Feasters

by Solomon Petchers

  “What the heck? How did they get back there?”

  “How do you think?” Emily shoots as if the answer is obvious, and it is.

  “Who are these people?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out,” Emily spits out.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” I mutter back. “We’ll have to go out the front.” As we move towards the front room, a light blinks brightly from behind the thick blankets we hang as curtains in the bay window. “Now what?”

  Emily darts over to the blankets and peels back the corner to have a better look. “It doesn’t look like this way is clear either.”

  A strobing light, undoubtedly placed by Harold, serves as a beacon for Feasters. They gather rows deep in front of the house as if attending the opening of a new fancy restaurant in Centre Square. “What are we going to do? It’s obvious Harold and Carissa didn’t want us coming after them.”

  “Ya think?” Emily drops her duffle to the ground and pulls out her bow. “ It looks like we’re going to have to fight our way out of here.”

  “That’s a terrible idea. Even if we do make it to the Camaro, we’re going to be exhausted. There are dozens of them out there. There has to be another way.”

  We both search our minds for an answer. “We need something to draw them away from the door. Let’s check downstairs and see what we have.” We bolt for the stairs. As we start to rummage for things, Starsky and Hutch think it’s time to play. “I found something,” Emily turns, holding two road flares.

  My eyes light up, “That’s perfect!”

  We bound up the stairs to the second floor, taking two steps at a time. We open the window and the smell overwhelms us for a moment. That’s one thing you never get used to: the smell, especially when first heading outside. Feaster flesh, forever rotting, coupled with whatever else is dead out there, emits the grossest odor that makes the eyes water and singes nostril hair.

  Looking over the front yard, we see our estimation was right. There are dozens of Feasters grouped tightly together against the bushes next to the front door, mesmerized by the blinking light. “Hand me one of those flares,” I tell Emily.

  Passing one over to me, she says, “Do you know how to use these things?”

  “Uh huh. My dad taught me one time when we had some car trouble, a few years back. I think I can do it. You just have to pop this cap off and strike the end of it against the red stuff on the flare. Just strike it like a match.”

  Emily shrugs her shoulders, accepting my claim. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “It’s pretty simple. We have to get their attention, light the flare, and toss it away from the front door, maybe over there,” I say, pointing to a line of bushes that separates our house from the house next door.

  “Those dead idiots will follow anything. It’s as good a plan as any. Let’s get this done, we’ve already lost so much time.”

  I call out to the Feasters below, “Hey guys. Yeah, up here,” I wave to them casually.

  Emily joins in, “Yeah, you cutie. Not you, blondie. The one with his face half off. Yup, there you are.”

  One by one, the Feasters shift their attention to us, their groans growing louder with the anticipation of a meal. I strike the flare a few times before it sparks, alive and electric. The light from the sparks is so bright we have to shield our eyes at first. The elevated sounds and frenzied movements tell me it’s working. I test the theory by waving the flare from side to side in sweeping motions to see if they follow. They do. I toss the flare over to the bushes, but the throw is a little too accurate and gets swallowed up in the foliage, covering much of the light. So, most of the Feasters who follow the path of the flare with their eyes lose interest once it hits the bushes. Only a few are curious enough to follow.

  “Well, that didn’t work,” Emily says, concern in her eyes.

  “Hand me the other flare,” I demand, determined to make it work.

  As I pull the cap off the second flare and prepare to strike it, Emily’s hand stops me. “Wait,” she says. “Look.” She extends her arms across my face, pointing to the bushes where the flare landed. Wisps of smoke permeate through the branches, slowly at first. The dull glow from the flare starts to glow brighter, lighting the underbrush of the shrub until the entire bush is aflame. The Feasters slowly shift their attention to the growing fire. “This is our chance!” We grab our things, dart down the stairs, and move to the front door. To exit this way seems foreign, even reckless, but considering the alternative, it’s our only option. Feasters move slowly towards the bushes.

