Feasters

by Solomon Petchers

  Sitting in a circle, we catch our breath. “Everybody okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned, thanking our lucky stars we’ve survived this attack.

  “I’m okay,” Andrew says a little less chipper than before the fight began. “That was way too close.”

  Emily speaks, “I agree. You gotta watch your step out there.”

  Andrew takes offense, “I did watch my step. We were fighting on a tightrope. I had one little slip.”

  “Exactly what I was saying, you gotta watch your step.”

  “I was watching. What’s this about? Because I’m not one hundred percent Vamp and I need to be looked out for? Man, Em. I don’t know what the heck is going on with you, but it sounds like you and I need to have it out already. It doesn’t strike me as the best of places, but I’m game if you are. You’ve been on me since that house.”

  She puts her head down, her hair covering her face. “Where the heck were you when we were in that room?”

  “Where was I? While you idiots had to go look in that room, I heard Harold coming up the stairs. I went down there to head him off. I told him that you two were still getting ready.”

  “What about the crashing noise?” I ask.

  “That was me. While their backs were turned, I popped off the ends of the shelves. I pretended that I was leaning on it when it all went crashing down. I fell with it and let everything fall on me. Then, when I was getting up, I forced the other shelf down,” he waits for Emily’s reaction. “You’re welcome, by the way. That could have ended up worse.”

  “Worse?” she bites through her teeth. “What’s worse than this?” She throws her hands out referring to the three of us. We all exchange glances and survey what we look like. Ripped, wet clothes. Zombie blood and guts covering us, oozing. We look like we’ve been in a war.

  “It could have been much worse, Em,” Andrew says defensively. “We wanted out of that house because we didn’t feel safe. Out here, when we’re up against the Feasters, we know what to expect. While we were at that house, we had no idea. So, yeah. A lot worse.”

  Emily faces us, tears in her eyes. “It would have been worse if we lost you. I was scared. I thought…I thought we lost you. All I kept thinking when you were down there in the water was, God, if you are still up there, please don’t let Andrew get bitten.” She cries, her head in her hands. She sniffles, “That would have been a lot worse.”

  We sit in silence for some time, until Andrew breaks it, “So, you like me, huh?” He laughs. “It took you long enough to admit it.” He scooches closer to Emily.

  “Don’t! Stop messing around.” She tries to recover from her confession, “I couldn’t lose either of you. You two are my life. My family.” She turns to Andrew rolling her eyes, “Yes, I do like you. When I saw you and Carissa, I got all jealous and crazy.”

  Andrew’s gloved hand reaches under Emily’s chin and shows that smile that makes her melt. “Em? Listen to me. There’s only ever been you.” He leans in and hugs her.

  “Um, guys. I’m right here. This is getting awkward.” We all laugh. The three of us feel whole again. Each of us brings something special. That’s what family is about. I move in to join them in the embrace.

  Looking down at the scrape on my hand gets me to thinking about the battle we just had. The scene plays in my head as I try to make sense of it. “Guys, we need to talk about what happened,” I say to them as the Feasters from the other side of the wall groan into the night as a reminder to the three of us. “That was a setup, wasn’t it? I mean, it felt like an ambush.”

  As if remembering it for the first time, Emily shakes her head, “Yes, one hundred percent.”

  “Those canisters brought them right to us,” Andrew adds. “We were sitting ducks. Who would do something like that?”

  “I have my guesses,” Emily spits out.

  “Harold and Carissa?” I ask.

  She shakes her head tightening her lips, eyes glancing from side to side, a rage building inside like a volcano.

  “Why?” Andrew asks. “What purpose would that serve? I mean we literally just saved their lives. They don’t gain anything by killing us.”

  “Then, who was on the wall?” I wonder.

  “What do you mean? That wall?” Andrew asks looking over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know who that was. I couldn’t see that well with all the smoke,” Emily adds.

  “Guys, what are you talking about?” Andrew asks confused.

  “You didn’t see it? Someone was on top of the wall watching the entire thing. That’s the one who orchestrated the ambush. I’m sure of it,” I tell him.

  “Um, no, I didn’t see it. I was too busy knocking out Feasters,” Andrew says.

