"Nothing!" she nudged my side with her elbow. "I got one of those feelings checking out some houses. I found him hiding out from a Feaster in the closet. He's hurt pretty badly."
I looked at the splint on his leg. Quickly, I grabbed my knife and made quick work taking apart the tape fastening the splint and holding the bone into place. It was worse than I could have imagined. I grabbed more tape, removed the broomsticks, and secured the bone back in place. "Emily, you should have just put him out of his misery back there. This kid isn't going to make it. I bet he won't even wake up. You probably made that whole trip for nothing. Besides, what if he dies and turns? We have to be ready for that."
"This can't be it. I feel like there was some reason why I had to bring him here. I was going to put him out, but he begged me not to. He knows he’s going to die but doesn’t want to die alone. He even saved my life on the way over.” I cocked an eye at her, disbelieving. “I know it was so stupid. I should've just done it, but I couldn't." She used her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “In theory, it’s the right thing to do, but I don’t think I could do something like that regardless if it was the right thing to do or not.”
I leaned into her. I understood. We've lost everybody we know and love. It was hard to believe it had been just over a year since the outbreak. "You do know there is a way to save him."
She stood up straight, "What do you mean?"
"You know." She spun to look at me, her eyes still glistening. "You know," I nodded.
"No! We've never done that before. Our parents and most of our grandparents have never done it. Before that, when our kind did that, we were tortured. Hunted. Persecuted."
"Yes, but that was then. I'd say things are pretty different now. Besides, he looks pretty dead already, so we don't have much time to decide. It's probably now or never if he's even got a chance at all."
She turned this over in her mind. "Where do we even start? What if it's something we can't do?"
"We have nothing to lose."
Emily casted her conflicted eyes at Andrew, “We don't even have his permission. Doesn't that seem like it's the right thing to do?"
"We can ask him, but he's not getting up. We gotta make a judgment call here, Em. I have a feeling this won't be the last time we have to decide something like this," I rest my hand on her shoulder.
"Okay, but who's going to do it, Kieran? I wouldn’t even know what to do."
"Um, Emily, this has you written all over it. Besides, if you didn't need a break and rush out of here like that, we wouldn't even be talking about this."
She looked Andrew over. That was the truth. She pursed her lips sadly, without showing her teeth. Realizing I was looking at her, she nudged me in the ribs again. "Okay, I'm gonna do it."
"Alright. I really think it's his only chance."
"Okay, I'm gonna do it."
"You already said that." I couldn’t imagine doing this myself.
"I know."
"Okay, stop talking about it and do it."
"Stop rushing me," attitude finds Emily's voice.
"I don't wanna rush you, but I think he's running out of time."
"I know, I know. Stop it! Okay, here I go." Emily knelt down on the carpet next to Andrew's head. The flickering candlelight casted shadows that moved across his face. She leaned in next to his warm neck and whispered, “You better be worth it.” The prospect of blood changed her energy unexpectedly. She was no longer fearful or worried about whether it was right or wrong. The smell excited her as she moved forward. Extending down from her mouth, two sharp incisors dropped, dripping with saliva.
I cringed as I watched. This was something that I'd read about or heard old stories from family members, but to see it was a whole different thing. I watched her fix her mouth onto Andrew's neck. Andrew groaned quietly. Emily’s slurping filled the room. "Um, Emily. I'm no expert, but I don't think you are supposed to do it for that long." Emily didn’t stop. "Emily! You have to stop! You're killing him! STOP!" I reached down and attempted to pull her from Andrew's neck.
She spun around, eyes glowing red, matching Andrew's blood on her face. She growled, "GET OFF OF ME!"
This frightened me. Taking a step back, I nearly tripped over the table behind me. Quickly, I regained my composure and countered, "Emily! You’re going to kill him. It's not what you want, and it's not who we are!"
She stood there, breathing heavily. As she battled with herself, her red eyes slowly transitioned back to green. Blood dripped from her lips as her fangs retracted. There was only silence for a moment. She shook her head gathering her senses and, concerned, spun around to check on Andrew. He looked paler, sicklier. "Is – is he okay?"
