SURVIVAL

by Karen Payton Holt

  A slight smile creased his gray-tinted skin as he listened idly to the same instructions being issued, but in a colder tone.

  Connor downed the vials of blood in quick succession, veiling his surprise as the contents of the last one lined his gullet. All three were human.

  Charles’ face remained carefully blank as the young vampire returned to collect the empties. Connor dropped them into the cloth bag Charles held out, and hooking his finger over the edge, he anchored the vampire to the spot for a fleeting moment.

  Looking up, Charles cleared his throat.

  ‘Thank you,’ was implicit in the look Connor gave, ever mindful of the gallery filled with vampires who had nothing better to do than listen in.

  Charles disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

  Julian stepped out into the arena, and stood at the epicenter of the gathering storm. “This is a fight to the death.” His voice resonated around the hall. In a theatrical homage to the days when the death sentence was still on the statute books in England, he wore a square of black linen on his head.

  “There will be two bouts of ninety seconds,” Julian continued. “The third has no time limit. No quarter shall be given, or asked. Only one vampire will be left standing. Is that understood?” He stared at Sebastian, his look of disdain penetrating the distance of twenty yards and causing the bronze-stained jaw muscle to twitch.

  Sebastian masked his annoyance with a slow blink.

  Connor nodded sharply.

  Julian clicked his fingers in the sharp crack of a starting pistol as he commanded, “Begin.” In an instant, he vanished from the battlefield.

  Anthony stepped out and tossed the first weapon into the arena – the ‘otta’ was an ‘S’ shaped stick made of wood from the tamarind tree, with a heavy knot on one end.

  Rotating on one foot in a forceful arc, and reaching overhead, Connor closed his hand around the thick hardwood girth of the otta as it somersaulted through the air.

  Charles’ surprised whisper rang through the arena. “Not a blade?”

  “Think of it as tenderizing the meat, tearing the fibers to prepare it for slicing,” was Julian’s grim reply.

  Connor lowered his arm, letting the weighted end drag the shaft through his palm. Gripping the smooth hilt, he faced Sebastian, and, swinging the otta head in front of his chest, he drew figures of eight in the air.

  Sebastian mirrored his movements; the combatants’ eyes locked as they swayed from side to side.

  Drawing Sebastian into the dance, Connor swung the otta overhead, lunged in, and landed a two-handed axe blow, cracking into the shaft of Sebastian’s weapon and sending the swinging weight careering off course. When Sebastian stumbled, Connor jabbed the knot of hardwood into his stomach, and heard the bottom rib crack.

  Connor bared his teeth in a taunting grin.

  Sebastian launched a swinging blow. Twisting away, Connor dropped to one knee, and a jarring vibration shook him as Sebastian’s counter strike slammed into the fleshy part of his shoulder.

  Shifting his grip to mid-shaft, still kneeling, Connor’s stabbing blow crunched the otta head into Sebastian’s sternum.

  Connor surged to his feet.

  A hyena badgering a lion, Sebastian crouched and lunged, dodging back when Connor swung the otta above his head. His silver skin glistening as his torso flexed, building a smooth hypnotic rhythm, and offering his chest as a target.

  He could feel the human blood rushing into his nervous system, sharpening his senses and Connor’s concentration hit the sweet spot. His muscle fibers began to hum with the exhilaration of full hydration. Sebastian moved in slow motion by comparison, his calculation written clearly on his face.

  Swaying in time with Connor’s fluid movement, Sebastian rocked back and forth as he doubted his accuracy in judging distance with one eye. As the ninety seconds ticked away, desperation flooded in, and Sebastian dived forward.

  Like a matador, Connor danced away, guided Sebastian’s barreling weight under his arm and slammed his otta down on Sebastian’s back. The crackling sound of compressed bone filled Connor’s ears, and he grinned. His shoulder blade will crumble with the next hit.

  “Bout two,” Julian called out, as once again, he snapped his fingers.

  The sound vibrated inside Connor’s head like the crack of a dry twig. Both vampires backed away, each hurling the ottas in the tumbling spin of a boomerang back toward their corners.

  Connor shrugged off the disappointment and jogged toward Anthony, massaging his shoulder and reforming the contours of the muscle. That, and a stiff thigh... not bad.

