by Day, P. J.
“I think we need to let him go,” I overheard Alan say.
“We can’t let him go,” emphatically stated Yi.
“What? Why not?” yelled Larry. “I have nothing to do with this...I promise I won’t say a thing.”
Havens grabbed Larry by his scrawny left shoulder and proceeded to put the cloth bag over his head again. Larry did his best to escape Havens’s grasp by slapping him on his chest, ducking away from his arms, and scooting away in consternation, but was essentially powerless to Havens’s gargantuan reach. Larry let out girlish yelp as he was picked up and placed on Havens’s shoulder.
Yi continued to berate someone in Cantonese as Larry was whisked away to a temporary stay in containment. I felt horrible for him and felt mortally disgusted for Cassie.
“Enough of these games,” said a familiar voice over the microphone, with a dash of a German accent. His booming baritone silenced everyone in the room. His footsteps hit the unfinished concrete, echoing throughout the chambered bunker. He stepped in front of the lights, only his silhouette visible.
As he stepped in closer to me and in front of the light, his full head of gray became more visible. A thick, white mustache hung over his moist lips. Rald had a tendency of wetting his lips before speaking. He looked as if he were going to an important board meeting, wearing his best business Armani suit.
“Hello, Jack,” said Rald. “I'm sorry about this situation getting out of hand.”
My eyes—pent up with rage—instantly became red. The inside of my mouth began to water, my body tensed up, muscles tightened like compressed coils as soon as the Judas presented himself. “Everything I have done for you and the company, and this is how you repay me?”
“Jack, the Chinese, they don’t know how to handle vampires,” Rald said, in an apologetic tone, standing three feet in front of me.
“It doesn’t matter if this wasn’t your intention, you have betrayed me. For what? Monetary reasons? How much money could you possibly need?”
Rald bit his lip with nervousness and bowed his head. “I couldn’t ask you, Jack. Too much was at stake, you would have run away.”
“You don’t know that. I enjoy my life. I enjoy my apartment, my car, my love life, my job. Who knows? I would have probably agreed to some research in exchange to keep the status quo,” I said, as my voice escalated with each word.
“We couldn’t do this in the States. There is too much exposure with the media, leaks, and investigative journalists wanting to play hero,” he said, as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You would have never agreed to be studied in China.”
At that very moment, it dawned on me that trusting humans was ill-advised at best, and at worst, dangerous. Humans had a tendency to turn into unfeeling opportunists when presented with greed.
“How did you find out I was a vampire?” I asked.
“We looked over the Bogota National Archives with a fine-toothed comb. Did you even know what was in there, in regard to Dr. Nunez’s work?” asked Rald, squinting his eyes with mild confusion.
“Exactly what I told you. Research of a now-extinct species of bat that could bleed an animal profusely and close its wound within seconds. You patented the enzymes from the bats he had in formaldehyde. You gave me a job because I made your company all the money it will ever need.”
“We thank you for that, however, you were extremely careless. In fact, it seems you wanted us to find out you were a vampire.”
I shook my head as I maintained eye contact with Rald. “How?” I asked.
“Your name was in Dr. Nunez’s journals,” Rald said.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “I purged every reference he had of my name from his works in Bogota.”
“When?” asked Rald.
I tilted my head back and said, “2003? Maybe?”
Rald placed his moderately sized hands inside his jacket and pulled out an old, weathered, leather-bound journal. The bottom half was slightly charred but the pages, although browned with time and moisture, seemed intact. He opened the journal and scanned a page that was maybe three-fourths in and mouthed, “My sweet, sweet Nora, you have filled me with your essence and your unrivaled kindness.” He flicked through a few more pages and continued to read out loud, “The extract I made from the cyan-hued bromeliad, which I found on the banks of the Chucunaque, made me tolerate sunlight for 30 minutes, however, I could not find the same plant and don’t know if it still exists.” He closed the journal with his right hand, jettisoning dust into air. “Fascinating,” he said, with a mild grin.
