“If only you didn’t have to join the army,” said Will.
Silence.
“You know,” said Looper, “they haven’t swept the Seacoast since last July.”
A longer silence. Will figured out why Looper was hanging around Gogolak, why he had not complained more about the fries. He was hoping for a tip about the draft. Up ahead, Mr. Rodenets opened the last carton.
“I mean, you guys are still in school.” Looper was whining now. “They catch me, and I’m southern front for sure. At least if I volunteer, I get to pick where I fight. And I get my chance to be Johnny.”
“So enlist already.” Gogolak was daring him. “The war won’t last forever. We’ve got Pedro on the run.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I’m just waiting for an opening on the J.A. team.”
“You ever see a fat Johnny with pimples?” said Gogolak. “You’re too ugly to be a vid. Isn’t that right, Mr. Rodenets?”
Mr. Rodenets fixed his good eye on Gogolak. “Sure, kid.” He was something of a local character—Durham, New Hampshire’s only living veteran of the southern front. “Whatever you say.” He handed Gogolak three rolls of toilet paper.
* * *
Will’s mom was watching cartoons when Will got home. She watched a lot of cartoons, mostly the stupid ones from when she was a girl. She liked the Smurfs and the Flintstones and Roadrunner. There was an inhaler on the couch beside her.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Will couldn’t believe she was still home. “Mom, it’s quarter to five! You promised.”
She stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.
Will picked up the inhaler and took a whiff. Empty. “You’re already late.”
She held up five fingers. “Not ‘til five.” Her eyes were bright.
Will wanted to hit her. Instead he held out his hands to help her up. “Come on.”
She pouted. “My shows.”
He grabbed her hands and pulled her off the couch. She stood, tottered, and fell into his arms. He took her weight easily; she weighed less than he did. She didn’t eat much.
“You’ve got to hurry,” he said.
She leaned on him as they struggled down the hall to the bathroom; Will imagined he looked like Johnny America carrying a wounded buddy to the medics. Luckily, there was no one in the shower. He turned it on, undressed her, and helped her in.
“Will! It’s cold, Will.” She fumbled at the curtain and tried to come out.
He forced her back into the water. “Good,” he muttered. His sleeves got wet.
“Why are you so mean to me, Will? I’m your mother.”
He gave her five minutes. It was all that he could afford. Then he toweled her off and dressed her. He combed her hair out as best he could; there was no time to dry it. The water had washed all her brightness away, and now she looked dim and disappointed. More like herself.
By the time they got to Mr. Dunnell’s house, she was ten minutes late. At night, Mr. Dunnell ran a freelance word-processing business out of his kitchen. Will knocked; Mr. Dunnell opened the back door, frowning. Will wished he’d had more time to get his mom ready. Strands of wet stringy hair stuck to the side of her face. He knew Mr. Dunnell had given his mom the job only because of him.
“Evening, Marie,” Mr. Dunnell said. His printer was screeching like a cat.
“What so good about it?” She was always rude to him. Will knew it was hard for her, but she wouldn’t even give Mr. Dunnell a chance. She went straight to the old Apple that Mr. Dunnell had rewired into a dumb terminal and started typing.
Mr. Dunnell came out onto the back steps. “Christ, Will. She’s only been working for me three weeks and she’s already missed twice and been late I don’t know how many times. Doesn’t she want this job?”
Will couldn’t answer. He didn’t say that she wanted her old job at the school back, that she wanted his father back, that all she really wanted was the shiny world she had been born into. He said nothing.
“This can’t go on, Will. Do you understand?”
Will nodded.
* * *
“I’m sorry about last night.”
Will shrugged and bit into a frozen fry. He was not sure what she meant. Was she sorry about being late for work or about coming home singing at three-twenty-four in the morning and turning on all the lights? He slicked a pan with oil and set it on the hot plate. He couldn’t turn the burner to high without blowing a fuse but his mom didn’t mind mushy fries. Will did; he usually ate right out of the bag when he was at home. He’d been saving quarters for a french fryer for her birthday. If he unplugged the hot plate, there’d be room for it on top of the dresser.
