The shotgun blast propelled the creature backwards with enough force that the impact threw open the barn doors.
He stepped out of the barn, reloading his shotgun as he kept one eye on the vampire lying in the ground just a short distance ahead. After he fed the last bullet into the chamber, the vampire rose slowly in front of him.
Matt took aim, but rather than shooting at something he expected would be moving toward him, the vampire was fleeing across the farm compound.
He narrowed his eyes to re-aim, but then a twenty-foot stream of fire streaked across his eye line. It looked like an orange lightning strike coming from out of the woods, which immediately set ablaze the vampire that had been trying to escape.
The creature stumbled for a few feet, then fell into the dirt. It rolled around, emitting a squeal of pain before falling silent and still.
Two figures, standing at the edge of the woods surrounding the farm compound, began advancing toward the fallen creature. Both were cradling flamethrowers.
Matt made his move toward the vampire as well. As he drew in closer, he held the shotgun over the creature, but after seeing its condition, he realized there was not going to be another resurrection. He stepped away and lowered his gun.
“Good choice. Dead is dead this time.”
He was fairly sure that he recognized the voice, and turned.
One of the figures behind the flamethrower removed the headgear and goggles, and then pulled off a cap that had been keeping her hair in a bun.
It was a woman dressed in camouflage clothes, with smeared, black shoe polish all over her face.
“Beth. I thought that was you…”
He was referring to the voice, not anything else. His ex-wife had changed quite a bit since he last saw her. Her eyes were so intense; the pupils looked capable of becoming bowling balls and rolling him over like he was the last pin standing.
She also had long, taut arms, with bulging veins; both limbs seemed as if they weren’t just holding the flamethrower, but that they were appendages originally built into the weapon.
“Yeah, I recognized you too the minute I saw the shotgun,” said Beth. “Your father’s old rifle, right?”
He looked at the gun, and almost couldn’t believe that he was now holding it with Beth just a few feet away.
“How about that?” said Matt. “The same gun I had when I tried to kill myself.”
Beth froze when she heard the words.
“Come on, that’s what you were thinking, right?”
A long time ago, Beth figured out that Matt had a way of framing his questions so that any of her answers would be channeled in just one direction: the quickest way to triggering his temper.
“That’s him…”
The other person holding the flamethrower approached. He took off his goggles and the rest of his headgear.
“… Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is the guy I saw that night at your house.”
Matt looked the guy over and said, “If you’re still not sure, why don’t you get out your flashlight and fucking shine it in my eyes.”
His tone and the words were like a magnet, pulling Ryan to take up the space right next to Matt.
“Tell you what. Forget the flashlight; why don’t you just raise your voice loud enough to attract a vampire patrol.”
Beth stepped between them.
“Matt Haynes this is Ryan Sellers. Yes, Ryan, this is my ex. Matt, what are you doing here?”
“I saw the restraining order against me had lapsed. I figured getting it extended was not an option under present conditions. So I decided to make my way out here. How are you doing?”
“Well, she just got done saving your life,” answered Ryan, moving past Beth to get closer to Matt.
He kept his eyes focused on his ex-wife. “I’m sorry, I might have missed something. Is Ryan your lawyer?”
“I’m not her lawyer, but I’m also not fucking with you.”
He then nudged Matt with the nozzle of his flamethrower, which was still fired up and ready to go. “You need to dial back the attitude, Haynes. As I said, she fucking saved your life. Maybe you crawled back under the rock you originally came from during the takeover and missed the information about how vampires absorb bullets like a sponge. There’s only a few ways to kill them, and shooting them with a shotgun is not one of them…”
Matt listened to every word Ryan had to say before breaking out in a grin.
“Sorry. My mistake. Beth has saved my life so many times, I guess I’m guilty of taking it for granted,” said Matt.
He then stepped around Ryan’s flamethrower, and began walking toward the barn. Matt was relieved when he saw Tyra and Juarez moving toward him.
“You didn't answer my question,” said Beth. “What are you doing here?”
After he got over the shock that Beth was pursuing him, he got angry.
“This is my parents’ farm; why do I need to explain anything to you?”
“That’s bullshit, Matt, and we both know it. You were at my house,” said Beth. “I’m asking for you to explain why you were there!”
He stopped walking and turned to face her.
“I was looking for you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Safe? Don’t make me laugh. I can take care of myself. And second of all, taking care of myself got way easier the day I stopped taking care of you.”
“Are you all right?”
Beth turned to look over at Tyra.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Matt.