  Anthony launched a ‘modi’, and Connor leapt in the air to receive it, pushing his hand into the dagger’s D-shaped grip, and fitting it snugly over his clenched hand. The three-inch blade, with undulating edges resembling a gazelle horn, protruded in an extension of his fist.

  He spared a nanosecond to reflect on using weapons of the ancient martial arts discipline from which all others were thought to have been born. Kalari. Level playing field – few vampires can be old enough to have used them before.

  Rubbing his thumb over the leather grip of the modi, Connor waited the fraction of a second it took Anthony to throw a compact circular shield along the same trajectory. It whistled through the air as Connor broke into a run. Keeping pace with the whirling, silver disc, he reached out and anchored his grip onto the shield’s leather handhold.

  Sebastian darted into Connor’s peripheral vision, the light refracting from his bronzed, oiled frame.

  Connor charged forward in a circular path, and, leaping ten-feet into the air, descended upon Sebastian like an eagle falling out of the sun.

  Ducking to one side, Sebastian swung his shield up and covered his face. His foe’s slicing blade bit into Sebastian’s shoulder.

  A juddering sensation shot up Connor’s arm as the serrated edge chiseled its way into the firm flesh, and tore a fillet of tissue away. The wooden floor splintered when Connor landed, and he sprang back when Sebastian lashed out and scraped his shield across Connor’s chest.

  The crouched metallic figures circled the arena. Julian’s “box of frogs” joke settled in Connor’s head as he tracked the weaving and bobbing of Sebastian’s misshapen face. A slimy customer.

  Connor moved suddenly, slamming his hefty shield into Sebastian’s blocking forearm and forcing him back. He pounded the side of his clenched fist into Sebastian’s shield, protecting the blade edge as he dented the metal.

  Repeating the twin strikes of shield and fist in fast succession, his rotating shoulders took up the rhythm as he pummeled first on bone and then on steel.

  Sebastian fell back in jerking strides. He flung his body from side to side, dropping lower and lower, until he was forced to roll away. Regaining his feet, he unleashed a roundhouse kick towards Connor’s chin.

  Connor dodged to one side and used his shield to drive Sebastian’s leg back down. Using that momentum, Sebastian swung back up and jabbed his blade at Connor’s throat.

  Connor threw his shield to the floor. The clatter resolved into the hum of a weaving gyroscope, as he folded his fist around Sebastian’s and stopped the blade’s forward propulsion dead.

  A shroud of silence settled as Sebastian’s roar of satisfaction faded.

  Connor tightened his grip around the bronze stained fist, and, digging the needle-sharp point of the modi into his own skin, he dragged the tip of the blade down his chest, scoring a line through the lead-tinted dye on his pectoral muscle. He settled the point at his heart, his derision boring into Sebastian’s brain. Rotating his wrist, tightening the screw, Connor forced Sebastian to bow down as the tendons in his shoulder grated.

  “So close, Sebastian,” he said, staring down at Sebastian’s contorted body.

  Sebastian’s drooping eyelids veiled his gaze. He folded further forward, relaxing in defeat. “So close,” he muttered.

  I’ll play his game. “No quarter given, are you ready to die?” Connor waited for the
counter attack.

  Sebastian dropped his head and accelerated his shield forward in a horizontal arc. The polished steel glinted as the metal edge gouged a groove into Connor’s hip.

  Connor did not flinch, his tensed muscles as hard as the metallic color staining his skin suggested.

  “Muscle fibers in the gluteus medius run vertically.” Connor clucked his tongue. “Anatomy one-oh-one, Sebastian.”

  In a single sharp movement, Connor yanked Sebastian’s knife hand down, and flipped him over onto his back. He hit the wooden floor and the thump rang around the hall.

  Planting his foot on the battered shield lying across Sebastian’s greasy chest, Connor pressed down until his ribcage creaked.

  “C’mon, Sebastian,” Connor gloated, “is this all you’ve got?”

  Hatred filled Sebastian’s eyes as he refused to speak.

  “Bout three.” Julian’s strident announcement fractured the tension.

