Fiends

1

The outlaw women, wailing and shrieking, fled from the encampment. All but one, who stayed to fight.

She stood by the campfire, a sleek arm reaching up to pull an arrow from the quiver on her back. She stood alone as the men began to fall beneath the quick fangs of the dozen raiding vampires.

‘She’s mine!’ Jim shouted.

None of his fellow Guardians gave him argument. Maybe they wanted no part of her. They raced into the darkness of the woods to chase down the others.

Jim rushed the woman.

You get her and you get her.

She looked innocent, fierce, glorious. Calmly nocking the arrow. Her thick hair was golden in the firelight. Her legs gleamed beneath the short leather skirt that hung low on her hips. Her vest spread open as she drew back her bowstring, sliding away from the tawny mound of her right breast.

Jim had never seen such a woman.

Get her!

She glanced at him. Without an instant of hesitation, she pivoted away and loosed her arrow.

Jim snapped his head sideways. The shaft flew at Strang’s back. Hit with a thunk. The vampire hurled the flapping body of an outlaw from his arms and whirled around, his black eyes fixing on the woman, blood spewing from his wide mouth as he bellowed, ‘Mine!’

Jim lurched to a halt.

Eyes narrow, lips a tight line, the woman reached up for another arrow as Strang staggered toward her. Jim was near enough to hear breath hissing through her nostrils. He gazed at her, fascinated, as she fit the arrow onto the bowstring. Her eyes were on Strang. She pulled the string back to her jaw. Her naked breast rose and fell as she panted for air.

She didn’t let the arrow fly.

Strang took one more stumbling stride, foamy blood gushing from his mouth, arms outstretched as if to reach beyond the campfire and grab her head. Then he pitched forward. His face crushed the flaming heap of wood, sending up a flurry of sparks. His hair began to blaze.

The woman met Jim’s eyes.

Get her and you get her.

He’d never wanted any woman so much.

‘Run!’ he whispered. ‘Save yourself.’

‘Eat shit and die,’ she muttered, and released her arrow. It whizzed past his arm.

Going for her, Jim couldn’t believe that she had missed. But he heard the arrow punch into someone, heard the roar of a mortally wounded vampire, and knew that she’d found her target. For the second time, she had chosen to take down a vampire rather than protect herself from Jim. And she hadn’t run when he’d given her the chance. What kind of woman is this?

With his left hand, he knocked the bow aside. With his right, he swung at her face. His fist clubbed her cheek. Her head snapped sideways, mouth dropping open, spit spraying out. The punch spun her. The bow flew from her hand. Her legs tangled and she went down. She pushed at the ground, got to her hands and knees, and scurried away from Jim.

Let her go?

He hurried after her, staring at the backs of her legs. Shadows and firelight fluttered on them. Sweat glistened. The skirt was so short it barely covered her rump and groin.

You get her and you get her.

She thrust herself up.

I’m gonna let her go, Jim thought. They’ll kill me, and they’ll probably get her anyway, but…

Instead of making a break for the woods, she whirled around, jerked a knife from the sheath at her hip, and threw herself at Jim.

The blade ripped the front of his shirt. Before she could bring it back across, he caught her wrist. He yanked her arm up high and drove a fist into her belly. Her breath exploded out. The blow picked her up. The power of it would’ve hurled her backward and slammed her to the ground, but Jim kept his grip on her wrist. She dangled in front of him, writhing and wheezing. Her sweaty face was twisted with agony.

One side of her vest hung open.

She might’ve had a chance.

I got her, I get her.

Jim cupped her warm, moist breast, felt its nipple pushing against his palm.

Her fist crashed into his nose. He saw it coming, couldn’t believe it, had no time to block it. Pain exploded behind his eyes. But he kept his grip, stretched her high by the trapped arm, and punched her belly until he could no longer hold her up.

Blinking tears from his eyes, sniffing up blood, he let go. Her legs folded. She dropped to her knees in front of him and slumped forward, her face hitting the ground between his feet. Crouching, he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his belt. Blood splashed the back of her vest as he picked up her limp arms, pulled them behind her, and snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

2

‘That one put up a hell of a scrap,’ Roger said.

Jim, sitting on the ground beside the crumpled body of the woman, looked up at the grinning vampire. ‘She was pretty tough,’ he said. He sniffed and swallowed some more blood. ‘Sorry I couldn’t stop her quicker.’

