Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (18 page)

            Harold decided to
people watch while Zork ate.   He still couldn’t believe how many different
infecteds existed in one place.  Big ones, small ones, tall ones, dead ones and
more, literally an encyclopedia of Abeos cases, dominated by Zombie workers
teeter-tottering at a fast clip from here to there.

            He sank fangs
into another pint of blood.  It went down smooth before he even fully realized
he was drinking it.  Harold stared at the empty pint container and sighed,
while Zork happily munched away.  Well, might as well make it look like he
attempted to get some information tonight. 

            “Zork, you ever
hear anything more about Donald’s graduates?”  He asked, gently laying the
plastic pint container on the round table before him.  Zork snorted, swallowing
the last of the meal in one great bite.  It took a moment to chew and complete
the swallow. 

            The slug sighed
its own sigh of satisfaction and settled back in the chair.  “You know, I’ve
never heard or seen from a single so called, former member of FEBs,” It said,
absently rubbing at the transmitter collar. 

            Harold smoothed
down the edges of the plastic pint container.  “It’s odd.  Isn’t it?  Seems
like he’d be parading them around as examples of success.”

            Zork revealed
teeth as it continued rubbing at the collar.  The slug stopped using its
eyestalk and resorted to reaching up with its butt end to rub at the device. 
“This freaking thing itches,” Zork growled, “Well you know how I feel about the
all-powerful Donald.  He’s a quacker.”

            They shared a
laugh.  Old Donald Duck was always good for a laugh or two.  “I still can’t
believe he made us draw a naked ogre.”

            Zork’s air holes
groaned, and it made a show of pressing both eyestalks against each other.  “My
eyes are still burning.  I’ve been saying it all along, dude doesn’t know what
he’s doing.  I’m surprised one of you hasn’t tried eating him yet.”

            Harold smiled
revealing his own set of fangs.  “You know the thought crossed my mind,” he
said, leaning back against the wall to watch a particularly attractive and
frosty woman cross the casino floor, “but, I just couldn’t stomach the idea.” 
He made a face.

            Zork’s eyes
bobbed up and down in agreement.  The cold woman Harold was watching met up
with a couple of zombies working the floor.  Harold tilted his head to try and
catch their conversation but couldn’t hear much with the background din.  There
was something oddly familiar about her.

            “You must have
heard rumors though?”  Harold asked absently.

            “Rumors about
what?”

            “What happens to
the program’s graduates?”  He replied. 

            Zork joined
Harold in people-watching the Casino floor.  “Oh,” the slug said, then fell
silent for a second or two, “There are theories.  You know, some of the zombies
in group work here.  Nobody is keeping to that stupid diet Donald set up.”

            Harold turned
from watching the woman to look at Zork.  “I saw you eating pie,” He
practically accused. 

            “I’m not like
you.  I can eat whatever the hell I want and like it,” Zork affronted, “as long
as it isn’t salt.” 

            The slug visibly
cringed. 

            He shifted in his
seat, suddenly feeling an urge to get up.  Harold grabbed the slug’s empty
plastic grocery bag and his own empty bags and tossed them in a nearby trash
can.

            “What have you heard
about the graduates?”  He asked, sitting down again.

            “About what?”

            “About the
graduates?”  Harold hissed.  His eyes remained drawn to the woman talking with
the zombies.  He only saw her in profile, but she seemed so familiar.  Petite,
Asian, with dark straight hair and some sort of black hat, probably the latest
in fashion.  Maria would know.  Her high skirt and low cut jacket vest did
enough to set his imagination going.  Even at a distance Harold could tell she
was in charge from the way she carried herself and spoke to the zombies. 
Something about the way she held herself seemed so familiar.

            “Oh them again,”
Zork sighed, “I don’t know, some of the members say there are no graduates. 
Donald just lies about it when someone completes the program.”

            Harold turned to
Zork who was performing an all-out body stretch from eyes to tail.         “Why
though?”

            “Ahhh, I ate too
much.  I don’t know,” Zork muttered, “Maybe they just give up?  Can’t change a
leopard’s spots and all that.  Donald’s got a money-maker going with FEBs, so
he pretends he succeeded.”

            Harold sighed. 
Figures Donald’s program wouldn’t work.  Nothing else had in over eighty
years.  Nothing Harold knew of worked; not all the doctors or potions from
early morning infomercials; not the diets or the starvation; nor the prayers or
the good will towards man.  He was right all along to be pessimistic about this
stupid program.  Nothing short of death would change who he had become. 

            At least he had
something to give the G-men and keep ’em off his back for a while.  Donald was
a liar, liar pants on fire.

