The Vampirists

by R. G. Nelson

  “What do you think I'm trying to do?” I yell defensively.

  “Push it, Adam. Trust your reflexes,” Vera adds, her voice a mixture of calm and concern.

  I again push down and flood the engine with gas. We accelerate as the speedometer heads toward what I’m sure is unbroken ground for this particular vehicle. I duck and weave through the oncoming traffic. Now that I have a feel for the van’s responsiveness and limitations, the going is easier.

  “There!” Hamad shouts.

  I look to where he’s pointing and see a small side-street off to the left. It has autos parked on both sides so that the road through is quite narrow, only fitting one car at a time.

  “On it,” I confirm, perhaps unnecessarily.

  I cut hard and time it perfectly. We race down the narrow corridor, my eyes shifting back and forth from watching the rearview to the road ahead. I see the lead cop car fishtail out a bit as it attempts the turn. A split-second later, it’s impacted at the rear by an oncoming car. Windows shatter, metal folds, and both spin and twist before coming to a dead stop. It’s the worst car accident I’ve ever witnessed in real life.

  Before I can celebrate (and yeah, I’m happy), Taylor’s unmarked cruiser makes the turn, followed by another cop. Too bad the first one didn’t block the entrance. Not deterred, I reach the end of the street and execute another aggressive ninety-degree turn, aiming again to enter oncoming traffic. With confidence now, I zip in and out and around and in between the startled drivers. I keep my hand solidly on the horn, but given the sirens, I think that everyone can hear us coming anyway.

  Ahead, I see a tow truck coming. I start to grin mischievously.

  Hamad notices. “What?” he asks warily.

  “I have an idea,” I say with conviction.

  I see him look at me, then look at the road, then look at me, and then back at the road. His eyes take in the swiftly approaching truck.

  “Noooo …” he says, tilting his head slightly in disbelief.

  But yes. I aim straight for the tow truck and punch the engine even more. The pedal is literally touching the floor; I can feel the press of the soft carpet beneath. The pursuing lights in my mirror egg me on. My attuned reflexes at the ready, I stare directly at the truck’s driver, searching out his eyes. I’ve never really played chicken before, but I understand that the way to win is to be fully committed. It’s almost not fair then, because I know that I’ll survive a head-on collision while he doesn’t. I hold my metaphorical breath as well as my course.

  I’m not surprised when the truck driver gives up honking his horn and instead veers to the side, seeking to avoid my apparently suicidal intentions. His truck is even more unwieldy than mine, and it predictably spins out. I whisk the wheel around and swerve us to the side to avoid the truck. Suddenly, there’s another car spinning out behind the truck–I realize he had a tow that is being torqued around with destructive force.

  I cut harder, taking the van up onto two wheels. I feel the potential for us to go over, but am fully prepared for this and in control. I cut us back and brake a bit to redistribute our motion, then pop the curb onto the sidewalk. In the back, I hear bangs and curses as the cell is tossed around. I can’t help but laugh a bit.

  Seconds later, Hamad adds his own laugh to mine. “Whoa,” he says chuckling. We both witness the second cop car get demolished by the tow truck and its cargo–together they blocked the street so entirely that it was almost impossible for a human driver to avoid. Almost.

  Of course, Taylor is still there. He managed to take to the sidewalk like me.

  “Just one left,” Hamad says, whether to encourage me or update the others I don’t know.

  My smile is wiped out as I soon encounter pedestrians. I’ve somehow managed to find one of the few streets in this place with any life on it at this time of night. People dive into greasy late-night hamburger and pizza joints as I come careening by. I’m back on my horn and frantically trying to find a space to cut back onto the road–but cars are slowing and forming a tighter pack due to the destruction wrought by the tow truck in the fading distance.

  Cut left. Right. Brake. Accelerate. I need all my vampire abilities to avoid killing someone.

  “Just hit them!” Hamad yells out, exasperated. I look at him, incredulous at his command. But of course, why would I expect anything different? I resolve to ignore him just as a loud bang re-captures my attention.

