"I on my part give up the uncertainty of eternal rest and go out into the dark where may be the blackest things that the world or the nether world holds!" – Bram Stoker, Dracula

                    Prologue

                               2012: THE Aftermath

My wedding was in the fall, a New England ceremony. Our vows were sanctified on a salient day, draped by a Newport mansion. It was magical, enchanting. I married my soul-mate. Loving and devoted, Seth Fields always made me feel like I had been kissed by the gods. We had the storybook romance of the modern age. Our life together was near perfect: We lived within the illustrious confines of a historic colonial, where we set out to start a family and grow old together. That was eight months ago.

Our world has since collapsed, like so many others.

Seth and I - along with six strangers – hide in the basement of a movie theatre, trapped. We’re imprisoned by fear, forced into the confines of a concrete underworld. Our small group was fortunate enough to find refuge where the conditions are sanitary and temperature controlled. My neighbor, to whom Seth and I had only recently become acquainted before the hostile take-over, was generous enough to offer us the protection of his small theatre in downtown Kingston. We were forced to abandon our home. It wasn’t safe to be exposed, vulnerable to the risk of being taken.

“When daylight breaks that’s when we’ll leave to fish.” Seth said in a hushed whisper, careful not to wake the others. He knew I’d be awake. It was rare that I slept more than four hours these days.

“I thought so,” my sore eyes took him in within the dark gloom of the large room. His cheekbones were prominent from the weight loss. We all thinned over limited food rations. Seth continued to resemble Hollywood royalty though – poised as if chiseled from prized stone. His curly blond hair was now past his ears. I could just make out the diamond cuts of his piercing blue eyes. I loved him more than words. “Please,” I faltered, catching the deliberating emotion. “Be careful.”

“We’ll stick to our plan, don’t worry.” His tentative hand caressed my cheek as we lay beside the other.

Don’t worry, was an absurd request. I was perpetually anxious – the sign of the times.

 I shifted my torso to release the pressure on my side. Our sleeping-bags were rock hard on the concrete floor. Seth lifted onto his elbow, nearing me. I looked up at him with barely enough energy to smile - the natural response to his affection was still present.

“I love you, Alyssa,” he exhaled - the warmth of his breath reassuring - him affirming my name, however, was not. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Presently the invaders haven’t detected our refuge. We’re not sure they even know of our existence in the theatre. They wake at dusk, infiltrating the night. For it is then that they pummel the land in search of female hosts. But they are particular in who they abduct, making their stay tedious and extensive. It’s uncertain where they hail. They offer little of their origins. All that they have declared is that they’ve been here a long time.

It’s not often that they attack the men who are found when darkness falls. They have no use for them. It is the women that they feed on and seek to impregnate - but not all women. The ones who are chosen to become their mates are not killed on sight; they are taken to a hidden compound, never to be seen again.

Seth is over-protective of me, much like a parent with their fragile child. I love him for his safeguard. The four men that I have come to live with and know shield us three women from harm. There are no children. Seth and I are the only two that have survived as a couple. The other women are middle-aged having lost their husbands while defending them. The men vary in age from late-twenties into fifties, several lost their wives. Seth and I are the youngest at twenty-five.       

             If the invaders are anything like humans with regard to procreation, they will desire women of breading age, making me a prime candidate for abduction. The others in our group are aware of this, making certain that I am not visible to the outside. But I feel as if I haven’t seen the light of day in months. On occasion, mid-day, I’m supervised at the backdoor for fresh air. But it is very brief. I believe I’m beyond cabin fever. And I am so pale I look like one of those beasts.

            They resemble humans, anatomy isn’t distinguishable from ours. There are only males. Every one of them possesses stark flesh with raven hair. There is undoubtedly no similarity in the composition of their eyes. The intense irises are mottled shades of florid purple and cobalt, spun into a mass of liquid metal. I saw one briefly when they first arrived. The sight was life altering.

Not human, perhaps alien, but a species that thrives on the life force of others. Our best guess is that they are a breed of vampire, unthinkable as it sounds.

I’m living a nightmare that I once sought to read in fiction novels. Now I know – now I have come to learn - there is nothing attractive or glamorous about any of this hell that I’m living.

Chapter 1: Alyssa

They came as thieves in the night, as it was foretold in the good book. Only, Jesus Christ wasn’t the ascendancy released from the heavens. As the Mayan Calendar came to its conclusion something far more threatening, far more inconceivable had rained upon Earth. And it was not divine justice that galvanized their visitation. Damnation, death, with the said purpose of planting their unholy seed was the catalyst.

Life has become shrouded behind a thick curtain of fear. It is all that we humans have come to know of recent. We banned together, hid, hoping that at the dawn of the New Year they would have met their fill, and leave us with the arduous aftermath of starting over. The forecast was bleak. I shared in the grim reality of some that it was only the beginning of our hell.

The six months following December 2012, The End of Days, Seth and I refused to sever our ties with hope, our pacifier. The vampires stalk the nights, refusing to leave until their demands are met. We are uncertain of how long their persistent hunger will keep our world at their mercy. They offer little, controlling our fear. Their hunting regiments have become understood. During the light hours of day, these monsters seemingly vanish from sight, only to return at dusk. The ritual is consistent.      

A battery powered radio is our only connection to the rest of the world. The frequency is weak, crackling in and out often. We’re able to link with a broadcast from Boston. The local station talks of the unspeakable horrors befalling the city. Two months after the vampires arrived, the radio broadcaster calculated the invaders’ numbers in the hundreds - in Boston alone. And he revealed their intentions during a live broadcast.

 With a grating base, the pitch of a roaring beast, a vampire revealed their collective agenda. This proclamation was extracted by the broadcaster with a microphone harnessing his window.

“Forsake the sows, and we will relinquish this vile planet. If our demands are not met we will surrender your world to ash.”

Who in their right mind would turn over their mothers, sisters, daughters, lovers or wives knowing the fate that awaits them? Because of the heavy resistance on the part of us humans they have remained on our planet these long eight months, resilient, hungry . . . livid. 

All authority had been disbanded, killed or otherwise. These ‘beings from the sky,’ as they have been so named, cannot be stopped in any fashion by human weaponry. They are remarkably indestructible – forcing our political and military authorities to their knees. Everyone is in hiding. With the lack of cooperation to their demand for our women the vampires have been fully active in rampage mode. Death cries, explosions and the sounds of mass destruction has plagued the atmosphere of Kingston. Similar horrors are shared in Boston. The resistance of one man, our beloved radio broadcaster who identifies himself as Jackson, continues perilously to reach out to the despairing masses with the grim updates of Massachusetts’ capital. 

The unspeakable torrents that have become the reality of us eight subjects, locked away in Lowe’s Theatre, tread cautiously when venturing out for food. Bruce, Stewart, Don, Rick and Seth have all confirmed from the weekly hunting-and-gathering crusades, that the aftermath of the vampire’s destruction is devastating.

When the guys search for food they rarely encounter other survivors fishing or gathering supplies from the grocery or hardware stores. Bruce, the owner of the theatre and eldest at fifty-four suggested that perhaps the vampires might be living in the sewers. None of us really knows for certain what their plans truly are for the fate of this planet. All we can do is try to stay alive.

                  Chapter 2: Alyssa

The screams have since died down – thankfully - if there is anything to be thankful for. Through the winter months cries of terror pervaded our ears. It was proof that the invaders were active. We were on high alert, never leaving our shelter. The guys chain-locked the entrance and boarded the glass. A narrow maintenance elevator has been crucial in the success of our confinement. Bruce locked its motor so that the basement cannot be accessed. The food stored within the modest theatre had become extinct as spring broke. The generators held out until then, too – by some miracle.

