by Ben Archer
He coldly answers, "I couldn’t agree more, Flynn, but a few snacks here or there seems a small price to keep our other Colonies safe.”
"A snack? Are you serious? That's a person you're talking about! Dammit man, it’s a little girl! We fought together against this kind of sick shit! What happened to you, Shep? What happened to my friend?"
"Nothing.” His face reddens with emotion. “In fact, I’ve been here fighting that same war, because it never ended for me! I didn’t scamper off into the woods and ignore the problems we were stuck with.” Resentment is thick in his voice. “You're too idealistic. There’s no good, no evil. Only results and doing what has to be done. Can’t you see we finally have it within our reach to change the world? This could all be over!”
“Well now, how the happy hell is feeding her to the devil-bats going to change the whole damn world???” I mockingly wave my hands in the air. Shepherd’s eyes draw to a narrow slit, “Not that insignificant flesh bag! Your problem is you could never see the bigger picture. All these things were temporary fixes; Band-Aids over a rotting corpse, until now. We finally have the real answer! You even saw it with your own eyes!”
I pause, perplexed, attempting to make sense of what he’s said. "Wait, you mean the baby?"
"The pureblood!" his cruel grin stretches like a true madman. “Our future is behind Samael!”
“The Harbingers are already rebuilding this fractured world we’ve created. Have you shielded yourself so much that you can't see the obvious truth? Damn, Flynn, there are colonies that still hunt vampires as you do those dumb stags!” His energy suddenly drops, “Hayden, I’m tired of fighting..." trailing off from honest exhaustion. As crazy as the words sound, I know he believes every one of them.
I try pointing out the major fault in his logic, “How can you justify the slaughter of kids? I mean you can hear all this craziness coming out your mouth, right?"
"Because I will make the tough choice!” He pounds the table. “I didn’t go camping after the war! I put my hands in the bloody dirt to do the real work! People like you don’t want to know how things really happen. You just want to go about your pathetic lives without ever having to peek behind the curtain. Peace doesn't just happen, it’s bought with violence and paid for with spilled blood. Remember how it used to be? How the Eutherians would swarm at night? All that stopped. How do you think that happened? We asked nicely?” His new smartass tone takes a page from my playbook.
I have to laugh from all the righteousness suddenly flying around the room, "You're no peace keeper. You’re an asshole that feeds kids to monsters."
"And I will continue until the need is gone. Until Samael sweeps across the world to destroy creatures like Eutherians. You know we can’t live like this, Flynn. This is your chance to become part of our rising tide. Samael is the phoenix that will burn this diseased world to its rotten core! And from those ashes will emerge a brand new life! No more colonies, no more hatred, just one united world!”
I’m trapped in stunned disbelief from my friend’s cold words. I plead with him, "Now, I won't argue this is a utopia by any means, but any world built on the bones of evil has no place for me in it. I’m asking you as a friend, Shepherd, look at what you’re doing here. Look at that little girl over there… You showed me who I wanted to be. You were my example. Brother, this ain’t it.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “You’re wrong. This is my mission and I’ll destroy anyone that gets in my way. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been. Now, you get one more chance, as a friend, to finish this together.” He reaches out for me to symbolically join him on his unholy mission. His fingers are deeply scarred as a true hero’s should be. They symbolize all the ugliness it takes to create the beauty of the world.
For a split second my mind actually bends far enough for the words to make a perverted kind of sense. Killing is the very foundation of being a vampire. Of being me. I kill to survive, that’s my truth. Then I see the look in Quinn’s eyes and don’t care who he is, this is wrong.
“No, Shepherd, you can’t justify the slaughtering of children. Everyone wants to get back to something close to happy, but how we get there matters. And building that road on the suffering of others is not an original idea. Neither are hatred, greed, or a hunger for power disguised as naive idealism. Although, coming from you? That’s brand new.”
My heartfelt words don’t seem to move him in the slightest. Not even a sideways glance of self-doubt. “You’ve made your choice. There’s no other option because she’s going back.” Shepherd nods to the guards. They immediately rip Quinn off the busted table and drag her towards the door.