  “I should have put that arrow into whoever it was,” Emily spits, confirming my assumption.

  My hand touches hers, “It’s not who we are.”

  “If that’s who they are, then I could adapt. If I did the right thing, we’d have our answer.”

  “What if it was someone else?” I ask shuddering at the question. The only thing scarier than the Feasters is an enemy who’s capable of concocting something as dubious as the attack we just endured.

  We help each other up and start the rest of our trip back home. We’re all hungry, weak, and frustrated. Most of all, what we just encountered weighs heavy on us. Questions need to be answered. The worst part is knowing that some may never be.

  Chapter Five

  One Day

  I’ve never been so relieved to be home. As we walk through the back door, we drop our jackets, backpacks, and weapons right by the entrance and settle into the wooden chairs at the wobbly kitchen table. Taking inventory of Emily and Andrew, I note how exhausted they look, and I know my face matches theirs. In addition to being tired, we are hungry. Despite how we feel, we remain weighted to our seats trying to recover from the madness of the last day.

  It’s unusual for the three of us to be this quiet. At any given time, one or all of us fill dead air with jokes and games to pass the time. Or, we can often be found around this very table with the map sprawled out wondering what is out there beyond the places we’ve dared to explore. We talk about heading to someplace different like the mountains or closer to the coast. One day, we tell ourselves. We fantasize about starting over in a Feaster-free zone where we can play and be ourselves without worrying about them. “How about living on a farm?” Andrew asks. “Imagine all the livestock we could have. A smorgasbord of flavors. We could grow crops and invite anyone willing to come, help, and be part of a new way of living.”

  There must be more to life than just going on runs, scrounging for food, and killing Feasters. One day. Whenever Emily and I look back at the way things used to be, we remember that everything was provided for us. We never truly appreciated the things we long for today. Peace. Safety. Security. We indulged in things that weren’t important and easily ignored those things that we shouldn’t have. Family. Love. Trust. Instead, we found joy in sitting around with devices in our hands in artificial worlds that held no meaning except for pure entertainment; keeping track of likes and the number of followers we would never even meet. Our families would complain that we didn’t talk to them as much as we once did; didn’t go outside as much as we used to; didn’t care about things as much as we should have. My dad would talk to me about the times when he was a teenager and that he hardly spent any time inside. He would tell tales about how he spent nights under the stars or playing tag in the moonlight with the other Vamp kids. He talked about how he thought at fifteen he found his true love and they would sit at the edge of the lake and talk for hours. “Your teen years are meant to be outside. Trying new things. Not just sitting there in a world that isn’t real.” To that, I rolled my eyes. We never understood the importance of enjoying the things right in front of us. It wasn’t until everything was ripped right out from under us, that we fully understood what the people who loved us meant.

  After we lost everyone, Emily and I promised each othe
r that we wouldn’t ignore the things around us that are important. For me, everything I care about sits at this table. When they’re hurt and confused like they are right now, I hurt with them. I wish I could make things better for them, for us. So, until our one day happens, we must focus on the present.

  When we finally muster up enough energy to nourish ourselves and get to bed, we sleep. For the entire day and several hours into the night, our bodies recover under a blanket of relentless exhaustion. Once again, a dream comes to me offering another warning.

  Chapter Six

  Andrew, Not Andrew

  I feel fully aware. I’m strapped down, moving like floating on turbulent air. As I attempt to get my bearings, my eyes search my surroundings. It appears as if I am being transported down a hallway. It’s bright and the walls are white. How am I moving? My eyes search for the source. Two people, dressed in all white hospital scrubs and surgical masks, hastily push me. Doctors? Nurses? Each are wearing a nametag, but I can’t see the names. It’s blurry. Am I in a hospital? My mind thinks so. “Where am I?” I say, searching the masked individuals, but I don’t receive a response. I bump into the side of the wall and it’s then that I realize the jerky vehicle is a gurney. This is a hospital. “Where am I?” I say in a demanding voice. Just then, one of the people closest to my head locks eyes with me, staring intently and doesn’t look away. There’s something familiar about those eyes, but I can’t figure it out. As the gurney moves through the hallways, I notice signs as they race by, but like the badges on the white jackets, things are moving too fast, and the images are too blurry.

