by Ben Archer
I step out into the crowd and it closes behind me. After each new step, they seal the gap to keep pushing me forward. The mob is so tight that I’m shoulder to shoulder with them most of the time. They’re careful to only leave one direction open. Straight ahead.
So, onward we go with the mindless mass leading the way. They don’t rush or slow me down in any way. I’m allowed to walk at my own nervous pace. And it is very nervous.
My anxiety grows with every forced step. Their path is ridged and unforgiving, barely wide enough to fit through, and they don’t let me see more than ten feet ahead. It’s also a sure preview of the terribleness to come. One thing’s for sure, nothing good is waiting at the end of this line. The old song runs through my frantic mind, “You can check out anytime, but you can never leave.”
We make it through several twisting blocks before making the turn I should have seen coming all along. Straight ahead is the soaring tower, and we’re walking straight down its long shadow. The sun disappears behind the massive building, leaving behind an inappropriate glowing halo. If I thought my nerves were wrecked before, well… I was wrong.
I lean back into the crowd. This is the unconscious result of sudden, overwhelming panic. For the first time they push me along, and it feels as if they’re suffocating me without ever actually touching me. The notion to fight my way out enters my mind, but leaves just as quickly. I’m literally drowning in an ocean of bodies. How could I fight my way through this?? I try pleading with them out of pure desperation. That only causes the entire group to stare at me with those dead eyes. That instantly silences me.
Now, I’ve never walked death row, but it couldn’t feel much different than this. Even the temperature drops as we get closer. Maybe that part is all in my head, nevertheless I’m shivering by the time we reach the last block. Each step is getting infinitely harder to take. My monster is only putting up a half ass fight now. Even he has no idea what to do. Neither of us knows what the pot of shit waiting at the end of the rainbow will be, but I’m pretty sure it will be a really, really big, steaming pile of it.
Chapter 39: Change Is Gonna Come
The bottom of the tower isn’t as solid as I assumed it would be. The center is actually wide open, almost like a medieval courtyard. There are massive columns running down each side that have to be the size of red oak trees. My escorts guide me all the way up to the arched gateway. As nervous as I am, some small relief comes from just being out of the funnel of people. They’ve stopped closing in so that these last few steps will be mine alone.
The tight courtyard opens up as soon as I pass through the restrictive gate. As far as I can tell, there’s one way in, one way out, and a whole lot of bad in between. Aluminum fencing surrounds the entire thing. Not the chain-link kind, but thick bars filled with spikes and thorns. Massive dents reveal the raw steel buried underneath the faded black paint. One detail really bothers me about all the damage ─all of it seems to be on the inside. This wall keeps people in, not out.
Up top is a narrow walkway lined with huge canisters lighting up every inch of the massive courtyard. Waiting at the back of the room are two men clustered tightly around a small boy on an actual throne. I can identify all of them easily: the floppy blonde mop belongs to Shepherd, the smooth bald head of the Keeper glows in the artificial light, and the last is actually easiest to identify, even though we’ve never met.
Samael.
The pureblood.
He radiates authority all the way from back here. Merely walking into the same room brings a swell of emotion almost like the guilt of inadequacy or shame. The young boy, still hundreds of feet away, makes me feel insignificant by comparison. He couldn’t be much more than seven or eight, but already has the presence of a grown ass man. A warrior.
He sits regally with perfect posture. His delicate hands are folded neatly over the arms of the chair, while his legs are cocked as if they’re prepared to spring up at any second. The entire upper half of his face is muddied by a powerful, inhuman glow coming from his eyes. The rest of him is completely cold. Like, intimidatingly emotionless. None of the others sit along with him. There aren’t even any chairs available for them. I get the sense Samael tolerates them, but nothing more.
Nobody has said a word yet. They’ve only stared down from the elevated platform in judgement. I can only work up the courage to glance up occasionally; just enough to keep myself on course. Anything more makes my guts curdle. I mainly stay focused on my own forced footsteps that are far shorter than normal.
