Human Revolt 02 - Vampire LA

by Phil Tucker

  Guillermo was not impressed. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

  Selah slowly lowered her arms. She stared incredulously at the kid, trying to keep her sudden hope under control. How did he know her?

  “C’mon man, you know, the girl who killed Sawiskera down in Miami.” He turned back to her. “Right?” Back to Guillermo. “Remember that cage fight I showed you? The girl who ran in and dumped Anthrax on his ass? With her vampire kung fu moves and shit?”

  Guillermo spat again. “You’re tripping, holmes. Miami’s the other side of the country. This is just some random Duster.”

  “No man, it ain’t.” The kid took a half step toward her. “It’s her. Look.” He dug a slender Omni out of his pocket and quickly flicked his fingers across the screen. “Right here. Hold up.”

  Guillermo stuck his jaw out as he did so in clear annoyance. One of the other guys laughed. “Manny.” Guillermo made his voice extra smooth and dangerously quiet. “You’re trying my patience. For real, yo.”

  “Hold up, hold up. Look. Here.” He showed Guillermo the screen.

  Guillermo frowned at it, and then stared at Selah. Looked back at the screen. Shook his head. “Maybe.”

  “All right, check out her driver’s license. It’s posted here somewhere. Look. Here it is.” Selah felt a jolt. Her driver’s license? “There. See?”

  Guillermo snatched the Omni out of Manny’s hands and stared at the screen. Looked up and scrutinized Selah all over again. “All right. Fine. When’s your damn birthday?”

  “July 7, 2009.”

  Guillermo’s eyelids lowered and he pursed his lips. If anything, her answer seemed to have pissed him off even more. “No shit.” He shoved the Omni hard into Manny’s chest, whose grin was a mile wide. “So you’re Selah Brown. You kill Sawiskera for real?”

  “I… yes.” Selah’s mind was racing. How did they know? Had it really exploded online? Should she talk herself up? Cloud groaned and sat up, hand to his head. He rubbed dust out of his eyes and looked at the group of men, then over at Selah.

  Guillermo seemed nonplussed. She watched him process this new development.

  “Man, this is awesome,” said Manny. “Everybody’s wondering where she went. And we found her!”

  “Manny. Shut the hell up.” Manny’s mouth snapped closed. He pocketed his Omni, suddenly nervous, and stepped back. Finally Guillermo shook his head. “All right. Whatever. Let’s take her to Esteban. Let him figure this shit out. Kill the others and let’s go.”

  The other four men fanned out into the room, prodding at bodies with the muzzles of their guns. Selah rose shakily to her feet. Guillermo watched but made no move to stop her as she walked over to Cloud. He had one eye closed, his hand to a cut in his scalp, face smeared with dust and blood. He looked up at her, and mouthed, what’s going on?

  She placed her hand on his shoulder and looked back to Guillermo. “He’s with me. And a kid. Ramonito.” A jolt of panic hit her and she began to scan the ground for him, terrified. “Don’t shoot any kids!” She lurched to her feet and staggered across the room, looking under slabs of roofing with desperate energy. “Ramonito? Ramonito!”

  “I’m here.” Ramonito stepped out slowly from where he’d been hiding behind a toppled table. He looked unhurt. Selah couldn’t control herself. She felt a surge of relief, grabbed the kid, and pulled him into a hug. He pushed back against her, and then relaxed and gave her a tentative if sullen hug back before squirming free. He looked up at her in disbelief. “The Culebras? You took us to the Culebras?”

  The sharp retort of a gunshot caused Selah to jump. She looked over and saw a gang member peering down at a body he’d clearly just shot, and then moved on. Cloud walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned in.

  “What is going on? They know you?”

  Selah shrugged uneasily. “Looks like it. I don’t know how. They’re taking us to see a guy called Esteban.”

  Ramonito clutched his head and groaned. “You’re kidding me.”

  “What is it?” A second shot rang out. The men spoke in subdued Spanish with each other. Outside in the sunlight Selah could see a crowd watching from the near distance.

  “Esteban? He’s the one in charge, the boss of the Culebras.”

  Cloud took his hand away from his cut and stared at the blood on his palm. “Well. It’s better than being Dust bait.”