All the tattoos on Tyra’s body immediately grabbed Beth’s attention. She then noticed that Tyra’s skin was also lined with vampire bite marks.
Tyra grabbed his arm and this time Matt looked over at her.
“We need to get going.”
Matt stared at Tyra.
“Matt, we need to get going.”
He nodded, and without another look at his ex-wife, Matt turned and started walking toward the barn.
Beth tried to follow, but Tyra stepped in front of her.
“I don’t know who you people are, but we don’t have time for this.”
“Nice,” said Ryan, walking up behind Beth. “We just saved your life, and that’s all you have to say?”
“No, I’d like to add three words of gratitude,” said Juarez. “Flame on, Dude!”
Beth moved closer to Tyra, and lowered her voice. “I know that guy, and I’m warning you, he’s someone you all need to stay clear of…”
Tyra pulled a cigarette from the pack Matt had tossed to her in the barn. She used the flame on Beth’s weapon to light it up.
“Matt and I go way back. We worked together in the Green Zone.” She took a long drag on the cigarette. “Right now we’re right in the middle of trying to set free about two hundred people from a vampire concentration camp.”
Tyra took another puff and then blew some smoke into Beth’s face,
“So, thanks for saving our lives. But if you don’t mind, you need to get out of the way because you’re fucking up our plan to sneak back into the camp…”
She then threw down the cigarette, stamped it out in the dirt, then hit Juarez in the back and they both left to join Matt.
He walked slowly into his parents’ barn and embraced the darkness that was beginning to descend on the hilltop where he grew up.
Matt had traveled across the world to see if the love of his life was alive. On many nights during the trip, he actually spoke aloud the words he would say to Beth if she was somehow still living. And every night during his trip back to Morristown, New Jersey, he would rehearse those words while staring at her picture.
“The world’s come to an end and I came back to see if you were still here, hoping if I found you… that somehow you and I… we could start all over again…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
THE RELICT SERIES:
Book #2
“Shadows in the Light”
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FICTION BOOKS
Demon Days Book Series
Black Mariah Book Series
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NON FICTION BOOKS
The 20 Basic Rules of Professional Screenwriting
The 19 Techniques of Professional Screenwriting
16 Secrets Revealed by Professional Screenwriters
The Chimes Before Midnight
(Wisdom for a Challenging World)
APPENDIX
I
Believe your existence matters in this world.
But never live like you are the center of the universe.
II
Our life on this planet is relatively short.
Some we love will have an even shorter life.
III
Beware of predators amongst us who kill or maim.
Sometimes with no discernible reason.
Someone we trust, even love may be one of the predators.
IV
The greatest challenge we face as individuals…
(and as a Species)
…is to continue to EVOLVE.
V
There will come a time when the opportunity to…
Solve a Problem, will no longer be an option.
VI
When you are younger pursue a dream.
If you don’t end up achieving it…
You will still discover yourself in the process.
And you will put aside any future thoughts…
… of what might have been.
VII
Live your life with honesty and integrity.
At all times.
VIII
Discover who you truly are…
Beyond the expectations of family, friends, loved ones…
… and those you have just met.
It will mean working to overcome your fears.
The fears that come from within…
… and those created by family, friends, loved ones…
… and those you have just met.
IX
We need others to thrive and reach success.
Your future depends on those across the street…
… as well as the person you’ve never met…
… who lives across the world.
X
You need to love and be loved.
You will not reach your fullest potential without both.
Everything else is forgotten over time.
Those you loved, and those who loved you…
… will be your legacy on this planet.
XI
There will be those who are dependent on us to survive.
We must not neglect their needs.
A climb to the mountain top is worth celebrating.
Unless the goal could have been achieved…
… while carrying another on your back.
XII
As you age, never live without another worthy goal.
But don’t allow the love of life…
… to be corrupted by the fear of death.
IT IS MIDNIGHT
There might be someone beside you.
Or no one to bear witness.
Regardless of the circumstances…
ALL of us face death… ALONE.
You are not the center of the universe.
After taking your final breath…
Every living creature on this planet…
… will take another.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Franklin Guerrero
Thanks to my mom and dad for always encouraging my artistic endeavors.
Richard Finney
Much appreciation for everyone at Lono Publishing and their support. Also thanks to Luke Vitale who would not let this story die.
COVER PHOTOGRAPH DESIGNED BY ©VITTMAY
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Richard Finney is an amazon.com bestselling novelist, a screenwriter, and an award winning filmmaker.
