by R. G. Nelson
“Uh, not too much. You don't want to kill her,” Mike’s slightly concerned voice cuts through my daze. Laney is seated next to him and also watching me anxiously. It’s hard to pull out, but I manage to look up to see that in fact everyone is watching me intently, several with amused smiles on their faces. Jesús is snickering.
Hamad sarcastically continues with mock concern, “Yeah, be careful. After all, she's a human being.” Funny, I get the feeling that he is more concerned about maintaining his live blood supply than Hailey’s well-being.
Still, though I’m slightly embarrassed and want to stop, the blood rush is pulling me back toward the delicate wrist that remains firmly in my predatory grip. I don’t think I can resist. I’m reminded of how as a human, some of the baser pleasures in life were so hard to cut off mid-stream, yet this is so very much more intense. Luckily, my angel understands and for the second time tonight is instantly there for me.
Before I can slip my teeth back into Hailey, Vera is next to me, pushing her partially filled cup of blood at me. “Here, finish mine,” she purrs as she strokes my hair.
I drink greedily and feel the decrease in pressure on my lap that lets me know Hailey’s tempting arm has been removed. I let myself go with the flow and drain the whole cup in a matter of seconds, spilling some down my chin in my haste. Somewhat sated, I put the cup down and look up at Vera, who is still stroking my hair gently. I feel riled up, energized and ready to go. It’s as though I’ve just pounded five energy drinks, and the effect is hitting me all at once.
I can only imagine what I look like to Vera, my eyes slightly crazed, a trail of blood on my chin …. Again, I think she has read my thoughts because she smiles at me and tousles my hair affectionately. “Don’t worry, the first time is always … overwhelming. It gets easier to control. A little. But you did good,” she says reassuringly.
As I sit opposite her and stare into her icy blue pools, I remember back to my days as a human when I’d give myself to her. I wonder if I would have dared had I known how intoxicating it was for her … how badly she must have wanted to drink dangerously deep each time. I don’t think I fully appreciated how much she must have cared for me always to limit herself to just little nibbles here and swallows there.
I feel my love for Vera well up inside me; it becomes so intense that I think it’s going to spill out my pores. I literally can’t contain myself much longer, so I lean in and kiss her. I kiss her deeply. I pull her toward me, and as that’s not close enough, I scoop her up onto my lap. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly. I feel the power from the blood surge through my arms; I’m not afraid of hurting her, and she squeezes back with equal passion. Our chins become slick with the crimson drips I spilled, just as the traces of blood still lingering in my mouth mingle into hers.
From somewhere on the far edge of my consciousness, outside the zone of pleasure and passion where I currently reside, I think I hear Laney’s voice jokingly yell out, “Get a room.” I become aware that we are still in public, but I don’t really care. Vera must have heard Laney, too, because I find myself being gently pulled up and guided to our hideaway from the world. I think I may be lying in our bed and I might have heard the door close, but all I really notice is Vera sliding under the sheets with me.
* * *
And so time passes. I noticed when I was alive that the longer I lived, the more life seemed to accelerate. I can tell you, the same is true after you die. My nights blur together in what seems to be an endless darkness. But I don’t mind. In fact, I’m kept very busy and don’t often have time to ponder my new, shadowy existence. I continue to train with Hamad, Mike and Jesús. My cell. We’re one of the squads that form the internal group nicknamed the bloodshirts, partly because of the deep red color of the clothes we wear and partly because of twisted vampire humor, I guess.
While people like Vera and Laney work the streets and put a good public face forward, we seem to do more of the dirty work for the Movement. So I learn how to fight like a vampire, and I study how to fight like a human but still make sure that I win. I train how to use a variety of weapons, including a silver stake–lethal to vampires. I practice moving around the city without being seen. In short, I learn how to be someone I never thought I would be.
And on off nights, I hang out with Vera, doing whatever we want. Occasionally, I go back to the roof and she watches me paint, but I find I have less need for that these days. Sometimes, we go to movies together or I challenge her and Laney to mini-golf–even with my new powers, Vera still crushes me. Mike tags along on occasions as well; though he denies it, I swear he’s pursuing Laney. More often, we just go for runs around the rooftops or even out in the countryside if we can catch a ride. We just … live life.
Before long, my days as a member of humanity seem far behind me. Though Vera and I experimented with visiting my dad, those few encounters where he was conscious were filled with awkward questions and even more awkward attempts to dodge them. Now, when I go back to his place to drop off the envelopes of cash that I save from the various stipends that we receive for expenses, I no longer even really feel guilty about leaving him or returning fewer and fewer of his calls. I mean, technically at this age I should be far away in school anyway. So I just slip the money under the door and disappear quickly in the unlikely event that he is waiting to ambush me with a million questions on what exactly I’m up to and why Vera and I don’t come back more.
Yet, though the passing weeks are good, one constant really begins to drive and define my life: the missions.
