Alarums

Alarums
By Stephen A Abell

Number Of Words: 4617


“I’ve seen the light,” the immaculately clad man addressed the crowd of people filling the large room. He paused for emphasis, allowing the severity of the matter to sink in, “And it,” his mind raced for the correct word, “incinerates.”

It was not the exact meaning he wanted to portray to his brethren; though it did have the required effect. As he looked over the faces before him, he noted true concern on ninety percent of them. There may still be a slim chance of a few surviving the onslaught. If his premonition was incorrect, that was. During his time on this planet, his visions had shown him millions of images, most of which helped him to stay alive. The one thing he relied on in life was his forewarnings of the future. Because no matter how slight they were, they always came true. As a child, so long ago, he came to know the gift as an alarum of what will be, not what could be. From time to time, he took it upon himself to test his gift; the outcome never faltered. His brothers and sisters crowded before him would be ash.

“Most of you have known me for centuries and know the power of my sight. You’ve all benefited from it, in one way or another. We’ve gotten rich from it; we’ve never starved because of it. But, up until now my premonitions have only been vague. I knew of Auschwitz and the brutality carried out there. It allowed us to sneak in at night and feed; I knew a few prisoners would never be missed. The gift has given us a heads up on the hunters stalking us, quite a few times. Snatches of names and times flittered through my head.

“However, my visions have recently become much clearer and more vivid. I’ve not only seen my true death, but all of yours too. I’ve written down all I know. When you leave please pick up your envelope by the exit. For most of you, I can only give a date, so I urge you to take care on that particular day. For others I have names and a few places; though, I can’t say with any clarity that the places specified are where you die. It may just be that someone you know has gone to, or returned from, there. I’m truly sorry I can’t afford you more knowledge than this; I just don’t have any.

“With the insights of my gift, I’ve predicted tomorrow will bring my death. Should I see anything else, concerning you, my brothers and sisters, I will phone or E-mail the details on. This is all I can do.”

Looking out over the mass of walking un-dead before him, he watched as Vampyre talked with Vampyre. His sensitive ears picked up snatches of conversations; most believed his words, for they were centuries and millennia old. It was the newly changed who were having difficulty believing his words, for them it had yet to be proven. This was definitely going to be a trial by fire for them.

In his brain, dead synapses fired and he saw two young Vampyres huddled together in a small black sunless room. To humans the blackness would be total, but to their eyes it was little more than dim. Outside the locked and barred door, someone was tapping a code into a keypad. He read the fear on the hunted faces, knowing his would soon look the same. In his vision, their minds aired anguished wishes. They should’ve paid him, and his gift, more heed. It only took a few seconds and the merest crack of sunlight to break through between the door and the jamb, to truly end their lives, once and for all. As the hellfire scoured their bodies, his vision ended and he was once again looking out over his chosen kin.

In the rear of the hall stood the two children, whom he had just envisioned burning. He could call to them and tell of what he had seen. He kept silent. What would be the point in worrying them? Most of the Vampyres in the room rested their sun-filled days away in similar rooms. If he told them, what would they do? Leave the safety of the room for the safety of another’s, which could send them straight into the hands of the hunter. No, it was best to keep quiet and play the hand, as it was dealt.

Silence descended on the gathering and when nobody spoke Marcus raised his voice once again, “I have nothing else to say or to add. I would recommend you all go out and have as much fun as you can. Tonight I’m going to make the streets run with blood. I shall have one last banquet before I perish and leave this shit hole of a world for my throne in the afterlife. I strongly suggest you all do the same.”

As the applause thundered and echoed through the enclosed space Marcus turned around and strode masterfully out the door behind him.

The night enfolded him in its cool embrace, as his gift showed him a broken-down school bus. It was stranded on a lonely stretch of road, surrounded on all sides by tall trees and deep shadows. The driver was under the hood tinkering with the elderly engine while the college students; a football team and their cheerleaders were causing a ruckus inside. The two lecturers were trying to call for help on their cells. There was no transmission signal; they were in a dead zone.

“I’m gonna start walking Sam,” the coach informed the blonde woman by his side, “it can’t be much more than ten miles down to Stratford, I mean we’re nearly home.”