"He's breathing. That's a start. What happened to you?"
Her chest still heaving, she responded, "It was like I lost all control. I never feel this way feeding on animals. It was different – like I wasn’t myself. Some kind of primal instinct must have taken over."
"Man, that was freaky."
"Sorry," she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
"So, now what?
"I don't know. I guess we wait."
We both stood over Andrew's body, monitoring his breathing. Emily grabbed a wet towel and wiped his neck where the last drops of blood dripped when she had pulled away. His fever created beads of sweat on his forehead. She wiped that too and placed the wet towel on his head. Emily sat on the carpet, her back straight against the couch until sleep finally found her, and she laid down on the floor. I stayed awake, thinking about if our plan failed. What if he doesn't change into one of us and becomes one of them? I grabbed my machete and sat in the chair next to the couch with it across my lap. Finally, sleep paid me a visit too.
Vamps generally sleep during the day. Because of this, we find it safer to sleep on the second floor barricaded in a darkened room. So, when we were awakened by Andrew the next evening and we were still in the living room, it caught us off guard as if the night before had just been a dream. "Where am I!?" Andrew moved past groggy and straight into panic in which we matched. The three of us remained still, trying to comprehend what was happening.
It was Emily that recovered the fastest and jumped to her feet. "Okay, Okay. Relax for a second."
"Relax?! What do you mean relax? Where am I? Who are you guys?" He sat up quickly and planted his feet onto the carpet. Emily and I stared at him with some amusement. "What are you guys smirking at?" Andrew yelled.
I remained silent and let Emily explain, "Your leg. You’re moving your leg."
"My leg? What's that gotta–,” he trailed off as the memory of the day before flooded over him. He flexed his leg back and forth waiting for the pain to take over. Aside from mild discomfort, it didn’t. He leaned on the arm of the sofa and attempted to stand up. Emily moved toward him. "Don't!" he demanded, gesturing with his hand. Securing his feet to the ground, he leaned forward, and with support from the armrest, he stood to his feet. He smiled shifting weight from one leg to the other. "Do you have scissors or a knife?" I handed him my knife. Without much precision, he cut away at the tape that covered his wound. We all stared at it, astonished. Aside from some scarring and redness, it appeared to be healing. Satisfied, he sat back down, trying to piece together the night before. "It's starting to come back to me. I was trapped in a closet. It was you. You saved me from some, what did you call them? Feasters?"
Emily nodded her head, smiling.
"I also remember you almost nearly put an arrow in me too."
Emily's smile disappeared, red filling her cheeks. She nodded.
Andrew leaned back on the couch, "But, my leg? How did this happen?" As he rotated his head in an attempt to loosen his shoulders, he felt an ache in his neck and reached his left hand up to massage it. Something crusty caught his attention. He scratched it and examined his fingers. Blood? It hit him, "I remember now. You're a Vamp!" His eyes searched us, trying to make sense of it all. Touching his neck again, he resolved to ask the question, "Did one of you do this to me?" he
whispered not expressing anger, only confusion.
Emily and I were silent for a moment. Then, she raised her hand in the air.
"I asked you if your kind still drinks human blood."
"And, I didn't answer. Besides, we don't."
"Why would you do that to me?" he questioned. "What happens now?"
I squatted back into the chair, and Emily found a place on the carpet. She spoke, "I know this looks and sounds insane, but I had to do it." Andrew looked at me for affirmation. I shook my head in agreement. "You were dying. You were probably going to die right there on the couch. Kieran and I had to make a choice. We chose the possibility of saving you. And, it worked."
"So, am I one of you now?" Our silence gave him the answer. Andrew, still scratching at where Emily bit him, joined our silence. He spent several minutes switching glances back and forth at the both of us, trying to make sense of what was happening. "Well," he said, "I know his name. What's yours?" He flashed a half-smile, seemingly accepting the news.