I stared at Rald in shock. My journal, which I thought was burned to a crisp on that night where I was brutally attacked by the gutless savage, Antonio, had somehow remained intact and was now in the hands of my captors. “You must understand, I need that journal.”
“Well, yoou need to work with us, Jack.”
I ignored Rald’s suggestion, the origins of its recovery consumed me. “You said you found it in the archives?”
“Yes, someone turned it into the archives the same year you told us to search for Dr. Nunez’s work.”
“How can that be?”
“Its what the curator told me,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“You understand there is a potential for a cure in there, right?”
“Yes, I know. Which is why if you cooperate, you will be allowed to get this back.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You need to start being candid with Rebecca about your life.”
“But I have been,” I said.
“There has to be more. How could you not remember your origins?” asked Rald, who increasingly began looking over his shoulder.
“I just don’t. I know it sounds strange, but every time I try tapping into that portion of my brain, the memories are just a smattering of incomplete images.”
Suddenly, Yi grabbed the microphone. “This isn’t going anywhere.” He let go of the mic and hurriedly walked toward where Rald was standing. He faced him and crossed his arms, lightly scolding him, “This is stupid. It’s clear he does not want to cooperate. This silly Western technique of being nice and coddling will not work.” Yi faced me and scowled. “We have deadlines, and I am tired of negotiating with a mutant.”
Even though Rald had asserted himself earlier, it seemed that it was all for show, as Yi openly castigated his methods, and obviously was the one in control.
“Alan, please come down and prep Jack for the next step,” said Yi, appearing physically dismissive of Rald’s method, by turning his back on him.
“You’re not going to do that,” Rald said.
“Do what?” I asked, my panic-stricken eyes darting around the room as I looked for Alan.
Yi turned around at Rald and sharply pointed his finger at him, “He can heal—you and I know that already.” He slowly turned his head at me and said, “He’s indestructible.”
“But we have no guarantees that regeneration is possible. We’ve discussed this already as we looked over his DNA,” said Rald.
“Regeneration?” I asked, putting two and two together. “You can’t do this,” I yelled.
Alan calmly walked toward Rald and Yi, with a large blue gym bag in his right hand. There were pointy protrusions stretching out the canvas throughout the interior of the bag. As soon as Alan got close to me, I closed my mouth in small, unnoticeable spurts, holding my breath, intermittently.
Yi walked up to me and began noticing the unorthodox movements my mouth was making. “What do you think you’re doing,” he sneered.
I shook my head and lightly mumbled, keeping my lips tightly closed.
“Are you holding your breath, Mr. King?” asked Yi.
I exhaled demonstratively, “No, I’m not, why do you ask?”
“Alan, come here,” instructed Yi. “I think he’s holding his breath.”
Alan stepped closer into me, and began examining me closely with his right eye. He placed his right ear next my nostrils to see if ther
e was any breathing. He stepped away and plunged his hand into one his pockets, quickly pulling out the vial filled with the red powdery substance. I kept every orifice in my body as closed off as possible, even puckering my asshole. Alan’s hand was trembling as he attempted to unscrew the plastic golden cap of the glass vial, eventually, losing control of the small glass tube, as it crashed to the floor. The red powder dissipated into the air. I looked up, biting both my lips and doing my best to keep any oxygen from entering or exiting my nasal cavities.
Yi crouched to the floor and began fanning the powder toward my direction with his hands. “Quit staring and help me get this powder near Jack,” Yi telled at Rald, and Alan. Alan, always one to follow orders, frantically fell to his knees, and mimicked a ridiculous scooping motion with his hands.
“Havens,” yelled Yi. “Open Jack’s mouth, make sure he breathes this stuff in.”
I began pushing my arms out. I heard the leather straps crackling as they yielded to the pressure applied by my pulsating musculature. My face began to flush red like cochineal carmine. I felt the veins in my neck almost bursting out of my skin. Havens pushed the spectating Rald out of the way and lunged at my neck. I managed to free one of my arms, as I stretched the leather straps with my unnatural strength. I slapped away Havens’s massive hand, as he attempted to grapple my throat. He temporarily stood still, stunned that I could defend myself and was apparently at full strength and not affected by Alan’s powder. As Havens staggered, I freed my other arm and used both hands to stretch the leather around my thighs. I slipped out my legs and sprang off the table.
