The Vampirists

by R. G. Nelson

  At my mention of we, he makes a suggestive nod in Vera’s direction. “And so, you’re certain of her now?” He doesn’t seem to be judging, just asking in light of our previous conversation.

  Vera steps forward to my side from where she was lingering by the door. I unthinkingly clasp her hand. “I trust her with my life,” I confirm.

  “Very well.” That’s good enough for Metz; he again appears anxious to continue on with business. Knowing as I do that VG are probably roaming around looking for us, that suits me just fine.

  Metz rummages around in his desk and proudly pulls out a small plastic container of a crimson compound from what appears to be a hidden compartment. I wonder if this is what they used on the Elders? It’s well-sealed (I guess to help mask the scent, if any?) and appears to be travel-sized–it’s not much bigger than what would be allowed through airport security. He holds it up to the light and inspects it carefully; I can tell that it’s precious to him.

  “Even thinking ahead, I managed to save only a small portion of undiluted Elder blood. Joseph has been very cautious with it; the council contained most of the known Elders in existence, and they are gone now from this earth forever.” He hands it over to me, almost reluctantly, I think.

  “The remaining diluted Elder blood is locked up in there,” he indicates an enclosed box-like section of the lab I had assumed was reserved for dangerous tests or something. “Only he has access. He intends it for additional batches of the Vampirist Guard drawn from other cities. I suspect that he will have new VG recruits soon now that the ones here are operational.” I glance through the clear, fortified window and take in a high-tech layout of containers, connecting tubes, and complex-looking equipment. The whole box appears to be portable, as if it can be loaded and transported separately from the rest of the place. It must have cost a fortune, not to mention the hassle involved to install it here. It’s impressive, but I guess I shouldn’t expect less for an organization like the militia.

  Metz walks over to the window and gazes through as well. “I diluted the blood more than I should have for what Joseph wanted, but the Guards created with it are still quite strong.” He shrugs apologetically, “Joseph would have noticed had they been too weak.” And now he turns his attention back to the container in my hands, “But don’t worry; this should give you an edge over most vampires you will meet. Vampire blood from one source has diminishing returns–the initial drinks that you take from someone give you the most power benefit. If you continue to drink, you don’t gain nearly as much as you did at first. And you’ll never reach anywhere near the power of the donor vampire, though your own abilities may have grown significantly.”

  I understand why he is so proud of the blood in my hands. “So it’s better to drink a little from many than a lot from one,” I conclude. And this container holds the blood of many dead Elders.

  “How much strength will I gain?” I ask.

  Metz shrugs again. “I don’t know. It’s not an exact science,” he says smiling. “But I do know a way to find out,” he urges.

  I hesitate.

  “Don’t worry. It doesn’t spoil,” Metz coaxes.

  He is impatient that I drink. But that’s not why I’m hesitating. I’m hesitating because I don’t know if I should be the one who drinks this. I look over at Vera. Vera: the girl who turned me … saved me … Vera, the survivor. I owe her my life. I owe her the chance to maximize her life, especially now that I’ve put her at odds with the Vampirist Militia, her former protectors. And maybe she will put this to the best use. Maybe I’m too human to take full advantage of the power that it will offer me.

  Without wanting to overthink it too much, I hold out the container of blood in my palm to Vera. I can see that she is tempted; her vampire within is fixated on it. She reaches out slowly, tentatively, as if fighting with herself. Her eyes are ice, her pupils a small dot on a frozen blue surface. Her hand now at mine, she pauses momentarily as our fingers brush.

  Then she smiles.

  And relaxes, shaking her head.

  Still touching me with one hand, she gently reaches out with her other and closes my own over the container.

  “Are you sure?”

  She is. “It has to be you. You've proved that you can handle power, that you have a conscience and will fight for what you believe in.” I’m about to protest, to say that she has made good choices too (she just saved my life didn’t she?), but she cuts me off, anticipating my objections. “Drink it all. And hurry, we don't have much time.”

  Dr. Metz weighs in to seal the deal, “Adam, Elder blood is a gift, and for someone with the right mentality–you–a very powerful weapon. Power lends ability to responsibility.” He implores me with his voice, “Go ahead.”

  I uncap it.

  I take a drink.

  I drink again.

  And it’s gone.

  But it’s not quite gone after all ….

  It’s there, inside of me. I can feel it … feel it growing, expanding, seeping ….

  I’m reminded of my first taste of human blood, the way it permeated throughout me and set my every fiber on fire. But despite the similarity, this is different. This is so much more. It’s not delicious or warming or nourishing the way human blood is. But what it is … is … potent. I’m alive, but I’m more than alive. I’m burning with life–with energy. With power. My system is in overdrive; I feel my blood cells racing around, healing, strengthening, enhancing …. That shouldn’t happen–blood from other vampires should be far less efficient at healing us … but still, I go with it. I have no choice.

  My vision clouds in a red fog; I’m dizzy and lose my balance for a moment in the haze.

  I feel someone catch me–

  Vera–

  I see her worried expression and note the mutual concern in her shared glance with Metz.

