Saturday's Friday Fiction. An Excerpt from Everyone Dies in the End.

Dusty

1

She returned through the hall by which they had come to the altar. They were headed to the same room that Ramzke had taken her when they debarked from the truck. Ahead Vader ducked through the door.

It’s just creepy, thought Dusty. Why would anyone dress like that? And then they were through the door. Vader sat on the desk. He watched Dusty when she entered, the black helmet turning as she walked across the room. Ramzke guided her to a worn spot on the plush, red carpet, ten feet in front of the desk on which Vader sat. Vader ignored her now, speaking instead to one of the toughs.

“I want that woman in the peasant dress.”

Dusty. Illustration by Mahmud Asrar.
He has all the rights to the damn thing.
Nor did he draw it as my character, but
rather one of his own. He really is amazing.

The tough nodded, “Yeah, boss,” his Philly accent thickly wrapping the words.

It’s like a bad Godfather rerun. The thought almost made Dusty giggle.

“I mean tonight, Sal,” Vader continued. “Bring her by,” he pointed a gloved finger at the tough called Sal, “and wait.”

She had seen that pointing finger before, but where she couldn’t place.

Sal nodded. Dusty noticed his Adam’s apple bob.

“You can drop her at the pens after I’m done.”

Dusty felt her skin crawl, and pictured her sawed-off shotgun in Vader’s mouth. The image made her feel a bit better.

“Not like you fags have any use for her, eh Ramzke?” Sal quipped.

Ramzke took a step toward the wisecracking henchman, and Sal blanched, but Vader raised a hand. “Enough.”

Ramzke hesitated, Dusty could feel his anger. The vampire took a breath, and then another, and then the anger was gone. Slowly Sal’s color returned, but he didn’t take his eyes off the vampire.

“Sal,” Vader hissed, and Sal pulled his eyes from Ramzke. When he had Sal’s attention, Vader spoke again. “Now, Sal. I want the girl now.” Still Sal didn’t move, obviously shaken from his almost-encounter with Ramzke.

“Now!” Vader shouted, and Sal jumped, stammered out a “Yes, sir,” and dashed out of the room. A few seconds later, the truck started, and then the tires crunched as Sal backed it down the alley.

Vader clumped his gloved hands together. “What’s next?” The mask scanned the room, its visage stopped when it faced the pale blonde man, the vampire Dusty had identified on entry.

“Ah, yes. We have a problem, don’t we Sandu?”

The vampire didn’t answer, his icy blue eyes glaring at Vader. The room was deadly quiet, and the black woman did nothing to disturb the peace when she walked to the vampire.

“Do I not feed you?” Vader asked in a low voice.

The vampire nodded.

“I asked you a question, bloodsucker. Do I not feed you?”

“Yes,” the vampire whispered, the word as clear as a gunshot in the still room.

“Then…why…did” Vader’s voice rose with each word, “…you…kill!”

“Don’t do this,” Ramzke whispered, and Vader whirled to face him, his voice thundering. “I will do what I want!”

There was something about that inflection, that voice, that thunder, that Dusty recognized. But from where?

Vader didn’t turn away from Ramzke. The impassive, plastic gaze fixed on him he spoke two words, “Kill Sandu.”

Suddenly, there was a katana flashing through the air, and Sandu’s head fell from his shoulders. Blood shot from the headless torso for a heartbeat, perhaps two, then with a solid thud it joined its head on the floor.

“No!” screamed Ramzke and he took a step toward the fallen vampire. That step filled the air with the click-clacking of rounds chambering and guns aiming at the raven-haired, leather-jacked vampire. Dusty doubted they stayed his anger. It was the Katana, the tip a hairs-breath from Ramzke’s jugular, its handle held by the black woman, its blade dripping Sandu’s dark blood, that halted Ramzke.

Dusty’s anger was a fiery ball in her stomach; her fists clenched so tightly that felt her own blood pooling on her fingers from where the nails had bit into her palms.

She could see the tension in Ramzke, his veins clearly protruding from the side of his neck. The black woman, stood relaxed, lips smiling, the strange swirling irises focused on Ramzke, the sword touching the skin beneath his chin.

Vader turned his head from them and called to the toughs, “Hey, someone clean that shit up.” He gestured at Sandu’s corpse. “Before it starts stinking up the place. Nothing stinks like recycled blood.” He laughed at his own joke, the sound muffled by the mask, as he shifted on the desk.

“You’re cool with that, right?” He spoke to Ramzke, mocking humor in his voice, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to emphasize the “that” he spoke of was the decapitated Sandu. Fire burned in Ramzke’s eyes. It was apparent to Dusty that he was anything but cool with that.

“Cause if you aren’t,” and there was no trace of humor now, “I can kill your whole fucking coven just as easy.” Ramzke stood rigid, his fists balled, eyes fixed. Vader turned to the katana-wielding woman. “He looks cool to me, Mbande. He look cool to you?”

The smile broadened. She really was beautiful. “Real cool.” Her voice was an alto sax cutting through a smoke-filled bar. The katana didn’t waver. One-quarter inch and it would be in Ramzke’s throat.

“You want to make a thing over this one blood sucker, Ramzke? Is his life worth the life of every last one of your coven?” For a moment the words hung in the air. Dusty thought Vader was done, but he wasn’t. “Or are we cool?”

After what seemed like an eternity, Ramzke unclenched his fists. “We’re cool.”

“Hmmm,” whispered the woman Vader had called Mbande, “That’s too bad.” For a moment the Katana didn’t move, but then with a slight shrug she pulled it away from Ramzke’s neck.

Vader looked at one of the toughs. “Vinnie, give her something.” Vinnie, a non-descript man in a dark three-piece suit pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it to Mbande.

She rewarded him with smile, wiped Sandu’s blood off the blade and tossed it back. She had sheathed the katana before Vinnie caught the bloody handkerchief, cursing as he did so. 

Vader laughed, Ramzke remained rigid. Vinnie tossed the offending piece of cloth in a wastebasket.

The laughter died and Vader spoke,” Okay, guys, clean this place up.” He pointed at Ramzke. “Thanks for bringing the girl, now get back to your coven.” Again Dusty sensed the tension build. She doubted that Ramzke was someone who took orders well. Vader ignored Ramzke and directly addressed Dusty for the first time. ‘You come with me, Lady.”

Lady? It was the first time she had heard Vader use the word. Dimly, deep in her layers of memory bells began ringing, but it was too deep for her understand why or even fully hear them.

He was beside her now; hand on her elbow, guiding her to a door in the back of the room. She didn’t know what he wanted, but didn’t see where she had any good options. They have Zak. She let herself be lead. And Eddie… what about Eddie? Mbande fell in behind the two. Vader looked over his shoulder at her, “No, Mbande, I won’t be needing you.” Dusty didn’t like the way that sounded. Judging from the sag in Mbande’s expression, neither did she, but she obeyed, waiting in the office as Vader opened the door.

You can buy Everyone Dies in the End here. Please do. I could use the beer money. It's on sale now (10/4/14). 

Mark H. Walker served 23 years in the United States Navy, most of them as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal diver, he is the author of Desert Moon, an exciting mecha, military scifi novel with a twist, with plenty of damn science fiction in it despite what any reviewer says, as well as World at War: Revelation, a creepy, military action, with a love story, alternate history, World War Three novel thing, Everyone Dies in the End, and numerous short stories. They are all available from Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing right here. Give them a try. I mean, what the hell?

Sign Up for Mark's Newsletter