“Yeah,” the woman agreed, “an’ you may get a reception on your phone before then.”

“If I’m lucky babe.” The man smiled.

“HEY!” The woman chided, “Don’t babe me,” she returned the smile with her own softer, loving kind, “not in front of the students, that is.” She blew him a kiss as he wondered off into the shadows.

Stratford. Marcus knew of the little township. Fortune had shone on him tonight. There were only two roads into the place; and only one of those was rural. Marcus estimated the coach-load were less than twenty minutes away by road; ten if he went by air. The couch would be first. Stopping him from reaching Stratford and bringing back help had to be his first prerogative. For what he had in mind he could not afford to be interrupted by any goody-two-shoes heroes. Sprinting he ran down the road, away from the meeting place. Suddenly he sprang into the air; the leather coat billowed out, like batwings, behind him then glided to the ground as he shook it off completely. In the near silent hum of a small town at night, harsh cracking sounds rapidly exploded. Tomorrow a few neighbours would complain about some idiot setting off firecrackers, this annoyance would soon be forgotten for the dreadful news which would leave a community in shock and terror for years to come.

The bat soured through the air. Marcus’ radar pinged showing him the layout of the forest; he rose and flew above the trees towards his prey. Soon, the hunger would be satiated.

Sitting in his sunless room Marcus reflected on the carnage of his previous nights feast. After he tore out the coach’s throat and drank greedily of the human claret, he transformed back into human form. Standing naked in the moonlight, not feeling the chill, as the man’s blood warmed his body; he stooped down and pushed his hands through the flesh of the chest and into the dead man. Gripping his ribs, Marcus pulled up and to the side. The breaking bones rang out in the silent night, echoing into the darkness. Slowly he reached into the wound and severed the arteries with his fingernails. The cooling blood spurted over his hands, which he proceeded to smear onto his cold white skin. His body sung in reverie as his pores greedily tasted the iron sweetness. With the coach’s heart in hand, he walked down the road to his awaiting meal.

The woman spotted him first and mistook him for her lover. The words choked in her throat as she realised the man wasn’t Stan; and worse, the man was naked. He began to smell the fear as it oozed sensually from her. Had his penis not been the flaccid appendage it was, she would have known him like no woman ever had.

“Stan sends his love,” he drawled in an ominous English accent as he threw the heart at her feet.

Bending down to inspect the object, she drew in a breath to scream. With an unearthly speed, he was behind her, his hand entwined in her long brown hair. Yanking her head backward he exposed her neck and the life-giving jugular vein. Before her scream alerted the driver, still under the bonnet, his teeth ruptured flesh, tore through muscle and sinew. The blood fountained into his mouth and he gulped lovingly. Intoxicated with life he dropped the leftovers onto the road and strode over to the bus.

One glance told him the driver was old; the blood trudged slowly through his veins and would only bring him and his gay mood down. With one swift fluid movement, Marcus grabbed the man’s grey hair, wrenched him backwards, snapping his neck, then drove him forward into the engine. Bone broke and skin tore against the solid metal edges. When the ambulances arrived the next day it would take four men two hours to free him from the engine and scrape up all his remnants.

Slowly he boarded the bus. The young woman sitting beside the door screamed at the stench and sight of the naked man before her. Instantly his eyes found hers and she quieted. It was easy gaining control of young and old minds alike. Those who did not succumb to his will, died first. The puppet master used his string-less and mindless marionettes against them. One was strangled, one bludgeoned, and another was “River Danced” to death, as three cheerleaders jumped happily up and down on his spandau balleting body. After feasting on two succulent cheerleaders, he was high and flying on life. His mind buzzed insanely with thoughts and ideas. If the world saw him as a monster, then he was more than willing to give them some nightmares.

