Venom & Vampires: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Casey Lane

  Telling myself my unaccountable annoyance was on Barbara’s behalf, I walked to Robert’s end of the table. Over the babble of voices, I spoke firmly, “Hey, everyone, let’s chill. This is one time when Robert’s almost right about me.” Next I did something I’ve never done before. I looked Robert Winters in the eye and reminded the asshole who signed his paycheck. “Sit back down, Robert. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Be Prepared.” -Girl Scout and Boy Scout Motto

  That shut everybody up.

  Uncle Coop didn’t hide his small smile. He would like to see me stand up to Robert more often. I prefer to walk away rather than get into sniping contests with my late husband’s stepbrother.

  For reasons only he knew, Robert has hated me since the day I started working on King Farm at the age of seventeen. When Lawson announced our engagement on my eighteenth birthday, I thought Robert would pop a vein he was so furious. His hatred must be entirely personal because he’s never been in line to inherit King Farm or had any expectations. Robert’s elderly father didn’t marry Lawson’s widowed mother until Robert was already well into his twenties, so he was not raised in the bosom of the King family.

  Law had been the type of man that commanded respect from other men and Robert idolized him. Confronting me back then when Law was not around, Robert had accused me of being a gold digger and worse. He couldn’t understand why Law, a confirmed bachelor at forty-three, had picked me out of all the women he could marry. I was twenty-five years younger, and according to Robert’s rant at the time, brought nothing to the marriage but a bad reputation and a rundown farm. Robert refused to believe Lawson and I were in love.

  All that added up to me writing Robert off as a miserable weasel prick long ago.

  I inherited everything -lock, stock, and barrel- upon Law’s death. He’d publically demonstrated his love and loyalty by entrusting only me with his heritage.

  Except for Robert’s right to live in the clapboard house on its acre of property by the quarry, he was totally dependent upon my good graces for his livelihood. That was why I didn’t generally react or fight with Robert. Shooting fish in a barrel was not my idea of fun.

  Regardless of Robert’s true feelings, you’d think his dependent situation would encourage his discretion, but lately, it had done the opposite. When Law was alive, Robert treated me respectfully. He was cunning enough to realize that Law would never tolerate anything less. Since Law’s death, the gloves were off. I’ve been receiving warnings from various people over the last couple of months that Robert was spreading a rumor that I was unfit to run King Farm. A new low even for the weasel prick, I still couldn’t summon the energy to care much for such gossip.

  Robert was fifty-four now and had managed the quarry for over twenty years. Bobby was his assistant manager. Since Law died, we communicated any business matters solely through Bobby. That arrangement had worked successfully until today. Now I couldn’t begin to predict what our lives were going to be like. Anything involving Robert was sure to be an ugly pain in my butt.

  I walked to my end of the table, my back to Robert. After a shocked pause, I heard Robert’s chair scrape roughly across the hardwood floor as he sat back down.

  “It’s true; I was incredibly scared tonight. I still am. After seeing that report on TV and reading about that ship in Florida, I’m convinced it’s going to get much worse.”

  Ray Dean added his endorsement with a ringing, “You tell ‘em, Acadia!” while T-bone glared aggressively around the table at my family and friends, as if daring anyone to disagree with me again. Liz wiggled her brows and directed a small smile towards me at their fierce defense. I covered my mouth. It appeared I may have a new pair of unsolicited champions.

  “Thanks, guys. I think we’ve got a day or two to work our butts off getting prepared before it won’t be easy or safe to go to the stores. After that, since we’re off the beaten track, we should have more time to work on the defenses of the house and property, but there are no guarantees. I’ve got a general plan and already started the ball rolling on the ride back here, but I need all your help.” I picked up the trapper keeper and held it aloft. “This notebook holds lists on what to do in the event of different catastrophes. Sorry, I dropped the ball and skipped over a zombie infection, so we’ll have to adapt and brainstorm.”

