McDracula

Mickey D’s fries are almost as good as blood straight from the source…almost, but not quite. 

Shoving my hand into the popping grease, I fish out the last few stragglers, cramming them into my mouth.  Ahhh!  These are my favorites, the escapees, scalding hot and crisp, they take the edge off the thirst…a little.  Good thing too, without them I don’t think I’d be able to give Carlotta as many of my rations.

“Hey Speedy, pick it up with those fries.  I got cars backed up to Valley View Mall.  If you were going any slower, you’d be going backwards.” 

“Seriously, Frieda?”  I mumble under my breath, sneaking a peek to judge how pissed she is. Her disgust for me is plastered so plainly across her face it looks like she just stepped in something.  Obviously she’s forgotten it was only a month ago she was down here mopping the floors with the rest of us schleps, but I remember.

Ignoring both the buzzer and my slave driver, I inspect my hand…not a blemish, as pasty as ever.  I could’ve sworn I felt the burn.  Maybe the pain was in my head?

“Drop six McChickens, STAT!” So what, we’re doctors, now? Frieda shoots me a power-crazed glare, her hand twitching with the crack of an imaginary whip.  “Move it, Batch or you’ll find your butt on breakfast crew.”

“Break!” My hands are shaking uncontrollably, whether it’s from the vegan diet not supplementing my human body’s needs or from the desire to wrap them around her neck, is a toss-up.  But since she’s so ‘loving it’ in a truly McDonald’s fashion, I think I’ll let her run my fryer bank.  Have fun with that Joan of Barf. 

“Say what?  You can’t take a break now; we got cars lined up the street.”  Her eyes strain against their sockets, tiny little veins, plump with rage, dancing in rhythm with the fat throbbing artery in her neck. Delicious!  I really love to watch angry humans…veins bulge, temperatures rise.  Offering me easy access and heating up my dinner as well. My fangs sink into my lower lip.  Okay, not my dinner….can’t bite humans, not anymore.

I could just waltz up to the front register, two-step sweet little Savannah, type AB+, to the side and clock out.  I could do that.  I could also throw away the very reason that I’m here in the first place.  Free, unlimited, fresh from the fryer fries, ones I salt myself, and…Carlotta.  She’s got me, I’ll stay my post, but one more word…

Their scent slaps me, full in the face, whipping my head around instinctively in their direction.  IHs (Infected Humans) well fed ones at that.  Crap!  Just what I freaking need, Frieda turning into the Bride of Hitler and the Association, on the same bleeding night!  Can’t a guy get a break?  Sniffing the air, I count their number over the reek of frying flesh. 

Three, supersized shites!  The three dead musketeers’…Sleepy, Dopey, and Grumpy, or are those the midgets?  I can’t ever keep those Disney characters straight. 

I inhale deeper, sanitizer burning my nose.  Not three…only two dead, one…one…VRC (Virus Regulatory Commission) agent?  What am I going to do now?  If I walk out and take my break, I may as well keep on walking.  But if I don’t take a break, Mick, Skinhead Association goon, Mango, Pretty Boy Association goon, and Hemorrhoid, appropriate name for the VRC agent, are going to make things pretty nasty, and quick.

Two sets of short fangs and a smarmy grin flash at me from the dining room while Mango punches the life-size Ronald McDonald cutout.  It’s official business alright.
“Ms. Vermont,” she loves it when I call her by her last name, makes her feel all, pudgy and powerful, maybe just powerful, she probably always feels pudgy. That’s not fair, she used to be alright.  Now kissing her tyrannical butt is the vilest thing I can possibly do, but I need all the help I can get.  I step back using the sandwich line as coverage from the steroid happy IHs.

“I’m not feeling well, I’m sure that’s why I’ve been off my game tonight.  Sorry I’ve been so slow.  I know how that makes your job much harder…”  Her eyes narrow…maybe I’ve gone too far.  “If you can just give me 15 minutes, I swear, I’ll filter all the fryers and do the floor squeegee at close.”

Groveling makes me gag, but it’s effective. I whimper as I bite into my lower lip.  Cold sweat breaking out instantly across my forehead as the virus leaps alive at the salty blood filling my mouth.  Keeping Carlotta fed is starving me to death.  Now just the scent of blood can break me out in sweats, at least the paltry diet keeps the sweats from being bloody.

The VRC Hemorrhoid saunters to the counter, ignoring the line, craning his neck as he searches for me. His back-up goons flank him on either side, their well-fed pearly skin shining like ivory death masks, their fangs peeking from purple lips.  Come on, Frieda!  Make a decision or we’re both going to see exactly how short those fangs are.