He commanded the remaining football players to drop their pants and underwear. Then he whispered sweet visions into their minds until their excitement was evident. First, he started them on the two dead cheerleaders then moved them onto the teacher, and finally the lifeless driver bent over his engine. After the nasty work was complete, he sat them down on the seats and had cheerleaders take the engorged and swollen organs into their mouths. One by one, he made them bite down hard and sever the offending object from its owner. As the women chewed and ate, he bent forward and drank from the fountain of youth. By the time he had drunk the boys under their seats, more than half the cheerleaders had choked to death, leaving four still living. He walked them to the first four seats. Once they were seated he easily tore their heads from their necks. Before leaving, he positioned the heads between their thighs, face to vagina, with their hands resting on top of their heads. It was how he imagined lovers performed fellatio.

Sex had always evaded him. You needed blood pumping through your veins to give you an erection. Unfortunately, by the time he drunk enough to cause the desired effect, the action was the furthest thing from his mind.

Outside he heard the sound of his front door opening. This was the beginning of his end. The vision had been so clear, so precise. He could see the hunters face in his mind as he walked through the open doorway into the hall. The resemblance between them was remarkable, the bone structure, hair and eye colour, passed down through the centuries from his fathers genes. His lying, cheating genes.

Marcus never considered his father to be a player; just a simple village gigolo.

He was born to a farming family. They tended the land, fed and slaughtered the cattle and sheep, and made their living at many markets around their mid-size farm. The King took his taxes leaving enough for them to live comfortably. A few months after his eighth birthday, his mother gave birth to his sister. At sixteen, his father instructed him he was to be responsible for the livestock; giving his father some extra time to enjoy his grog and the women down in the local villages. A few months later, while roping one of the cows, ready for slaughter, it kicked out. The first blow broke his leg and felled him. As he screamed for help his father came running, a second blow smacked into his skull, sending him into unconsciousness.

In the painless black abyss, he was visited by his grandparents. They told him his time had yet to come, and he should not be afraid, everything would be all right. They stayed close, for the longest time, chatting about the past and the time they spent together, then they were gone and a bright light hurt his eyes. After a few seconds the blurriness cleared and he smiled to see his family standing around him. He had passed a full day and night with his grandparents. For the next few months the smile never faltered on his lips, he was so glad to be alive.

The visions came. They showed him plagues, murder, invading armies, and a multitude of depraved depictions. He confided in his family and they agreed he should keep quiet, lest he be judged a witch or a warlock and given the tests of life and death. When the plague hit the village, they brought the livestock into the barns and shut out the world. Anybody who stumbled onto their land was executed and burned in a pit, at the back of their house. When the armies came, they were ready and appeased them with food and shelter.

In the second year of the premonitions, Marcus saw the most chilling sight yet. The village was dead. Bodies hung from windows and lay in the streets. Each victim was stone white and bore purple patches of dead skin under their eyes. In the woods, the wolves howled a lament. At the edge of town, he caught sight of five dark shapes walking away from the massacre. He flew past them and turned to see their faces. They were as white as the dead they left behind. There was something about their marble white faces which was irresistible to him. For them he knew he would sacrifice anything.

“Where to now?” The one to the far left asked, as he licked his lips.

“There’s a farm a few miles out of town.” The man in the middle replied and Marcus had the feeling he was the leader of this small band of killers. “It may be the perfect place to finish our meal and rest for the day.”

There was something different about this depiction and the people it showed him. He lay awake in his room for a few minutes, pondering on what he should do. Something in the killer’s demeanour spoke to him of power. He had the feeling this vision offered him a chance to possess that power... and more. He called out to Lucia who was sleeping in the next room. She replied to him in a voice full of sleep, “What you want Marcus, its still night.”

“Lucia, come here, please. I need to talk to you,” he did not try to hide the urgency in his voice, “I’ve just had another one of my waking dreams, and I need your opinion.”

“Can’t it wait ‘till morning,” the grogginess in her voice told Marcus she was still fighting sleep. “Then you can tell us all.”

“No. Really!” He begged, “Please!”

He heard her climbed out from the covers and softly padded from her room into the hall. His door creaked open as she stepped inside. “So what’s this one about?” Her annoyance tinged every word, as she took a seat, next to him, on the bed.

Before he could speak, a dark shape erupted through the window. “It was about us, I believe.”

Lucia screamed and Marcus took her in his arms as the shape grabbed his head and roughly tilted it to the side. As the teeth punctured his life, he heard his parents yell. There was a fight for a few seconds then silence descended.

