by R. G. Nelson
The next step. I’m not sure exactly what Metz has up his sleeve, but I’m remembering watching a helpless Lukos be carried out of that underground chamber where the other Elders met their fate. I hope like hell that he has more of whatever that stuff was. Still, I have no idea how we’ll get it into the Vice-President this time–I very much doubt he’ll willingly dose himself again. I guess if that really is Metz’s ace in the hole, I’ll need to find a way to catch Lukos by surprise … but that’s a problem for later tonight.
31)
I power back across the city, ignoring the seething streets below me, and actually manage to make it back to base by midnight and sneak inside unnoticed via the roof. I even succeed in slipping into the (currently) mostly unused bloodshirt gear room so I can grab myself a silver stake to tuck into my pants under my shirt. I would put Kevlar on as well, but if anyone sees me, that might be a little too noticeable.
I creep back into the hallway, checking that my medallion is in place–that’s an important part of the camouflage around here. It’s still quiet, and I can’t help feeling a moment of satisfaction. I look up to make sure that there haven’t been cameras installed; that could make things more difficult if anyone is paying attention to them. Hamad once told me that we don’t put those up on our bases because of the risk of being hacked and getting caught being vampires on camera, but I think looking around to verify this is prudent. Thankfully, I don’t see anything. Overall, so far, so good tonight. Well, I guess the situation with Vera and Franklin isn’t good, but at least my dad was able to come through with Taylor. And now that I’m armed and depending on what Dr. Metz has in store, we may have a fighting chance of stopping this after all.
I pass a pair of patrolling VG and try not to act suspicious. Problem is, whenever you need to act normal, it’s hard to remember what normal feels like. Everything seems strange: I can’t tell if I’m walking too slow or too fast. Is the stake visible? Should I try to move my arm to cover the bulge it may or may not be creating? Should I lock eyes with them? Or maybe that’s confrontational, and I should just stare straight ahead? But maybe they’ll wonder why I’m avoiding looking at them …. I try to keep my cool, but admittedly am freaking out a bit. So I opt for staring straight ahead until they are very close, then I glance quickly at them and give a kind of half nod. I hope it says, “I see that you’re there, but I don’t really care.”
They pass without event.
I’m gonna have to get in better control of myself if I’m going to pull this night off.
I’m now nearing the intersection where the hallway splits off to either the living quarters that we’ve set up or the wing that has Dr. Metz’s science lab. Damn it. Of all the people to encounter right now, who do I see coming up the hallways from our rooms? Jesús. I really don’t want to talk to him, but I also don’t want to take the chance that he’ll follow me down to Metz’s. Not knowing what else to do, I quickly turn to a nearby door without acknowledging him and act like that’s what I’ve been urgently looking for. I practically race inside.
Unfortunately, once in, I realize that it’s a large supply closet, and a vacant supply closet at that, with the exception of an empty shelf to one side. Well, hopefully it’ll suffice to let him pass by so that I can continue on my way unmolested. I try to listen for his footsteps, hoping to hear them receding into the distance. But instead, I hear nothing. Not being sure what that means (he is a vampire after all), I’m metaphorically holding my breath and straining my senses to catch any hint of him possible. I don’t have to wait long because the turn of the handle gives his position at the door away.
He steps inside, obviously a bit confused. But also annoyed. “Yo, where you been at, man?” he asks. Maybe it’s the environment created by the small cement-rimmed space with just a single overhead light bulb, but I feel like I’m about to be interrogated. Which isn’t good. Just looking at Jesús is bringing my blood to a slow, hot boil. Actually, maybe not that slow. How else can you feel when you are looking at the person responsible for murdering your mother? For mutilating her? For sending your father into a tailspin and derailing your life as you knew it?
Now, I literally take in deep breaths that I don’t physically need just to try to calm myself. Must be a trait leftover from my human days. I can’t tell if it’s working, but I need to give an answer. “Nowhere, man. Just, you know, around. Hanging out with Vera, putting in some boyfriend time.” I hope that my voice was even. I hope the growing rage didn’t shine through.
“That’s funny, cuz I’ve seen Vera alone a few times lately, and she said she was giving you some space,” he says, as if catching me in some great trap.
I’m not sure exactly what he is accusing me of, but I want to reach out and smack that smug look off his face. Or worse. Instead, I opt to continue trying to talk my way out of this. “Yeah, well, maybe we are having some issues right now. Maybe I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, trying to push my way by him out the door.
But he stays firmly in place and blocks my path. He pushes me back with one hand. “Maybe. Or maybe you’ve been avoiding us.” The stake is starting to itch under my shirt–it’s like it just wants to make sure that its presence is known. I feel it. I sense it wanting to come out. To be used.
“Whatever, man,” I say through gritted teeth. I really need to stay on mission and not get distracted by the likes of Jesús until after I’ve met with Metz. I can’t risk drawing attention to myself before.