He was through with her dumb questions. He didn’t want to talk to her anymore. He opened the door.
“I said I was sorry.”
He slammed it behind him.
It wasn’t so much that it was Gogolak’s dad this time. Will wasn’t going to judge his mom; it was a free country. He wanted to live life, too—except that he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that she had. She was right in a way: it was none of his business who she made it with or what she sniffed. He just wanted her to be responsible about the things that mattered. He didn’t think it was fair that he was the only grown-up in his family.
* * *
Because he had earned a day off from school, Will decided to skip socialization, too. It was a beautiful day and volleyball was a dumb game anyway, even if there were girls in shorts playing it. Instead he slipped into the socialization center, got his dad’s old basketball out of his locker, and went down to the court behind the abandoned high school. It helped to shoot when he was angry. Besides, if he could work up any kind of jumper, he might make the ninth basketball team. He was already the tallest kid in eighth, but his hands were too small, and he kept bouncing the ball off his left foot. He was practicing reverse lay-ups when Looper came out of the thicket that had once been the baseball field.
“Hey, Will.” He was flushed and breathing hard, as if he had been running. “How you doing?”
Will was surprised that Looper knew his name. “I’m alive.”
Looper stood under the basket, waiting for a rebound. Will put up a shot that clanged off the rim.
“Hear about Johnny America?” Looper took the ball out to the foul line. “Old Gervais got his foot blown off. Stepped on a mine.” He shot: swish. “Some one-on-one?”
They played two games and Looper won them both. He was the most graceful fat kid Will had ever seen. After the first game, Looper walked Will through some of his best post-up moves. He was a good teacher. By the end of the second game, sweat had darkened Looper’s T-shirt. Will said he wouldn’t mind taking a break. They collapsed in the shade.
“So they’re recruiting for a new Johnny?” Will tried in vain to palm his basketball. “You ready to take your chance?”
“Who, me?” Looper wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t know.”
“You keep bringing it up.”
“Someday I’ve got to do something.”
“Johnny Looper.” Will made an imaginary headline with his hands.
“Yeah, right. How about you—ever think of joining? You could, you’re tall enough. You could join up today. As long as you swear that you’re fifteen, they’ll take you. They’ll take anyone. Remember Johnny Stanczyk? He was supposed to have been thirteen.”
“I heard he was fourteen.”
“Well, he looked thirteen.” Looper let a caterpillar crawl up his finger. “You know what I’d like about the war?” he said. “The combat drugs. They make you into some kind of superhero, you know?”
“Superheroes don’t blow up.”
Looper fired the caterpillar at him.
Will’s conscience bothered him for saying that; he was starting to sound like Gogolak. “Still, it is our country. Someone has to fight for it, right?” Will shrugged. “How come you dropped out, anyway?”
“Bored.” Looper shrugged. “I might
go back, though. Or I might go to the war. I don’t know.” He swiped the basketball from Will. “I don’t see you carrying a comm today.”
“Needed to think.” Will stood and gestured for his ball.
“Hey, you hear about the lottery?” Looper fired a pass.
Will shook his head.
“They were going to announce it over the school channels this morning; Gogo tipped me yesterday. Town’s going to hire twenty kids this summer. Fix stuff, mow grass, pick up trash, you know. Buck an hour—good money. You got to go register at the post office this afternoon, then next month they pick the lucky ones.”
“Kind of early to think about the summer.” Will frowned. “Bet you that jack Gogolak gets a job.”
Looper glanced at him. “He’s not that bad.”
“A jack. You think he worries about sweeps?” Will didn’t know why he was so angry at Looper. He was beginning to like Looper. “He’s probably rich enough to buy out of the draft if he wants. He gets everything his way.”
“Not everything.” Looper laughed. “He’s short.”
Will had to laugh too. “You want to check this lottery out?”
“Sure.” Looper heaved himself up. “Show you something on the way over.”
* * *
There was blood on the sidewalk. A crowd of about a dozen had gathered by the abandoned condos on Coe Drive to watch the EMTs load Seth Warner into the ambulance which was parked right behind his Peugeot. Will looked for Denise but didn’t see her. A cop was recording statements.