  “I refuse to sit here…” Suddenly, Robert broke off speaking when Uncle Coop leaned forward and held his eyes. Robert sat back down with an angry flush, his mouth tight. I felt T-bone’s shoulders shake beside me.

  Salty rose from his chair. A raw-boned, attractive man in his mid-sixties, he had bright blue eyes and a perpetual tan from being constantly outdoors. He almost always wore his salt and pepper hair pulled back in a long braid down his back. His nose was large, and I’d never seen him without the mustache that flared out on either side of his mouth, Frito Bandito-style.

  Salty projected an almost mystical calm and was a benevolent father figure to us all on the farm. It would be easy to think of him as just an aging hipster that smoked weed, loved the land, and dispensed good advice. He was all that, but you would underestimate him as only that at your own peril. I have twice witnessed Salty in bar brawls. He put down much larger men with a punch faster than a rattler’s strike.

  Salty never discussed his life before King Farm. I’ve heard only little snippets over the years about Salty’s past, but those little bits were bad enough for me to greatly admire him for all he’d overcome to become the friend I loved and counted on.

  At this moment, Salty’s eyes roamed the room taking everyone’s measure while he ran a hand back over his head and down his braid. That was a mannerism I’ve seen him do a thousand times before when thinking over a worrisome problem.

  “Acadia, for years you know that I have been your biggest fan with every new plan and business you’ve started,” he began tentatively, “but how sure are you that this,” his hand indicated the notebook in mine, “isn’t an overreaction to being attacked tonight? Are you positive we need to batten down the hatches? Or could we take a less reactionary approach, carefully watch the news, and see how we should proceed when we have more facts?”

  Salty spoke truthfully, he has always been unstintingly supportive. My own father was never much of one and he died when I was seventeen. Growing up down the road from King Farm, I’ve known Salty most of my life. When I was a child, we’d run into each other frequently because I played outside almost every day. As an only child with a mother that worked long hours to make up for a dad that didn’t work enough, I was always excited to tell my good friend Salty of my latest triumph or despair in my school or home life. He would stop his tractor for me to climb up into the cab and attentively listen to my little girl ramblings with a grave face and his bright eyes twinkling under heavy brows. We’d discuss our day and share the bag of sunflower seeds he always carried. Spitting out shells together, I always felt confident there wasn’t any trouble we couldn’t solve during our talks.

  This habit of ours to have little talks never really ended throughout the years, although sometimes the talks happened less often.

  I didn’t take offense at Salty’s practical questions tonight. It was his way to be cautious and lay out alternatives to consider before any important decisions were made.

  I responded steadily, “Sure enough that I’m canceling the Fall Festival this weekend while we still can.”

  Robert bellowed with anger.

  The annual Fall Festival at King Farm was on its fifteenth year and drew crowds of thousands from all over the Upper Midwest. When I started the festival years ago, I played on the King name and its English and French origins. The Fall Festival had evolved into a cross between a renaissance festival, a huge antique flea market, a craft fair, and a farmers market. The weekend showcased many entertainments, foods, and vendors selling their trinkets of all kinds. It was an incredibly profitable weekend for many people, Robert included. He charged people to play o
n the big toys at the quarry.

  Overriding Robert’s shouts of disbelief that canceling the festival was proof I’d lost my mind, I went on without missing a beat, “Sure enough that I’ve been through most the contacts on my phone, waking people up, and calling in favors left and right to arrange some services and deliveries tomorrow.”

  T-bone spoke up from my side. “Mmm hmm, she did at that. I’ve never heard so much wheelin’ and dealin’ in the forty minutes it took to drive that shuttle bus from the hotel to here. Girl’s got moves.”

  Robert spat out, “Anybody can wheel and deal when they’ve got access to the money she has!”

  Ray Dean frowned doubtfully. “I don’t know ‘bout that, dude. I’m probably not as rich as Queen Acadia here, but you shoulda seen me buyin’ my last truck. There was this real blonde sales lady that was pretty as a picture.” Ray Dean shook his head wonderingly at the memory. “She was all dressed up in yellow like a ray of pure sunshine. Man, the way she moved them big hips of hers made me forget what the heck I was even doin’ there -remember that, T-bone?”

