Everyone Dies in the End #14

Ramzke

It was raining. A cold rain or at least that was what the humans would call it. To Ramzke the cooler temperature mattered not. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. His skin felt the same sensations as a human’s, but 300 years had taught him to ignore what was irrelevant. After all, vampires did not die of hypothermia.

It was dark, but not completely so. The clouds covered any hint of moon, but not the lights streaming from a handful of open clubs on Philadelphia’s 2^nd Street, and it was those lights that kept Vader in power. There was a semblance of normality here, a normalcy that kept the dissenters in the minority and the supporters in the majority. Normality was a rare commodity in post-apocalyptic America, but how rare was hard to say. There wasn’t a way, except by personal experience, to know what existed anywhere else.

Ramzke had been south in his abortive attempt to capture the girl, and the country was a wreck. Not a complete wreck, but a wreck nonetheless. Washington and Baltimore were little more than radioactive slag, and North Carolina had received more than its share of nuclear attention. Camp Lejeune and Fort Bragg, both important military bases, were smoldering ruins. Greensboro-Winston-Salem-High Point, which formed an important hub of the mid-Atlantic road network, and the budding Research Triangle Park in Raleigh Durham, had also been nuked. Somehow Charlotte had escaped the fire from heaven, but it appeared little better off, the flu pandemic claiming most of its population.

Except for Charleston, the destruction of which blocked passage through the Appalachian Mountains, West Virginia was untouched, a strange twist of irony. Now the most backward of eastern states boasted the closest thing to normalcy, but not as close as Philadelphia.

Ramzke didn’t know why Philadelphia had survived, but it had. Maybe Vader was responsible for the civilization, or maybe he had just taken advantage of it.  Yes the flu pandemic had stricken the city, but Vader had kept the power running, the hospitals open, and the people fed. There was no doubt in Ramzke’s mind about the brutality Vader had used to keep the city running. The tractor trailers of food stuffs and medical supplies had not been donated, but neither had Vader needed to rely on other’s kind intentions. Ramzke knew now that Vader’s gang had existed long before the missiles came. Vader had used the organization and muscle he had in place to quickly gain control of the city, and then expanded his influence.

So now, pale light reflected off the puddles of rain on 2^nd Street, the tangible proof of Vader’s influence. Vader provided electricity to Philadelphians on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. Tonight was Saturday, and such a little thing as the apocalypse wouldn’t keep people from drinking their fill.

Three young women spilled onto the sidewalk from the door of the Khyber Pass bar and stumbled toward him, laughing. One, a chesty brunette, caught his eye and smiled as they approached. He ignored her and the suggestion implied when she rubbed her chestyness against him as the girls passed, offering a throaty, “Excuse me.”

Normally it would have been an invitation that he would have been as eager to accept as the girl would have been quick to regret, but not tonight, not on the street, not after what had happened to Vinnie. Vader’s men were everywhere. Not everywhere, Ramzke reminded himself. They aren’t where I’m going. He walked by the bar the young woman had just exited. The doors were open to the cool air and he glanced inside, catching a glimpse of smoky air and sweating bodies gyrating on a small dance floor. Armageddon was upon mankind, but still they danced.

Across the street a small crowd gathered. One man rose above them, elevated by the wooden box on which he stood. Ramzke ignored his words. He didn’t need to hear them to understand the intent. The man offered salvation, promising his god above all others, or his manner of worshiping above all others, would provide salvation. Ramzke doubted the salvation existed, whether through the alcohol and sex on his side of the street, or the god on the other, and if it did, it certainly didn’t exist for him. And that was just fine.

He turned off the street onto a narrow alley; a man-made canyon of brick. The thin strip of cracked asphalt alley stretched into the night, bordered on either side by the masonry of aging tenements. Weakly lit windows dotted the walls, the rain plunging through their light like falling stars, clotheslines crisscrossed the air above him. Greatly overflowing trash cans crowded narrow steps, their rancid order thick in the wet air. Wooden doors, most in need of paint, waited at the top of the steps.

Ramzke walked on. One sprint, a brief use of his blinding speed, would bring him to his destination in a matter of seconds, but it would also bring attention to him and that was something he didn’t want. Tomorrow he would be gone. Vader had ordered him to once again travel south to get that girl. Vader had given him her location. Somehow, Vader seemed to know everything. But not quite, Ramzke smiled. He didn’t know about this.

Ahead, a solitary bulb, blood red, burned at the top of a set of steps. Red. Ramzke grinned at the irony. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder before climbing the steps. He knew he was alone, he would have felt another’s presence. The route he had taken was as circuitous as it was careful. The door opened before he mounted the first step.

           “Hello, Ramzke,” the shadow spoke, the accent barely noticeable.