Blood Day

by J. L. Murray

  “Jesus,” said Mike, his heart pounding. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  The man was looking at Tess's door, his pale face expressionless. He had dark eyes and lips that were red, the color of cherries, the color of blood. He looked down at Mike. His hair was dark as well and fell rakishly over his forehead. He wore a suit and tie and from a distance could be mistaken for a businessman.

  “You are the one called Mike Novak?”

  “Depends who's asking.”

  “You must go,” said the man. “I will have need of you soon.” He started loosening his tie. Mike stared as he unbuttoned his jacket.

  “I'm supposed to talk to Tess,” said Mike, finally finding his voice. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  The man's face stayed expressionless, but he shifted his weight and breathed out his nose noisily, as though annoyed by the effort of talking to Mike. “My name is not important,” he said. “But if you must address me, address me as Joshua Flynn.”

  “How do you know my name, Joshua Flynn?”

  Flynn arched an eyebrow, the first movement he had shown on his face. “You are with The Post. The whole city knows your name.”

  “Right,” said Mike. “Who's in there?”

  “Government officials,” said Flynn. “Three of them. Your superior called them.”

  “Tess? Why?” said Mike, but knowing the answer already. Tess was driven, career-minded, but surely she wasn't heartless. Reporting someone to the Revs was a death sentence. Or worse, if the stories were true.

  “I think you know,” said Flynn.

  “My story,” said Mike. “About the junkies.”

  He nodded. “You must leave.”

  “Why should I trust you? I don't know you.”

  Joshua Flynn looked at him for a long moment, his dark eyes unmoving. It made Mike uncomfortable to look at him; there was something about the man that he couldn't quite place. Then Flynn hunched his shoulders and opened his mouth and his features shifted. High cheekbones smoothed flat. Red lips darkened, sharp gray teeth emerged and covered the straight white ones in his mouth, stopping as razor-sharp points. His spine crackled and buttons on his shirt popped as he stretched and hunched. Flynn's almond-shaped eyes widened and flattened as he let out a hiss.

  Mike felt his bowels turn liquid. “Jesus,” he whispered, stumbling backwards and falling on the carpet, without taking his eyes off the monster in front of him. “You're one of them,” he said, his voice hoarse and high. He struggled to stand. He was shaking and his legs seemed to be made of rubber. “How? They can't change. Not anymore.”

  “I'm not one of them,” Flynn said, his voice guttural.

  Mike could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He tried to make his feet move, but he was frozen. He was afraid he might piss himself.

  “Go,” hissed Flynn. Mike heard the scrape of Tess's chair behind the door and footsteps. Several soft muffled voices. Flynn's nightmare-face stared back at him, the eyes reptilian, the nose flat and slitted. “The Revenants are here. Run.”

  Mike didn't ask any more questions. He ran.

  Three

  Genevieve White woke up with a sob still on her lips, just as she did every morning. She had been dreaming of Hunter again. But there had been a woman there. She played the violin and Hunter laughed and laughed and laughed with blood soaking his tiny tee shirt…

  She made a pot of watered-down coffee and sat on the small, ratty couch in the living room to drink it. As she sipped she stared at The Book.

  She thought of The Book more and more these days. She could no longer fool herself into thinking it was simply a book like any other. Ever since she opened it— looking for that poem Griff would recite at the strangest moments—it had become The Book. The poem still thundered through her mind, even now.

  “Paralyzed force, gesture without motion,” she muttered into her cup, not taking her eyes from the spine of The Book. She finished her coffee. “Damn you, Griff. Why didn't you take it with you?” Of course no one answered her in the empty apartment, but sometimes she half expected her husband to come up behind her and place his large, warm hands on her shoulders. Sometimes she forgot, and expected little Hunter to pounce on her when she came through the door after work. They were both gone now, and she did better when she forgot them altogether. The forgetting was just a different kind of pain. Every path just led to a brand new something breaking inside of her, and she wasn't sure how much more could be broken before she gave up on repairing herself. Viv roughly pushed the radio in front of The Book, obscuring it from curious eyes.