Roger patted him on the head. ‘Think nothing of it. Strang was always a pain in the ass, anyway, and Winthrop was such an atrocious brown-noser. I’m better off without them. I’d say, taken all round, that we’ve had a banner night.’

Roger crouched in front of the woman, clutched the hair on top of her head, and lifted her to her knees. Her eyes were shut. By the limp way she hung there, Jim guessed she must still be unconscious.

‘A looker,’ Roger said. ‘Well worth a broken nose, if you ask me.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, it’s not my nose. But if I were you, I’d be a

pretty damn happy fellow about now.’ He eased her down gently and walked off to join the other vampires.

While they waited for all the Guardians to return with the female prisoners, they searched the bodies of the outlaws, took whatever possessions they found interesting, and stripped the corpses. They tossed the clothing into the campfire, not one of them bothering to remove Strang from the flames.

Joking and laughing quite a bit, they hacked the bodies to pieces. The banter died away as they began to suck the remaining blood from severed heads, stumps of necks and arms and legs, from various limbs and organs. Jim turned his eyes away. He looked at the woman. She was lucky to be out cold. She couldn’t see the horrible carnage. She couldn’t hear the grunts and sighs of pleasure, the sloppy wet sounds, the occasional belch from the vampires relishing their feast. Nor could she hear the women who’d been captured and brought in by the other Guardians. They were weeping, pleading, screaming, vomiting.

When he finally looked away from her, he saw that all the Guardians had returned. Each had a prisoner. Bart and Harry both had two. Most of the women looked as if they’d been beaten. Most had been stripped of their clothes.

They looked to Jim like a sorry bunch.

Not one stood proud and defiant.

I got the best of the lot, he thought.

Roger rose to his feet, tossed a head into the fire, and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Well, folks,’ he said, ‘how’s about heading on back to the old homestead?’

Jim picked up the woman. Carrying her on his shoulder, he joined the procession on its journey through the woods. Other Guardians complimented him on his catch. Some made lewd suggestions about her. A few peeked under her skirt. Several offered to trade, and grumbled when Jim refused.

At last, they found their way to the road. They hiked up its moonlit center until they came to the bus. Biff and Steve, Guardians who’d stayed behind to protect it from outlaws and vampire gangs, waved greetings from its roof.

On the side of the black bus, in huge gold letters that glimmered with moonlight, was painted, ROGER’S ROWDY RAIDERS.

The vampires, Guardians and prisoners climbed aboard.

Roger drove.

Fiends

An hour later, they passed through the gates of his fortified estate.

3

The next day, Jim slept late. When he woke up, he lay in bed for a long time, thinking about the woman. Remembering her courage and beauty, the way her breast had felt in his hand, her weight and warmth and smoothness while she hung over his shoulder on the way to the bus.

He hoped she was all right. She’d seemed to be unconscious during the entire trip. Of course, she might’ve been pretending. Jim, sitting beside her, had savored the way she looked in the darkness and felt quick rushes of excitement each time a break in the trees permitted moonlight to wash across her.

The other Guardians were all busy raping their prisoners during the bus ride. Some had poked fun at him, asked if he’d gone queer like Biff and Steve, offered to pay him for a chance to screw Sleeping Beauty.

He wasn’t sure why he had left her alone during the trip. In the past, he’d never hesitated to enjoy his prisoners.

But this woman was different. Special. Proud and strong. She deserved better than to be molested while out cold and in the presence of others.

Jim would have her soon. In privacy. She would be alert, brave and fierce.

Soon.

But not today.

For today, the new arrivals would be in the care of Doc and his crew. They would be deloused and showered, then examined. Those judged incapable of bearing children would go to the Donor Ward. Each Donor had a two-fold job: to give a pint of blood daily for the estate’s stockroom, and to provide sexual services not only for the Guardian who captured her but also for any others, so inclined, once he’d finished.

The other prisoners would find themselves in the Specialty Suite.

It wasn’t a suite, just a barracks-like room similar to the Donor Ward. But those assigned to it did receive special treatment. They weren’t milked for blood. They were provided good food, not the slop doled out to the Donors.

And each Special could only be used by the Guardian who had captured her.

Mine will be a Special, Jim thought. She’s gotta be. She will be. She’s young and strong.

She’ll be mine. All mine.

At least till Delivery Day.

He felt a cold, spreading heaviness.

That’s a long time from now, he told himself. Don’t think about it.

