Life After Death (Original Series)

Chelsea was warm. She loved waking up to that feeling, even if she didn't open her eyes, even if she didn't move for a little while, she loved waking to being warm. It was like remembering something so important that you want to memorize it, again, just to make sure it's always there for you. She kept her eyes closed, but felt M's arm draped over her, keeping her safe while he slumbered next to her, his even breathing nearly music to her, no matter how many times she heard it.

It'd been a rough time for him since he'd gotten there. He helped retrain people in their town, helped gather supplies, and even came up with new safety procedures for some of the crews. He even trained her, intensely, and she became an even better shot, and even added skills to her repertoire like survival and hand to hand combat. She remembered those days fondly, the way he was so happy teaching people, even though there was a dark torrent of emotion underneath. She bit her lip as that scene, in the cafeteria, played out in her mind.

So many people were pestering him for his story, they offered up theirs, some even offered the stories of others, trying to coerce the young man that was so knowledgeable in surviving in this world. He resisted for as long as he could, until one day a rumor started that he was a spy for some other settlement. M wasn't hurt about the accusations, in fact he understood them. He asked that as many people be present for his story to quell the little fire that'd sprung up.

Chelsea remembered being infuriated with the rest of the people, she reminded them how much he'd helped, but her cries fell on deaf ears. She remembered seeing him sit at the back of the room, in a single chair, holding a cigar box, her heart ached for him. She wanted to stand by him, comfort him as he spun his tale to the people that had demanded it. She counted the people that walked in, nearly the entire population of their little town, staring at the man with the long, black hair, dark eyes, and a beaming smile. When he was sure they were ready he began.

She felt herself tremble as he began his story, opening the cigar box at the same time. He spoke about his three brothers, taking out tiny trinkets from the box as he did. He was the oldest, the next brother in his teens, the one after had only turned eleven, the last was barely learning to walk. He talked about his father, who was in the special forces before the world fell apart, and how he trained him. He went on to tell how his father died fighting to restore the world. The entire time he spoke Chelsea's hands were balled into fists of fury and worry. He got to the part about his mother. For the first time in his tale his voice shook. It felt like the world trembled beneath her feet.

M explained how his mother was an alcoholic, even into the fall of the world. He told everyone how he would have to include liquor in his daily runs, just to keep her functional. It was then that he pulled out a tiny bottle, the label faded and nearly scratched off. Tears flowed down his cheeks, her cheeks burned with tears, too. She'd fallen asleep drunk one day while he was out looking for food, his brothers couldn't fend off the dead that had heard the youngest of them crying. Chelsea started pushing her way through the people, trying to get to him, to comfort him. He had placed the bottle back in the box, then told them all about the last settlement he was in and how it fell. Even how he ended up here.

He met her eyes and smiled, through the tears, he smiled. She rolled over in their small bunk and put her arm around him, pulling herself closer to his warmth. He didn't stir, but she felt he knew she was there. Their relationship was quick to start, but slow to elevate to anything besides sharing a bunk and the title of a relationship. She stared at his face for a while, pondering the idea of going further, but it didn't last long. The small, red lights at their door began flashing, an emergency was at hand. A cold chill went through her as she shook M awake.

He came awake with a start, like always, instantly asking if she was okay, she nodded her answer. “We need to move. There's an emergency.” He looked at the light, then back to her, but she already knew the process. Within a few minutes she had her pack on, her rifle, and a few knives that he had given her, all ready as she ran out with him in tow. The young woman paused outside her door, the town alive with shouted orders, which raised the hair on her neck. The constant word was 'Raiders', each time it was said with more and more panic. Chelsea knew her role, M knew his, and they raced off. Luckily her bunk wasn't too far away from her post on the wall.

Chelsea's thick winter clothes made all sorts of sounds as she ran to the tiny stair set and began climbing up. Her rifle was over her shoulder, her legs pumped as the name of the man that was replacing her for the moment escaped her. She was about to call out to get his attention when a spear plunged through his chest, a spray of blood jetting out from his back, coloring the metal sides of the small roost. She tried to react, but the man was pulled over the side of the wall, screams of triumph erupting from the outside. The only thought on her mind was if M was okay.

Her eyes scanned the wall, frantically looking for him. She found him, just as he ducked a circular saw blade that had been launched at his head, missing by inches and sticking in the ground behind him. In her head she was furious at the attempt, but the rest of her was acclimated to violence. Quietly she climbed to the top of the stairs, poking her head over the edge to see who was attacking her settlement. What she saw drew a gasp from her.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Phil didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember going to bed or even being in his own home. He just knew, now, that he was waking up. The faint sensation of swaying was also disorienting, but even more so was the feeling of being upside down. Thick ropes binded up his ankles and kept him in the air, but what he was swinging from was also a mystery. His vision was blurred for a couple of reasons, missing his glasses, and grogginess from being unconscious. 