The first venture outdoors was unnerving for all of us. It was an act of desperation – we were hungry.

            “Someone should stay behind with the women.” Stewart contended. A thirty-six year old realtor from my neighborhood, the brunette has been a strong advocate for us women. I believe it’s because he lost his wife and daughter during the invasion.

            “Stay,” I whispered to Seth, my voice uneven, anxious. We all gathered before the elevator shaft as they made for the inevitable trip.

            Seth released his gaze upon my sallow face. He smiled quickly, saying nothing. I knew then that he intended to go. For honor, for strength, or perhaps to make certain to secure food for the two of us, I was too fearful to ask.

            “He’s right,” Bruce second the motion, “we probably only need a handful of guys to go. Why risk all of our lives.”

            “There’s safety in numbers,” Seth prompted. “We don’t know how strong these things are.”

            “You heard Jackson,” Don piped - a real outdoorsman type, the thirty year-old scoutmaster reminded me of Seth – compassionate, empathic. “They only come out at night,” he added.

             “We don’t know that for sure,” I flourished, my best interests residing with Seth. My hand clasped tighter around my husband’s hand. He responded with a reassuring squeeze.

            “Alright,” Bruce relinquished, consistently claiming the final ruling. Because he owned the theatre and summoned all of us from the neighborhood to join him in hiding, out of gratitude we allow him this honor. It helped too that he was a reasonably intelligent guy, not to mention has vast military expertise. A retired vet, Bruce truly was a fortuitous find. “Rick, you should stay with them, being the strongest and all. If anything should happen, I think you’ll be able to handle it alone.”

            Rick snorted, “Yeah, as long as we’re not ambushed.”

            I shot Seth a furtive flash of unease.

            All the guys were in fairly operative physical shape. Nor were they timid or skittish. And their dispositions veered from self-interest or hotheadedness. There were never arguments or combatants among us, maintaining even further our chances for survival.

            Bruce continued, his calloused mitts gripping an assault rifle with resolve. “First I’ll go to the lobby to reconnoiter. If and when I come back, Seth and Stuart, you’ll join me for another patrol. We’ll scout the landscape from the windows - see if the coast is clear – you two will stay behind if all goes well. And I’ll come back for you, Don.” The strain in his brow forced his lids to authority. “Everyone got it?”

            A mumbling of male tenors resounded.

            My heart was nearing cardiac arrest. The thought of this potentially being the last time I’d see Seth nearly killed me. When Bruce unlocked the elevator and pressed the call button I could no longer contain my anguish. Tears flooded my lids. A sob broke free. Seth immediately took hold of my trembling shoulders.

            “Lyssa,” his hands cupped my jawline, dropping the rifle to his side. “I need you to be strong for me.” Imploring eyes penetrated, inches from me. “We’re going to get through this, I promise.” Bruce and the others discussed the quickest routes to the nearest food mart, as Seth attempted to calm my manic nerves. “We’re all armed.”

            “That doesn’t matter,” I criticized in a low pitch. “Nothing can hurt them.”

            “Listen to me,” his tone resolute, sweeping tawny strands beyond my ears. “Hope and optimism is what got us through the winter. And the love you and I share will bring me back to you – hear me?” A pleading brow edged his face.

            The last thing I wanted was for Seth to compromise his guard because my fears crippled his senses. He needs to maintain his wits about him. And my breakdown isn’t going to incite any great confidence within any of them. The reality of my provoking actions struck me. Swallowing my anguish, my timid hands swiped the betraying tears. I nodded to Seth, confirming my deference.

            “I love you,” he said with a severe sincerity, imparting perspective. His mouth took hold of mine, long and steady.

            “I love you, too,” I said, my voice gaining control. 

            The chiming of the elevator announced its presence, wielding us all to a start. Seth stood before me, readying his weapon. There was the possibility that something might hop a ride and come on down. The guys took heed. As the single steel door folded in itself to reveal its contents a collective inhale rippled the basement.

            The elevator cavity was barren.  

            We breathed again.

Bruce parted from the group, embarking on potentially his last elevator ride. We waited. It seemed an eternity had passed. I was grateful that Bruce volunteered to be scout right off the bat. He was fearless.

            The elevator prompted a tune.

Bruce, we prayed, was all that boarded that divider between us and those godforsaken vampires.

            “Women, back!” Rick yelled, taking hold of his semi barrel.

            Lisa, Nancy and I bolted for the restroom. I slammed and locked the steel door. This extended room would, at the very least, conceal our presence. The residue of bleach pervading the air oddly heightened my senses. My scorching cheek pressed upon the cool surface of the door, straining for that imploring confirmation that Bruce was our only visitor.

The dreaded elevator was a dinosaur, moving at the rate of infinity. It was original to the hundred-year-old theatre, functioning at a snail’s pace, forcing us to endure its torturous performance of transport. The two women behind me sobbed silently - clutching each other for reassurance - while I strained, listening with amplified impetus, praying that Seth would not be killed.

Even though Bruce was not what the vampires hunted he was in hiding with the very real possibility of sheltering women. With the invaders as desperate as they have become, he could be sighted then forced to produce any females he knew of. With the power and voracity that the creatures seemed to yield, the men were no challenge, no threat to them. And three vulnerable women, weakened by hunger, hidden behind a steel door that might as well be a curtain, haven’t a chance in hell. 

The elevator pulsed its cheerful tune, oblivious to the horrors is might be harboring.

The squeal of the ancient door spoke, parting its visor.

“We’re good to go,” shot Bruce in a mollified, yet agitated delivery.

I nearly fainted from the oxygen deprivation I inadvertently posed upon myself. My hands shook violently. Without word I threw open the door and fled to Seth. The petite fluidity of my body was swifter than I remembered. Hurling into Seth’s arms I choked his midcourse breathing, and he hadn’t even left yet.

“Everything’s okay, Love,” he attempted to speak. My arms cupped tighter. “Please, go back with Rick,” his voice strained. “It’s time for me to go.” 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Rick beckoned with a gentle flux. “Seth is gonna be fine.” His hand tried to persuade my shoulder to follow.

I fleeted one final kiss then reluctantly did as I was told. I hated this, hated the whole fucking thing.  

                            Chapter 3: Seth

The world around me is no longer recognizable. It pains me to walk among the ruins of Kingston. I loved this town. This is where I grew up. Kingston is where my parents were born and raised. With my folks no longer living and being their only child, the tremendous burden of distressing over family member’s fate has not consumed me as it has the others in my group. It’s only Alyssa that I lose sleep over. I can’t even imagine if she were pregnant what things might be like.

            Downtown was in shambles, complete devastation: exterior walls of municipal buildings were punched in with cavities the size of pick-up trucks; electrical poles parted streets or hung vicariously low to the ground; cars were turned on their hoods, and the occasional misplaced dog skirted down an alley. The aftermath of 12/12 was epic, beyond words.

            All was unnervingly silent, accept for the cheerful song of birds announcing spring – adding a creepy score to the end result of a tornado skirting through town leaving destruction in its wake while abducting the residents.

Where are all the people? 

Flashbacks of Night of the Comet suddenly streamed my thoughts, an 80’s apocalyptic movie my parents rather enjoyed. Only, it isn’t a natural disaster that brought about the mass destruction around me. Incredibly, this desolation is at the hands of an invasive vampire race.

