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Episode 045 |
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“Television is the explanation for this. You see this in bad television. Little assault guys creeping through the vents, coming in through the ceiling; that James Bond sh!t never happens in real life, professionals don’t do that!” Agent Paul Smecker, Boondock Saints The alley is empty when Slate and I rush into it. I immediately turn back to the door, trying to find something to block it. But in the wide, truck-sized alley, there’s nothing convenient. “Come on!” Slate yells. Without hesitation, I turn and rush to follow her. Already, the sun is out of the sky. Up above on the artificial blue, I see clouds that aren’t real floating by. But that doesn’t calm me because the sound of the city is deafening. Echoing inside the concrete walls of the trash-filled alley, the city moans and calls, reaching out to us as we rush along the backs of the streets. Stoops and fire escapes line our world as we rush, fighting against our hunger and exhaustion towards the street that looms before us. From out of nowhere, a man the size of a gorilla rushes at Slate, tackling her around the waist. I watch as she goes back. But even as she falls, she’s in control. Somehow, she manages to force the guy to follow through with his own motion and sends him flipping over her, crashing onto his back past her. She leaps up to her feet just as four more guys flare in from the alley intersection. They move quickly into a circle, surrounding us. “I thought vampires couldn’t come out during the day,” I say to Slate as we move our backs to each other. I consider holding up my hands and giving up. I certainly don’t have the energy for a tussle with these guys, especially given how sharp they look. “That’s the classic type,” Slate says just before she lunges at one of the men. The vampire swings at her with a hard hook punch, barely missing as she ducks underneath it. Coming up behind him, she brings her shin in hard to catch him in the stomach before twisting her body back around to catch him in the back of the head with her left elbow. I’m distracted from watching her fight when one vampire grabs my collar. He yanks me towards him, but my shirt rips instead. I look down at it as does he, then I look back at him. But that’s when the other vampire grabs me around my arms. Squeezing me in the hard bear hug, my eyes nearly bulge out as he practically crashes me. I hear the impact before I feel it. I can tell Slate caught the guy in the back of the knee with a quick kick. His legs buckle and he falls to his knees, planting me on my feet. I fight against his maintained grip, only to get caught across the face by the other guy. My vision goes purple and brown. I hear my stomach growl yet again as if taunting me as to why this is happening. Just before I pass out, I make a solemn oath to myself that I’ll never skip a meal again. I wake up with the smell of Big Macs still on my mind. I look to see nice, light gray carpeting. My eyes take a second longer to focus and I see an army camouflaged leg cocked back. And then I see a boot tread coming at my face. I put it all together a minute after the pain registers. “You stupid, son of a…” Slate yells before one of the vampires in the back seat of the van grabs her and pulls her back from me. I’m forced to take another kick before they pull her up by the ropes that are holding her arms behind her back. “Geez,” says the guy sitting next to her. “Give the kid a break.” “A break!” she shouts. “I’ll give him a break,” she says, lunging back for me. Even with my hands tied, I manage to shove myself back against the closed door as her legs flare out in snake-like strikes meant for my head. “You’re useless, you stupid, dumb, fu…” “That’s enough!” comes a shout from the driver’s seat. “One more word out of her and I’m throwing her into the street.” “Shut up!” she yells at him. During all of this, I take note of the vampires. They’re all dressed in what looks like nice clothes. However, as I take a more careful look, I realize that all their leather jackets are imitation. In fact, most of their clothes seem to be imitation leather or some kind of knock-off brand. And as I look them all in the eyes, I see that they’re trying hard to be more than they’re not. “Who are you guys?” I ask, considering the sparse, poorly maintained van. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you’re not with Morcean.” For the first time since I’ve woken up, Slate looks at me, somewhat surprised. I look at her but try to look confident. Apparently, I come across as mocking. “I hate you,” she says, glaring at me. “Who are you guys?” I ask again. “How well versed are you in your history?” asks the guy sitting closest to me of the four in the back of the van. I shrug. “Through out history, whenever a new weapon or tactic is discovered, everybody rushes to develop it and to implement it.” He motions to the six nearly-identical men in the van. “We’re part of the runners up.” “What?” Slate ridicules, held down by the two guys on the only seat in the back. “They’re an opposing group, against Morcean,” I say, stunning Slate and getting a nod from the goon next to me. I turn to him. “Why did you guys kidnap us? If you had asked, we might have come voluntarily.” “No we wouldn’t have,” Slate says loathsomely. “No,” I state directly to her, staring at her. “You wouldn’t have.” I emphasize the singularity of it, making her turn away. I look back at the guy. “My name’s Sam.” “Donovan Castagear,” the guy says. “The reason we kidnapped you will become very clear once we get to where we’re going.” “And that is?” I ask. Donovan smiles and looks at Slate. “You know, you’re a pretty legendary figure,” he says to her as she gives him a snide look. “You are the only person to escape the bio-dome. You’re also the only person to come back. Just about everyone I know, if they could get out, wouldn’t come back.” Slate smiles at him. “Believe it or not, there are worse things than you guys.” “So I’ve heard,” Donovan says, looking at the other three guys in the back with him, all of them sharing disbelieving smiles. “I’ve heard a lot of talk about zombies and demons and stuff.” They all kind of chuckle. “Some of it’s more true than others,” I say, getting the guys to look at me. They each turn to me with smiles but as they stare into my eyes, I try to let them know I’m not kidding. “Zombies?” the guy on Slate’s right says to me, disbelief still strong in his voice. I nod. “Demons?” he asks. “The vote’s still out,” I say, glancing at Slate. But even as I dance around the thought of him, the image of that giant guy appears in my head. Everything about him, from the way he walks and his long coat sways around his legs, to the look in his eyes as he stares out from underneath that hat. Everything about him chills me. “Well, good thing we’ve got silver bullets and crosses,” laughs the other vampire on the floor with me and Donovan. “You guys are laughing about that, saying it’s the same as Bigfoot, but you fully accept the fact that you’re vampires,” Slate curses. “Guys, we’re not vampires,” Donovan answers. “We’re humans. Same as you guys. We just happen to have contracted a virus. A variant of hemoparalysis or something. We’re not count Dracula or anything like that.” “You nearly crushed me when you grabbed me around the arms,” I say, looking at him. “Do you really think all you’ve got is a disease?” “Of course,” Donovan dismisses. “If you ask me, this whole thing has been cooked up by the Ever-After Project. They’re probably filming some type of reality TV show. The biggest one ever. Trying to see how quickly a city can fall apart. You know, ‘what happens when vampires are introduced to the human population’, all before the watching audience.” “A reality TV show?” Slate asks. She rolls her eyes and sits back. “You guys are messed up.” “Maybe,” Donovan says with a willingness to accept that I find uncomfortable. “But we’re also here,” he says as the van begins to slow. Before I can say anything, the door behind me opens up and I’m yanked out to the ground. I find my feet planted on a soft grass, not unlike the city park from before. But something about the bittersweet wind that comes up behind me makes me feel uneasy. Slate is deposited next to me and we’re both turned around. Standing in a wide, undeveloped field is a man in a black trench coat, his head shaved all except for a strange design done in his hair. Looking like a cheap knock-off of Morpheus from the Matrix, he starts towards us, his trench coat doing a good job of hiding the sword he’s carrying. “Hello,”
he says in a deep voice, walking towards us. “My name,” he says with pronounced
words, coming to stand almost a foot above us, “is NOT Morcean.” |
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