Forbidden Feast

by Joelle Sterling

  Ismene rapped sharply on a mahogany door, opened it, and gestured for Bradley to enter. With exotic animal-fur wall hangings, tribal masks, and a collection of woodcarvings, Elson’s suite reminded Bradley of Africa. Set on a polished wood table was what appeared to be a solid gold chess set. Engaged in a chess match, Elson and Chaos sat across from each other, silently studying the gleaming pieces.

  Bradley had never seen Chaos sitting still. Having previously exhibited the traits of an ADHD adult, Chaos had seemed incapable of quiet contemplation. It was a relief to be in his presence without having to duck and dodge as the energetic vampire took flying leaps and engaged in wild performances that caused walls to shake.

  Collapsed on an antique sofa, Mayor Ringwood was beat up and bloody with claw marks on his face, a deep gash on the top of his head, and numerous puncture wounds covering his neck. Though Bradley felt a stab of pity for the man, he was also relieved that this time it was the mayor, and not he, who had ignited the wrath of the vampires.

  “Our friend is ready to sign the paperwork, isn’t that right?” Elson said to Ringwood.

  “If you say so, but you might as well have a gun to my head,” Ringwood slurred, and it was hard to tell if his speech had been affected by too much liquor or severe blood loss.

  “Whether or not you sign is completely up to you,” Elson said coldly, cutting an eye at Chaos. Chaos pushed his chair back fiercely. Leaning forward and leering in anticipation, Chaos didn’t require much goading; he seemed eager to pounce on the mayor.

  Ringwood’s arm went up defensively. “Keep that madman away from me! Geez, I’m gonna need a transfusion if you guys don’t let up with the constant biting. I’m getting nauseous.”

  “Are you ready to sign the property over to me?” Elson said, taking steps toward Ringwood.

  “I guess, but, um . . . I have to say something on behalf of my constituents that you’re holding hostage downstairs. What you’re forcing them to do is inhumane and opposes everything this great country stands for.” He dropped his eyes in shame. “People have been warning me. They’ve been calling my office complaining about vampires swarming our fine city, but I didn’t listen. I thought they were all batshit crazy.” Ringwood groaned miserably. “I failed them. A good mayor should always listen to the voice of the people.”

  Elson applauded. “Great speech, Mr. Mayor, but you should save it for your next campaign. I’m sure the people will rally behind a man that promises to rid the city of evil vampires.”

  Ringwood’s face twisted in bafflement. “What are you saying?”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, fellow. I’m going to put my power behind you, and you’re going to get through this smelling like a rose. Let’s get together in a week or so, after I’ve settled in at the mansion. We’ll have dinner and discuss our future in politics. With you running the city as merely a figurehead, we’ll be able to accomplish great things together.”

  “A figurehead—what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that from now on, you’ll be mayor in name only; I’ll be the one who’s really running this town.”

  “Oh, I see,” Ringwood said, looking sickened.

  “Glad we see eye to eye.” Elson gave Ringwood a slap on the back.

  “Ow, go easy. Every part of my body hurts.” Wincing, Ringwood ran a finger over the punctures on his neck. “You didn’t have to sic those vampires on me to get your point across. I was lured here under false pretenses. Your friend here . . .” Frowning in repugnance, he nodded toward Bradley. “He told me you’re in business with Arabs and that you’re filthy rich from big oil deals. Is there any truth to the story that you’re interested in opening a few casinos and spreading some of your wealth around Frombleton?”

  “Bradley has a vivid imagination. Though I’m quite wealthy, I didn’t get my fortune from oil, nor do I plan on venturing into the casino industry. But don’t worry, Mr. Mayor, I have a few ideas to increase the revenue of Frombleton. We’ll get together soon. Now, stop stalling and sign the papers.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Elson gave Bradley a head nod and Bradley opened his briefcase. He retrieved the folder that contained the important documents, and then spread them out on an elegant, wood-carved coffee table. “Sign here . . . here . . . and here, Mr. Mayor,” Bradley said, pointing eagerly at each page that required a signature.