“Not much to say this time, ah Flynn?” Shepherd mocks. It’s true. My usual sense of humor has been missing for some time now. In the past I would have at least flipped him off, now I can barely muster the confidence to look him in the eye. Even I know my limits, and walking alone, surrounded by thousands of zombie looking bastards, is beyond them. Then, about ten feet out, Keeper signals me to stop. He doesn’t say anything, just holds his hand up to glare me into submission. Shepherd makes up for it with, “I told you to let her die, Flynn.” Still nothing. My mind has no brilliant comeback to offer his cocky smirk.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Flynn! Is this really how you want to go out? Kicking your feet like some moody child?” I hadn’t noticed the fidgeting legs before. They’re sweeping side to side as if they’re clearing off a path. My nervous energy decided to come out there, I guess.
Shepherd continues on uninterrupted by me. His voice raises a noticeable level after each ignored sentence. Who knew I could piss so many people off by not talking? The amusing thought must put a grin on my face, because Shepherd goes completely berserk after that. He jumps off the platform and charges fists first toward me. The only thing stopping him is the melodic voice of the Keeper saying, “Not yet.”
“First we need to know where the girl is, Mr. Flynn.” Keeper licks a single snarling tooth. “She’s caused us a significant amount of trouble and we simply want to return the favor. We think Kaneda tower, level four? How am I doing so far?” Wait a second. How could he possibly know that? “How do you know…” but he interrupts me again. I’m not sure if I’ve ever completed a sentence to this man.
“Samael sees all. There’s nowhere you ca…” This time I cut him off, “Oh come on. You’re not going to give me that bullshit are you? He’s a kid, not a damn God.” That seems to shut him up pretty well. Soon his expression changes to that of a man keeping a great secret. One that benefits only him.
Keeper looks to the boy king and slides in behind his throne. Samael rises as if he’s pulling something from the ground. He dips down low, arms stretched all the way forward, reaching from the floor to the sky. At once the walkway immediately fills with people. They move from the shadows as one large mass of bodies. Samael steps forward with them.
Every mouth in the room speaks the same exact words, “I’ve been watching since you stepped foot into that bar, Hayden Flynn. Everywhere you’ve gone; Gaslight, the bus, Vegas… everywhere. When you speak to my Harbingers, you speak to me.” I look over at Shepherd and he’s speaking with the rest. The only mouths not moving are Keeper and (strangely) Samael himself. “This is my Hive, Mr. Flynn. I am them and they are me.”
The ground shakes from the harmony of voices. Samael raises his hands and the crowd outside joins. The choir takes on a new, defiant expression. “We are the Phoenix of hope, by rule of the divine. In order to rise from its own ashes, a Phoenix must burn.” The rage-filled words echo throughout the city. “Your world will burn!” Their chants rumble buildings, shake walls, and generally finish destroying the rest of my already fragile confidence.
The quake ends in a giant smile from the tiny boy. He stares at me through slender, nebulous eyes. Everything inside is like a swirling galaxy of twinkling stars. They’re the kind of thing that if you look at too long, you could fall in and never make it back. I feel them trying to lure me into his hypnotic world. My eyes are forced away to avoid being pulled in any further.
Chapter 40: Good D
ie Young
A permanent chill has settled into the base of my spine. His control over two or three people would have been disturbing enough, but this, this is truly terrifying. I would be a fool not to fear thousands of mindless zombies repeating his every word. My voice trembles as I try reasoning with him, “Listen kid… Samael, you don’t have to do this. These men don’t know what they’re talking about. You don’t have to…” The Keeper (as usual) interrupts. Not to defend himself, or rush the kid away, but to laugh uncontrollably.
“You believe this is our doing?” He barely gets out between breathless giggles, “As if we could control all these people??” He laughs harder. “I appreciate what power you believe me capable, however it’s extremely misguided. No one but our Lord is capable of molding an entire civilization!”
