by Jeff Seats
Along two of the walls were floor to ceiling shelves. In addition to pots, pans, dishes and other utensils used for food service there were stacks of canned food. The bartender moved over to one of the shelves and pulled down a couple of cans and looked at them. All of the cans were of a uniformly olive drab color with plain, black stamped lettering. He placed several cans on a tray and wiped the accumulated dust off with his towel to read the contents stamped on the tops. Ham And Lima Beans In Juices. B-2 Unit Crackers and Cheese Spread. Peanut Butter. Oh, Pound Cake. Now the little one should like that. He pulled a couple more cans down and placed them with the others. Beef Hash. Pork and Scalloped Potatoes.
Honestly. How could humans stand to eat this stuff? The last army food he had eaten was as a foot soldier in His Majesty's 60th Foot fighting Napoleon. At least that food wasn't canned, though canned was probably better than the rotting horse that he had to eat. No matter, he was fairly confident that they wouldn't have much of a chance to eat any of it anyway or complain to the “chef.” Besides, he was just going through the motions of accommodating the bleeders until the others arrived. Then...
The bartender put a few plates on top of the cans and grabbed a random handful of silverware. Stopping to ponder the irony of giving silver to a bleeder. He chuckled. Good thing it’s stainless.
He lifted the tray and took it out to the bar. He deposited his haul onto the counter top in front of the passengers. The silverware fell off and scattered, clattering onto the hard surface. “Sorry, no can opener.”
The regulars laughed with gusto.
Steph stepped up to the bar. “I’ll take that drink if you don’t mind.” She pointed to a bottle on the shelf. “That a Merlot?”
Without looking back at it, the bartender responded, “No darlin'. It’s kind of a local specialty that takes some gettin' used to if you’re not so inclined. You look more like a whiskey kind of gal anyway.” He poured her a shot. “On the house.”
««« ‡ »»»
OUTSIDE THE BUCKET of Blood, the sun had almost fully set. Darkness was quickly moving in from the east, bullying the last of the sun away until there was only a slight glow of orange hugging the top of the western hills and then it too was gone, and the cloak of the night covered Fox Valley yet again.
As if there were a chime sounding simultaneously on a hundred different alarm clocks the residents of this tiny burg began to emerge from the seemingly empty buildings. They filtered out the doorways of the vacant shops, empty offices, and deserted houses filling the streets while they took in the fresh evening air. They stretched and loosened their limbs after a long day of repose. Some twirled and danced around in joyous freedom from having been cooped up in stuffy quarters. Others stood clustered together in groups or sat alone watching the stars begin to appear in the sky.
Several stainless steel hospital carts were rolled out onto the street. On them were trays full of flat plastic IV bags; tubes from the tops flopping over the sides. The bags contained a thick red liquid and were lined up like CDs in a music store; easy to flip through to find the right selection. White labels applied to the bags had large black printed letters indicating type: O, A, B and so forth.
One man stood and flipped through the bags at one cart and then the next; clearly demonstrating his frustration. “Who keeps taking the AB+?”
A woman with a bag of AB+ waltzed up to him with the tube in her mouth. She sucked in the blood, smiled coyly and then sashayed away revealing another AB+ bag that she had concealed behind her back and gave it a little flip teasing the man to join her. He hurriedly grabbed one of the other bags from the cart and followed after her.
A man leaned against a mailbox and drained a bag letting the contents ooze out of his mouth. He closed his eyes in near ecstasy as the sweet coppery elixir slowly trickled over his chin and down his neck, attracting a woman who came up to him and began licking the red syrup from his throat. She then unbuttoned his shirt and licked the blood from his chest which was rising and lowering in excited anticipation as her tongue followed the stream back up his neck and then to his lips. Red, dripping tongues swirled around one another, darting in and out of their mouths in a lusty tango. Long canines flashed in the darkening evening as the licking evolved into a biting game reminiscent of puppies at play.