“Seth, keep up.” Bruce flourished a whisper in my direction. I was caught in a stupor over the landscape, fearing, too, when I’ll stumble upon the dead. So far we’ve only encountered departed inanimate carcasses.

I nodded in recognition of his constructive boost.

Each of us has a specific part in this search for food and supplies: Stuart keeps an eye on the sky – there is that chance that these aliens are skilled in the aptitude of flight; Don focuses on the rear as we tread forward; Bruce is the front man, leading us along our strategic coarse to the food mart; while I monitor the right/left standpoints. We’ve been on a measured and vigilant course. It’s taken us fifteen minutes to dart and hide two blocks. We’ve been fortunate so far – no sightings of the creatures.

Bruce motioned to a parked minivan on the curb of Ash Street, twenty feet from us on a forty-degree course. We readied our crouched positions, guns darting the air. Raising a beefy hand, Bruce silently counted down from three with his fingers. We skirted across the street, finishing at the bumper of the Chrysler van. Catching our breath, we sought out the next target.

The bearings of the others were pretty grim: Don looked like he was about to explode, or implode for that matter, over the stress of our stop-and-go tactic. With his overextended eyes set in a heated red face, I feared he may have a sever panic-attack. Stuart resembled that of coma patient forced to consciousness by a taser gun; he walked in a sort of daze, yet charged enough to function. Bruce almost appeared to be joying himself. I think Vietnam did a number on him. And me, well, I can’t deny that my heart is crushing my ribs with maniacal fear. If I had to make a prediction on the outcome of this suicide mission, I’d say we’re almost definitely going to die.     

As much as I feared that death might be eminent, being away from the suffocating confines of that dreaded theatre basement - even in the midst of a blood thirsty vampire – demanded a sense of liberation. But being apart from Lyssa was agony. The thought of never seeing her again, never breathing in her reassuring aroma of effervescing perfection was enough to make this grown man cry. I just want to get through this alive. If only I could preserve the optimism that I shared with Alyssa so convincingly before we parted ways – for a millisecond I almost believed my own comforting words.  I’m not so certain she did though.

The Quickie Mart where I used to grab an occasional coffee when the drive-thru wait at Dunkin Donuts was twenty-minutes deep in the morning was now in our sights. The front windows and door appeared intact from my one-block vantage. This was a good sign that the food wasn’t damaged from weather. But how are we going to move about Main Street without a means for concealment? There was a single car in front of the store, but before that point we had little to hide behind.

Unexpectedly while we hid alongside a dumpster in a small alley between a breakfast café and a nail shop, the unmistakable sense that we were being watched overpowered me. I peered along the retail shop rooftops, at the windows visible to me, and every conceivable inch of concrete surface that I could see, yet no movement or remote person could I make out. Maybe it’s my recently sharpened paranoia kicking on. The fact of the matter is those heartless killers have absolutely no regard for human life. With their extraterrestrial skills who knows what they’re capable of. They could possess some kind of remote viewing device that focuses in on an object while they stand miles away – a friggin’ magic mirror thing.

There is no denying this intrusive feeling of being watched though.

Could it be a person hiding out in one of these buildings? I’d hate to imagine that a survivor was present during Main Street’s attack. How could anything survive this kind damage? I can only imagine that when the vampires bulldozed through it was equal to that of the invasion of Pearl Harbor – a surprise, sneak attack with unparalleled death and chaos.       

 But where are the bodies? I can’t help but keep asking this morbid question. Relieved that the remains of rotting corpses aren’t strewn about the streets, I still can’t resist the quandary.        “We’ve got to do this one at a time,” whispered Bruce as he leered around the rusted dumpster corner, calculating our next move. “There’s nothing large enough to maintain total coverage for all of us at once.”

            “Should we start behind that mail box five yards ahead?” I said as more of a suggestion than question.

            “I think so.” The lead guy continued. “Several feet from that there’s a trash bin, then about a half block over I noticed a good sized tree trunk on the corner of Main and Haddock.  Once there we’ll cross the street unprotected, so run it like your ass depends on it. We’ll convene on the reverse side of that Volkswagen parked before the Quickie Mart entrance. From there I think it might be best to enter from the rear of the store, but we can discuss it if and when we survive this.”

            “I can go first,” I offered. It only seemed fair since Bruce was almost certainly going to volunteer himself shotgun again. It scared the hell out of me being the one to pave the way, but through some unstable vindication I wanted this over with first. If I sit and stew behind this rank dumpster while I await my turn I’m pretty confident that I’ll bow out, or go insane.     

            “Alright,” muttered Bruce without argument. I could see his eyes flicker with objection, however, but to voice it could potentially be offensive to me.

            Readying to take the plunge, my gaze dropped to the hand holding my rifle. I was shaking uncontrollably. Making it to that damn Quickie Mart in once piece meant life or death for me and Alyssa - our future depends on this crucial moment. Sucking in a gallon of air that stunk with the tang of backed-up street gutter, I quickly exhaled and was on the move. Keeping my mind clear, avoiding obsessing over the dark reality of my situation, my legs kicked forward, seemingly on their own accord.

            I didn’t think. I just moved.

            When I arrived at the blue of the mailbox in front of the café I paused. Closing my eyes to embrace the fact that, yes, I am still alive, I tried to slow my staggered gasps for air. I hadn’t gone a long distance, but the adrenalin surge left me with the discharge of having run five miles.

            Oddly enough, the obscure thought of Santa Claus trickled my freaked mind just then. Uncertain if it was the mailbox prompting a memory of when I was a kid and my parents took me to this exact box every year to send off my Santa letter to the North Pole, or, if it was Adele’s Café now facing me, where a hand full of times I was forced into Christmas with my mother’s book club as a kid. It’s interesting what runs through your mind during times of tremendous stress.

            My next target was a municipal trash can crated by black metal. Its girth will do in offering refuge. Circling the landscape with wrought eyes all seemed clear. I went for it. Same thing, no issues, coast was clear, all the way to the Volkswagen - even ran across the desolate street without a speed bump. Signaling to the guys that it was safe for the next guy I hung low and scouted the ghost town.

            When Stuart was readying to scurry to the trash can a bloodcurdling scream sliced through the dead silence. Spinning with whiplash speed I dropped on my ass and wielded the rifle straight ahead. There was no one. I could barely hear anything beyond my labored gasps for breath. The cry was that of a female. If I had to gage a source location I’d point out the loft apartment above Chinese take-out adjacent to the food mart.  

            The broken windows of the apartment were concealed by curtains. Only the movement of a placid breeze could be detected tapping at the drapery. I saw no one peek out. When Stuart arrived beside me I nearly jumped out of my clothes over the shock of his presence.

            “What is it?” he asked me, clearly confused by my state of rearing combat. 

            I was confused that he wasn’t equally jolted by the scream. “You,” I lowered the barrel away from his line of sight, “you didn’t hear that resounding scream?”

            He immediately ducked lower, pressing the exterior of the car to his side in dread. “No,” he looked around, eyes wild with anxiety. “Where? How loud was it?”

            “It was pretty goddamn loud. How could you not have heard that? It echoed across the friggin’ town.”

            “What? No.” Clearly he was telling the truth by the exasperated conflict in his eyes.

            When the others made it to the car they, too, admitted to hearing nothing. During the remainder of our outing not so much as a fart in the wind could be heard in town. I made a promise not bring up the peculiar incident again.

