The Vampirists

by R. G. Nelson

  “Adam, you’re being too hard on yourself. Seriously, humans do the same stuff all the time. Blood is blood. You just have a sheltered world-view and don’t see the rules that most of the world lives under. For many people, might makes right; they don’t bother struggling with all the moral issues that you do.”

  I know that there’s some truth in her words. I know that I grew up in a society where the code of conduct comes down from the Judeo-Christian tradition. We’ve been taught since pre-school or before the golden rule of doing unto others … and I know that philosophers like Nietzsche have a lot to say about this, that the classical societies like the Romans had gladiatorial contests, started wars of conquest, and valued strength as a virtue. They took what they wanted from whom they wanted, whenever they could. It was only the Jews and early Christians who had no power that decided to switch things around and make it a virtue to be gentle and docile. And so Nietzsche would say that we should ignore this philosophy of the meek and instead go out and try to be supermen and grab what we can. I mean, really, his worldview is custom-made for vampires. I know all this ….

  But still ….

  Nietzsche was a dick.

  I see Vera waiting for an answer, so I give her one. “Yeah, you said all that before. It’s not helping. Because even if humans do kill each other, they’re the bad humans that I wouldn’t have wanted to have been. They’re the type of humans that my dad devoted his life to fighting until my mom was murdered.” Again, something sparks in my memory, but I push it away as Vera reaches out and unclenches my palm, pulling ever closer.

  She rubs her free hand against my forehand and moves a clip of hair aside casually, but intimately. “Adam, you mentioned that your story got dark and tragic before, but then you adapted. I need you to do that now, for me. We are a family here, and you are a part of it whether you wanted to be or not. That’s just the way it is. And I need you to change and adapt to the family. I need you to fall in line, for better or worse.

  “We are vampires. You know this. This is our path. And yes, there is some darkness on it. I won’t lie and say there isn’t and that there won’t be more in the future. But I hope and want and need you to take my hand and walk the dark road with me. Please, baby … please, human.” I see her soul imploring me through the topaz portals of her eyes. “Didn’t you tell me that you’d do anything for me?”

  She seems so genuine in her pleas … in her adoring despair. The sweetness of her tone and the earnestness of her love for me shining through combine and almost break down my resistance, much as I suspected could happen earlier. The truth is that I would do anything to help her. But what I really want to do for her right now is to make her a better vampire.

  Or because better in the context of vampires might be ambiguous, I should clarify that I want to make her a more … moral vampire. She doesn’t think I get what being one of the undead means. And maybe I don’t really, at least in its historical sense. But I have a vision for how it could be: a vision not mired in the past but looking forward, toward the future. Where vampires understand that taking young, innocent lives is wrong. And yes, I’ll take down a group of criminals or a room full of rogue vamps, but I have to draw a line somewhere. And blameless children are pretty clearly on the other side. After all, it’s going to be a very long immortality if I can’t live with what I’ve become.

  Vera finally breaks the silence that had crowded in around my thoughts. She presses gently, but firmly, “Baby, what did you think this was? All handing out fliers and chatting in coffee shops?”

  She has a point. I don’t know what I thought. Honestly, I don’t think I did much thinking back then. It just felt great having an amazing girlfriend. Having a circle of friends that I could hang out with–even if they were borrowed. And undead. “You're right. Everyone's been right all along. I guess I wanted to be a part of this family. And here it is, in all its bloody glory.”

  * * *

  Even after all my exertions, I still can’t relax. I guess vampires are strange like that. There’s that Council of Elders meeting I should be resting for–for some reason Joseph wants us there. The others are excited to see the Elders; I gather that it is not very often they all come together. But I just lie there, awake, tossing and turning. Wishing that I could go into the strange sleep-like state that gently pulls at us during the daylight hours. But no luck.

  It’s not excitement about the meeting keeping me awake. Vera felt my lingering frustration from earlier and wisely chose to avoid crawling into my bunk like she normally does. She went off somewhere–maybe to crash with Laney. They’ve been seeing a lot less of each other since Vera started coming out with my cell. Yet, it’s weird; I’m both glad that Vera kept her distance tonight and simultaneously sad that she isn’t entwined with me. It’s like I’m mad at the Vera from last night, but missing the idealized Vera from my head. The one who is gentle and kind and loving. The angelic one. Not the demon who sweetly lulls children to eternal sleep. Not the devoted militia member who encourages me to relax my opposition to vampires like Jesús.

  I know I do things many would consider bad. But Jesús crosses lines. He must have had a proclivity for violence as a human that got magnified when he became a vampire. The situation reminds me of those old war movies where there’s that one crazy guy in the unit who cuts off ears or pulls teeth and keeps them as trophies. It’s actually kind of silly that it is more disturbing to mutilate a dead body than make that body dead in the first place, but it just is.

  Then again, maybe I’m more sensitive because of what happened to my mother.

  My mother.