  The words scrawled in the margins of The Book stayed fresh in her mind. She was too terrified to even think about it. Viv put her cup in the sink and got ready for work. She managed to catch an early bus and was seated at her station in the lab, already working, when the others came in.

  “I heard he can read minds,” the lab assistant, Sonia, was saying to Mark, who laughed pompously.

  “Those are rumors. The Revs haven't read minds since the old times.”

  “And just when were these old times?” Viv called, not even daring to look up from her microscope. “Were you there, sharing the joy of reading tiny human minds all those centuries ago?”

  “It's in the memo they sent,” said Mark, narrowing his eyes. “Did you even bother to read it, Viv? He's coming today.”

  Viv looked up then, to see Mark smile unctuously at her. Without realizing it, Viv clenched a fist.

  “Who's coming?”

  “You don’t know anything, do you?” said Mark. “The president?”

  “What?” said Viv. “Why?”

  “Not so snarky now, are you?” said Mark. “We're not testing samples today, so you can put that microscope away. Today is all about Ambrose Conrad.”

  Viv's heart beat in her chest. The president. The first voice everyone heard after the Blackout. The monster in charge of the world. What if he really could read minds? Would he know? Would he be able to tell just by looking at her? She stared at Mark. Sonia walked to the break room to hang her coat.

  “Why is he coming here?” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “Is it publicity? It's not like he needs to win an election or anything.” She tried for a smile, but it faltered. Mark frowned at her.

  “It's his country, he can go wherever he pleases.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know, Genevieve, you'd do best to curb your remarks. You never know who could overhear and be less...forgiving than I am. You could get in some very hot water talking about the Revenants that way.”

  “Right. Sorry,” Viv said, hoping she looked sincere. “I'm very tired today. I'm not feeling myself.”

  “You're not sick are you?” Mark said, suddenly anxious. “You can't be here when you're sick. You know how they are about illness.”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Just bad dreams is all.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, as if he didn't quite believe her. “Just be careful. Especially today. We don't want anything to go wrong.”

  Mark turned and left to put his peacoat away, and Viv took a deep breath. When her heart slowed a bit, she bent back over the microscope. Mark would be flitting around all morning, tidying things, yelling at the intern. She couldn't stand the thought of watching it all. She needed work right now.

  The knock on the door came at exactly ten o'clock. To the second. Viv scratched out some notes before getting up to retrieve another sample. Mark glared at her as he hurried to the door. No amount of cajoling had torn Viv away from work today. Mark behaved as though he were in charge, but in truth no one was in charge. Not really. Viv would have wondered if what they were doing was even necessary, had she not seen what Griff had written in that book. Viv shook her head, pushing the thought away. She wasn’t strong enough to do anything about anything, so best to just do her job. Thinking got you arrested, and there was no coming back from that.

  The woman in the doorway cleared her throat, and Viv sensed the heaviness of Mark's silence as he
stood, waiting. Viv saw a thin, wiry woman with iron-gray hair, and a beak of a nose, tilting her head to peer around Mark at the lab. Mark held out his hand. The woman looked at it disdainfully and sniffed. Mark awkwardly put his hand down and stuffed it into his lab coat.

  “I am Margaret Watts,” the woman said in a voice that was used to giving orders. “I am the personal secretary of Ambrose Conrad. I am here to prepare you to meet him.” She pushed past Mark and entered the lab. Viv found she rather liked Margaret Watts.

  “His personal secretary?” said Mark, looking crestfallen. “He sent a secretary? This is a secure government facility.”

  “I realize it seems highly irregular,” said Margaret Watts, “but what isn't these days?” She pushed her glasses up her nose with a finger. Viv was pleased to see that Mark's face was reddening and a trickle of sweat was rolling down his temple. “Sir, are you having some sort of attack?” said Margaret Watts. She said it as though even the thought was completely offensive to her.