“I got here just after Jeff Roeder.” Mrs. O’Malley preened as she spoke into the camera; it had been a long time since anyone paid attention to her. “He was lying on the sidewalk there, all bashed up. The car door was open and his disk was playing. Jeff stayed with him. I ran for help.”
The driver shut the rear doors of the ambulance. Somebody in the crowd called out, “How is he?”
The driver grunted. “Wants his lawyer.” Everyone laughed.
“Must’ve been a fight,” Jeff Roeder said. “We found this next to him.” He handed the cop a bloody dental plate.
“Did anyone else here see anything?” The cop raised her voice.
“I would’ve liked to’ve seen it,” whispered the woman in front of Will. “He’s one oldie who had it coming.” People around her laughed uneasily. “Shit. They all do.”
Even the cop heard that. She panned the crowd and then slammed the Peugeot’s door.
Looper grinned at Will. “Let’s go.” They headed for Madbury Road.
“He wanted me to get in the car with him,” Looper said as they approached the post office. “He offered me a buck. Didn’t say anything else, just waved it at me.”
Will wished he were somewhere else.
“A stinking buck,” said Looper. “The pervert.”
“But if he didn’t say what he wanted … maybe it was for a stand-in someplace.”
“Yeah, sure.” Looper snorted. “Wake up and look around you.” He waved at downtown Durham. “The oldies screwed us. They wiped their asses on the world. And they’re still at it.”
“You’re in deep trouble, Looper.” No question Looper had done a dumb thing, yet Will knew exactly how the kid felt.
“Nah. What are they going to do? Pull me in and say ‘You’re fighting on the wrong front, Johnny. Better enlist for your own good.’ No problem. Maybe I’m ready to enlist now, anyway.” Looper nodded; he looked satisfied with himself. “It was the disk, you know. He was playing it real loud and tapping his fingers on the wheel like he was having a great time.” He spat into the road. “Boomer music. I hate the damn Beatles, so I hit him. He was real easy to hit.”
There was already a ten-minute line at the post office and the doors hadn’t even opened yet. Mostly it was kids from school who were standing in, a few dropouts like Looper and one grown-up, weird Miss Fisher. Almost all of the kids with comms were logged on, except that no one paid much attention to the screens. They were too busy chatting with the people around them. Will had never mastered the art of talking and studying at the same time.
They got on line right behind Sharon Riolli and Megan Brown. Sharon was in Will’s class, and had asked him to a dance once when they were in seventh. Over the summer he had grown thirteen centimeters. Since then she’d made a point of ignoring him; he looked older than he was. Old enough to fight.
“When are they going to open up?” said Looper.
“Supposed to be one-thirty,” said Megan. “Hi, Will. We missed you at socialization.”
“Hi, Megan. Hi, Sharon.”
Sharon developed a sudden interest in fractions.
“Have you seen Denise Warner?” said Will.
“The new kid?” Megan snickered. “Why? You want to ask her out or something?”
“Her grandpa got into an accident up on Coe Drive.”
“Hurt?”
“He’ll live.” Looper kept shifting from foot to foot as if the sidewalk was too hot for him.
“Too bad.” Sharon didn’t look up.
“Hey, Genius. Loop.” Gogolak cut in front of the little kid behind Looper, some stiff from sixth who probably wasn’t old enough for summer work anyway. “Hear about Gervais?”
“What happened?” said Sharon. Will noticed that she paid attention to Gogolak.
“Got his foot turned into burger. They’re looking for a new Johnny.”
“Oh, war stuff.” Megan sniffed. “That’s all you guys ever talk about.”
“I think a girl should get a chance,” said Sharon.
“Yeah, sure,” said Looper. “Just try toting a launcher through the jungle in the heat.”
“I could run body armor.” She gave Looper a pointed stare. “Something that takes brains.”
The line behind them stretched. It was almost one-thirty when Mr. Gogolak came running out of the side door of the post office. The Selective Service office was on the second floor. He raced down the line and grabbed his kid.
