TABULA RASA
by Shane Crash
Copyright 2013 Shane Crash
Cover design by Timothy Anderson
Cover art by Diego Galindo
This book is also available in print at most online retailers as part of a split-paperback with Deep Penitentiary 6 by Anthony Mathenia.
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FOR LEIMKUELER
An automated voice echoes through my skull. “Life support disengaged; heart rate seventy BPM.”
Slowly, I force my eyes to open. They’re heavy, and they feel rusted. I’m nude. The room is vacant, save for the machine and me. The beige, cakelike mortar of the wall covers the floor, and pale white sheets cover my skin. My ribs burn and I groan as I pull myself upward. My nostrils flare when I catch a whiff of burnt plastic.
My legs collapse under the weight of my body. I fall forward and try to catch myself. My skull smacks the cold tile beneath me. I taste copper in my mouth and spit it out: red saliva. My fingers trace my jawline. I’ve been sleeping for a while; my unshaven cheeks confirm my suspicion.
The machine has kept me hydrated. It’s pumped me full of nutrients. I’d be dead if it hadn’t. Things go hazy for a moment and my eyesight blurs. I close my eyes and take deep breaths.
I’ve got to find clothing and think coherently. My eyes widen as they fall on my hazel pack safely tucked into the corner of the room beside the door. There’s a note pinned to it. I can’t read it from here, so I take a moment to steady my breathing and gently pull my body upward. I stumble forward and fall again. My pack breaks the fall, and I roll on my ribs and stare upward. My fingers trace the pack next to me, and I grasp the note.
Ryan,
Langtree
Brad
My groans echo through the room as I stand once more. I lean against the ashen wall for support. There are clothes in my pack, and my coat and tie are draped on the table. It feels like hours before I move forward, one small step after another. Someone has placed sustenance packages in my bag. It’s heavier than I remember. I move out the door and down a concrete corridor. I feel my recollection of this place begin to return. This facility was an experiment. It was a prison for evil. It was a prison for the inhuman, a prison for monsters. It was a prison for vampires.
My memory is still hazy, and I can see brief images of the moments before the riot. I can see the network pundits reporting on a massive seaboard attack. An army of vamps hit hard during the night, and their numbers were increasing.
I need to think critically about where to go from here. I sit with my head against the wall and concentrate. After a while, I stand and move down the hallway once more, searching for a telephone. There’s one mounted on the wall around the nearest corner. My fingers wrap tightly around the plastic, and I hold it to my ear. There’s no dial tone, only deafening silence.
Memories continue to return, here and there, even as I inch down the corridor. It’s coming back rapidly, and I see everything after a few moments. My thoughts begin to flow coherently.
My name is Ryan. I hunt vampires for private government agencies. I have a partner. His name is Brad. He’s waiting for me at Langtree with Alexis. Things went bad. I got knifed when the riot started, and Brad holed me up in the room when I got caught up in it. There’s a scar across my left breast, a few inches in length. When things went south, he hooked me up to the life support device and left for the coast to get Alexis. If the machine hadn’t kept me sedated, I’d be dead.
My emergence from the ruined complex is like a rebirth. The light nearly blinds me, and the impact of the shock accompanying it splits my head. It’s early morning, at least a few hours from noon. The parking lot is a mess of mangled vehicles and cracked cement.
I am abandoned.
I need to make sure Alexis and Brad are safe, and I need to find out how this attack happened at all. Surely the mess has been cleaned up by now, so why am I alone?
The vehicles all look like something ripped through them. Many of the roofs are torn open, and the windows are shattered or covered in dried blood. This is the work of vamps, and loads of vamps. They must have been successful in overrunning the prison.
I have no way of knowing whether Brad or Alexis survived the chaos, but I’ll find out when I reach Langtree. For now, I’ve got to find wheels. I’m not worried about lingering vamps, because it’s still light out, but I’ll be in a mess of trouble if I get caught in the dark.
Finding transportation is proving more difficult than I imagined. Most of the vehicles are inoperable or without keys. I find a holstered gun and ammunition in an open glove compartment, but I despise guns, and bullets aren’t much use against the undead, so I leave the weapon behind and move on. I’m gagging as I finally find a car with keys in the ignition.
Someone’s been torn apart, and his or her entrails and limbs are strewn about the interior. I breathe deeply and cover my mouth with my collar. I go to work and clear out the vehicle. I vomit several times before hitting the road. I head north on I-29. My worst fears are confirmed when I see that the incident wasn’t contained, but that it has in fact spread beyond the facility. It looks like the world has gone to war.
Tractor-trailers are burned and sprawled across the landscape, and the interstate is nearly impossible to navigate. I see scorch marks from dusted vamps periodically. But the human casualties seem to outweigh the vamp casualties, and as much as I feign numbness, the death still saddens me.
The further I get from the facility, the smoother the road becomes. The problem is that I’m moving at such a slow pace that I’m bound to be open and exposed when nightfall inevitably arrives. I need to find shelter, and I need to properly arm myself before it’s too late.