11)
You don´t have to be a vampire to tell that it reeks of gasoline. As a human, the smell of gas was one of my guilty pleasures, but now, it´s almost overwhelming. Good thing I don´t have to worry about the fumes doing any damage to my body. I look around the back of the van again and remind myself to get my head in the game.
I stare across the spacious interior and see that Mike is still in the driver´s seat keeping a look out. Back here with me, Hamad and Jesús are putting on balaclavas to go with their gloved hands. Between us all are several large drums filled with gasoline.
“Air it out,” Hamad commands Mike. Windows open and I hear the fan click on from the dashboard. “You ready?” Hamad asks me pointedly.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say as I pull on my own mask to hide my identity. Hamad’s been mysterious all night about what our mission is; all I know is that we are being extra careful not to leave evidence of our personal identity behind. Hence the wearing of gloves despite the fact that it’s super hard to leave finger prints behind if you don’t sweat or secrete stuff from your pores.
“So, you finally going to tell me now what this is all gonna do?” I ask hesitantly. I feel like I better know now since whatever it is will go down very, very soon.
Hamad, ever the fountain of information, says, “It's gonna go boom.”
Jesús looks excited. “Coño, gonna be one hell of a fireball.”
I guess I’ve known this whole time that we were going to blow the van up, but hearing it said out loud really brings it home for me. Sitting in the back, I have no idea how busy the area we are in is or what the outside damage will be. I lean forward to try to see out the front window to take in our surroundings.
Hamad and Jesús must know what I’m doing because they snicker and exchange a look. “Relax. There's no one there after hours. We scoped it out. We're going for symbolism here, not murder,” Hamad says. Wow, he’s actually trying to reassure me.
Since he seems to be in a decent mood, I decide to press my luck further. “And how does blowing up a van and some empty buildings help our cause?” I throw back.
“You have to consider the big picture. This demonstrates that we're about action–that their government is weak and incapable of protect
ing them. That they need a change,” Hamad asserts.
“And if they do decide they need a change, what makes us so sure they'll embrace the Movement, the people who were blowing stuff up?” I ask, legitimately confused.
“I dunno. I don't claim to have the whole plan. That’s Joseph’s role,” Hamad admits.
Jesús chimes in with a smile, “Maybe if we’re prepared to go all out, we'll be the only option left.”
“Guys, 1:58. We gotta hurry,” Mike cuts in from the front seat.
Hamad glances at his watch and curses under his breath. “Okay, no more talk. This happens, now.”
Hamad nods to Jesús. Jesús pulls out what I guess to be the fuse and connects it to wires rigged to the drums.
“It’s set for one minute,” Jesús confirms. Then he jumps out the back and takes a look around before giving the all clear. Hamad hands him a box, which Jesús puts on the roof of the van. Hamad opens another of the boxes, revealing an inside full of buttons with the Movement logo on them. He pours them around the inside of the van.
I must look perplexed because Hamad answers my unspoken question, “Our calling card.” Then he checks his watch and hands me the fuse Jesús set up earlier, along with a lighter. “You've been with us several months now; want to do the honors?”
I sort of don’t, really, but I sense that I can’t actually say that. So I nod yes and hope like hell the van has been aired out enough that we won’t blow up from the fumes. I guess Vera told me I might survive fire, but I’m pretty sure it would hurt like hell. On his signal, I light the fuse, set it down gently, and jump out the back of the van. I’m not sure why we don’t have a more high tech way of doing this–maybe they think this is cooler. Jesús closes the door and we take off down the street with Mike at our heels.
We don’t pause until we are a solid two blocks away. I haven’t been keeping track of the time, but Hamad has. He gives us a count down, and we all join in, “3 … 2 … 1 ….”
The roar of the explosion is earth shattering. The street shakes as if an earthquake just struck while the van erupts into an enormous fireball. It lifts part of the way into the air and is tossed over on its side. Windows shatter all around, even up the street closer to us. Car alarms sound off in a disjointed symphony of tonal sirens.
But I’m stuck in a daze. With my senses, I see the fireball rise upward in a beautiful, yet delicate and fleeting mix of vibrant colors. The masterpiece of flickering patterns in turn is reflected off the remaining building windows father away, creating an illusion of endless repetition of beauty. I feel like I can make out the smallest of dancing flames amidst the chaos and twisting smoke. I watch as particles afire float and wind softly back down toward the pedestrian earth, only to be borne up once more by some unseen current to start their ballet all over again. And while taking in all this with my eyes, the delicate sprinkle of glass hitting the ground from all the broken windows tinkles and echoes like a harmonic crystal chime in the wind.
Elsewhere, other large explosions boom and echo throughout the city.
“Must be Meng and Tomas’s boys,” Jesús says.
I look to him for further explanation.
“You didn't think we were the only bloodshirts out tonight?” Jesús says, smiling.
“And the cops? Are they just going to let this slide?” I ask.
“The investigation will get underway now, tonight,” Mike tells me. “Joseph will be sure that we have plants in the forensic teams to cover our tracks.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it–they’ll never tie it to anyone specifically,” adds Jesús.