“He’s the resurrection of Vlad Dracul!”
“Drank from the Sangraal!”
None of this means a damn thing to me, but seems pretty impressive to him. My apathetic appearance infuriates the Keeper to scream further details. “Our kind, your kind, have waited hundreds of years for his return! Samael is the direct descendent of the Lord Dracula! He’s been endowed with all his powers and memories. Do you know what this means for our people? The power he wields could…” I interrupt to ask, “Hold on just a second. How could he have the memories? The kid’s like 10 or 12? I seriously doubt he was around back then to…” Keeper cuts me off, again.
“Didn’t you hear me? He’s drank from the Sangraal! This body is eleven years of age, but the blood flowing through it is hundreds of years old!”
Literal, holy shit. That kid drank the actual blood of Dracula! He merged with the vilest creature to ever walk the planet! Those memories came from the bowels of the deepest wickedness imaginable! There was certainly enough in there to permanently stain his soul with an enduring evil. It takes less than a second to absorb the scope of this life changing information. In short, I’m completely screwed.
But in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter who he is. It matters who I am. The only thing under my control is what kind of person I leave this world as. Pride straightens my spine and stiffens my resolve. “You know this changes nothing, right? I will never worship your kind of evil or join this merry band of assholes.” Saying this out loud is an admission that my chance of walking out of here is not great.
Samael’s eyes roll back in his head just as Shepherd says, “Joining me was never an option. You’re not welcome here.” The kid’s voice now comes directly from Shepherd’s mouth. The eerie speech was merely an appetizer for the two hands currently wrapped around the base of my skull. Before I can stop it, or brace for impact, he serves up the main course of our heads colliding together.
The impact sends me to the ground in a messy heap of bones, meanwhile, it does absolutely nothing to him. It also leaves a giant hole in my vision that makes it easy for him to come get me again. He marches forward with a chillingly dead expression; only stopping to toss me in the air by the ankle. The world rotates once again, before being brought to an abrupt halt by a clinched fist around the throat.
My hands reach out to pound on everything within reach. They make a solid enough connection with his left check to force one eye instantly shut. The fat swelling should warrant some kind of visible reaction, except he doesn’t even blink. The vastness of my problem is suddenly much clearer. Either Samael is controlling Shepherd and can’t feel his pain, or he can take away his ability to feel it. Either way, the kid could make this entire crowd into unstoppable killing machines!
Darkness is gradually eating away at the edges of my sight. It’s the unwelcome result of a hand crushing my trachea flat. I clumsily search for some way of dislodging the hand before my vision disappears entirely. Since the only thing within reach is the underside of his elbow, I drive my fist directly through it. The resulting pop of tendons ripping is music to my ears.
Three fingers release automatically, while the other is pretty easy to break away. My throat and vision return to normal as soon as my feet touch solid ground. I arrive just in time to witness the backward horror of his arm bent in the opposite direction. It’s unnerving to see someone twisted into such a shocking position, with a completely blank stare on his face. Seriously, the arm is so far back he could scratch his own back, yet he’s still faster than me in every way. It seems he actually can kick my ass with one arm behind his back!
I continue retreating, he continues to advance. Then he hits the dead center of my chest. HARD. I hear the bones snap way before I feel them. The collapsing lung triggers a pained scream, but only a wheezy squeal makes it all the way out. He takes full advantage of my crippled position by quickly delivering several direct shots to the face. They land on my cheek at a fast and furious pace. The sound of his cracking knuckles ring out like automatic gun shots.
The taste of blood is coming from everywhere. A loose tooth or busted lip would be my best case scenario. One eye has already swollen completely shut. With it went all my depth perception. That doesn’t stop me from being able to see the massive amounts of blood splatter collecting on his cheeks. Unfortunately, none of it belongs to him. His mouth is drawn into the same slender smile as the boy earlier. That growing satisfaction drives him to hit me harder, and harder, and harder, until it finally leads to my lucky break.
