Vampyros

 

I walked through the Vermont countryside and happened upon a deserted fire station. A door hung loose from its hinges, so I stepped inside. Something wasn't right, the air was fetid, cold and dead. An antique fire engine sat idle on the dilapidated apparatus floor, decades old turnout gear sitting at the ready next to it, rotting where the long dead firefighters must have left them. I pushed through the cobwebs and found a lantern, struck a match and lit it. As the sun began it's daily retreat, noises from below filled the cavernous space, and the need to get back into the waning sunshine overwhelmed me. As I hastily made my way back outside I stumbled upon a centuries old desk, and on that desk was a tattered wooden box, and inside that box page upon page of written words. Here are the first of those, as I transcribe them:

 

Vampyros

by Scott Bon Halen

 

I Vampyros

 

The tones bring me to life, bright light illuminating my space, blinding, painful, but not as deadly as the sun. My shift began at sunset, I've had many years to gather willing substitutes for the daylight hours. The world waits, vibrant, alive, pulsing with energy. Some poor soul called 911 at feeding time, and I shall respond.

Angus waits on the apparatus floor, the motor of the Cadillac Ambulance purring. A step on the gas and we are in motion, flying through the deserted mountain streets toward the southern part of The City of Hendrix, the wind cries as we speed toward the nightclub district.

"Have you eaten?" I ask my charge. He nods his head, and we say no more.

A young girl has drank too much at the dance club, her friends have deserted her, she lies against the wall of the club where she had her last drink, vomit staining her dress that is little more than a cleverly designed handkerchief. A police officer stands nearby, and walks away as we approach, slapping his nightstick repeatedly into his palm. A steady rhythm from inside the club fills the cool night air as we descend upon her, trancelike, rhythmatic and electrifying.

"Pretty little thing."

"She has no identification," says Angus as we lift her onto the stretcher and into the rig.

"Too bad for her."

Angus leaves me as we drive toward the hospital. I fish an eighteen guage catheter from the compartment, tie a tourniquet around her arm, tap her hand gently, disinfect the spot I've found with an alcohol swap and sink the needle home. Blood fills the reservoir, beautiful, young blood, a crimson delight. I attach the tubing to the end of the needle and watch as her essence fills the plastic, rushing toward the open end. I close my lips around it, shut my eyes, and drink.

It is intoxicating. Her blood alcohol must be in the high two-hundreds. The mix drives me mad, the compulsion to drain her completely nearly overwhelming, but I know when to stop, and do so, as her blood pressure nearly bottoms out. I take the tubing from my mouth, toss it aside, and attach the IV fluid to the end of the needle and start the flow.

The hospital is busy, we bring her in and place her among the living dead who inhabit these halls, some old and diseased, some with holes from bullets and knives, others simply intoxicated, and low on blood.

I see my old friend Richard across the hall and give him a knowing nod, his flushed face mirroring my own, his hunger also satisfied for the moment, his victim covered with a sheet in one of the trauma rooms.

"Did he have a chance," i ask him as comes close.

"Yes, but I was starved."

"Be careful," I tell him, but he knows. We and the others have fed from our patients for centuries.

"There's a call on the highway for a motorcycle accident," says Angus. "Shall we?"

"We shall," I respond. "Dessert is served."

 

II Robert

 

"Angus! Make haste, I feel the victim is one of my brethren!"

Five hundred horsepower roared through the Cadillac, I felt the engine's power course through my being, entwined; modern science and ancient magic. The two could easily be confused by the uninitiated, try and explain the workings of an eight cylinder engine to a fifteenth century farmer without magic being considered.

The hour grew late, the later it became, the earlier it got. One such as I must be ever watchful of the fleeting hours of darkness.

The roadway was clear, the evening quiet as we roared toward the motorcycle accident. A bend in the road, some taillights, a few bystanders and we were upon it. The highway patrol had yet to arrive on scene. The smoking ruins of what once was a Classic Panhead lie in a ditch that lined the road, its rider some fifty feet away. People stood close, one brave soul knelt next to the body.

"I think he's gone, he's not bleeding, and I can't feel a pulse."

"Thank you sir, we'll take it from here," I said to the gentleman who had stopped to render assistance. Angus had retrieved the stretcher from the rear compartment and rolled it next to the victim. I touched his face, his eyes immediately opened, and a fanged smile crossed his lips.

"Robert."

"Malcolm."

"You look well, all things considered."

"The moose took the worst of it," he smiled.

"He must have lumbered off to the woods to lick his wounds. You must be careful, these roads are treacherous."

"The most treacherous thing on these roads tonight is a vampire on the way to a fire! Get me out of here, I need to get to the Outpost, the boys await!"

We lifted our patient onto the stretcher and rolled him past the growing spectators. Once in the privacy of the ambulance, Robert dusted himself off.

"The tones went off twenty minutes ago, a vacation home in Essex burns, there may be blood left in the victims."

Angus had the vehicle rolling through the hills toward The Outpost. The stars at this time of the moonless night reached out to us as we traveled the lonely road, giving the appearance of space travel. I once drank the blood of a boy on acid, and the trails were similar. I enjoyed the flashback as we sped through the night.

Nestled amongst the hills was our destination, a timeless structure, made of stone, with two overhead doors newly added. The Outpost had been in this spot for centuries, taking many forms since it's first incantation as an alter for the animal sacrifices done by the natives to appease their gods. The latest incantation, Outpost 42 had been in existence for little over five decades, but time moves slowly here, and things are not as they seem.

"Thank you, Malcolm, Angus, see you at the big one!" Robert exclaimed. The overhead doors crept open, and the old engine roared to life. The Vampyros had awakened! The engine flew out of the station door, flames trailing, leaving a smokey trail that slowly vanished into the atmosphere. They would be first in, they always were, and be gone before real help arrived. Malcolm's crash just made things interesting, and the Vampyro's loved a challenge.

 

III The Outpost

 

"He's dangerous."

"Robert?"

"Yes, Robert is dangerous, we all are. But Sid."

"Sid is not well."

"Have you known him long?"

"Centuries."

The night grew short, only an hour before the sun rose, and my waking hours ended. I long for the days when a sunrise would not be the end of me, a finite life preferable to this-dying every day at sunrise.

"He is going to be a problem."

"He already is."

Sid the Vampire showed up in Vermont thirteen months ago, taking over the struggling volunteer Fire Department of Essex. The members that hung on did so out of fear, the ones that opposed the takeover slowly disappeared. Some, fascinated and entranced by the charismatic new, self appointed Chief served him and his minions, keeping the Outpost safe for the nest of us who found refuge in the deep underground lair that lay hidden under the apparatus floor.

"I don't mind drinking the blood of our victims," said Angus. "And now and then if one dies that should have lived, well, that is unfortunate, but preferable to the slaughter that preceded our New Order."

"Things have become less bloody," I agreed. "But I must admit, Sid has brought some fun back into being a vampire. And, the seemingly inexhaustible piles of money he spends on the department haven't hurt the townspeople."

"He kills the townspeople!"

"Not all of them."

"Malcolm, you are truly mad. Sid will be our undoing. He is too reckless, too engrossed in his own grandiosity to see the big picture. You would be wise to oppose him, before it is too late."

"I do not wish to lead, my young friend, just eat."

The overhead doors at The Outpost closed, and the ambulance was swallowed into the dark, cavernous inside of the station. The Vampyros were still out, feeding on the victims of the latest fire, no doubt, concealing their ancient bodies among the smoke and ashes, working along side the mortal firefighters, but unseen by them as they danced through the smoke and flames, feeding.

Tim and Billy waited, ready to take control of the rescue. The form of the old ambulance shifted when Angus and I left and the gray traces of dawn tinged the eastern sky, and handed over control for the day shift, transforming into the Ford F-450 the townspeople had purchased with their fire taxes. They captured a glimpse of the Cadillac from time to time, but it was the last thing they ever saw, before eternal darkness.

IV The Dance

Tonight, I wake without the tones. It is a bitter awakening, opening my eyes and knowing quite certainly that I am dead. The hunger is constant, the daily need to feed the only reason to continue this existence. That, and I kind of like it, once I make my daily peace with my being. A vampire can only tolerate a few moments of self loathing a day, before nature takes over, and our egos dominate. 

My hole is just that, a hole, at the end of a narrow passageway, some half mile long, one of scores that web through the underground of The Outpost. I do not think of those who used these catacombs before me, I am all that matters, the others dust, or apparitions in somebody else's nightmare.

I'm cold. I'm always cold, except for the moments of ecstasy when fresh blood enters my withering veins. It matters little whose blood, or the age of the victim when it comes to sustaining what I refer to as life, but now and then a vampire needs a little change of landscape, if you will. Tonight, I hunger for Scotch, a single malt preferably, but a nice blend will do. Considering I no longer drink, I need to find an inebriated person who has tipped a few too many.

Crawling from the dirt, shaking myself off and moving into the corridor where I can stand things come into focus. I find my way through the maze, and come upon the main artery. A wrought iron gate waits at the far end, I make my way toward it. Angus joins me, shaking dust from his uniform.