Havens looked down at Yi and Alan, and seemed hesitant on what to do next. I heard a cacophonous rumbling of boots enter the chamber.
“They have breached the large window above the examination room, the protestors have grown in numbers, they’re infiltrating the complex,” said one of the guards in a panic.
Yi’s face immediately sagged with worry and fear. He looked up at Havens and said, “Don’t let him get away.”
I stood my ground, my feet firm and planted onto the cold, concrete floor. I looked into Havens’s soulless, deep, darkened eyes, letting him know that he would have his hands full with an angry, vengeful vampire who was at full strength and thirsty for blood.
Havens stretched his neck and proceeded to hold out his hairless, brawny arm. A guard came running from behind the light and tossed him a black graphite crossbow and a cloth pouch of what looked like silver-tipped arrows. Havens quickly placed one of the arrows on the bow’s center groove and cocked the crossbow’s tightly wound, metallic bow string. He lifted the sights of his crossbow directly in front of his right eye; it was a wink of ill will, which was aimed in a straight line toward the center of my chest.
“Aim for his leg...incapacitate him!” yelled Yi.
Havens maintained his sights toward the middle of my torso. I stood still, waiting to leap to one side as soon as I detected a hint of movement from his index finger as it calmly rested on the bow’s menacing trigger. Yi, who was still on his knees, gave me a quick glance and hurriedly turned to Havens. “Keep him alive,” Yi pleaded.
“I’ll go get more Machineel dust,” said Alan, as he got up from the floor and sprinted toward the large doors of the chamber. .
Yi stood up and yelled at Havens, “Aim for his legs...do you hear me?”
Rald slowly approached Havens from behind and tried to put his hand on his shoulder. Havens gave Rald a dismissive sniff of his nose, and pushed him away with his left arm, sending Rald tumbling to the floor. “This is no time for revenge,” begged Rald.
“You know, if you miss, I will kill you instantly,” I said.
Havens’s developed forearm muscles began to twitch, and his trigger finger trembled; my knee slightly leaned to the left anticipating the arrow’s launch. Yi, who was still on the ground, scooted toward Havens’s left leg and pulled it right from under him. The silvery-tipped arrow shot straight into the air, Havens’s knee hit the floor, and attempted to regain his stance with his left arm. The crossbow made a deep thud as it landed on the floor behind Rald.
As the group in front of me struggled to gain their composure, I sprinted toward Havens at full speed. I leapt into the air, spreading both my arms in a striking motion, and my fangs fully exposed, as I readied to clamp down on Havens’s hulking neck and shoulders. Rald, in one swift motion, grabbed an arrow from the floor, stepped in front of Havens and stabbed me with precision. The silvery-looking tip entered my thigh, piercing through skin and muscle, finally feeling its cold metallic point resting up against my femur. I immediately landed on my back, clutching my right leg in agony, as I felt the poisonous metal begin to course through and around the gash.
Havens proceeded to grab me by my throat as I laid on the floor in terrible pain. As soon as I was levitated by Havens, I sank my teeth into his forearm, but he just held firm, dangling me in the air, without expressing pain or discomfort. Suddenly, a loud bang entered the chamber and smoke began to slowly fill the air.
A grunt and a growl burst from behind me. Like a wolf sprinting toward its prey, a naked and bloodied figure, jumped straight into Havens’s chest, knocking him to floor. Jon had gone completely feral, and his claws were rapidly shredding the skin off Havens’s chest. Havens frantically moved his arms in every direction, trying to push Jon and his wild, devastating attacks away.