Around the town, other such dramas were transpiring reenacting this nightly ritual of coming together, feeding and sexual release. After “meal time” the locals tended to drift off in search of other pursuits. Some preferred isolation and wandered away alone. Others stood around in groups of twos and threes idly chatting. One couple walked, hand in hand, down the street; passing a red bag back and forth as if they were sharing a malted milk. Still, others sat down with leather bound books and began to read.
Vladimir watched these scenes of life play out around him while he finished licking the sweet red liquid off the lips of the Countess. He gently sank his fangs into the side of her exposed neck puncturing the skin ever so slightly sucking in a small amount of her blood. The bite caused her to make a quick, sharp intake of breath and then let out a moan of desire. He stroked her golden hair and then cupped her breast in his hand. He kissed her passionately releasing her own blood back into her mouth. She swallowed, and he licked the remains from her lips.
“Until tomorrow my lovely,” Vladimir said in a soft enticing tone.
“Yes.” The Countess responded as she dreamily sauntered over to a small group who had gathered nearby.
Vladimir straightened his shirt and tidied up a bit before he too walked over and joined them. These were his “people”; his hardcore supporters who believed, along with him, that the treaty his brother signed with that bombastic blood sack was not in the race's best interests.
These were the malcontents. They resented living in this depressing, fake town, this prison. The so-called life they experienced here went against the very nature of a vampire. Roaming the earth and freely choosing their prey, stalking it and deciding when to pounce and feed, then languishing in the satisfyingly warm aftermath, was what a vampire was born to do; not slurping blood out of a plastic bag through a straw at preordained hours like a frail human on life support.
These malcontents held the other inhabitants in disdain whom they watched trying, sadly, to act like the humans they no longer were. Holding hands! Reading? Staring at the stars. Romantic claptrap! Those others were weak, blindly following whatever Alexei wanted. To be certain, these iconoclasts also, lamentably, felt the uncontrollable urge to do the Khan's bidding. The cursed imprint of thousands of years of shared species memory was impossible to shake off. In this, they conceded that Alexei had the strength of will to hold them here and keep them from flying off, but he couldn't control their desires which were always focused on leaving; escaping the confines of this valley and the mental grip of Alexei's will. They held together as a group based on this focused goal and schemed and waited for Vladimir to challenge his brother and free them all from their confinement. Right at this moment, they watched Vladimir walking to them; each sensing that something was different about him tonight. Vladimir seemed to be holding himself a bit taller; his body was less tense and more relaxed. The closer he got the more they could read a confidence in his demeanor that wasn't always present. Vladimir seemed to be radiating an aura of strength and power that sent chills down their spines, and they felt drawn to the force of his presence. When he finally stepped into their little circle, they surrounded him wanting to absorb what he was exuding.
“My friends,” Vladimir said looking into each of his follower's eyes. “Let us proceed on to that lively night spot we call the Bucket, shall we? I feel like celebrating.” There was general agreement. Vladimir turned to a huge Samoan fellow and grabbed his arm in a sign of brotherly affection. “What say you Apelu?”
“I say, lead on my master.”
“We go together as brothers,” Vladimir responded draping his arm around the large man's shoulders. The two walked across the street and around
the corner as one. The others of the group excitedly followed leaving, the losers, Alexei's “lemmings” to their pathetic, make-believe lives.
When they rounded the corner, Vladimir stopped abruptly. He inhaled, catching a scent on the wind, then drew in another, deeper, breath and turned towards the Bucket of Blood. One more satisfying intake of the aroma of fresh warm blood and he smiled with satisfaction. “Do you smell that my friends?” The others mimicked Vladimir. “That is the redolence of a special treat. I had hoped that they would join us tonight, and here they are; just in time for desert too. Come!”
««« ‡ »»»
IN AN ATYPICAL reaction, Wilson slammed his hand down on the bar top. “What the hell do you call this?” He holds up one of the cans. “And even if this was still edible you didn't bring a can opener. My daughter is hungry and wants some real food!”
“Don't we all brother.” One of the regulars spouted off.
