Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1)

by J S Hazzard

  “With the mass production of leukemic blood cells, Dr. Neilson believed he’d found a non-human food source for vampires, a problem he’d now spent five years on. However, after years of working with Luke, Dr. Neilson’s ambitions had grown beyond providing vampires with an alternate food source. He wanted to change the world.”

  My audience perked up as they sensed me getting to the good part. Or the bad part, depending on how you looked at it.

  “Three months after he determined his cultures to be a viable source of vampiric nutrition, Dr. Neilson left Luke’s employ. He waited until daylight, packed and fled. Unfortunately, we don’t know Luke’s reaction because from this point on the story is told solely from Neilson’s viewpoint.

  “According to his journals, Dr. Neilson bounced around for months, working out his long-term plans. Then he settled in the Canadian city of Winnipeg, where,” I paused for dramatic effect, “he took a sample of Luke’s blood and used it to convert himself.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I’D always found Dr. Neilson’s eventual defection obvious, but judging from everyone’s shocked expressions my mother had been right to call this a highlight of the story. The teenagers’ eyes were wide as saucers and even a few adults had scooted so far forward as to be in danger of falling off their chairs.

  I explained how Dr. Neilson changed two years before the mass conversions and how his writing detailed his new experiences, some of which were accurate from vampire lore as he knew it. He’d gained increased strength and mental abilities—though he’d hardly been a dunce as a human.

  “After two years, Dr. Neilson decided it was time to move forward, and his ideas on going public were nothing like anyone had ever heard before.” My audience was riveted.

  “Neilson was convinced vampirism was the solution to the world’s problems. Vampires can’t reproduce, which would control the world’s spiraling population. The blood cells could be produced in any laboratory, freeing the earth from several devastations caused by mankind.” I ticked them off on my hand.

  “Land used for crops or livestock could revert to its natural state. The forests would replenish. The ozone layer could repair itself, global warming would stop and endangered species could regenerate their populations without human intervention.

  “In addition to the implications for other species, Neilson’s vision of a vampiric world used little manufactured energy. Why use cars if you can run to your destination? Why use lights if you see in the dark?” I asked. “No energy for cooking, no energy to warm or cool your house because temperature barely affects you!

  “Beyond the environmental implications, vampires aren’t susceptible to disease or aging. The only problem Neilson foresaw was getting people to accept his ideas, which is how his idea of involuntary conversions came about.

  “Dr. Neilson had three goals in selecting candidates for conversion. First, he wanted important people—people so important no one would want to kill them no matter what. Next, he wanted people others admired, the way old advertising campaigns used athletes to sell shoes or actresses to sell cosmetics. And finally, he wanted people in positions of power who could protect and promote the spread of vampirism.

  “With those objectives, Neilson targeted three events, two of which were scheduled for the same week in February of 2055 and one normally held in December that Neilson managed to have rescheduled.” I suspected mind control had been involved.

  “The first event was the 127th Academy Awards in Hollywood, California, or as they were more commonly known, the Oscars—a celebration of film making. The second was a world peace summit to discuss problems in the Middle East. Finally, the third target was the Nobel Prize awards in Stockholm, Sweden to honor excellence in academia.

  “These unsuspecting victims represented many of the best the world had to offer in media, entertainment, academia and in politics.” I gave it a moment to sink in.

  “Of course this raises the question of how Dr. Neilson managed to pull off such a feat at three secure events. His strategy consisted of infiltrating each event and using his new abilities to convince people they were sick. At the Academy Awards, Dr. Neilson arrived after sundown and convinced security he was part of the production crew. For the peace summit, he chose the guise of a hotel security officer because the talks were being held in daylight while Neilson slept. Therefore, instead of targeting the summit, he targeted the hotel housing the majority of the delegates.

  “Finally, for the Nobel Prize ceremony Dr. Neilson convinced a member of the Nobel Foundation to issue him an invitation in his real name. It was important for him to be on record as having attended because it made him look like another victim. It wasn’t until Mass Conversions’ publication that anyone knew otherwise.

  “The mechanics behind the actual conversions were the same: a false threat of biological terrorism.” I’d always wondered if Neilson had seen the humor there. The forced conversion of a human to a vampire was bioterrorism.

  “For each target, Neilson convinced everyone they had symptoms of certain contagious diseases. In each instance, due to the nature of the threat, the attendees were quarantined and specialized medical workers were called in.

  “Dr. Neilson had anticipated the arrival of these specialists and it was the Center for Disease Control and its European counterpart who unknowingly performed the injections initiating the mass conversions.”

  I would never have admitted it, but there were moments I secretly admired Dr. Neilson. Sure, he’d nearly annihilated the human race but he knew how to execute a plan.

  “After the California victims had received their injections and were quarantined for a non-existent disease, Dr. Neilson slipped away and caught a chartered overnight flight to New York City in preparation for the peace conference.

  “The New York City peace talks began on Monday morning while Dr. Neilson slept, and ironically opened with a prayer for the tragic bioterrorism victims in California. Of course, no one could diagnose them because they weren’t sick.