Moaning, he climbed out of bed.

4

He was standing guard in the north tower at ten the next morning when the two-way radio squawked and Doc’s voice came through the speaker. ‘Harmon, you’re up. Specialty Suite, Honors Room Three. Bennington’s on his way to relieve you.’

Jim thumbed the speak button on his mike. ‘Roger,’ he said. Heart pounding, he waited for Bennington. He’d found out last night that his prisoner, named Diane, had been designated a Special. He’d hoped this would be the day, but he hadn’t counted on it; Doc only gave the okay if the timing was right. In Doc’s opinion, it was only right during about two weeks of each woman’s monthly cycle.

Jim couldn’t believe his luck.

Finally, Bennington arrived. Jim climbed down from the tower and made his way across the courtyard toward the Specialty Suite. He had a hard time breathing. His legs felt weak and shaky.

He’d been in Honors Rooms before. With many different outlaw women. But he’d never felt like this: excited, horribly excited, but also nervous. Petrified.

5

Honors Room Three had a single large bed with red satin sheets. The plush carpet was red. So were the curtains that draped the barred windows, and the shades of the twin lamps on either side of the bed.

Jim sat down on a soft, upholstered armchair. And waited. Trembling.

Calm down, he told himself. This is crazy. She’s just a woman.

Yeah, sure.

Hearing footfalls from the corridor, he leaped to his feet. He turned to the door. Watched it open.

Diane stumbled in, shoved from behind by Morgan and Donner, Doc’s burly assistants. She glared at Jim.

‘Key,’ Jim said.

Morgan shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you.’

‘I brought her in, didn’t I?’

‘She’ll bust more than your nose, you give her half a chance.’

Jim held out his hand. Morgan, shrugging, tossed him the key to the shackles. Then the two men left the room. The door bumped shut, locking automatically.

And he was alone with Diane.

From the looks of her, she’d struggled on the way to the Honors Room. Her thick hair was mussed, golden wisps hanging down her face. Her blue satin robe had fallen off one shoulder. Its cloth belt was loose, allowing a narrow gap from her waist to the hem at her knees. She was naked beneath the robe.

Jim slipped a finger under the belt. He pulled until its half-knot came apart. Then he spread the robe and slipped it down her arms until it was stopped by the wrist shackles.

Guilt subdued his excitement when he saw the livid smudges on her belly. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he murmured.

‘Do what you’re going to do,’ she said. Though she was trying to sound tough, he heard a slight tremor in her voice.

‘I’ll take these shackles off,’ he said. ‘But if you fight me, I’ll be forced to hurt you again. I don’t want to do that.’

‘Then don’t take them off.’

‘It’ll be easier on you without them.’

‘Easier for you.’

‘Do you know why you’re here?’

‘It seems pretty obvious.’

‘It’s not that obvious,’ Jim said, warning himself to speak with care. The room was bugged. A Guardian in the Security Center would be eavesdropping, and Roger himself was fond of listening to the Honors Room tapes. ‘This isn’t… just so I can have fun and games with you. The thing is… I’ve got to make you pregnant.’ Her eyes narrowed. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She said nothing.

‘What that means,' Jim went on, ‘is that we’ll be seeing each other every day. At least during your fertile times. Every day until you conceive. Do you understand?’

‘Why do they want me pregnant?’ she asked.

‘They need more humans. For guards and staff and things. As it is, there aren’t enough of us.’

She gazed into his eyes. He couldn’t tell whether or not she believed the lie.

‘If you don’t become pregnant, they’ll put you in with the Donors. It’s much better for you here. The Donors… all the Guardians can have them whenever they want.’

‘So, it’s either you or the whole gang, huh?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

She nodded.

Jim began taking off his clothes, excited but uncomfortably aware of the scorn in her eyes.

‘You must be a terrible coward,’ she said.

He felt heat spread over his skin.

‘You don’t seem evil. So you must be a coward. To serve such beasts.’

‘Roger treats us very well,’ he said.

‘If you were a man, you’d kill him and all his kind. Or die trying.’

‘I have a good life here.’

‘The life of a dog.’

Naked, he crouched in front of Diane. His face was inches from her tuft of golden down. Aching with a hot confusion of lust and shame, he lowered his eyes to the short length of chain stretched taut between her feet. ‘I’m no coward,’ he said, and removed the steel cuffs.