Paul stepped to the bar and looked at the canned food. “Where did you get this stuff? An army surplus store?” He looked to the bartender. “You guys a bunch of survivalists?” He held up a can showing it back to the rest of the passengers. “This is a U.S. Army issue ration.” He looked closely at the can. “I’m no military history buff, but this shit isn’t anything like what they feed us grunts in the field today. This looks like something from the fifties or sixties. Maybe even World War Two.”
Dick pushed forward getting into the bartender’s face. “Trying to poison us are you?”
“Now why would I want to taint your blood like that?” The bartender answered.
Paul reached to his belt and pulled a Leatherman multi-tool out of its sheath. He handed it to Wilson. You know how to use the can opener on this thing?”
“Like the ones on a pocket knife. Right?”
“Yep, the same. I think that the cheese spread and crackers would be the safest to try. Maybe the pound cake. At least stay clear of the meat products but that could be true even if this stuff had been canned yesterday.” Wilson took the tool and the cans of food with his family over to a table and proceeded to open them for his daughter.
The little bell jingled its welcoming tune as the front door opened. The locals who were a part of Vladimir's group were entering the Bucket of Blood and with every bump of the door the bell would merely dance and tinkle again. As they came into the bar, the locals found the tiny vestibule blocked by the bus passengers, whose intoxicating bouquet of fresh, warm blood permeated the vampire sanctuary.
The vampires deliberately walked through the knot of passengers, savoring the moment, eying each one as though they were buyers at a cattle auction; mentally assessing the stock, noting body types, health status and temperament of each animal, determining which would fetch the highest price. Having made their appraisals, they moved to the back of the room and clustered at the end of the bar with the old regulars where they compared “notes”, excitedly speaking with one another in subdued tones, pointing and nodding towards the bewildered passengers. The charged atmosphere in the bar was palpable.
The new arrivals crowded the counter giving their orders to the bartender. Eyes darted back and forth to the passengers; trying to figure out why so many humans were standing in their bar. Several shots of the local favorite were poured and downed. By the third round loud, inebriated chatter began to fill the air which none of the passengers could make out. But by the way they were being studied, it was very obvious that they were the main topic of the conversation as first one pair of eyes would turn back towards the passengers and then another. At one point, all the locals suddenly stopped talking and turned towards the passengers silently staring sending nervous shivers through the stranded group.
“I don’t think that they get many visitors here?” Jenna said under her breath to no one in particular as she and Kelvin sat at a table.
“Kind of obvious,” Paul replied sitting not too far away.
“Well, my Spidey senses are tingling. I can tell you that.” Kelvin chimed in nervously.
The bell on the door dingled happily as it swung open again. The Samoan, Apelu, entered the room and joined the blabbering group of vampires at the back of the bar. A few steps behind Apelu, Vladimir made his entrance exuding a commanding air of confidence that all in the room could feel.
Vladimir appeared to be in his late twenties. He was an extremely handsome man, fit with flawless pale skin, strawberry-blond hair and eyes of ivory surrounding deep black obsidian pupils. He walked past the passengers giving them no attention and joined the locals at the end of the bar. He grinned and nodded to his people as though he was saying, “See what I brought you?”
Vladimir purposely looked across the room at Steph. When their eyes connected, Steph had an overpowering feeling of déjà vu. She flashed on the dream she had had last night while on the bus. Now she wondered, was this the man she dreamt about studying her through the bus window? The man with the red eyes and piercing black pupils. How could that be? It had to have been just a dream; that man was floating, hovering over the ground. But she could still feel his fingers running through her hair, imploring her to let him into the bus...it was so real.
As Vladimir turned towards the bar, the locals stepped aside making space for him, acknowledging his status. He leaned against the counter and ordered a shot of the house specialty. The bartender poured the thick, dark red looking liquid into a glass. Vladimir slammed it down and indicated that he wanted another. Again the glass was filled. With drink in hand he turned around; leaned back against the bar and gave all the passengers a slow and steady once over paying particular attention to Steph who had not stopped looking at him since he entered the bar. Vladimir held the glass in his hand and swirled the liquid around. After giving the glass a vigorous swirl, he held the glass up to the light and looked through it at the liquid as it clung to the side of the glass; appreciating its legs. He put his nose down into the opening and inhaled sharply taking in the bouquet.
