Despite my enhanced eyes, I can’t what he’s holding as he steps out of the house.
I’m spinning around before I even hear the shot. Has to be a .45 because it knocks me down like I’m made of building blocks
Feels like lightning is striking my shoulder. Surprisingly little blood is coming out of me, mainly because my heart’s been made not to beat, blood only circulating through me because of ferrying nanites. They’ll eventually patch me up, too, but they do nothing about the pain.
He comes out of the house, getting close to me. He’s got a Colt 1911—fucking old school hand cannon. Nanites or no, I don’t think I’d survive a head shot.
“Why are you on my property?” he coughs, standing over me.
The gunshot will bring Mansfield any second now. Have to act.
“I’m saving you,” I say. He has no idea what I’m talking about. It hardly seems like I’m saving him as, inhumanly fast, I grab the gun with my left hand, wrench the .45 from the old man like I’m taking away a child’s plush toy.
Tough bastard. He doesn’t run, instead grabs me by the throat, and I marvel that a guy like this could have fathered a metrosexual like Mansfield.
But it’s a bad move. My arm’s already healing, and this close, it’s no big deal for me to hold him steady with my right hand as I level the gun at his temple.
I pull the trigger, the 1911 makes its thunderclap, and the old man drops to the pavement, blood everywhere, mingling with the rain.
I get the gun into the dead man’s hands just in time for Mansfield to come rushing into the backyard.
His incisors are extended as he looks at the body. “What the fuck happened?”
I’m designed to mimic vampires, but I’m not nearly as strong as a real Matheson class. Going toe-to-toe with one while injured, and without a cross, stake or any of the usual kit is a fight I’m going to lose.
As usual, I play my role. “I baited him to come out of the house. He shot me, and when I showed fang, he shot himself. I’m really sorry. I had no idea he’d be so hardcore.”
He keeps looking at the body. I’ve never seen a vampire cry before. Tears of blood diluted by the rain cascading down his face.
Sirens in the distance, coming fast. “Come on, dude,” I say. “Kill me later if you want, but we’ve got to go now.”
He takes a second to stick his hand in the blood before we bolt. I’m driving because he’s a mess, sobbing as he licks his dad’s blood from his fingers. “I’m so fucking disgusting,” he says.
Having just murdered an innocent man, I feel the same way about myself. “It’s okay. I’d have done the same thing if I hadn’t already eaten,” I say lamely as I speed us onto the highway.
We drive for a while. I take us back into the City, as the rain eases into a mist. As I drive, I think about how I’ll report this. My reports back to DoD are always the same: horror stories punctuated by my murder confessions. They won’t care about the man I killed, will probably praise me for discovering a little bit more about vampire emotional responses.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Mansfield eventually says. He’s no longer crying, no longer showing fang.
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure if I’m saying this to Mansfield, or to his father, or to God.
“It’s not your fault. He was always stubborn. I’m not surprised he’d want to go out on his own terms.”
I’ve seen Mansfield murder for sport, but right now he sounds like a kid, sitting there with his arms around himself, trying to keep himself warm even though his body generates no heat.
I should hate him. I definitely hate what he is. But I’m all alone out here, and the closest thing I have to friends are the monsters I lie to. Despite myself, it bothers me that he’s hurting.
“Look, I know it’s not much, but at least he died with his soul. I’m sure he lived a good life. He gets to go to Heaven, unlike us.”
Mansfield shakes his head. “He was a suicide. It’s a mortal sin, even if you’re trying to avoid an oncoming vampire. No, I think he’s in Hell. I was trying to save him, and now he burns forever.”
I’m afraid to say anything more might come too close to the truth. “Well … we’d better coffin it,” I say. “Sun’s up in an hour.”
“Yeah. But we’ll have to hit it hard tomorrow. Punish the world for what happened tonight. I’m thinking a karaoke bar, drill-and-kill some tourist girls. You game?”
I keep telling myself that I’m not really one of them, that I still have a soul. Anymore, that’s probably a distinction without a difference.
“Sure,” I say.
• • •
Thank you for reading.
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Nightfallen (Vol. 1): Books 1-4 Page 20