“I now offer you a deal, boy,” his attacker spoke in soft lulling tones insinuating safeness. “You can die, and that would be a waste of your gift. Alternatively, you can be as we are, and live forever. It’s your choice.” In his mind, Marcus saw the face of the leader and knew his attacker. “All you have to do is drink from your sister.”

Lucia sat silently, in a trance by his side. As if in response to an unspoken command, she tilted her head and offered her throat to him.

“You’re such a lucky boy to be offered two wonderful gifts in one lifetime,” the voice cooed, “though, you need to act fast, you’re nearly drained. Once I’ve taken every drop you’re dead forever, so choose.”

It was no choice; Marcus pulled free from his saviours bite and tore open his sister’s throat with his own teeth, drinking deeply from the fountain of life, for the first time.

He did not remember much after that; he floated high on the killing and higher on the stolen life. They hid in the darkest depths of the cellar, digging themselves into the earth to keep out of the killing sun. One major advantage of the new gift was the loss of breath, allowing them to hide right under the hunters noses. On his first true night as a walking nightmare, he received a shocking insight of things to come. In the depths of the forest, the murderous group walked through, Marcus saw Lucia skipping through the tree-line; three to four trees in and just outside of the shadows. Her white nightgown was covered in brown patches, where her blood had dried. Her dark blue eyes seemed to melt into her pale blue face, every time she glanced over. Marcus halted and a few short seconds later so did the group.

“What’s wrong?” Belthas asked with concern in his voice as his eyes scanned the trees for trouble.

“Lucia’s here.” In between his stuttering of her name, the pain of sadness was evident.

“Is that all?” Relief flowed through Belthas’ body, becoming tangible in the air. Marcus felt the other Vampyres relax. “You truly have the sight boy. This may be something you’ll have to get used to. The last seer we had went insane and walked into a sunrise thanks to the victims who wouldn’t leave him alone.”

Realisation dawned on him and his voice became tighter, “You mean I’ll see all of those I choose to feed off?”

“Well, it’s really down to them. Jaffare didn’t see them all the time. But, there was this particular young boy he’d killed. You see, we’d starved for two days when we came upon the small family. They had no chance; we’d drained them within seconds. From the next night onward, the boy hounded Jaff until he couldn’t abide it any longer. Fifty years of constant nagging can do that to a person. You, though boy, may be lucky and never see another spirit bar your sister.”

“I don’t even want to see her.”

“I know. You should go to her and talk awhile. We’ll wait a couple of minutes, then we must be away ‘cause the sun is always on our backs.”

Slowly he ambled over to Lucia who pointed to the ground as he approached. At her feet lay a small boar. “Here’s your feast for tonight dear brother, so’s you’ll not have to kill another human this night.”

As he picked up the boar he realised it was not dead, as he first surmised, it was simply sleeping. He could feel its belly rising with each breath, and beneath his fingers, he could feel the small heart beat. His nostrils picked up a strange scent, one which he had never known before. Life. In his mouth, the fangs descended and his hunger growled from deep in his throat. Suddenly he tore open the swine’s neck and suckled on the pumping fountain of blood.

“That’s right big brother, feed.” A whisper of wind ruffled his dirty tangled hair as Lucia passed a hand over his bowed head. “I will bring you food every night so you won’t need to kill.”

And so, she kept her promise. However, as the days wandered into weeks and became months to evolve into years, decades and centuries, Marcus faltered. His hunger grew larger and more powerful than either of them could have predicted, and soon he was feeding three to four times a night.

Marcus watched as friends and allies fell to wooden stakes, holy water, prayer, decapitation, and fire, whether it be man or sun made. The callousness of the humans when they took one of his kindred sickened him. The scenes of violent death played forever in his mind, night after night, and he vowed to show the humans the same kindness they bestowed on his breed. In his wake, he left nightmares behind. The hunters told tales of the unnamed and unseen monster, around campfires at night, as they followed his trail of death and destruction.