The smell of something strange was strong in where ever he was, it was also a little cold, even through his cover-alls from work. Big windows poured in late afternoon sun the color of amber, but the finer details were lost without his glasses. He groaned a bit as he brought his hands up to his face to try and rub the film of sleep away. He froze when he heard a voice. "Oh good. You're awake. Was afraid I'd have gone too far." The voice was familiar, soft, soothing, almost. He tried to turn his body, but only managed to make his head swivel towards the owner of the voice. A blurry figure was standing not too far away.

"Gone too far with what? And, uh, who are you?" Phil knew his situation was less than ideal, but his curiosity won out. "Oh. Forgive me. These are yours." Phil's glasses were pressed into his palm and he immediately put them on. The world was suddenly clear. He was in an empty warehouse, hanging from a rafter, and the voice belonged to a vampire. A vampire he'd known for a few years, now. "Hi, Michael. What's going on?" Confusion trumped curiosity that time. Michael stepped forward, concern in his purple eyes, "Are you okay? Do you need water or anything?" 

The man hanging upside down tested his lips and mouth, but they were okay, his head hurt slightly, but it was negligible. "No, I'm okay. What's with the hanging thing?" Michael showed relief, but nodded, ready to launch into an explanation, "I'm so sorry about this Phil. I want you to know you've been nothing but a good friend to me these years. Some people know that you supply me with specialized weapons, every now and again, and I had to clean up those loose ends before they lead back to you." Michael motioned to a place where his hanging friend could not see, then turned him to witness it.

Now Phil new that smell, and the source, now, too. Half a dozen bodies were strung up, just like him, their necks slashed, and their faces a mask of glossy red, all their eyes glazed over and sleepy looking. Michael walked amongst the hanging bodies as he continued to speak, "These people were less than cooperative, but, then again, they don't know me like you do. So here's the short and ugly version of it, my good friend: I need direct access to where you get your supplies and weapons from. Due to certain circumstances I'm being forced to cut out the middle man, as it were." 

The hanging man could barely believe his eyes as they went over every gory detail of the way the others had died, some he knew, most he didn't. And now the words of his violet eyed friend were setting in at a rapid pace. Phil knew the violence the vampire could summon in a heart beat. That's how they met, after all. Phil wandering to his car in a drunken stupor one evening, three feral vampires saw him as a meal, Michael dispatched them all with efficiency that would startle anyone not used to seeing that level of decimation. He and Phil spent the rest of the night drinking together and discussing the world that existed beneath human kind's feet. 

The entire conversation was easy for Phil, he'd been a horror movie fanatic for most of his life, and his way to repay his debt was easy, considering he had an engineering degree in eight different fields. His new vampire friend had refused the help, saying there was no debt to pay, but he insisted. He wouldn't have guessed, all those years ago, that an unlikely friendship would have lead to this. He chose his words carefully, knowing Michael didn't like liars or being lead on, "There's no middle man, Michael. I do all the stuff I've sold to you myself. I have a workshop downtown where I build things for various people. And there isn't a stockpile of weapons or ammo, either. I keep it that way in case somebody gets curious and breaks in or the ATF show up."

Phil watched his friend weigh his words in silence. In the meantime he fought lightheaded feelings and a wave of nausea caused by the swaying. The vampire nodded, accepting the explanation, "Well, my good friend. Seems you now have a full time career working for me, than." With in a few seconds the rope was cut and Phil was on his feet, carried like he weighed nothing by his friend, which was odd for his six foot, two hundred plus pound frame. "I was never going to kill you, by the way, I just needed information." Michael offered with a smile and a clap on the shouler.

The nervous laughter that bubbled up from Phil couldn't be helped, "Okay, good! 'Cause you had me going for a second, with the whole bodies hanging thing." Michael laughed in return, about to say something when Phil's world went deaf. It felt like someone had just punched him a few times in the back, taking the air from his lungs. He heard his name called in panic, then other men shouting various orders, but he couldn't make out the words. His eyes went down to his chest and saw four large holes oozing blood. 

Behind him Michael roared with ferocity and men began to scream in between automatic rifle fire. Phil sank to his knees, his hands coming up to his chest to press on the wounds, hoping to do something to help. His glasses were shaken off his face as his shoulder met the wet ground, the world was silent again, but he couldn't draw a breath. As if out of nowhere his vampire friend was now above him, shouting his name over and over. There was panic in his voice, fear and tears in his eyes, as he, too, tried to put pressure on the bleeding holes.

There was no pain, but Phil felt the warm tears fall on his cheek as Michael kept asking something over and over. The world was tunneling into darkness, his lungs ached for air, but he concentrated on his friend's voice. "...I can't do it unless you say 'Yes'! Do you want me to turn you? Phil! Answer me, please!" The answer was easy, but getting it out wasn't. He forced his lungs to take a breath, bringing the pain that had been absent, screaming into his body. He could only manage a whisper, "Yes."