The Blood Slave

TWO

I was familiar with the pale blue tint of a vampire's irises. I knew the void behind their pupils; the nothingness that seemed to hint that something deep down was missing. It wasn't as if I hadn't glanced at them while their attention was elsewhere, but never had I looked into the eyes of one of them while they were looking back. If an unsuspecting gazelle had suddenly captured the cunning gaze of the cheetah, I think it would have been just as shocked as I was looking at this guard. Petrified. Deadlocked in the gaze of eyes that were as cerulean as the sky in my treadmill course had been.

Shaggy blonde hair brushed his shoulders and framed his unfamiliar face. He was obviously new, a realization which caused my exposed flesh to prickle. New guards could easily slip up. He could slurp me up and not think twice about it - that is until the consequences of his crime (tampering with the blood supply) came to light. Even more terrifying was the prospect that he could have been a vagabond vamp.

Vagabond vamps weren't like the superior vamps. They were from the Necrolands -- everything outside of the compounds that were vastly overrun by the zombies. These vagabonds roamed the Necrolands searching for the scattered living, drinking their fill of them and leaving new zombies in their wake. If anything was worse than being drained of life, coming back to life as a rotting corpse would certainly be it.

My heart quickened as though I were still back in the gym climbing that mountain. The new guard's eyes seemed to narrow slightly. Right away, I knew my reaction was a mistake. Letting a predator know I was afraid was the worst thing I could have done. I silently cursed the betrayal of my heart, but hearts can be very difficult to reason with, and mine was flat-out afraid. No matter what my mind was telling it to do, it prepared for the run.

I couldn't allow it. Running was out of the question. What does the cheetah do when the gazelle flees? He gives chase. How far could I get? Would the other guards stop him, or would they even care? I could turn around, tell the door guard I forgot something, and casually walk out the door. I could sprint once the door shut behind me. . . .

"Pay him no mind, Harper, dear," a mellow voice said from my side. It was the single voice that could have slowed my adrenaline at a time such as this. It belonged to grandmother. She looped her arm through mine and urged me forward. Without much coaxing, I obliged.

Grandma Cassidy, or Gramma Cass as I called her, had been around for a long sixty-eight years -- which was an impressive record around the compounds. This woman had seen the world before it became a living nightmare. She had been in her twenties when the epidemic hit. She and my grandfather spent their honeymoon on an isolated tropical island. When she returned, half of the world had turned into flesh craving zombies. The vampires had made themselves known and acted, once it became clear the humans weren't going to win. Their food source had been threatened by mindless rotting corpses that just wanted to devour everything in sight and vamps weren't about to let that happen. First, vamps tried fighting the zombies. One vamp could make a huge dent in a horde of zombies, but a horde would eventually tear a vamp to shreds. Soon, vamps realized they were terribly outnumbered.

The next step was multiplying. With a group of new vamps at their side, a sire's chances of survival were increased. But more vamps meant more blood. Vamps kept feeding and zombies kept feeding. Dead humans became zombies....something had to be done. A system was created. Compounds were built. Humans were kept, bled, bred, and sometimes, but rarely, turned. Some came for protection, some were captured "for their own good." Gramma Cass was a volunteer.

Coaxing every muscle in my body to relax, I pretended the filthy connection with the guard hadn't just transpired. "Gramma Cass!" I exclaimed, delighted. "I didn't expect you to be down so early."