Rald and Yi began to cough uncontrollably as the room was enveloped in white smoke. I immediately hit the ground, feeling the cold concrete up against my chest. The guards also began coughing, most of them cowering to the floor and covering their mouths, desperately searching for pockets of oxygen. My eyes began watering with extreme irritation, fogging up my vision. I held my hand over my mouth but it was too late as I felt the effects of what I thought was tear gas enter my nostrils and mouth, slowly burning my throat and then my lungs. I curled up into the fetal position, and covered my face with my arms and legs. Horrific coughs echoed throughout the chamber as Jon’s incessant gnarls grew louder. Havens was being torn to pieces.
I heard a group of boots march into the room followed by voices barking muffled orders at each other. I looked up through the smoke. An outstretched gloved hand, as if it came down from the heavens, was held out in front of me, offering me a lift through the dense, poisonous fog.
“Let’s go,” said the voice.
“Who are you?” I asked, coughing uncontrollably.
“There is no time to talk.”
“You must get Larry,” I said, as my eyes welled up continuously, with no end in sight. The bottom of my eyelids were burning profusely.
“Who’s Larry?”
“Please, you need to get him; he’s in containment somewhere,” I said. “He’s a white guy.”
“Xiao...Xiao get over here,” yelled the man at one of his masked cohorts. “You need to get a white guy from one of the cells.” The masked man asked me, “What’s his name again?”
“Larry,” I yelled.
“He goes by Larry.” His friend nodded at the request and fled briskly into the smoke.
As I stood up, the man put a mask over my face. He also put his arm under my shoulder and helped me limp out of the chamber. I opened my eyes and saw the gas-masked man clearly through the pellucid resin visor. I made out dozens of them moving frantically throughout the chamber, waving their arms in the direction of the exit.
“Wait!” I said, loudly.
I hit the ground and began crawling toward Rald and Li, who were convulsing and holding their throats on the floor. My journal was right next to Rald. I dove at it and made brief eye contact with Li’s red, squinted eyes. Drool hung from his mouth. “Don’t you dare,” he said, in between violent coughs, which seemed to have immobilized him.
I quickly snatched it with my hand, clutching it tightly against my chest. The gas-masked stranger grabbed me by my arm and pulled me up from the floor. “Come on, let’s go before more of them show up,” he said, with a panicked urgency.
As the group of masked individuals led us through the corridor, I saw that bodies were strewn everywhere, some crawling, others completely unconscious. We all entered the room where the glass cubes were, but now there was a large hole in the ceiling. Rubble from the surrounding walls and ceiling created a ledge that led through the large gaping planchement. Whatever created the large gap, it was done by some type of professional demolition explosive. I continued to hear random sets of explosions going on outside as we approached the exit. I could see more of the gaseous fog that permeated throughout the facility, extend toward the outside air. As the group of masked individuals helped me get out of the chamber through the opened ceiling, I noticed the large demonstration of protestors overcoming the security forces right outside the market just ahead. They hurled rocks, bottles, and any solid object they could find on the floor toward the security forces, who were decked out with riot shields and nightsticks.
Together, five of us emerged from the hole, including my rescuer. He was shorter than me in stature and rather thin, but quite strong as he managed to pull me from the underground facility in timely fashion. He wore a tight, black leather jacket, with matching leather pants that motorcyclists usually wear to avoid getting road rash.
“Nice night, eh?” he said, as he looked up at the stars through the patchy white gloom left behind by the diffusing tear gas. “Come on, put a little more pressure on your leg if you can, we need to move faster away from the protest,” he said, his face still hidden by the gas mask.
As we moved faster toward an alleyway next to an old rundown fruit exchange, I heard a dull thumping sound. The man who had been helping me fell to the floor as if he was hit from behind. “Keep going,” he yelled, as he laid on the ground on all fours.
I looked back. Jon’s decapitated head was rolling down the mound of old demolished concrete that we had just climbed over. Havens stood twenty yards away, his face bloodied, gashed, and scratched. His clothes were tattered in pieces. He aimed the crossbow that lay at his side straight at me as I stood at an elevated position, an easy and clear target if there ever was one.