            Zork asked if he
was ready to get out of here or wanted to blow some more cash at the slots. 
Harold didn’t hear.  He’d focused back on the woman and her companions again. 
She got in their faces, pointing fingers and drawing up her shoulders.  If she
weren’t careful they’d get pissed off and attack soon.  Be a shame, eating such
a pretty lady.  Zombies weren’t too disgusting as far as Harold was concerned
but they didn’t look all that great either.  Then, she turned fully in Harold’s
direction, crossing her arms.  One of the Zombies, very well preserved, laid an
arm across her shoulders in a comforting manner. 

            Harold’s mouth
dropped.  It was Orlen.  The little hypnotizing bitch.  Only she looked hotter,
more controlled, like she’d been after trying to entrance him back at the
apartment.   

            The zombie leaned
over Orlen and spoke with her, coaxing a small smile.  They were quite close to
each other.  Well, she had herself a zombie boy toy… Harold allowed himself a
blegh moment at the thought.  The two wandered off arm-in-arm while the third
zombie continued on its way.

            What the hell was
she doing here?  She got off pretending to be some uptight, normal kiss ass
working for the blood bank and treated him like nothing.  Another person riding
his back for their personal gain and here she was, with her very own skele-toy
in the closet.  He’d promised her he’d kill her the next time he saw her. 
Harold didn’t like breaking promises.

            He stood and
followed them out across the casino floor.  Zork’s voice calling after him.  
Harold had a few hundred yards deficit to make up for in catching them.  He was
lost among the throng of people.  They moved fast for a short woman and
decaying corpse. 

            Luckily, Harold
was his own blood hound.  He kept low, remembering Orlen’s smell and seeking it
out in the crowd.  Mingled with the flesh of a zombie, it didn’t take long to
find. 

            Harold followed
the scent down an aisle of slot machines and around a corner before he sighted
them again, sashaying along the darkened casino wall, partly shaded by a long
row of supporting columns.  Harold crossed over to that secluded semi-darkness,
following them from column to column, getting a bit closer with each quick
step.   They laughed easily with each other as they came up to a door guarded
by an ogre in flashy polyester suit.  They greeted him.  He nodded without
looking down.  Orlen swiped an ID card at the door and they let themselves in. 

            Damn it.  Harold
slapped the column, alerting the security guard.  Harold disappeared around the
column before the ogre turned in his direction.  

            Zork was sitting
right behind Harold.  At the sight of the small creature he almost let out an
involuntary yelp.  Okay, Harold had to admit, he probably did let out an
involuntary yelp. 

            “What the hell,”
Harold hissed, sagging against the column.  He took a deep breath and let it
out as he mentally tried to collect the remains of his dignity.  Not much left
to a vampire anyway, he thought.

            “I’m faster than
I look,” Zork said.  The slug peered around the column, sending one eyestalk in
either direction.  Harold kicked it between the eyestalks.  The slug belched,
eyestalks retracting swiftly back into its body.  The epithets it muttered would
have shamed the saltiest sea dog.

            “That hurt you
sonafabiatch,” Zork growled.

            “Quiet, there’s
an ogre I don’t want to piss off back there,” Harold hissed. 

            Zork stilled and
very carefully eased around one side of the column, making certain to keep both
eyestalks together and out of Harold’s reach.  Harold turned with him.  The
guard wasn’t there.  The space he occupied beside the door now conspicuously
empty.  Harold had a brief hurrah moment.  Now, he could easily sneak into the
door without having to deal with a super-sized freak.  Then, he felt the tap on
his shoulder.

            Heavy breathing
and the sudden stink of methane aside; the ogre did look rather sharp in his
dark blue suit.  Zork coughed beside them, suddenly taken with a fit of
allergies or perhaps a cold.  It hacked and sneezed and a large glob of mucus
shot out of an air hole, landing on the ogre’s size 16 Triple E shoes.

            That the ogre did
not like.  The big man rumbled low in this throat, and grabbed Zork by the
eyestalks.  He grabbed Harold by the neck.  Harold’s feet left the ground.  His
head threatened to leave his body under the pressure of the ogre’s hand… and
the ogre threw them both into a wall.  Harold had achieved flight for the first
time in his short, vampy life.  They slumped to the ground. 

            “I hate you,”
Zork groaned into the floor.

            Harold did a
quick internal body check.  Nose broken.  Two crushed ribs.  Swallowed two
teeth.  Throat rapidly swelling.  Shoulder hurting like a bitch. 

            He didn’t have
the energy to do more than cry as the ogre hefted him up by the back of his
jacket.   He heard a similar cry and assumed Zork had also been pulled up. 