  “You are a necessary piece,” the man says. “You should be honored. It’s because of what you are about to do that we can make everything right again.”

  “What do you mean to make everything right?” I struggle to free my hands, but something is holding them down. My fingers search and find buckles and straps on each wrist holding me in place.

  “Soon. You will see it soon. Your blood is the source to make everything right.” He moves his eyes away from mine and directs the others to move into a room.

  “Do you mean everything right with the Feasters?” I wait for a response. “If you just explain everything to me, I’m sure I would be willing to help. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  He looks down at me, “Oh, but it does, Andrew. It does.”

  “Andrew? You’ve got the wrong person. Just stop and listen to me!”

  “There’s no time for that.”

  We crash through double doors and suddenly, we aren’t in the hospital any longer. Instead, the gurney is in Marisol’s bedroom. I hear heavy, exhausted breathing next to me. I look to my right and Marisol, covered by a sheer canopy, struggles for every breath. Her arm hangs outside of the canopy, her fingers and arm are the darkened color of a Feaster. At the crease of her arm, an IV is taped with tubing moving up towards a bag of fluid.

  Another individual appears, a female this time. The features around the surgical mask are softer and less aged. She pivots an operating light overhead. It’s the reflection in the metallic casing behind the single light bulb that confuses me the most. I rotate my head from side to side to get a better look. It’s not me that’s strapped to the gurney. It’s Andrew!

  The other person in the room, the one who seems to be in charge of everything, moves to Andrew’s right arm slapping the forearm to make the veins more visible. “Ah, that’s better. You have very good blood flow, Andrew.” He picks up a large needle from the table on his right side and says, “This will only pinch a little bit.” I can tell he’s smiling behind the mask. As he inserts the needle, I feel the pain of it race up my arm. Andrew’s reflection shows it.

  Through his eyes, I search the room. The man in charge squeezes something I perceive as a pump. The blood races from Andrew’s arm with each squeeze. And, with each squeeze, I feel the life being drained from his body. This feels like it goes on for hours.

  “Don’t take too much,” the female says. “We never know if we will need more.”

  “Not to worry,” the man says. “We know where we can get more if needed.” He chuckles maniacally.

  I feel Andrew’s body, slowing being drained, losing consciousness, his face becoming pale and lifeless. “C’mon, Andrew,” I try to encourage. “Stay with me.”

  I am jolted awake, sweating, crying, my arm aching. My eyes search for the hospital, Marisol’s bedroom, and the doctors or nurses, or whatever they were. Of course, I’m no longer strapped in, but my arms remain at my side, the pain from the needle lingers, as the nightmare slowly wears off. This is the second dream I’ve had about Andrew’s safety. What does it mean? Who were those people? The answer quickly comes to my consciousness. If it was Marisol in that bed, then the other two had to be Harold and Carissa. But why? What were they doing to Andrew? It could be that the dream is nothing or it could be a warning. Since we are never, ever going to see them again, I reluctantly decide to not tell the others about the dream. At least, not now anyway. I’m sure Emily would lose her mind and want to get some answers. Something tells me that it’s better this way. We are gone from that place and have no plans of going back. I think the three of us will likely swear off any rescue missions for a while.

  I head out of my bedroom and into the extra room down the hallway where we usually hang out. I should be hungry, but the dream upset my stomach instead. Emily and Andrew are sitting cozily on the tattered sofa that sits under the window where I like to look out. “Well, look who decided to join us,” Andrew jokes. I see his face now but can’t get the image of the one from the dream out of my head. “Hello? You okay, Kieran?”

  Cracking a forced smile, I respond, “Yeah, I’m good. I guess I’m a little freaked out from yesterday.”

  “Did you have another dream?” Emily asks. She knows me too well.

  “No-no. Not at all,” I lie. “For some strange reason, I expected to be back at that house.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen again. Not as long as I can help it,” Andrew chimes in.

  My thoughts move to the dream again. Not as long as I can help it. In the dream, he didn’t have a choice.

  After a quite a bit of time bathed in the type of silence where something is hanging in the air, but no one wants to talk about it, Emily breaks it, “So, speaking about that place. I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “Oh no,” Andrew jokes, “this could be dangerous.”