                     Chapter 4: Alyssa

They’d been gone for an hour. All my nails were gnawed to their pits. If the others were close enough, I’m betting I would’ve chewed theirs off too. A thousand square-feet, the basement suddenly felt like a crypt. We remained in the western corner, utilizing our own methods of maintaining our sanity. Lisa kneeled and prayed to the soiled wall, considerate enough to retreat the gibberish to her private thoughts - I don’t think I could stomach religion at the moment. Suddenly practicality and the undeniable sense of the material world is all I sought. I needed to focus, maintain an edge over a very real potential for a disastrous outcome.

            Nancy was lying in her sleeping bag staring at the ceiling, almost catatonic. Rick was perched on a stool a few paces from us, cleaning his gun. I felt like I was going to implode from the burning anxiety that raped my innards. Literally, I was nearing a mental breakdown, like my husband was in the midst of a critical operation as I stood helpless, locked away in a waiting-room anticipating the 50/50 prognosis. I wanted to scream, cry . . . die.

After another grueling fifteen minutes of interval agony I made for the bathroom and locked myself in, ensconced from the company of strangers. I needed a remedial cry to discharge some stress.

            Suppressing sobs with face planted in thighs, I folded onto the floor against the tiled wall, sat, and cried until there seemed nothing left of me. Life had become a valley of endless fear, straddled by uncertainty and doubt. If Seth doesn’t make it, I literally have nothing to live for. I would then allow myself to starve, or the alternative - succumb to the psychological suffocation of madness that teetered so dangerously close to my consciousness. I was sick of being so scared, sick of crippling hunger pains, sick of this goddamn concrete prison. My life was once fueled by folic and fun, adventure and passion. As an interior designer, I maintained a successful level of social exploits. Now, I am tragically wasting away. 

            Another hour passed. A noxious metallic film skimmed the interior of my mouth. My gnarled limbs unraveled to facilitate the quest for the sink. Having the running water of the bathroom was significant in sustaining our lives, not to mention the obliged olfactory. Without the ability to hydrate things would have been grim. Bruce stored the theatre supplies in a utility closet off the basement making truck-stop baths and simple laundering possible with industrial liquid soap. Stripping my skin of all moisture, the plastic odor of this vile sludge has permanently violated my nose. But still, I am grateful for its uses.

            I forced myself to take notice of the reflection in the mirror: My narrow face aged ten years. The once peaches ‘n cream of my skin has turned pale with a suggestion of grey. The dark circles cupping my eyes muted the hazel-green of the irises. I resembled death. The rich glossiness of my dark-blonde tresses has since been sanded away by the shitty pink hand-soap. I was once attractive, desired by many men. Now, I bear resemblance to the reincarnation of a foul rag forgotten in the crook of a car repair shop. If there was a vestige of hydration lingering within me I would have cried myself into hysterics sparked by my ghastly appearance. Nor did I possess the energy to forge the tears. I washed with haste then reluctantly pursued the despondent band of the others.

            “Feeling okay?” Rick solicited, lifting his brow to notice my absence. His already substantial Rhode Island accent took on a heavier brogue.

            The radio was on, harnessing a signal. Jackson was concluding an insipid broadcast. 

            “Yeah,” I uttered in a faintly audible pitch. My weak gaze skirted the others before seeking my sleeping bag.

            Lisa and Nancy were pacing. If I hadn’t been so consumed by my own grief I would’ve been the first to console both women. But I truly had nothing to offer. I too was disheartened. And I couldn’t fathom their grief. They each witnessed their husband’s brutal murder - neither looked to possess any spark of life left - simply going through the motions of existing. Lisa, in her late forties, has two daughters close to my age. She has no idea whether they’re still alive. It continues to baffle me how she keeps it together - must be her faith. Nancy, the eldest of the two in her early fifties, has three sons. Much like Lisa, she does not know their fate. It was months before Nancy pulled from her shock after her husband’s death. Now she languishes and keeps to herself. I don’t believe I will ever know their strength.  

            The florescent lights of the basement were prompting a migraine. I closed my eyes, wrapping my weary limbs with the musty stench of my sleeping bag. I attempted to clean the warn fabric at one point with that god-awful soap, offering negligible results.

            My body was fatigued. I was so tired from eating little more than stale popcorn the last three days. How I yearn for something of substance - pizza, Chinese . . . even a piece of toast.

            A pained growl rumbled my sunken torso. I forced the food fantasy from my mind.

            Within minutes I must’ve fell asleep, exhaustion gripping me. It was a haphazard slumber, heavy and burdened with anxiety. Flashes of gore and carnage thrashed at my unconscious thoughts. Screams echoed in the distance. A newborn cry smacked in close proximity. I screamed for Seth. There was no response. It was as though I had been plunged into hell’s epicenter. My hands were saturated with the crimson gumminess of blood. Uncertain if whether it was mine, I dropped to my knees to search for a wound. Louder and louder my sobs nose-dived into this cerise presipous. Body after body lay in rows before me. The blood on my hands was not of my own. The sea of butchery laid out before me multiplied, deeper the layers grew . . . until I was waist deep in dead bodies.

            My neck bucked skyward. I screamed with the power of doom upon me. This was it, the end. Alone, I had not a living soul in the world to guide my passage into the afterlife. I was terrified, drowning . . . drowning within the putrid rot of human limbs, sucked of their life force from the alien leeches plaguing us.

            “Lyssa,” the voice of my savior called. Was I dead? “Honey, it’s me Seth – wake up.” His consoling mouth pressed warmth upon my forehead. I could feel my limbs twitch, my head rock – I was vexing to wake . . . trying to yank from the horrors engulfing me. “Everything is alright. I’m safe – you’re safe.”

            I tore my lids apart with the fragments of will my feeble body managed. Illuminated before me were the exultant eyes of my husband - eyes glistening of brilliant life, much like when we first married – alive, beautiful - his blond hair, however, longer, and the high cheekbones more prominent.

Seth returned from their quest for food, unharmed.

“Kingston looks like the aftermath of an earthquake.” Don managed through the half-masticated Spam and pickles spilling his gaping mouth. “There are trees down, roof-tops removed, cars flipped – it’s like the end of days out there.” His black, oily hair hung long over his brow.

            “It’s not the devastation of the 1906 San Francisco quake,” Bruce relayed, after sipping a water bottle. “More like the aftermath of a hurricane or tornado. But the point being, those devil vamps are causing some serious damage out there. Fortunately, we didn’t run into any of them. I think Jackson is right when he said they sleep during the day.”

            “Were there any survivors?” I felt compelled to ask. It was difficult to focus on anything but the delicious exploits of the mass of food that the guys were able to procure. But I had enough sense to trickle back to the relevant perspective.

            “None that we encountered – not even the deceased.” Seth turned to me with a soulful look.

            My shoulders shuddered. I was afraid Seth would have been climbing over corpses.

            We gathered in the center of the basement and feasted on canned goods, beef jerky, dried fruit, snacks, bottled water and juice.  

             “Do you think the creatures moved on?” Lisa muttered in a meager voice. “If there aren’t any people left in Kingston, maybe they decided to leave?”

            “We can’t be too sure of that.” Rick said in his brawny voice. A former AA baseball player, the Italian twenty-nine-year-old jammed a Twinkie in his mouth soon after.

            “It’s been quiet at night.” I offered. Eating real food again made me regain a small sense of normalcy, optimism. I harped on the notion that the vampires moved on. This meant I could rejoin the world of the sun.

            “Rick’s right,” Seth crushed my renewed hope. “After spending only a few hours outside isn’t a clear indication that we’re safe from any potential threats.”

