Quick to keep him from squirming like that silly rabbit had, Jack began to move his arm like Mummy, carving the turkey. Prune face’s eyes flew open and a bellow of sound escaped and then gurgled as the man’s muscles tensed and Jack carved back and forth faster and faster. The man’s body convulsed and one of his legs kicked Mummy and she rolled over, still quite asleep. Jack covered ol’ pruney’s mouth and smiled as the man’s terrified eyes grew bigger and bigger like colorful saucers until they stopped moving altogether and the shaking of his muscles abruptly quit.
With a gust of hyper glee, Jack picked up the bloody knife and hopped and skipped his way through the room without a care in the world swinging the knife forward and backward like a pendulum with his arm and splattering blood all over Mummy’s bedroom floor and wall and door. Mummy woke with a start and rose up to see what was going on and after a few moments of staring at the blood splatters on the wall and the door, she finally turned to her right and found the source of the crimson splashes.
Mummy screamed the loudest and longest scream Jack had ever heard. And he smiled with pride as he watched her frantically grab the prune man by his shoulders and scream again. And when she turned around she wasn’t so angry anymore. The moonlight reflection off the serrated blade lit a small spot of blue on Mummy’s bare chest as she shrank back against the bed and screamed again. It was then that little Jack realized Mummy wasn’t cross with him. Mummy was terrified. That hadn’t been what Jack had wanted. At least when Mummy was mad at him he knew it was like the scriptures said. Mummy was angry because she loved him. She’d even told him so. But now. Now she wouldn’t stop screaming and if she loved him, she was showing it by pushing herself as far away as she could get.
Two decades breezed by and Jack was a young man in his twenties, living on his own in a small village. At least once every few weeks, he brought unwary victims to his cottage. Using his coy intelligence to conjure up all sorts of reasons, he would lure strangers and travelers in and then murder them in cold blood. Slowly over the years his victims became younger and younger, until he was tricking little boys and girls with candy to come in for more. And Hank quickly learned that long before Jack had a need for blood he discovered a particular taste for it. Not just in metaphor but in physical flavor and texture he enjoyed to lap the thick syrupy liquid against the graininess of his tongue.
And unlike Jack the Ripper who would come much later, he didn’t leave any evidence, not a single sign of his terrible deeds. Most of it he would ingest and the rest he would bury or throw in a nearby river.
And then one night a stranger found him. And it wasn’t human.
When the fiery venom spread throughout Jack’s veins, he awoke with a physical hunger for blood that nearly matched the desire he’d already long had for it. And when he tasted his first drop of young blood through the senses of the vampire, his desire became a compulsion.
Children disappeared often in the village after that.
And then centuries went by and king after king after king, Queen Elizabeth came. And still the centuries went on. Hank experienced enough murder to void an entire nation and with each murder he could only watch and listen and feel and hear and do nothing to stop it. It was a madness that eventually brought a numbness with it and Hank learned to simply not feel what his human body knew he should feel as he watched them die one after another.
Until the day the vision finally came true.
The smell of sulfur was nearly choking as Jack rounded the corner of a tall brick building that looked to be barely holding itself together. Screams, gunfire, and explosions sounded from nearly every direction. Except one. In that direction there was only the sound of a quickly beating heart.
Toby.
The boy had been running from his father. Jack had been waiting patiently for the right moment to come along. Then for no reason at all, Hank turned and ran, leaving the boy alone. Jack grinned and then slipped out of the dark alley he’d been hiding in. Up the rubble-littered street, he caught the boy's scent. Jack ran toward that sweet smell. Longing for it. Wanting it like he'd never wanted anything ever before.
The scent grew stronger as Jack came near an open alleyway—one of the few free of debris. A blue dumpster stood on the right, one of its black hatch-like lids wide open and leaning against the red-brick wall behind it. The boy was in there. It was too obvious. The trash and filth inside weren't strong enough to cover up that glorious aroma.