"Tonight, we prowl, my young friend! The waterfront awaits!"

"You truly shouldn't drink," says Angus. "It makes you crazy."

"I like being crazy. It keeps me young!"

As we approach, the gate opens, it's hinges creaking, squeaking and crying. We step through into a box car elevator, and Angus grasps the ropes that are attached to pulleys, and raises us fifty feet to the sleeping quarters.

My room is empty, as it should be. The day shift has cleaned my uniform, it hangs in my closet, freshly pressed and smelling faintly of starch. Excellent job, I must tell Tim. The shower room is just outside the door, I strip yesterdays' clothes from my dead body and deposit them into a hamper, where they will sit until tomorrow.

Showers are fabulous things, and I love the feeling of scalding water as it runs through my hair and down my body. Soap isn't too bad either, I lather up, and prepare for tonight's festivities. It does not take long.

"Rescue 1, respond to Route 66 for a motor vehicle accident, possible tipover."

The apparatus floor is deserted. Engine 13 sits quietly next to the Ford, which flickers, fades and rematerializes into the Cadillac. Angus joins me, taking the driver's seat as always, the overhead doors rise and the night is ours.

Highway 66 runs east, twisting  through our little town, many turns and hills, treacherous to navigate, but quite fun as well. Angus takes the road as if it were alive, and in need of taming. The Caddy roars, tires squeal, skid, fishtail and straiten. I roll down the windows, and let the Federal siren mix with the Stones, Sympathy for the Devil as we speed through the misty mountain toward our victims.

"There, up ahead," says Angus, and slows us down. We approach the scene slowly, creeping forward until we stop just behind a disabled Tahoe, with a U-Haul trailer attached. The trailer appears damaged, a man in his forties is crouched next to it, inspecting the rear axle. A teenaged girl looks bored, and stands on the side of the road, twirling her long, blonde hair. She perks up when Angus approaches, and looks away when I draw near. Angus approaches the girl, I approach the man.

"Good evening, sir, what seems to be the trouble this fine night."

"Looks like a broken axle. I called Triple A, they should be along soon."

"We had a report of a motor vehicle accident on this very road," i say, masking my disappointment. There will be no meal here, lest I take some unnecessary risks. The hunger must wait to be abated, but the lake is closer now, i can smell the festivities, miles away.

"My apologies," says the man. "Some cell phone ranger slowed to a crawl when he saw us on the side of the road, he must have called 911,"

"His mistake. What brings you to Essex?" I ask, noticing the New York plates on the Tahoe and the IAFF sticker adhered to the rear window.

"Starting over. Leaving the city, getting back to my roots."

"Are you a firefighter, sir?"

"FDNY, twenty-eight years. Called it quits last week. I might be interested in joining your ranks if you'll have me."

Great. Just when things were going so well.

"You would have to meet with Sid."

"Sid?"

"Yes, Sid. He's the Chief of the Department now, a little over a year now."

"What happened to Charlie?"

"Old Charlie? He's around, gone senile. Tells crazy stories, stuck in the old days. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

I looked for Angus, and found where I expected, as close to the girl as he could get. The Triple A van appeared on the horizon, and quickly closed the gap between us and him. We bade the newcomers farewell, and retreated to the Cadillac.

"To the Lake, Angus, and forget about the girl, she's a baby."

"I was a baby when I died, then, Malcolm."

"Forever enshrined in a twenty year old body. It must be torture, all that testosterone clouding four hundred years of undead living."

"Four-hundred and twenty-three to be exact."

"Ah, to be young again, but enough of that, it's time to feed!"

We left them, unscathed by their first encounter with The Outpost. I knew then and there it would not be their last.

 

V  Echo Lake

 

Nestled among pines, maples and giant oaks, Echo lake draws an eclectic crowd of summer tourists and residents. They come for the cool nights, warm days and relaxing ambiance. And to drink their asses off. Million dollar homes line the shore, modest cabins fill the lots behind the mansions, most empty by fall's end, and inhabited by a few hearty hunters, snowmobilers and skiers for the bitter winter months. The though of the oncoming winter makes me shudder, not because of the cold, rather the drought. It's slim pickings from November thru March, a self respecting Vampire need to travel to feed, lest he run out of food, or be run out by his food supply. Once the herd thins, people grow suspicious, and good ole Malcolm cannot afford prying eyes, I'm having way too much fun in the town of Essex, County Hendrix, State of Vermont.

"Go to our spot, Angus, and we'll listen."

Angus steers the Caddy onto Abbey Road, which runs parallel to the lake's shoreline. We travel through Echo Falls, a dainty little village near the Southern tip of the lake which is home to antique shops, a few restaurants, most notably Alice's, a fine bait and tackle store for those who cannot simply will the fish out of the water and must use primitive rod and reel, a bakery and the all important Beer Store. They sell other things at the Beer Store, and it actually has a name, but nobody knows it, not even the owners, who simply refer to it as The Beer Store.

We find our spot, pull in, turn off the motor, roll down the windows and listen. A loon cries, his lonely call answered by a chorus of crickets, some croaking frogs and a few muffled human voices. We tune out nature and tune in mankind. Angus's frequency is tuned differently from mine, as are all vampires, we hear different things, and voices. I cannot hear what he hears, nor he I.

I close my eyes, open my mind, think of a single malt scotch and listen. It does not take long. West, one and a third miles as the crow flies. A man slurs his words, a woman cries. She is in pain, I feel her misery, and it seeps into my subconscious. He is full of drunken grandiosity. I focus, and hear them.

"I bought you this fucking house so I could get laid more than once a year! What the fuck is the matter with you,!

"You bring your little girlfriends here."

"Ah, bullshit, that's over, what the fuck, can't a guy get a fucking break!"

"Please, Tony you're drunk, just go away."

"I don't think so. Come here, whether you want it or not, I deserve a piece of ass!"

I felt her desperation, her nausea as he approached. I saw her eyes close in my mind, felt the revulsion when he touched her, her surrender, both of spirit and will filled my consciousness and made me weep for those who had no escape.

"Angus, happy hunting, I need a drink." With that, I opened the Cadillac's giant side window, and flew away, West. In seconds I'm in their bedroom, seconds later Tony is on his knees, begging forgiveness and not knowing why. He has no idea that his blood was drained to the point of unconsciousness, and he is now too weak to defend himself. All he remembers is a feeling of helplessness that lasted only a second, but rocked his foundation to the core. Having your blood drained while a supernatural being fills your subconscious with images from  centuries of torture for acts of aggression, rape and dominance has a way of humbling a man, and I get great delight at the sight of a once powerful asshole who's world has been shattered without ever knowing why.

Sometimes the change is lasting, sometimes not. Sometimes I tune to their frequency, and know I've tasted them and shared their thought, dreams and nightmares, and I've filled them with a few of my own. Sometimes they understand the chance that has been given them. Sometimes not. Those are the feasts I truly enjoy, when my bloodthirsty nature is allowed to run amok among lesser humans, and tear their flesh from their bones, and rip out their eyes while they still can feel, and know they will see no more, and rip off their testicles and stuff them into their mouth, and let them choke on their own skin.

However, tonight, my veins are full of Glenlevit! A single malt, just as I had suspected. Thank you, Tony, I hope we do not meet again. Well, that is not entirely true, hehe! God I love alcohol. This is the greatest thing man has ever thought of. Flying is a little tricky, ouch, who put that branch there, but so much fun! I want to dance. I need to dance! Who will dance with me? Anybody? Anybody at all? Surely somebody will dance…

 

 

 

 

Part VI Not in Your Hands

 

"Malcolm. Malcolm! MALCOLM! Wake up!"

My quest for a dance must have ended badly, I sat in the Caddy, alone, my head pounding. Peanut M&M's littered the front of my uniform, chewed and spit out, melting on my shirt, not in my hands. When I drink I like little more than those little pebbles of delight, and can never get enough. Too bad whenever I try to swallow them they make it only as far as my throat, and spill from my mouth. In my lucid state I don't even try to enjoy them, but after a few drops of alcohol laced blood, I like to push the limits.

"I hear you you fiend, why are you torturing me?"

"We've got trouble. Big trouble."

"Run out of college cuties to seduce?"

"No, not that. Sid."

"What has he gotten himself into now?

Our time grew short, the joyous cacophony from the tree's inhabitants had overtaken the cricket's racket, their bird song one of my favorite things. In life I would spend every morning relishing the rising sun with Chickadees, Titmice, Robins and Jays keeping me company. Now, they sing my lullaby. Their chatter as the dawn progresses toward sunrise fills my aching heart with remembered joy, and profound sadness. Dying every morning takes some time to get used to.

"Do you recall the fire in town last night?"

"Vaguely."

"I spent most of the night while you were flying around the mountain with the Russians. They fed me, and told me the latest news.Three died in the flames. A forth is missing. A girl, barely eighteen. Her body was not recovered from the ashes, a massive manhunt is underway."