He lives in Los Angeles, because this is where his three dogs have decided they want to live.
Visit his website -- richardfinney.blogspot.com
Franklin Guerrero is an award winning filmmaker with a deep appreciation for the world of horror and SF. The films he has written and directed include The 8th Plague and the cult classic, Carver. He lives in Southern California. Drawing Blood is his first novel.
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK
“I’m sorry, I’m not following you,” Dr. Fincher said. He and George Wyatt stood in the lobby of Fincher’s apartment building. Fincher looked genuinely confused.
“You did receive a heart transplant about four months ago, correct?” George asked.
“I... why, yes, of course I did. Are you saying it was your wife who donated the heart?”
“Yes, my wife, Carri. She died in a car accident.”
Over the last two decades, Dr. Fincher had conducted hundreds of group therapy sessions and had counseled hundreds of patients using talk therapy; he had also been a guest speaker and panelist at several conventions. He had become such a smooth talker he had forgotten how awkward speechlessness could be.
He had the urge to shake George’s hand, but believed it would be interpreted as a completely underwhelming gesture. So he hugged the man.
George returned the embrace, and for a few short seconds he felt the subtle beat of Carri’s heart.
The doctor released him, but kept a hand on George’s shoulder. “Would you like to come upstairs for a few minutes to talk?”
“Yes,” George said. “I would like that very much.”
And so they went.
****
Dr. Fincher’s apartment looked like something from a catalog rather than real life, minimally decorated with modern furniture and Asian art, paintings of koi fish and waves.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Fincher said as he hung up his coat in an entryway closet.
George had nothing to excuse. The doctor kept the apartment immaculately clean, except for one corner of the room, where two stacks of moving boxes leaned against the wall.
“I wish I could say I just moved here from New York,” Fincher said, “but the truth is, I’ve been here for over two months and still haven’t completely unpacked.”
“New York,” George said. “Yes, that’s where I was told you lived when you received the transplant. I hope you don’t mind, I had to make some phone calls to track you down.”
“No, of course not. I’m glad you did. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Have you unpacked the liquor?”
Fincher smiled. “That might be the first thing I unpacked. What would you like?”
“Anything with vodka would be great.”
“Coming right up.”
A floor-to-ceiling window looked out on the starlight of Bethesda. Next to the window the architecture integrated a wet bar with two leather-backed stools.
Behind the bar, Dr. Fincher opened the glass door to a wall cabinet and reached for two glasses, but then hesitated and only grabbed one. As he put some ice in the glass, he asked, “How about some vodka and cranberry juice?”
George took a seat on one of the stools at the bar. “That sounds great. But aren’t you going to join me?”
“Perhaps another time,” said Fincher, pouring the vodka and cranberry juice into a shaker.
“See, this is what I was afraid of. You probably have a cocktail at the end of the day, but because I’m here you’ve decided not to.”
Fincher stared at the shaker. “The reality is, your wife has given me a gift. The last thing I want to give you is the impression that I take her gift lightly.”
“Well, first of all,” George said, “I’ve come to meet you, not judge
you. And second of all, my wife and I used to have at least one glass of wine every night. I bet if her heart could speak to you, it would be asking for that drink.”
Dr. Fincher grinned. He got himself a glass and added more vodka and cranberry juice to the shaker. He mixed it up and then poured their drinks.
“To your wife,” Fincher said.
“To Carri.”
They touched glasses, with a clink and the shifting of ice. Then they each sipped their cocktail and savored the tart burn.
“Looking for the scar?” Fincher asked.
George’s attention had drifted down to the doctor’s blue dress shirt, to his chest; he hadn’t realized how obvious he had been. “I’m sorry, I guess it did cross my mind.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Fincher said, setting down his drink. “I’ll show you my scar if you show me a picture of your wife.”
George smiled. “It’s a deal.”
Fincher unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open. A thick ten-inch scar ran from his sternum to the top of his stomach, like a zipper on a costume.
George could see the beat of his wife’s heart caught behind the doctor’s ribcage, could see the pulse of her physically move him.
Fincher said, “I guess I died during the operation.”
George locked eyes with him. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after the transplant?”
Fincher hesitated, wondering why it mattered. He shrugged and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure.”
“What happened when you died?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing I remember. They put me pretty deep under. But I guess there was a four-alarm fire in the operating room to revive me.” Fincher started buttoning up his shirt. “Anyway... let’s see a picture of this beautiful woman who saved my life.”
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