Jack walked up to the dumpster, leaned his body against the cold thick metal of it and reached inside. His hand came up pulling Toby's shirt by the collar, the boy screaming and scratching at Jack’s stone-hard fingers. But they just kept on pulling him upward until that sweet pulsing flesh of the boy's smooth neck was at Jack’s mouth. His fangs nearly pushed through his lips at the urging to be used. He opened his mouth and then slowly closed it over the boy’s carotid artery feeling the blood pump up from the heart and out onto his tongue. He lapped it slowly, patiently. There would be so much more of it. And all the while deep inside as the blood and life poured out of Toby’s body and into Jack’s, Hank was a frozen tiger waiting to escape.
Waiting to tear this monster apart again.
The last moment of Toby’s life, the very last breath faded away and Hank screamed in frozen silence with every ounce of his being, but no one, nowhere, alive or dead could hear.
Like the blood that had been drained from his son, the anger faded away and was replaced with a hollow bitter emptiness. And Hank went back to that dark place of hiding deep within the memories of Jack Draper.
And just as Hank was preparing himself for the coming battle—to experience the end of Jack Draper, something happened that Hank hadn’t expected—hadn’t thought of.
They started briefly—subtle—flashes of memories of sunlight and grass and colors and times that Hank immediately recognized. Toby’s little voice from so long ago—when he was only a toddler—croaked out of his little mouth and the scraps of life that were left of Hank wept and curled into love and joy and hate and despair all wrapped together. The boy was running in the playground, hanging from monkey bars and swinging on the swings and laughing and lighting up the eyes of everyone everywhere he went.
Flashes of Hank and Diana and Toby together and very much alive from the smallest alien perspective filled Hank with the closest thing to joy he would ever feel again. Because no matter how wonderful it was to see and hear and feel his son in this strange way, to live bits and pieces of his life, it was all just memories torn and ripped away. As these brief highlights of Toby’s life came and went each one more rapidly than the next, Hank watched and heard and felt them all, no longer trapped at all. But burnt, broken, and yet somehow free.
The time came for that last memory to end and Hank forced himself not to go back to that dark numb place. Toby’s last breath blew into the air and the dim yellow light of the alleyway started to drain, his last moment of sight fading in darkness.
Chapter 43
The Sweet Sleep of Oblivion
The Queen was still not accounted for as the remaining vampires flooded into the hive. There was only an hour left before the dawn would come. Jackie had appeared from out of nowhere and embraced Simon. He blushed as he hugged her in return. As much as he didn’t want to lead her to believe that anything could come from it he was glad to see her alive and in fair shape.
“Are you okay?” Jackie asked.
“I’ll be fine. But something’s happened and I need to speak with the Queen. We need her now more than ever and I don’t know where she is.”
“What happened?”
“You can’t tell the others. Not until I find the Queen, okay?”
Jackie nodded.
Simon looked around to make sure the other vampires were occupied and took Jackie’s hand. He led her down a long cavern deep into the belly of the hive. And when they were there he showed her Ishan’s body.
“Oh my god. Is he…”
“No. He’s alive. But rem
ember what I told you about. What happened to me when I drank his blood?”
She nodded.
“Ishan drank the blood of the enemy queen.”
Jackie looked down at the ancient vampire and put her arms around Simon who had no choice but to melt into her embrace. He couldn’t help but think What if the Queen never comes back?
* * *
In between thick drops of rain a figure in a long dark robe moved with grace and silence through the alleyway until it came to two bodies lying on the ground. The Queen looked down from the black hood, her pale flesh in sharp contrast with an expression of sadness. She whispered, “I wanted to tell you, young one. But you would have changed things. You would have destroyed your destiny. Now when you return from the other side of the fire you will be new. You will be ready.”