  We wait for an opening, cautiously open the door, and move towards the Camaro maneuvering past the zombies who are more concerned by the bush than they are with the prospect of a meal. The door lock clicks open. Emily jumps in, throws the two bags in the back, and leaps over the passenger seat. By the time I get in the seat, Emily already has the key in the ignition. On the first try, the Camaro doesn’t turn over. “C’mon baby!” She turns the key again. This time the car audibly resists with a growl and then finally kicks in. The engine roars, happy to be alive again.

  I look back to see what the Feasters are up to; some have turned their attention towards us. Behind the first group of them, one Feaster, too close to the burning shrubs, lights himself on fire. Confused, it shambles aimlessly away from the bush. As curious zombies move towards him, they all ignite along with the others nearby. “We gotta go!” I yell, hoping they don’t start to walk toward the car.

  Emily shifts the car into gear, and the Camaro lurches forward thumping into the garage door separating it from the frame of the house. This alerts the Feasters closest to us, and they flock in our direction. Emily turns to me calmly, her red hair a frantic mess in her eyes, “Oopsies.”

  “Oopsies?! Really?”

  She smirks confidently, shifts the car, and wildly backs out of the driveway. The tires chirp to a stop but not before knocking over a Feaster and a trash can.

  The scene on the lawn is horrifying. The Feasters in flames move toward the bushes lining the front of the house. Slowly, the bushes come alive with fire. It isn’t long before the fire roars its way up the side of the house igniting it into flames. We shoot looks at each other, deciding whether we need to go back in to save the animals. The fire spreads too quickly, and we know all is lost. Tears pour from our eyes, knowing that things will never be the same. “Just go,” I say with loss and bitterness in my voice. “Let’s get Andrew.”

  Emily’s eyes narrow in rage. The tires scream to life as she shifts the car into gear and feeds it gas, taking out a few more objects in the road.

  Chapter Nine

  Case

  As Emily races the Camaro through the neighborhood, sometimes narrowly missing objects in the road and sometimes hitting them head on, I think about Sebastian Labs. I’m not sure I understand why someone would want to cure vampires. We were born this way, what else could we possibly turn into? Humans? I wonder if that’s even possible. A tiger can’t be changed into a lion, right? A monkey can’t be changed into an orangutan. So how could scientists expect vampires to be anything other than what we’re genetically made to be?

  On some level, changing someone who has been changed into a vampire makes sense. Behind locked doors, I’ve listened to stories of the past. I remember how my grandparents told about a time when vampires did practice turning humans. The motivation rooted in a time when humans openly protested against and blatantly attacked us. The fear of the unknown being the sole factor. Yes, there were vampires, driven by revenge, who broke the laws enacted specifically against us. And, some vampires who were just plain bad news. But, wasn’t that true of all species? Weren’t there humans obsessed with revenge? Jails were filled with humans who made poor choices or were just plain bad people. So why just target us?

  Generations of Vamps spent decades fitting in with humans, however, several years ago, the government, in partnership with activists, enacted the Vampire Act. For Vamps to be considered
as a part of society, they had to abide by the same laws as humans, which included paying taxes, and all of those sorts of adult things that many already did. Voting rights would not be granted except in local elections. Once the Vampire Act entered its second decade, then vampires would be allowed to vote and run for office in national elections, however, they would never be allowed to run for higher offices such as the Presidency. The main sticking point, which caused the greatest uproar, was a guaranteed death sentence if a vampire was found guilty of turning or killing a human being. There would be a trial, but in most cases, it would be a slam dunk for the prosecution because of DNA. As both sides hammered out the details, people and Vamps took to the streets in either protest or support of the proposed laws.

  That time was well before my fourteen years on this Earth, yet I still felt the pains of being different. With no schooling available during the evenings, we had to attend human schools that were only in session during the day. Aside from having to dress to cover our skin because of the sun’s effect on us, I also remembered coming home from grade school with black eyes, bloody lips, and my pride bruised due to the bullying and hurtful names carelessly thrown at me. Blood Boogers. Fangface. Biters. I remembered my father explaining to me that they were “just ignorant words of people who didn’t care to understand anything about us.” Looking back, the words seem too silly to get angry about, but to a nine-year-old kid, the pain was too much. We were a stronger species. We were a faster species. My father refused to allow me to fight back fearing I would seriously hurt someone.