"Wouldn't that be a girl hunt?" I asked.

"A human hunt, it makes no difference. The girl is Charlie's granddaughter."

"The Chief?"

"Himself."

"Shit. Beautiful girl. I remember her from the time before Sid, when Charlie would take her to the Outpost, and she would sit in the Engine for hours, daydreaming, waiting for her chance to fill her daddy's boots."

"I'm afraid Sid has taken her, and plans on turning her."

"He wouldn't dare!"

"He killed Nancy."

"She would have been a lousy Vampire anyway. Junkies are never satisfied, all they want is more. More blood, more opiates, more of everything."

"Fucking Sid."

"He is vicious."

The lingering aftereffects of Tony's scotch fueled blood clouded my thinking, but not enough for me to not worry about the ramifications of Sid's latest foray into the obscene. His much publicized last act of stupidity at the Chelsea Hotel, where he stabbed a loyal follower to death in a drug and alcohol fueled rage was nearly his undoing. The girl, Nancy had been seduced by the bloodthirsty vampire Sid, and dreamed of the day when Sid would make her one of us. She never had a chance, just a plaything while Sid acted out his latest whim, big bad Rock Star. After the murder, and before he could be incarcerated, he developed an elaborate ruse to shed his celebrity, and injected a fan with an uncanny resemblance to him with enough heroin to kill a horse, and spent the next two decades in hiding, roaming the Middle East acting like a terrorist. His charismatic influence and hypnotic powers gathered him quite a following, and the trail of bloodshed led the authorities to his cave. He escaped exposure that time by sending another devoted fan into a crowded market, strapped with explosives, screaming Allah Akbar and blowing "himself" to bits.

"Time is short, Angus. Take us home. We need to rest, and think, and put an end to this before it gets out of hand. Drive, and tell me about the Russians, I need to live my life vicariously through you."

Angus managed to develop a relationship with seven Russian girls who spend their summers as housekeepers at the Echo Lake hotel. As part of their employment package the girls are given room and board, two to a cabin with one cabin holding three. They know of our nature, and are willing to offer themselves both as food and companionship to my young partner, and have occasionally shared their blood with me. Blood, and no more. Svetlana, the most beautiful of the seven, and most fluent in English told me one night, as I attempted every trick of seduction garnered from centuries of such encounters that she was into "older" men, not "old" men.

I suppose my forty-nine years of life before being turned is a consolation, but still, a vampire has his pride, and not a small dose of vanity.

"They will leave soon, the summer's end draws near," said Angus.

"That it does, my young friend. And if Sid is up to what we think, our time in Essex could end as well."

Engine 13 was sitting quietly in the bay when we returned to The Outpost, and an eerie silence filled the apparatus floor as we backed the rig into its spot, where it would wait for Billy and Tim to come in at sunrise. The ambulance was staffed twenty four hours a day, the fire engine manned by volunteers who would answer a page when an emergency presented itself, drop what they were doing and converge upon the station. At night, nobody answered the page, knowing full well that the volunteers of darkness beat them to the truck every time. The people of Essex, happy to have what they thought was a dedicated group of firefighters with a dynamic leader who provided them with vehicles and equipment, paid for, they were told, by a trust fund bequeathed to Sid, seldom visited at night. Tim and Billy functioned well as ambassadors for us, and kept the wolves at bay.

Sid may be a loose cannon, but he is a master at covering his tracks-until boredom sets in. Then, all hell breaks loose.

"This could be the beginning of the end, Angus. If Sid has the Chief's granddaughter hidden here, against her will, it is only a matter of time until we are discovered."

"I'm tired of running, Malcolm. This is the perfect place for us. Plenty to eat, a safe place to rest, and we do look splendid in these uniforms. Whatever posessed you to summon Sid here?"

"I wanted a new truck. I have no intentions of starting over, Angus. I shall confront Sid at sunset tomorrow, and put this fire out before it has a chance to consume us all."

The night gave way to morning as we descended underground. I crawled into my hole, exhausted by drink, flying and worry.

 

VII Zimba

 

Dusk approached, I felt it in my aching bones and depleted veins. I often wonder had I been turned in my twenties if my eternal aches and pains would be less disturbing. I've asked Angus, but what does he know, he hasn't been forty-nine for centuries, never felt the same creaks and groans as he lifts himself from his grave each day.

Sid needs a talking to. This, I do not look forward to. I question my wisdom bringing him to Essex every night, wondering just what I had been thinking. He's a strange being, is Sid, and not to be taken lightly. He is sixth generation, and thus holds power over me, not invincible by any means, but he certainly holds an advantage.

 

He came to me in over eight hundred years ago, sitting by a fire, watching as I woke up dead for the first time. All I could do was not enough, and I had perished trying to defend my family, my village, my friends. The Nomads had attacked at sunset, and we fought valiantly, but one-hundred and fifty determined farmers were no match for the force of five hundred that destroyed everything I had worked for, and loved.

Emma. Gone. Sadie and Luke, ashes. The animals. Scattered, I hope, all but for Zimba, my faithful companion, whose ferocious stand  as the forces gathered around us, hacking, slashing and killing will be remembered for as long as my tired body remains able to stand, or sit, or lie on my back and tell his tale.

"Who. Are. You?" I asked the thin man with spiked hair who watched over me as the fires from my home still burned. The smell of burning flesh mixed with wood and straw turned my stomach, the smoke burning my eyes, giving the man an underwater appearance. He stood, and approached. He wore a tunic, dyed purple, something I had only seen on The King as he rode past our village one summer's day when I was a boy, tied at the waist with a fine leather cord, braided and dyed black with a buckle made of gold keeping it close. Hunting boots covered his legs to the thigh. He moved fast, impossibly fast, and was at arms length before I had blinked the tears from my eyes.

"I. Am. Sid."

And so he was.

"You and I share the same blood, my friend. You are one of us. Forget everything you once knew." He passed a hand across the remains of my home, the only place I had ever known, and dismissed it.

"This life is over."

I struggled, and attacked. He knocked me over with a half hearted blow, nearly knocking me unconscious.

"That, is enough of that."

And that was that. We drank, first his blood through a slice on his wrist, then mine, exchanging the blood that would bond us, but not satisfy our hunger.

"Can we take Zimba?"

"That is gross. You feed him if you must."

And I did.

For years we roamed the countryside, picking off the plunderer's who had destroyed my former life. We woke at dusk and hunted. I learned how to kill a man, and enjoy doing so. In time every member of the band of criminals paid the price for his deeds. Sid was an excellent teacher, his ruthlessness unmatched by any barbarian with a mortal soul, even if that soul had been tarnished and blackened by a life of murder and rape.

Eventually, vengeance was mine, and there were no more murderers to kill. I became the murderer, but chose my victims wisely, killing only those I felt the world would be a better place without.

 

The day shift had left the station to us, immaculate, all things in good repair. The F-450 sat in its spot, waiting for the tones to go. Sid had awakened, I felt it through the bond we shared. I still had not found his lair, the tunnels that filled the space below the outpost too vast to explore in the many years I have spent here. Plus, I had better things to do with my time than spelunking. This abominable hunger must be quenched nightly, or my nasty nocternalness takes over and innocent people die. Perhaps I can talk Angus into visiting the Russians tonight. I need the taste of some young innocent blood, and soon. Drinking from lecherous wife beaters, intoxicated bar whores and junkies feeds the hunger but leaves one's soul in need of refreshment.

The Outpost is manned twenty-four hours a day by the ambulance crew, the Fire Company works on a call system, with the chief available at all times and paid a modest salary. Sid, being the chief appointed an underling, Davey Ray to administer his doings during the daylight hours. Davey is an odd duck, loves the fire service so much he wishes to do it forever. Sid has promised him as much. Whether he delivers on that promise remains to be seen, we are rather selective when choosing who will be allowed to join our ranks. Many have tasted our immortality, and been visited in waking nightmares by those who share our bond. Few are taken to the next step, and beyond. That Sid chose to turn me when he did was not chance, there is something in our blood that emanates through our actions and spirit that others of like mind and body can sense. Sid had been nearby when my village was attacked, and as my blood poured from my veins sensed a kindred soul, and appeared, too late to save my family, not to late to sentence me to an eternity of grief.

Davey does not posses the attributes needed for an eternity of existence. But he is a pretty good Assistant Chief.

"Where is Sid?" I asked Davey. His chubby face drained of color when he heard, then saw me. I have that effect on people, must be my charming nature. Maybe my fangs.

"He's busy tonight, not to be disturbed."

"Get him."

If it were possible to turn from white to more white, Davey did so. He was not accustomed to me giving orders, I seldom did, but when needed I managed to be a little intimidating. He fidgeted with his keys, glanced at the door, decided against making a run for it and stood silently like a statue.

Lucky for Old Davey the tones went off just as I was about to get my way.

"Rescue 1  we have a report of a man down at the Crossroads Campground, possible diabetic needing assistance."

"We'll talk later, Davey. Go home."