I can’t let this happen.
I won’t let this happen.
Before they make it outside, I flip the table end over end into the crowd. My instinct is to follow and punch Shepherd in his smug face, but the only goal has to be getting to Quinn. And the only one standing in my way is the flaming guard.
There’s no obvious weak point in his heavy armor. He’s padded from head to toe in thick metal that would only injure me to punch. The thinnest part is where I end up burying the widest part of my foot─ right in his twig and two berries. The mountain of man collapses to the floor like broken glass. I can’t help but chuckle at his head lying on the ground. His flaming facemask looks more like a calm campfire than it does an intimidating inferno.
As brief as it was, the laugh distracts me from seeing the chrome skull sneaking up behind me. He clamps onto my wrist, the injured one of course, and painfully twists it all the way around. Every forceful tug feels like it’s ripping muscles away from bone. He’s still fighting to grab my other wrist, however, all I care about is stopping the searing pain in my injured shoulder!
There’s no hope of actually pushing him away, so I decide to spin into him instead. At least that way we’ll be face to face. He still has a solid grip on the bad arm, but I have to create some separation someway. I start by wrapping my free hand around his skull, then (with all the pain-fueled adrenaline available) bring our heads crashing together. A monstrous thunderclap echoes throughout the cramped bar.
As soon as my skull cracks against his helmet, the world explodes into a brilliant display of stunning fireworks. Next thing I know, I’m lying on the tile floor incoherently slurring, "Thaaat baaaad. Thatttt... that nnnot aluminum."
"Pure carbon steel, pendejo."
"Yeahhhhh." I’m not totally sure which of the three said it, but it’s usually the middle one. Focusing suddenly becomes a minor issue when the other guard, the one with sore balls, yanks me up by the shoulder, "Agggghhh! Easy, you dick!”
Shepherd says with a touch of remorse, “I wish it didn't have to be this way. You need to understand that this is bigger than both of us." He then signals the flaming guard. By looks alone, I don’t think this will end well for me. I don’t have to see behind the mask to tell how extremely pissed he is.
In the background I watch them drag Quinn out of the front doors. When flame boy grabs me, the only thing I have time to think is, “This is gonna hurt.”
Chapter 13: The Color Red
Ugggghhhhh.
All I smell is wet dog.
Where am I? Even though my eyes haven’t opened yet, I’m already pretty confident I won’t like the answer. When they finally do flutter open, and my new surroundings come into gradual focus, it’s just as I thought… I don’t love it.
It's dark, dingy, and doesn’t smell like the Points anymore. The flickering fluorescents are giving out a piss colored light that refuses to stay lit for longer than a few seconds at a time. Despite the creep show lighting, I can make out three dirty brick walls, and a fourth that’s made up of thick steel bars that have been generously lined with sharp spikes. There’s also a small rusted pipe in the corner that’s supposed to take the place of a real toilet.
And that’s all.
I spill out of the little cot to clutch my throbbing head. My sizable forehead knot is the most likely culprit
for the sensation of drills burrowing into each side of my brain. That skull guy was a real dick! To be fair, I did kick him in the balls first, but he could have caused serious brain damage with a hit like that! Although, judging by the way I’m stumbling around, that possibility’s still open. And it’s not likely I’ll be receiving much medical attention in here either. This is the kind of place you put people to die.
Miserably.
The only view of the outside world is the miniature window right above the cot. It’s heavily barred and wouldn’t even fit a grapefruit through, so this certainly won’t be my way out. Plus, life doesn’t look too much better on the other side. The only thing out there is a rundown stadium that’s a bizarre blend of old Roman coliseum with a modern glass building plopped in the middle. Surrounding it are long rows of old benches leading up to large towers at each corner. The only lights in the entire place are the faint blue reflections coming off the sides of the shiny castle. Everything else appears to be made from old wood, steel tubing, dust, and tears.