As the shackles fell to the carpet, she pumped a knee into his forehead. Not a powerful blow, but enough to knock him off balance. His rump hit the floor. He caught himself with both hands while Diane dropped backward, curling, jamming her thighs tight against her chest. Feet in the air, she slipped the hand shackles and trapped robe under her buttocks and up the backs of her legs. They cleared her feet. Her hands were suddenly in front of her, cuffs and chain hidden under the draping robe.

As her heels thudded the floor, Jim rushed her. She spread her legs wide, raised her knees, and stretched her arms out straight overhead. The robe was a glossy curtain molded to her face and breasts.

Jim dived, slamming down on her. She grunted. Clamped her legs around him. He reached for her arms. They were too quick for him. The covered chain swept past his eyes. Went tight around his throat. Squeezed.

Choking, he found her wrists. They were crossed behind his head. He tugged at them. Parted them. Felt the chain loosen. Forced them down until the chain pressed into Diane’s throat.

Her face had come uncovered. Her eyes bulged. Her lips peeled back. She twisted and bucked and squirmed.

When he entered her, tears shimmered in her eyes.

6

The next day, Jim let Morgan and Donner chain her to the bedframe before leaving.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t struggle. She lay motionless and glared at Jim as he took her.

When he was done but still buried in her tight heat, he whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ He hoped the microphone didn’t pick it up.

For an instant, the look of hatred in her eyes changed to something else. Curiosity? Hope?

7

‘What are you sorry about, Jim?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You apologized. What did you apologize for?’

‘To who?’

‘You’ve gone soft on her,’ Roger said. ‘Can’t say I blame you. She’s quite a looker. Feisty, too. But she’s obviously messing you up. I’m afraid someone else’ll have to take over doing the Honors. We’ll work a trade with Phil. You can do his gal, and he’ll do yours. It’ll be better for everyone.’

‘Yes, sir.’

8

Phil’s gal was named Betsy. She was a brunette. She was pretty. She was stacked. She was not just compliant, but enthusiastic. She said that she’d hated being an outlaw, living in the wilds, often hungry and always afraid. This, she said, was like paradise.

Jim had her once a day.

Each time, he closed his eyes and made believe she was Diane.

9

He longed for her. He dreamed about her. But she was confined to the Specialty Suite, available only to Phil, so he would probably never have a chance to see her again. It ate at him. He began to hope she would fail to conceive. In that case, she would eventually be sent to the Donor Ward.

A terrible fate for someone with her spirit.

But at least Jim would be able to see her, go to her, touch her, have her.

And she would be spared the final horror which awaited the Specials.

Doc had judged her to be fertile, however, so Jim knew there was little chance of ever seeing her again.

He was in the Mess Hall a week after being reassigned to Betsy, trying to eat lunch though he had no appetite, when the alarm suddenly blared. The PA boomed, ‘Guardian down, Honors Room One! Make it snappy, men!’

Jim and six others ran from the Mess Hall. Sprinting across the courtyard, he took over the lead. He found Donner waiting in the corridor. The man, gray and shaky, pointed at the closed door of Honors Room One.

Jim threw the door open.

Instead of a bed, this room was equipped with a network of steel bars from which the Special could be suspended, stretched and spread in a variety of positions.

Diane hung by her wrists from a high bar. There were no restraints on her feet. She was swinging and twisting at the ends of her chains as she kicked at Morgan. Her face wore a fierce grimace. Her hair clung to her face. Her skin, apparently oiled by Phil, gleamed and poured sweat. The shackles had cut into her wrists, and blood streamed down her arms and sides.

Phil lay motionless on the floor beneath her wild, kicking body. His head was turned. Too much.

She’d broken his neck?

How could she?

Even as Jim wondered, he saw Morgan lurch forward and grab one of her darting ankles. Diane shot her other leg high. With a cry of pain, she twisted her body and hooked her foot behind Morgan’s head. The big man stumbled toward her, gasping with alarm. He lost his hold on her ankle. That leg flew up. In an instant, he was on his knees, his head trapped between her thighs.

Morgan’s dilemma seemed to snap the audience of Guardians out of their stunned fascination.

Jim joined the others in their rush to the rescue.

He grabbed one leg. Bart grabbed the other. They forced her thighs apart, freeing Morgan. The man slumped on top of Phil’s body, made a quick little whimpery sound, and scurried backward.

‘Take Phil out of here,’ said Rooney, the head Guardian.