Before I could sit in the Ford, Angus appeared, fresh as ever. As the overhead doors opened into the brisk mountain air, the transformation began, by the time the door was completely open, The Cadillac was back, and we left The Outpost behind.

 

VIII The Axe

 

"Something is wrong," said Angus as the Cadillac slowed to a crawl in front of 323 Desperation Boulevard.

"This is the Chief's house, I think," I mentioned. I like to get out of the ambulance as it still creeps forward, it looks cool to anybody who happens to be watching, as if the person responding to the emergency actually is in an emergency responder state of mind. I used to jump from my horse before he stopped as well, and at one time, long long ago would vault from my chariot before the race was through, claiming victory before the dust had settled.

"Charlie?"

"The only Chief I know of who lives on this street, " I answered. Angus gathered the med bag, I picked up the monitor and we made haste toward the dimly lit side door. The front door was ominously dark.

"Is that the vehicle that towed the U-Haul trailer over there?" I asked my friend as we approached, pointing toward the long winding driveway that led to a nicely maintained three bay garage. Charlie had a fondness for anything fire department related, his nostalgic blood filled with desire to transform old, rusty relics into living history.

"Angus's sharp eyes focused on the Tahoe with the New York Plates. "It is indeed," he grinned. "Perhaps Crissy is inside!"

"You know her name?"

"I've got her number. She texted me last night."

"Texted you? How quaint."

Suddenly, the illumination on the side of the house ceased to exist, and Angus and I stood outside in complete darkness on a moonless night it the mountains of Vermont.

"Scared of the dark?"

"The dark is scared of me."

Inside the home of Charlie, once chief of The Essex Volunteer Fire Department a great disturbance was heard. With Angus hot on my tail, I charged through the door and into bedlam. Charlie lay on the kitchen floor, unconscious, blood flowing freely from a severed finger on his left hand. A small dinette table lay on it's side, the two chairs crushed, the spindly legs broken, the chair rails held together by Indonesian glue, the seats shattered. Angus charged past me, and into a fracas in the room next to the kitchen. Blinding light filled my head, and intense pain shook me to my very core. I found the source of the pain, a table leg protruding from my abdomen, it's splintered end covered with the blood of my previous night's victim.

"So, it ends," I thought, and not for the first time, as a shadowy figure entered my line of view. A woman, or what once was a woman, wielding a different chair leg, itself also splintered, and aimed for my heart. My reflexes slowed by the already healing wound in my belly, my vision diminished by lack of fresh blood and my desire to continue this tortured existence contributed to my total lack of concern about my demise, except for a tinge of sadness, knowing that I would not be present for whatever the future had in store for my kind. I closed my eyes and waited.

The woman shrieked instead. I opened my eyes and beheld her once lascivious face now two halves, and a firefighters axe neatly positioned between those two halves. At the handle was none other than the FDNY firefighter whose truck had broken down last night.

"Fancy meeting you here," I said, and grinned, and allowed myself the luxury of feeling. I felt alive once again, deadly alive, and took the shattered table leg from her grasp, and just as her healing powers began to repair her face drove the stake through her heart. She had the audacity to look surprised, and not a little pissed, and formed her mouth into the beginning of a scream that never emanated from her disintegrating vocal chords, and she faded from our view, her shock evident on her, well-faces, then was no more than a pile af ash on the old  chief's kitchen floor.

"Thank you, sir," I said to the firefighter, who held the bloody axe in his hands, and looked as though he had seen a ghost. God, I love that look. I laughed heartily and sought my charge who may be in the middle of a death struggle.

He, or rather, the vampire that had attacked Crissy was. Blood ran in rivers down the front of his turnout gear, an astonished look filled his face as he saw the kitchen chair leg protruding from his chest.

"Sid will be pissed," he snarled, and said no more, but sank to the floor, and vanished, dust in the wind that appears every time a dead soul is sent to rest.

"Angus, do you have the glucometer?"

"I do."

"Excellent. We have work to do!"

"The last crew cut off his finger when a simple pinprick would do," said Angus as he checked Charlie's blood glucose level and I prepared the IV and D-50.

Crissy and her dad stood to the side, in the little kitchen of the former chief's house, held each other, and watched us work.

 

IX RUN!

 

"Blood Glucose 25, I'll get the D-50," said Angus as I started an IV in Chief Charlie's left arm, the one that still had all its fingers. I was aware of the FDNY firefighter and his daughter, they were just within reach of my peripheral vision, and stood silently and still and watched us work. I felt the firefighter's confusion, which might be mistaken for anger by a less experienced Vampire-paramedic, but his feelings were  crystal clear to me. He was confused, and appeared angry but was more afraid than mad. Confusion and fear masks itself as anger, especially within men of a certain age who are used to being in control. He was afraid, having just witnessed a violent fight to the death among creatures that he hitherto had no idea existed. He watched. We worked. Crissy let him protect her, and I felt a little happiness seep into his consciousness.

Angus had prepared the medication that would bring Charlie back among the living. Living. Ha!

"He's going to be back among the living any second," I smirked toward Angus, who shook his head and pushed the drug. Sometimes he just doesn't get me.

The vial was emptied into Charlie's veins and it wasn't long before life flowed through them once more. I once sucked the blood of a diabetic who had just had in infusion of D-50. The blood tasted great, a little too sweet but pleasant, and the rush from the sugar was delightful. I eyeballed the IV and brought the tip to my lips.

"What are you doing?" gasped Angus.

"Having a drink, what does it look like?"

"Don't be a fool. Malcolm. We need these two on our side."

We simultaneously looked across the room at Crissy and her dad. They were frozen, astonished, perplexed and horrified.

"It's okay," said Angus. "Charlie had a diabetic emergency, he's coming around now."

As good as Angus's word, Charlie's eyes rolled, then opened. He shook the cobwebs from his head, then sat up.

"Christ my hand hurts."

His vision cleared and he looked me in the eye.

"You!"

He tried and failed to stand, The firefighter broke the trance he was in and approached.

"What's wrong, Charlie?"

"Everything, Bob. This man is a fiend!"

"I assure you, I am most certainly not  'a fiend!" I said, leaning back on my haunches and snarling like a fiend at the old chief. "I am a man of the highest character and moral compass. At least most of the time."

"You were about to drink his blood, I saw you!" said Crissy, rushing to her father's side.

"We need to treat this hand. You lost a finger, I've got it wrapped in gauze, we might be able to save it but we have to get you to the hospital, now!" said Angus, ignoring the chaos that surrounded us, and in doing so bringing calm into a crazy situation.

Charlie looked at his hand, which was indeed missing a finger. Bob the firefighter helped his old friend stand, I gathered the supplies and licked the needle while Angus explained things to Crissy.

"Those firefighters that responded here? They are not what they seem. They're Vampires, and not at all honorable."

"Vampires?" said Crissy. "Like True Blood?" She grinned. "How romantic."

"Anything but," said Angus. "There is nothing romantic about these creatures that Sid has brought among us. They are animals, and cannot be broken. True fiends," he said, looking at Charlie, "who will kill, maim and destroy anything in their path in their blind devotion to their leader, and to stave their hunger."

"If they are vampires," said Bob, "What are you?"

Angus and I exchanged glances, passed some thoughts among us, then answered.

"We're better Vampires."

"Better Vampires?" said Crissy.

Angus smiled at her, and the fact that he was dead never crossed her mind. He didn't look dead to me, either.

"Kids," I said. Bob and Charlie did not return my grin.

It's three hours until dawn," I said, feeling the hour in my soul, and knowing it receded. "More will be coming."

""They are already on their way," said Angus. "You need to trust us," he said directly to Crissy.

"Time to go!" I said and started for the door. Bob and Charlie stood like statues in the old chief's kitchen,

"You will be dead in less than three minutes," I said, no more grins. I looked Bob in the eye, and let the full force of my power of persuasion go. "You, Crissy and Charlie will be torn to pieces, your blood drained, your bodies destroyed and your very soul ravished. It will not be painless. It will not be quick. Maybe they won't kill Crissy right away, maybe they will take her to Sid, he needs a new plaything."

"He has my granddaughter," said Charlie, a light coming on in his mind as he realized I told the truth.

"I believe he does," said Angus.

"That is unacceptable." I said.  "What must be, must be. Let it be."

When a vampire makes up his mind to do something as dire as bringing war on others of his kind he does so not without great sacrifice and risk. I had just stated my desire to cut ties with Sid, to protect these people from a renegade band of heathens and to free a human from my maker. Nobody could know the depth of my decision, nor the ramifications. Well, maybe Angus.

"Let it be," he said. We locked eyes for a long moment, then sprang to action.

"If you want to live, do exactly as we say. And do it now!

And we moved.

 

X In Omnia Paratus

 

"There's no time for that," I said to Charlie as he fumbled for the keys to his pick-up. "You need to stay with us, To the ambulance, and hurry!"

"I've got all my things in the U-haul," said Bob."

"We'll have to come back for it, no time now, let's go!"