  Connor leapt back as though the shield delivered an electric shock through the sole of his foot. His gaze sliced across the tight features of the closest marksman. I’m not giving them an excuse.

  “Saved by the bell, this time.” Connor stared down at Sebastian’s prone figure and inhaled deeply, expanding his chest. “But, can you survive more than ninety seconds? I don’t think so.”

  Sebastian rolled to his feet, lowering his shield in a defiant display. His shattered cheekbone grated as he grimaced. “We shall see.”

  Julian’s bark reverberated around the cavernous space. “Combatants, fall back to your corners, now!”

  Still clenching the modi, Connor backed away, scooping his shield up from the floor without breaking his stride. A glow of satisfaction settled in his gut when Sebastian reached back to investigate the missing flesh over his shoulder blade.

  Sebastian’s fingertips dragged over the chalk dust finish where before there had been the slickness of oiled skin. The pupil of Sebastian’s good eye contracted to a pinprick of rage.

  Connor’s enjoyment filtered across the gap. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” A wheedling tone wafted on a breeze, as he said idly, “Have you looked in the mirror, lately?”

  In a gut reaction, Sebastian’s body jerked forward, before he reined it in.

  Connor’s shield fell from relaxed fingers and he spread his arms in invitation. The oiled skin of his torso flowed like mercury over hard pebbles as he beckoned in the timeless ‘bring it on’ gesture. “We don’t need weapons, Sebastian. You think you can take me.” His features tightened in a beguiling smile. “We can end this, now,” he said. His pupils widened to dark, hypnotic pools. “Just say the word.”

  Sebastian took a step forward as the magnetic pull of Connor’s will reached into his mind and echoed his own desires.

  “Combatants!” Captain Gerrard’s sharp tone broke the spell.

  Sebastian shook his head, dislodging Connor’s wraithlike presence, and moved raggedly back to his end of the combat zone.

  So close. Connor heaved a sigh, and muttered, “Damned pantomime.”

  He backed up a few more strides, before turning away and easing the tension from his muscles in an explosive sprint across the arena.

  Connor was still a dozen yards from Anthony when a draft of ionized air stung his nostrils. The hairs on his nape stiffened as a wave of static electricity enveloped him. His instincts could not yet make sense of it, but he knew he was about to come under attack.

  Anthony stepped out from behind the protective barrier of his weapon station. “Don’t touch him, boy,” he yelled, “get back to your corner.”

  Connor read Anthony’s fierce expression and executed a turn which carved a trench, and sawdust spat from the polished wooden floor. Following the direction of Anthony’s glare, Connor’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sebastian staggering, and his childlike ‘second’ dashing out to steady him.

  Events clicked into place as Connor’s brain shifted into a faster gear than the vampires around him. He had the advantage of a nervous system running on the highest grade of stimuli – human blood – and everything happened at once.

  The youth grabbed Sebastian’s arm, resting the other hand on his back, before he leapt back at Anthony’s command.

  Sebastian’s animation suddenly died. His limbs froze in a twisted posture as though he was pushing through pain which tried to double him over. He threw his head back and the gnarled ropes of the sinews in his neck strangled a groan.

  A seizure gripped his body and tore at his muscle fibers, pulling the curves in his skeleton to ramrod straight. Sebastian’s chin snapped downwards and he concentrated a demonic glare on Connor. His hazel eye glittered with malevolence. His blind eye glistened with an amalgam of silvered fish scales as though his milk-white pupil was determined to see.

  Connor called out, “Julian, he’s in grave sleep.”

  At the same moment, Charles’ detector stuttered, stringing a series of agitated clicks together until they became a continuous shriek. His hand went up and he shouted, “Code red, code red, code red.”

  Julian took up the call. “Marksmen, target code red.”

  Sebastian’s features froze in a silent scream, capturing his rage as a festering pool of hatred. He hurtled forward and four red dots tracked him, anchored to his head as though they were buried into his skin.

  “Fire at will,” Julian’s command focused every set of vampire eyes on the blood red threads of light which connected four rifle barrels to their ‘mark’.

  Facing Sebastian, Connor planted his feet wide, balancing his weight as he watched the crazed figure closing in fast. With another three bounding strides accomplished and still no rifle fire, Sebastian suddenly flung his arm back, and, like drawing an arrow from a quiver, his hand reappeared gripping a bare stiletto blade.