The body was dragged from under Diane and taken from the room.

‘What’ll we do with her?’ Jim asked.

‘Let her hang,’ Rooney said. ‘We’ll wait for tonight and let Roger take care of her.’

They released her legs and backed up quickly.

She dangled, swaying back and forth, her eyes fixed on Jim.

He paused in the doorway. He knew he would never see her again.

10

He was wrong.

He saw her a month later when he relieved Biff and began his new duty of monitoring video screens in the Security Center. Diane was on one of the dozen small screens. Alone. In the Punishment Room.

Jim couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d been certain that Roger had killed her - probably torturing her, allowing the other vampires small samples of her blood before draining her himself. Jim had seen that done, once, to a Donor who tried to escape. Diane’s crime had been much worse. She’d murdered a Guardian.

Instead of taking her life, however, Roger had merely sent her to the Punishment Room. Which amounted to little more than solitary confinement.

Incredible. Wonderful.

11

Night after night, alone in the Security Center, Jim watched her.

He watched her sleep on the concrete floor, a sheet wrapped around her naked body. He watched her sit motionless, cross-legged, gazing at the walls. He watched her squat on a metal bucket to relieve herself. Sometimes, she gave herself sponge baths.

Frequently, she exercised. For hours at a time, she would stretch, run in place, kick and leap, do sit-up and push-up and handstands. Jim loved to watch her quick, graceful motions, the flow of her sleek muscles, the way her hair danced and how her breasts jiggled and swayed. He loved the sheen of sweat that made her body glisten.

He could never see enough of her.

Every day, he waited eagerly for the hour when he could relieve Biff and be alone with Diane.

When he had to go on night raids, he was miserable. But he did his duty. He rounded up outlaw women. Some became Specials, and he visited them in Honors Rooms, but when he was with them he always tried to pretend they were Diane.

Then one night, watching her exercise, he noticed that her belly didn’t look quite flat.

‘No,’ he murmured.

12

Throughout the winter, he watched her grow. Every night, she seemed larger. Her breasts swelled and her belly became a bulging mound.

He often wondered whose child she was bearing. It might be his. It might be Phil’s.

He worried, always, about Delivery Day.

13

During his free time, he began making solitary treks into the wood surrounding the estate.

He took his sub-machine-gun and machete.

He often came back with game, which he delivered afterwards to Jones in the kitchen. The grinning chef was always delighted to receive the fresh meat. He was glad to have Jim’s company while he prepared it for the Guardians’ evening meal.

14

Spring came. One morning at six, just as Bart entered the Security Center to relieve Jim of his watch, Diane flinched awake, grimacing. She drew her knees up. She clutched her huge belly through the sheet.

‘What gives?’ Bart asked.

Jim shook his head.

Bart studied the monitor. ‘She’s starting contractions. I’d better ring up Doc.’

Bart made the call. Then he took over Jim’s seat in front of the video screens.

‘I think I’ll stick around,’ Jim said.

Bart chuckled. ‘Help yourself.’

He stayed. He watched the monitor. Soon, Doc and Morgan and Donner entered the cell. They slung the sheet aside. Morgan and Donner forced Diane’s legs apart. Doc inspected her. Then they lifted her onto a gurney and strapped her down. They rolled the gurney out of the cell.

‘I’ll pick ’em up in the Prep Room,’ Bart muttered. ‘That’s what you want to see, right?’ He leered over his shoulder.

Jim forced a smile. ‘You got it.’

Bart fingered some buttons. The deserted Punishment Room vanished from the screen, and the Prep Room appeared.

Doc and his assistants rolled the gurney in.

He soaked a pad with chloroform, and pressed it against Diane’s nose and mouth until she passed out. Then the straps were unfastened. After being sprayed with water, she was rubbed with white foam. All three men went at her with razors.

‘Wouldn’t mind that job,’ Bart said.

Jim watched the razors sweep paths through the foam, cutting away not only Diane’s thick golden hair, but also the fine down. The passage of the blades left her skin shiny and pink. After a while, she was turned over so the rest of her body could be lathered and shaved.

Then the men rinsed her and dried her with towels.

They carried her from the gurney to the wheeled, oak serving-table. The table, a rectangle large enough to seat only six, was bordered by brass gutters for catching the run-off. At the corners of one end - Roger’s end - were brass stirrups.