Perhaps Charlie's missing finger combined with the fresh images of the death struggle they had just witnessed propelled them to action, or maybe it was simply the human survival instinct that took over, but whatever it was, the three humans joined the two vampires and rushed from Charlie's home toward the ambulance. The Ford F-450 shimmered, and faded, and reappeared as the Cadillac as soon as Angus and I entered the front seats, with Chrissy, Charlie and Bob safely in back. The engine roared to life when Angus turned the key, and he stepped on the gas and we rolled, then sped away from Charlies home.

There was no traffic, not a car, or truck, or police cruiser. Even the forest's noctornal preditors were done for the night, their hunts through, their victims safely nestled inside of them.

"How do you know they are going to come for us?" asked Bob.

"That's how," I said as a loud thump eminated from the Caddy's roof, and a fanged face appeared in the windshield. Angus hit the windshield wash button and the vampire's skin melted from his face and his eyes smoked, and he fell onto the road in a heap.

"Holy Water," he said and grinned when I gave him my best incredulous look. "I had Tim put it in the resevior a few weeks ago. I had a feeling Sid might be trouble."

"I trained you well, lad. In Omnia Paratus," I said and scanned the night sky for move attackers. There would be more, no doubt about it, and soon.

"In omnya who?" asked Chrissy.

"In Omnia Paratus," replied Angus. "Latin. It translates to "In all Things, Prepared."

"Thank goodness for Latin," she smiled.

More vampires appeared, flying next to the Caddy as it sped through the night. The ability to fly is not one all vampires posess, with few exceptions only the lightest of our kind can do it, the physics of flight can only be suspended so much. A good vampire has the ability to shrink his body mass fifty percent by concentrating on his or her cellular structure, and consciously making half of those cells diminish in size, thus allowing the dead body to contort in such a way that when propelled by the force that makes the universe turn it is able to levitate, then move forward without being hindered by gravity. It takes years to master. I can do it, even though I'm not small.  Angus can not.

"We're pretty much fucked," said Angus as we sped through the Vermont countryside. The Outpost is filled with Sid's minions, we have nowhere to go and daylight approaches.

"I've got a place that might do," said Bob.

"The faster we get away from these two assholes the better off we'll be," said Charlie.

"Assholes or not, we would be dead if they didn't show up when they did."

"It's just a matter of time till they kill us."

"Maybe not. And your granddaughter needs them. We have no idea how to get to her, and where she might be,or even if she has any time left."

"They seem alright to me," said Chrissy. "I know all about vampires. I've been reading the Twilight books."

"Those books are bullshit," said Angus. "Not that vampires aren't capable of certain human functions and all that, but truth be told being among the undead ain't all its cracked up to be."

"It doesn't look so bad," she grinned, and Angus smiled back at her.

"Know this," said Angus, "at the moment of my death, when the lights faded, and sounds dulled, and my breath became shallow and my heart stopped, I saw God, and he invited me to him, and held open his arms, and everything I feared was taken from me, and in its place knowledge of eternal life after death was instilled in me, and I knew that in a different form I would go on, and know peace, and live on with grace and dignity in a loving embrace for all eternity. Then, just as I was about to embrace eternal peace and comfort, fangs pierced my neck, and my dying blood was taken from me, and replaced with a creature of the night's life force, and months later I returned to this earth, and took my prior form, but taken was my soul, and I have no idea where it is, or if I will get it back. I fear I will not, and when the day comes that a wooden stake finds my heart, or my head is removed from my body, or I am exposed to sunlight, what once was Angus will be no more."

That quieted things down for a minute.

"Where to, Bob? I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"South on Route 3, Then onto Maldagash Road, up the hill a ways till the Old Cemetary. I've got a cabin up there, it's where me and Chrissy planned on starting over."

"Sunrise approaches," said Angus. "What of us."

"Ther'e a root cellar under the floor in the barn. It's dark, and dusty, and probably full of rats."

"Excellent," I said, and we drove on, all the while waiting for the attack that would inevietably follow. The vampires that followed us broke off their chase, knowing they needed the shelter and protection that only The Outpost provided, allowing us to continue our escame unaccompanied.

"Our lives are in your hands," I said as we turned onto Maldagash Road. Once the sun rises, we are vulnerable. You could kill us easily."

Charlie sparked up at that, and considered the options.

"And they could kill us easily at night. It appears we need you as much as you need us. And we all need to figure out how to save my granddaughter!"

 

XI A Bitter Taste

 

The first traces of light appeared on the horizon as we drove through deep woods populated with a scattering of homes. The people who inhabited this part of Vermont were of three varieties, deeply rooted Vermont residents, with family lines dating back generations, millionaires and their families who bought land at inflated prices from those deeply rooted residents, or people like Bob and Crissy, owners of a parcel of land that had been built upon over the years and was now used as a mountain getaway.

"Which way, Bob?" asked Angus as a fork appeared in the road ahead of us.

"The road less taken," he said from behind us. "Bear right and follow that road for a mile or so. At the Old Stone Church veer to the left and go up the hill. At the crest of the hill you'll see a graveyard, my cabin is directly across from that, up about one-hundred and fifty yards.

"A church and a graveyard?" I said, turning my head toward the back of the ambulance, giving a grin and flashing a fang, "you just can't make this stuff up."

Angus gave me a wry look, then focused on his task.

Bob's vacation home was as I expected, small, organized and serene. It would serve as a perfect getaway from the rigors of city life, and the woes that come with a career as an urban firefighter. I've learned a thing or two during my centuries long walk among mortal men, a mind and body can take only so much grief and trauma until it either breaks, or the inhabitant of that mind finds the sense to get away, and leave it for a time, regroup, refresh and learn to live again, free of the baggage that accumulates. The same strategy is imperative for a vampire. Killing is necessary for those whose existence depends on other of their kind's life blood, and while that killing is rather satisfying at times, it still takes a toll on the sensibilities of a once civilized man. Some habits, and the spirit of human kindness are difficult to shake, even after death.

"Pull the rig in front of the barn," said Bob. Angus steered the old Cadillac over a gravel driveway and stopped where he was told. Crissy opened the rear door of the ambulance, walked toward the barn doors and lifted the latch, opening a black hole in the exterior of the building. Angus pulled our ride in, and we were home.

"It's a little dilapidated," said Bob, "but I hope it will do. I'm not used to accommodating vampires."

He led us toward a trap door, and lifted the heavy oak, which groaned as it opened, and exposed another black hole, this one disappearing into the earth.

"Your graves await," said Charlie.

"Know this," I addressed the assembled people, Charlie, the de-throned Fire Chief from Essex County, Bob, recently retired FDNY firefighter, Crissy, his eighteen year old daughter and my partner, Angus. "Sid will pursue us now, he has much to lose. His is a black heart, turned that way from a human one that began it's journey corrupted, then filled with poison fed by his birth parents, gypsies who would cut a man's throat for the coin in his purse. He is ruthless, and has much to lose. The vampires he sent to your home, Charlie, were two of his best, bloodthirsty and clever, third generation soldiers, you are lucky to be alive."

"My finger wasn't so lucky," said the chief, raising his left hand, bandage crimson with his blood.

""We'll need to get you to a hospital," said Bob, as Crissy held the old chief's good hand.

"We need a plan." said Angus. "And protection. Sid's web is vast. He controls not only creatures of the night, but a legion of followers who are yet to be made. They are able to hunt in daylight, and hold powers greater than a mortal, but not nearly as strong as ours. They will come, and come today.

"The sun is nearly upon us," I said, feeling the aches and pains in the body that once held a beating heart re-appear, as they did every day the sun rose.

"This whole thing is a little hard to swallow," said Bob, but saw the desperation in mine and Angus's eyes begin to grow. "What do you need??"

Angus and I exchanged thoughts and glances, and decided to push our luck, the decision borne from desperation rather than coherent thought.

"We need to feed," I said. eyeballing Charlies blood soaked hand hungrily.

"No fucking way," said Charlie, stepping back, away from Angus and me.

"I'll do it," said Chrissy.

"No fucking way," said Bob.

Angus's normally serene face began to turn, the frustration and despair showing through his features as time ticked and the sun began its relentless ascent.

"We can survive the day, but will wake weakened, frantic and unpredictable. It is difficult to control the hunger."

He cast his eyes down, ashamed of his admission, never being one to admit the beastly side of our nature freely. Crissy approached him, and extended her arm. Angus glanced at Bob, who looked at his daughter squarely, saw the determination set on her face, shook his head and acquiesced. Gently, Angus took her hand, thanked her with his eyes, closed his own, then licked the inside of Crissy's elbow. A vein rose, and he sank a fang in. I watched him, aware that he could overdo things and drain his new friend. My interventions were unnecessary, however, Angus, the perfect gentleman stopped after about a half pint had been extracted from Crissy, who looked dazed for a moment, then happy.

"That felt pretty good," she said dreamily, "am I a vampire now?" she giggled.

"That is not funny," said Bob, who broke the trance between his daughter and the vampire who had drunk her blood. "If she is harmed, you will be dead by nightfall!"

