thanks again." Simon nodded and turned down the open walkway toward the far wall.

  * * *

  The "room" was nearly empty. Jackie had pulled out every single piece of equipment that had been inside. The thin metal desktops bolted onto the "walls" and the tangled mess of black, yellow, and teal cables sprawled out along the floor were all that was left. Those and the dust bunnies. Jackie hadn't coughed so hard in her life—her real life. The one that had actually required her to breathe.

  Only 16, she'd made the biggest mistake of that life deciding to bring her sister to the old city. Thought she could find some treasure, maybe scare Karen real good, and get home in time for bed, but it hadn't quite worked out that way. She could only be thankful that Karen had been spared. Spared from the city, spared from the ancestors, and most of all, spared from her sister's fledgling bloodlust. But just the thought of Karen made the thirst rise up inside of Jackie. Her mind's eye traced the veins branching down her sister's wrists, the thin veil of pale flesh covering the blue, protruding tubes of...

  She made herself focus on the task at hand. As she picked
up cables and wrapped them one by one, the sadness began to set in again. She held back the tide of emotion that threatened to come forth. When the wave finally subsided she continued winding the cables and grabbed all the coils she had made in a pile and carried them from the partition, her mind wandering. She had only taken one step into the walkway, when she almost ran head on into a semi-tall blond vampire with sky blue eyes wearing a black business suit. He was nearly middle-aged-looking by human standards. Jackie was distracted by the lack of blood scent from his cool breath.

  "Whyn't you look were you're going, prick?"

  "You must be Jackie White." The man reached out his hand as if to be shaken. Jackie looked at it and turned away from him, then walked over to the pile of computers and things she had removed from the "room," and tossed the pile of cables on top of a large computer monitor. When she turned, the man stood looking at her with a curious, uneasy expression and wiping the hand he had extended to her on his jacket.

  "I see you continue to work hard to earn your reputation as a people person," the man said.

  Jackie had to stifle a laugh. She didn't want to find anything any of these blood-sucking fuckers said funny. She wanted to hate them all. For what they did to her. For what they did to Karen... for what they wouldn't let her do to Karen—no, she loved her sister. How much longer would this bloodlust last? She walked back into the partition with a straight face and went for the toolbox, opening it. She could feel the man's presence as he leaned his head into the "room." As if he had read her mind he spoke then.

  "You know I'm sort of a fledgling myself. Not much 'older' than you. My case is quite different than most, but I still know what it's like. I think... I think maybe we could help each other."

  Jackie found herself staring at him. Wondering how anyone could help her now. But she couldn't deny it was a surprise to find out he was a fledgling. Could he, too, be waiting on his first taste of blood? It would explain the absence of its fragrance on him. "And just what do you suppose we could do? Vampire or not, you're far too old for me—"

  "Nothing like that." His furrowed brow betrayed his frustration with her. "I'm talking about survival, friendship, just... getting by for Christ sakes."

  Jackie turned away. She lifted the socket wrench and began removing the bolts holding down the first desktop. "Why don't you smell of it? The blood, why can't I smell it on you like I can everyone else."

  The man coughed uncomfortably. "Actually, that's part of how I'm different from other fledglings. With you, it's your age. With me, it's my experience."

  Jackie put down the ratchet. "Experience?"

  "Yeah—look, it's complicated. Would you maybe like to go somewhere else and talk? It would sure as hell be nice to have a seat. We can explain each other's stories and then you can decide if it's worthwhile giving me the time of day and—well, quite frankly I can do the same. You're not exactly winning me over here."

  Jackie was surprised to feel a tightness in her chest from the man's last words. "I—but I can't leave, my shift isn't over."

  "Never mind that. I talked to Baldy the Wonder Prick out there and he said you could leave early."

  Jackie couldn't hold back her laughter this time. "How the hell did you manage that?"

  "Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. Try this again?" He reached out his hand.

  Jackie nodded, this time accepting it, a warm blush enveloping her face as she reached timidly forward and shook his hand.

  "My name is Simon. Councilmember Simon Withers. I've met you before sort of—but I'm getting ahead of myself."

  Jackie became even more confused and curious altogether. Simon smiled.

  "Told you I was different. Come on, let's go. I know this lovely restaurant on the other side of town. It's called 'The Drop Off.' They're only open once a week, but it's an all you can eat buffet."

  With that, Jackie erupted with laughter.

  Chapter 8

  Message Deliverable

  A bland array of trees, warehouses, and orange cones blurred past as Hank watched from the backseat window of the imperial car. His stomach was wrapped in knots and he wasn't sure if it was his fear of going back to Necropolis or the fear of his son hating him for the rest of his life that was responsible. The car merged right onto the exit. Sam Jones Parkway. It had barely been a month since the last time Hank was on a plane—the day he was sentenced to die—and yet he was never truly prepared to go so high in the air. His stomach clenched harder at the thought of it. He unbuttoned his imperial suit jacket and took a deep breath.