  That day nearly came when some older kids came after me in the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, the biggest of the three slowly locked the door behind them, leaving me with a sinking feeling that they didn’t just want to tease me. They wanted to hurt me. My hands shook, but I acted as if I hadn’t noticed. As the faucet automatically shut off, I turned to leave. One boy with a chipped tooth moved to block my way, causing me to bump into him. “Hey!” he yelled. “Who do you think you are?”

  Tiny drops of sweat beaded on my forehead. I tried to reply coolly, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. That’s my fault.” I laughed nervously.

  I walked around the boy, and then another kid, with shoulder length hair, moved in my way. “Look out, Vamp-breath!”

  Again, I apologized. “Look, fellas, I’m sorry. I just want to get back to class. You know how exciting it is to learn about fossils.” I laughed again, trying to diffuse the situation as best I could.

  “Why don’t you hang out with us for a little bit,” said the ringleader of the group, a bigger kid than the other two by at least a head. “You already bumped Bobby. Don’t you think you owe him something for that?”

  “I don’t have anything to give. I-I already apologized.”

  “Hey, Bobby, he’s sorry. I guess this Blood Sucker here thinks everything’s gonna be better now. Especially after he attacked you,” the biggest kid mocked.

  “Wait. What? I didn’t attack anyone. I – I think there’s been some misunderstanding.”

  “Nope, it’s definitely not better, Chief,” Bobby said. “I’m just so distraught right now,” he said in a mocking voice.

  “See? It’s not better,” Chief responded.

  “Do you think there’s been some m-m-misunderstanding?” Bobby teased.

  I squared my shoulders and tried to reason with them. “Guys, you’re clearly bigger and stronger than me. You won’t gain anything by beating me up. When I get some money, I’ll pay Bobby to make up for what I’ve done,” I said, hoping they would agree with me. “Ya know what?”

  “What?” Chief asked, thinking over what I had said.

  “I’ll even throw in a few extra bucks for you and your other friend. How’s that sound?”

  I thought it was working because Chief patted Bobby on the shoulder and he moved out of the way. As the way cleared for me, I only took three steps before Chief said, “We don’t want your money.”

  “You don’t?” I asked, fearing what the payment would be. “W-What do you want?”

  “We want to see them.” The other two boys busted out laughing which confused me.

  “See what?”

  “Your fangs.” Chief said and as he opened his mouth pretending he had fangs and let out a growl.

  Nervously, I laughed, “C’mon guys. That’s not real. We don’t have fangs.”

  Then, the kid who had been quiet said, “That’s not true, Chief. I know for a fact that they do. My uncle saw them once. You just gotta get ‘em mad enough.”

  “Well, it looks like he needs a bath,” Chief chuckled while Bobby opened the bathroom stall door. “What do you think, Fangface? You ready for a bath?”

  Without having a moment to answer, Bobby and Chief grabbed a hold of me on both sides while the third kid manned the plunger for the toilet. Chief tripped me to my knees. Grabbing me by the back of the head, they forced my head towards the water. The toilet flushed again and again as they dipped my face in over and over. “Show me your fangs and it’ll all be over!” Chief yelled.

  “I can’t!” I managed before being dipped again. The smell was sickening.

  “Show me!” Chief barked.

  This time he held my head under longer. I choked as the putrid water spilled into my mouth and seeped down my throat. Suddenly, I felt a combination of fear and anger swell through my body and veins. Gathering my feet under me, I pushed against both boys. Inside me a primal scream was building. Finally, when I couldn’t contain it any longer, I forced myself to stand against the two holding me down. My eyes, glowing red, revealed my rage. I looked up at the boys. “You wanted this, well now you’ve got it!” I placed each of my hands on their chests and with a scream, I threw both of their bodies easily into the stall walls denting each one like foil pans. Their bodies fell in a heap. The silent kid wet himself. Grabbing a fistful of Chief’s shirt, I pulled him up to my face. “Take a look,” I growled as I curled back my lips revealing my fangs. “Take a good look! Is this what you wanted?”

