by R. G. Nelson
Franklin.
33)
When I turn around, reluctantly, I see Franklin and three VG standing there casually, silver stakes in hand. They are confident, cocky and obviously dangerous. The way they linger, smiling at us while slowly spreading out inside, reminds me of a pack of hyenas circling for a kill. Kinda like what they did to Brad and his buddies earlier tonight. I see exactly the path that this is heading down, but maybe it doesn’t have to. I’m almost positive after everything I’ve seen with Franklin that he is lost to me, but I owe it to him to try one last time.
“Franklin, I’m sorry,” I say, pocketing the syringe for relative safety.
“Gee, thanks, Adam,” he mocks before sharply adding, “For what exactly? Getting caught here with your girlfriend and this Einstein wannabe weirdo?” His VG buddies think this is hilarious. Franklin basks in their laughing approval.
“I’m sorry for not being able to spare you from this world,” I clarify, struggling not to lose my temper, as he can so easily make me do.
“You shouldn't be. I made myself into something better,” he says, looking down appraisingly at his body and liking what he sees. “Adam, I thought you of all people would understand, given how it used to be for us. Hell, I thought maybe you’d even be happy for me. Then again, I should have known. You always wanted all this for yourself.”
I can feel his anger, the sense of hurt and betrayal that he feels. As twisted as it sounds, this gives me hope. Hope that my friend is still in there somewhere, and that if I can just prove to him my good intentions, then maybe, just maybe, this can be resolved peacefully. Or at least that I’ll have one less VG to fight.
“That's not true. I wanted to protect you from all this,” I confide.
“From what? Being awesome?” he says, managing to sound both confused and dismissive.
“You don't understand,” I suggest, trying not to be too patronizing. “You'll end up doing horrible things, things you never imagined you could do.”
And here he smiles, as if catching me in a trap, “Like what? Betraying the Vampirist Militia? Killing our brothers?” Now I get the sense that he is once more playing to his VG audience rather than having a conversation with me. Maybe I had a brief window before, but it’s closing fast. And the presence of others is not helping.
Vera doesn’t think that this is going to work. I can tell that even before she starts to speak, and not just because she has surreptitiously picked up our silver stake from where I left it on one of Metz’s tables when we came in. “Adam, he's not gonna–”
“Shut your mouth!” Franklin all but screams at Vera. She recoils, shocked at his vehemence. Everyone is surprised, in fact.
“Franklin!” I yell at him, pissed that he would talk to Vera this way.
He looks at me and tries to calm himself. He points an accusing finger in her direction without looking over himself. “She doesn’t get to talk about me,” Franklin says. “She doesn’t know me and sure as hell doesn’t understand me. She came between us and prevented us from taking this road together. We could have been brothers, real blood brothers. Instead, you abandoned me while you went off into the eternal sunset with her ….”
I force myself to move past my anger at his harsh words for Vera, but still my voice is strained as I say, “It wasn’t like that, and you know it. I keep telling you: I wanted to be with Vera, sure, but I definitely didn’t want all this.”
“Maybe you didn’t,” he admits. “That would be the only thing that makes sense. That would explain it.”
“Explain what?” I ask cautiously. I’m not quite sure where his mind has drifted to.
“Explain why you’d seemingly work so hard to take the Movement away from me, only to betray it.” He shakes his head, and I think I see real sadness in his eyes. “Adam, I'm really quite disappointed. I was working my way up to forgiving you, to where we could be like family again. But now you are a traitor to your own kind. And we have to deal with you. I can’t believe you’d give all this up,” he admits, still shaking his head in disbelief.
“Well, I guess I just don’t think this is all as cool as you do,” I point out, tensing as the other VG start to get antsy and finger their stakes.
“Evidently not,” Franklin responds.
“I mean, sure, yeah, the powers are cool,” I admit, trying to stall to avoid the start of the seemingly inevitable battle for as long as possible. “But this world, this life–it’s not a gift, man. It’s something that I’ll have to live with, suffer with, for the rest of my life,” I finish, instantly regretting my last choice of words.