  As Ringwood hastily scrawled his name, Bradley noticed twin, gaping holes in his wrist. As despicable a character as the mayor was, he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the guy. He’d lost a lot tonight: blood, his distinguished position, and his dignity.

  Ringwood signed the last page and then struggled to his feet. “That’s that,” he said as he attempted to smooth out his torn and crinkled suit. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to call myself a cab. There’s no way I’m getting back in the limo with that bloodthirsty driver.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Ismene said, stepping forward.

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t make decisions anymore, Elson does.” She glanced at Elson. “Any preference on how the mayor gets home?”

  “He can take a cab, but make sure the cabbie gives a pint of blood and is added to the donors list.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Ismene responded.

  CHAPTER 20

  He was tired. His limbs felt leaden—too heavy to function properly. Moving lethargically, Walter Sutton was unable to keep up with the pack. While the other flesh-eaters swiftly followed the scent of blood, Walter slowly dragged what was left of his decaying body, emitting grunts and garbled cries of frustration. By the time he reached the human prey, the pack had already fed and had moved on, leaving nothing for Walter except a ragged carcass. No juicy innards, no bloody clumps of meat. There was nothing except shredded clothing, clusters of hair, and bare bones.

  He hovered over the carcass and broke off a skeletal finger. Chomping into the bone, he frantically sucked out the marrow. Dissatisfied and violently hunger, he flung the bony finger and growled in rage. Grabbing tufts of hair from the pavement, he hungrily nibbled on the bits of scalp that were attached to the patches of hair. But the painful hunger continued, cutting through him like a fiery knife.

  His former identity, Walter Sutton, onion farmer, was no longer a part of his memory. In fact, he had no memory at all. No recollection of relatives or friends or any aspect of his human existence. It had been weeks since he’d last fed, but Walter had no concept of time. His level of awareness completely revolved around his ravenous desire to consume flesh and blood.

  Alerted by movement and the scent of warm blood, he reached out a rotting hand toward a speeding car that was swerving dangerously out of control as it traveled along the deserted road. Due to an injury, or maybe from sheer panic alone, the driver lost control and slammed into a telephone pole. The loud boom announced the collision, and somewhere in Walter’s consciousness was the knowledge that injured prey was near.

  For flesh-eaters, the explosion of sound had the same effect as the ring of a dinner bell. Acting more out of impulse than hunger, the pack of living dead that had fed only a few minutes ago, turned around and began flocking toward the crash site. Ambling as swiftly as their uncoordinated bodies would allow, they grunted and drooled with excitement.

  In his haste to join in the feeding frenzy, Walter’s legs gave out, and he fell to the ground. Lying on his stomach, he was unable to gather enough strength to push himself up from the pavement and rise to his feet. Relying on pure instinct, he used blackened fingernails to dig into the concrete grooves and to slowly and determinedly pull himself along, but when it became too much of an effort to keep going, Walter groaned in misery and writhed on the ground. Driven mad by the scent of human blood, he cried out in pain and rage.

  Jonas carried a shopping bag filled with fresh slabs of beef, packaged in brown paper and taped closed. As he slipped into the back of the mill, he could hear the rattling chains that secured the
creatures that were known in their human lives as Pedro and Julia. Sensing Jonas was near, their chains clanked together vigorously, and their incomprehensible utterances grew louder and more fervent. The creatures had come to associate Jonas’s presence with the procurement of food.

  Usually, he’d take them into the woods and let them hunt or he’d bring them live poultry, but tonight he planned something else. Holland’s spell had changed his way of eating and it would be a breakthrough if he was successful in changing the creatures’ diets from living flesh to raw meat.

  Inside the mill, he pulled out a package that was damp with blood. Enticed by the smell, his two charges became wild and cried out frantically as they attempted to break free of the chains that bound them. Jonas threw two bloody pieces of meat to the floor and Pedro quickly dropped down and snatched both pieces and stuffed them into his mouth. Left with nothing, Julia snarled in displeasure.

  “Don’t worry; I have something for you, too,” Jonas said. He retrieved more raw meat, and threw the next two pieces in separate directions, aiming one slab near Julia and flinging the other Pedro’s way. They devoured the beef and immediately began whining for more.

