Vampire Miami

by Philip Tucker

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, voice deep and pleasant. He took the suitcase and held it easily in one hand. Selah ignored him and crossed her arms over her chest. Just because she was here didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Come on now,” said Mama B, turning and walking toward the few cars parked off to the side. “Don’t dilly-dally.”

  A handful of people had stepped out of the shadows of the shelters and were watching them. Selah did her best to ignore their hungry gazes, but Cholly stared right back at them, eyebrows raised, as if daring them to approach. After a moment the strangers turned and returned to the shadows, muttering to themselves, and Cholly nodded. “Vultures. If you’d of arrived here by yourself, they’d’ve stripped you clean before you knew what was happening.” He shook his head, and strode after Mama B.

  Selah remained still—frustrated and furious over her grandmother’s lack of interest in her. Where was the apology, the explanations? The questions about Dad—any of it? Where was her own cold disdain, the words she’d sworn she would speak? Instead, she watched her grandmother’s broad back, let out a growl of annoyance, and hurried to catch up.

  The car was a red jeep, burned to rose by years spent in the sun. Cholly threw the suitcase in the back and climbed into the passenger seat as Mama B sat behind the wheel. Selah got in behind, and met her grandmother’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a brief flash before she gunned the engine, reversed, and drove out of the parking lot.

  The windows were down, but Mama B didn’t drive fast enough to push the wind to a roar. They took the on-ramp back onto I-95 and began to cruise down its length at a sedate thirty miles an hour. There were abandoned cars pushed into the two far left lanes, some of them clearly deserted on the spot by the original owners, others looking like they had been rolled out of the way later on.

  “I thought people didn’t have cars in here,” Selah said at last.

  Mama B looked at her in the rearview mirror, and then returned her eyes to the road. “Plenty of cars to be had. Problem is getting your hands on some gas. Only a few stations are stocked regularly, and those are downtown or over on South Beach. You got to present an ID and be willing to pay in credits. Most folks—most decent folks—have neither.”

  “There’s an old station up round Midtown with some gas left in one of the tanks,” said Cholly, turning around to look at her. “I go by and tap it on the sly every few weeks. Most people think it’s been drained dry already.” He turned back. “Soon will be, way things are going. Don’t know what we’ll do then.”

  Selah absorbed this, and looked out the window. The sun was creeping toward the horizon. Everything was quiet but for the rush of the wind past the windows. Occasionally, a truck or car rushed past on the other side of I-95, heading for the border before it got too late. Otherwise the city seemed deserted.

  The silence in the car grew thick and oppressive. Selah kept her arms locked tight across her chest. Her outrage grew with every passing moment. Fine. After four years she hadn’t known what to expect upon seeing her grandmother again, but none of her imagined scenarios had featured indifference. It was as if her grandmother were picking her up from the mall and driving her home, not from the edge of civilization and into the heart of hell.

  I-95 curved slightly to the left, then back to the right, and as they came up over a slight rise, Selah saw distant skyscrapers come into view for the first time. They glittered along the coast, glass gleaming as they reflected the setting sun. That would be downtown, where banks and businesses had once flourished and formed the heart of the Miami commercial district. Now it was the heart of the vampires’ operation, where supposedly those who served them lived and played and died. She shuddered and hugged herself tighter. The glittering towers represented death.

  Mama B took Exit 4 off the interstate, and then branched to the left on a raised highway toward the coast. They were close to the Midtown area, with boxy buildings rising some ten stories high from where they’d been built in the late ’60s. The cars hadn’t been cleared off the elevated two lanes here, so Mama B was forced to slow down and thread her way through. Shattered headlights, doors left open, expensive sports cars and family sedans, all abandoned where they stood. Selah spotted somebody lying on the road between two cars, and then realized it was the corpse of a man. She caught a flash of him as they drove past, enough to realize that he was missing his head. Selah sat back and swallowed hard, and then caught Mama B watching her in the rearview mirror. Reflexively she wiped all emotion from her face and tried to still her suddenly pounding pulse. The ramp off the highway onto North Miami Avenue was clear, though, and so they curved round and down and soon they were driving through a residential area.

  Selah couldn’t take her eyes off the street. She’d seen so many documentaries that it all looked vaguely familiar: the cracked asphalt with weeds and small bushes growing through, the broken windows, the vandalism, the trash piled high on the pavement. Some buildings stood empty and dark, storefront windows still showing wares that hadn’t been stolen five years after they were deserted, while others were guttered ruins, burned down to the ground. People sat listlessly on stoops, stood in loose groups, watched them drive by from the occasional window. A pack of mongrel dogs reluctantly parted for the jeep, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Down a side street, Selah saw an old woman pushing a shopping cart filled with blankets. She raised her Omni to take a shot, and then lowered it without knowing why.

  “Where … where are we going?”

  “Home,” said Mama B, voice grim. “Or the closest thing to it. Place called the Palisades. Used to be a wealthy condo block. Now it’s where our community lives. Living together gives us the illusion of safety.”

  “Oh,” said Selah, and looked back out the window. “That sounds cheerful.”