  I look back out the front window but don’t see anything. Or rather, I see white. I see white and red and yellow. And half eaten cheeseburger, fries and onion rings. I realize that I hit an outdoor table that is now flipped up on my windshield.

  With rising panic, I now call out the obvious, “I can’t see!”

  I don’t know what to do, so I lay on the horn and start to do a u-turn back into traffic. I feel like either way I’m gonna kill someone.

  “Go… Go… Go…” Hamad confirms as he leans out his window to try to get a better view.

  There’s a loud bang with elements of a crunch, and I know that I’ve hit something when the table flies off to reveal a dented car with airbags deployed next to me. I look at my own dashboard and realize my van model must be a bit outdated. Thankfully, we’ve been thrown to the side and are now facing in the direction of traffic–although that means facing a Taylor briskly closing the gap between us.

  “You said go!” I shout accusingly at Hamad as I pull off and start to race through the denser, slowed traffic. Good, we can still drive. Taylor passes me on the side, not able to turn in yet.

  “Yeah, well, I guess I couldn’t see well,” Hamad admits.

  Behind me, cars defer to Taylor’s siren and move to let him back on the real road. Again, a panic starts to creep up as I realize I basically have nowhere to go in this traffic. To add to the bad news, I see the lights of reinforcements approaching from behind us. I guess they had intended to head us off up the road.

  “I need to get off this street,” I say with an edge in my tone.

  “Take that alley,” Hamad orders, point off to the left.

  I pull around a stopped car with the driver staring in amazement at us and enter the alley. I’m half-way through thanking God for this miracle when I see the fence farther down.

  “Crap,” Hamad and I utter simultaneously.

  I start to floor it, hoping the van has enough power to punch through. But then I get a better idea. I hit the brakes and come to a screeching halt at a diagonal, angling to block the whole alley.

  “What are you doing?” Hamad asks in disbelief.

  “Estás loco?” That’s Jesús, from the back.

  “Everybody out,” I say. “Time to play to our strengths.”

  I see comprehension dawn on Hamad’s face. We need a car to make it back to the city, but not necessarily this car.

  “You heard him, out!” he confirms. “Grab the bags.”

  Two seconds. Two seconds, and this time we are all outside of the van. Another second, and Jesús and Vera hop up and over the roof of the van to join us on the front side. Behind, Taylor has entered the alley, just half a block back. But he’s too late. The game is won.

  We scale the fence easily, very easily, but not preternaturally. Taylor slows and he approaches the parked van. He has no way around. From our straddling positions atop the fence, Hamad lights a remaining Molotov cocktail. He pauses dramatically, almost as if to taunt Taylor. Just before Taylor can hop out of the car and draw his weapon, Hamad throws the bottle deftly through the open front side window of our former getaway vehicle. It explodes.

  As flames begin to creep up the damaged metallic carriage, they throw our wavering shadows around. Through the infernal haze, I
see a frustrated Taylor standing with one foot out of his door, screaming into his radio. I’m again reminded of how ghoulish we must look … of how macabre this whole scene is. And Taylor only knows the half of it.

  “And now, we disappear,” Hamad says as we drop down on the far side of the fence.

  Sirens still blare in the distance: police searching for us in vain. But all I make out is the anguished voice of Taylor calling out my name into the night. If my father were still my father of old, he’d be very disappointed in me.

  * * *

  I’m not driving this time. Instead, I’m reclining in the back of the family sedan with Vera curled in my arms. Even vampires face limits to our endurance, so we’ve procured another vehicle to do the hard labor of transporting us all the way back to our tucked-away HQ in the city. It’s actually quite a spacious model–with my back snug in the corner between the door and the seat, I can almost fully stretch my legs out. Vera, huddled in her tight little ball, fits nicely, too. I can’t tell if she is asleep or just resting, but with her eyes closed she seems the image of peace, a stark contrast to what we all just went through tonight.