Feeling sick, Jim watched the men lift Diane’s limp body onto the table. They bent her legs. They strapped her feet into the stirrups. They slid her forward to put her within easy reach of Roger. Then they cinched a belt across her chest, just beneath her breasts. They stretched her arms overhead and strapped her wrists to the table.

‘That’s about it for now,’ Bart said. ‘If you drop by around seven tonight, that’s when they’ll be basting her. She’ll be awake then, too. That’s when the panic really hits them. It’s usually quite a sight to behold.’

‘I’ve seen,’ Jim muttered, and left the room.

15

He returned to the barracks and tried to sleep. It was no use. Finally, he got up and armed himself. Steve let him out the front gate. He wandered the woods for hours. With his sub-machine-gun, he bagged three squirrels.

In the late afternoon, he ducked into the hiding place he’d found in a clump of bushes. He lashed together the twenty wooden spears which he’d fashioned during the past weeks. He pocketed the small pouch containing the nightcap mushrooms which he had gathered and ground to fine powder.

He carried the spears to the edge of the forest. Leaving them propped against a tree, he stepped into the open. He smiled and waved his squirrels at the north tower. The gate opened, and he entered the estate.

He took the squirrels to Jones in the kitchen. And helped the cheerful chef prepare stew for the Guardians’ supper.

16

Just after sunset, Jim went to the Security Center and knocked.

‘Yo.’ Biff’s voice.

‘It’s Jim. I want to see the basting.’

‘You’re a little early,’ Biff said. Moments later, he opened the door. His mouth made a tight little O and he folded as Jim rammed a knife into his stomach.

17

Diane was awake, sweaty and grunting, struggling against the restraints, gritting her teeth and flinching rigid each time a contraction hit her.

Jim stared at the screen. Without hair and eyebrows, she looked so odd. Freakish. Even her figure, misshapen by the distended belly and swollen breasts, seemed alien. But her eyes were pure Diane. In spite of her pain and terror, they were proud, unyielding.

Doc entered the Prep Room, examined her for a few moments, then went away.

Jim checked the other screens.

In the Donor Ward, the women had been locked down for the Guardians’ evening mealtime. Some slept. Others chatted with friends in neighboring beds. Jim made a quick count.

In the Specialty Suite, Morgan and Donner were just returning a woman from an Honors Room. They led her to one of the ten

empty beds, shoved her down on it, and shackled her feet to the metal frame. Jim counted heads.

Thirty-two Donors. Only sixteen Specials. Generally, however, the Donors were older women who’d been weakened by the daily loss of blood and by regular mistreatment at the hands of the Guardians. The Specials were fewer in number, but younger and stronger. Though some appeared to be in late stages of their pregnancies, most were not very far along, and many of the newer ones had probably not even conceived yet.

It’ll be the Specials, Jim decided.

He watched Morgan and Donner leave the Suite.

In the Mess Hall, Guardians began to eat their stew.

In the floodlit courtyard, Steve and Bennington climbed stairs to the north and west towers, carrying pots of dinner to the men on watch duty. When they finished there, they should be heading for the other two towers.

Morgan and Donner entered the Mess Hall. They sat down, and Jones brought them pots of stew.

Doc entered the Prep Room. He set a bowl of shimmering red fluid onto the table beside Diane’s hip. He dipped in a brush. He began to paint her body. The blood coated her like paint.

In the Mess Hall, Baxter groaned and staggered away from the table, clutching his belly.

In the Banquet Room, there was no camera. But Jim knew that Roger and his pals would be there, waiting and eager. The absence of the usual table would’ve already tipped them off that tonight would be Special. Even now, Roger was probably picking five to sit with him at the serving table. The unfortunate four would only get to watch and dine on their usual fare of Donor blood.

In the Mess Hall, Guardians were stumbling about, falling down, rolling on the floor.

In the Prep Room, Doc set aside the brush and bowl. He rolled the serving table toward the door. Diane shook her crimson, hairless head from side to side and writhed against the restraints.

Jim rushed out of the Security Center.

18

‘All hell’s broken loose!’ he shouted as he raced up the stairs to the

north tower. ‘Don’t touch your food! Jones poisoned it!’

‘Oh shit!’ Harris blurted, and spat out a mouthful.

‘Did you swallow any?’ Jim asked, rushing toward him.

‘Not much, but…’

Jim jerked the knife from the back of his belt and slashed Harris’s throat. He punched a button on the control panel.