  “His eyes … they’re red,” Vera says.

  But I don’t care.

  “It’s okay; he’s processing it,” Metz answers with forced calm. Even the small part of my brain listening to their side conversation can tell that he is hardly convincing himself, let alone comforting her.

  It’s hilarious. I don’t know if I’m even capable of smiling, but if I could right now, I’d laugh. I’d howl with maniacal joy. They don’t understand. They can’t. They aren’t a part of this. They haven’t tried it. This blood is better than any human drug I ever sampled–the rush is a whole body experience–a whole mind rush. A whole being rush.

  And the best part is that I know, instinctively, that it’s not bad for me. Far from it–long after this buzz has worn off, the shell it leaves behind will be far superior to the Adam of even ten minutes ago.

  Let’s just hope that it’s enough for what needs to be done.

  With that somber thought, I realize that the high is leaving. I don’t want it to go; I fight to hold onto the euphoric buzz, but I’m losing. It’s slipping away, my body and brain absorbing the last few intoxicating drops.

  And then all of a sudden–

  I’m me again.

  But as I suspected, I’m much, much more.

  I look up into the now-curious eyes of Vera and Metz and note that they are waiting to see how I am now that I’m on the other side. I try to answer them. “Okay,” I manage.

  “Okay?” Vera asks, incredulous. I guess she wanted something more by way of explanation. As girls often do.

  “Yeah, I’m okay …. It’s okay,” I confirm again. They still watch me suspiciously, but they appear willing to accept that I’m fine.

  Just then the insistent buzzing of my mobile erupts from my pocket. In the relative silence of the room, it’s like someone turned on a
chainsaw. Luckily, the only two other people present are on my side–otherwise, this could have ignited a bad situation. I’m shocked that my dad or Taylor would be calling me at all: we had agreed to text, as that minimizes the chance of being overheard, and I could text them back when I get a moment of privacy instead of needing to answer the phone as I’m about to do now.

  Frustrated and a little embarrassed, I see that it is Taylor and pick up. I can tell that Vera and Metz have no clue who I could be talking to, but they sense that it is important.

  “I thought we agreed not to call,” I say by way of greeting. I’m trying to restrain myself from lecturing Agent Taylor; after all, my ability to blend in here will be pretty limited anyway, given the fight in the hallway earlier. Still, if we are going to work together, I have to know that we can trust each other and stick to plans.

  I don’t say anything else: I’m interested to hear what is so important that it couldn’t wait. Suddenly, though, I realize that maybe it has something to do with my father. Maybe he got hurt somehow. Or worse.

  But after a few seconds, Taylor hasn’t said anything. I strain to hear into the background to see if he might be involved in another conversation as well, or if maybe he pocket-dialed me. But I don’t really hear anything …

  Except …

  Except for something that sounds like someone wounded. Someone in pain. Someone in agony. I can’t make out if it’s Taylor or not, but then, it sounds far away from the phone, so it can’t be–or else how would he have called me?

  “Hello?” I ask again, more forcefully. I hope to get his attention, thinking maybe that he is distracted by whoever is wounded near him. Vera and Metz start to show concern at my increasing anxiety. Maybe they can hear the wounded person, too.

  Still nothing.

  I start to call his name, but then think better of it. I realize with a shock that I have zero clue who is on the other side of the line. Not that they were talking before, but I motion for Vera and Metz to be quiet. We all stay silent while I listen hard, trying to make sense of the situation. Maybe 20 seconds go by. Maybe five minutes. I have no idea how much time is passing, but my nerves are surely playing tricks on me.

  Finally, a calm and collected voice emerges from the depths of the device’s tiny speaker. “Hello, there,” it says. It sounds familiar. It contains a touch of humor, as if the speaker is in on a joke that you aren’t yet. But more importantly, the voice betrays the speaker’s power. I realize with a start why it sounds so familiar: I’ve heard it before, deep in a chamber where I watched the Elders die–helped the Elders die. But not all died, as I very well know. And I’m speaking to one now.

  Lukos.

  I start to say his name, to let him know that I know who he is, but I stop myself. There is no point. I doubt that he knows my voice, but there is no reason to talk to him. I can only slip up and give something away that I don’t want to. And though I’m burning to ask a million questions, such as how he got this phone and where Taylor is, I have a strong suspicion that he wouldn’t tell me anyway, but that my guess of what happened would be fairly accurate. So I stay clammed up, with eyes wide open in terror, as if he could come through the phone this very instant and send us all to the neverend. How did Taylor get himself into trouble so unbelievably quickly?

  The voice chuckles and continues after a few moments, “Well, now, why so quiet all of a sudden?”

  I should hang up.

  I should hang up, take the SIM out, and destroy both it and the phone.

  But still I listen. Curiosity killed the cat.

  Vera comes closer; she takes my free hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. But I see her lean in a bit to hear better.

  “Let’s play a game, shall we?” Lukos continues, mocking. “What can answer a phone, speak, yet doesn’t breathe and has no heartbeat?” Two very long beats pass. I didn’t think vampires could really sweat, but I feel like I’m starting to.