  T-bone harrumphed. “I remember you paid more than askin’ price for that truck, that’s what I remember.”

  Ray Dean nodded while he beamed around the table at the faces listening in bemused amusement. “Yeah, but who’s the dude that got her phone number, eh, playa?”

  T-bone threw up his hands. “Damn, Ray Dean! How many times I gotta tell you that was her business card!”

  Ray Dean winked broadly at Deb. “Ol’ T-bone here is just jealous at my special talents with the ladies.”

  T-bone snorted in disgust while everyone laughed at Ray Dean’s antics, except for Deb and the weasel prick. Deb ignored him, and as much fun as it would be to let Robert say whatever demeaning words were hovering on his lips, there was no time for fistfights.

  I stated quickly, “Every person here is free to make up their own minds, but this is my farm and my land. I will be battening down the hatches on this farm. You are welcome to stay here, and God knows I hope you will, but with or without you, that is the plan.” I looked down the table at Robert’s glowering face and served him fair warning. “Anybody that gets in my way will regret it.”

  “Yep, she does have moves.” Salty’s smile disappeared and any traces of amiability dropped from his expression when he said to Robert, “We all know the Fall Festival is Acadia’s baby. She dreamt it up and made it what it is today. If she’s willing to cancel, I say that’s sure enough for me.”

  “I say we get to work,” Uncle Coop voiced flatly without looking up from reassembling my gun. “If what Acadia says comes to pass with this infection, our biggest problem won’t only be the dead killers; it’ll be the live killers that want what we have.”

  Salty and Rod agreed, and soon everyone else was exchanging fearful glances and nodding around the table at Coop’s statement.

  Since this was one of my biggest concerns, I said, “First order of business; I think Coop should be head of security at King Farm. Are we all in agreement?”

  All hands but Robert’s went instantly up, even Barbara’s and the football players.

  My Uncle Coop has a spooky reputation. I didn’t think he was crazy like some people claimed. Well, not crazy in the stereotypical fashion portrayed in pop culture of many vets after Viet Nam. The only thing Uncle Coop had in common with any of that was his compulsion to be outdoors whenever possible.

  I would agree he was a dangerous man, if you were unlucky or stupid enough to get on his bad side. He was a man you wanted on your good side in a fight because he fought to win. My uncle lived by his own moral code, which nobody in this century was quite clear on. He wouldn’t think twice to hurt you, even kill you, if he thought a situation warranted that action. Robert was walking still only because I’d turned down Uncle Coop’s multiple offers over the last twenty years to cripple him or worse. I had to force my uncle to back off and get him to understand that Robert was my problem. Coop promised, but his word was given very begrudgingly.

  “Between all of us, we know everybody within a twenty mile radius of here. I have several ideas, Uncle Coop, for fortifying the farm.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” was his laconic reply.

  My cousin Sean, never one to miss an opportunity, teased, “What? Acadia has ideas and lists?”

  While my friends hooted and laughed, I lifted my chin. “It just so happens I wrote a few ideas down how we should proceed for the next day or so. But please feel free to jump in any time, Sean Michael Evans, with your own freakin’ zombie plan.”

  “Ah, don’t be that way; we all love your lists.” Sean grinned unrepentantly.

  I smirked but continued, “I have been stockpiling supplies for years, but we can never have enough or be too prepared. The immediate plan tonight is to go out and buy more supplies from stores open 24 hours while we still easily can. While most of you are out doing that, I was hoping Coop would inventory our weapons on hand and start planning our defenses. I want the brothers to stay here and help Coop with that tonight.”

  Uncle Coop nodded his approval, but T-bone’s head jerked up. He looked around the room, eyes narrowed suspiciously as if I’d hidden some African Americans in the pantry.

  Kevin laughed and pointed to include Ian and Hugh. “She meant us, Mr. T-bone. That’s what everyone here calls us.” His fingers made quotes. “The brothers.”