            “The food that we were able to obtain should hold us over for a week.” Stewart placed his gun beside him to make for a box of Cheez-It’s. “When we go out for more supplies we could scout farther, look for signs of life, and any clues as to whether these bastards are still invading Kingston.”

            “I want to go on the next trip.” Rick designated rather than inquired.

            “Let’s not get too fired-up just yet.” Bruce asserted, now standing. “Yeah, this was a successful first exploit. But we need to keep perspective. We know nothing of these man-killers. They could be listening to everything we’re saying, possibly watching us too.”

            “For now, let’s just enjoy this fucking awesome food!” Stewart cheered.

Some of the others whistled.

                            Chapter 5: Taput

“Yes, Your Eminence – what is it that you wish of me?” the shrill pitch of my bowing servant asked of his master.

            “I wish for you to inform the others of my coming to The New World. I’m confident that he will be discovered upon the land where our Christoforo made his mark. Europe has not yielded what I seek. Go now. I will arrive there in one hour’s time.” 

                            Chapter 6: Alyssa

I slept sound that night. Perhaps it was the release of blood flooding my contented stomach, or maybe the flicker of hope that the vampires have left. Whatever stimulated the respite, I was grateful for this amnesty. My body needed the revival, as did my spirits. Seth and I joined sleeping-bags and slept apart from the others that night; they understood, giving us our space, especially after the fright that I had endured. At night we typically join forces and slumber in secure rows alongside each other, with a night watchman overseeing the elevator. We were lax on this evening, wallowing in our drunken victory.

 It’s been months since Seth and I were intimate. There was no possibility of pondering the notion of sex - we were too preoccupied with staying alive. But after this day of thanksgiving, our fears were momentarily deflected. And for a brief window in time we felt normal.

            In the break of morning (which can only be determined via the school clock centering the back-wall - for there are no windows in the basement, and only a small lamp is left burning for fear of detection) I lavished in the sensual touch of Seth’s caressing hand. My initial thought was that he was acknowledging a dream. But my waking mindfulness caught sight of his sweeping eyes.

            I relinquished a slight smile.

            “I told you I’d come back to you,” he said in a mere whisper.

            “You’re all I live for.” An emotional tear skirted my temple. We faced one another with arms draping the other’s waist.

            “I have a good feeling about things,” a delicate flicker of hope flushed his eye, his tone only audible to me. “There was no sign of life out there. I seriously think the vampires are gone. By mid-summer, we may be able to go home.”

            “You really think so?” My voice kicked-up a notch.

            “Ssshhh,” he beckoned with a gloating grin, the palms of his fingers stroked my lips. “We still have a long way to go, but it looks promising. In the meantime I want you to worry less, if that’s possible. I love you, and won’t let anything happen to you.”

            “I miss the life we had.” I confessed. “If we could even capture a small piece of that I would feel reborn.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Me too,” his loving hands cupped my peaked skin. “For now, let’s live for the moment.”

We kissed with a passion that only the ardent hearts of devoted lovers could invoke. Seth lay upon me once the lower-half of our garments were silently removed. Our love making educed the significant wonder of our wedding night - transcendent, life-changing – it was a reawakening both our body’s yearned for.

We fell back asleep immediately following, nestling in an embrace. When I woke, for an instant I believed the last few months were just a nightmare.

The others seemed to be riding the high that Seth and I savored in. We all deserved this peace of mind. It felt invigorating to adhere to a sense of normality, if only for a wrinkle in time.

            “I’m done washing,” Don announced over the elated chatter of the group. “Next.”

            Seth and I washed together, mainly for the privacy. We were like giddy school kids behind closed doors. The city water somehow felt invigorating that morning, emotionally cleansing.

            “Your cheeks took on color overnight,” Seth noted, brushing his teeth with freshly proffered toothbrush and paste. “You seem refreshed.”

            “I feel it,” my voice even sounded lively.

I hugged him from behind. His broad shoulders and slender waist were immensely flattering. The top of my crown barely reached his shoulder blades; Seth was a foot taller than me. I loved our significant height difference. His six-foot-three stance was so attractive. A pushover for tall men, his size always made me feel safe, protected.

Seth aided in my weekly sink washing of the hair. The wavy straggles had grown passed my mid-back, making it a chore to properly clean, particularly with sanitizer soap and paper towels for drying. The habit of my wrist habitually adhering to a hair-tie certainly came in handy these days. With my mane lifeless and drab, it felt so much more tolerable tied up. Seth was successful in scoring me a bottle of two-in-one shampoo/conditioner. I could have sworn pink die washed from my hair that morning.

And we had cosmetic soap! The guys pitched in and each carried a block of moisturizing soap in their backpacks. My skin was most obliged.  

“Want to make love again before we unlock the door?” I whispered wickedly in his ear.

Seth lassoed me into his arms, drawing me to his bare chest. “You little fiend,” he derided. “You read my mind.”

                         Chapter 7: Alyssa      

For a month we were hugely successful with our hunt for supplies. We acquired everything from a coffee maker to simple furniture. We were gluttons for salvation. The guys eventually crossed paths with other survivors, but only a hand full. They were living in a fallout shelter on their property. They gathered goods then quickly escaped back into hiding. They didn’t share in our renewed sense of optimism.

            “Okay, it’s been four weeks, and you guys haven’t seen an invader,” I renowned at one of our weekly talks. “I want to get some fresh air at the front entrance to see what things look like out there.” My occasional tryst with the outdoors has merely consisted of a threshold into the back-alley. The back-door in the expansive utility room is where I took in the illustrious sights of blanched concrete and brick, while supervised, to obtain the likes of non-regurgitated air.

            “Um,” Lisa piped. “I don’t follow her enthusiasm for the surface. I’ll keep with the back-door visits.

            “Me, too,” Nancy followed.

            Everyone turned to face me, apparently believing that Lisa and Nancy’s apprehension might cause me to reconsider my fraught need for insurgency.

            “Their fear isn’t going to change my mind.” I compelled, shooting a pleading look at Seth. “Please, you have no idea how confined I feel.”

            “I don’t know, Hon.” Seth strolled toward me, shoulders heavy, brow beseeching. Clearly they all had serious misgivings about my plea.

            “I think it’ll be fine if it’s brief.” Rick offered with a nod of agreement my way. 

            I thanked him with smiling eyes.

            Everyone was quiet.

Then Don renounced his tetchy thoughts. “What if you leave your scent behind, and they pick up on it, giving us away?” His stout hands were fueled with gesture. “They’ll siege the place and kill us all?”

Bruce couldn’t resist an extended chuckle. “Man, you’ve been watching too much Sci Fi.”

“He has a point.” Nancy pressed, avoiding my creased gaze upon her. “We don’t know if the vampires have heightened senses.”

“If that was the case,” I said now standing, tidying my jeans and sweatshirt reflexively. No one could convince me that my request has no grounds. “Then they would have already sniffed out my eau de toilette. Besides, I walked through the front door when I first arrived here. Look, just give me five minutes.”

“Seth?” Bruce sought his approval.

Seth dropped his attention to my imploring gaze. His lips twitched. There was no impugning his hesitancy; I would have done the same. But he knew I was going mad within this lockup.

“Five minutes,” he caved.

A triumphant grin split my face.

“No more than five minutes.” Don reiterated. “We can’t chance it.”

The ride in the elevator made me nauseous. My equilibrium hadn’t been manipulated like that since the trek down to the basement. I had to get my bearings before walking out of its compartment.