  When the Peace Treaty had been signed with the vampires, the news that both Miami and LA had been handed over had immediately triggered a mass exodus, and hundreds of thousands had fled before the Army could raise the Wall. Only those too poor, too stubborn, or unable to leave due to any number of reasons had remained behind during that fateful week after General Adams had struck his deal with the devil. But still. Selah hadn’t expected the city to feel this desolate. She’d thought the documentaries had been exaggerated for effect.

  She saw a Walgreens with a car parked savagely through its front double doors. A police cruiser sat flipped on its top, blackened by fire and gone to rust. A small crowd of kids chased a soccer ball but stopped to watch them drive by, eyes solemn, faces blank. The occasional stranger wandered down the street as if lost, stumbling and vacant eyed. Shadows were already lengthening across the street, dampening the day’s colors. Something in the distance was burning, making the air acrid.

  Mama B pulled the jeep up to the curb before a ten-story building, a huge square of a condo with balconies girdling it on each floor, once painted a festive combination of yellows and oranges but now faded and drab. Sheets of steel covered the front doors leading into the lobby, and hurricane shutters had been bolted down over the windows. The building looked sad, harsh, a homemade fortress against the night. It rose incongruously amidst the blocks of rundown cottages and bungalows that crowded around its flanks, and faced a rusted railroad track that was badly overgrown.

  Her grandmother gave the parking brake a hard yank and looked back at where Selah sat. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

  “This is where we live?” asked Selah.

  Mama B lifted one eyebrow. “Would you rather be on the street with those people we passed?”

  Selah looked behind them, and then turned back. “They don’t have places to stay?”

  “Sure they do,” said Mama B. “But there’s a world of difference between a community and squatting in an abandoned house.”

  Selah shook her head. “But—you’re saying they choose to live like that? On the street?”

  “In a way. Anybody who can’t see the point behind rules and the value of shar
ing and sacrifice is going to end up on the street eventually. Here at the Pallisades we’re working to build something different. It might not be pretty to look at, but it’s safe and full of good people. In a city like this, that’s worth more than gold.”

  “But what about the vampires? Don’t they worry about getting attacked?”

  “Honey, the vampires have people lining up around the block to feed them and earn credits in the process. These people out on the streets? They’re looking to just survive another day. They’re thinking moment to moment. No vision, no hope, nothing but basic appetites and instincts. They’re who you have to worry about, not vampires. Now come on. Let’s get inside where it’s safe.” And with that, she climbed out of the car. Cholly got out too, and with his suitcase in one hand and gun in the other, crossed the street and then turned to wait for her.

  Selah looked up. She couldn’t see the sun behind the buildings. Clouds wreathed the sky between the trees with great swaths of crimson and soft gold. The sun was setting. Her heart began to pound again, and with a curse she opened the door and leaped to the curb, ran up to the doors, and slipped inside just as Cholly stepped inside and closed them.

  She’d expected it to be dark within, to step into a primitive cave of sorts. Instead, the large lobby was illuminated by soft yellow light that came from a couple of table lamps plugged into the wall and set on the old reception desk. Mama B and Cholly turned to face her, and beyond them, two men with shotguns stood from where they’d been playing chess. Beyond them was a passage out into a central courtyard, and she could hear music—and laughter—from within. She smelled something cooking. Something hearty like vegetable soup with dumplings. Her stomach growled. The armed men stared at her, and while she wanted to examine their guns, it was Mama B’s eyes that drew her gaze.

  “Good,” said Mama B. “Now listen up. Here are the rules you got to live by if you’re going to live here. Rule number one. Don’t go outside alone, and don’t go outside without a gun. I’m not saying everybody’s an animal, but you’re young, pretty, and sooner or later somebody’s going to get ideas if they see you walking around. Rule number two: that door closes at sundown and it does not open, not for you, not for me, not for anybody. Let me make that clear right here, right now. You get stuck outside after dark, you’re on your own. We lock down at sunset, and we only open at dawn, and there are absolutely no exceptions, not even if it breaks my heart to hear you out there. You understand, child?”

  Selah’s gaze skittered from Mama B’s punishing intensity to Cholly and then to the two men. They were both older, thirties maybe, and had hard faces. No disagreement there.

  “Sure,” said Selah. Taking a breath, she raised her chin. “But I thought you said we didn’t have to worry about vampires.”

  “We’d be fools to pretend they don’t exist. They keep to their favorite haunts, and they haven’t bothered us yet, but if they ever choose to do so, they’ll find us ready. Mostly it’s drug addicts and criminals that try to get in. Folks outside know we’ve got food and valuable things, and every couple of weeks somebody will try to pry open a shutter and get inside. Be ready for that. Be smart. You hear the alarm bell, you run into the center courtyard. Understood?”

  Selah felt dazed. It was too much. She found herself nodding, but the words hadn’t sunk in. Alarm bell? Monthly attacks? Getting raped if she went outside?