Hamad is watching me intently. “So, what do you think?” he asks.
I’m floored by what I’ve just witnessed so I answer earnestly. “It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
The gang laughs. Hamad looks around at the others. “Boys, I think he may be ready.”
12)
We’ve been circling for a while now. I stare out my window, endlessly scanning the streets. In the front, Jesús drives as Hamad fiddles with the radio. He settles on a station that is pumping aggressive electronic music, I guess to match the mood in the car. Across the back seat, Mike starts bobbing his head to the beat and dancing as much as he can, given that Vera is piled in between us. I have to admit that after watching all those movies growing up, I never would have expected that this is how modern vampires go on the hunt.
I can sense their excitement, but I’m aware of how fast the scales of group moods can tip. A part of me is excited, too, in some primal way that I don’t fully understand and can’t fully embrace. But more of me, the larger part of me that I can still recognize as me no matter what I need to consume to survive, is something very other than excited. Going into tonight, I thought I was ready. I wanted to be ready–but now I’m not so sure.
I thought long and hard about who I’d target for my hunt. About who I’d feel comfortable drinking … murdering. For although I understand this whole predator-prey relationship deal and grew up watching the discovery channel, somehow that trite circle of life argument isn’t really comforting me. I guess I should have been more honest with myself about what I’d find out here at night. How likely is it that I’ll actually run into some terminal cancer patient roaming around the streets in the darkness, praying for a release from his torment? Or that I’ll catch a homicidal pedophile in the middle of trying to abduct some helpless kid? And now, I’m seriously doubting that I’ll find any wandering suicide bombers to help along their path to paradise. So much for my wishes.
Still nothing tempting outside the windows. I glance around the car again to judge the atmosphere. I’m pretty sure Vera can tell that I’m nervous. Now I’m having second thoughts about having her tag along: What if I can’t perform? She is slightly tensed, and I can see her repeatedly glancing at me out of the corner of my eye. I sense she wants to say something, but is afraid to speak first or maybe is afraid to speak out in front of these guys. I’ve been holding out for as long as I can, but I quickly hit a point where I can’t stand the awkward silence between us.
“You didn't have to come, Ver,” I say finally.
She looks a bit taken aback. Maybe even hurt. “I wanted to. It's a big step,” Vera responds. Then she delicately puts her hand on mine and asks softly, “Are you sure you're up for this?”
From the front seat, Hamad cuts in, “He's good to go. Stop coddling him.” I feel like I’d blush right now: Thank God I haven’t eaten already. Hamad turns in his seat and stares directly into my eyes. His next words feel more like a challenge than a question, “You are ready to really be one of us?”
Whatever my true feelings, this is not a time for hesitation. I look around the group and make sure to meet everyone’s icy eyes. “Yeah. Hell, yeah.”
With the gang temporarily satisfied, I give Vera’s hand a squeeze and return to my desperate search outside the window. As luck, or fate, or just sheer coincidence would have it, five minutes later I spot a familiar shape heading into the looming mouth of an alley.
I quickly lean forward and tap Jesús, “Slow up.”
Everyone looks to see what caught my eye. Jesús pulls up against the curb and kills the engine. We all watch the hooded figure, now stopped and leaning against a wall while examining the contents of a shiny black wallet. He is unconcerned about his surroundings, perhaps because he believes himself to be deep in the shadows. Then I notice the tell-tale bulge of a pistol stuck in the back of his pants beneath a filthy jacket. I guess this guy didn’t learn from our earlier encounter and went back out and got himself a new gun. I hope it’s better than that last piece of crap I took from him.
“You know what to do.” Hamad again from the front seat.
I gu
ess it’s now or never.
I move to get out the car, but Vera catches my arm first. With what feels like all her strength, she quickly pulls me toward her and kisses me passionately.
“Coño, disgusting. You know she's over a hundred years old?” Jesús teases.
Vera hits him playfully, but firmly. I see Jesús wince unintentionally. “And how old are you, five? So back off,” Vera returns. She looks back to me. “Remember, you’re a vampire now. You have to let go a bit.” I nod my head in acceptance. And then, before I can hop out she adds softly, “I love you.”
Though her words are simple, I see in her eyes everything I need to carry me through the next few minutes: love, encouragement, approval, concern, and maybe even a hint of an apology. I guess she knows about the internal battle that’s been waging in me and feels guilty for her part in turning me into what I am now: a predator. With that word in mind, I smile grimly, but determined, and get out of the car.
The bum must have subconsciously registered the sedan door closing, because he starts heading deeper into the alley. That works for me. He’s still engrossed in his take: I see him toss aside the wallet and start counting the cash that was inside. I stealthily close the distance between us. It’s a dark and seedy alley, populated only by a few worn-out garbage bins and rusted pieces of old appliances. And rats, I notice. There’s even ventilation off-take coming out of somewhere, pumping a dubious cloud of exhaust into the cold air. In fact, it’s just like a place in the movies where you’d expect creatures of the night to lurk.