But Jesús doesn’t let up, “Maybe you’ve been moping around like a puta ever since you wussed out on those little kids. You should’ve tried them, young blood is always sweeter-–”
Crack.
I hear the sound of my blow and see Jesús slamming against the wall before I even really realize what I just did. So much for getting better control of myself. He slides down the side and lands on his stomach, lying there dazed momentarily before starting to get back to his feet. I probably should make a move to finish him off right now, but I don’t. He wouldn’t know why.
“Coño, have you lost your mind?” he says genuinely confused, but with anger rising to match my own.
“No, I’m just starting to get it back,” I retort. I see that he doesn’t understand my words, and how could he? He doesn’t question his role here–doesn’t have a problem with the way things are run. He probably never had to compromise his values or morals to try to fit in with the Vampirists for the simple reason that he never had any.
But maybe I can give him a reason for this that he’ll understand. “Several years ago, you murdered a woman and carved your little marks into her. She was the wife of a police lieutenant. But she was also a mother.” I see comprehension start to dawn in his face. I probably don’t need to, but I say it anyway, “My mother.”
Jesús just stands there, looking at me. I can’t tell if he really remembers her from among his countless victims or just sees the truth of my words. Whatever the case, he doesn’t try to deny it. Instead, his expression changes from anger and confusion to one of determination. He understands that this will be a fight to the neverend. Now that I see we are on the same page, I pull out my concealed stake. Jesús doesn’t flinch. Maybe I should feel guilty about being armed when he isn’t, but somehow, I don’t. I’ll give him the same unfair treatment that he gave to his victims.
Like that, we watch each other for a few moments–seconds or minutes, I don’t know, but we each brace for what is to come. I try to draw deep from within, calling on all my power–whether intrinsically my own, inherited from Vera, or stolen from the Native American vamp from which I once drank. I try to harness my rage, but am careful not to let it get the better of me. I can’t afford to be sloppy. Or to make a mistake. I need to– But then he is on me.
His first strike I easily dodge, stepping back. The second as
well. But all too soon my back is at the wall, and I realize that I’ve misjudged the space behind me. My quick glance back is enough for him to catch me slightly off-guard and slip a blow in. I reel from the impact, but manage to turn with it and twist away from the wall. With a little more space to maneuver, I easily block his follow ups and start to stand my ground.
I counter and drive him back toward the shelf against the side wall. He struggles to dance out of the way of the flickering tip of my stake. Near the side, he grabs the shelf and pulls it down on me, stepping back as he does to avoid being caught underneath as well. I manage to stick my free hand up and catch it, but this temporarily exposes my side.
That’s sufficient for him to rush in and shoulder-tackle me like a linebacker. We fly back as the shelf comes crashing down where I just stood, but then we are out of the small closet altogether, and I’m riding the door torn off its hinges underneath. As we come to a stop, Jesús tries frantically to pin my arm still holding the tightly clutched stake. Somewhere off to the side I register a voice–Hamad’s voice–saying, “What the hell are you guys doing? Jesús, Laney and I have been looking–”
But then it cuts off. Maybe because Hamad starts to take in the earnestness of our death match fully, or maybe he can see the stake rising from next to Jesús’ side. Because despite his exertions, I’m simply too strong for him. I overpower Jesús and quickly get my arm behind his back. In a flash, his expression goes from shock at my strength to a different kind of shock. And then to nothing whatsoever as he crumbles in Hamad’s grasping hands–microseconds too late to pull Jesús away.
As Hamad stands befuddled, I recover my feet in case my fight needs to continue. “Why?” Hamad asks simply. He stares at the pile of ash and shakes his head as if he can’t really believe what he witnessed.
“He killed my mother,” I answer just as simply. Part of me wants to add that he probably didn’t do it alone, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t know which way this will go, but I realize that I’m hoping blindly that I will be able to escape without a further fight. I don’t have time to analyze whether that’s because now that Jesús is gone and I’m partly avenged, I’m hoping that maybe I can recruit Hamad to my side–or just because I think it will be a fight that I can’t win. Maybe both.
But the look that begins to firm in Hamad’s eyes lets me know that there is no escape. His voice cold steel, he snaps, “She was human. We are Vampirist.” To him, I have committed a sin and will now have to face the reckoning. I start to ready myself for the coming storm. I really regret not grabbing some body armor when I had a chance. Seems like I will need it now.
For my reply, I attempt to match his tone with a confidence that I don’t feel. “No, I’m not Vampirist. I’m not like you,” I assert.
“Maybe not,” he agrees evenly. “But soon, you’ll be nothing at all.”
I’ve braced for his attack, but that doesn’t help much when it actually arrives. As before, I manage to block the first punch, and the next, and the next, but with each I fall just a bit behind under the fury of Hamad’s blows. I don’t have time to counter, or step out the way, or turn and run–I can only try to keep up and wait for the inevitable blow that slips through my flailing arms. It comes too soon.