  Ramonito’s shoulders slumped and he shrugged. “I guess. But these people, they kill like it’s nothing. You know?” He snuck a look over to where Guillermo stood, then suddenly smiled as something occurred to him. “Hey, my fee? It just doubled!”

  Selah snorted and slipped into Cloud’s arms. They stood still, watching, as the Culebras finished going through the room. They put down two more Dusters as if they were little more than wounded cattle, no thought or emotion behind each shot. Selah stared at the twisted bodies, the hollowed faces. The black eyes. No, not cattle. These people had become completely unnatural. Inhuman, monstrous. She remembered how they’d scuttled out the window, how they had struck her as spider-like. How they had hissed and raged at the sun. Worse, how each had immediately placed a vial to their noses and inhaled deep when Cloud burst their nest door and stumbled inside. How they had wanted to be like this.

  Selah hugged Cloud tighter. Terror and disgust fought within her. Was this how she was going to end up? A woman lay close to her, sprawled out on her back, head twisted to one side. Half her teeth had been filed down to points, as if she’d only recently started on the project. Her nails were cracked and filthy, seams of wet running down their length where the spongy flesh beneath had been revealed. Selah shuddered and turned her face away–and then forced herself to look back. This had been a person. Just like her. A child, once. Somebody had crooned over her crib. Somewhere things had gone wrong, and now here she lay. End of the line. She stared down at the woman’s ruined face, and somehow, her fear and disgust changed and became anger undercut by pity.

  “OK, vamonos,” said Guillermo. “Esteban’s visiting with Padrino Machado. Let’s get a move on vatos or we’ll be driving all day!”

  He turned and caught Selah’s stare. Met it, and smiled. Selah felt her anger begin to smolder. Vampires, Blood Dust, and dealers. They were all responsible.

  Chapter Four

  They were led out of the ruined home and down a few blocks to where a squad of dirt bikes was chained. Ramonito tried to slip away at one point but was corralled, and soon they were all riding up the street, the bikes’ engines so loud it felt like riding in the center of an on-going cataclysm, Selah holding onto Guillermo as tightly as she could so she wouldn’t be bucked off.

  They moved quickly through the busy streets; people saw them coming and jumped aside. The buildings and intersections blurred by, and Selah realized they were heading back north. Her heart sank. All that walking this morning had been for nothing.

  They crossed over the freeway, and then plunged once more into the slums. She noticed that the old homes were becoming larger, till they were riding past veritable mansions, each still engulfed in slums. Lethargic in the daylight, growing increasingly sluggish as the sun ascended, Selah felt hard pressed to keep paying attention to their surroundings.

  They took a turn, and she noticed that the area was changing. It was subtle at first, but the improvised homes and ramshackle sheds had suddenly grown sparse and then stopped altogether. The buildings were still run-down, but for the first time she saw palm trees standing tall, fronds hanging serenely in the clear golden light of midmorning. They took a left, and after another couple of minutes of riding toward the mountains, the road sloping ever higher, the road turned to the right and became a broad street paved in vast flagstones of warm-colored concrete. On either side arose large complexes that Selah realized were vast mansions, two-story edifices that were a mass of wings, dry fountains, columns, and porticos, each enshrouded in palm trees, bougainvillea, and other exotic plants. The street possessed an otherworldly fe
eling, its silence shattered by the passage of their bikes

  Selah stared. Each home stood clearly empty. Windows dark, vines growing over the walls, plants and lawns desiccated. No cars. No signs of life at all. They followed the street to its end, rounded the corner, and saw what had to be their destination. A crude fence had been impaled about the perimeter of the sumptuous lawn, individual bars of rebar topped by an identical upended brown bottle, labels faded and nearly washed off.

  A number of cars sat in the circular driveway, each gleaming in the light of the sun. A limousine, two black SUVs, a convertible red Porsche, and a black Lamborghini straight out of an adolescent’s dream. The recessed entrance that led up to the front door was stunning, a path passing through a central courtyard whose flanks were the columned wings of the home, with a great white door embedded in its back. Red flowers had fallen from the trees that shaded it and littered the courtyard stones, each of which was sunken into soft green grass. Luxurious bushes and ferns grew in carefully formed banks, so that the effect was one of a cool and inviting retreat.

