The Vampirists

by R. G. Nelson

  The TV still gets its fuzzy picture from an antique-looking antenna, highlighting yet another luxury that we are now lacking. We must not have wanted to get the place wired for cable or something and call attention to ourselves. Or maybe most of these vamps are from back when TV was in black and white or didn’t exist–perhaps they still haven’t figured out the benefits of high definition. Right now, however, it’s not that big a deal because what we are watching is being broadcast in various forms on every major news outlet, basic or paid.

  The channel we’re on comes in good enough, I guess. As expected, there’s still a frenzy of coverage on the administration’s response to our attacks a few nights back. And apparently, the Vice-President gave a controversial speech earlier tonight–it’s being re-played and dissected endlessly by experts and pundits, along with discussion on why the President is playing a backseat role after such a major blow to the nation.

  The channel cuts again to a selected excerpt from the speech:

  “… And so, I thank Congress for proposing and passing this crucial constitutional amendment and call on our esteemed state assemblies to ratify it immediately. Critics at both the state and federal level who asserted previously that it granted too much power to the Chief Executive have now been shown just how far the enemy is prepared to go–on our own soil. While our great nation values and cherishes its freedoms, chief among these the freedom of speech and assembly, we have now reached an undeniable turning point, a point in which the actions of some of our misguided citizens, acting under the distorted guise of these same freedoms, have put the very existence of our constitution–our way of life–at risk.

  “My fellow Americans, it is time to fight fire with fire! We must be ready to adapt to the changing times and take all the measures necessary to quickly and successfully counter the nefarious forces acting outside the bounds of our precious democracy to destroy our freedom. We must not constrain ourselves–not prevent the full force of the Federal government from being able to take the fight to those who would seek to deny the lawfully abiding majority their unalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

  “The truth is that our police forces are exhausted. Though they bravely step into danger time and again, they are outmanned, overworked and overwhelmed. In short, they need help. Yet, we have a plan ready to be put in place to help us through these difficult times. As a part of this, we wish to deploy both the National Guard and selected active duty military units onto the streets of our troubled cities to aid in bringing the escalating situation back under control. But to achieve this–and other facets of our strategy–we as a people need to place our trust in the Executive branch of our storied democracy and pass this amendment. We must not hem and haw and spend months and even years deliberating as we have on previous amendments, but need to instead ….”

  The news cuts away from the speech back to the pundits. In general, they seem to view the Vice-President favorably. He certainly is a powerful and convincing speaker, managing to strike the right tone between warning about a dire situation while still projecting the confidence required for Americans to have faith in their leadership. I’d almost be impressed if I didn’t think that sending military troops into the streets was one of the worst ideas that I’ve ever heard. Not just because it would make it harder for the Movement to operate, but because I’m pretty sure that there are a lot of stupid kids out there who still wouldn’t know to back down–a lot of stupid kids who would end up hurt badly, or worse.

  Hamad looks back and sees Vera and me for the first time. He nudges Jesús in the ribs. “Look who finally woke up.”

  “Or just got out of bed,” Jesús says, elbowing Hamad back meaningfully.

  Vera, flushed with the blood, blushes visibly. I was just going to play it cool from my side, but looking at her I’ve never seen anyone more obviously guilty.

  “Whatever, don’t hate,” I tease Jesús. “You always have Hamad.” Vera laughs, glad to be out of the spotlight. Others around us start chuckling, too.

  “Yeah, yeah. You have a girlfriend. Congratulations,” Hamad rejoins, holding his hands up in mock defeat. “Forty years from now let’s see if you still like being tied down.” The gawkers around us start to hiss in approval.

  Pleased with his comeback, Hamad stands up. “Okay, show’s over everyone.” And then to us he adds, “We were waiting for you guys to get up to go see Joseph. Seems like we’re back on mission.”

  * * *

  We’ve been standing in Joseph’s office watching yet another re-play of the Vice-President that he’s streaming on his tiny little computer screen. We exchange looks among ourselves, but none of us dare to speak up and let him know that we actually already watched this. I guess it’s a boss’ prerogative. So we just stand there awkwardly and pretend to be as engrossed as he is.

  After a few minutes, it finishes. Joseph looks up at us with a satisfied air. We try to match his expression. I don’t know if we succeed, but he doesn’t comment on us–he’s apparently still too taken with the speech. I’m not sure what he’s so smug about, unless it’s just from seeing what an impact we’ve been having on the nation.

  “Such a speaker! So moving! And yet there are those who still would withhold their support. They know what must be done, but still cannot muster the political will to do it. They’d rather play politics than solve their problems,” Joseph says while shaking his head in disbelief.

  Hamad snorts in agreement. “Humans,” he says with harsh judgment in his tone. I have to admit that from what I’ve seen in my time on this planet, I agree.

  “Indeed,” Joseph concurs with obvious contempt, nodding now. “Which brings me to the point of this meeting tonight. But first, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done the other night.” His eyes roam over each of us, pausing briefly to let us all feel his gratitude individually. This is the first time we’ve met with him in person since then; I guess he has a lot on his plate right now.