  “A rat. An undead rat.” Lukos says that like it’s a pronouncement of judgment. And maybe it is.

  “Tell me,” he says, with growing ire beginning to radiate through his voice, “Did you think that I wouldn’t notice it when you send humans to do your bidding? Did you think my senses couldn’t pick up on people following me, or the way that certain members of my detail were starting to look at me?”

  My stomach sinks. Taylor moved fast, but even just watching Lukos proved a failure. And now Taylor and who knows how many others have paid the price. I can only hope that my father stayed away–Taylor must have used his own people and not gotten him involved in that part. I can hope.

  “Surely, you, a vampire, would know how easy it is to read humans–to hear their emotions. So tell me, what is your grand plan? How did you think to stop me by working with fragile mortals?”

  I don’t answer. I just look into Vera’s eyes, knowing that I have dragged her into a terrible situation. She looks back, not blaming me, but equally scared. We all are. I would want to kill myself if anything horrible happened to Vera because of me. But at the same time, I know that I had no choice. I keep trying to tell myself that this changes nothing, that the right path is still the right path. Even if it’s a lot harder all of a sudden.

  “Tell you what,” Lukos taunts, “don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter. You are not the first breach we’ve had to deal with. Make no mistake: We will find you. And we will destroy you.”

  Click. Conversation over.

  We all say nothing.

  Metz clears his throat uncertainly. “I was going to tell you–we are lucky in that Joseph discreetly left earlier tonight for the Midwest. They are still having some emergency issues with a leak there, and as I mentioned, I think that he wants to find new potential Guards.” He shifts, and I know bad news is coming. “Unfortunately, Lukos will be around to take command personally of the operation that they have planned.” Finished, Metz tries to put on a brave face and hands me something. “At least now, he’ll come to us.” It’s in a capped syringe and came from the same drawer where the Elder blood was stored. I can guess what the clear liquid is, but Metz speaks to confirm anyway.

  “Take this. It should help even the odds. You’ve seen it in action before,” he asserts. “The agent is dual formulated: It both destroys motor function impulse pathways and inhibits vampire cells from their natural healing abilities. In Elders, it is only temporary, as you witnessed, Adam. In younger vampires, it could be permanent. Get it into the Vice-President, and he'll be paralyzed for a minute or two, if the last time is anything to go by.” I look at it with new awe, perhaps not before fully appreciating just how remarkable this substance must be.

  Metz continues, “I probably don’t have to say this, but don't waste it; even with all this lab equipment, it's very, very hard to produce. And that’s an understatement.” He pauses for a second, as if wrestling with whether to say his next sentence. Finally, he does, “And I should remind you of all the sacrifice that went into making it.” He looks at me significantly, with faint tinges of guilt underneath his gaze.

  I flash back on Annie’s mom, realizing now her role in all this–how she had to be brought into this sordid affair to make it possible to take on vampires as powerful as the Elders. I vow to make her family’s death mean something, though I know in my inner heart that even with my new strength and this crazy chemical, I’ve now lost the one thing most important for taking on Lukos: the element of surprise.

  Without Taylor and his access, I have no way of getting this anywhere near close enough to be used against the Vice-President, unless it’s on his terms. And with militia vampires looking for me already, I don’t have much time to make back-up plans. Vera has often demonstrated an uncanny ability to detect my thoughts, and this time is no different.

 
“Adam, don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way to use it,” she coaxes.

  We hear voices and shouts coming from the hallway nearby. It doesn’t sound like they are headed directly for us, but it’s enough to snap us back to the pressing situation on base.

  Metz looks over at the enclosed lab area. He moves to the access pad on the door and presses buttons, seemingly at random, but maybe there is a method to it that I can’t detect. “We should destroy the rest of the blood, even if it’s diluted. But the door is silver-coated and can't be forced. I've been trying to crack the code–”

  Smash! The fortified glass shatters around my extended arm and rains down the four short feet to the ground. The tinkle of the shards hitting the floor echoes through the silence. I can’t help but smile. That was all too easy. Metz just stares at me in shock. I don’t know why he is so surprised; he’s the one who just gave me the power-up.

  “My God! That glass was designed by the Pentagon to withstand the impact of an RPG!” he says, astounded.

  Woah. I didn’t know that. I have no idea exactly how strong I was before (we never really bothered trying to measure this precisely), but I always figured that I was punching a few times the strength of a strong dude. It seems that now I’ve reached a few levels beyond. I could get used to that–if I manage to survive even the next few hours.

  I see Vera just standing there looking. Not at me, but at the blood within. I look at Metz questioningly, and he shrugs. “It’s diluted, and so not the same as yours, but it should give her a nice top-up,” he confers.

  I smile at Vera and urge her, “Ver-bear, go. Drink.”

  Suddenly, a voice surprises me from the doorway behind. “Well, well. Whatcha up to, Adam?” It’s a voice that I’ve known for a long time, but only recently come to dread: a voice that I had hoped would still be out on the town, not here in my way.