  “Please. Please, don’t bite me!” he pleaded.

  I opened my mouth as if I was going to bite, but I didn’t. That was only one of two times that I ever exposed my fangs as a kid. Needless to say, I got in a lot of trouble that day. I was suspended from school for a week, and my parents had to put me in the registry which was part of the Vampire Act. Any Vamp who threatens a human being has to be put on a watch list. It wasn’t long after that I was taken out of school.

  I’m jolted out of my thoughts by Emily’s abrupt stop which leaves the Camaro half in the street and half on the sidewalk. We cautiously look over Harold’s house. “The minivan isn’t here,” Emily notes.

  I look over to where we last saw the minivan, wondering what happened to the Feasters Andrew brilliantly trapped in there. Glancing over to the house, I doubt Harold and Carissa are in there, but I know we have to look. There aren’t many Feasters around, and the few in the distance don’t seem overly interested or notice us. In the street, the gateway, and in the yard, the bodies of zombies still lay where the three of us put them. “So, what’s the plan? Walk up to the front door pretending we’re Girl Scouts?” I ask, thinking of Andrew’s comments the last time we were here.

  Emily looks determined. “We go in there and get our friend.”

  “I don’t think they’re in there.”

  “Then we find out where he is.”

  Cautiously, we get out of the car, weapons in hand, and do what we do best, blend in with the night. No glow of lamps or candles cast any light in the windows like it did when Carissa was watching us from the window. I wonder if the doors are booby trapped. We didn’t give credit to Harold and Carissa before, but now, we know to expect anything. Instead of using the doors, we go around back where the access to the windows is a little easier. Glancing in, there’s no movement. The window won’t budge. Emily, not one for subtleties, reaches into my backpack and pulls out a little crowbar. Instead of trying to pry open the window, she s
hatters it.

  “Oopsies.” She smirks behind wild wisps of hair.

  “Again with the oopsies,” I roll my eyes as she clears the rest of the window pane of glass. We climb in and crouch in silence listening for something, anything, any sign that we’re not alone, but we are. Finding two lamps, Emily flicks them on and hands one to me.

  We move through the upstairs first. As we ascend the stairs, I fleetingly think that once we take care of Harold and Carissa and get Andrew back, we could make this our home. Then, I think about what they’ve done to us and all we’ve lost, and I know there is only one solution for this place once we are done with it.

  Besides Andrew, I’m not sure what else we are looking for. The two bedrooms, the one we stayed in and the one next to it, offer no clues about what’s happened to him. Next, we look into Marisol’s room. She’s not in there, but we explore the bed. We look at the IV stand. The drip bag is still hanging with the tubing leading to the bed. The dried blood on the catheter tells us that it’s been a little while since she’s been here. I look up at the drip bag. Sebastian Labs is imprinted on the plastic. “It looks like Sebastian Labs is still in business even after all this time,” I say to Emily flicking the bag.

  “What do you think is in here?”

  “I don’t know. Could be anything? Fluids? Antibiotics? I’m not sure.”

  “Well, we do know they aren’t here. We’re wasting time,” Emily says, frustrated.

  “I agree. Let’s do a quick check downstairs.” We rush down and are about to enter the kitchen when Emily stops in her tracks. She has that look in her eyes as she rubs the back of her neck. Tingles. “Did you notice that before?”

  “Notice what?”

  She points to the wall opposite the kitchen. There’s what appears to be a small door cut into the wooden paneling. Moving towards the door, we both hold our lamps up like explorers discovering a new cave. As we get closer, we see that the door matches the wooden paneling. “I guess we figured out why we didn’t see the door,” Emily states, examining it closely, closing it just before it latches. There’s no doorknob or handle.