I noticed Emily's cheeks get flushed. Normally, I'd give her some kind of ribbing. I didn't. I let her have this. There would be plenty of time for that. "My name is Emily," she smiled back.
"Hello, Emily. I’m Andrew. Thank you for saving me." We all rested a moment in reflection. "Guys, I'm starving. Does this mean I have to drink blood?
I cracked a smile. "We have a lot to teach you. But first, let's go downstairs and eat." I led. Andrew stood up and followed. Emily watched him limp, the only reminder of his once decimated leg. She smiled and pinned the hair covering her eyes behind her ear.
Today, it’s hard to imagine life without Andrew. He always makes things very interesting. Facing off against these Feasters is proving to be one of those times. From the shadow of the tree, Andrew waves his bat at us signaling he’s about to do whatever it is he is planning to do.
"I really wish he would give us a heads up on his plans. I wish one of our gifts was the power of mind reading, but it's not. So stupid," I say with annoyance.
"Yeah, I get it, but it always works out fine," Emily says, her eyes fixed on Andrew.
"Fine isn't good. Fine is just fine. I wish we had a plan."
We see Andrew’s smile through the darkness. Emily and I move to a car, half parked on the street and half on the curb and windows on the passenger side smashed in, and hide behind the back bumper. If there's one thing that we've learned with Andrew, it’s that he's the master of diversion. So, it's always best to be on the opposite side of wherever he is.
The moonlight reflects off his aluminum bat as he waves it in the air. There's a minivan next to the tree he's hiding behind. BANG! BANG! BANG! Andrew hits the car's hood in a chorus of threes. Upon hearing the second chorus of bangs, the Feasters start to shift their focus from the house to Andrew's banging. Slowly, they shuffle their feet in unison and turn towards the gate.
"This doesn't seem like a good idea," I whisper to Emily. "There's just so many of them. I'm guessing he doesn't have much of an exit strategy."
"It's Andrew. He's thought most of it through."
"Most of it? Really?"
Emily's eyes are fixed on the turning zombies as they start to shift along the fence line, shoulders slumped forward, heads tilted to one side or the other, and jaws slack as if words were forgotten mid-sentence and covered in never ending drool. Feasters don't line up single file at the gate exit. Instead, they bunch up at the entrance like a sink that’s clogged, and they get stuck. BANG! BANG! BANG! The Feasters' frenzy begins to grow. There's noise out there. Where there's noise, there's food. The weight of them strains the hinges and starts to bend the posts of the metal fence. If this goes on any longer, the hinges would surely snap off, which could create a whole new set of problems. Emily fixes an arrow and silently plants it into one of the Feasters clogging the fence opening. The zombie falls forward, and just like that, the clog opens releasing them from the yard and into the street.
BANG! BANG! BANG! The first eight Feasters approach Andrew. He's now moved to the street side of the minivan and has the sliding door open. We watch nervously. BANG! BANG! BANG! Andrew's bat rings the zombie dinner bell. He doesn't seem to be in much of a rush as they approach dangerously close.
"Get out of there," I mutter under my breath, willing Andrew to move, to escape. We look on in horror. Just as the zombies are upon him, he moves into the van, and so do they. One by one, like clowns at a circus, all eight zombies pile in. It's then that it occurs to us what Andrew is doing. Emily sends two arrows into the ones that didn't make it in, and I start a diversion of my own banging my machete against the car we are hiding behind. Just like that, the zombies outside of the car are rerouted towards us.
In the meantime, Andrew has already slipped out of the other sliding door of the minivan, slides the door shut, and sneaks around to the other side. Quickly, he slides the other door closed trapping them inside. He looks into one of the windows as a one-eyed Feaster stares back at him. He waves and laughs.
