After my temper tantrum I got around to searching the lair. A few books, and a letter were the most interesting finds. The letter was my guide on the next part of my hunt, leading me to Indianapolis next. His creator was there, older and stronger. Strong enough to control a major city and maintain a lair of 40 or more. The books were mostly fiction, entertaining but no real information. Reading through one book I realized that another new ability was speed reading and retention. I could quote every word out of that book to this day, and everything else I have read since then. Sleeping in the lair that day, surrounded by the bodies of the undead didn’t seem to bother me. The next morning just before dawn, I dragged the bodies to the entrance. Thankfu; vampire body disposable was much easier the normal remains. Placing each in front of a window, it should make for an educational experience at sunrise. With only one lead my need for knowledge was more important then rushing off. Going into the next lair I needed to be more clear headed, that meant time. Time to think and recover whatever mind I had left. Thicker skin was probably something else to work on. Loosing my temper might have cost me information and that was not acceptable.
Sunrise was interesting, I’ll give it that but horrifying might be a better word. When the sun touched each body they burst into flame, leaving only a small pile of ash. No char marks, just a little ash the wind casually scattered around. It was an unnatural blue flame, eerie to watch how quickly it consumed the undead. The sun burned my eyes, even though I was hiding far back in the shadows. Just trying to focus on the bodies was painful, a stabbing pain but unlike a headache where it was behind your eyes, this was in front. Like the sun was trying to pierce the veil of shadows to destroy the unnatural creature lurking just beyond its reach. Note to self definitely avoid the sun, check.
Slowly making my way to the masters chamber before sleep took me for another day. At dusk I woke up, watching as the sun set it reminded me this was my 5th or 6th night. I couldn’t remember exactly what day it was. Digging up a cell phone to check the day, Wednesday so my 6th night. Scavenging the rest of the lair netted me a fair amount of cash, which made me curious. What good did cash do one of us? A hotel maybe? Is there such a thing as a light proof hotel room? Who knows but cash is never a bad thing. In the closet there was a reasonably decent cutlass, nothing fancy but good strong steel. Old, probability a couple of hundred years, well loved and maintained. I would guess the masters, it wasn't a decretive weapon. This was the type of weapon you bought to use, not to show off. Wickedly sharp and well balance, this was a fighting sword. A solid honest weapon, for a moment I wondered who the master had been before? He obviously valued this, seeing it as a weapon rather then wall decoration. Had I been wrong about him? How had he been changed into a monster? Was he another victim? I had a few minutes of guilt over that thought, then remembered the jogger and his insistence that I had to kill another human. My guilt was there sure, but not for the death of that monster.
Sometime that night while lounging around the lair the thought occurred to me that replacing the tattered bloodstains rags masquerading as clothes might not be a bad idea. With some searching I found a decent pair of jeans that fit, some old combat boots with plenty of wear left on the soles and a "life's a beach then you die" t-shirt. Tasteful yet stylish, just my cup of tea. Out of habit I transferred my wallet to the jeans while getting dressed. It made me freeze, then slide down a wall to sit heavily on the floor. Why that simple act, a habit of a lifetime, hit me so hard it knocked me down. If anyone ever tells you vampires don’t cry, they are lying. I sat there and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Filled with shame and guilt for what I had done, selfishly missing my wife and child. Full of self pity, the loss of what I had, loss of my dreams all selfish thoughts.
Some part of me died in that tear filled time, acknowledging my arrogance and selfishness. I wasn’t crying for my family but for myself, for what I had destroyed. The iced touch of death crept further across my hurt, freezing out those human concepts. Maybe it was the vampirism taking hold, or my mind finally mourning my loss. I won’t say there would never be tears again, but they wouldn’t be for me. They would be from my child’s life cut short in some game of monsters. For my wife’s last moments filled with betrayal and fear by her beloveds foolish decisions. There would be no more tears for me, only blood and violence for as long as it takes.
