by J. Thorn
But as they moved closer, Dax realized this was no ordinary army. There was no denying their eyes.
“Screamers.”
The soldiers slowed as they reached the corner, and then turned left. Rows of the creatures followed their comrades down the next street, remaining neatly filed in lines of six. Dax estimated their legion to be in the thousands.
A sound from above drew Dax’s attention away from the marching army.
A sharp, cold cry split the air along with flapping—something with wings that had to be incredibly large based on the sound. It reminded Dax of the dragons he’d seen in Hollywood movies. Shadows blanketed Dax, and then the source of the noise came into view.
The flying entities possessed arms and legs like humans, but with wings on their backs like demons who had escaped from Hell. They soared across the sky, crying out with the same high-pitched scream Dax had heard from the vampires he’d fought. Eight of the creatures passed over his head. A ninth one hovered above Dax and looked down.
“Shit!”
Dax fell to the ground and ducked out of view. Crawling backward on his hands, he let his back slam against the wall of a building. The entrance still had a door in place, and Dax pulled the handle. It was open, and so he rolled inside. Shutting the door behind him, Dax put his back against it. He shut his eyes and caught his breath. A rush of heat came over him, and he opened his eyes.
Orange bulbs pulsed from inside the lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and these orbs illuminated the room. A bridge stretched to the other side of the room—narrow, with steel rails holding up both sides. A chasm lay spread out underneath the bridge, but Dax couldn’t see how far down it went. He’d entered on the ground floor, but the place must have had a basement. He heard snarls and the sound of clashing metal coming from somewhere deep inside the building.
Dax got to his feet. Stepping onto the bridge, he walked to the middle of the room and looked over the railing. The pit extended down fifteen feet below the bridge. It was dim down there, the lights above his head not powerful enough to illuminate the pit, but he could see that Screamers paced back and forth, wearing the same uniforms he’d seen them wearing outside. And there were other figures. They wore cloths around their waists, their skin hanging loosely on bone. Each person held a hammer, and the workers repeatedly slammed into and pounded at metal plates. One of the captives turned around, and Dax saw his face.
There was no glow. These were human eyes.
On the other side of the room below, one of the humans fell—a woman. Her breasts hung long and loose. The woman wore the same garment as the men. Like all the others, her hair was gone, shaved to the skin. A man next to her dropped his hammer and reached down for her hand. He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked.
“Get up!”
A soldier marched to the other side of the room. The creature kicked the man out of the way, landing a boot square in his shoulder. The man tumbled backward, almost knocking over one of the other humans. The Screamer reached to its waist and drew a weapon that looked like a cross between a sword and a machete.
“No, please,” the man said, pleading with the creature.
Before the tired woman could say a word, the vampire reared back and swung the blade through the air. The woman’s bald head toppled from her shoulders and rolled over the vampire’s feet.
“Bastard!” the man screamed.
Another Screamer came over and grabbed the angry man by the ankles. It dragged him across the floor, knocking his head off of chunks of rock and anything else that littered the floor. Once he had the man on the opposite end of the room, the vampire dragged the slave to his feet. Shackles hung at the ends of chains on the wall. The vampire spread the man’s arms wide and clamped the shackles over his wrists. The man’s eyes went wide as he realized what his outburst had cost him.
“Please, don’t do this to me. I can’t relive that again. Oh, God. Please!”
The Screamer stood only a few feet away from the shackled man. Even from fifteen feet up and staring at the vampire’s back, Dax could see the creature’s eyes glowing. They reflected in the prisoner’s pupils. The man’s face went blank. His jaw dropped, and he didn’t blink. He shuddered, his chest heaving in rapid breaths. Whimpers escaped his mouth.
Dax knew exactly what was happening to him. He’d seen the Screamers do this before.
“Look out for the car, son!”
The vampire had summoned an event from his past—one that he was forcing the man to relive.
“No!” the man yelled. He thrashed, trying desperately to break free from the shackles. Tears streamed down his face.
“He’s dead, honey. The car hit him, and he’s… gone.”
“Jesus,” Dax mumbled. He pushed off the railing and went back to the door. The heat inside of the building intensified, and combined with the mental torture he had witnessed, it made him want to vomit. He placed one hand over his mouth and used his other to pull the front door open.
Outside, Dax doubled over and coughed, retching. He stood up straight and wiped the spit from around his mouth.
The streets had emptied, but he heard something else nearby—a conversation?
Dax lumbered down the street, following the sound. He turned a corner and looked up to see a street sign leaning over the road, but the words on it had long ago faded away. A voice became louder as he moved down the street, booming as if amplified through a bullhorn. Dax turned another corner and saw that the street terminated in a dead-end, stopping at a large building which he didn’t recognize. The style was like nothing he had seen in New Orleans, architecturally resembling a medieval castle. It stood tall and proud, unlike the ruined buildings surrounding it. A huge field sat in front of the castle.
Screamers, all dressed in the same black uniform, stood in rows—thousands of them. On top of the surrounding buildings, the winged beasts perched like gargoyles. The legion faced a platform raised twenty feet above the ground where a figure stood at the edge, arms outstretched as if to embrace the army below.