The entire place seems to revolve around the glass castle. Every sign, step, and chair points directly at it. It sits in the center as the bullseye of this very large target. As for the building itself, it’s constructed of dozens of glass rooms all flowing organically into each other. Its design could even be considered beautiful without all the noticeable blood stains. It’s clear whatever happens in there, is absolutely horrifying.
"Hey, you in the box." floats in a mysterious voice from somewhere outside my cramped cell.
"Uh… yeah?" I hesitate. Since I’ve been in jail once or twice, maybe five times, I’ve learned there are only two types of people in here: sheep and lions. So I step up the macho game, “Yeah, what you want??” Too much, too much. Let’s bring it down a peg. I try finding a more balanced tone between “action movie hero” and “don’t shiv me in the lunch line” to ask, "So, I guess this is some kind of prison?”
The disembodied man answers in a thick southern drawl, "Nah. They jus' gone hold you until show time come round." Then I imagine the playground of death outside is the stage? Good times.
I half-heartedly ask, "When do the curtains go up?” Even though, again, I really don’t want to know the answer.
"Sorry son. Yours is right soon I reckon." the brutally honest cellmate says. "You the guy that done stole that girl, right?"
I concede, "Apparently."
His thick accent makes some of the words hard understand, but I believe he says, "Yeah, word goes real quick round here. Them bats is comin'." I had a bad feeling that's where this was all heading. This leads into the next obvious question, "So I'm in the Gas Light District?"
"Yup" he says very directly.
It’s the kind of news that strikes like a lightning bolt to the chest. I fall onto the thin mattress to process exactly what all this could mean. The loud scrape of springs hitting the floor causes the voice to ask, “You okay in there?” My ears register his words, though my mind rejects the optimistic thought. No, I’m not “okay.” I’m actually on the opposite side of the emotional scale as “okay.”
So I ignore the question and replace it with one that carries far less emotional baggage, "What's your name?” Mindlessly chatting should allow me to turn off my own bruised feelings for a while.
"Tha names Bill, but most folk call me Brain Guy."
It’s a struggle to keep my inner child from falling out of his chair with laughter. Seriously though, I doubt the faceless voice got the nickname from his highly successful neurosurgery practice.
"So why you in here, Bill? Did you have a failed rescue go ridiculously bad too?"
"Me? Nah, I got sick s'all."
"Sick? That doesn't seem like a serious crime.” My joking tone is probably lighter than appropriate for our situation.
"You sure is one crazy sum’ bitch! Means I can't be in them bloodlines no more s’all." He says this very directly as if I should know what in the world he’s talking about.
“I'm confused. Bloodlines? Like they won't let you have kids?"
"Boy, it ain’t got nothin' to do with them youngins. Can't feed them lords no more s’what it is." Still very matter-of-factly.
I’m starting to think that the less I know about this place, the better. However I will need to know what I'm up against. Knowledge is power, so I probe further, "They won't let you feed the lords because you're sick? They don't want you touching their food?"
"Hell son, I is their food! The sick’s in my blood so I can't feed ‘em no more." He says all this in a still very care-free tone. My head sinks deep into my palms as I piece together what Brain Guy has laid on me. This place uses people as walking blood banks —fantastic.
On a good note: My shoulder is working fine again.
On a bad note: Everything else.
My attention is suddenly drawn to the cell wall where the dirty bricks have taken on a bright new crimson hue. Even from here I can tell where it’s coming from. The sky outside has begun burning with an intensely deep red glow.
"What’s going on out there Bill?"
"It's a Reckonin’." He sounds much more sympathetic now. "That family gone be put down."
WTF?! Quinn’s family is gonna be killed because I saved her? How the $&@# does that happen?
I’m struggling to deal with the madness rapidly exploding like fireworks on the fourth of July. Bill’s next words help to fill in some of the blanks, "Once they go, they don't come back. They gone make a learnin' of ‘em." His voice never waivers, never drops. Nothing about this is unusual to him at all.