  As they pulled up, two men rose from where they sat playing dominoes before the front door. Each had what looked to be an assault rifle propped against the wall next to him, and an old Omni played Latin music. Selah noticed movement above them. A third man watched from the roof house, relaxed, a rifle propped over his shoulder. Selah got off the bike and groaned. Her inner thighs felt raw.

  One of the guards greeted them in Spanish, voice easy with familiarity. Guillermo responded with a laugh, and then said something and nodded to Selah and Cloud. The guards looked them over, and then nodded. One of them turned and went inside.

  Guillermo turned to Selah and Cloud. “All right. Esteban’s coming out. Do anything stupid and you’ll get shot. Got it?” They both nodded. Cloud took her hand, and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the gang leader to emerge. Selah’s mind span out plans, ideas, and discarded each in turn. How should she act? The big killer out of Miami, imperious and demanding to be freed? The innocent little girl, no threat to anybody? She had no clue. Before she could make up her mind, the front door opened and several men emerged, blinking as they stepped into the sunlight.

  The first man out was perhaps in his fifties. His skin glowed a warm and smooth walnut hue, crow’s-feet and lines about his mouth making his face seem kindly as he regarded them, his hair thinning, an iron moustache and beard trimmed close to the skin. Esteban? No. The next one.

  The next man was in his early forties, good-looking, trim, athletic, and broad-shouldered. Wearing a beige linen suit with the white shirt open at the neck, he carried an intensity that put Selah immediately on edge, his smile the kind of blank, automatic expression that failed to reach his eyes. He looked like he could smile while he wrung your neck.

  Guillermo stepped forward. He nodded respectfully to the older man. “Padrino Machado, como estas?” Then he turned to the second. “Esteban. We found these three down by Chino. They were trying to cross over to Loco territory, but ran into a Duster nest. Led them straight to us. We put down the Dusters, but Manny, he recognized … the girl …” His words slowed, and then stopped. The older man, Padrino Machado, was staring at Selah in shock.

  “Pero que demonios haces aqui?” he whispered, face draining of color.

  Esteban frowned, confused. “Padrino? You know her?”

  “But—how?” Padrino actually looked up at the sun as if confirming its presence, suddenly disbelieving that it shone. Then back at Selah. Confusion and incomprehension were plain on his stately face.

  “Maybe he’s watched the same videos?” asked Selah, doing her best to bury her uneasiness. Did everybody around here know her?

  “Guillermo,” said Esteban, “who is this?”

  “It’s like I told you. We ran into her over by Chino,” said Guillermo, all confidence gone from his voice. “Manny recognized her. Said her name’s Selah Brown. The girl who killed Sawiskera, the vampire king of Miami?”

  “Selah Brown?” Padrino tested the name. “Selah Brown.” He blinked, and then laughed weakly. “Amazing. You look—never mind. Esteban, my apologies. I thought, for a moment, that she was somebody else. This world. It never ceases to surprise me.” He clapped Esteban’s shoulder, and the tension melted from his frame. Then he frowned again as the rest of Guillermo’s words registered. “Killed Sawiskera? Is that what you said?”

  “Yes,” said Selah, stepping forward and ignoring the guns. She was sick of being talked about. “I killed him. With Cloud’s help here, and that of the Dragon. What of it?” The men all stared at her. A muted satisfaction passed through Selah. That got their attention. Not that she was sure she wanted it. But, hell. She was sick of being pushed around. “What I want to know,” she continued, “is what the hell business is it of yours? I got shit to do, so I suggest you all get your eyeful now, because Cloud and I, we’re leaving.”

  Her words hung in the air, and then Esteban laughed. A delighted sound, as if a rather uninspiring dog had suddenly pulled off a complicated trick. Selah pursed her lips. That hadn’t been the reaction she was going for. “The little girl’s got a bite on her,” said the Culebras leader. “Guillermo. Bring her and—Cloud? Inside.” He stopped. Stared at Ramonito who was hanging back. “Who’s the little pendejo?”

  “Ramonito,” said Selah. “He’s with me. Our guide.”