  “No,” Mark managed, and quickly recovered. “What should we do to prepare the facility for the president?”

  Margaret was looking around the lab, her eyes first landing on Sonia standing behind the stainless steel table, her eyes as big as saucers. Margaret wrinkled her nose, and then her eyes slid over to Viv. “Ah!” said Margaret, jumping a little, then pushing past Mark in Viv's direction. “You'll do, what's your name?” She looked Viv up and down and seemed quite satisfied with what she saw.

  “I am Doctor Genevieve White,” said Viv, controlling the catch in her voice. Margaret looked at the latex gloves on Viv's hands, the microscope turned on and lightly humming, the vials of blood tidily sorted.

  “A doctor?” said Margaret, pleased, and writing on her clipboard. “You continued your work this morning even though you knew that you had to prepare for a visit from your president?” Margaret's beady eyes were magnified by her thick glasses.

  “I told her to stop working,” said Mark, joining them. “I asked her to help me prepare, but she just kept on going.”

  “On the contrary, it's admirable,” said Margaret Watts. “A woman doesn't lose her head in these situations like a man. Commendable, Doctor. You will show the president around the facility.”

  “I'm sure that I am not the most qualified,” Viv started. She saw Mark's face turning purple again, but Margaret didn’t skip a beat.

  “I can't have this one speaking to the leader of our world,” she said nodding to Mark. “He's obviously a sycophant. The president likes real humans, you see. The voice of the people.”

  Viv was having a hard time breathing. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Forgive me for asking, Ms. Watts. But I'm just showing him around, right? He's not going to, you know –”

  “Eat you?” interrupted Margaret, with a small snort of a laugh. “No, of course not. Revenants no longer drink the blood. They have done away with that barbaric tradition. It's all very scientific these days, as you well know.” She leaned in closer to Viv. “I think you will do very well with the president. And if you do, I will make sure that you are transferred, Doctor. It cannot be easy to work with this horrible man.”

  “Actually, no, it's not,” said Viv, smiling slightly, looking at Mark.

  “Well, then, that's settled,” said Margaret, ticking something off on her clipboard. “Now, about the president. He may seem strange at first. You have heard him speak on the radio before, haven't you?”

  “Of course,” said Viv. “Everyone has.” She bit her own tongue so she wouldn’t continue on and say what she was thinking: “We don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

  “Well, there's absolutely nothing to fear, so you can stop clenching your hands like that.”

  “Sorry,” said Viv, not realizing she was doing it.

  “He will not harm you. Just stay calm, and everything will be all right. He just wants to have a look around and see where his sustenance comes from. Now why don't you wrap up what you're working on and I'll go get the president.”

  Viv tried to ignore Mark glowering at her as she tidied her work area. She dismissed Sonia for the day, since it was obvious they would not be doing any more work. The girl looked so relieved that Viv thought Sonia would hug her. At last, Viv heard the sound of at least a dozen shoes squeaking on the highly-waxed floor of the hallway. Mark stood up, sucking in his substantial stomach. Viv stood slowly, carefully. She breathed deeply.

  Several men wearing identical suits descended on the room, looking under tables, counters, and stools, in refrigeration units, and in cabinets. Two more men came in and checked Viv and Mark's badges, passing information into fat walkie-talkies. After patting them down and declaring them clean, all the men went out, and President Ambrose Conrad walked in.

  Viv almost gasped. He was tall, maybe the tallest man she had ever met. But he wasn't really a man. His hairless head sloped down onto a long, flattened face. A gash of a mouth couldn't conceal his impossibly long teeth, sharp like knives, but clean and gleaming white. Conrad's arms hung lower than seemed normal, and his hands were like talons. His body was too long, Viv realized. As if stretched. But the tailored suit hung perfectly around the weird body, Conrad's long teeth almost reaching his maroon tie. Margaret Watts walked in behind and stood beside him, her clipboard under one arm.