"She is better for it," said Angus, his mood improved considerably. A young girl's blood tells a tale of it's own, simply from the taste and texture. A vampire worth his salt can discern the feelings of the person whose blood force has entered his body, and for a brief moment shares a bond more intimate than sex.

"I'm dizzy," said Crissy. I'd like to help you, Malcolm but I don't think I can.

I looked at Bob, then his beautiful daughter, then felt the familiar hunger that needed to be fed.

"Oh for Christ's sake," said Bob, and held out his hand. "This better not hurt, and don't go getting all vampire freaky on me, I want nothing to do with any of this shit!"

I looked longingly at Crissy, and drank her father's blood. The taste was bitter.

We went to our graves then, Angus enjoying some morning wood, and me stuck with the bitter taste of a jealous, angry firefighter from New York coursing through my veins.

 

XII Descisions

 

"You seem to know where you are going, Angus. How is that so?"

"Crissy is tweeting me."

"Tweeting you?"

"One-hundred and forty characters at a time."

He shows me his latest gadget, an I Phone or something.

"What did I tell you about that thing! Learn your streets, what happens when the satellites go down and you are left with no technology, and have no idea where to go!"

"Do you know where Crissy is?"

"I do not," I say.

"Then let technology work, Malcolm! Man, you are a stubborn old coot."

"Remember, I was forty-nine when I was made. You were just a lad of twenty-three."

I do not know where Crissy is, and loathe to let Malcolm use his little gadgets while working on the ambulance, but these are drastic times. I don't have a clue. All I know is we are speeding through the mountains, on a dark roadway, the glow of my new acquaintance, Bob's barn burning out of control behind us, the ex-fire chief unconscious on our stretcher and Bob leaning into the drivers compartment from the back of the ambulance.

"Do you know where she is?" he asks Angus, strain in his voice barely containing his rage.

"I do. She is able to send me tweets every ten minutes or so. She's been taken by who I believe to be Tim and Billy, two volunteers who guard the Outpost during the daylight hours."

"Where are they taking her."

"She is not familiar with the landscape, but from what I can tell from her tweets they are heading back to the Outpost."

"It will be crawling with Sid's minions," I say, more concerned as the seconds tick.

"It will," agrees Angus. "But if we are clever, we can use Crissy's tweets to lead us right to Sid's lair."

"The passageways under the Outpost are vast. Without help we would never find him. This is a good thing," I say.

"The hell it is!" says Bob. That's my daughter you two are so happy using as bait. Catch the assholes that have her before they get to the Outpost or so help me this alliance is over!"

"Bob, I understand your concern. If we could catch them, we would. I have the ability to fly, Angus does not.

"Are you a Vampire?"

"I am."

"Are Tim and Billy Vampire?"

"They are not."

"Then get the fuck out that window, catch those assholes and wait for us!"

"We may never find Sid's lair, or Charlie's granddaughter."

"We may never see Crissy again."

I sat for a moment then, stewing on that. If I flew toward Tim and Billy, and caught them, and liberated Crissy, I would have to take their lives. They want to become Vampire, this I know. I have no intention of creating another such as me. The pain is too much to bear. And I really have no patience for children. On the other hand, Tim does an excellent job cleaning my uniforms.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a person who knows how to do shirts?" I ask.

"What?" Bob responds.

"Never mind. Angus, are you okay with this?"

"Her tweets have stopped. They have tied her up. They are in the reserve rescue, she's tied to the stretcher.

"Okay then, I'll do it. But so help me, Angus, you had better learn to iron! I'll need some fuel. flying takes a lot out of me. Bob, I drank your blood yesterday, no offense, but I'd rather not do so again. What is wrong with Charlie?" I see the old chief, sleeping on the stretcher., oblivious to the happenings around him.

"I took him to the ER in Hendrix," says Bob, " and left Crissy at the cabin. They cleaned up and sterilized his hand, I think they gave him too much morphine, he was supposed to be awake by now."

"Morphine? Excellent!"

In a flash I'm in the rear of the ambulance establishing an IV. Bob tries to stop me.

"Bob, I cannot fly without energy. I cannot drink Angus's blood, because he has none. I drank yours yesterday, you need all you can get, long nights and days are ahead of us. Charlie can spare a little, and I'm a much better flyer with some narcotics on board."

The IV is easy, Old Charlie has some pipes. I attach the tubing, and cut the end, and let his lifeblood pour into my mouth. The morphine is wearing off, but there is enough of it to give me a much needed feeling of well-being.

"They should put that stuff in the drinking water," I say. "There would be less war."

At just the right moment, I pinch the line, and take the IV from Charlie's arm, putting a band-aid over the hole.

"That has got to be the most fucked-up thing I have ever seen," says Bob.

"You have never seen him drink the blood of a drunken man," says Angus. "Or worse, the blood of a drunken college girl."

"Talk all you like," I say, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, "I have work to do!"

I'm gone. Out the window and moving through the night air, alone, no vehicle to encumber my sensations of the world around me. The morphine seems to make everything more alive, colors brighter, sounds more pleasant. The simple act of flying is even more fun, the subtle movement of the planet giving me just enough lift as it continues its journey through the solar system and beyond. I'm fortunate to be able to harness the antigravity produced by the continuous motion in the constellations, and flying to me is as easy as walking is to most.

 

XIII  What I am, But I Am

 

Following the road that leads to the Outpost is simple. I fly fifty feet above the earth, high enough to avoid utility wires and low enough to not miss any vehicles that may be attempting to avoid detection by turning off their lights. The moon is in its first quarter, not much light emanating from the orb that endlessly circles the earth. Once,  I tried to go there. Space that is. I think I would like it there. I don't breathe, not really, but before I could break into it felt as if I were suffocating and had to turn back before it was too late. Then, I tried it again, and almost made it out of the earth's atmosphere, but couldn't. Again and again I tried, but fell short. I am bound to this earth. Space must wait.

Movement below. As I suspected, the reserve ambulance is traveling with no lights, hoping to make it back to the safety of the Outpost. Sunset is barely an hour old, and Tim and Billy are among the undead, normally not a problem for them, but with two rouge vampires, myself and Angus that is, prowling the countryside, quite dangerous. I'm surprised that Sid has not sent guardians to protect his underlings and their quarry, perhaps he is not yet aware.

I must decide; kill them both and save Crissy, kill one and save the other for Malcolm, or let them live. If I let them live, I'm stuck with them, and our little alliance is chock full of humans at the moment. If I let them go I'll no doubt have to deal with them at some later date.

Still mulling things over I sweep to the ground, landing fifty feet in front of the ambulance. Tim drives, Billy must be in back with Crissy. Just for kicks I hold my hand up as if I could stop the four ton vehicle from running me over. At the last second, Tim sees me, I could actually see his eyes grow bigger, and he tries to swerve around me. That little act of kindness may have just saved his life. But maybe not. The van tips over and slides some one-hundred feet down the mountain road, stopping just before rolling into a ditch. Instantly I'm on it, open the rear doors and see Crissy's eyes, wide open and frightened looking back at me. Her being tied to the stretcher probably saved her from grievous injury or death. Billy was not so fortunate, he was thrown around the cabin like a rag doll, breaking bones, lacerating skin and knocking himself unconscious.

"Malcolm! You came!"

"Of course I came, young lady. Angus said he was too tired."

"He did not you old liar!" she smiled as I untied her hands and feet. Billy had used cling wrap to do the dirty work, an act which I decide then and there has saved him from death. Cling doesn't hurt, or leave marks. He could have used leather restraints, or tied her upside down on the stretcher, or abused her in other ways, but did not. Lucky for him.

"Dad took Charlie to the Hospital in Hendrix and left me at the cabin. It was quiet for a while, then at about four o'clock I was attacked."

"You are lucky to be alive."

"Is my dad okay? And Charlie? I was tweeting Malcolm but they took my phone from me before I could find out!"

"They're fine. Charlie's morphine has worn off, and he is in pain now, but will be okay, and your dad is just fine. Does he always use foul language?"

"Fuck this and fuck that you mean?"

"Yes, that is quite accurate."

"Since my mom died he's been a little cranky."

"I'm sorry bout your mom, what happened?"

"Breast cancer. She suffered."

We remained silent as I freed her from her restraints, then dragged Billy from the back of the ambulance. Tim was shaken, not stirred, and had freed himself from the wreckage, and stood shakily nearby. I beckoned him to me. Billy woke then, and his eyes grew at the sight of me, and he cowered and attempted to stand, but vomited instead.

"I should kill you," I said.

"Why," asked Tim innocently enough. "Just yesterday you were one of us. You have changed, not us."

"True enough," I said. "You have no idea what Sid is capable of. I am to blame for ignoring our impending doom. Things were good here, Tim, and could have stayed that way. I want nothing more that peace. Eternal life becomes tiresome when always on the run."

"But you brought Sid to us," croaked Billy. Crissy knelt beside him, cradling his broken and bruised body.