Literally.
The turning point comes when he hits me hard enough to actually break his own wrist. While my jaw takes a beating, it’s his hand that comes back flopped over like a dead fish. He already had the other bent completely backwards, so now ─without hands─ the fight turns rather quickly. I grab a good fistful of his curly hair, cock my shoulder, and drill down for what should be a solid knock-out punch. However, my knuckles have a different plan. They decide to ricochet into a cheek bone and land in the broadest part of his shoulder, instead. Even though there’s momentary disappointment, it doesn’t slow my fists at all. Desperation is still fueling them to dig in further and faster with every new hit.
Breaking Shepherd feels wrong in the worst way. Even after all he’s done, what he’s become, that face belongs to my best friend. As each successful punch lands, Hayden Flynn has to slip farther away. I have to let the feral monster take complete control because he’ll do what must be done. He’ll guide my fists into the right spot without mercy. See, that’s what ultimately separates me from the vampire. Hayden will have pity even when they deserve none.
It won’t.
Shepherd is left writhing on the ground like a malfunctioning robot clueless why it can no longer stand. Samael’s still using the body, even though he can’t physically it move anymore.
He’s broke.
I’ve broken Shepherd.
The actual boy king is only a distant blur in my periphery. He’s a static shape living on the furthest boundaries of my centrally focused vision. My only concern so far has been completely demolishing the threat directly in front of me. The tiny kid, occupying a throne four times too large for him, hasn’t interested me in the slightest. So when that blur disappears, I don’t think anything of it. Right up until I feel a sudden warm sensation spilling down the center of my throat, similar to swallowing hot coffee on an ice cold day.
At first I have no idea what it is. But my head feels different; lighter, looser. I look around to find the young boy standing over my left shoulder. He has the same familiar shit-eating grin he put on Shepherd’s face. Then I go to take a breath and find my lungs are utterly missing. I start heaving in terror-induced spasms and the spurting blood covers my reaching hands. A sound, like water being suctioned from a drain, comes from some part of my neck. Air is flowing, uninterrupted, through the fresh new hole in my throat.
My legs give out from shock. Falling to my knees puts the boy and me at the same level. You see him relish the exact moment my horrifying realization hits me. Possibilities and plans rush in, but my short-circuited brain cancels them out immediately. Tears are the only emotion that can break through the intense
panic. I’m unable to speak, only to move my lips in incoherent hushed mumbles.
In my final desperate moments I’m drawn to a little golden haired boy in the crowd. Something about him doesn’t fit with the rest of the anonymous group. He stands out like an actor that doesn’t blend in well with his digital world. It’s as if I can see him due to some mistake or glitch, since he simply doesn’t belong here. If nothing else, it’s because there’s sympathy in his blue and green eyes. This lost little boy speaks to me in a silent voice. He fills me with, and I know this sounds weird… hope.
I was never here for Shepherd, or this fight, or even Samael. I came for redemption. To recover the part that died all those years ago. There’s no real reason to feel I’ve accomplished that goal, except I do. My soul feels as full as a belly on Thanksgiving. Like I’m an artist putting the final strokes on his masterpiece. Again, I have no reason to believe this, other than the unspoken words, but why does 2 + 2 = 4, or is the grass green? Because you accept it is. Because it’s truth. Well, this is my truth.
The part of my brain controlling balance dies. I have no other option than to fall backwards with a stupid grin on my face. It stretches from ear to ear, even as white clouds swallow the entire world. There’s not an ounce of fear left in me. Not because I’m brave, of course. Would you consider falling in love brave? Or taking an unknown road for the first time? Those are the chances you’re willing to take because of hope. Because of the belief you’ll always make it back home.
That same faith tells me a brand new day is waiting on the other side of the coming night. It insists that what I’ve started here won’t die with me today. I’ve changed the world and stumbled onto it from an angle I never saw coming.
Because this was never my story