            The ogre dragged
them along the floor with surprising speed and ease.  Patrons stared as they
moved through the casino.  Harold could see why the casino hired these guys for
protection.  It was way better to be on the giving end of a mad ogre than the
receiving end. 

            They reached an
exit with a zombie gal standing by it; a different door than the one they came
through earlier.  She giggled very slowly and roughly, her vocal cords not
working so well anymore.  The ogre pushed open the door and threw out Zork. 
The slug squealed and a wet splat was followed by groaning.  Harold’s turn came
next.  He reached consciousness a few seconds later with his face pressed into
the concrete. 

Chapter Eleven

            There were times
when Harold did not enjoy having a girlfriend so much.  This was one of them. 
Maria pinched his chin between her bony fingers when he and Zork first crawled
in the door.  He was not a pretty sight, he knew, but it didn’t mean she had to
be so mean.  It also didn’t help when she screamed so loudly at the sight of
Zork, nothing more than a bruised and rapidly swelling pile of goo, flesh and
radio transmitter on the floor beside him.  Nor did the rough swiping of a wet
washcloth across his nose help the pain much.  He hissed and grabbed the
washcloth to do his own tending up.  Zork groaned softly from on the table
where it sat nursing a beer. 

            “I don’t like… him
being up on the table,” Maria said, waving her manicured fingers at the slug. 
She looked delectable in a skimpy, white nightgown.  It complimented her
perfectly tanned skin in such a striking way Harold felt inclined to kick the
slug to the curb and do whatever she wanted until sunrise.  The painful lurch
in his neck told him sexy times would be out of the question tonight. 

            “Would you rather
I die on the floor?”  Zork said softly.

            Harold turned, or
rather turned his whole body towards Zork.  “You’re not going to die.”

            Zork lifted up
eyestalks to glare at Harold.  “How do you know?  I’ve got ogre all over me.”
Zork made an obscene sound.  “What on this planet are you thinking, spying on
an ogre.   Sneaking around the casino.  Pissing off an ogre.”

            Maria crossed her
arms where she stood between Harold and the slug.  “What’s this about a
casino?” 

            Harold stood to
wring the washcloth out in the sink.  While he was at it he put the last of his
blood winnings from the casino in the fridge.  Maria peered at the bag with a
raised eyebrow, but Harold didn’t say anything.  No way he was getting into
that argument tonight.  He took a bag of peas out of the freezer, pressing it
to his face.

            “It’s nothing, we
spent a few hours playing cards at Mephisto’s.  If you must know, we got into a
little trouble with security and they tossed us out,” Harold said, pointing at
his poor, poor nose.

            “Harold, you’ve
been gambling?”  Maria asked.  “Honestly, I don’t even know why I bother with
you.”  She turned away from him and opened the fridge.  Nothing seemed to
appeal to her for she slammed it shut, moving further into the small kitchen
and Harold heard her open and slam several cupboards.  He leaned back and tried
his best to ignore her.  Zork made miserable sounds from the table.  Finally,
the slamming stopped.  It became blessedly silent.  Or as silent as it could be
with Maria’s little heart beating fast and her little nostrils flaring in
anger.  She moved very close, leaning over him.  Then, she kicked him in the shin. 

            “Sometimes I
don’t even know why I bother,” Maria said, “It’s as if you don’t even care
anymore.”        

            She dabbed at her
eyes with a dish towel, turning to look out their patio door, though honestly
she couldn’t see anything since it was pitch black out there.  Harold heard a
small opossum snuffling around in the grass out by the wire fence.  He
occasionally picked up its musky odor on the morning air before turning in for
the day.  He didn’t bother it and it didn’t bother him.  Yep, the two of them
had a special relationship going on.

            “Aw, you made
your girl cry,” Zork perked up, frowning at Harold.

            Sensing an ally
in the making, slimy or not, Maria turned to Zork.  He heard all about their
bad relationship and how he stayed out all night.  The slug perked up more,
nodding at her whole-heartedly with both eyestalks.  It clucked softly in all
the right places and even patted her on the shoulder, which Maria suddenly
didn’t seem to mind at all, but Harold did.  Harold minded that a lot.

            “Okay time to go.
 Sorry you’re sad Maria, we’ll talk about it later.”  Harold threw the bag of
frozen peas in the sink.  “Got to get back to the house before they get
suspicious.  You know house mates and all.”  He yanked Zork up by the eyestalks
causing the slug to let out a blood-curdling scream. 

            “I think you’re
hurting him,” Maria said, as she continued to dab at her eyes with the dish
towel.  