“Are you alright?” Seth offered me a sturdy hand.

            “Yeah,” I exhaled within a chuckle. “The ride woke up my senses.”

            Bruce and Rick flanked our sides, their guns in hand.

The small lobby was bathed in shadow, haunting in appearance. Suddenly I felt uneasy. Dust saturated the air, muting the visibility even further. The once polished red of the leather benches and melamine counters were densely covered with soot. The three metal doors of the entrance were concealed with plywood. Slivers of sunlit seeped from their cracks, offering enough luster to guide our way. 

The door handles were linked by heavy metal chains and locks.

            I could feel my heart surge - a dichotomy of excitement and fear the catalyst. Seth’s face was taught, looking like he was soon to burst from anxiety. Our hands interlaced. I offered a reassuring squeeze. It was as if I were being released from jail after a nine month sentence. I envied the guys for having their periodic escapades.

            The clanking of the locks caused my chest to tighten with anticipation, as Bruce fiddled with their release. I never imagined how excited I could actually become over simply embracing the outdoors. I took so much for granted.

            The thick metal of the doors was parting. I held my breath. They readied their guns as Bruce carefully broke the seal of the doors. Seth shielded my view. His shotgun was cocked and ready.

            “I’ll be back,” Bruce slipped through the two-foot gap of the door, inspecting the front.

            “It’s a ghost town out there.” He jerked the door open. “You’re good to go.”

            Seth stepped onto the sidewalk then stopped a foot from me, enforcing my outdoor limit.

            The daylight was blinding. I shielded my eyes with the back of my hand. My footing was unsteady. Rick and Bruce now stood guard alongside Seth. At the door I gasped. Once acclimated to the light, the landscape came into fruition: Main Street was desolate, an alien landscape. It was as if I were being shown the aftermath to the end of the world. Cars were abandoned on curbs. Trees lining the sidewalks were snapped in half, or pulled from their roots. Electrical wires were down. The grassy islands before all the small businesses were choked with weeds. Windows of shops were smashed. And the air reeked of sour trash.

            Faintly, the briny scent of sea salt found its way to my senses. I removed my sweater to yield the tank beneath – the temperature was balmy. Closing my eyes to single out the beloved nautical aroma, I relished in the moment. I transported myself to the summer Seth and I first met: Early August 2009, I was playing tennis with a friend at the yacht club in Newport. Her parents were members so we frequented the facilities. The property abutted the harbor. It was a Sunday afternoon, the sky bright, sea sparking. Janice’s brother Edger brought a business colleague to the club. The newcomer was striking in his white pleaded shorts and argyle vest. We instantly took notice of the other. Never a hopeless romantic, I couldn’t bring myself to admit the undeniable fact: what I experienced that day with Seth was without a doubt, unequivocally, love at first sight.

            “It’s time, Lyssa,” I heard Seth’s sweet voice, like daisies in green pastures, call through my precious memory. How I wish I could relive that landmark day.

            My lids wavered. Seth’s brow cringed with the guilt of bad news. “I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely.

                     Chapter 8: Alyssa

“Everyone, this is Buckley,” said Bruce, exiting the elevator after a morning of traversing with the guys.

            Seth and I immediately stood at this unforeseen announcement. We eyed with suspicion the stranger that followed alongside Bruce. He wasn’t a vampire, skin tanned and russet eyes. But he was still a potential threat. We knew nothing about him.

             “Hey,” the newcomer greeted in an impetuous air.

            Bruce stepped forward into the open area. “We stumbled upon Buckley here . . .”

            “Uh,” the gangly guy interjected inelegantly to the reference of his name. “Call me Buck.”

            Bruce eyed him rankly saying nothing in response to the correction, continuing as if there was no interruption, “. . . at the bridge on our way to fish. He’s a loner and asked to join our group. This is Seth, Alyssa, Nancy and Lisa.”

            I looked to Seth who was equally indifferent.

            “What’s your story,” Seth prodded, sizing the guy up, declaring his distrust.

             “Uh, well, it makes sense that you might be apprehensive toward me, considering all that’s happening beyond these walls,” he said fidgeting under Seth’s scrutiny. 

            Buck looked vaguely familiar. His theatrical mannerisms and eccentric poise reminded me of someone. 

            “Why don’t we all grab a drink and get to know one another,” Stewart but-in, strolling by Seth then slapping his shoulder to ease the tension.

            Seth and I hung back by the wall, so did Don and Lisa. The others sat around listening to the nomad’s dramatic tale of woe.

            “I’m actually from California.” Buck crossed his legs in the chair, overlooking all of us.

            Eyeing the arrogance of Buck’s swaggering movements was when the familiarity dawned on me. He reminded me of Kevin Beacon - tall, svelte, longish hair – air of cockiness.

            “I was a professor at UCLA – I taught an ethics class on human behavior. My academic interests brought me here to Kingston for a conference at URI on women’s psychology.” He reached for a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

            “Yeah,” Don interjected. “Not in here.” Someone else didn’t seem to trust this stranger either.

            “Anyway,” Buck exhaled without offense, “It was December twenty-first - the end of life as we know it - when those blood-suckers fell from the sky; I was at the conference, in an epicenter of estrogen beacon, unbeknownst to me - dozens of women filled the hall – when a resounding blast of thunder struck the double doors. Those fuckers crashed the party.” His tone was unsteady, his eyes wide with the dread of recollection. “It was like swamp people at a gator fest – those sons ‘a bitches reviled in butchery like Slaughterhouse-Five. I just watched, frozen in terror, hidden in a corner.” Buck’s eyes glossed over by swelling moisture swirling past his gaping pupils. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of the gruesome scene; it was like a train wreck – you have to watch.”

            I listened with horror. Buck’s details were crude and obtuse, but I swallowed every detail with noxious effect. Seth and I were a few of the lucky ones to escape the bloodbath aftermath. We heard the invasion over the radio, grabbed some things and ran for our lives. We saw Bruce at the end of our street then cut through a patch of woods to the theatre.

             “Because I couldn’t move and was forced to endure this nightmare, I was able to learn a few things about these monsters.” He pulled himself erect, in full attention of his audience. “There were about twenty of them that day. All in black - like carbon copies of each other. And those eyes, my god, they’re the devil’s eyes – psychedelic, cryptic, delusive - evil. Their actions were deliberate, calculated. I watched as they sorted through the helpless women, biting their aortas, a fucking Dracula movie - made me wonder if the myth of vampires stemmed from these bastards.” Buck’s thoughts rambled, his facts held loosely together by a desperate need to relinquish the memories, the affliction. “As they devoured their victim’s blood, they behaved as though they were inspecting the women, considering them. Amidst the screams and cries I could vaguely detect a language between them. The tongue sounded ancient, Aramaic or Samarian maybe.

            “The diction and delivery was similar to English in that they paused for retorts with finality in their commands. They were communicating about what seemed to be these women. There were only a handful of human males - they paid us no heed. One vampire did throw a security guard into the wall when he tried to stop him from attacking the female director. It was the women whose blood they pursued. They snatched several women, carrying them off without draining them dry . . . younger women, doing God knows what with them later. To sedate their screaming, these monsters bit the women’s wrists, leaving a strange purple welt on their skin.”

            Bruce’s story mimicked the accounts that Jackson had recounted on the radio, the vampire’s affinity for young females.