There’s a familiar exit in a few miles. I pull into the rest stop and park. It’s vacant, eerily reminiscent of my countless excursions into coven territory. The restrooms and information lobby appear vacant, so I grab my pack and tread forward uneasily. The main lobby is empty, but it would make a piss poor shelter. It’s open and surrounded by glass windows and doors. I need to hole up in one of the restrooms for the night. I can only hope that no vamps come poking around. There’s only one entrance, and I could get trapped in a hurry. The upside is that there are no windows, and the door locks from the inside. Nothing should draw attention to me while I rest. It’s nearly dark when I approach the restroom door. I grip my weapon and move slowly, then kick the door and check my corners.
I’m alone.
The bathroom stall walls have collapsed on one another like dominos. Scarlet blood is streaked over the cracked mirrors. There are tattered bits of army surplus cloth and shattered glass scattered across the tile. I sift through it and gather a few shards big enough to penetrate vamp flesh. Eventually I lie on my back in the shadows. I’ve become accustomed to resting in shadow. In my line of work, the shadows have become a kind of ally.
I slurp down one of my sustenance kits and drink from the faucet. I’d like to have a fire for warmth, but the undead can feel the warmth and smell the smoke. I just lie with my head on my pack, rubbing my arms for warmth. The cold isn’t enough to cause concern. It’s uncomfortable, but I’ve had worse. I find my old battered copy of Swann’s Way in my pack and read from it to pass time. I think of Alexis before I drift to sleep. I imagine her waxen-like skin, and I wonder if I’ll feel it against me again. A resounding “no” echoes from a small, dark corner of my mind. I ignore it, focus on stray hopes,
and fade into sleep.
“I smell warm blood,” the raspy voice wails.
There are three of them, as far as I can tell. The stupid shits woke me a few moments ago. They were wrecking the lobby, breaking windows and trashing vending machines, probably trying to scare stragglers out of hiding. Now they’re approaching the restroom door. They must have caught my scent. I’m ready for them, hunched in the corner, armed well enough for three petty goons. They continue rambling to one another.
“Come on, Lucius. Let’s drain us a day walker.” The raspy one is trying to frighten me. It knows I’m waiting somewhere. It probably believes me to be frightened and huddled. I make up my mind and walk toward the door, clutching the dagger-like glass. I’m not waiting for them. The carnage and death around me has me itching for a little vengeance. I swing open the door and step into the hallway.
I was right; there are three of them. They’re facing the women’s restroom, creeping forward.
“You assholes looking for me?” I’m on top of them before they can process my taunt. I smear the smallest one’s head across the wall; he’s dusted before the other two can move on me. The largest of them turns on me, and I run him through. His face contorts, and I ram my head into his. He stumbles backward with a stupid look spread across his face as he withers into nothing.
The remaining vamp screeches and charges me. I recognize the raspy voice and move to counter his strikes. He lunges and swings wildly. I grab his forearm and push him back as he struggles to sink his fangs into me. I hold his arm steady and push hard; my right arm strikes from behind, and I feel the bone snap. He shrieks and collapses to his knees.
I bellow as I strike with the shard of glass. “Go to hell!”
“That’s not very nice,” a voice sounds from behind me.
I turn slowly, more shocked than I’d like to admit. There are four silhouettes blocking the exit. The middle one is bigger than the rest, and he’s grinning. He twirls his elongated fingers in a circular motion. One of the others nods in agreement and steps sideways. They’re moving around, slowly encircling me.
“Coven?” I ask.
“You got it,” the leader confirms.
“Good,” I say. “I’m gonna kill every one of you assholes.”
The leader begins to laugh. “I like this one,” he declares. “I want to bleed him dry.”
The fools attack at once, believing they can overwhelm me. I turn the first to arrive on his back and stake him. His body lurches a moment, and I dig my boot into him. He flies forward. Vamps are tough, but they feel pain like a human. I unload on them, one at a time. Their shock is my advantage, and I make short work of them. The glass has shredded my palm, but I continue on, slicing and thrusting through cold flesh. When the flurry of fists and boots ends, there are two standing. The leader and a large hunchbacked brute are staring at me.
I charge, and the leader swings. I slide underneath his fist and come up behind him. He turns and swings once more, this time striking my jaw. The big brute rams into me, and we sprawl backward. I catch myself with my palms. The tile cracks under the brute, and I drive my knee into his thorax as he attempts to strangle me. I slash and open his throat. Then I’m on my feet and facing the leader. His face is painted with fear, and I smirk at it.
“You look worried.”
“I’m going to tear your insides…” His retort is cut short by the sudden sharpness of the shard in his chest. I’m still standing motionless a few feet from him. I hardly flicked my wrist before sending the glass into him. He disappears into a cloud of dust while I finish off the brute on the floor.
It’s quiet now. I’m alone again.
Sunrise is only a half hour or so from now. The adrenaline and rage are fading, and I begin to feel the effects of the rumble on my body. The pain sends me against the wall, and I slide down onto my ass. I need to breathe and recuperate. At the rate I’m traveling, it’ll take a few more days to reach Langtree, and I’m not sure if I’ll survive many more days of this. I need to think and act deliberately if I’m going to survive. My thoughts are mostly of Alexis and the ring on her finger. The irony of this whole situation is rather Shakespearean. I have to get back.