“We can help you with that,” one of the VG sneers, stepping forward. For a second, Franklin looks helpless, too, as if he really wanted to put off this fight as well. But as the other VG step forward menacingly, Franklin looks at me and makes some sort of internal decision. His expression hardens, and he falls into line.
“I don't want to hurt you,” I protest.
Franklin talks tough, I can see him now forcing himself to play the part that he thinks his VG want him to play, “Hurt me? That's funny.” The VG look at each other, so sure of their newfound power. Franklin continues, “Maybe I want to hurt you.”
And like that, they attack.
I hear Metz shout, “You two hold them off. I'll take care of the blood.” From my peripheral vision, I see him leap through the broken window into the formerly secure lab. He starts to smash the containers of blood and expensive equipment inside. I swear that he is smiling in enjoyment. Well, after all, I guess he has waited decades for the revenge that is now at hand.
Crap! Franklin’s blow catches me off-guard. I’m surprised, because up till now they hadn’t been able to touch me, even though there are two of them. Franklin’s friend I don’t recognize from the carnage of their selection process; he must have been on the other side of the room, away from where I had my eyes glued on Franklin. So I don’t have any indication of his fighting style, but that hasn’t seemed to matter much. They are still new at their fighting training, and from the looks of it, have been relying more on their raw power than on any type of technique. His loss.
I send him back flying into a table with some glass beakers on it. It shatters with a satisfying sound. Franklin snarls and engages full force, but his swings are wild and frenzied. I don’t even have to block most; I can just move a bit and they go wide or over my head. I can tell that my apparent lack of effort infuriates him. I want to say that this makes me happy, but really I’m just sad thinking about how this will probably have to end.
From my side, I hear Vera grunt in pain. It doesn’t sound good. I look over and see her hard pressed by her two attackers. She is outgunned, even with her many years behind her. Maybe she would have a chance against one green VG alone, but not two. She’s a sweetheart for trying to give Metz the time that he needs to prevent the militia from making any more VG, but she won’t last long without my help.
I grab Franklin’s arm and twist him around. Applying extreme pressure on his wrist, it snaps and I snatch his stake from his helpless grasp. To his credit, he doesn’t scream out. Still, his buddy is just returning to the fray, so I push Franklin hard in his direction, toppling them both in one go, which gives me the time I need to jump over and bowl into one of Vera’s attackers. He didn’t even see me coming, and that suits me just fine. All’s fair when in love in war. I dispatch him to the neverend right about the time that I feel someone latch onto my back and bite hard into my neck.
I shudder as the hostile teeth tear into my flesh. Instinctively, I drop to one knee and pull hard on the hair of my attacker. They stop biting to scream and come toppling over my shoulder–it’s not Franklin, but the other guy. I let go of the hair in my hand and duck walk a step over to where he
lies prone. I stab down hard, but miss his heart as he twists out of the way. It’s hard to tell where it is underneath the protection that they wear. Still, I manage to punch through his armor and the silver stings him down deep; I would have finished him just then but for Franklin, who knocks into me and tackles me to the ground.
My head smacks against the floor, and at first, I think it’s made me dazed as I look down (or up) at Metz standing and laughing on an empty floor, but then I realize that I’m not seeing things–Metz is actually perched on the ceiling of the box above a sea of flames that dance below him. As a rich, dark smoke envelops him, he laughs maniacally while all the blood and equipment below him are destroyed in a reddish bonfire of vampiric vanities. I share his elation as the loss of that irreplaceable blood will set back Lukos and Joseph’s hubristic plan, no matter what happens to us now.
Franklin sees him, too. He also registers the loss of the blood. I can’t tell if he is saddened at the loss or happy his competition will be limited, such a curious mixture of emotions play across his face. He takes the time to tell me, “You shouldn’t even be here, Adam. You weren’t meant for this.”