  Connor recognized the diamond-tipped stiletto which had gouged a hole in his side the night he had rescued Rebekah. His eyes darted across to Sebastian’s diminutive second, and the malignant grin on the boyish face landed a sledgehammer of certainty in Connor’s chest. It explained how Sebastian got hold of the blade.

  The youth’s eyes glittered with the manic intent of an unbalanced mind. Clever, using the gash I carved in Sebastian’s back as a sheath... ironic.

  As the boy’s smile widened, Connor dished out his own brand of swift justice. He eased the leather grip of the modi from his knuckles, and with the flick of the wrist, launched it in an arrow’s flight across the intervening forty yards. He watched with satisfaction as the three-inch blade shattered the bridge of the young vampire’s nose and buried itself in his skull. The force of the blow flung him backwards, and the thud of his body hitting the floor drowned out everything else for a fraction of a second.

  Connor’s attention snapped back to the bronzed form bearing down upon him. He waited a further nanosecond for the peppering of gunfire, anticipating the screaming flight of four high-powered depleted-uranium bullets which should be ricocheting inside Sebastian’s head. But... nothing. What the hell?

  He started to run. Sitting duck is not my style. Zigzagging across the arena, he headed for the ten-foot high hoarding which bordered the fighting space. He knew exactly where Sebastian was by the storm of clashing currents stirred by his bullish approach.

  The sound of Sebastian’s jaw grinding away the few teeth he had left grew louder as he gained ground, using the slipstream of Connor’s barreling bodyweight to find speed born of insanity.

  Accelerating, Connor dragged Sebastian along with him. As the stiletto blade jabbed into the broad muscle on Connor’s back, he eased into a longer stride. I need him close, but, not that close.

  He focused on the boards rushing towards him, and targeted the dead center of one panel. He accelerated up the vertical barricade and, when he ran out of wall, launched himself into a somersault. His flight took him overhead, and Sebastian crashed chest first into the hard barrier, and spun around.

  Connor landed, regained a firm foothold, and was ready to move
again.

  Sebastian committed to a vicious shoulder charge, clasping the stiletto blade close to his chest.

  Connor risked an angry gaze into the face of the nearest marksman. They should have taken the shot by now, shit... I should have hung on to that modi.

  Captain Gerrard’s sharp tone grated over Connor’s nerves. “Fire at will, dammit. Take him down.”

  Him? Who is him? Connor decided not to wait and find out.

  He closed the gap on Sebastian, mirroring his aggressive charge. A moving target is harder to hit.

  Deathly calm gripped Connor as he honed in on the points of danger with military precision. The four taut, red tethers of light still focused on Sebastian, creating the bizarre illusion of dragging him around the arena like the strings of a puppet. A breathing space then. Though, that could change at any second. A lapse in concentration could be fatal. Are they biding their time? Calculating his options, he decided the demented, salivating Sebastian remained the most immediate threat.

  The twenty seconds of Sebastian’s grave sleep yawned as a chasm of chaos to Connor’s lightning-fast brain.

  Sebastian rushed in and Connor twisted away. Sebastian’s shoulder grazed across his chest and the uppercut destined for his gut, accelerated through thin air and buried the diamond-hard stiletto tip in Connor’s tricep. He felt the pressure as it skewered his hard tissue, and then sliced it open as Sebastian’s momentum carried him forward.

  As Sebastian passed beneath his raised arm, Connor delivered a vicious rabbit punch to the back of his neck, digging a blunt blade of knuckles in hard; a matador wearing down a bull. The blow to the brainstem will scramble a few of his reflexes.

  Connor allowed Sebastian’s blade strike to spin him around, and pinned his stare on the crazed vampire’s receding back.

  Sebastian turned to come at him again, and only three laser beams of light marred his face.

  Connor registered the heat of the roving laser beam like a cigarette burn on his skin, and instinctively launched into a somersault. Target acquired. He shielded his head with his arms as his body revolved in mid-air, and his thoughts were crystal clear. Take out the rifleman first – a grim smile creased his cheeks – all four, if I have to.