Bad Cow

by Andrew Hindle

  “There are four basic types of immortals on Earth now,” the Angel went on, making no effort to lower his voice and yet remaining completely ignored by the non-Sheepbreezers sitting and standing around. He paused. “Now when I say immortal, I mean they won’t die after seventy or eighty or a hundred years, like a normal human. They can be killed, so they’re not exactly immortals, but it’s not as easy as snuffing out a mortal. You can’t just drop one of them down an elevator shaft and call it a day.”

  “Bloody Hell, Nails,” Tommo said queasily.

  “Sorry. Anyway, there’s four types, like I was saying,” Barry counted them off on his fingers. “Angels. Vampires. The Sleeper. And Demons.”

  “Ah fuck me,” Little Phil groaned.

  “Don’t worry,” Barry said, “there’s only two Demons in the world and they’re basically harmless. There’s a sort of a set of accords, you know, like the…” he groped for a simile, and happened to glance up at the television set bolted over the bar.

  The television was showing a news clip. They’d begun to dismantle the Berlin Wall just a few days after Barry’s death. It was one of the things Barry and Seam had talked about after Seam had woken up the night before, after the departure of the Archangel Gabriel.

  So what else did I miss?

  Nothing much. Couple of soccer matches, Nutter had a slanging match with his missus and spent a night on Tommo’s couch before they sorted things out, and oh yeah, they started tearing down the Berlin Wall.

  Fuck me. Turn my back for five minutes and people just start tearing things down willy-nilly. Gonna have to fix that.

  “…like the political stuff they’re doing over in Europe, right,” Barry continued. “The Angels and the Demons are sort of at a standoff, neither side getting in each other’s faces. And Demons don’t go around possessing people and committing mass-murders and stuff. They’re more like politicians. And let’s face it, human politicians do enough damage as it is. Demons can’t really make a splash, and they don’t have to work very hard to make humans act like cunts.”

  There was a general cynical rumbling of agreement at this, and several pints were hoisted.

  “Where do Vampires and Sleepers fit in, then?” another of the Sheepbreezers asked.

  “Well, let’s start with Vampires,” Barry shrugged. “It’s really just a name, but it’s as good as any and it does sort of cover all the mythological bases even if the reality is a bit less exciting. They’re restricted to nocturnal activities, they have great big teeth, they drink human blood, and their bodies are human bodies that already died, then reanimated in a slightly altered shape. They can’t die of some things that kill humans, like old age or a bullet through the heart, although a good burning or decapitation kills a Vampire just as dead as a human.”

  “Right,” Tommo said, looking around at the crowded bar. It had, Seam was forced to admit, never seemed quite so Vampire-filled before. “So they really are sort of connected to all the myths and horror movies and ghost stories and shit.”

  Barry teetered his hand back and forth. “Yes and no,” he replied. “Vampires have made their way into mythology and popular culture, because who doesn’t love an undead blood-drinking abomination who used to be Grandpa? But only a tiny percentage of Vampires – and the population of Vampires themselves is only a tiny percentage of humans, something like one in a hundred thousand – only a tiny percentage of Vampires can actually blend in with a crowd of humans and actually function in human society.

  “Most Vampires are too twisted, mentally as well as physically, to pass as human. They’re more like wild animals,” he smiled. “Not many of them even wear clothes, let alone hang out in nightclubs, wearing sunglasses,” the Angel’s smile faded. “Of course, some do. The successful ones. There’s a hundred or so of them, in a global Vampire population of fifty thousand-odd.”

  “That’s a fucking ton of Vampires,” Tommo remarked.

  Barry shrugged. “There’s about four times that many actual human murderers,” he said, “and that’s a pretty conservative estimate.”

  “Alright,” Tommo said, “let me rephrase. That’s a fucking ton of Vampires compared to how many Vampires I thought there were in the world when I woke up this morning.”

  Barry and the others laughed. “Fair enough,” the Angel said.

  “Anyway, doesn’t the one-in-a-hundred-thousand Vampires count as a murderer?” Nutter added.