She reached down and pulled Hank’s arms from Toby’s lifeless body. Although somewhat conscious, she knew whatever was left of Hank in this cold wet husk was too far gone to really see, hear, or know anything. She lifted him and, wrapping her huge robe around his body, cradled him in her arms before walking away into the wet dark dreariness of the night. Toby’s body lay blue and lifeless and covered in rain behind her.
* * *
It had been days since the Queen returned with Hank. Simon seemed troubled, but had held his tongue as far as Jackie could tell. A shock went through everyone when the Queen told them the news about Ishan’s condition. Since then the place had felt like a tomb. Which was all too fitting to Jackie since tonight was the night they would come together and collectively mourn for the dead. Human and vampire.
At first just a handful of vampires stood in a circle around the fire. Before long more and more arrived and then the Foederati joined the circle. And at the back sitting alone, Jackie couldn’t help but watch the man Hank staring into the fire. Simon had told her about the murder of his son. She felt a strange combination of sadness and bloodlust watching him. She was still a fledgling after all and that was perfectly normal, but she was surprised at how sad she was, watching him.
Several of the vampires let out a series of screeches in the ancestor’s tongue in unison until the sounds began to weave together into a strange sort of song. It was dissonant but beautiful. And still Jackie found herself turning back to watch as, with glassy eyes, Hank continued to sit like a statue made of ice.
After a while, the Queen came before them all and spoke in the ancestral tongue about those who had died. And when she was done, the Foederati general stood up and talked about many who had died including Hank’s young son, Toby. And then the most interesting part of the ceremony came when the bodies that had been recovered were thrown in the fire and yet again Jackie found herself looking back at Hank. His shoulders twitched as each body went into the fire and began to crackle. Between the sadness and the bloodlust, Jackie was drawn more and more to the man. It made perfect sense. She could take away his suffering and hers.
She rose to her feet and began walking toward him. He paid no attention as she came closer smiling gently. So she sat down next to him and waited. He made no movements and gave no indication that he even knew she was there. Jackie reached out to touch his face when a hand came from nowhere and took hers in a cold hard grip that nearly crushed every bone in her body. Jackie’s heart nearly restarted when she looked up to see the red glaring irises of the Queen.
Leave him. Do not come near him ever again.
An image of the Queen tearing out Jackie’s throat and spraying her blood across the cave walls flashed in Jackie’s mind. Do you understand?
Jackie nodded.
Of course you do. Now, go.
She wasted no time and went back to where she’d been standing before and tried to make the image of her headless body swinging and spraying gallons of blood in every direction go away.
Chapter 44
Revelation
After what seemed like an eternity of darkness, days, weeks, months, years— Hank wasn’t sure—there came a day when he awoke in his cavern with a realization.
Life was still moving on.
And no matter how much he didn’t want it to, it would never stop just for him. Not without taking it himself. Hank had only ever considered suicide once before. He’d long ago decided it was the easy way out. That no matter how hard life would get, he owed it to those he loved and to himself to keep going. But those days were so far away. And those he truly loved were all gone now. And all that was left was the hollow place where they used to be.
He knew the Queen had been feeding him. Both human food and her blood to keep him strong. He couldn’t relish anything anymore. The food, even the Queen’s blood, seemed to have no taste, nothing but empty texture. He tried, but he couldn’t seem to truly find that place he’d went to within himself inside Jack Draper’s memories. Either it didn’t exist anymore or it was hidden from him, he wasn’t sure which. But he knew that he had to find it if he were going to live. Because every day knowing that Toby was dead was like a nightmare within a nightmare that never yielded and never ended.
But today he knew it was time for him to do something. The only thing he had left to do. He’d been dreaming about it for several days. Always in the dream Toby was angry with him. He would scream and kick and punch and cry. And each time he would say the same thing to Hank that he had said that day on the porch when Hank came back from the cemetery.
