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“The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.”

General George Patton

                I can hear that there’s three of them before we get outside. Slate backpedals out the door, her two sticks already held ready. I stick my head out, knowing what I’m going to see. Three big guys. They look quick, athletic, strong, and very, very mean.

                And then I watch Slate completely take them apart.

                Slate slams her right baton into the Mr. One’s knee. She then catches Mr. Two in the stomach with her left baton. She kicks Mr. Three’s knee, then slams Mr. Two in the back of the head with her right baton. She comes around with her right baton to Mr. Three’s face, knocking him back, then continues to spin to catch Mr. One in the back of the head with her left baton.

                Spinning back from the three as they roll in pain, Slate looks back at me. “Think these guys are vampires?” She asks.

                I look at her to ask why. But before I can, she jams the broken end of her baton down into Mr. One’s back. He screams in pain, but she yanks the weapon free, her eyes turning to Mr. Three. He’s reaching inside his jacket. Slate rushes over to him, raining down furious blows on every joint she can find.

                I look across the hallway to see Mr. Two pulling out a gun. I throw myself across the hall, catching him in the side of the head with my elbow. The blow knocks both of us against the far wall. He grabs me around the neck with his meaty arm, but I twist myself around, throwing him off balance and slamming him into the wall of the hallway.

                As he lands, I turn back, grabbing up the gun. I aim it at him, my hands shaking. I look over at Slate, but she’s standing over Mr. Three, both her batons bloodied. She looks back at me, then motions with her head down the hallway. I look at Mr. Two and wink. “You can thank me later.” I say before dashing off after her.

                We burst down the hallway together, her carrying the broken pieces of a broom handle, while I’ve got the pistol. The white walls flash by us, but we ignore the doors. All too soon, we come to the t-intersection. In the cramped hall, we turn, trying to see which way is best. To our right are more doors that disappear into the distance. To our left, we see a door at the end of the hall.

                I look at Slate.

                She looks at me.

                We both dash towards the left.

                About halfway to the far door, one of the side doors opens. A man steps out, dressed in a red turtle neck sweater with thick glasses. He turns to us, but we run right past him. We make it to the door and Slate throws it open, while I sprint inside, my pistol waving towards anything that moves.

                The room full of blue-bloods.

                For a moment, nothing moves.

                The dilapidated room reeks of blood and rotting flesh while the collection of renaissance wannabes before us all stare, unmoving. Dressed in a mish-matched style of clothes that emulate the conflicting styles of the room, from ancient Japanese to neo-gothic, they all stare at us, unimpressed and unamused.

                I glance over at Slate, but she’s looking around the tall, two-story room. The stairwell off to the right that I once came down is clear, but there are three more doors. The pair of double doors off to my left are the familiar ones that Morcean led me through. But in the far corner is a steel door, while a pair of doors sits between the two collections of rich kids.

                “Out of the way.” Slate says, spinning her batons for emphasis.

                A thickly muscled Asian guy ignores her and looks back up to the girl who sits on the chair’s armrest. He grabs her leather collar and pulls her lips down to his. The others just turn from us, ignoring us. “What’s with these guys?” Slate whispers to me.

                “I have no idea.” I say. “Let’s just get out of here.”

                We both move around to the left side of the people, heading towards the doors that had been right before us. But as we close in on the single metal door, to opens.

                And I find myself standing face-to-face with Morcean.

                Before I can gasp, Morcean grabs my hand, twisting it back around beneath my shoulder, ending with my arm bent like a chicken wing behind my back, with Morcean aiming my gun through my spine. I shake from the pain as he threatens to break my arm without a second thought. He looks over my shoulder and glares at Slate. “Drop ‘em.” He says to her batons. “The gun will shoot through him and into you. Drop them.”

                Slate looks at me. I don’t know what she sees in my eyes, but she drops the batons. I feel some pressure release from my shoulder, but then everything goes black.

                When I wake up, there’s a ringing in my ears. My mouth tastes like pain as my eyes refuse to focus. I feel like the world is shaking violently.

                It takes me a moment to realize the difference between the ringing in my ears and the sound of the car. Once I connect the sound to the movement, I can tell I’m in the back of a jeep, lying down. I try to move, but I can feel my handcuffed wrists restraining me.

                My vision slowly returns and I look up at Slate. She’s staring out the back window of a large SUV, the night time world around us. I shift a bit and I’m able to look up through the seats. There’s two in front, and two men in the seat between the driver and us. I look back at Slate and she’s looking at me. I almost speak, but she shakes her head.

                The floorboard of the SUV is spotless, no stains or items. The off-tan color matches the leather of the seats past us. I hear a rumble suddenly and I can tell we’re no longer on pavement. I look up at her, but she tries to smile. I can see the defeat in her eyes.

                All big cities have parks and this one is no different. It’s a nice park, with large, thick trees. I can’t tell if it’s the same park from before, but since I can’t immediately see any sign of the city, I don’t know for certain.

                The doors of the SUV open up and the goons get out. I look at Slate but before I can say anything, the door pops open and the guys grab us by our legs and pull us roughly out. I barely land on my knees while the four identical-looking guys in black leather jackets and business ties stand around us.

                I see the other two SUVs, one group being lead by Morcean. He comes up to us and looks at Slate. “Do you know where we are?” He asks in his pillow-over-a-crowbar voice.

                Slate takes a second to answer. “We’re at the park on the southern side of town.”

                “That’s right.” Morcean says. He looks at me. “I ask this because I want you two to both rest assured that there is absolutely no way anyone is going to help you. No police.” He scoffs when he says that. “No resistance. Nothing. You are both very alone.”

                He looks to the two goons that flank me. “Get him up.” He says.

                The two guys grab me off my knees and stand me up. I look back at Slate, but Morcean points a gun between my eyes. “Walk.” He says. I look around at the small army of thugs with him, then move past the gun. I start towards the denser tree line. I have no idea where we’re going.

                “Do you see the clearing?” Morcean says, as if reading my mind. I look up through the trees and I can just barely make out a clearing in the distance. It looks big. If he hadn’t said it was a clearing, I would have thought it was the edge of the heavy forest that’s captured the world from us. “Make for that.”

                I walk for a long time, the clearing moving towards me. Every time I try to look back at Slate or the goons or Morcean, the man with the gun to my head hits me, pointing forward. Nothing is said as we march.

                We eventually reach the clearing. And for a brief moment, I forget about the gun to my head and the vampire who wants to kill me. And for a second, I marvel at the world that science has created. I would never guess that the place was a bio-dome. The sky is tall and huge, with stars twinkling out about it. There’s a light evening breeze that carries the scent of the summer-time city on its cusp, while the trees rustle as if singing a song.

                Undoubtedly, it’s a death dirge.

                Morcean marches me out to the middle of the clearing which looks like it’s half a mile to the nearest tree. And as I walk almost into the very center, he kicks my knee. I drop down to the ground, getting a face full of dirt for my trouble. He grabs the back of my collar and yanks me up to my knees.

                I hear the click of a gun’s hammer.

                I hear the ring as a bullet slides into the chamber.

                I feel the cold stench of an aimed gun.

                I feel the barrel staring down at the back of my head.

                I swallow hard.

    My eyes go wide as terror fills me.

    My body goes numb.

                “Sam Helms.” Morcean says, his voice carefully hiding something that sounds almost like delight. “You are about to die.”

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