  Barry shook his head. “No more than mosquitoes or cars or cancer cells do,” he said. “Death by Vampire is basically indistinguishable from death by natural causes, because it is a natural cause. It’s just attributed to one or another of the symptoms, since … well, A,” he ticked off on his fingers again, “because ‘death by Vampire’ isn’t in the medical playbook of your average developed nation, and B, because a Vampire victim isn’t found with two tell-tale puncture wounds in the neck and a body completely drained of blood … there’s any number of different things that a doctor or police officer will put the death down to, before thinking ‘hey, maybe it was a Vampire’.

  “A Vampire isn’t your regular human psychopath or serial killer or cannibal or whatever. And they’re not actually wild animals, although they’re close – they do have some level of human intelligence, just not enough to actually pass for humans.”

  “Except when they do,” Tommo added.

  “Except when they do,” Barry agreed placidly. “They’re the next predator along the evolutionary ladder, one specially designed to combat the human race, to keep its population under control. Although yes,” he immediately amended, “I know the word ‘designed’ is a loaded one. I just mean it’s a natural progression, any actual intent or meaning we choose to give it is just a result of our tendency to make up stories to explain things.

  “All plaguelike species have Vampirism within their biological make-up, although it’s most distinctive with a sentient species like humans because – well, because humans pay so much attention to themselves. There are kinds of ants, and even microscopic bacteria, that have Vampires within their species.”

  “Vampire ants?” a dubious Little Phil summarised. Most of the other guys, if Seam was any judge, were reflecting on the description of humanity as a ‘plaguelike species’, and trying to decide whether or not they liked it.

  “Perfectly natural,” Barry said. “Of course, Vampires have only had a few thousand years to get started in the human race, and only really took off in the population explosions of the past few centuries. That’s not long in terms of a new subspecies, but they’re doing basically what they’re supposed to do. Since no other predator on Earth can curb the human race’s growth, good old Mother Nature had to use a human derivative.”

  The listeners digested that.

  “So Vampires are okay?” Nutter asked.

  “Well,” Barry teetered his hand again. “You know those nature documentaries, where the lions attack a herd of buffaloes or whatever, and they chase them around until a little one or an old one or one with a busted leg goes down, and then they pick it off? Well, Vampires are just like any predator. They stay on the outskirts of the human race, and sneak in every now and then to feed. Generally their food comes from hospitals, nursing homes, places like that. They’re not above breaking into houses and attacking the very young, but infants are generally protected by adults. That’s where humans and buffaloes are a bit different, usually. Vampires prefer to go after the very old. Not many healthy adults live in nursing homes and retirement villages and the like.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Nutter declared.

  Barry smiled wryly. “The fact that there are old people in retirement villages, or people trapped on life support who would welcome death by Vampire is pretty disgusting too.”

  There were a couple more nervous laughs at that. “So what about the other Vampires?” Tommo asked. “The nightclub ones. How many of them in Australia?”

  Barry waved a hand dismissively. “None,” he said, “Australia’s still
not big enough for them to really operate in. You’re more likely to be struck by lightning. Some of the oldest, from human populations that have been dense for a long time – they’re clever, and nasty. They come close to being what I’d call evil. I mean, they’re like humans, but a rabid man-eating variant of human without any of the normal limitations that require you to behave out of concern that society will turn on you.”

  Seam noticed the shift. You. Barry, of course, was no longer a part of the club. He really was above and beyond it all, looking on in benevolent concern.

  “This is unbelievable,” Little Phil said, although his tone was more wondering than Seam could ever remember it being before.

  Barry smiled apologetically. “It’s all pretty unbelievable,” he agreed. “Some of the animals that live in the ocean, I mean – it’s pretty obvious that there are things down there that the human race may never see, things that make Vampires look like moo-cows,” he laughed. “Like I say though, it’s all pretty boring once you explain it scientifically. It all makes sense if you look at it right. There doesn’t have to be a spooky supernatural explanation for it, as long as you accept that there will always be new information coming in.”

