The Blood Slave

Three

"Are you coming?" Scott asked.

It was almost daybreak. The halls would be guard free by now, but I wasn't ready. I kept remembering the new guard—such a foolish thing to do—and it had slowed my task down. I was patching old clothes, working meticulously with a needle and thread.

"You go on, I'll catch up," I said. "I'm almost finished."

The most terrible sense of dread had seeped into me and coiled in the pit of my stomach as I sewed. My skin prickled as my mind replayed the moment our eyes met. Why had I stared at him so boldly? This most unusual sensation I felt must be some aftereffect that I hadn't known they possessed. Add that to the list of creepy things they can do: leave you with a lingering sense of doom long after close encounters. 

As soon as I put my sewing kit away and stepped into the silent hallway, heard the gentle click of my door automatically shutting, the dread became almost overwhelming. Apartment doors were usually not locked. We were free to roam certain parts of the building any time, but most humans wouldn't dare be seen more than necessary, preferring to only venture about during their down hours. With day so near, I knew that guards weren't the source of my anxiety.

About three apartments down, Mr. Kutcher's door was open wide, the light spilling into the hallway, but there was no sight of the old man. I stood there a moment, expecting something to happen. All was still.

Why didn't his door automatically shut? Could he have propped it open before he wandered off? Why? I pondered.

Then, from down the hall at the staircase, a shadow danced upon the wall. A figure climbing the stairs. I began to relax, thinking he'd just gone for a second and maybe he was carrying something and wanted the door to remain open. He did seem to be moving very slowly. Those stairs must be hard on his old legs, I thought. And whatever he was carrying must be heavy. I walked forward to help him the rest of the way.

As I neared the shadow, the person came into view. I saw her pink top, the one she wears when we don't have to worry about not drawing attention to ourselves. Molly, not Mr. Kutcher. She finished climbing the stairs. Her eyes widened when she first saw me, but then they softened as she registered who I was.

"You scared me," she whispered. "You're being so still, I saw your shadow and thought for sure one of them was still on duty."

"Why did you come back?" I whispered back.

"Scott said you weren't coming to The Place." She said. "I came to persuade you."

"I'm coming, I just had to finish something," I said. It's usually nothing exciting anyway. Just a bunch of teenagers hanging out in a forgotten area of the building.

I froze. As I passed Mr. Kutcher's open door, I smelled something unmistakable: the putrid stench of a zombie.

My brain screamed, a zombie! Here? Run! But my legs wouldn't move. Then I saw him. Mr. Kutcher stepped into his doorway. He wore loose dingy righty whities, only they looked stained with urine. His white hair had seemed to come out here or there in clumps. The skin of his right side had bruised from where he laid dead a while. He sniffed the air, twisting his neck in a peculiar, jerky way. All color had drained from the rest of his skin, leaving nothing behind but gray. His darkened blood vessels were now black lines spidered on his exposed skin and arms, snaking up his hollowed cheeks.

An ear-piercing scream registered. It was my own. On Molly's face was a mirror of my fear. I wanted to run, but the urge was buried deep beneath a few tons of total terror. Molly pulled my shirt, trying to move me, but I was like a concrete statue. If I moved, he'd get me; if I stood still, he'd get me. I had no choice. This monster was just too close.

"Get back!" someone said. It was the crisp voice of a vampire.

I felt bodies rush by, and one shoved me against the wall. He towered over me, pressed into me, guarding me with every inch of his whole body. The zombie would have to rip through this stony vampire to get to me, and that's no easy task. This is why we lived with the vampires, for their protection. Protect us they did, but usually not so directly.

I could hear a squishy, tearing sound, and then a vampire said, "Safe."

I tried to peer around the mass of grey fabric in front of me. Molly was alone on the floor, sitting on her bottom, eyes wide with fear. Where is her guardian? I wondered briefly. Down the hall a piece, Sloan--one of the vampire guards we've had since I can remember--stood holding poor Mr. Kutcher's severed head in his cold hand.

I gasped.

"Hector, I said, safe," Sloan said.

So this boulder blocking me must be named Hector, I deducted. I looked up at my guardian and met those same icy eyes I saw the day before. Seeing them felt like missing a step. The gravity in the room suddenly seemed heavier. As he backed away, the atmosphere shifted into emptiness. I shuddered as the openness of the stale hallway hit me.

"You girls should be more careful," he said. "You don't want to get bit."

The words were for both of us, but he looked only at me. As he said the words, I could see his sharp teeth. Normally, their fangs stayed retracted. I'd only seen them come out when they were fighting or feeding. The sight of his made my breath catch.

"Back inside, it's not safe to wander during daylight hours," the other vampire spat at us. He turned to Hector and said, "You don't have to take the job so seriously. They're just humans. Grab that body and come on."

He picked up the former Mr. Kutcher's limp body. Some blackish fluid spilled from the neck, and I tried not to watch. In my diversion, I caught the vampire's eyes again and as he walked away, I could have sworn he winked at me.