  T-bone grunted and relaxed. “Call me T-bone, kid.”

  “Awesome, T-bone, thanks!” After exchanging a quick look with his brothers, a grinning, excited Kevin answered me, “Heck yeah, we’ll help Coop. We’ve read every Z book and watched every movie out there.”

  “You guys are such nerds.” I smiled when the brothers bumped fists at my words. I guess being a nerd was hot these days.

  The Canadians were from Winnipeg. They came to King Farm to work with me through World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, a program that matched volunteers with farm owners. The brothers’ goal was to eventually buy a farming enterprise. For providing free room and board, the three volunteered to work the three WWOOF programs I offered at King Farm. They’d been living in the bunkhouse since July while getting invaluable, hands-on experience. They whined I worked them like dogs and I complained they ate more than pigs, but overall, they’ve had a great few months in Minnesota.

  Up until tonight, their game plan was to stay through the weekend to earn some extra cash working security at the Fall Festival, and then go home to Winnipeg next week. Despite my moody depression, I would miss their hardworking, easygoing camaraderie when they were gone. If all the afterhours traffic to and from the bunkhouse was any barometer, the local girls were going to miss the friendly, cute brothers, too.

  I picked up the map. “Right then. You know King Farm’s topography and every inch of the barns, outbuildings, and the underground storerooms.” I handed Hugh the laminated map. “Tonight, Coop and I need your ingenuity to help come up with defenses against zombies. While you’re at it, keep a list going of every weapon and any gear you think we may need. I want you guys to shop online tonight.” At their dismayed, confused faces to be told to shop on the eve of the apocalypse, I hid my smile. “If you find sites that guarantee next day delivery, think of how easily we can order large quantities of gear online.”

  Hugh raised a skeptical brow. “You really think UPS or Fed Ex is going to deliver here over the next day or two?”

  Liz answered, “Maybe USPS because, you know, they’re all about “neither sleet nor snow nor zombies.””

  We all laughed, but I answered Hugh seriously, “It depends. For an hour or so of our time, it’s worth a try. The less future supply runs we have to do locally could save our lives. Any other questions?”

  They said, “No!” in unison. Christmas had just arrived in October for the brothers.

  “Don’t forget, we have access to a lot of big machinery between the farm and the quarry.”

  Robert swore, “Oh, for Christ’s Sake.
If that isn’t just great.”

  Hugh kept his eyes on me and nodded. “We’re on it. That’s tonight, Acadia, so what about tomorrow? Are we going to start building the defenses in the morning?”

  “We are, but first thing in the morning the three of you have to get your butts home to Winnipeg while the getting is good.”

  The brothers looked so horrified; I was confused I’d said something wrong.

  Kevin wasn’t the least shy and his protest was the loudest. “Winnipeg? We rent a cheap apartment in Winnipeg, Acadia. The walls are like paper thin and we can hear the neighbor’s dog fart. That’s suicide during a zombie apocalypse!”

  It sounded terrible under any circumstance. “I know your parents are on a dig in Turkey with the University, but I thought you said your family all lived in Winnipeg?”

  Ian quietly explained, “They do, but our parents sold the family house once we all moved out. They bought a small house, more of a cabin, near Lake Winnipeg and live out there when they’re not overseas. We have an Auntie and Uncle in town,” he glanced at his brothers and they all shared a speaking look again, “but we’re not that close to them.”

  Kevin snorted rudely. “We sure don’t want to go live with them during the apocalypse. Our Auntie nags and yips at Uncle Simon worse than her five Chihuahuas.”

  “We’d prefer to take our chances staying here, even with a slave driver like you, Acadia, if you’ll have us.” Hugh’s voice was light, but his brown eyes were serious and a line of worry etched his forehead.

  Most of the people in the room got a kick out of that and they laughed. I was honored the brothers trusted me, but it was a sobering moment. The responsibility of it all washed over me in a wave of staggering doubt.