The words echoed in Hank’s mind even then. He swallowed a dry swallow and got to his feet. When his bags were packed and his mind was as clear as it could be he went out into the main cavern to say his goodbyes. The Queen only watched him as he shook the various hands and hugged and tried to manage some form of smile. The Foederati provided him with a small car and a fair sum of money. The latest news was that the war had moved westward and it was mostly safe to travel most places east of Texas. Hank had taken this as his cue that now was the time to go.
He started up the car and headed north on what would be a several day trip up I-65. Along the way he came upon many towns and cities he’d seen hundreds of times before. Most of them were now war torn and what was left was merely a shade of its former self. Southern Indiana had turned from a desolate nothing to a scorched desolate nothing. Hank hadn’t expected it to be this way. But he’d recently learned that the Foederati were spread out throughout the country, so he accepted it for what it was.
When he’d swerved the car onto the exit for 465, he caught sight of the Indianapolis skyline. Several of the buildings, ones he hadn’t really paid attention to before, were gone. It looked like something out of a movie. Like some post-apocalyptic city.
An hour later it was all more of the same. Ashen buildings that took Hank’s breath away. As he came up on the exit, he took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. He was almost there. Almost truly home. He pulled onto State Road 39 and headed north down a long narrow stretch of road. Eventually he came to a modest tan ranch house sitting at the top of a hill with off-white picket fencing. Hank slowed the car and turned into the driveway stretching out alongside the house.
When he got out of the car, the air around him seemed still and empty. A small FOR SALE sign was taped to one of the brown pillars of the porch. Good. The place was empty at least. No one would come snooping around as to why he was here, what he was doing. He walked around the structure until he was faced with a breathtaking forest off in the distance. He walked and he walked. And he walked some more until he came to the edge of the woods.
He knew exactly where it would be. Walking just inside the tree line, Hank counted the trees until he found the one he was looking for. It was a tall thick oak with faint carvings along its base faintly visible from where he stood. Merely 20 paces put him right in front of the huge glorious thing and he couldn’t help but stare up at its intimidating height in anticipation. Then he stepped closer and let his finger trace the outline of the carvings on the tree. It was a large heart with the names Hank and Diana in the center and an arrow through the middle.
When she had carved it, Hank had blushed and laughed and talked about how cheesy it was. But now, looking back, it was breathtaking to behold, even more so to the touch. To know that her hands had carved out something so beautiful. Hank wept. He had expected this to be hard but he had no idea just how hard it would be. He couldn’t have. When he was able to breathe again, Hank wandered around to the other side of the huge oak tree. A huge gaping hole filled with leaves sat nearly as high as his shoulders. Hank wiped his tears, dried his hand on his shirt and then reached his arm inside the hole.
It was deep, but it didn’t take long for Hank to find what he was looking for. He pulled his hand out and cleared away the wet bark and wood and leaves that were covering the thing. When he had cleaned it off he held the key up in front of him so the sunlight gleamed against its brass shape. He smiled in spite of the pain gripping his chest. He would’ve known this key anywhere, just like she had said to Toby. He knew exactly what it was for. He could only hope that what it unlocked was still here.
Gripping the key tightly in his hand, Hank walked up to the back door of the house and tried the knob. It was locked. He put some pressure on the door and it easily gave. A strong familiar scent hit him as he entered the kitchen. It was something in the wood he thought, but he wasn’t completely sure. Some smell about the house that wasn’t unpleasant but had always lingered just underneath everything else. And now that there was nothing else, it was the only smell that remained.
To the left, a narrow stairway led down to the basement. Hank turned and started down the steps. They creaked and moaned as he made his way downward. The place was as musky and dusty as any basement left to its own devices for a long, long time. Random pieces of broken furniture, thick layers of dust and cobwebs decorated the room everywhere Hank looked. Aside from that, the place was just the same as it had been over ten years earlier.
Empire of Blood: A Dystopian Vampire Trilogy (Bundle, Boxset) (Plus Two Empire of Blood Short Stories) Page 51