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“Shut up and sit down, you big bald f@ck! I don’t like leaving my own country, Doug. And I especially don’t like leaving it for anything less than warm, sandy beaches and cocktails with little straw hats.”

                                Abraham ‘Avi’ Denovitz, Snatch

                “This keeps getting weirder and weirder.” I say.

                Standing before Slate and I is a trench coat-clad man, his black hair and pale skin standing out strongly against his black leather attire. Standing in a sandy construction site, we can make out the edge of the bio-dome just a few blocks from us.

                “You two are here against your will,” The man starts with carefully chosen and pronounced words uttered in a deep voice. “But not against your nature.”

                I glance over at Slate. Out of the corner of her eye, she glances at me. We’re both confused.

                “We, represent a different faction from Morcean.” He goes on. “And we want your help.”

                Slate almost snickers. “You have a very strange way about going about asking for it.”

                The man turns his attention to Slate, then to the two men that are holding her arms. He nods at them and they pull out a knife. I watch with baited breath until I see them cut the ropes that tied her hands behind her back.

                “We want information.” The man says. “Morcean and his group have taken control of much of the bio-dome, control that was reserved for the city council and the Ever-After Project heads.” He turned to me, his blue eyes chilling me. “We have reason to suspect that something may have . . . happened to the Ever-After Council.”

                “Look, cut the crap.” Slate says, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

                He turns slowly to her. “A map.” He says simply. “Or if no map can be provided, then details of the terrain beneath us, in the catacombs of the bio-domes. Perhaps even, a path that will lead to the outside world.”

                “These bio-domes are hundreds, maybe thousands of feet in the air.” Slate says. “They’re taller than any other man-made structure in the world. That means they must be pressurized. Which means you can not simply just open the front door and take a stroll around the block.”

                “Meaning you believe there to be no exit?” The man asks. Slate takes a breath, but says nothing. “Because it is quite improbable that there’s no way out. At all. What happens in six months when the term is up and we are all given the option to leave the bio-dome?”

                “Six months.” I say.

                The man, Slate, and the six goons all look at me. “Yes?” The man asks.

                I look at Slate, somewhat startled that they heard me. “You said the vampires have been in control for six months.”

                “They appeared about then.” Slate says.

                “So they appeared as soon as you arrived?” I ask. She stops and looks at the vampire. He’s looking at her with the same stare of confusion. I look at the others as they all struggle to remember. “Guys, something’s not right here.” I say. “There is time in this equation that isn’t being accounted for. When I was over in the other bio-dome . . .”

                “Ixnay on the other io-domebay.” Slate glares.

                But the man walks over to me, looking at me with renewed interest. “When we got reports that Morcean had found a survivor from one of the other bio-domes, we didn’t believe it.”

                “But over in the other bio-dome, things have only been going on for a few days.” I say, trying to keep my train of thought as I stand before the Matrix-wannabe. “At least it seemed that way.” I say. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s seriously messed up. Can any of you remember how long it’s been since you moved here? How long you’ve been living inside these bio-domes?”

                Slate stopped for a moment, but then shook her head. “I want to say six months, but . . . It has to have been longer.”

                “And this whole vampire, zombie thing started when the virus broke out over at the other bio-dome.” I say. “And only a few days have elapsed over there.” I start to say more, but then look at the two guys still holding my arms. “Could you, like, untie me or something? I can’t feel my fingers.”

                I stir the plate of beef and broccoli with my chopsticks, staring off into space. Sitting at the one large table in the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, the nine of us mutter away, being ignored by the staff as they wait for the dinner rush to begin.

                “Project 525 is a blood-based experiment.” I say, looking at the men. “They were doing work in Argent labs on a type B blood sample. But the sample got loose or something and it caused these mutations.” I explain. “Anyone with type B blood that gets infected becomes a zombie. Anyone with type AB blood that gets infected becomes a vampire.”

                The seven vampires all look at each other, none of them protesting. “But what strikes me as odd,” I say, with Slate herself listening intently. “Is if the virus is over here, how come there aren’t any zombies?” I look at the leader, the man in the trench coat. “It’s not possible that no one over here has type B blood, is it?”

                “I seriously doubt it.” The man says, but he doesn’t offer any reason for his reservation.

                “What about the time discrepancy?” Slate asks. “I mean, a few days over in bio-dome 4, six months in bio-dome 3?” She says, shaking her head as she takes a bit from her third plate of General Tso’s chicken. “And I can’t remember when we got here. I mean, how long it’s been.”

                “Where’s the Ever-After Project located?” I ask. “Are they in one of the other bio-domes?”

                “I think they’re located in Los Angeles.” Donovan pipes up. “We’ve never been able to figure out why we haven’t had any interaction with them.”

                “How much did you have before this all happened?” I ask. But no one answers.

                It looks about as nondescript as plain brick buildings can get. Nestled amidst warehouses, the three-story building is easily lost in the hubbub of the town. But the van pulls up and we all unload. As the vampires jump out of the van, I glance at Slate. She’s giving me a cautious look, but we follow them in through the sturdy metal door.

                Inside is a plain, unfinished dry-walled room. A doorway with no door opens up on each wall before us. The leader of the group leads us in silence through the opening in front of us and we find a long hallway with an antique set of stairs waiting. He turns on a knife’s edge at the stairs and starts up, his hands coasting along, but never touching the wooden banister.

                We’re taken up to the second floor, and led around the third-floor stairs, but taken to the far end of the dry-walled and concrete hallway. The leader takes out a key and opens up the metal door at the end. Slate and I look inside to see a modest room waiting.

                “We need to attend to some matters.” He says. “I assume you’d like to get some sleep. We’ll leave some food outside the door and meet you tomorrow morning.” He steps back from the doorway, letting us look inside.

                Slate walks into the room with the single window, glancing out at the cityscape that spreads out past us. She turns back, glancing at the two sleeping cots, then looks at the leader. She tries to smile. “This’ll be fine.”

                The man bows his head, then steps out, leaving us alone. As soon as the door shuts solidly, Slate moves around the sparse room, turning over the cots and the single table in the corner. “What are you doing?” I ask.

                “Looking for bugs.” She says, turning her attention to the two power plugs in the room. Empty of wiring, she tries her best to feel inside them. “I don’t trust these guys.” She says.

                “Well, duh.” I say, watching as she moves like a panther around the room. I listen at the door for a moment, but I don’t hear anything. “They’re either listening at the door or they left.” I step away from the door and look at her. “What do you want to do?”

                “Try the door.” She says, glancing at it. “See if we can get out?”

                I look at the door, then at her. “Why in the world wouldn’t we be able to?” I ask, just before I find the handle not turning. I try the knob repeatedly, but the thing won’t turn. “What the hell is this?!”

                “It’s called a trap.” Slate says simply. “However, since I can’t find any evidence of bugs, I think we can assume that they don’t know we’re onto them.”

                “So what do we do?” I ask. As I speak, Slate checks the window. She pushes on it, pushing up and out, but getting no movement. She bends down, looking at a small emblem. She throws up her hands. “Let me guess.” I say. “Bulletproof.”

                “Yep.” She says, crossing the room in a huff and sitting down. She feels the military-style cot, and looks up at me. “Well, only one thing we can do.” She says, untying her shoes. I have a burning urge to argue with her, but I look around the room again. I can’t think of an alternative either. Without saying anything else, I head over to the other cot.

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