“Maybe not. But thank God I’m here to stop this insanity.”
I push him up off me. He flies up to the ceiling and hits it hard. Somehow, he manages to hang on with his feet and one good hand. I check the syringe in my pocket; it feels unbroken (also thank God for medical grade plastic). Then I’m up on my feet in time to catch the other dude coming at me, fast. I can tell that he still feels the hole that my silver stake made–silver wounds take longer to heal. He winces with pain as he punches and doesn’t put his all into it. Franklin jumps down on us, but I deftly step out the way. He hits nearby and I kick out to send him flying–this time into a side wall. I keep hoping against hope that he’ll just stay down. But each time, he seems to get back up for more.
I risk a glance at Vera again. She isn’t doing well and is literally standing sideways on the wall using her arms as shields. It’s somewhat effective as her opponent can’t easily strike at her lower half, so she has less area to block. But I can tell that it is an awkward position for her and know that she can’t play defense forever. I wish that Metz would snap out of it and help her, but I’m not sure what someone his age could do against the VG, especially if he isn’t a fighter as he admits.
Realizing that Vera’s time may be running out gives me new motivation. I stop just fighting and start thinking about winning: soon. The last thing I need is for more VG to arrive. Franklin is back with his friend attacking me; it seems that his wrist break has healed enough that he can use the hand again, so I crush down with my heel hard on his foot, hopefully breaking a few toes. He doubles over in pain, and I risk exposing my side to bring up my knee into his jaw. He goes out like a light.
A searing pain erupts in my shoulder. I look down and see silver sticking out. I twist, tearing the stake from my attacker’s grasp as I do. A quick jab with my free hand gives me the second that I need. I rip the stake out, not minding the spray of blood that accompanies it, and send it flying at the back of Vera’s foe. It was with my left hand though, and my aim is off enough that it doesn’t hit mid-section where I intended but a little farther down. In fact, I’d find the location amusing and fitting for my feelings about the VG if it weren’t for my own searing pain distracting me, not to mention the VG dude so desperately trying to send me to the neverend.
I transfer my own stake to my good hand and use all of my new strength to drive my enemy back. I will myself to move faster and faster, despite the pain in my right shoulder, and connect in every soft spot of his that I can think of. I find an opening and clap hard on both his ears simultaneously. He winces and appears disoriented, just as I wanted. His hands come up to his ears, reaching for the source of agony. It also exposes the opening in the armor under his arms. I send the stake precisely home to his heart and turn to move on without even waiting for the tell-tale withering to begin.
A glance at Franklin lets me know that he is beginning to stir again, but still not a threat. I start to rush to Vera’s side, but to my satisfaction, I see that she has things wrapped up nicely herself (with my help, I’m not too modest to think). She has her vamp in a firm grip and drinks deeply from his neck. With each hard pull, he resists less and less. Suddenly, she finishes it, neatly finding the same opening in the Kevlar that I did. She points frantically behind me, and I know that Franklin is back in the world of the conscious. I curse silently that I still have no armor–it’s so frustrating sometimes that vampires take everything with them to the neverend except the silver that sends them there.
But I turn and see Franklin just standing there, awestruck by the loss of his team. He seems unsure of whether or not to continue the attack. I know that he doesn’t want to, but I get the sense that he feels he has to. “I don't want to kill you,” I say, partly meant to intimidate and threaten and partly because I really don’t. Without really realizing it, I went out of my way to make sure that he alone of the four VG would be left standing at the end to have this conversation.
Franklin stares at my exposed medallion. Somehow it has survived the fray and remains in place, though parts of my shirt do not. “You're a horrible vampire,” he pronounces. That’s his only response to my offer for leniency.
“Franklin! What the hell, man? Enough already,” I urge, exasperated.