  The radio’s on and I can hear it breaking up as we move out of the station’s range, headed back through rural areas from the capitol to the city. The static is almost comforting–it reminds me of days gone by and trips with my family. As a kid, you’re always impatient to get where you’re going, and hours seem like days. Now, I have endless decades ahead of me, and all I want is to freeze this moment, right here with Vera in my arms and what I guess passes for my friends in the front. We’re just missing Mike. And Laney.

  But I have enough weighing on my mind tonight not to dwell on friends lost, including human ones, so I try to be fully here and now, in this moment. To hold on to it for as long as I can, and then freeze it in my mind for the bleak days in the future that I know are coming. Maybe this change in mentality is a part of growing up. Or maybe it’s a part of being undead and staring infinity in the face. Or maybe it’s just me.

  Any way it goes, I’m enjoying the moment, even if the car is stolen. Outside, the moon is gone and the stars are out. As a bonus, this far from an urban area, I can see the Milky Way as I’ve never seen it before. My eyes detect a shimmering, creamy haze winding lazily across the sky, sprinkled with countless sparkling stars stretching back into the deep depths of space. They twinkle knowingly, as if they are in on a universal secret that I haven’t yet figured out. Funny how it takes being turned into a blood-drinking vampire to really be able to see such beauty. If there is a God, it sure does have a weird sense of humor.

  I intentionally breathe in, savoring the fragrant blend of Vera and new car smell (which I’ve loved since I was a kid). I twist slightly in the seat to see Vera better; my motion and the squeak of the leather cause her to moan a little drowsily, but she doesn’t sit up. Instead, she cranes her head a little toward me and whimpers a bit. Obligingly, I begin to play with her hair and run my fingers across her head. She smiles, not bothering to open her eyes.

  After the horror of earlier, she’s again my angel. The wind coming in from Hamad’s cracked window in front rustles her hair in my hands gently, and I can’t for the life of me connect her to the sinister creature I partnered with earlier tonight in the State House. But then, I have a hard time connecting myself to earlier tonight, too. What must Taylor think of me right now?

  In the front, Jesús leans over to fiddle with the radio, searching for a working station. Hamad tears his eyes from the side rearview mirror at the sound, and instead watches the front while Jesús is distracted. There are no other cars around to be careful of, but I guess he’s wary of animals or something. Damaging the car and being stuck out here would not be good–though I guess he could show us his old desert trick of digging into the ground to survive the day.

  Abruptly, words materialize out of the cloud of static. “… And reports are coming in from all corners of what appear to be coordinated and targeted attacks against state assembly houses nationwide.”

  “Keep it there,” Hamad commands, but Jesús wasn’t showing any intention of changing anyway.

  The reporter’s voice continues in that impersonal, sing-song clip they all do so well, no matter what the subject matter. “So far, firefighters have managed to get several under control, but many others remain ablaze.”

  Without really looking down, I can that tell Vera’s eyes are open and that she’s now watching me.

  “Damages are currently estimated to be in the hundreds of millions, but are expected to climb as the night progresses. But the psychological toll on a nation already–” Hamad clicks the radio off and resumes looking out the window.

  Vera’s still examining my face, searching out my feelings. I know that she suspects tonight was a big deal for me. That’s probably why she didn’t push me on sparing the people back there. Or maybe she just suspected the fire would get them in the end anyway. God, I hope not. I really, really hope not.

  She reaches up and strokes my face lovingly. “What?” she probes as gently as her caress.

  “They'll take this as war,” I answer, giving voice to a part of my many thoughts from the night. “This is a new Pearl Harbor. A new 9/11. Humanity will start to really fight back now.”

  Hamad overhears me from the front seat. He angles the center mirror to look back at me and smirks as only he can. “Humanity doesn’t know what it’s up against. That’s why so many of them are on our side.”

  Jesús chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Eso es,” he adds in support of Hamad. I get his meaning.