“What are you doing here? Go home.” He grabbed Gogolak’s wrist and turned him around.
“Let go of me!” Gogolak struggled. It had to be embarrassing to be hauled out of a job line like some stupid elementary school kid.
His dad bent over and whispered something. Gogolak’s eyes got big. A flutter went down the line; everyone was quiet, watching. Mr. Gogolak was wearing his Selective Service uniform. He pulled his kid into the street.
Mr. Gogolak had gone to the western front with Will’s dad. Mr. Gogolak had come back. And last night he had been screwing Will’s mom. Will wished she were here to see this. They were supposed to be old friends, maybe he owed her a favor after last night. But the only one Mr. Gogolak whispered to was his kid. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he had said.
Gogolak gazed at Looper and Will in horror. “It’s a scam!” he shouted. “Recruiters!”
His old man slapped him hard and Gogolak went to his knees. But he kept shouting even as his father hit him again. “Draft scam!” They said a top recruiter could talk a prospect into anything.
Will could not bear to watch Mr. Gogolak beat his kid. Will’s anger finally boiled over; he hurled his father’s basketball and it caromed off Mr. Gogolak’s shoulder. The man turned, more surprised than angry. Will was one hundred and ninety centimeters tall and even if he was built like a stick, he was bigger than this little grown-up. Lucky Mr. Gogolak, the hero of the western front, looked shocked when Will punched him. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do but Will was sick of being smart. Being smart was too hard.
“My mom says hi.” Will lashed out again and missed this time. Mr. Gogolak dragged his crybaby kid away from the post office. Will pumped his fist in triumph.
“Run! Run!” The line broke. Some dumb kid screamed, “It’s a sweep!” but Will knew it wasn’t. Selective Service had run this scam before: summer job, fall enlistment. Still, kids scattered in all directions.
But not everyone. Weird Miss Fisher just walked to the door to the post offi
ce like she was in line for ketchup. Bobby Mangann and Eric Orr and Danny Jarek linked arms and marched up behind her; their country needed them. Will didn’t have anywhere to run to.
“Nice work.” Looper slapped him on the back and grinned. “Going in?”
Will was excited; he had lost control and it had felt great. “Guess maybe I have to now.” It made sense, actually. What was the point in studying history if you didn’t believe in America? “After you, Johnny.”
BRIAN STABLEFORD
The Man Who Loved the Vampire Lady
One of the most respected as well as one of the most prolific British SF writers, Brian Stableford is the author of more than thirty books, including Cradle of the Sun, The Blind Worm, Days of Glory, In The Kingdom of the Beasts, Day of Wrath, The Halcyon Drift, The Paradox of the Sets, and The Realms of Tartarus. His nonfiction books include The Sociology of Science Fiction and, with David Langford, The Third Millennium: A History of the World A.D. 2000–3000. His most recent book is the acclaimed new novel The Empire of Fear. A biologist and sociologist by training, Stableford lives in Reading, England.
In the chilling story that follows, he suggests that sometimes what you know may be just as dangerous as who …
THE MAN WHO LOVED THE VAMPIRE LADY
Brian Stableford
A man who loves a vampire lady may not die young, but cannot live forever.
—Walachian proverb
It was the thirteenth of June in the Year of Our Lord 1623. Grand Normandy was in the grip of an early spell of warm weather, and the streets of London bathed in sunlight. There were crowds everywhere, and the port was busy with ships, three having docked that very day. One of the ships, the Freemartin, was from the Moorish enclave and had produce from the heart of Africa, including ivory and the skins of exotic animals. There were rumors, too, of secret and more precious goods: jewels and magical charms; but such rumors always attended the docking of any vessel from remote parts of the world. Beggars and street urchins had flocked to the dockland, responsive as ever to such whisperings, and were plaguing every sailor in the streets, as anxious for gossip as for copper coins. It seemed that the only faces not animated by excitement were those worn by the severed heads that dressed the spikes atop the Southwark Gate. The Tower of London, though, stood quite aloof from the hubbub, its tall and forbidding turrets so remote from the streets that they belonged to a different world.
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