            “After the vamps finally got what they came for they left.” Buck dropped a despairing gaze. “I clung to the chair before me for dear life. After they were all gone I finally managed to run and hide. For days I concealed my existence in the basement of the hotel. Hunger brought me to the surface. Weeks passed as I endured the emotional repercussions of the madness taking place outside. I lived off of the food in the hotel with several others. When that ran out I was forced outdoors. I hid while taking in the vampire’s habits: vanishing during the day, hunting at night - always women. They aren’t particular about the women they drain. But they are about the ones they mark.”

Nancy interrupted with weeping.

“Not only are those monsters fast, but goddamn powerful. I saw them tare off roofs to get at victims. After months of enduring their horrors, I found myself becoming strangely intrigued by them – their psychology - it’s the burden of my lifestyle that prompted this. But I learned that they have a system. They follow ranks, very militarized. There are those that are in charge, like officers. And then there are those that are scouts, sentinels – always in twos - they’re day-walkers, skulking the streets for potential victim hideouts. I don’t know if their army venerates an authority figure – I would imagine so, based on their regimented tactics. They seem to have learned our language – I’ve heard them communicate to humans. And now, they’re seizing the nomadic men, forcing them to reveal their hideouts to find any harboring women. I’ve been lucky enough to evade their clutches. But all of you need to start being more careful. Don’t let them find these women.” A voicing finger gouged the air in our direction, an aggrieved finger, suggestive, as if to implore that we are, us women, the reason for earth’s take-over.

            My worst fear has been realized – the invaders have not left us.

            A collective gulp seemed to resonate within the basement. Our luck had run its course.

            “Do you know where they go at night?” Seth asked, sharing in the shock of the new disturbing details.

“They’re subterranean – in the tunnels beneath the old Kingston State Hospital.”

                  Chapter 9: Alyssa

For weeks I endured the seclusion of the basement walls and its concrete slabs stacked ten-feet high with no hope for exoneration. There were moments where I believed death to be my only escape from the psychological torture of confinement. I was back to square one, quarantined. It didn’t seem to bother Nancy or Lisa that even the back-door rendezvous were a thing of the past. The lack of vitamin D was weighing heavily upon me. Suffocation pressed down on my senses. Seth did his best to lift me from this funk. I feared I was grounded, living in a looping impasse. How I longed for the freedom of my front door visits.

               The guys formed smaller groups when venturing out into the world of the day-walkers. There was no choice, food needed to be acquired. They agreed that with only two guys it would be easier to conceal their presence.

The daily updates from Boston seemed to be on high alert too with Jackson’s broadcasts now airing only once a week. The vampires have not detected this means of communication with other humans. As they become savvier with our adaptations to their captivity, however, the less our chances of survival seem to become.

            The disturbing sounds of death and devastation have been heard on occasion from the outside world. Every time a scream or blast mauls my ears a piece of me withers into a somatic loss to the ether. When it’s Seth’s turn to gather food I anticipate only the worst. I was abandoning hope, for my soul was waning, relinquishing to a mere shell of what I once was.

            As autumn approached I slept an excessive amount, passing the lowly time.

            “Lyssa,” Seth called to me one morning before the others rose. “Things have been quiet for weeks now. What if I talk the guys into letting you take a stroll on the first level, for change of scenery?”

            I felt my body perk ever so slightly over this latent prospect. “I’d like to look outside too.” My voice was faint.

            Seth’s gaze fell from me at this request. “I don’t think that’s possible, for the safety of everyone. I’m sorry, my love. If it was just you and I, I’d allow it.”

            I understood however painful the truth was to take.

For the first time in my life I hated being female.

            “I’ll take the stroll.” I accepted without argument. Anything at this point was a vast improvement.  

“Under no circumstances are those doors to be opened,” Bruce demanded. He was sympathetic to Seth’s plea for my sanity.

            “Alyssa is aware of that condition.” I heard Seth offer in my defense. They spoke by the elevator, feet from me.

            I pulverized my nails with mounting anticipation over the promise of escaping the basement.

            “Not a minute longer,” Bruce added. We don’t need one of those day leaches strolling past and hearing us. Ten minutes, max.”

            I frowned over the time restriction. A half an hour would’ve been fair – but ten minutes? They might as well strap me to a chair with the Chinese water torture forced upon me. Ten minutes will be a cruel tyrant upon my spirits – an invariable tease. I had no choice in the matter; the alternative - trapped in a spiraling vacuum – was far worse.

            The others, I could tell were not happy in this arrangement, especially Buck. He didn’t utter a word of indignation, only shook his head in disapproval. Empathy lay only with Bruce, Don, and naturally with my husband.

            The elevator was failing. The antique hadn’t been serviced in almost a year. It took five minutes or so just to arrive, and it was only traveling one floor down. Bruce was worried that we might have to discontinue using it all together for fear of getting stuck between levels.

             When the elevator door parted to let me out, instantly I felt a sense of relief. Perhaps it was the memories of earlier visits replaying, tricking me into believing that I was in fact making for the door for a drink of refreshing air. Regardless of this delusion, the jaunt helped. 

            “Let’s keep it to the lobby.” Bruce commanded, his throaty voice turning militant. He streamed for the entrance, rifle bore before him.

            Don followed Bruce’s lead, giving me and Seth some space.

            “How’re you feeling, love?” A tentative arm swathed my shoulders.

            The gloom of the atmosphere was worse than the basement with its massive deprivation in light. The dust clouds grew considerably thicker than my last visit. I forced back a sneeze.

            “I’m feeling fine.” I freed a grateful smirk.

            There wasn’t much to do but stroll around the narrow, 20x20 foyer. Seth was by my side, offering a small gap between us, giving me some room to breathe. I stretched a little, trying to unwind. My sneaker caught on a snare in the rug just then; I quickly recovered.

            “The crawfish should be a nice change from trout tonight.” Seth said in polite conversation in regards to the dinner plans.

            “Mmm,” I agreed. “The pears and apples will improve the menu too.” 

            I took Seth’s free hand, knitting our fingers. The shotgun was in his other hand by his side.

My time was nearing a close. Relishing in the last few moments, Seth and I walked passed Bruce and Don as they continued their guard at the entrance. I feared this would be the last time I crossed paths with the front doors. With the elevator on the fritz, we’d have to conserve whatever remnants of juice the apparatus held onto.

            “I know that I promised that things would get better,” Seth’s voice strained, regret seeping in. “I’m sorry I was wrong. I never meant to fill you with false hope.”

            I faced him, stopping in my tracks. “None of this is your fault.” Instantly my self-interests fell to the wayside. It broke my heart to think that Seth felt responsible for the recent state of things. “You have no control over what happens.” My voice exerted a renewed sense of strength.

            Seth caressed the apple of my cheek. His brow ached. Within the dim of the light I could just make-out the tearing of his eyes. “I’m your husband. I’m supposed to protect you, keep you safe.”

            With fervent hands I comforted his face.  “You are, Sweetheart. Please don’t think that my bad days have anything to do with you. It’s me. I’m not as strong as I used to believe myself to be.” My voice was a near-whisper.

            Seth’s eyes closed, preventing the pent-up emotion from betraying him. I could see that his unassuming determination to maintain poise was weighing on him. It pained me to see him so vulnerable. I was behaving so selfish with my demands for freedom.

            I kissed his tentative lips.    

            “I love you.” As Seth consumed my indulgent gaze, a massive thump-thump resounded from one of the front doors.

            We all jumped to a start. Seth swept me behind him with a protective urgency. Bruce and Don backed from the doors, wielding their rifles.

            “Please,” a muffled call pleaded from beyond the door. “Let us in.”