  “Any heightened conflict that arises from this will only serve to divide and weaken humans further. I’m sure it’s all part of the plan. Soon, humanity won't be able to stop us even if they knew,” Hamad concludes.

  “You really believe that? I don’t see how burning a bunch of buildings down is going to lead to the destruction of humanity. But I do see it bringing a lot of heat down on the Movement, and in turn, the militia,” I counter.

  “You have to trust in Joseph and the leadership. I’m sure they have it all figured out,” Hamad says dutifully.

  But I don’t want to let him off the hook that easily. “Hamad, is it truly possible to have a master plan in all this chaos? There are too many moving pieces to control, too many unknowns. I think Joseph and the others are just winging it to see what will happen. They’re throwing fuel on the fire and hoping to not get caught in the blaze.”

  Hamad reclines a bit in his seat, making an effort to appear unconcerned. “Relax, you’re young. You don’t understand how long we’ve been around. How long they’ve had to prepare.”

  I know it’s pointless to respond at this point, so I stay quiet. Silence reigns again in the car, with nothing but the wind breaking the stillness inside.

  “Dawn is coming,” Jesús says after a while, gazing off at the horizon in the distance. “We might not have enough time to drop the car off for Tyrone’s guys to do their work.”

  “Well, you better step on it,” Hamad retorts. “We need to be off the road before the sun rises and the owners wake up and report it gone.”

  We accelerate, but we can’t outpace my thoughts. Maybe Hamad’s right. Maybe Joseph and the mysterious supreme leader know what they’re doing.

  Strangely, this doesn’t make me feel much better.

  Part III: The Dark Road

  22)

  Vera and I wake at the same time. Of course, it’s hard not to when you are bundled together in a mass of tangled arms and legs. It’s a good thing that I don’t have that human annoyance anymore where your arm goes numb when you lie on it funny. That always used to make me want some space after a while when I was alive. Now we sleep so close it’s like we’re trying to make
sure we’re in each other’s dreams–and, of course, she is in fact often in mine.

  I see that Hamad, Jesús and the others are already up and gone. We must’ve slept late. I sit up a bit to see if I can hear them nearby. Nothing. Vera sleepily gets up on her elbows. I notice that she’s wearing my high school gym tee-shirt again–the one that I kept cuz it’s oversized and comfortable to wear to bed. Which I guess she agrees with. I shake my head, smiling. Why do girls always steal your sleep shirts? And why do they always look so good in them? It hangs delicately off her shoulders and pushes down long enough to almost, but not quite, cover the pink underwear that she has on. Boys’ shorts she calls them–but they look like anything but men’s underwear. I almost don’t even mind the Vampirist medallion she has taken to wearing to bed–we all have been wearing them around base lately, but I at least think it’s more comfortable to sleep without a hunk of metal in bed with me.

  Still, she looks so cute right now: Her little pointy fangs are even sticking out a bit from beneath her upper lip. She yawns, revealing them along with everything back to her uvula. I stick my finger in her mouth like my mom used to do when I was a kid to teach me to cover my yawn. She sees it coming and gives me a playful nip. It draws a bit of blood, so I roll over and try to tickle her in punishment. She giggles and struggles half-heartedly to push me off. But soon we move on to other things.

  Another plus about being a vampire: no morning breath.

  * * *

  We slip into the crowded room chatting amiably and are instantly motioned to be quiet. Vera and I comply and quickly take a seat at the only available space: on the counter at the rear. The room has been set up as a sort of lounge area now; I guess it previously must have been a break room for the factory’s executives. In addition to numerous folding chairs, there’s a beat-up old brown couch that most humans probably wouldn’t dare to sit on for fear of catching something. But now, everything is filled with vampires staring intensely at an old television monitor. I manage to get someone’s attention near the fridge and he tosses us two cold blood bags: the breakfast of undead champions. I really miss the old days in our apartment where we had “luxuries” like microwaves and warm blood. Someone should get on fully revamping this place to make it homier if we are all going to stay here for the long term. Cold food in hand, I try to see what all the fuss is about on the tube.