Then he placed the glass against his lips and tipped it ever so slightly letting the thick red liquid just barely touch them. His tongue slid out of his mouth, and he tasted what was on his lips; smiling as he appreciated the vintage.
Satisfied that it was a drink worthy of his attention, Vladimir let the remainder flow into his mouth rolling it over his tongue and letting it slowly drain down his throat.
Setting the glass down Vladimir tilted his head over towards the bus passengers and asked, “When did these tasty morsels arrive?”
One of the bar regulars reported, “Just got here as the sun was setting. Say they're off of a broken down bus up the highway a bit.”
Vladimir smiled. “Yes, the ones I saw last night... Anyone tell Alexei?”
“Nope. Wanted to wait till you arrived. Didn't want a perfectly good social activity to be spoiled by your brother.” The bartender responded.
“Excellent. Let us keep this party to ourselves, then, shall we?”
Vladimir gave a nod to Apelu. The giant Samoan finished his drink and gave the passengers a knowing smile as he walked past them heading for the entrance. At the door, he opened it, the bell tinkling as he checked outside to see if Alexei or one of his “people” were about to enter. Satisfied, he closed it reaching up to silence the happy little bell. Then Apelu turned the lock with a solid thunk and turned his imposing figure back towards the room and crossed his arms guarding the door. The look on his face dared anyone to try and challenge him.
Paul gave Apelu a hard stare and turned to Wilson, “You recognize that guy?”
“That big Asian? No. Why?”
“He’s a Samoan. I think he used to play in the NFL. Rams maybe. I know for a fact he went to Cal, no, UCLA.”
Wilson shook his head, “Sorry, football isn’t my thing.”
“Why do you think he’s living out in the middle of nowhere Oregon?”
Wilson shook his head again and shrugged.
««« ‡ »»»
VLADIMIR SLOWLY SURVEYED the passengers.
Yes, these were the humans that he had observed on the bus. He was unable to taste them last night since they were so rudely shut up in that contraption and no one had the manners to invite him in. Thoughtless people. The world today was so much different than that of the past, so impersonal.
They were all here, well, not all. The driver, he had gotten acquainted with him earlier. He still felt energized by the infusion of the fresh blood though it was a bit sour; older donors had a tendency to taste a bit “off,” not like the warm sweetness of youth. Vladimir's gaze drifted back to Steph, and he smiled imagining biting into her soft, smooth skin.
Vladimir reflected on what a fortuitous gift that these mobile blood repositories were. After tonight he knew that nothing would remain the same, as long as Alexei didn't arrive and spoil things, that is.
He studied the unsuspecting humans, determining their fates and decided that he would distribute them to a few of his favorites.
The typical American family with the little one. He watched the husband fumble with opening a can. Yes, they should go to the Wainwrights. That would be fitting. Vladimir looked to Charles and Amanda and gave them the nod that the family was theirs.
The strong, capable man? Vladimir draped his arm around the Countess’ shoulders and whispered in her ear. She smiled as she looked over to Paul and licked her lips in anticipation.
The lesbian and the odd man were a matched pair and should be appreciated as such. Vladimir gave Helena and Kurt silent permission to pursue their needs with those two.
The troubled one and his girlfriend. These two would be shared among the rest of his people.
That left the attractive one; she would be for him alone. Vladimir had decided that the first time that he saw her, face pressed against the bus window, but she would not be a mere dining experience. No, the past night when he watched her sleep, he delved into her mind roaming at will. He learned that she was ready to make a radical change in her life which was the ideal ingredient for someone whom he could mold, to turn, to become a member of his immortal family. His gaze stayed on Steph. Ah, yes, my prize.