  She elbows him in the ribs. “I was thinking that it had to be Harold on that wall last night. Things were way, way too coordinated for that to be a coincidence.” We nod in agreement. It makes sense. “So, it’s not something we can ignore. What if they know more about us than we know?”

  “You aren’t saying that we need to go back there again?” I question, trying to hide the panic in my voice.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Well, at least not yet.”

  “Em, that sounds like a bad idea,” Andrew adds.

  “I’m not saying we need to pay a visit. Aren’t you in the least bit curious about them? I believe we need to keep a watchful eye on them. That’s all I’m saying. You know, just check things out. What if they’re doing things or have done things to others? Wouldn’t it make sense to just know?”

  “Or,” I suggest, “we can just leave it be and chalk up the whole experience to a lesson learned.”

  “We could do that. Think about it for me, will you? I don’t think this is something we should just forget about.”

  I nod my head knowing full well that I have no plans to do any such thing. In an effort to get things back to the way they were before we went on that rescue mission, I move to the window. “Will you guys scooch over? I need to see what kind of show is going on tonight.”

  “A lot of good that did us last time, Kieran,” Andrew chuckles. He stands up and faces Emily, extending his hand, “Do what you gotta do, but I’m hungry. Em, care to join me for a bite?” His eyebrows bob up as his fangs partially drop down.<
br />
  “I thought you’d never ask.” She lets out a flirty laugh and reaches out for Andrew’s hand.

  He helps her halfway up, and then something catches his attention, “Wait a minute.” His eyes fixate on the newspaper covering the windows. “There he is!” He lets go of Emily sending her sprawling back onto the sofa.

  “Hey, you big jerk. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  He kneels on the sofa next to her, “That’s him!”

  “Who?” Emily and I wonder.

  “That’s the guy from the picture at Harold and Carissa’s house. Wait here,” Andrew bolts out of the room while Emily and I are left looking at the dated newspaper clippings. He comes back in and unfolds a picture.

  “What are you doing with that?” Emily asks.

  “You took it? Why?”

  “When I saw it back at that house, it kept bugging me. I knew that I’d seen this guy before.” Andrew points to the man standing next to Harold in the vacation picture he stole from the house.

  “So, where did you see him?” I ask.

  “Right there!” He jumps on the couch and points to an article. After a few seconds of comparing the photo to the newspaper clipping, we conclude it has to be him. The article’s picture had the man in the picture standing with some other people that looked like scientists. The headline partially covered with overlapping newspaper pages above reads Sebastian Labs Seeks to Cure Vampirism, But at What Cost?

  I glanced at that article without really reading it dozens of times, never connecting it would hit so close to home. The idea of curing vampirism was something of legend and never seemed to be a real threat. Sebastian Labs was a well-known local laboratory that had just begun to get national recognition before the breakout. The article talked about how the medical community treated our kind as if they needed curing; as if vampires were unhappy with being who they were. The author presented the moral argument between accepting Vamps for who they are versus treating them like some kind of infection. Sebastian Labs unveiled a two-pronged approach. The first was to vaccinate humans who could get potentially bitten by a vampire so they would not convert. The article fairly pointed out that the reported cases of this event were almost nonexistent. The numbers had been on a steady decline for the better part of the last twenty years. Humans had a better chance of being struck by lightning than they did being bitten by a vampire. Still, there was this fear of the unknown – even though our kind blended into society and the most vocal of us tried to educate people on the “Vamp-lifestyle,” which they argued didn’t differ much from humans. The second part of Sebastian Labs approach was to “cure” vampires from their genetic makeup. The purpose was to address those who had already been converted, but the social implications, as the article pointed out, could be devastating for Vamps. What would stop Sebastian Labs or a government office from doing away with vampires all together? The lead scientist, Franklin Croger, attempted to reassure the author, the public, and vampires, by stating, “V.A.M.P, which stands for Vampire Aversion Medical Protocol, is designed to only address the most extreme situations such as violent crime and forced conversion. We assure you that Sebastian Labs has no plans for V.A.M.P to be used outside of these cases. We value life regardless of the public’s perception.”