I leap up to the see the changes taking place outside the small window. The once empty arena is now filled with people pouring into every row. There are so many that there appears to be one seat for every two people flooding in. Each one of them has an anxious energy, as if they absolutely cannot wait for what’s getting ready to happen.
Locating the source of the burning sky is easy. There’s a room in front of the glass castle that’s completely lined with windows like an announcer’s box. Sitting on top of it are two enormous spotlights pointing straight up at the clouds. They are what’s turning the entire thing into a thick, bloody soup.
I instantly recognize this.
It was the red sky from the Eutherian memory.
Some twisted trick of fate has landed me in the center of someone’s stolen dream. Except he was on a hill overlooking the town, while I’m trapped in a box inside it. Plus, I have a feeling his storm was a totally different kind than the one getting ready to rain down over me.
There’s a flurry of action occurring within the castle walls. It’s awash with brilliant colors to spotlight the various intricate rooms locked inside. They also better highlight the many stains adorning nearly every wall. The bloody puddles are left completely intact as a clear reminder (or trophy) of the sick things they do here.
None of the rooms are very large and they all seem to connect randomly. However, after studying it for a few more seconds, I notice the entire thing has actually been crafted with careful precision. While they’re all different sizes: tall towers, narrow halls, square rooms… they all have one thing in common, destructive toys. Each has a mirror, metal cage, or spikes to entertain the blood thirsty audience. There’s no part of this thing that’s not completely see through. Not even the floors are solid. It’s built to be a display case to highlight every sick twist and turn. They wanna make sure their viewers don’t miss a single thing that happens in the human-sized rat maze.
Quinn is being led into the room overlooking the castle. I spy the familiar masked guards from the bar dragging her along. She’s still fighting hard, even if the poor kid looks half dead. It’s easy to see everything happening inside due to the entire room being one giant window. The guards begin by securing her to a sturdy looking chair that seems custom built for the occasion. It’s firmly bolted to the ground and features heavily worn streaks from all the unfortunate souls who’ve sat there before.
Standing behin
d her is another familiar mop of blonde hair. Shepherd looks my way and we lock eyes for a brief moment. To my amazement, there’s nothing left in his blank gaze. The man I knew, the man I idolized, is simply gone.
A greasy looking chubby man, dressed to the nines, sits in prestige next to him. His pinstripe suit is already soaked from the sweat rolling down his neck folds. It appears he also slicks back his salt and pepper hair with pure cooking oil. The Governor of this fine Colony, I assume.
While I’m watching the spectacle unfold in the box, a small group of handcuffed people were led into the ring. They’ve been herded into a tight circle at the entrance of the imposing glass castle. Out front is an older man with distinguished-looking grey hair running along both temples. He’s nervously holding a young girl that couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old. The only thing I can really see of her is the blue velvet bow tied to a single brown braid. Everything else is buried underneath her dad's worn denim shirt.
Next to them is her mother, clinging as tightly as a person possibly can. Her grip is firm enough to bring light swelling to the father’s arm. Behind them stands a barrel-chested young man doing his best to compensate for the biting fear inside. My guess is that he’s not too far removed from his eighteenth birthday. While his strong jaw and stiff arms give an appearance of bravery, the trembling hands are a dead giveaway of how he actually feels inside.
The sight of them sends Quinn into a wild hysteria. Spit and water pour from her flushed face. She’s ripping at the thick restraints to absolutely no effect. Her intense screams have forced large bulging veins to the surface of her forehead. She eventually fights hard enough to pop several of the bolts holding her chair to the ground. The guards have to force her back down, but even they can barely contain all her violent convulsions. She’s as hostile as anything I’ve ever seen; human, vampire, or edge-of-death wounded animal.
Almost lost in the chaos is an announcer babbling when the family is shoved into the first room. The steel door slams shut immediately after the last toe crosses the threshold. With the hallow clang still ringing in my ears, every light goes dark. A low thumping heartbeat begins steadily pulsing through the speakers.