UNLEASHED - a Valentine's Anthology

Love in a Vampire Wasteland

written by Van_Carley

Listen to the audio on Spotify: https://anchor.fm/writersconnx

Silver clouds moved in the distance, with their shadows dancing across dusty terrain where tumbleweeds skittered without purpose.

There wasn't much to hunt, except for rodents, and the occasional coyote, but even they had become wise over the years. They knew to hide from us. Aside from being Valentine's Day, it was the average afternoon of scouting the land for supplies.

But it was about to become more interesting.

"What's that?" I whispered and brought the binoculars to my face before laying on my stomach in the shrubs. "Did you see the flash of light down there?"

"Point to it." Henry crouched beside me and I stretched my finger.

"There. By that rusty truck with flat tires."

"By those old water barrels?"

"Yes. Looked like something was moving."

"Or someone."

"Couldn't be." I furrowed my brows and passed him the binoculars. "No one wanders the wasteland alone. It's too dangerous."

"Desperate people do desperate things, Armand."

"Should we head down there?"

"If it is someone, it's best we find out now, rather than have them find our compound and report back to their people."

"But if they're wandering alone, certainly they don't have anyone to report to..."

"I know you're young, Armand, but don't be foolish too." Henry stood and dusted his knees. "What we have is valuable and needs protection. We can't trust outsiders."

Without waiting for a response, he began making his way down the slope, so I scurried to my feet, following my mentor. There was still so much to learn and with my father terminally ill, I would have the hefty responsibility of inheriting his place on the council soon. So I needed to be ready for it—even if none of the council members believed a twenty-two-year-old belonged amongst them.

When we reached the bottom, Henry gave hand signals to tread carefully. Abandoned gas stations were notorious for scavengers searching for supplies, but they also invited marauders. A scavenger was one thing—they were usually just hungry and searching for whatever scraps, but a marauder wanted what was yours. And their wants didn't stop at food. They would snatch your children and women just to get you to surrender all your valuables.

Henry paused, raised two fingers in the air, and twitched his nose. As one of our best trackers, he could find anything. So we crept around the gas pumps, with his eyes scanning the ground.

"Human," he whispered and pointed to the faintest boot prints on the concrete—prints I never would have detected. "They must be injured. See the unevenness in their steps?"

"Yes," I lied.

Just then, the clang of metals crashing to the ground jerked our attention towards the small convenience store attached to the gas station. Henry reached for the blade on his vest, but held out his other arm, signaling to wait for his move. Then, there was a black blur of someone running between the abandoned vehicles in the lot.

"Move!" Henry shouted. "I'll cut around the building and catch them off guard."

Before I could argue, he took off running towards the right, his swift legs kicking up dust. He was twenty-five years my senior, but with an agility that put mine to shame as he slid across a picnic table and disappeared around the building in five seconds flat.