"I thought he would find our way of life satisfying. One of my biggest weaknesses is always looking for the good in people, and Vampires. Sid is my maker. He isn't a total asshole, or at least he wasn't. We had some good times, Sid and I."

"He scares the shit out of me,: said Tim.

"He should," I replied. "You need to know more about eternal life, and all that comes with it. Look at Crissy, helping Billy. See the care in her eyes and gestures? Become a Vampire and kiss that goodbye. No woman will care for you like that. Ever."

"That's not true," said Crissy. "I would treat you or Angus the same."

"Perhaps you would, but for how long? Eventually the coldness of our hearts wears a human down. We are good for  a bit of fun, and a distraction now and then-some exotic fun, and a dance with death will brighten any dull party, but the truth is, we get rather tiresome after a year or two. Imagine your soul mate dying every morning. Think of the days at the beach you will miss, sunrises you will experience alone, the warmth and light essential to your existence never to be shared with the one you love."

"But when we join you in eternal life, it will be a fair trade, no?" asked Billy, feeling a little better now that Crissy showed him a little attention.

"Fair trade? Nonsense! The most precious gift a human is given is his finite existence! The boredom that comes with life eternal is nearly impossible to bear! All that time and so little to do. Everything gets old, everything but our bodies. Our brains grow tired. One can only live one life with passion, the rest of eternity becomes little more than opening our eyes and surviving until they close once again."

"Malcolm, I have only known you a short time, but you are more full of life than most people I know! You are funny, and kind, and quite brave," said Crissy.

"Well, it isn't always terrible," I smiled at her.

The old Cadillac appeared then, and Bob ran toward us, followed closely by Angus. Old Charlie stepped out of the rear of the rescue, and stood there, watching as the reunion took place. I sauntered over to him, and put my hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eye.

"Charlie, you are a good man, and a good chief. I did not ask to be what I am, but I am, and though my soul is forfeit, I still know good from evil. I want what is good. Good for you, good for Bob, good for Crissy and everybody who lives in our district. I did not become a paramedic only to inconspicuously drink the blood of my patients. I did so so that I could somehow repay the pain and suffering I have caused. Essex has been good for me, and Angus. I want it to continue. I'll never have a daughter, or a wife, or a family-mine was murdered hundreds of years ago and the ability to start over taken from me. Sid's intervention allows me to continue an aware existence, but I'm not alive in the true sense of the word. I will do all I can for you, and Crissy, and especially Bob, whose place in this world I envy. Helping him escape this madness with his daughter intact, and someday to see a grandchild born, and his immortality preserved as God intended in my only purpose now."

Charlie returned my gaze, held out his good hand and offered it to me. We shook, the centuries old symbol of trust.

"Things change I suppose," he said. "For a Vampire, you seem alright."

"Thank you, Charlie. Now, let's get your granddaughter back!"

 

XIV Kiss

 

"I have a plan," I said to our group of misfits.

"It had better be a good one," said Charlie. "Things don't look so good."

"It is. Hear this. Bob, you and I will follow our little friends Tim and Billy back to the outpost, and they will lead us to Sid. Charlie, you and Angus take Crissy to the Russians and wait there for us to return."

"That's your plan?" said Bob.

"KISS," I said.

"Kiss my ass," said Bob.

"Keep it simple, stupid," I said. "It's great advice."

"I'm not crossing Sid," said Tim.

"By not crossing Sid, you choose to cross me."

"Either way, I'm dead."

"We all die eventually," I grinned. "Well, not all of us," I said, flashing a fang.

"Who are the Russians?" asked Crissy.

This should be good.

"Some friends who help us now and then," explained Angus. "They live by Echo Lake, and Malcolm is right, theirs is the perfect place to regroup. It is far enough from the Outpost that Sid will not be able to read us, or find us, and the lodgings are vacant, The Russians have departed, just this morning, their work here done for the season." Angus shot me a smug grin, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Things just work out for him.

"I don't like the idea of splitting up," said Bob. "But I don't think we have a choice. The only problem is, I don't trust these two," he pointed a finger at Tim and Billy, who were hunkered next to their overturned ambulance.

"It won't work anyway, we don't know where Sid's lair is. He never lets us beyond the gate," said Billy, his face contorted with pain.

"Fucking Sid," I said. "We have to find him, and soon. Charlie's granddaughter is running out of time. Any ideas?" I asked our little group of vampires and vampire hunters.

"We could burn the Outpost to the ground, with all of you in it," said Charlie.

"You would lose your granddaughter," I replied as Angus shot him a look that would turn Satan himself into an icicle.

"We let these two take me to Sid," said Crissy. "KISS," she smiled, and she actually blew me one.  I'm starting to like her.

"Too dangerous," said Angus.

"Too obvious," said Tim.

"Too bad it's never going to happen," said Bob.

"Too bad we don't have a better choice," said Charlie.

It is safe neither here, or there," I said. "Safety left the building the moment Angus and I disposed of the Vampires at Charlie's house. Make no mistake, the chase is on, and we are the chased, rather than the chaser. It will be so until we flush Sid from his grave. Then, and only then, he is vulnerable. Vampires on the run grow more frantic as each hour of darkness passes. keeping him away from his web of safety for as long as possible is a good strategy. Using Crissy as bait may be our only hope."

"I've got a better idea," said Bob. You take me back to Charlie's, I get in my Tahoe, Crissy gets in the shotgun seat, we hit the gas and you all can watch our taillights disappear."

"Who do you think you are, Joe Robert's? There ain't no driving across the border, there ain't no outrunning the highway patrolman, there's nowhere to hide now, it's either kill or be killed. Vampires have not survived for centuries because they let people go. They let people go to their graves, and nowhere but. Here's a news flash people. We are fucked. Completely, utterly and desperately fucked."

""Don't hold back, Malcolm," said Angus. The group had gathered in front of me now, standing on the dark, deserted roadway between Bob's campground and the Outpost. The Russians place by Echo Lake was a half an hour distant, Code 3. Nine o'clock, eight hours till dawn, Creatures of the night had the advantage, Angus and I could run, and hide, and live the life of gypsies again until we found a new place, and established ourselves. That would surely be the end of Crissy, Bob and Charlie. Tim and Billy might squeak by, but that is doubtful. All eyes were upon me.

"I said I do not wish to lead, only eat," I said, looked up at the night sky as stars flickered and dimmed, then reappeared. Flashing lights broke the darkness from the north, ahead of us, and the south, behind. Then, familiar shapes  formed on the road.and when the stars stayed bright, the forms that had obscured their image materialized from the sky, and we were surrounded by bloodthirsty killers.

Four of the fiends disembarked from the pumper in front of us, dressed for battle, their turnout gear covered with soot and dripping with blood. The vampires behind us, two of them, rode in a tanker but wore the same gear, with the same tell tale markings of a recent slaughter. The monsters from the sky resembled roadies from the Monsters of Rock tour in 1985, only their lifeless bearing came from being undead rather than heroin.

"Stay still," I whispered to my gang. If anybody moves, we're all dead.

"I've captured the vampire killers!" I said triumphantly. "Help me bring them to Sid!"

 

XV Gangs

 

"Captured the vampire killers, Malcolm? You are one of the vampire killers," said Bo, whose size and charisma made him the defacto leader of this gruesome ensemble. We were completely outnumbered. Sid caught on fast when it came to firefighter operations. Killing a bug with a sledgehammer is our modus operandi on most jobs, if we have the resources that is. Lately, Sids resources have been dwindling. I think he's pissed. Too bad, I say.

"Bo, why are you involved in all of this. You have a good life, playing the blues till midnight, drinking the blood of your groupies till three, fighting a fire when the tone goes off, why follow that demon Sid? You may kill us, but eventually, the wheels will fall off of his department, and he will be gone, just like always."

"You don't know diddly, Malcolm. I don't give two shits about Sid. He's the boss for now, I, unlike you, respect the chain of command. It's been so for centuries, and it works. It is what separates us from existence and the void. Without some hierarchy, the whole shebang would implode, and Vampires would be no more. Then we'd be singin the blues fo sure!

"Is that a bad thing, Bo?" I asked, solemnly while making eye contact with Angus, who had been busy sizing up our foes while I distracted the leader. Nine against one. Four of the vampires weren't worth half a shit, so that left five. I could handle two, Angus two, that left one for Bob. I wondered if he were up to the challenge.

A gentle hum turned into a roar, and the headlights from a hundred Harleys illuminated our motley crue. Angus and I stood between Crissy , Bob and Charlie facing Bo and his nameless pack of drones, some of whom were barely vampires, having foolishly drank the blood of a vampire who simply wanted to have a little fun. Making a true vampire takes a little more than simple blood play. Kids, can't teach them anything. All of us looked toward the approaching lights, whose collective force appeared as one giant beam heading toward us.

A fanged smile crossed my face when I saw who rode the lead Harley. She rode the thing like a man, legs kicked out, shoulders back, a snarl that would make Billy Idol jealous and reeking of attitude. I do love Courtney. She stopped the bike in the middle of the crowd, gave the kickstand a rebellious whack, walked over to me, put her tongue into my mouth and grabbed both my cheeks hard enough to make it feel good.