  “Where did you get this new information from?” Tommo asked tentatively. “I mean, no offence, Nails, but last night you barely seemed to know your own name.”

  “A lot of it I’m sort of figuring out as I go along,” Barry said cautiously, glancing at Seam. “I’m remembering, or my instinctive knowledge is sort of building up, or my Angelic senses are reaching out, whatever – you know, like the way I managed to show up at the pub without causing a riot,” he gestured around, then went on more seriously. “The rest of it … okay, I have a bit of a mentor, I’m getting some new info. But I can’t really talk about it,” he said, and sat back, raising his final third-of-a-pint in a conspiratorial toast. “Top secret Angel stuff.”

  “Right,” Tommo said. “So what about the other ones – the Sleepers? What do they do?”

  Barry grinned and set his glass back down. “Golly, Tom, I guess they’re the ones that bounce around on fuckin’ pogo sticks all the time.”

  There was more laughter, and Tommo joined in, acknowledging that it had been a bit of a stupid question and celebrating, along with the other Sheepbreezers, what a splendidly sarcastic Angel they’d acquired.

  “The Sleeper,” Barry amended once they’d all had a good chuckle, “isn’t actually a group. As far as we know, there’s only one of her.”

  “‘Her’?” Tommo said in an attempt to recover a little lost ground after the pogo stick thing. “What is she, Sleeping Beauty?”

  “She’s not really anything,” Barry went on, looking oddly uncertain. “She’s not a Vampire, and she’s not exactly an Angel or a Demon, and her identity and location are unknown,” he shook his head. “She’s just … another sort of very old mind, an ancient presence in the background, alive but dormant. Something like what Angels turn into if they wind up away from holy ground at daybreak, and something like what Vampires turn into if they go too long without feeding.”

  “What,” Tommo said, mopping up some of his spilled burger-juice with a couple of chips, “don’t Vampires crumble into dust if they go without blood?”

  “They crumble into dust in daylight,” Barry said in amusement, “unlike Angels … but if they’re kept out of the sun and kept from eating, they can go into a sort of a fugue state. They’re more likely to just die, but it is possible for them to go into hibernation. The Sleeper is sort of the same.

  “Nobody’s really sure where she came from or how she happened. Vampires are like a natural development in the food chain, and Angels and Demons are sort of a manifestation of the human social mass-psyche or something, to be honest I didn’t really follow the explanation and it sounded like a bit of a load of old cobblers to me, but the Sleeper doesn’t really have an explanation.”

  “Not one we know yet, anyway,” Nutter suggested, clearly doing his best.

  “Right,” Barry agreed. “Exactly. Not one we know yet.”

  “What do you think she is?” another of the boys spoke up.

  Barry spread his hands. “I only have slightly more information than you guys do, at the moment,” he said. “I have no idea what the Sleeper is or what she’s supposed to do. I barely have an idea of what Angels are supposed to do,” he shifted uncomfortably.

  The music in the lounge was getting steadily louder as the evening wore on and the crowds thickened, but although the humans were having to raise their voices more and more to make their questions heard, the Angel seemed capable of continuing to talk at his normal volume, and everybody could hear him perfectly. Seam was sure that was just a trick of the mind, a result of them all paying such close attention to everything Barry was doing and saying. Fairly sure.

  “What’s the deal with the undead and daylight, anyway?” Nutter broke the silence.

  “No idea about that either,” Barry said, and then laughed at the collection of incredulous, dubious and betrayed expressions around the table. “For real,” he protested, “I haven’t got a damn clue. Why are some people lactose intolerant, why are some people schizophrenic? Why are some species nocturnal and others not? It’s just the way we developed, I guess. Vampires actively break down in sunlight, something in it triggers the decomposition of their bodies since they’re essentially reanimated corpses. They’re extreme nocturnal hunters, I suppose, and their complete incineration in sunlight encourages them to stay well-hidden? I don’t know. Angels can sunbathe all we want to, as long as we’re on holy ground while we do it.”