  It worked! These creatures are evolving along with me. This could also be a solution for the other creatures that were prowling the streets in search of living food—a solution that would save human lives.

  He smiled to himself as he evenly distributed the meat between Pedro and Julia. The pair had insatiable appetites and could have gorged without cessation if he allowed them to. After they’d eaten the last slab of beef, Jonas was certain they’d had more than enough to appease their immediate hunger. With a sense of satisfaction, he exited the mill.

  After only a few paces, the inner peace and sense of well-being vanished. The roaring cries inside his head reminded him that he had to find the others. One cry rose above the others, and the connection was so powerful, it seemed to be yelling directly into his ears. The link between Jonas and whatever was pleading for help was so strong, he clutched his stomach as he experienced a visceral sensation of agonizing hunger. How could that be? He’d eaten only an hour ago. Dinner had been delivered to his hotel room—rare steak. Why was he feeling that cursed hunger again?

  Who are you? Where are you—and why do I feel such a close connection to you? He closed his eyes and waited, as if expecting the answers to be whispered in his ear. But no answers came. Instead, the cry grew faint and muffled in his head, and finally there was silence. A strong, sudden impulse seemed to pull Jonas northward.

  Hands jammed in his pockets, Jonas walked briskly, following his impulses. Possessing great speed, Jonas found he’d traveled about thirty miles. As he crossed into Willow Hills, he noticed the town was quiet. It appeared deserted with cars piled up on the roads, but no drivers behind the wheels. Where was everyone? Had the whole town fled for their lives or had they all been transformed into cursed, flesh-eaters? He felt a sick sensation as he moved onward, peeking in the windows of uninhabited houses and abandoned businesses.

  A pitiful sound caught his attention, and he whirled to the right, spotting a lone figure sprawled out on the concrete about fifty yards ahead. Jonas galloped forward, bracing himself for the stench and the jolting visual of the decomposing body of another poor soul. When he reached the wretched creature, it was lying on its belly, crying and writhing, but was too weak to turn itself over.

  Flooded with sympathy, Jonas got down on one knee. “I’ll help you,” he said, turning the thing onto its back. Though decomposition had eaten away at its face, and there were only holes where its ears used to be, Jonas saw a glimmer of familiarity and then, gasped in recognition. I know you; I’ve seen you before. He stared at what was left of the face, and vague memories flashed across his mind. Pensively, his hand went to the center of his chest, and through the fabric of his shirt, Jonas could feel the scarred flesh that was caused by a bullet wound. And then he remembered.

  It’s him! It’s the onion farmer that kidnapped me from the boat. The man that shot and buried me alive. Jonas shuddered as memories flooded his mind. He relived the shocking pain of having a bullet tearing into his flesh, and he vividly recalled the terrible fear he’d experienced when piles of dirt were shoveled over his paralyzed body.

  But instead of anger or hatred; he felt only pity for the monster he’d created. So, this is how it all began. I bit the farmer, and somehow created a ravenous brood of flesh-eaters.

  Jonas pulled the farmer to his feet, but he wobbled and then toppled back down. Realizing that the farmer didn’t have the strength to stand on his, Jonas lifted him and tossed him over a shoulder. A block away was the shopping district with an assortment of restaurants and grocery stores. Effortlessly, Jonas carried the farmer, taking him to the first restaurant he encountered. Inside the abandoned bistro, he gingerly placed the farmer’s rotting body on the floor. “Hang on,” he told the groaning farmer, and then made his way to the walk-in refrigerator in the rear. Jonas examined the contents in the refrigerator and began filling an oversized, metal mixing bowl with raw chicken, ground beef, and pork.

  The farmer smelled the raw meat and went wild, struggling to get to his feet. Jonas knelt down and fed him handfuls of ground beef. And like the pair that was locked in the sugar mill, the farmer couldn’t get enough. He kept opening his mouth for more, Jonas fed him until the metal bowl was empty. With his hunger satisfied, the farmer regained enough strength to stand and take slow steps, with Jonas’s assistance.