  “Neilson’s injection procedure was easier the second time. Not only was everyone isolated in their hotel rooms, but he had two days to reach his next destination instead of one. During the Nobel Ceremonies, Neilson began injections before the medics even arrived.”

  Again, a shitty guy, but you had to admire his nerve.

  “By the time he’d finished in Stockholm, the first conversions in California were complete and the end result of the mystery ‘illness’ became evident to everyone. News spread and blood banks were depleted in an effort to prevent additional casualties.”

  A graying gentleman in the front row muttered, “Pity they weren’t slaughtered then and there.”

  I felt the growing tension and did what I could to diffuse it. “It’s easy to regret the actions of others knowing what we do now. However, these individuals had been chosen for their wealth, power and public presence. They weren’t people who could vanish overnight. Besides,” I said gently, “none of them were willing participants. Whatever they became, it’s necessary to acknowledge they began as victims.”

  It was like the entire class exhaled in unison, and I gave myself a pat on the back. I paused for a drink of water, having talked myself dry. It was time to wrap things up.

  “After a suitable period of time, Neilson contacted the media and presented himself as a converted victim who’d left the Nobel ceremony before the quarantine. He said he’d been unable to resist consuming the cultures of his leukemia research and explained how they’d helped him abstain from human blood. He made his research and cultures available to the public and companies began reproducing them on a mass scale.

  “Within a week or two, vampires had a large presence in the spheres of academia and politics, and almost every major celebrity in the filmmaking industry had been converted. Everything proceeded as Dr. Neilson had predicted. Human rights groups declared these individuals in need of legal protection and friends of the converted politicians fought
for them.

  “People began converting by choice, and within a year denying someone the right to convert was considered a human rights violation in several countries. The initial converts changed their families and friends, fearful of living forever without them, and it was a no brainer for anyone already elderly or sick.

  “Then environmentalists began writing about the potential benefits to the planet and the green crowd threw their support behind pro-conversion efforts. Within five years, a quarter of the world’s population had converted, with millions of young people intending to convert once they were older.

  “Neilson was awarded the Nobel Prize in Medicine for his work in allowing the vampiric species to survive without human blood. Many believed the world would enter a vampiric golden age.” The entire class was silent, knowing what happened next.

  “Dr. Neilson’s dream came to an abrupt end on April 7th, 2061, when a female vampire named Chrissie Adams went public with the claim that her body could no longer receive nutrition from Neilson’s leukemic cultures.”

  This part of the story had always been public fact and several of my older students tensed, remembering stories of the chaos that had followed.

  “Within hours of Ms. Adam’s statement, additional reports began coming in from vampires around the world experiencing similar problems. New conversions were suspended, but the damage was done. Despite the mandatory blood donations instituted by most nations, stockpiles of human blood were wiped out and within days the human death toll began to rise.” The faces surrounding me were still interested, but somber. Everyone knew what had happened next.

  “As Neilson’s cultures became useless to more and more vampires, humans began to die at an exponential rate and society as it existed deteriorated rapidly. Within two months, power grids began to go dark, and communications access along with it. Factories couldn’t produce, the electronic banking system became worthless, and shortages of food for humans became epidemic as the transportation and distribution networks failed.

  “Also facing starvation as their food source died, vampires formed factions and fought for control of the remaining human population. This went on until both species were threatened by the astounding number of human deaths. Only a tiny percentage of the human population survived and we’ve been trying to recover ever since.

  “The remaining humans split into two groups. The first pledged themselves and their families to various vampiric factions, offering blood servitude in exchange for protection. Those factions grew strong, and nearly a century later several of them joined forces to occupy Manhattan. Working together, they began to re-establish the first standard of living resembling life before the mass conversions. This group built the first vampiric blood banks, rendering the systems of blood servitude and blood patronage illegal and forming the basis of laws that still exist in the re-populated cities today.”

  Okay, I’ll admit it. I felt hypocritical discussing this, having fed a vampire four hours ago. It felt as if my wrist was branded with a scarlet letter, and I touched it self-consciously.

  “The second group of humans fled to remote areas and turned to each other for protection, building the first squares and forming the lifestyle we know today—that of the free humans. And that concludes my lecture for the evening. Questions, please?”

  For the first time ever, one of my classes ended in applause.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE following weeks proved that even the most improbable activities can become routine with repetition. My life may have formed an extremely strange routine, but it was, in fact, a routine.

  My waking hours were divided between classes, deliveries with Ian and Keanu, research and blood draws with Amy, and my least favorite, time spent deflecting questions about Nicky.

  Despite ‘Nicky’s’ appearances on his various deliveries, his absence had been noticed and everyone wondered where he was spending his time. The gossip intensified with each day that passed—everything from rumors that Nicky was searching all his sources to find me an engagement ring (pretty sure Barb came up with that), to Nicky and I working a series of illegal jobs while our parents were gone (that one had to have been Robert), to Nicky’s having an affair with a married woman he was trying to keep secret from both me and ‘her’ imaginary cuckolded husband (definitely Jenny).