The hunters had grown fewer over the years; however, his treatment of the humans never wavered. Through the eons, he watched them change and evolve. And now, as one of them walked through his home above, he looked back on the atrocities they were responsible for and laughed out loud. He flicked the intercom button on the desk sending his merriment into every room of his mansion. “And, you call me a monster!” He yelled at his intruder.

The footsteps never faltered and never altered their course. Whoever was in his home knew exactly where his tomb lay, for they were at the top of the cellar stairs. Confident in the installed security he gloated at the hunter, “Come and catch me… If you can.”

Ten digits beeped on the keypad and the locks disengaged. With only the birds as background noise, Marcus heard a soft exhale of breath and, “I can,” spoken softy.

Quickly, Marcus moved from his leather seat to the three foot thick steel door. As he placed a hand on the metal, its coldness jumped into his fingers and palm, running without hesitation up his arm and throughout the rest of his body. For the first time, since the killing of Lucia, he knew fear. The Rolex on his wrist stood at eleven thirty a.m. and he cursed himself for being obstinate and prideful. Why was he still here? Why did he butcher and molest those students? Last night he should have taken to the wing and moved on to another town, hell, another country, and a fresher herd. But no, here he still was, and with nowhere to hide or run.

“You know you’d not get away, big brother. Your premonitions only show you what is, and not what could be.” The soft voice chilled him even more and he twisted to face the ghost of his sister. “Last night you went too far brother and I cannot stomach this anymore. You’ve grown bitter and twisted with your hatred of what you once were. You no longer forgive, you judge and execute; and you do so with such evil that you’ve now been weighed and found wanting.”

“They deserve it. Look at what they do to their own kind. Am I really so bad? So evil?”

“You don’t understand do you brother? All this time on Earth and yet you’re still blind.”

“Well enlighten me before that hunter outside does.”

“Your gift of the sight came from God, the gift of extended life you took, came from the Devil. The Devil is a fallen angel; a soldier of God. All angels were made near perfect and followed the word of God. One day Lucifer took it upon himself to try and create an army of angels so he could overthrow Gods rule of heaven. He took some humans and offered them his life’s blood. His blood poisoned the humans and brought them to an un-dead state. It bestowed upon them all the gifts and hungers, you know all too well. Since you are as close to being an angel as anyone can be, God allowed you some dispensation. Since it’s not your fault you require blood to sustain your life, God forgives you all the death. However, he believes your kind should be held accountable for the unjustified aggression.

“Brother, you’ve become a legend to your people, and they are following your examples. Through, your holier-than-thou attitude you’ve succeeded in creating a clique of Vampyres who believe themselves better than the humans. Their kills have become more vicious and disrespectful to the extreme. Once, you were happy to drain the blood from your victims, only defiling the hunters who were out to kill you. Now you defile them too. You go out of your way to create shock and terror. For this reason alone God has given me the task of helping destroy you and your followers.”

“So, how can a ghost hurt me? As you said, I’m nearly perfect.”

“Take the sarcasm and glibness from your voice. You are not the only one with the gift of sight.”

“Ah, the hunter and I have something else in common then, apart from good looks. How holy ironic. God and his wit!” The venom held within the sarcasm burned the air between the dead and the un-dead.

“So you know? It seems father was more human than we gave him credit for and he sowed his seeds quite a bit; though he was married to mother. It’s taken a few years, isn’t funny how things work out, but now there’s another of our family line who has received the gift.”

“So my brother has come to lay waste to the black sheep of the family, huh?” Marcus shook his head in amusement. “So why are you in here talking to me, when he’s out there?”

With a soft smile Lucia replied, “I’m just giving him time to crack the computer controlling the time lock. And, I just wanted to say goodbye brother, for you’ll not see me in the afterlife, not where you’re going. Now I’ve got to pop outside and confirm you’re in here to Daniel; give him some confidence and hope. I love you Marcus. I always will.”

Alone, he listened to his living kin tap in the codes on the keypad. Softly the hydraulic bolts whooshed free from their settings and the door slowly began to swing open.

Marcus watched as the dim sliver of soft dull light shimmered through the gap between door and jamb. His world blazed in golds, yellows, oranges; and the stark bright white of the sun’s healing rays cleansed the Earth once more.