Serafino.
The vampire wore a white robe with orange stripes down the sides. He spoke in a language Dax had never heard—a mix between French and Italian from the sound of it, but it was neither.
Serafino’s voice rose, his face turning red as he gestured at the army. The troops below him stood, silent, their eyes never leaving the platform. Dax felt a pit in his stomach, and it gnawed at him more and more as Serafino spoke. Then the vampire stopped, turned around, kneeled, and stood back up with his hands clasped behind his back. Serafino then lifted his arms again and addressed the army.
“Do you understand, my children?”
Dax listened. Serafino was now speaking English.
“It is not over,” Serafino continued. “Not until every human is ours. Man, woman, and child. We will seek out every one of them, using them to further the faction in this Final Awakening. Because without The Chosen One, the humans will perish and the lair will remain safe. Do you hear me, children?”
For the first time, the crowd broke their silence. They raised their fists and roared. The vampire grinned, and a lieutenant handed him a spear. Serafino held it high, and Dax noticed a head on the end of it. The army screamed, shouting their support for the execution.
Dax looked closer and recognized the face of the severed head on top of Serafino’s spear—his own.
Dax gasped as his eyes shot open. He stared up at the sun glowing from behind the rain clouds. Feeling around, he ran his palms against the wooden deck of the boat. Sitting up, he grimaced as the pain rushed to his head.
“Easy,” Papa Midnight said.
The voodoo priest put his hands on Dax’s shoulders and helped support him. Using the collar of his shirt, Dax wiped the sweat from his forehead. He breathed slower now, returning to reality.
“How did you do that?” Dax asked.
“What all did you see?”
Dax looked down and shook his head. “It was awful. The sky
looked like their eyes. The entire city was overrun with those things. They’d taken humans as slaves. Serafino had an entire army. I saw him. He had my—”
Dax couldn’t finish describing what he’d seen in the master vampire’s possession.
“It was a nightmare.”
“I am afraid that was no nightmare, Jackson,” Papa Midnight said. “That is what will happen if you fail.”
“Thanks. That’s very reassuring.”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm. This is serious.”
Dax tossed the old man’s hand off his shoulder and shot to his feet. “You don’t think I know that?”
The voodoo priest slowly stood. He glanced aimlessly around for full minutes before finding Dax’s face. He stepped forward, narrowing his pale eyes.
“There is only one thing I need to know,” Papa Midnight said. “Do you believe now?”
The vision had felt so real. Dax had felt like he could have reached out and touched the slave woman—saved her before she had been beheaded. He wondered if Serafino had sensed his presence in the crowd. Was that why he had raised the spear with his own severed head on the end of it?
“Jackson,” the voodoo priest said, pulling Dax away from the nightmare. “You must answer me.”
Dax sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I believe.”
“Then we have work to do.”
Turning around, Papa Midnight went into the cabin. Dax followed.
“We need to find Serafino,” Dax said. “If we find where he sleeps, we find Monica and Darius.”
“They do not sleep. Especially not in coffins like the ridiculous stories portray. But I agree with you that we need to find his lair. Just not before we prepare ourselves. We can’t go sneaking into a place for vampires without being properly equipped.”
“Okay. What do you suggest we do?”
“You found gasoline we can use for the small boat, correct?”
“As long as it hasn’t been sitting in this ship for six months or longer, we should be good. But there’s only one way to find out.”
Papa Midnight nodded. “Look around and see if there is anything else here we need to take with us. We must go hunting.”
“For vampires?”
“No,” Papa Midnight said. “For wood to make stakes, and for silver.”
Chapter 32
The gasoline worked. After they’d filled the tank, the boat’s engine came to life on the second pull, and at that point they gave the boat a more careful going over.
There wasn’t much else inside of the commercial fishing boat that was worth taking, though. Dax considered stripping the linens off the bed so they’d have something comfortable to sleep on, but those were luxury items. Pillows and blankets would only take up space in the small boat and add weight, even if only a few pounds. But he did manage to find a duffle bag which he intended to use for carrying their stakes, as well as a utility knife to whittle sharp tips as needed. Below the cabin, Dax tore up a few loose boards which he’d broken in half and used to form six stakes. It was a decent start at weaponry, and allowed him to keep the oar unbroken in case they needed it later.
“Do you have any idea where Serafino could be hiding?” Dax asked.
“I should be asking you that. You are the one who has the connection with him.”
“I ain’t felt shit.”
“Well, my answer is no,” Papa Midnight said. “There are thousands of buildings in the city. He could be hiding anywhere.”
The flood had put most of the street signs under water, so Dax used the buildings he recognized as a guide through the city. He saw the Staybridge Suites at the corner of Tchoupitoutas and Poydras, and hung a right on Tchoupitoutas. The street led straight to the French Quarter, eventually becoming North Peters before running into Decatur.