By the time he reached the front gate, it was open. He ran out, dashed across the clear area beyond the wall, and grabbed the bundle of spears.

The gate remained open for him. Apparently, the poison had taken care of the Guardian on the west tower.

Rushing across the courtyard, he saw two Guardians squirming on the ground.

At the outer door of the Specialty Suite, he snatched the master key off its nail. He threw the door open and rushed in.

‘All right, ladies! Listen up! We’re gonna kill some vampires!’

19

Blasts pounding his ears, Jim blew apart the lock. He threw his gun aside, kicked the door, and charged into the Banquet Room.

Followed by sixteen naked Specials yelling and brandishing spears.

For just an instant, the vampires around the serving table continued to go about their business - greedily lapping the brown, dry blood from Diane’s face and breasts and legs as Roger groped between her thighs. The four who watched, goblets in hand, were the first to respond.

Then, roaring, they all abandoned the table and attacked.

All except Roger.

Roger stood where he was. He met Jim’s eyes. ‘ You dumb fuck!’ he shouted. ‘Take care of him, guys!’

The vampires tried. They all rushed Roger.

But were met, first, by Specials. Some went down with spears in their chests while others tossed the women away or slammed them to the floor or snapped their spines or ripped out their throats.

Jim rushed through the melee. He halted at the near end of the table as Roger cried out, ‘Is this why you’re here?’ His hands delved. Came up a moment later with a tiny, gleaming infant. ‘Not enough

to share, I’m afraid.’ Grinning, he raised the child to his mouth. With a quick nip, he severed its umbilical cord.

One hand clutching the baby’s feet, he raised it high and tilted back his head. His mouth opened wide. His other hand grasped the top of its head.

Ready to twist it off. Ready to enjoy his special, rare treat.

‘No!’ Diane shrieked.

Jim hurled his spear. Roger’s hand darted down. He caught the shaft, stopping its flight even as the wooden point touched his chest. ‘Dickhead,’ he said. ‘You didn’t really think…’

Jim launched himself at Diane. He flew over her body, smashed down on her, slid through the wide V of her spread legs and reached high and grabbed the spear and rammed it deep into Roger’s chest.

The vampire bellowed. He staggered backward. Coughed. Blood exploded from his mouth, spraying Jim’s face and arms. He dropped to his knees and looked up at the infant that he still held high. He lowered its head toward his wide, gushing mouth.

Jim flung himself off the end of the table, but he knew he would be too late.

He landed on the spear. As its shaft snapped under his weight, bloody vomit cascaded over his head. Pushing himself up, he saw the baby dangling over Roger’s mouth. The vampire tried to snap at its head, but the tide of rushing gore pushed it away.

Jim scurried forward. He held the child in both hands until Roger let go and slumped against the floor.

20

Afterwards, the Donors were released.

They helped with the burials.

Eleven dead Specials were buried in the courtyard, their graves marked by crosses fashioned of spears.

Morgan, Donner and the Guardians, who’d all succumbed to the poison, were buried beyond the south wall of the estate.

The corpses of Roger and his fellow vampires were taken into the woods to a clearing where two trails crossed. The heads were severed. The torsos were buried with the spears still in place. The heads were carried a mile away to another crossing in the trail.

There, they were burned. The charred skulls were crushed, then buried.

After a vote by the women, Doc and three Guardians who’d missed the poisoned squirrels were put to death. Jones had also missed the meal. But the women seemed to like him. He was appointed chef. Jim was appointed leader.

He chose Diane to be his assistant.

The child was a girl. They named her Glory. She had Diane’s eyes, and ears that stuck out in very much the same way as Jim’s.

The small army lived in Roger’s estate, and seemed happy.

Frequently, when the weather was good, a squad of well-armed volunteers would board the bus. Jim driving, they would follow roads deep into the woods. They would park the bus and wander about, searching. Sometimes, they found vampires and took them down with a shower of arrows. Sometimes, they found bands of outlaws and welcomed these strangers into their ranks.

21

One morning, when a commotion in the courtyard drew Jim’s attention, he looked down from the north tower and saw Diane gathered around the bus with half-a-dozen other women. Instead of their usual leather skirts and vests, they were dressed in rags.

Diane saw him watching, and waved. Her hair had grown, but it was still quite short. It shone like gold in the sunlight.

She looked innocent, glorious.

She and her friends commenced to paint the bus pink.