“Go on then, Eddie. Take 15, I’ll watch your fryers, you don’t look so good.”  Her eyes flicker over my face, gleeful in her power trip. 

But I’m already through the swinging door and into the dining room, before she finishes her sentence.

“Yo, McLoser, didn’t see yo’ pasty behinds at da’ meetin’ laz night. Gots an esplanation?” Mango jumps in, before Mick’s mouth is fully open.  Someone’s getting extra rations and that can’t be good for me.

I push by, as if I have no idea who they are.  Can’t they even wait until I’m outside?  I’m not allowed to have friends visit me at work, enemies either.  Of course, this wouldn’t be the first McDonald’s I’ve been ‘released from’ thanks to these jerks.  The smirk on Mick’s face tells me all I need to know.  The new Hemorrhoid doesn’t know my whole story yet, but it looks like he’s creaming to tell him.

I walk through the Happy Meal playground, picking up napkins on my way, Frieda’s eyes boring into my skull with every step.  I dump the trash, and for good measure, pick up the cups left on the tables too.  Maybe the extra work will gain me a couple of extra minutes, looks like I’m going need it.  I head for the side door; the scent of the vamps, close on my heels.

“Yeah, McMaggot, didna see that sweet sista of yous, neither, did we?”  Mick’s accent is muddled, and I can’t tell where he’s from or how old he is.  Pretty sure, he was around during the final Association battle.  His coloring, or rather lack of it and accent makes me think Boston clans, but something isn’t quite right.  More like South Boston/South Philly. 

Mango is easier.  NY clans, everything about him speaks Spanish Harlem, from the wife beater t-shirt and gold chains to the baggy jeans with the Puerto Rican flag painted on the leg, but again, his accent doesn’t tell his story either.  I had his age pegged around 95 years, but with all the blood he’s getting, can’t be too sure.

I mean look at me, even without a consistent diet, I stay basically strong and can control the virus to some degree.  But I look like 3 to 5 years old.  I’ve regained that pasty, almost blood-sweat sheen to my skin.  Of course, it wasn’t always like that...

Wait, did that maggot just mention Carlotta? My blood boils in my veins, aggravating my already awake virus and releasing a swarm of hornets into my corpse.  I could just take a little nip from him, screw their laws.  Or better yet, a couple of well placed swift blows, taking out the two gargantuan apes, and I’ve got a feast…their government-issued human.  Heck he’d probably like it; god knows most of them only get invited into the ranks of the ‘seriously creepy’, after they’ve had a run-in with a vampire anyway.  Freaking Rogue Bait, biters, sickos, or whatever you want to call them…humans addicted to the bite, twisted freaks.

Welcome to my world, thanks to these pukes.  I spin the instant I pass the dumpster, punching Mick in the face, kicking Mango in the balls, and twirl to face the new VRC agent. 

“Look, I don’t want any trouble.  I would’ve come to the meeting, but I had to work.  Some of us,” I look pointedly at Mick, his face covered in clotting blood, a font bubbling from his broken nose.  I turn my attention to Mango, hands clutching his swollen ball sac, “Some of us prefer to earn a living instead of being on the VRC welfare system.  Some of us…” I shoot another glance at the two fuming IHs and then slowly turn back to the Hemorrhoid.  “…have always earned a wage for a night’s labor…instead of expecting the humans to pay our way.”

The agent stands mutely, staring at me like he’s just found the Messiah.  Humph, I’ve actually succeeded in shutting up a VRC agent.  He peeks through narrowed slits of tawny eyelashes at the two vampires sent to protect him on enforcement duty and then back at me.  I can almost see inside his half-used brain…he has no idea how to approach me.  Not good…he does know a little about me.  I smile at his goons, shaking my head sadly.

“Never send a girl to do a man’s job.”  Unless it’s Carlotta.  I smile at Mango and Mick.  Mick spits a mouthful of clotted blood at me, but I step aside, and the new Hemorrhoid gets a shirt full. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.  Now look what you’ve gone and done.  I’m sure the Association will reimburse the VRC for the dry cleaning.  Probably a waste though, you’re going need a new one. Blood stains, even rotten, butt-kisser blood.”  Shivering, the agent wipes an unsteady hand down the front of his ruined shirt.  Oh yeah, he’s Rogue Bait. His fingers are trembling; it’s all he can do to keep from cramming them into his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, you can’t get infected that way, you’re safe.”  I know he already knows this and just how badly he wishes it wasn’t so.  Geez, he’s got a boner from the slop!  God, this one’s sicker than the last.  Where do they find these freaks? 

The agent blinks rapidly, struggling to regain control.  Maybe he didn’t catch the inference to Carlotta, or maybe this incident will supersede everything else. There’s got to be a ton of paperwork involved in a fresh blood incident.