"Ass is getting soft, Malcolm. These fuckheads giving you trouble?" she said, tossing  her head and swinging her blonde mane toward Bo's gang, once I stopped nibbling her tongue.

"Not much. Sid sent them to kill us."

"Fucking Sid," she said, put her thumb and index finger into that delectable mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Her gang, some Vampire, some outlaw, some thrill seekers and all almost as crazy as Courtney got off their bikes and surrounded us. Ever the opportunist, I slinked behind the bikers, shaking hands, bumping chests, high fiving, whatever greeting was appropriate to whatever biker. My gang followed me into the throng, careful not to get too close. All but Angus who fit right in with the misfits.

The slaughter was quick. There wasn't much left when the bikers were through. Bo managed to survive, and Courtney walked over to us, her arm around the bear of a man like they were high school sweethearts.

"Who do you love, Malcolm?" she asked me, grinning, her mouth covered with the blood of the undead.

"Always you. Stay for a while, I've got an itch named Sid to scratch."

"I'd love to, but you know how I love the Kangamangus Highway in the fall."

She grabbed my crotch, almost gently and licked my lips. I tasted the second hand blood of her victims. Then she was gone, the tail lights of the Harleys fading along with their roar. Then there was only us. And Bo.

"That is one crazy bitch, good thing she likes the blues!"

"What am I to do with you Bo? I've always liked you, I've never had any trouble with any of the poor soulless that Sid continues to sick on us. I don't like killing our kind, but I will survive. When it comes to them or me, I'll take me."

"I've got a show at Busters on the Lake at eleven," said Bo.

"Then let the show go on!"

Bo shuffled back to the abandoned fire engine, started it up and drove away.

"That was one fucked up calvary," said Bob, as we drew closer to one another. Our alliance grew stronger with every adventure we shared, I felt the bond grow with every minute we spent together. I'd like to attribute this phenomenon to my magnetism and charisma, but simple human survival instinct, freshly born in Crissy, Bob and Charlie and ancient between Angus and me mix together, and chemistry created by whatever forces make this universe we call home tick bonds us, and makes us more alike than any of us would like to admit.

Well, maybe not Angus and Crissy, who for now have bridged their differences, and share an intimacy only I can detect. Good thing for Angus, Old Bob the firefighter may be human still, but the power of a father scorned is nothing to take lightly.

 

XV! Hostage

 

Rescue 1, are you available?”

“Their timing is impeccable,” I said out loud.

“That’s a roger, what have you got?”

“Respond to The Lamplighter Motor Lodge on Whippoorwill Lane for domestic disturbance, State Police requesting EMS.”

“Rescue 1, responding.”

I put the radio mic back on its clip.

“Bob, come with me, Angus, get Crissy and Charlie to The Russians, use the tanker truck, Tim, take care of Billy, and decide whose side you are on. I strongly advise you put some thought into it. You will not live forever, and Sid has no intention of turning you. Stay with me and you might live a good, natural life. I have no idea where all of this is leading, other than the road to hell with Sid.”

“I’m with you, Malcolm. Sid’s a douchebag, I thought things would be different,” said Tim.

“Count me in, Malcolm,” said Billy. “You have always been good to us.”

“Excellent. Radio for help, get back to the Outpost and advise Sid that his little gang of creatures were annihilated by a hot blonde human junkie and her band of whatever the hell they are. Tell him little, for he is clever, and will see through too many lies. Thankfully, his arrogance will blind him, and he will be unable to see that you have switched alliances. The thought of such a thing is completely impossible for his ego to absorb.”

“He scares the shit out of me,” said Billy.”

“He should. He’s a Vampire.” I flashed my fangs and walked to the old Cadillac. “You drive,” I said to Bob, who reluctantly followed me, after kissing his daughter goodbye.

“Stay safe,” he said, and stared Angus down. “And leave her alone.”

“Your daughter is beautiful, Bob, and I am attracted to her, there is no doubt. We are at war, and there is no time for frivolity. I will respect your wishes until this ends, and then, perhaps we can talk.”

“Excuse me,” said Crissy. “When you two are through deciding my future I’d like to get off this highway. We’ll meet you at The Russians place after your call. Midnight approaches, the sun rises early, and there is a lot to do. I like you, Malcolm, and you too, Angus, but I love my dad, and if we don’t get moving none of us will make it through this night.”

“Smart girl,” I said, and walked toward the ambulance.

The Lamplighter Motor Inn on Whippoorwill Lane is a lovely, family owned business that attracts out of town workers from the cable companies that seem to be the only people working these days. It is also a great place for married people to meet. Many times have I responded to the place, it’s outside resembling one of those cozy German lodges that I do so love. Perhaps I will return there, some day, and buy an inn of my own. I think I’ll call it “Malcolm’s Lair,” and charge ridiculous amounts of money for tourists to spend the night with a vampire.

 It’s a strange world I have seen develop over the centuries, this latest trend of watching other people live their lives while sitting in front of an electrical device and getting fat is a mystery to me. Life, as I remember it is full of interesting things, chances, adventure, love and friendship to name a few. To be glued to somebody else’s drama is such a waste.

“Where to, Malcolm,” said Bob, sitting in the drivers seat did wonders for his mood. Little compares to the rush of having five-hundred horses under your power, and a moonlit Vermont highway under your wheels. The old Caddy took off, leaving a trail of stone and dust in its wake.

“Follow Highway 16 south to the intersection of Route 66. There, where the road narrows turn left. Four miles from that point a traffic signal will slow us, and at that point turn left. The Motor Inn is a mile further.”

We rode in silence. Bob drove the ambulance expertly, and I was not surprised. His intense blue eyes seemed to see through the mist that had gathered on the roadways, and the tension that had gathered over the last day began to dissipate. That tension would return in force soon enough, but the mechanical movements needed to drive allowed his mind some needed rest. He made the turn just as I directed, and we approached the scene cautiously. The State Police had cruisers surrounding the inn, and a command center was posted one hundred yards to the side, out of gunfire range. Bob leaves the motor running and we both get out and approach the incident commander. He’s a stern man, is Colonel Stone, overbearing and brilliant. He knows something isn’t right with me but has yet to figure out just what.

“Malcolm,” he says, and nods his head at Bob. “We’ve got a hostage situation, a man in Room 6 with a gun threatening his friend. He says he’s going to kill himself, or her, or both, you know the drill. Stage a safe distance and be ready to pick up the pieces if we need you.”

“Let me know if you need me, I can help,” I said.

“I’ve seen you in action, can’t quite figure out how you do what you do, but I’ll keep you in mind. I have the state’s best negotiator on the phone with the gunman now; we’ll see how things pan out.

Bob and I took our position at the Caddy. I prepared the stretcher, placing the blue bag full of ALS equipment, the 02 bottle and the monitor on top, ready to roll. The hour grew late and I grew hungry. I had a girl to rescue, a king to dethrone and some blood to drink. This hostage situation had better resolve itself, and soon, I didn’t have all night.

“What’s your plan, then, Malcolm?” asked Bob as we watched the hostage situation from the safety of our position.

“I plan on waiting for a while, and if the moron in the hotel makes a move to hurt his friend, I’ll get my vampire groove on, fly through the window, kill him, drink his blood and fly back out, while the ever vigilant Staties stand by and wonder what happened.”

“That’s good to know,” replied Bob, a dissatisfied look on his face. His eyes grew tired, and the set of his jaw line betrayed his tension. “But what of us? What of Crissy and Charlie? We have no part in your schemes, or your war with this ‘Sid,’ nor do we want any part of it. We came to Vermont to escape the madness that has become of the city. Once, when my wife was alive, things were different. We had a home on Rockaway Beach, flowers in the window boxes in summer, lights in the windows at Christmas and friends and neighbors. One by one the neighbors moved on, and in their place people who stayed to themselves inhabited their places. The job isn’t what it used to be. Since 9-11 I’ve lost my taste for it. It all seems so meaningless now, so futile.”

My heart bled for this man, who lived his life as I once did, albeit in a different century. He had what we all want, what we all need, closeness and comfort of family, and the nearness of friends. Living a finite life surrounded by loved ones is all that is needed, all we can expect. To wish for more is a sin against nature, and a slap in the face of the gift of life. We can have faith in the afterlife, and believe it exists, but we will never know for certain. Even I, who glimpsed peaceful immortality upon my death, still wonder.

“I also plan on killing Sid, once and for all.” There. I said it out loud. Hearing the words pour from my lips sealed my resolve. Sid must go. I’m tired of all of this. To settle down, and live my nights as a Paramedic, drinking the blood of my patients and that of some other undesirables is my lot, and I accept that. Saying it, sharing my plan with a human felt right, and that gave me a taste of peace.

“I’m tired of waiting. And I’m hungry. The douche bag in Room 6 has got to go.”

I love flying through windows. It makes me feel alive.