Emily sees this and rolls her eyes. Then Andrew starts again. BANG! BANG! BANG! The Feasters once again turn their attention towards him. There are eight left. From behind, Emily takes care of three of them. I sneak up behind two that are closest to me and make quick work with my machete in two swings. BANG! BANG! BANG! Andrew hits the back bumper. The zombies follow the prospect of food. Andrew, limp and all, swiftly moves around the minivan as the chorus of groans inside follows him. He sneaks up behind two of them. PING! PING! Both drop to the ground. One Feaster is left. Emily, Andrew, and I meet in the middle of the street. We play a quick game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. I win. Using my machete, I finish the deal.
Looking at the mess we've made, we chuckle as our eyes meet each other's. We embrace in a quick hug. "I told you I was feeling dangerous," Andrew says. Deep down, I hate that we've grown so good at survival, but I’m also thankful that the three of us have each other.
Chapter Three
The House With the Girl in the Window
We stand together looking at the house. The light from the window, no longer flashing, now remains steady. The girl in the window no longer has a frantic look, but one of relief. From behind us in the street, groans can be heard in the near distance closing in on our location. It appears that our battle attracted some stragglers. So, not to be seen or heard, we move quickly into the yard, closing the gate behind us. We hide in the shadows to make sure we don’t have another battle to take care of. That’s one thing about this life: it’s best not to fight battles that you don’t have to. The few Feasters that are approaching surround the minivan, distracted by the groans and banging on glass by those trapped inside.
We move quietly around the house. We’ve learned that there are always a few that don’t move with the rest and hang around aimlessly. There are three around back, and we quickly take care of them. Finally, we stand in front of the house looking up at the second-floor window, where the girl is still watching us. Emily throws her hands up as if to say, Hello? We just saved you. Let us in. The three of us wait as she moves from the window. A moment later, the front door opens slowly as an eye peeks out. “Thank you for helping us.” The door closes again.
The three of us stand there. “So, this is what the Girl Scouts feel like when you don’t buy cookies from them,” Andrew jokes, tapping the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I get it now.”
Emily, not one to take no for an answer, knocks on the door. Almost immediately it opens. “Thank you again, but we can’t let anyone inside. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s going to be very dangerous if you don’t let us in,” Emily grits out between clenched teeth, reminding me of when my mother would get upset with me in public.
I put my arm in front of her and step forward slightly. “What my cousin means is that we saw you flashing that light of yours in the window from over a mile away. We came here because we assumed you needed help.”
Andrew continues, “And, by the looks of things, we were right. Don’t you
think we should be able to meet the people we just saved?” He smiles a welcoming smile that Emily notices causing her eyebrows to furrow and the corners of her mouth to twist.
“It worked,” the girl muttered through the opening.
“Excuse me? What worked?” Emily interjects.
“The flashlight. I knew if I flashed my light in the window, help would come.”
“Yeah, the flashlight worked, but it also brought those Feasters to your door,” Emily argues.
“Oh,” the girl pauses. “They were already there before I used the flashlight. Well, I guess, not as many as there were. How did you all learn to fight them so well?”
Emily loses her cool. “Look! This isn’t some kind of social visit. We came a long way to help you. If you want to continue this conversation, we’re going to have to do it inside. It’s still dangerous out here, and we will not be sitting ducks!”
Just then, the door opens abruptly all the way. A tall man with wire-rimmed glasses resting on his pointy nose stands in the doorway behind the girl, his hands on her shoulders. An awkward silence sits between the five of us, and only the offbeat harmony of the Feasters can be heard in the distance filling the space. The man looks past us at the carnage we left, and then directs his attention to us. Before speaking, he gives us all the once over, then says, “Carissa tells me that you three are the ones responsible for getting us out of that situation.”
Emily, never one to miss an opportunity, says, “Situation? You mean saving your lives?” She locks eyes with the man. “Yes, that’s us.”
He softens, “I’m sorry. I do apologize. I’m not used to interacting with people. These times have hardened me a bit. What I should be saying is thank you for helping us. We were indeed trapped.”
“Yeah, well, Little Miss Flashlight didn’t help you,” Emily says. I shoot her a glance, my eyes begging her to be nice.
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