Beautiful Fighters - an original vampire story (15+) (SAMPLE ONLY)

The first vampire to die by baked bean bombardment

MONDAY OCTOBER 6

Kyle had parked his bike in the dedicated bays reserved for staff members. He pulled off his helmet when I approached. "No way. You're nowhere near fully trained and unlicensed vampires are dangerous. Swear to God, I'll station myself outside Sharon's house and not budge."

"Please, Kyle! I used to live there, remember? I've done advanced stake training, so I'll be able to do that, if nothing else. I can't wait here. And it's not like the Argists have the contract for security services in Dunrovia," I added, "so you're not there in an official capacity anyway."

All true. For the past few years, the Argist Academy had applied to take over public security services in our country. They proposed different solutions and a funding model that didn't cripple the families who needed security services. The National Conservatives rubbished the plans and argued that the public had no appetite for them, but when the contract came up next year how would the party be able to persuade people taxpayers should shoulder Vampire Security's far more expensive services?

The Argists routinely showed up in emergencies in case Vampire Security didn't arrive in time or bring enough guards with them, which happened, what, seven times out of ten, more?

Kyle puffed out his cheeks and blew out the air. "Fine. Do nothing without my say-so, okay?"

I nodded, and he caught my wrist in a vice-like grip. "Do you promise, Maya?"

"Promise! All I want to do is guard Rosie. Can we go now?"

He handed me the other helmet, and I hopped on the back behind him. We roared through the quiet streets. Barriers had been set up at the entrances to all the roads that led into the estate. Kyle stopped the bike at the one blocking off access to our street. I hopped off the bike and removed my helmet. Two armed guards strode forward.

"Can you let me though, please?" I asked. "My family lives here."

Guard one held out her hand. "Where's your proof?"

Kyle joined me. "She doesn't need proof. We don't live in a country where people need to carry ID wherever they go."

"Yet," the guard growled, but she let us through, the pounding in my ears increasing every second. The last strike on the estate had taken place some time ago, and I hadn't seen this level of protection here for months.

I ran to Sharon's house, Kyle by my side. My old home was a terraced house, each brick building too close to the next. All the front doors on the street featured triple locks and double doors, the lead lining inside supposed to deaden the smell of unvaccinated blood within.

The streets had that eery stillness—no-one out and about, and no cars driving around. A neighbourhood bracing itself for impact.

"Sharon, I'm here!"

She didn't answer and I knocked again. Footsteps scurried forwards. She must have been locking Rosie in our basement.

"Love, please can you go to the supermarket for me?" she whispered through the letter box. "Rosie's still got a temperature and I've run out of paracetamol."

Ever since Rosie's second vaccination dose, she'd suffered frequent fevers.

"Go," Kyle said. "I'll stand guard outside the house."

I gave him my phone so that he could communicate with Sharon and headed off for the grotty supermarket. Above me, birds took to the air chirping their tiny heads off—an indication of vampires nearby. I picked up the pace. The sooner I fetched that paracetamol, the sooner I could join Kyle to shield Rosie.