  “You don’t need a guide no more,” said Esteban. “Oye, get the hell out of here.” Ramonito stared wide eyed at everybody, and then when Esteban raised his eyebrows, turned and ran down the driveway. Selah watched him go, and felt a pang. She’d come to like the kid. And he had come to represent—what? Her bid for independent passage through the slums. Without him, she was at the mercy of these Dust dealers.

  They went inside. Esteban led them through the front door and into the hallway beyond. It was stunning. The caramel marble floors were polished to such a high gloss that they seemed wet, the walls glass, three great floor-to-ceiling panes that looked out into a small interior garden. Light poured in through every side, and a great green plant grew from a circular hole in the center of the hall’s floor.

  Two children ran past them, giggling and pushing each other. They were dressed in clean clothing, startling for its whiteness, and they shot shy looks at the strangers before pouring out the front door. Music played farther within, and they could hear the sound of voices. Selah’s mouth filled with water. Somebody was cooking breakfast, what smelled like a mixture of scrambled eggs and sausages. Esteban walked ahead into a study. One wall was all shelving, displaying leather-bound tomes, vases, and small portraits. The other wall contained a glass-front cabinet whose contents Selah didn’t bother studying. Esteban sat behind his glass desk, and Padrino moved to sit in a seat to his left.

  “OK,” said Padrino Machado. He settled down, made himself comfortable. Crossed one leg over the other, ankle on the knee. Laced his hands over his stomach, and gave her a complacent smile. “Why don’t you tell us a story? How did a girl like you take down the all-mighty Sawiskera?” Selah fought to marshal her thoughts. Cloud was a solid presence beside her, but she knew it was her tale to tell. She felt trapped. Should she spin the truth? She began hesitatingly, recounting how she had chosen deportation to Miami in hopes of learning the truth behind her father’s disappearance. How she had met Cloud, the Dragon. She chose at the last second not to mention her blood’s unique properties. Not to tell them about how she adopted a vampire’s powers the moment he drank from her. Instead, she turned the tale into a love story, skipping entire chunks and making up parts on the fly. How she had reminded Sawiskera of a past love. How his obsession with her had given the Dragon a chance to strike him down, how she and Cloud had both helped.

  When she finished, she shrugged. “There you go. That’s all that happened. Satisfied?”

  Esteban and Padrino Machado shared a look. Esteban canted his head to one side. “So where does your Dust habit come into all this?”

  “My Dus
t habit?” Her mind raced. “What? Oh—yeah.” Her eyes, her curse-tainted eyes, smoky gray like those of a Duster. “I—I started on the drive from Miami. I wanted to see what it was all about. Dust, that is.”

  Silence again. Selah watched them both. Esteban nodded, but Padrino remained unconvinced. Finally he shook his head. “She’s lying,” said Padrino. His voice had grown stronger, deeper. Gained a timbre of authority. Esteban looked over at him. “She doesn’t do Dust. Her eyes are that way for a different reason.”

  Padrino stood and moved forward to stand before Selah. He studied her face intently, then took each of her hands and turned them over so as to examine her palms. His touch was cool, his skin smooth. Up close, he smelled of pipe smoke. He leaned forward and peered into her eyes as if they were tunnels into her deepest being, and then nodded.

  “She carries a dark spirit with her. Very old, and very powerful. It is this spirit that changes her eyes.”

  Selah felt her heart seize. How could he know that? How the hell did he know that? She took a step back. “What are you talking about?” Her voice shook.

  “Dark spirit?” There was no sarcasm or doubt in Esteban’s voice. Selah heard instead grave respect.

  “Who are you?” Selah met Padrino’s eyes. “How do you know this?”

  “Padrino Machado,” said Esteban. “He’s a very famous curandero.”

  Padrino nodded to Selah. “I am blessed by the saints and angels, and sometimes able to do their will. To heal others.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Selah.

  “You don’t have to understand. But know that I sense a darkness within you. I can feel its power. How it is consuming you.”

  Selah turned to Cloud. He looked as surprised as she felt.

  “What is this spirit, Selah?” Padrino sat back down, but did not relax as before. He blinked. “Is it Sawiskera?”

  “Yes.” It was all she could manage.

  Padrino nodded. “Sawiskera. Not totally gone, I see. Inside you. Growing. Turning you.”