  I’ve never explicitly connected the dots before this moment, but that’s exactly what has been nagging at me in the back of my mind this whole time. My mother was murdered … mutilated. Supposedly by Satanists or something. I’m not exactly sure how the police could know that–but having a pentagram carved into her would certainly raise suspicions. Now that my brain is wandering down this track, I remember someone saying something about this when we pulled Jesús out of that police station. They accused him of being involved with the occult. At the time, I remember passing it off as their confusion about the missing blood in some of the bodies that they recover. Now, though, I realize that they really must have found similar patterns in the carved-up bodies-patterns that match what I saw Jesús do. Patterns that match his tattoo. Patterns that might match something found on my mom.

  Even now, just thinking about my mother being brutally killed raises a host of emotions. Part of me feels numb, like it happened a long time ago to someone else–or maybe more like it happened in a movie about my life that I watched. But then part of me just feels so … violated. So angry. Like how dare someone do that to my mom and how dare they continue walking around free and … alive. Or undead, as the case may be.

  An emotion wells up from within me, an emotion deeper than any human could feel. My vampiric nature enhances it, feeds it with blood that is beginning to boil, bringing it speeding up to the ice-cold surface. A desire for vengeance. It’s so strong that I can taste it.

  The nagging thought that Jesús–that my cell–could have had something to do with her death makes me want to climb out of my bunk, grab a silver stake out of the lockers, and drive it through Jesús’ heart where he lies. But then again, I have no proof. I could be totally wrong. And there is no one that I can casually ask. Maybe I could have, had Mike still been around, but he’s long gone to the neverend. Speaking of Mike, I can’t see him having done something like that. So maybe it was other vampires, or maybe it was just humans after all. If so, I’ll find them. And eat them.

  But maybe Mike had just gone along with it the way I hadn’t done anything to stop the deaths of those kids. Yeah, maybe it really could have been Jesús. Maybe my father had crossed the Vampirists somehow, and it was payback
. Or maybe my mom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I know this is a lot of maybes, but it is worth exploring. After tomorrow’s emergency council meeting, I need to find a chance to slip away and look into it–my father would be a good place to start. And it would be a good excuse to check in with him. Make sure that he is okay. Yet, I’ll need to be patient. Living crammed together like this makes it hard to take personal time off base. It’s not really allowed, and there are curious eyes everywhere with vampiric-level senses.

  But I’ll find a way. She was my mom, after all. And her death knocked me off the path that I was on and led me to … whatever the hell it is that I find myself doing now.

  25)

  The chamber is damp and cold. Or at least, it would be cold if I really felt such things as I did when a human. Now, I just notice it the way that I notice the color of the walls. They are grey, by the way–old stone, rough-hewn, perhaps carved directly out of the rocky depths where this hidden meeting place is located. The place has to be hundreds of years old, perhaps dating from the earliest days of the colony that was here.

  A long, ancient-looking table frames the middle of the room. It must have been imported from the Old World. It looks as gothic and sinister as the dim chamber itself. It speaks of magic, of mystery, of important gatherings to discuss nefarious things. Again, I can’t help but feel an almost instinctual human fear, a fear that seeps down into one’s bones just as the cold here would to a living, breathing being. This is a place of power … of a power greater than my own. And yet, it is somehow my place now. A place for vampires.

  The men of my cell, along with some of the other bloodshirts like Tomas’ crew, man the walls at various intervals. We stand stationary, trying to mask our curiosity at the proceedings, each anchored individually underneath draping banners carrying the Militia emblem. And yet, my comrades do not add to my sense of security. All of us combined are probably not worth one of the regal-looking creatures sitting around the table before us. Not even with the silver stakes we were ordered to carry tonight. I know that it is not usual for us to attend one of these events, but the Elders don’t even seem to be troubled by our presence, so secure are they in their power.

  Not appearing to have his own space at the table, Joseph stands near the head of the long wooden affair, still locked in a heated debate with the Elders. Only one seat at the other far-off head is empty, but Joseph hasn’t made a move to claim that.

  One Elder gasps with true vehemence, “But this is blasphemy! Your Vampirists are upsetting the natural order!”

  Joseph attempts to maintain his calm. He explains smoothly, almost pedantically, but with a touch of displayed deference, “The natural order is being upset by humanity. Every year their science advances, grows more dangerous, increases their ability to discover us, to monitor us. To counter us.”

  Another Elder, with a slight Asiatic look and almost Russian sounding accent, chimes in. “You give humans and their science too much respect.”

  Joseph feigns a deep apologetic bow. With an obvious hint of sarcasm, he responds, “I beg your pardon, but for those of us not as powerful as your esteemed self–”

  Yet another solemn figure, this one from sub-Saharan Africa somewhere, cuts Joseph off and tag-teams in, “You risk exposure of us all!”

  I almost feel badly for Joseph; he is dealing with a very tough crowd. But maybe it will do him good to have to deal with rough dissent for once, dissent that he cannot simply bully away or sweet talk his way out of. Too bad it appears to be for the wrong reasons. The Elders don’t seem to have magnanimous intentions toward humanity; they just don’t want to rock the boat they’ve been floating on for thousands of years.