            The voice was startling. Who would know that we were hiding in the theatre?

            “Help us.” A female voice besought with fear, appealed to our mercy.

            “We need to let them in,” I impelled as Bruce and Don stood fixed with ambiguity. The thought of any women wandering in the open was enough to make me sick.

            “It could be a trick,” Don spat. His gun faced the door. “It might be the vampires.”

            “He’s right,” Bruce whispered, avoiding the ears of those beyond our shelter. “Make for the elevator.”

            I halted in mid-step for it was then that I heard a child’s cry.

            I gasped, shocked by this revelation. “Oh my god, they have children.”

            Seth clutched my arm. I was starting to panic.

            “Look through that gap over there,” Seth asserted, thrashing a finger in the path of the far right door. A half-inch gap between the plywood and glass offered a forty-degree angle to the front walkway.

            Don reluctantly followed Seth’s command.  No one wanted that on their conscious, leaving a child behind.  

            “Fuck,” Don gyrated, peering through the space between the plywood. “It’s a goddamn family.”

            Bruce flashed us a surrendered look of appeal. There was no room for argument. These people were in danger and had to be brought to safety.  Without pause Bruce immediately began unlocking the barrier with purpose. If they continued with their appeals for help they could also compromise our hideout.

            A bolt of light dispensed into the lobby, striking us with blinding force as a door parted its frame. Bruce renounced a second door for hasty passage. When the brilliant hum of sunlight became snuffed-out by the refugees I nearly wept. A man and women huddled over a toddler as she clutched an infant to her chest. 

            “My god,” I exhaled, plunging forward, aiding their passage.

            Seth shadowed me.

            “Hurry, inside,” Bruce beckoned. Their terror stricken faces darted forward.

            The baby continued with its agitated whine.

            For a brief moment I parted the path of the entrance threshold, overlooking the devastation of the outside world with my sole purpose on the rescue of this unfortunate family. They moved with purpose, quickly concealed by the cover of the lobby’s shadow. I was unsupervised, unguarded by even the protection of my husband.

            It was then that they took heed of my presence. Appearing with brisk notice, two vampires broke view, gaiting the path of the theatre’s promenade. In that instant it was as though time had seized to exist. I dithered over their advent as they did mine with equivalent disbelief. The metallic cores of their eyes reflected daylight as they bore into me. I heard nothing - the voices surrounding me had become a drone of exaggerated noise, slow and nauseous. I was terrified in a manner that words or emotion cannot express.

            A powerful jerk of my shoulders shook me to consciousness. It was Seth.

“RUN!!” he roared, his eyes cavernous with horror.

            I said nothing, rotated into a sprint, seeking the protection of the elevator. The short distance felt like interminable miles. With only the sounds of my laborious breathing and the petrified voice in my head screaming for speed, I heard nothing, nor saw the likes of anyone else. It was if they had vanished from the theatre.

            I punched the call button, crying in hysterics. By some unforeseen miracle that ancient relic opened its door to me. I lunged forward, nearly falling in the process. Spinning around, my attention peered beyond the compartment, praying for the relief of Seth, following in my stead. But he did not appear. The door started its partition from me and my only reason for living. Before the divider aligned with the frame of the elevator, a mere half-inch opening remained, the day-walkers materialized across from me. Their faces tortured with the veracity of losing what they set out to obtain. 

            My chest fluctuated with exaggerated force.  I was near collapse. The ambush of adrenalin caused me to feel faint. Leaning against the support of the elevator wall I desperately required the confines of the dreaded basement that I once so willingly set out to despise. Forever it felt I was sealed within the compartment. The steel cubicle was moving. I was certain of a motor hum.

Now safe, I tried to calm myself. But Seth, my god, where was he? I couldn’t fathom the possibility that the vampires had hurt him to get to me. Why didn’t he follow in my wake? I couldn’t think it, couldn’t stomach the possibility that Seth might’ve held back to buy me time. This likelihood impelled a devastating sob to jar from within me. Grief pummeled me to the floor.

            The ding of the elevator declared its descent. The door began to part. My weakened condition prompted my attention to haze over the safety of the basement. Returning my guise was not Bruce or Rick as I had anticipated. It was the alarming vision of the day-walkers that glared back at me.

            I scrambled erect, hysterically pressing my back to the rear elevator wall seeking a failed means for escape. At their mercy I knew death was imminent. 

                  Chapter 10: Alyssa

“You belong to us now,” one of the dark figures proclaimed, carrying an incensed pitch, his voice human in structure.

            My unyielding limbs fused to the obstructive elevator wall behind me like a rodent trapped by a hungry feline predator. There was no way I was going to relinquish myself to them willingly.

Their churning amethyst eyes pierced my narrowing guard. I waited for the inevitable. But I made to fight.

The taller and more malevolent of the two charged me with whiplash speed. A bloodcurdling scream ripped my face. The strength he mastered made it difficult to writhe in escape. His arms and torso lifted me with a vice-grip, restricting my movement. Animalistic howls and squeals burst from my chest onward my throat. Terror possessed me. I no longer had control of Alyssa Fields’ body.

Draping over the day-walker’s shoulder - one arm clutching me to his chest with little effort - beneath my screams I vaguely heard him declare an order to his companion vampire in a cryptic tongue. He set off for the front-door with me adorned as a stylish boa, in what seemed only three strides of his legs. Only feet from the entrance I saw Seth crumbled on the carpet, still, lying on his back. 

“NO!” I cried in agony. “SETH!”

My love, my life lay on the floor unmoving, dead.  The image of his beauty lifeless and alone was insoluble. I wailed. With the will of determination to be by Seth’s side, I kicked and flailed for freedom.

I felt my body slip from the vampire’s grip. He paused from walking to regain control. Punching the vile creature in the face, his resilient hands of tempered steel took hold of my upper arms. His companion clasped my waist as I continued to thrash with grief over the loss of my husband.

“LET ME GO!” I screeched in an unparalleled dynamic. 

I kicked the vampire before me in the face, freeing his hold on me. This act of rage only pissed him off more. As he made to harness my waist and thighs I pulled free from the vampire behind me, plummeting to the floor. The taller fiend watched with beguiled curiosity as I desperately crawled along a path toward Seth. The vampire lifted an arm to halt his cohort from lunging after me. Nothing could stop me from reaching my husband.

“Seth,” I murmured, grief-stricken. “Seth.”

There were no obvious injuries, no detectable blood on him. Both my hands cupped his static hand. The surface of his skin was cool. Tears flooded my face. I couldn’t speak, only anguish seeped from me. My face dropped to his, hand taking possession of his jawline.

“Seth, please wake up – please.” I sobbed within an indistinguishable voice. 

None of it felt real.

The wholesome scent of my lover’s essence saturated me. I never wanted to let go of his smell. Crying over his limp body, I wished to be left to grieve over him for eternity.

Fierce hands seized my waist, yanking me from Seth.

 “NO!” my hands grasped for my husband.

The vampire spun me into a cradle position, gripping the nape of my neck and knees against him. Still I screamed for Seth and rocked with verdict in this murderer’s arms. The cohort vampire brandished my wrist, thrusting the veins to face him. He inclined swiftly with mouth targeting the weakest point of my arm. Needle-like razors pierced the thin skin. I cried in protest. With his mouth biting down I instantly felt drowsy, incapacitated. The lids of my eyes hung thick, begging to close. The creature detached his clasp, baring blood-stained, barbed teeth. My faltering gaze watched lastly his insidious smirk.

Darkness befell me.