  “Maybe it’s the solar radiation,” Seam, who had been thinking about this when he should probably have been sleeping, suggested. “Or the actual light waves or something, since I guess the Earth’s atmosphere blocks most of the radiation whether it’s day or night. You get affected by it in the same way we get sunburn.”

  “Could be,” Barry agreed. “It might also just be as simple as the daytime being when most of the humans around us are awake, and that creates a sort of electromagnetic load, all those waking minds. Not that the undead are psychic or anything–”

  “Nah, that’d be a bit far-bloody-fetched,” Little Phil remarked, to more laughter.

  “But you know,” Barry went on. “Even when I was a human – you guys can feel it, the atmosphere of a big crowd, the energy it has. It just sort of feels different, right?”

  There was a general musing, murmuring, and comparing of notes on this. Seam found himself nodding – but then, he was beginning to realise he did a lot of nodding when Barry was talking.

  “Alright,” Little Phil said, “so that just leaves group number four.”

  “Demons,” Tommo said intently.

  “Oh boy,” Barry leaned back in his seat. “If we’re going to get into that, I’m going to need another drink,” he waved a hand as a half-dozen of the guys volunteered to take the next round. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get it.”

  The Sheepbreezers watched Barry rise to his feet and edge his way around the table. He ambled into the crowd lined four-deep along the bar.

  “He hasn’t got any money, has he?” Little Phil asked suspiciously, and turned to Seam. “Or did you sneak into his place and get his wallet?”

  “We didn’t go back to his place,” Seam said. “Too much complication with the cops and lawyers and all that.”

  “Maybe he’s going to use his Angelic charm to get free pints,” Tommo suggested.

  “You little beauty,” Phil said enthusiastically.

  Conversation lagged in Barry’s absence. The Sheepbreezers were quite capable of carrying on lively debates about just about anything, but in the current circumstances they all seemed to realise that any topic they introduced would seem like a massive step down in magnitude from the things they were listening to Nails talk about.

  “I could eat another one of them,” Tommo said, still scraping at his plate forlornly with his fork. “I dunn
o why, but I’m bloody starving today.”

  “I think it’s because you’re a fat cunt,” Seam said amicably.

  “I think you’re onto something,” Tommo agreed.

  A few minutes later, the crowds parted and Barry emerged bearing a broad tray laden with pint glasses. The Sheepbreezers looked on in solemn, wide-eyed silence as the Angel crossed back to them, placed the heavy load on the table and, with a perfectly straight face, picked his way back around to his seat and sat back down. Then he looked around at them, smiling proudly.

  “Nails,” Little Phil said, leaning forward.

  “Cap?”

  “Those look like honkin’ big dewy pints of fuckin’ water, mate.”

  “Well, yeah,” Barry said, still smiling. “Water’s free. Give me a minute,” he rolled his head from side to side as though loosening his neck, and interlocked and flexed his fingers. “Anyway, you were asking about Demons.”

  “Yeah?” Little Phil said, still looking with deep suspicion at the unconscionable mass of water on the table.

  “Can’t help you,” Barry said placidly, after all that. “All I know is that there are two Demons out there, like I said, and they apparently don’t get out much. They prefer to stay behind the scenes.”

  “Only two?” Tommo asked. He, too, was watching Barry and the pints of water.

  “Yep. I don’t think they’re much like Angels or Vampires,” Barry went on, “although I don’t know much about them either way. They do come from human stock, but I don’t know how similar the process is. They don’t get rolled back into circulation as often as Angels do – and we don’t get rolled back into circulation often.”

  “Something tells me that’s not because there are more good people than bad,” Tommo said.

  “Actually, that might very well be the reason,” Barry disagreed. “There are generally more decent people than arseholes in the world – we just notice the arseholes way more easily. Even decent people occasionally have a bad day and do something shitty, and that’s what people remember,” he grinned. “The old ‘fuck one goat’ joke.”