  "Ever flown before?" the driver asked, leaning his head to look at Hank in the mirror. Gray hair crowned his head and long wrinkles stretched down his face. He was quite a bit older than the other drivers Hank had seen before.

  "I have. I'll just never get used to it." Hank looked back out the window hoping the driver would ignore him.

  "Oh, you will some day, sir. After a few flights or so, there's nothing to it. Well, except the occasional bad weather flight. But you get used to those too eventually. Where you headed?"

  Was this a test? He'd not to this day met such an inquisitive Imperial employee before. "Out west, Imperial business, classified."

  "Oh you don't say. You don't look like a soldier, a scrawny thing like yourself."

  Hank held back his tongue. He was strangely relieved to find his annoyance was distracting him from his anxiety. "No, I'm no soldier, all right. I'm more of a diplomat."

  "Well, what the Sam hell they got you goin' out west for? Shouldn't you be going overseas talkin' to them A-rabs in the Middle East and converting them to the one true religion?" The old man lifted up his sunglasses and winked at Hank. Maybe it was a test.

  "You speak with disdain. Do you doubt our Lord and Emperor?"

  "Well, supposin' I did, it might'n be so bright for me to talk such a way to an official of the law and a fervent believer. But I'm talking to you, Henry Evans." Hank and the driver's eyes met.

  So, they gave this driver my name. It's a test, has to be. "Do I know you, sir?"

  "No, Henry, I reckon you don't. But I know you. There's a lot of people who know you now. Don't reckon I should say how and don't reckon I need to tell you why. But they know you just the same."

  Hank's anxiety had returned tenfold. He had so many questions but this man was already in big trouble. And whatever information Hank learned the Emperor would learn as well. Did these people know this? Had this man sacrificed himself to reveal this information to him, or...

  "Anyhow," the car came to a stop.

  Hank hadn't even noticed they'd entered the airport. He looked around at the crowds of people going in and out of glass doors.

  "I reckon I won't be seeing you again. Maybe when you come back from out west, you could meet the rest of the gang." The old man was smiling in the mirror, his eyes faintly visible through the dark glasses. Hank nodded slightly. The driver got out of the car and opened the trunk as Hank opened his own door.

  By the time he came around to the back of the car, the old man was gone. Hank looked around just in time to see him being dragged away by two Imperial soldiers.

  * * *

  The plane ride went surprisingly smooth. Hank had managed to sleep for a while until the dream. It was her again. Diana. Rachel. One, then the other. Then both of them. Each of them held one of the driver's arms as they dragged his body away. Blood dripped from his face and bruises covered his skin. And at the last moment, Diana looked Hank in the eyes and winked with those red eyes. Long fangs appeared as she spoke, "There's a lot of people who know you now, Henry."

  Her laughter echoed inside Hank's brain as his eyes burst open revealing the back of the seat in front of him. Several brochures and a menu were clasped inside the long pocket attached to the seat below the tray table. The intercom piped in then with the announcement for the final descent. Hank pressed the back of his head against the seat and gripped the arm rests as the plane began to dip.

  * * *

 
; "Gordon Hutcheson. What's a nice old prat like yourself doing blaspheming to an Imperial official?"

  Gordon returned the vampire's glare with equal disdain. His bones had ached enough before the Imperial soldiers dragged him into this holding facility. He smiled, then took a sip of his coffee. The man who had introduced himself as Jack reached across the table and knocked the coffee from Gordon's hand. The cup shattered on the floor and hot coffee went all over the table between them, on the floor, and some of it splashed in Gordon's face, burning the flesh. But he didn't so much as flinch.

  "Oh, we got ourselves a macho old cunt, eh?" Jack grinned as he got up from his seat. "Let's just see how macho 'e is now." Before the last syllable had even left Jack's tongue, Gordon lost all orientation. He knew he'd felt a hand on the back of his head before the world in front of him had blurred. Several loud cracks followed all at once. It felt like his head had been in a vise and tightened up all at once. He opened his eyes. The table top took up his entire field of vision. Several teeth were lying in a puddle of blood on the surface directly below him. His blood, his teeth.

  "Now that we've gotten to know each other, maybe you'd mind telling me about these friends of yours, eh?"

  Gordon spit, blood and more teeth spraying out on the table. "I don' hab any vens."

  Jack shook with laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry, ol' man, what was that? I couldn't quite make it out."

  "I said I don' hab any vens!" The vampire reached forward and grabbed Gordon's shoulder and squeezed. More cracking. Unbearable pain. Gordon screamed, blood sputtering out of his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face in the solitary square window in the door. Gordon made the slightest of nods. The man winked and nodded back, then he was gone. Gordon sighed with relief. It was over now. He could feel his consciousness slipping. His tongue was numb. The toxins had been released. Gordon Hutcheson smiled a bloody toothless grin as his shoulder was ripped from his body. He'd successfully delivered his message.