I’m sent back, reeling into the wall. I regain my footing just as another catches me on the jaw. I try to turn with the blow and let it knock me onto the wall–hoping I can maybe escape up the side and put some space in between us. But just as I start to spider myself up, I feel a strong grip grab me from behind and a leg come down, hard, on the side of my kneecap. I grunt in pain as it’s crushed against the wall, then scream in agony as I’m tossed to the floor and land on my wounded knee. I sense Hamad looming imminently and try to wave my stake threateningly in defense. He easily bats it away, and I hear it clinking against the wall somewhere farther down the hallway.
I look up into his approaching face and see what I expect–a wry grin on his mouth and death in his eyes. His sardonic smile triggers a last bit of resistance and I flash up, catching him off-guard. One, two, three blows are landed in quick succession before I falter on my weak leg and lose my footing. I have just enough time to note with satisfaction the fact that I’ve drawn blood from his nose and mouth before I fall under the weight of his punches.
I lose count of how many times he strikes me, but I think it’s a lot.
I feel like I’m half-heartedly watching this from afar–there’s no pain, just a lack of a sense of real time and the vague, distant sensation of the floor beneath me.
He shakes me back into awareness.
Despite it still being tethered to my neck, he’s holding up my medallion in his hand judgmentally and trying to talk to me. “All this for a human who would have died eventually anyway. Was it worth it?” He is angry, enraged even, but it seems like he really wants an answer.
I wasn’t tuned in for the first few sentences, but I assume that he is talking about my mother. I want to explain to him about her; maybe he doesn’t really remember what it was like to have a mother. Or maybe his was not the same to him as mine was to me. He didn’t have to watch the effect that a wife’s brutal loss can have on a husband–a father. I want to convey all this to him, but I don’t know how many words I’m capable of right now. So instead, I opt to say, “Screw you, vampire.”
Even with my harsh words, he hesitates–his wavering hand paused precariously mid-air to deliver the final blow to my heart. I struggle to keep my stare fixed onto his now tentative eyes. Helpless, I wonder if perhaps over these past few months I’ve managed to get to him. Maybe he realizes that I don’t fit in here, but with the advent of the VG, he doesn’t either. Or maybe he simply is considering taking pity on me because I’m the last cell member left.
But then I see his resolve hardening. His eyes turn to true ice. My destruction pools and crystalizes in those frosty depths. I brace for the worst and relax my gaze, letting my eyes roll back up into my head.
But the worst doesn’t come.
* * *
When I come to, Vera is cradling my head in her arms, crying. I flash back to my first death as a human. Déjà vu. But this is so different now: we have much more history behind us. And as I bend my head up and see a silver stake in a pile of dust where Hamad loomed over me moments before, I realize what happened.
“Vera?” I ask dumbly. Of course it’s her, my angel.
But she doesn’t care; she hugs me so hard that it hurts my still mending body. “I choose you. I love you,” she chokes out.
“I love you, too,” I try to say while being smothered.
The moment is interrupted by Laney’s voice. We both look up to the blonde shape at the far end of the hallway. She sees the ash–and knows what it means.
“Who is that?” she inquires cautiously as she approaches. Then with growing suspicion, she tentatively asks, “Where’s Hamad? We were over here looking for Jesús.”
I think the guilt on our faces must give it away.
Laney starts backing up, shaking her head, “Oh my God, what did you do?” Red tears start to flow.
Vera reaches out as if to console her, but Laney is meters away already.
“Laney, please. You don't understand what's going on. Let me explain,” Vera pleads.
“What can you say? What can possibly make this okay?”
I sit up and try to help Vera out, deciding in that moment to level with her and see where that gets us. “They killed my mom: Hamad and Jesús. And Lukos and Joseph are trying to take over the world. We have to stop them.” Maybe I’m a touch dramatic sounding, but that cuts to the core of things, I think.
“What?” she’s still shaking her head. Confused. In despair. “I … I can't. You guys … V, that was Hamad! And you … you
are talking about betraying us … everything that keeps us safe!”
Vera stands up now, as if to move toward Laney. But Laney pulls back farther.
“I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll give you a minute head-start because it’s you, but then I have to tell them. They have to know.” She starts to back away more quickly now before turning and disappearing back the way she came.
Vera tries to take off after her, but I grab her arm and hold her back. “It's too late–and unless you’re prepared to send her to the neverend, there’s nothing you can do to stop her, anyway.” She wants to resist me, to resist the truth of what I’m saying, but I tug her away firmly. “We gotta get to Dr. Metz.”
32)
We reach Metz’s lab without further incident, which is lucky as I’m nowhere near done healing yet. But we have just one stake between the two of us, and I know that trouble can’t be far behind. Laney will make sure of that. I just hope that they expect us to try to flee the building or hide, not to be seeking out Metz. When I tap on his door, it opens immediately. His impatient expression and urgent gestures for Vera and me to enter betray his anxiousness.
“Where have you been?” he questions pointedly, “I've been waiting.” Yeah, I got that.
I don’t have to look at my watch to know that we’re fairly late at this point. “Sorry, we got held up.”