  “You’ve lost your ability to communicate, but on some level, I know you understand me,” Jonas said, looking into the farmer’s dull eyes. “I have to find the others—the creatures that are roaming around searching for living food. I have to help them, but I need you to stay here until I return.”

  Without a sound of complaint, the farmer allowed Jonas to guide him to the back of the empty restaurant and into a storage room with a desk and an office chair. Jonas nudged the farmer into the chair. Docile and compliant, he sat and stared into space. Jonas left the room and closed the fortified door, sliding the outside bolt into place.

  CHAPTER 21

  Not a single biter had been spotted all day, and Gabe convinced Leroy to make the trip with him to the Texaco station. Tony elected to stay behind and protect the women. Leroy furtively slid a gun to Eden. “This is my back-up weapon, and we’re depending on you—not Tony—to hold things down until we get back,” Leroy whispered.

  “Thanks, Leroy. I appreciate it.” She slipped the weapon in the back of her jeans, covering the handle with the oversized shirt Gabe had loaned her.

  Gabe gave Eden a quick hug. She returned the gesture with an extra tight squeeze. “Hurry back,” she murmured.

  “It shouldn’t take us more than thirty or forty minutes. Hopefully it’s as quiet on Pelham Avenue as it’s been around here.”

  Gabe and Leroy each carried a gas container, and headed out, on foot. Eden stood at the window watching them until they disappeared around the corner. Tony joined her at the window, gripping the nail gun. “How long did they say they’d be gone?” he asked in his typically shaky voice.

  “About a half-hour.”

  “What exactly is the plan if the crazies show up? Am I supposed to run outside and start firing nails at ’em?” Sweat beads formed on his forehead, and his hands trembled slightly.

  “Looks pretty peaceful out there, so why don’t you put that nail gun down?” She gave him a strained smile. “Why don’t you go upstairs and check out the news—find out if CNN is reporting anything about the biters. I’ll keep watch until the guys get back.”

  “Good idea.” Tony set the nail gun down. “Give me a holler if you see anything out there.”

  “Sure,” Eden said, relived when Tony wandered away. Having him hovering over her with a nail gun made her jumpy. Alone with her thoughts, she wondered what was happening with her and Gabe. Was it her imagination or had their friendship changed into something more intimate? Since she’d divulged her se
crets about her stepfather, it seemed they’d established a different kind of closeness. Something tender and meaningful was beginning to develop between them. Like this morning, when she’d mentioned that she could use a change of clothes, Gabe had offered her one of the shirts that was packed in his duffle bag.

  And when Gabe had hugged her before leaving with Leroy, it had taken all of her willpower not to lift her head and kiss him. She sensed he’d wanted to kiss her, too.

  Smiling wistfully, she caressed Gabe’s shirt. Bringing the collar up to her nose, she inhaled his masculine scent.

  “Get out of here, weirdo!” Charlotte suddenly shouted. The high volume and irritation in her voice broke into Eden’s pleasant thoughts. She hustled toward the storage room, and burst through the double doors. Surprisingly, Tony was in Charlotte’s designated quarters, sitting on the cot. “I said, get out of here.” Holding Jane, Charlotte stood over Tony, bristling with anger.

  “What’re you doing back here?” Eden asked Tony.

  “I wanted to see the baby.”

  “He didn’t even knock; just burst in here, and demanded to hold Jane,” Charlotte said, scowling.

  “What’s wrong with that? I love kids. Don’t have any of my own, but I’m crazy about that sweet little angel.” Tony stood and took steps toward Charlotte.

  Eden blocked his path. “Are you all right, Tony? You don’t look well,” she said, noticing that he was twitching and perspiring badly.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanna bounce that little cutie on my knee. She’s got that sweet, baby smell. Makes me wanna bite those chubby cheeks.” Eyes darting wildly, his mouth twisted into an obscene smile, and bits of saliva appeared in the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re not touching her; you creep!” Charlotte exploded. She shot a look at Eden. “He’s acting strange; what do you think is wrong with him?”