  Mama B gave her an encouraging smile. “Good. Mind those rules. They’ll save your life. Now, this here is Tyler Whitmer and Burnel Smith.” The two guards nodded. “When you’re older, maybe you’ll get to stand watch too. For now, let’s get you to your room so we can talk proper.” She turned and walked on, squeezing one of the guard’s arms with more affection than she’d shown Selah, and passed into the courtyard beyond. Cholly gave her a helpless smile of contrition and followed, leaving Selah alone with the guards in the lobby.

  She looked behind her at the steel doors. They were serious, thick steel bolted tightly together. A truck would have trouble ramming through them. She felt reassured, and hugged herself as she trailed after Cholly, ignoring the stares from the two men who lowered themselves back into their chairs to resume their game.

  The building was shaped like a hollow box, apartments ringing the central yard, which had been turned into a small garden. Selah tried not to stare, but failed. Music filled the air, live music she realized, somebody on guitar and another on accordion, playing from an open hallway somewhere above them. The smell of soup mixed with the rich and fecund stench of a pile of manure, and a group of five goats stood together to one side, looking bored. Chickens pecked underfoot, and a tapestry of dinner smells wafted from doors all around her. People were hanging out, and all of them watched her, staring down from above or turning to look as she passed. Four open fires burned in carefully constructed pits in each corner of the yard, and everywhere faces were alive with curiosity as they examined her.

  They were mostly black people, with a number of Hispanics here and there. A few white faces, but not many. A large group of old people sat in a circle of beach chairs watching a game of dominoes, faces wrinkled with sadness and pain, eyes soft in the firelight, sympathy writ large on their features. Kids, plenty of little kids, some half naked, stared curiously at her, momentarily frozen, their games forgotten. The music stopped for a moment as the players noticed the disturbance, and then mercifully picked up once more.

  Mama B was important. That much was obvious. People called out greetings, came up to talk to her, but she simply nodded or excused herself, head down, great iron dreadlocks extending stiff behind her. She made her way along the edge of the yard, past an herb garden and up to the dark mouth of a stairwell, Cholly faithfully following behind. Selah trailed in her wake, attempting to take in everything at once, mouth a thin line, overwhelmed and trying not to show it. She heard voices pick up behind her, and the smell of food made her stomach cramp. Despair swamped her. This was where she was going to spend the rest of her life? With every passing moment she realized with greater clarity that she had had no idea what she was doing when she’d requested to be deported. None at all.

  She looked down at her Omni, still clutched in her hand. She’d been on a Beta connection since Ft. Lauderdale, but now she saw that the speed had dropped to Charlie level. That was almost too much, and she fled into the darkness of the stairwell as the horror of it all overwhelmed her.

  She staggered up some steps and leaned against the wall, trying to hold back her sobs. She thought of New York, of her father, of her friends. Thought of her room back home, her clothes, her old life. Already it was all going on without her. Already she’d been forgotten, cut off from the world. She stood in the dark, back to the courtyard and trembled, fists buried under her chin, eyes squeezed shut, fat tears running down her cheeks. What had she done? She was here, irrevocably here, and there was no going back.

  Footsteps came down the steps in the dark. Selah looked up, expecting Mama B, but no. High heels. The person was cursing in a rich whisper of Spanish, the voice confident and exasperated. Selah shrank back against the wall but the girl still nearly ran into her as she turned the corner.

  “Pero dios, que haces aqui en el oscuro? ” The voice sharp, annoyed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Selah. She felt miserable. She couldn’t even hide in a stairwell.

  “Who is that?” Selah heard the sound of a purse opening, then the rasp of a lighter and consequent flame. Yellow-orange light, and Selah saw the woman’s face. She was beautiful, features striking, hair a gorgeous mane of black, full and rich and smooth and straight. Not as old as she’d thought, either, just a couple of years more than Selah.

  “Who are you?” asked the girl again, voice demanding.

  “Selah,” she said. “I’m with … Mama B.”

  “Ah,” said the girl, “her baby. What are you doing hiding in here?”

  Selah pushed off the wall. Almost said I’m no baby but stopped herself in time. “I was catching my breath, is al
l. What’s it to you?”

  The girl smiled, a flash of white teeth, and then the flame died away. “Nothing, chica. You just arrived? You must be terrified, but it’s not all bad. Trust me, all right? I’ll find you when I get back and we can talk.”

  “Get back? Where are you going?”

  Selah sensed the girl’s amusement. “There’s a big world out there, and it don’t stop just because Mama B wants that door locked. I’ll tell you about it soon. Now I gotta run if I’m going to get some food before I head out. Don’t want to miss my ride.” A hand found her shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and then the girl was moving down and past her.

  “Wait, what’s your name?”

  “Maria Elena,” said the girl, stopping at the bottom step to look back up. They held each other’s gaze and then Maria Elena smiled a brilliant smile and turned the corner and was gone. Selah stared after her and noticed three small kids who’d gathered just outside the stairwell were now watching her. She made a fierce face at them, and they scattered, laughing. Feeling better, she turned and climbed the steps after Mama B.

  Selah stepped out onto the first floor and glanced over the railing at the central courtyard below where the children had moved on to teasing the goats. She didn’t look down for long. Cholly stood a few doors down. He looked, as ever, infuriatingly apologetic.