He takes in the chaos of the scene behind me. Tables are overturned and broken, a healthy covering of shattered glass and dubious liquid concoctions garnish the floor, and a thick cloud of smoke lingers and swirls around the ceiling, growing ever thicker. A human would be choking in here. I realize that over it all, a fire alarm is repeatedly shrilling–I hadn’t realized this would still be working in an old building like this, but maybe it was installed in this area because of the work being done. Either way, it has a grating effect that I wish I hadn’t noticed.
I look back at Franklin, who is still dazed. Or confused. Or just thoughtful. I see all the fight slowly drain out of him. He looks at Vera, who hasn’t moved a muscle and is obviously waiting for me to signal what’s next. Then his gaze slowly and sadly turns back to me.
“Fine. I yield,” he utters.
“Good,” I breathe, relieved. “Go. Run. Get far away from here.”
He nods reluctantly, “I will. I have no other choice. You’ve seen to that. I can’t go back to the others, or Joseph, and explain how I let you kill three of us, destroy the lab, and then escape. I don’t think they’ll like that at all. So, now you’ve taken everything from me once again, and I’ll be back alone, just like before.”
I think I see an opening; maybe he would be willing to join Vera and me rather than being alone. It wouldn’t be like it was in high school, not by a long shot, but maybe we could be on the same side again at least. I glance at Vera for her approval, anticipating that she’ll know my thoughts. She shrugs non-committedly in response, which is enough for me.
“Maybe–” I start.
But Franklin cuts me off, “No. I don’t think so. Honestly, I’m happy that I didn’t have to kill you, and that you didn’t kill me, but I’m not a traitor, Adam. That’s not who I want to be.”
I think of all the responses to that that I could make, but now doesn’t seem like the time for a lecture on morality and being a different type of vampire. It barely worked on Vera, if it did, and she is in love with me. So instead, I settle for a parting warning, “Then go in peace. But know that this will end differently if we ever meet again in conflict.”
He nods, accepting my words.
We stare at each other for a while. I’m not sure what is appropriate here–how to say goodbye. A hug seems too dramatic and maybe not a smart thing to do if he decides to change his mind suddenly. I start to hold out my hand–but then he is gone.
; So long, Franklin. May you find better pastures or whatever.
And then Vera is by my side. My angel. She takes my hand and kisses it. That says more than any words between us could have. I almost feel like we have a chance if we stick together. What is it about love that gives you such strength? I just hope that it’s not imagined–we will need it.
A cough bring us back from the detour we were about to take down romance highway. Dr. Metz stands nearby; the fire behind him is still raging and now starting to spread. His hair is awry, and his clothes are heavily stained with soot. He looks like some crazed, mad scientist after a cartoon explosion. And maybe that’s not far off from the truth.
“Should we put it out?” I ask, gesturing to the blistering blaze.
“Let it burn,” Metz responds, smiling. “I have all the research I need up here,” he says, pointing at his head. “Better not to leave anything else for them to get their hands on.”
I nod in acquiescence, before looking up abruptly as a shrill sound once again floods into my consciousness. The insistent fire alarm is reminding me that we need to get out of here. Fast. If nothing else, the growing pyre will draw others to the lab. I’m about to head out when I feel a weight on my neck and remember the medallion. It won’t do me any good now on base, so I take it off and toss it into the heart of the flames. I won’t miss it. After a pause, an expressionless Vera reaches into her shirt and does the same. She looks back at me, waiting.
“Let’s go,” I urge. “We have to get in touch with my father and see if we can find the Vice-President.”
34)
We’re in the hallway moving quickly. I’ve just finished writing my dad to warn him about Taylor’s situation (for lack of a better term). I told him to try to figure out what he could about what happened, but to make sure his involvement is as under wraps as possible. Also, to verify that the President is somewhere safe. Oh, and to not answer any phone calls from Taylor. I don’t want Lukos aware of my dad’s existence, much less hearing his voice. Who knows what info someone so powerful could gleam from a human over the phone?