When the sun peaks, I stretch and gather my gear. The car is resting where I left it, completely undisturbed. The first few hours pass in a blur, and I spend most of the drive considering my options. Internally, I debate whether or not to risk traveling at night. My thoughts drift elsewhere until the low fuel light appears on the dashboard of the car.
“God dammit…,” I mutter and continue on driving. If I don’t find a gas station, I’ll need to find a new ride.
I make it another thirty miles or so before the vehicle stalls and dies. I step out of the car and survey the landscape. There are plenty of cars scattered throughout the median, so I sigh, grab my gear, and start scouring. Most of the vehicles are inoperable or have been burnt up. I stop to rest after walking a few miles. I kneel beside an abandoned tractor-trailer and drink deep from a sustenance pack. I’ve got maybe two hours left before sundown. I need a vehicle, or shelter at the very least.
My eyes squint and I gaze out at the charred landscape. There are a few more vehicles, only a few hundred feet ahead of me. The grass and pavement are scorched in spots, and in others, tranquil, undisturbed. I’m surrounded by bitter earth and bitter prospects. This is the first moment that I’ve felt desperate.
The first vehicle I approach is an older Jeep, rusted around the edges. It’s been abandoned. The keys are still in the ignition; its owner left in a hurry. There are two backpacks in the back seat, and a cooler. The rear door squeaks loudly as it opens. The cooler is filled with water, moldy sandwiches and unopened Gatorades. I breathe a bit easier and hit the road once more. I’m exhausted, so I decide to look for shelter.
I drive another thirty miles or so. There’s no sign of shelter; there are just burned-up gas stations and massive truck stops. They’re far too dangerous to hole up inside. They’re open and a likely encampment for covens. It’s safer to try to stay on the move through the night rather than compromise for mediocre shelter. Any vamps I come across will most likely assume I’m one of them. They won’t go out of their way to stop me. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as the sun fades behind me.
The first half of the evening is uneventful. I don’t see much of anything, only the occasional fire. It’s after midnight when I stumble onto the brawl. There are at least five that I can see, and they’re trying to overwhelm a guy a few hundred feet ahead of me. I kill the lights and pull off to the side of the road. I should breeze right past them, but I’m not about to leave this guy for dead. He’s screaming a lot, but he seems to be holding them at bay somehow.
I cross back behind them, staying concealed in the shadows and behind vehicles. He’s waving a cross in one hand and a stake in the other.
One of the vamps squeals at him. “Just put that down and let’s do this the easy way.”
“Go to hell,” he retorts. I like him already.
They don’t see me approaching with the crowbar tucked behind my back. They’re moving in on the guy, and he’s beginning to panic.
“I will kill you,” he warns.
One of them replies coldly, “We’re already dead.”
There’s a particularly plump vamp that seems to be getting impatient. It’s licking its lips and rubbing its hands together, ready for the kill. I decide to move on it first. But just as I begin to move in on them, the frosted grass betrays me, crunching and sounding my arrival. The group turns on me, and my palm grips the crowbar. Fortunately, the man seizes the opportunity and stakes the nearest vamp in the chest.
The creature’s startling demise doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on the others. The plump one and the neighboring vamp charge me while the other two continue to descend on the man. I’ve rammed the crowbar into the chest of the plumper when his friend kicks me in the chest and I sprawl onto my back. He tries to pin me, but I counter and drive my pal
m into his nose.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouts and stumbles backward. I’m on my feet and spearing him with the crowbar before he recovers. I turn to find my new friend on top of the only remaining vampire. He growls like a jungle cat and drives his elbow into its throat. The monster just lies on its back, its hands flailing slightly at its side. The man screams again and pounds his fist into its face repeatedly. He just continues bellowing for a moment or two, walloping away before finally staking the creature.
The creature’s cries end abruptly, and the silence is unnerving, like a harsh transition from a rock concert to Sunday mass.
“You okay?” I ask from behind him. “You’re a hell of a scrapper.” He jumps and spins around quickly.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks, startled.
“I’m Ryan,” I explain. “It’s okay. I’m not a bloodsucker.”
“What are you doing out here?” He asks, wiping his wooden spear-like stake.
I counter and kneel to catch my breath. “What are you doing out here?”
His face softens a bit and he seems to relax. He’s much younger than I originally believed. “I was looking for my friend,” he tells me. “They took him last night.” His voice sinks lower and he wipes his face. “I found him just before you showed up.”
“Where is he?”
“You’re standing on him.”
I glance down to see the ash beneath me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is stern and removed. “I’m glad he’s out of his misery now.”
“What’s your name?”
He walks past me and gazes at out the highway. “It’s just leading us to a sad end,” he whispers in a daze.
We don’t speak for a while. I poke around and search for anything useful. The kid just stands near the ashes of his friend without moving. After a while he breaks the silence.
“I’m Ehren,” he says suddenly, turning to face me.
I nod my head and stick out my hand. “I’m Ryan.”