Eventually collecting myself enough to fill a small backpack with extra socks and a t-shirt, this one reading "suck it" in bold letters across the front. Someone had an dark sense of humor, it suited me now. Oddly it also helped me cling to who I was, somehow reminding me of my 20s when every shirt I wore had something written on it. Skipping the underwear until I could find a 24 hour super store, dead or not I wasn't wearing another mans drawers. Leaving at full dark, moving fast, I would make Indianapolis by dawn. Easily leaving have enough time to find a place to hide out the day. Tomorrow night I would find the lair and hopefully more information. Somewhere that night it hit me that I was passing cars running in the fields beside I-70.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
On the outskirts of Indianapolis I found an old concrete bunker. You ever notice a random clump of tree in a cornfield? It turns out that some farmers had bunkers put in them. It hadn’t been used for years, still solid concrete twenty feet underground. Well out of the suns glaring view, the dawns experimenting had left an impression. Laying on an oddly clean bunk waiting for sleep to take me it hit me that it had been a while since I last fed. The hunger was just starting to gnaw at the edge of my mind.
This hunger is like nothing I ever imagined, it wasn’t a hunger like you need a snack. At the very lightest of levels it still tried to control me, wanting to feed now. It was a battle inside me, onside pushing it back into a corner, the other trying to escape and go hunt. To feed on the life it could sense just a few miles away. It could hear their heartbeats as they started breakfast at the farmhouse three fields over. Their scent filling the air them, the bacon they where eating was an added taunt. Focusing just a little I could hear them discussing the days chores, exactly what needed to be done. This hunger will make you an animal, it is the unrelenting predator inside all of us. This transformation had given it a voice and a power all its own, only through force of will did I manage to keep it at bay. A vicious uncaring beast that only wants to feed versus the remaining shreds of my humanity. In the end it was my fear that silenced it, dawn broke the horizon ending the debate with blackness.
Another round of sleep tormented by memories of my family, waking up screaming at dusk. All of my composure from yesterday destroyed by memories of Graces laughter. Undone by the faint trace of lavender from my wife’s shampoo. I could almost feel my daughters cold body draped across my lap. Smell their blood, but I couldn't for the life of me remember my wife's voice. I spent a maddening ten minutes fighting with my memory, trying to recall the way she said my name but I had forgotten it. Was there something more to the transformation, some process that erased emotional memories of your past, making it easier to adapt? Maybe its part of all of us, humans and undead, like the part of the mind that blanks out brutal attacks? Things that are too painful or too horrible to deal with, our brain just rewrites them. In some cases blanks them out, hiding them before they destroy us.
Thinking about it, I had been adapting easily. Physically my body just accepted its new reality. I had been questioned it off and on since that first night debating suicide in my cellar. It was almost a shock to think about how quickly my mind moved into this new reality. Maybe my easy adaption was some part of the transformation, some instinctive thing? Maybe it was more primal, simpler, feed or die. Recalling my most recent meal sent a shiver down my spine. It was neater, more efficient but it was the same horrible process. True I was justifying my feeding through my vengeance but was it real? Was I just going to become a bogey man amongst the monsters? Or had I just begun to not notice the horror?
I hadn't had any problems adapting to the new speed. There are movies where that was an issue but it wasn't for me, it was as natural as breathing. Laughing out loud at my own bad pun, it seems some sayings no longer apply. It all seemed to just come with the package so to speak. The Guide to Becoming a Monster, issue one each? I sat there staring hard at the world around me. I am no longer human, but what does that mean? Would I just be another one of them, hunting mercilessly?
I would have to worry about this later, for now I would cling to the memories. Hold fast to them with all my might for as long as I could. Softly in the back of my head I could hear her voice saying my name. They where still there, they where still alive in my memories. I felt my shoulders relax, the tension leaving. Climbing out of the shelter moving with purpose, tracking a faint scent as it danced lightly across the wind. A predator was hunting and not too far away, it was most definitely not a cat.
Climbing the side of a hotel, my nails leaving small holes in the concrete as I moved silently upward. From the roof top I could see for miles making it easier to spot her. She was slowly stalking toward a half dead homeless man slumped over a park bench. I could smell cheap whiskey, body order and rot. By focusing my senses to a razors edge I knew he was dying, dying long before she started hunting him. Smelling the decay from within him, it had been slowly eating him for years. Turning to focus on my hearing, not just on him but on his ragged breathing, all other noise faded out.
She looked young, very young, almost hesitant as she moved, like she was unsure of this but her hunger pushed her. It was crawling around inside her, gnawing at her will and pushing her forward. She didn’t want this, but lacked the force of will to stop it. It was more animalistic than that, more like an imprint, this was her third she would be fully turned after this. Watching as she prepared to jump, her legs tensed and she leaned back so slightly as she prepared to spring... WOOSH! The arrow thumped into her chest knocking her back a good 15 feet.