  “Mister President,” she said, her authoritative voice echoing in the lab as she gestured toward Viv. “This is Doctor White. She seems to know the place better than anyone.” It was all so matter-of-fact. Like a business meeting. Only this was the POTUS, and the POTUS was a monster. A monster responsible for Viv's son disappearing. For her husband running off. For her job being taken away. For her life being torn apart into a million shards of glass. This monster was responsible for the state of the world right now, for the pain of every single person on the planet. There were other presidents of other countries, but they all took their orders from Conrad.

  Viv shoved all the feelings into the back of her brain, just as she had every day since the Blackout. She forced her mouth to smile, her breathing to slow, her muscles to relax. She wasn't sure if she could talk, as her throat felt as if it had closed up at the sight of Conrad. But she placed one foot in front of the other and walked steadily toward him, holding out her hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President,” she heard herself say, on autopilot. Gracious was her default setting.

  Conrad shook her hand. She thought his hand would be cold, but he was warm and his handshake was firm. “Please call me Ambrose, er, Doctor White?” he said, still holding her hand. His voice was low and quiet. Nothing like the loud voice that echoed through a microphone during press conferences.

  “Yes,” said Viv. “Genevieve White.”

  Ambrose looked down at their hands, and she realized he was studying the color of her hand, so dark against his, the palest of whites. Viv could see blue veins running just below the surface. “Ironic,” he said. Your last name is White, but you are not.”

  “The irony doesn't escape me, sir,” she said, smiling wider. “It was my husband's name.” She wanted to gnash her teeth, to spit at him. No one was supposed to care about race any more; it was barely acceptable to be human now before throwing race into the mix. But the ideal was not the same as the norm. And all these Revs were so old that they remembered. She had seen black Revenants, but they were rare. No need to make small talk and let slip how she really felt. That would only get her killed, and then no one would ever find Hunter. She swallowed heavily. A better way would be to ingratiate herself to this man, or whatever he was.

  “Indeed,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Well, let us have a look around. I understand you'll be showing me the place?”

  Viv wiped her palms against her lab coat and glanced at Margaret Watts, who was nodding her head. “Yes,” said Viv. “Follow me. I'll show you the purity testing station first.”

  When they returned, Mark was sitting where Viv had been an hour before, head down at his work, his lip stuck out lik
e a disappointed child. He leaped to his feet but Ambrose didn't even look at him as he passed. Viv felt Mark's eyes on her back. Margaret waited for Conrad by the door and Ambrose nodded at her as he stood beside her. The contrast of their heights was almost comical. The president turned to look at Viv.

  “Miss Watts tells me you are in need of new employment,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Viv.

  “I have arranged for you to be transferred to the Hematological Purification Plant. It is a new facility that we will soon open—an adjunct to the Munson Experimental Hospital, which you may have heard of. You start on Monday next. Report to General Lawrence Davies when you arrive, and he will escort you to your post. You will, of course, be promoted to head researcher of your laboratory. I must apologize, I do not know which one. There will of course be more money, which I understand humans enjoy. I trust this is all satisfactory?”

  Viv stood still as a statue, her mouth trying to move. Finally she let out a weak, “Yes. Thank you.” This seemed to be enough, because Ambrose nodded at her, and without another word, walked out the door. Mark was staring at the spot where Ambrose had been standing a moment before. His eyes were bugging and his Adam's apple was moving up and down. His face was gloriously red. Margaret stopped before following the president, pushed her glasses up her nose with her finger, turned to Mark and smiled.

  “Just a secretary, eh?” Margaret said to him. Then she followed the president out the door. The sound of a dozen shoes squeaked back down the hall until there was no sound at all but the gentle whirring of machines.

  Viv unbuttoned her lab coat. She unclipped her badge and tossed it along with the coat onto the table.

  “Goodbye, Mark,” she said. “I hope I never see you again. Tell Sonia I'll miss her.” She turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” said Mark, his voice strangled. “You can't go yet. It's only Tuesday. You don't start until Monday.”