  Though the rumors helped ensure Nicky’s safety it was hard to feel grateful. Whispers and stares in the courtyard were daily occurrences, and I suspected only Nicky’s resumed appearance would put a stop to them.

  It didn’t appear this would be happening soon.

  Though Ian and Keanu remained diligent in their search, their results were largely a series of eliminated possibilities. In some ways this was good news. No hint of Nicky’s remains had been found, but they hadn’t found much else either. Also, despite Ian’s best efforts, the men had found no trace of inappropriate food purchases in the Niagara Falls area. This meant that the vampires holding Nicky either had human assistance or were stealing food as opposed to purchasing it through normal channels. If they were feeding him at all.

  Furthermore, my suggestion about Eggplant’s custom clothing had led nowhere. Ian had eliminated every clothier he knew in Manhattan and Toronto, and short of picking a city out of a hat we had no clue where to try next.

  The one slim hope we were all clinging to—aside from the lack of a corpse—was another trace of scent Keanu had picked up in a small Niagara Falls nightclub. According to Keanu, though Niagara Falls is hardly a hotspot for vampires, the power plant had established the club to entertain its employees.

  Supported by the power plant’s unlimited funds, on most evenings the nightclub served as a generic lounge for dancing and music. However, twice a month, the night club was converted into a theatre. Renowned performers (vampiric and human) came from around the world for special three-day engagements in its intimate setting—which always sold out. Vampires came from as far as Chicago and Washington, D.C.

  Keanu had gone to see a famous comedian the previous week and had sworn he’d caught a hint of Nicky in the room. After the performance, he’d traced it to a seat in the back, hoping to get a whiff of the vampire who’d carried the scent in. Unfortunately, the chair had been occupied many times and Keanu was unable to identify a particular scent. Even worse, the lounge style seating was first come, first serve. It was a lead that went nowhere, but at least it gave Ian and Keanu a reason to continue their efforts.

  Meanwhile, I was doing my best to keep the two vampires fed. In addition to my own draws with Ian, Amy and I had established a schedule that she took to without batting an eyelash, donating two thirds of a pint at a time. (I tried to ensure Keanu had fresh blood for his delivery days.) Amy’s donations were smaller than Nicky’s had been, but Keanu supplemented his diet with trips to the blood bank in Manhattan and the occasional sip of Ian—an image I really didn’t want stuck in my head.

  Keanu went to Manhattan each week and always made a point of bringing me back something from the city. For the most part the gifts were frivolous little wonders like mascara and barbecue flavored potato chips—things to charm and amuse—but on his fourth trip he brought back something truly precious: medication for Ms. B.

  Though Keanu had bought the medication, the credit belonged to Ian. I’d only mentioned Ms. B. once, but somehow it had made an impact. After I’d strained my shoulder on a delivery I’d mentioned her symptoms as an example of illnesses we no longer had means to treat. Ian had healed my shoulder and I hadn’t given the conversation a second thought, but three days later Keanu had returned with multiple plastic bottles, complete with dosage information and instructions.

  Though nothing happened during the first week, by the end of the second Ms. B. showed signs of improvement. She was less agitated and more aware of her surroundings. After a few weeks, for the first time since I’d met her, Ms. B. no longer needed twenty-four hours supervision. Despite her frequent blood loss, I’d never seen Amy so radiant.

 
The only downside was that as Amy had her first free time in years, my every waking moment was full. The strangest summer of my life had also become the busiest.

  Though I’d been dreading my hearing, its scheduling for the second week in July came as a relief. Waiting for the axe to fall had become exhausting. Besides, Luigi had a tremendous number of deliveries in August, and neither the hearing date nor the deliveries were flexible. All in all, I wanted to get it over with. Unless, of course, I lost.

  If I lost, it wouldn’t be from lack of preparation. Amy and I had spent countless hours rehearsing, adapting my responses to every potential argument Robert might make. Despite being terrified, I felt ready for anything he could throw at me.

  On the morning of the hearing, I dressed carefully. And then Amy made me change my entire outfit.

  “Wear your writing clothes,” she insisted. “The last thing you want today is to look sophisticated. Make them see the girl who writes their letters—the girl who teaches their children.”

  Once she’d approved my appearance, we walked to the courtyard where the crowd was waiting. The council had erected a makeshift stage where everyone could watch. (Only people who attended the hearing were permitted to vote.) It appeared almost everyone of age had decided to attend, which was a great relief. A poor turnout would have given Robert’s cronies a larger percentage.

  Areas in the corners of the courtyard had been reserved for Robert and me, and I retreated with Amy to wait for the hearing to begin. Ten minutes later, the crowd stirred and I knew the council was approaching.

  According to the mayor, the conductor of the hearing was selected by council ballot. One of my least favorite members, William Blausenhauer, would be in charge. After a particularly vocal run-in with William years ago, Amy had christened him Billy Blowhard, both for his booming voice and his obsession with swinging his gavel. (That wasn’t a euphemism, though it would’ve been a good one.)