  Joseph presses on. “We act for the safety of all our kind–to ensure our dominance over the human pestilence. They cannot be trusted with their newfound toys. At best, they will use their science to wipe themselves out while we sit idly by, destroying our food supply in the process. At worst, they will discover us and wipe us out first.”

  The first Elder, who has a pallid Mediterranean countenance, speaks again with authority. Other grumbling Elders cease their susurrations to listen. “This is outrageous! Our way has worked for millennia. Every generation that matures sees developments in humanity and fears the worst. You remember when the cross-bow was invented? The arquebus?” His eyes lock with the others one by one as he makes his point, drawing the support of the other Elders through half nods and murmurs of approval.

  Satisfied, he glances back at Joseph with a wry smile. “Even you thought the invention of electricity was a harbinger of the end of vampirism as we knew it. And yet, a hundred plus years later and the electric light has not impeded my ability to feed. Has it yours?” Again, he looks around the table and gets approving nods from the other Elders. A few even chuckle at Joseph. I can see the tension in Joseph’s body as he wages a fierce internal struggle to remain calm, though I get the sense that he could not do anything to these vampires if he wanted to.

  As if inside my thoughts, the Elder adds with condescension, “Perhaps if you were older, had more perspective, you would understand these things. As it is, you have been little more than a messenger boy for over a millennium. I see no point in continuing the conversation with you.” With a nod toward the empty seat at the other end of the table, he asks Joseph, “Where is your master?”

  Joseph seems to shrink. He looks helpless. “Apologies, but he is–”

  Suddenly, a clinking sound emanates from the stone doors marking the entrance to the vaulted chamber. Joseph cuts off his sentence abruptly. A low rasping sound follows, as if something large and heavy is being tugged grudgingly out of place. After several seconds, the stone doors start to retreat into the wall, now sliding gracefully on hidden bearings. The room inside is silent; all attention is firmly directed toward the growing gap.

  A voice echoes theatrically through the room from outside. “Master? That term is so archaic ….” There is something familiar about the voice. It manages to have a ring of authority, while at the same time conveying a sense of trust, of comfort, of reassurance.

  The connections in my brain have almost just managed to come together and place it when a figure emerges from the darkness beyond the portal.

  “I prefer ‘Mr. Vice-President.’” Of course, that’s it. The voice is a politician’s voice. And not just any politician, but the second-in-command of the nation. The voice that has been clogging channels and dominating radio stations across the country for the past few weeks.

  Joseph relaxes, visibly bolstered by the appearance of what I gather to be his superior. And perhaps a superior to all the others from the way their body language seems to change. Where moments ago they had been confident, dominant … now, many lean back in their chairs and cast furtive, nervous glances at each other.

  Joseph pipes up, “And not only that, but soon, Mr. President.”

  The Vice-President chuckles and smiles a wolfish, self-satisfied grin that makes my skin crawl. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m still just plain old Lukos.” Lukos’ tone, though, makes it clear he very much wants to get ahead of himself.

  He strolls to the empty chair at one of the ends of the table. He pulls it out as if he were going to sit down, but instead, he remains standing. With his hands planted for support, he leans forward, towering over the others still rigid in their seats.

  “I apologize for being late. You must understand, my commitments in the human world make it so hard to get away.” I almost suspect that he was waiting outside, seeking the best timing to maximize the impact of his entrance. I see now where Joseph gets his own sense of showmanship. “But tell me, my brothers and sisters, to what do I owe the pleasure of this emergency council?” His voice is calm, collected–in charge. I get the fe
eling that he totally knows the reason for this last-minute session.

  The first Elder pipes back up after an awkward pause. “You must put a leash on your dog. He is setting something dangerous in motion.” His comment strikes me as ironic because in contrast to the Vice-President, his voice now reminds me of an obnoxious, yipping dog that an undesirable neighbor might have.

  “Joseph?” Lukos asks, glancing briefly over at my boss with mock confusion in his expression. Joseph knows what is coming; he tries to restrain himself, but I see the eager shark-like expression beneath as he observes the dialogue. The V.P. continues, “Surely you are not creating all this fuss about Joseph? He and the militia are merely acting out my orders. Do you not like my plan?”

  There is more silence from the group.

  “My friends, I do not understand what you are worried about. I think I’d make an excellent dictator–I mean, President.” His oily smile clearly indicates his true intention. “It has taken me decades of careful planning to get to where I am now. Decades of building a traceable history, of removing obstacles and working my way up the political ladder, of controlling my appearance to avoid raising human suspicions. But I didn’t do this for myself–I did it for all of us! With the government and military firmly under my control, we will be able to extend our reach into all facets of society. We could monitor and curtail troubling research, control criminal investigations into vampire-related matters, and make those humans who don’t align with us disappear.” Again, that false grin is plastered on his face as the others shift uneasily in their seats. A crocodile would be jealous.