  He continues after a few brief moments, “I understand you had a little problem with the human authorities? I apologize for that.” Joseph hesitates and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “The same happened in other locations, and unfortunately, it appears that we may have had a small information breach at one of our other, ah, Midwest chapters. Nonetheless, they did not have the full details of our plans, or things could have gone much worse. We are looking into it.” And with that ominous pronouncement, his eyes flicker back to me. For the briefest of seconds, I’m flabbergasted and think he is about to imply that I had something to do with it.

  But then he starts again in a completely different tone, “Adam, Hamad says you performed well under pressure, helping you all to escape without being compromised. Excellent work.” Vera and Hamad both glance over at me and nod in approval as well. I relax and allow myself a small smile, ignoring the fact that Jesús is ignoring me with eyes straight forward.

  “Thank you, sir,” I say appreciatively. “But it was really a team effort.”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” Joseph responds. “And so you see, I have a new special task for you all.”

  Hamad and Jesús grin. Eager beavers.

  Just then, we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. I turn to see an apologetic Dr. Metz sticking his head in the doorway. His eyes pass over me, but he shows no apparent recognition or reaction. Again, I’m amazed by how he’s always in control–always onstage.

  “Apologies, but you asked to be updated on preparations for …” his voice trails off with significance.

  “Ah, yes, very good. A moment, please,” Joseph requests. Dr. Metz formally bows his head slightly and retreats from the doorframe.

  His attention back on us, Joseph explains, “Forgive me, but after our … recent actions … the Council of Elders has cal
led an emergency meeting that I'll have to deal with. They're thousands of years old and still such a bore. Now, where was I?”

  23)

  I wish they’d stop crying. I can’t take the tears. I feel like a monster. And thinking back to the bodies of the two rent-a-guards we left outside, we are monsters. Jesús and Hamad took them down with knives from behind, but we all feasted a little once the fatal wounds were opened. The blood covering my shirt attests to that. I couldn’t help myself: it was just too tempting. And inside, when we encountered the family’s bulky body guard, I didn’t even think twice before slashing his carotid artery when he went (too slowly) for his holstered weapon. I’d like to say that I was acting for the benefit of the mission, seeking to prevent noisy gunfire that could alert the neighbors. But the truth is that the nearest neighbors to this estate are hundreds of yards away–I was simply on automatic, incensed by the heady, blood-infused battle buzz and craving more of the warm, sticky, crimson stuff.

  Special mission indeed.

  Now the frenzy has subsided, leaving not just the guard’s body close by, but also a rapidly forming hollow spot inside as I see the havoc we are wreaking on the lives of these two kids. We have them pressed down on the couch, looking for all the world lost in the midst of a well-cushioned, white leather stretchy piece that can easily accommodate five or six full grown people. Nearby, the low designer glass coffee table lies shattered at the base of the wall, courtesy of Jesús being dramatic in his entrance. Overhead, one of the three chandeliers still rocks and tinkles gently from when he hoisted the table over his head before tossing it, the collision of the two causing a crystal cacophony.

  Looking around, I realize that this family is truly loaded. It’s not just the massive house on a sizable, well-sculpted lot. And it’s not just the furniture, or the recently deceased guards. It’s the whole ridiculously opulent package. Even the trophy wife of a mother highlights their wealth as clearly as the fake blond highlights in her own hair. She looks like she stepped straight out of a golf–or better yet–a yacht catalogue and into this front room. I get the feeling that she should be hosting a charitable event for some cause that she doesn’t care about or banging her late-twenties tennis pro while her husband is stuck in the office. It’s hard to feel badly for her: For some reason, she really bothers me. I’m not sure if it’s just this shallow vibe that she gives off, the casual way she wears her wealth, as if she doesn’t really appreciate or even notice it, or the dismissive vitriol she flings at us–she could make a sailor blush. Whatever the reason, with her kids … it’s another matter. Them, I feel for. Unluckily for her, and them, Hamad is also in this room.

  I look back at their sobbing shapes just in time to catch them flinch as a scream rings out from a back room somewhere. It’s abruptly cut off. Jesús must have found another person hiding. The little girl, who has to be only eight or so, pulls hers knees up onto the couch and continues crying into her arms. Her brother, I’m guessing five or six, tries to hide his head in the narrow crevice between her legs and arms. Almost unthinkingly, the girl throws a protective arm over her little brother.

  The mother hasn’t even glanced at them from her kneeling position on the plush carpet in front of Hamad. “You are going to regret this!” she tells Hamad haughtily as she tries to get back to her feet in defiance. “Oh, yes, you certainly will.” Maybe she is trying to convince herself–it certainly isn’t working on us.

  “Shut up,” Hamad responds in an almost conversational tone, forcing her back down firmly. She attempts to resist, but cannot hope to match him. Even on her knees, she stares at him with a mixture of loathing and contempt, but not with fear. Not yet anyway. From the sly smirk that plays at the corners of Hamad’s mouth, I have a feeling that she’ll soon have cause to be afraid.