“No, Mr. Cumberbatch, I know I can’t get sick from this, thank you for your concern,” Who said I was concerned?  “But there is still the problem at hand.  It is my duty to ensure that we have every member…” What are we now, frat brothers?  I thought we were patients. “…accounted for.  You understand the VRC’s responsibility for complete and accurate details of current physical addresses, phone numbers, email, and all pertinent information for each member.  If one doesn’t attend the meetings, then they won’t have sufficient ration cards, and well, you know what can happen without proper nutrition.  We wouldn’t want that, would we?”  So much for shutting up a VRC agent, if there’s one thing these morons can do, it’s talk.

“No sir, we wouldn’t want that.  But if you’ll check my file, I’m sure my age is in there somewhere.  Almost 218, I can last several weeks without rations.”  I stop talking as the gerbils race around inside his head.  This creature knows a lot about me, so why is here?“Yes, hmmm, I’m sure you could, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

I interrupt gently, “Call me Eddie, my current alias is Eddie Batch.  I thought…”

“Yes of course, Eddie, I did read that in your file, my apologies.  But as I was saying, the attendance of meetings isn’t simply recommended with the passage of the amended guidelines, meetings are now mandatory.  Perhaps, you were unaware of that?” 

Is the dog is throwing me a bone?  Of course, I know the bloody meetings are now mandatory, I hacked into their mainframe ten months ago.  Unfortunately, I haven’t been quite as successful hacking into the personnel files…yet.  I take the bait.  “No sir, I wasn’t aware they’re mandatory now.  Maybe my address is entered incorrectly in the database?” 

“Perhaps so, perhaps so.  Are you not receiving our mailers?”  Super-spy leers at me, playing this little game is getting his rocks off.  Maybe my complexion, obviously hungry, makes him think I’m easy.  Suppose, he thinks I owe him a favor now.

Mick and Mango exchange glances before turning their pissed off, fangs fully extended, not impressive, glowing white faces back to me. Mick’s hands curl into fists and Mango leans onto the balls of his feet, but they stay put. 

“Nope, no mailers that I can recall, sir.  But I thought the use of the postal service was forbidden for our updates.”  The post office is strictly forbidden, I haven’t seen a single word to the contrary.  Of course, it’s possible; there are still a lot of files I haven’t accessed, yet.

“Well, as we discussed at last night’s meeting, this is all very new, but the use of the postal service for agency updates is the VRC’s first step in assimilating the IH population into the mainstream.  Several members are already receiving the newsletter.  Of course, should you choose to maintain an electronic link only for your correspondence, we will honor your wishes.  We, at the agency, are all about mutual agreements,” he pauses, an icky smile sliming across his wormy face.

Mutual agreements, my corpse.  The only thing the agency is about, is controlling the IH population, before the Association becomes strong enough to force their way into the “mainstream population”.  Only what the Association doesn’t get, is they will never be strong enough to force their way in.  What the VRC doesn’t get, is they will never be able to control a hungry vampire.  Call us IHs all you want, but we are what we are.

“Well, I’m very sorry, Mr….?”

“Come now Mr. Batch, you know we don’t use names at the agency, you may call me Agent 333.”  He flashes the same condescending smile.  I’m almost ready to dislodge it.

“Of course, excuse me, Agent 333, but if you will allow me to return to work.  I’m quite sure my break is over, and I need this job for the rent. I promise to attend every meeting in the future.  Are we finished?”  I let my voice trail off.  He’s so not used to being dismissed by an IH, and he doesn’t like the taste of it.  His eyes blaze with anger, but he quickly smothers the flame.

“Certainly, Mr. Batch, thank you for time.  I look forward to seeing you Tuesday night. Gentlemen,” he motions for the overly tense duo of Mango and Mick to follow.

Just for good measure, I let my fangs extend and watch Mick’s knee jerk reaction. His claws shoot out and he snorts a cloud of infected clotted blood. Little tidbit about the virus, the purer the maker’s source, the longer the fangs, the longer the fangs, the harder to kill.  Carlotta and I have beautiful lengthy fangs when fully extended.  It’s always worth reminding those who might want to take a swipe at you.

I watch them walk away, hesitating for only a moment before inhaling deeply, memorizing the new Hemorrhoid’s scent.  Heading back into my dungeon of drudgery, I pick up the stray bags of trash littering the parking lot.  The extra work should help my luck with the terminator.  I certainly can’t afford to lose this golden fried opportunity.  Rather than dumping the garbage outside, I carry it in and allure Frieda’s eyes.  Making sure she notes my litter-filled hands, I smile as I chunk it in the can.  Check that out, I might even mess around and get myself a raise.