Across the street from the Staybridge Suites had once sat Mother’s—one of New Orleans’ most popular restaurants. Dax remembered being a child and waiting in line there once a month, when his mother had taken her children there. Now, only the top of the building stuck out above the water line.
How is this place ever going to recover?
The city had come back from Katrina, and although it had taken almost a decade for most of the culture to return, the city had endured. But Dax wasn’t sure how it would survive this. And it had no chance if he failed to destroy Serafino.
He remembered the version of New Orleans he had seen in his vision. Buildings crumbled. The floodwaters receded, but with the streets left in shambles, and the vampires enslaving the humans in deplorable conditions. It was difficult to imagine a future without freedom. Without hope.
Like their last trip through the French Quarter, Dax saw nobody on the streets. He saw a few shadows in the windows, as they passed, but he wondered if they were the last surviving humans in New Orleans—or signs of the growing horde of Screamers.
“There’s no one around,” Dax said. “Do you think they found some kind of refuge?”
“Perhaps,” Papa Midnight said. “Or maybe they have become part of Serafino’s army.”
Dax didn’t respond. He wasn’t ready to fill his head with those thoughts. He’d seen movies like I Am Legend, and couldn’t allow himself to believe that he and Papa Midnight were the last people left in the city.
“We have to try and find supplies on the streets,” the voodoo priest said. “Especially now that we know some of the vampires are adapting to the day, it’s not worth the risk to go inside any of the buildings.”
The sun dropped beneath a bank of gray clouds, hinting at more rain to come.
“The sun will be down soon,” Dax said. “Then it won’t matter if we’re inside or out.”
They hadn’t found any silver or dry wood that could be fashioned into a stake. Dax kept looking, deciding to test their luck on one of the narrow side streets. He found a few boards floating near a dumpster, but they would have to dry before he could do anything with them. He snatched them up anyway.
Now deep in the French Quarter, they came to a row of buildings. The second level of each had an exterior patio. Dax pulled over and tied the boat off onto a pipe.
“What are you doing?” Papa Midnight asked.
“I ain’t finding shit we can use out here. This street we’re on—there are patios on each building, and they’re close enough for me to jump from one to the next. I’m gonna check the inside of some of these places and see what I can find.”
“I told you. We need to stay outside. It’s too dangerous to start exploring these buildings.”
“I know what you told me. But that shit ain’t workin’. If we wanna have the weapons we’re gonna need to kill these things, then I’m going to have to do this.”
Considering Dax’s words, the voodoo priest was silent for a moment before nodding.
“You can’t stay in the boat,” Dax said. “I’m going to help you into this building I parked next to.”
Dax went through the broken window first. Some water had puddled on the floor, but the small apartment was otherwise dry. Taking a look around, Dax quickly checked the space for anything that could be used as a weapon, but he found nothing.
“Give me your hand.”
Papa Midnight reached out and found Dax, who then pulled the old man through the window and into the apartment.
“Where are we?”
“A small studio apartment. Stay on your feet, and keep your ears open. I’ll alert you when I come back so you don’t hit me with that damn cane. But if you hear anything else, call out after me. I won’t be far. I’m going to explore next door.”
Dax turned around, and was about to jump through the window when the blind man grabbed onto his arm.
“Please, be careful.”
The old man let go, and Dax nodded without a verbal response.
He then swung through the window and pulled himself up onto the nearby balcony.
Chapter 33
Footsteps pattered overhead as Dax made his way from one balcony to another.
The sound soon faded, though, and Papa Midnight found himself concentrating on the sound of the floodwaters lapping against the building. Birds cawed. One landed on the windowsill and then promptly flew away.
Standing in the center of the room, Papa Midnight focused his hearing on the inside of the building beyond this apartment, blocking out the sounds from the streets. If anyone, or anything, were moving inside the structure, he would hear it.
But it was silent.
Using his cane, Papa Midnight explored the room. He found a dresser next to him and a bed on the other side of the room, within an arm’s reach. As Dax had told him, the room was indeed small.
Dax had warned the voodoo priest to stay alert, but his legs ached, so he found the bed again and plopped down. His calves and hamstrings loosened as he took the weight off them.
“I’m too old for this.”
He then scoffed and let out a chuckle which was quickly extinguished by new thoughts. The voodoo priest had known for years that this day would come. He had bought into the prophecy of the so-called vampire apocalypse long before it had come. Though he had only first seen the visions himself a little over a decade ago—after the incident which had struck him blind—it felt like he had been preparing for decades—for his entire life, in fact.
The war had taken so many casualties. Part of Papa Midnight’s crew had been gunned down by gangs near the Superdome. Then the rest of them had been turned into vampires, and now served in Serafino’s army. And since he’d joined Dax, one child in their group had been turned, and the other two captured. For all he knew, they also could already have been turned by the vampire master.
Reaching under his shirt, Papa Midnight grabbed the pendant on the end of his necklace and clutched it in his hand. He closed his eyes and chanted, reciting the names of each member of his congregation, along with the names of Monica, Darius, Dax, and Kevin. He also asked for help, in that Dax would find a way to lead them to victory against the vampires.