  Jesús enters with the body of a tiny elderly woman over his shoulder. She’s dressed like an old-time maid in a plain black dress and what once was a white apron of sorts. It’s now gruesomely splotched with crimson–like a nightmarish Pollock painting. Jesús tosses her remains down unceremoniously in the middle of the rug not too far from the mother, perhaps to intimidate her, or perhaps just out of callousness. For the first time, I see a hint of doubt cross the mother’s face, as if she now realizes we are playing for keeps and have no qualms about murdering defenseless people. But then she recovers herself, her expression skipping over showing any sorrow or grief and instead hardening straight back into defiance.

  But not everyone is so detached. “Rosie, no …” the little girl whimpers. Her brother starts to look up to see what’s upsetting her, but she holds his head down to spare him the sight. He gives up after a second and continues to dampen his sister’s clothes with innocent tears. It’s a pitiful and heartbreaking sight, even for a vampire. Well, even for this vampire.

  “Can you shut them up?” an annoyed Jesús demands. I tear my gaze away from the vulnerable children and see him glaring at us.

  Not sure what to do, I look over at Vera; she shrugs. Not much of an answer. I hesitate. I’m saved by the trophy wife drawing attention back to herself. She starts to nag at Hamad again with the practiced voice of one used to intimidating and dominating in her household. “You're making a big mistake, buddy.”

  “I told you to shut up,” Hamad reminds her patiently. Too softly for anyone who knows Hamad. But she doesn’t pick up on the danger lying under his seemingly soft tone. No doubt she takes it for a sign of weakness that she can exploit. She presses on.

  “You stupid boy. How old are you? Do you even know who my husband is? Do you know what he'll do to you and your little friends when he finds out what you've done? I almost pity you, you pathetic–”

  Smack! In a flash, Hamad backhands her hard. “I said, give it a rest.” Caught off-guard by the rapid change in his demeanor, the woman is flustered for a moment. She has a dazed expression plastered across her face, but I’m not sure if it’s as much from the blow as from the fact that she doesn’t look like the kind of person used to not being able to bully people.

  “Coño, what a mouth,” Jesús pipes in. “We're probably doing this guy a favor.”

  Hamad laughs and then turns back to the stunned woman. He smiles: He’s a fox in a henhouse, a shark in a fish tank, a vampire in … well, anywhere. He begins to speak slowly and simply, as if explaining something to a petulant child. “You see, I know exactly who your husband is. He's a very important man in this state who doesn't think all the violence going on merits his support for a very important amendment,” he explains calmly. “We think maybe he needs a little encouragement. Maybe he needs to feel the violence a little bit closer to home.”

  I see his words sink in, but before she can register the threat, Hamad bares his fangs and bites hard into her neck. She screams, but a firm hand instantly cups over her mouth and cuts off her voice. Blood trickles down over her pearl necklace and starts to stain her white polo vest. It’s gruesome. Gruesome and horrifyingly appealing.

  The little boy looks up and sees the scene before him. He temporarily forgets his fear and starts to stand to come to her defense. I gently push him back down to keep him away from Jesús and Hamad. “Get off of her!” he orders with only a little wavering in his voice. He’s old enough to know fear, but too young to fully appreciate the danger that he is in.

  His sister tries a different tack. “Please, please, stop hurting my mom!” she whimpers through increasing tears.

  Jesús chuckles evilly. “I wouldn't worry about your mom, kids.”

  Hamad interrupts his feast to look over at us, his gory face every bit the terrifying vampire of lore. The girl screams, justifiably so. “Finish them,” he orders to me and Vera.

  I know what he wants us to do. And I guess that as soon as we started to indulge our vampire natures, I knew it would come to this. No survivors. Not even
kids. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I just stay motionless, staring helplessly at the boy and girl. Though young, they now both completely understand what is about to happen. I don’t think anyone, no matter how young, could watch Hamad in his pure vampire form and not understand on a primal level the peril involved.

  I sense movement to my side and manage to tear my gaze away from the tiny girl sobbing helplessly. Vera flows down toward the boy and gently pries him from his sister. He doesn’t resist much, perhaps confused by her angelic appearance. I realize what she is about to do.

  “Shhhh,” she coaxes softly. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  I’m shocked: but I can’t decipher if I’m shocked at what’s she’s doing or shocked at the fact that I’m not really that shocked at what’s she’s doing. Part of me can’t believe that Vera is okay with this. I know what she is physically, but for all her being a vampire, I’ve always felt that she has such a tender heart. She was so delicate with me in the beginning, both when I was just human and when I was a new vampire. That Vera is hard to reconcile with this … this angel of death. I begin to feel like she’s concealed a piece of herself from me, the piece that can take the lives of babes. But then another part of me knows that this has always been there–it was certainly there at the State House–I just didn’t want to focus on it or admit it to myself then.