            “Oh right, you
must be in a lot of pain.” Harold said to the slug, yet somewhat reluctant to
lessen his tight grip.  “We’d better get you back to your room so you can rest
up.”

            Maria followed
him to the door where she stood, dish towel forgotten in one hand, bare skin
goose pimpling in the night breeze, and tears rapidly drying.  “I’ll drop by
the house tomorrow evening.  We can go out?”  She suggested, her anger all but
forgotten for the moment.

            Out, right.  It
would consist of him watching her eat and them getting into a big argument over
dessert.  “All right,” he said, “but come over before dark.  I’ll drive you
back home after we eat.”  If he got his way, and he usually did, they’d have
something extra for dessert at home.

            She smiled and
leaned in to give him a quick goodbye kiss.  Harold turned into the night with
the slug muttering and cursing him in one hand and car keys in the other.

            Harold threw Zork
into the passenger side of the car.  It hit the side window before falling into
the bucket leather seat with a groan.  The transmitter around its neck beeped
lightly. 

            “What the hell
was that for?”  Zork asked.

            “I know what you
were doing in there,” Harold said, turning the ignition, the car purred to life
and he revved the engine for emphasis, “and don’t do it again.”

            Zork rubbed its
head with one eye.  “You’re being paranoid,” it said, “it’s not my fault if I’m
a sympathetic ear.”

            “I’m going to put
the fear in you if you don’t leave her alone.  The only one sucking on Maria is
going to be me.”

            “Whatever,” the
slug muttered.  It turned to stare out the window.  “There are plenty of others
knocking down my door.”

            Harold grunted. 
Zork’s attitude tended to turn even the other group members off.  “Would those
others be the feds?”

            They locked eyes
and both broke out into laughter.  Zork’s harsh sounds decaying into inane
giggles as it spread out flat on the bucket seat, eventually flattening and
widening into a round little pancake. 

            They had a short
drive through the city to the halfway house.  The usual G-Men were waiting
outside to check the transmitter on Zork’s neck and give it a general roughing
up before letting Zork inside the house.  They might wonder at the slight
bruising and swelling evidence of an attack on Zork, but they generally paid so
little attention to the slug’s welfare, it probably didn’t matter to them
either way.

            Harold left Zork
with the babysitters and slipped into the house before they could waylay him
for questioning about Donald and FEBs. 

            His head and neck
hurt like hell, but it was almost sunrise and he’d be able to sleep it off
soon.  Being a vamp had its benefits.

            Harold shucked
off his clothes and fell asleep before he hit the bed.

            The sun had
already gone down when Harold woke up late for work the next evening.  His
alarm clock didn’t go off.  That sloughing freak of a roommate hadn’t deigned
to wake him up. 

            As Harold rushed
to get dressed, pretend to choke on a cup of artificial blood and get the car
through evening traffic, last night’s events kept running through his mind.  He
didn’t know what happened to the werewolf after snapping during their game. 
There certainly wasn’t any sign of him at the halfway house today or last
night, but then again he hadn’t been paying much attention.  Also discovering
an entire casino and subculture within the city was mind-boggling.  He had no
clue and no hints, no scents, nothing.  Harold hadn’t been keeping a careful
ear to the ground for signs of others with Abeos.  He really was bad at
networking. 

            Seeing Orlen had
been no small shock either.  The bitch.  Did she work at Mephisto’s? Harold
didn’t know, but he suspected it involved their blood supply for the gamblers.

            Well, now that he
knew where Orlen’s home ground lay it was time to go hunting.  He’d not to fall
for her little hypno-games a second time.  Time for the stalkee to become the
stalker.  Better to be careful though.  He underestimated her before and she
proved extremely dangerous.

            Katherine Orlen…
Almost reptilian in nature and changeable, cold and proper on one visit and
giggly, almost childish on another.  He would have to proceed slowly.  Step one
being, find a way back into the casino.  Harold needed to figure out if they
were banned from the place or just caught the ogre on a bad day.  He was fairly
certain Orlen hadn’t seen him following her in the gaming area, so he had
something of an edge.  He needed to keep that edge.  Time to ask David some
more questions. 

            Harold got into
work in time for his shift.  An open space in the front of the parking lot
helped.

            David examined a
slide through a microscope with his back to Harold.  He didn’t bother to turn
and greet him as Harold walked in.  Since the confrontation David had been
doing his best to avoid Harold and vice versa.  The whole blood drinking thing
struck too close to home for his liking and Harold hadn’t yet found out about
the other services the casino offered. 

            He decided to get
straight to the point, asking David if he’d spoken with Orlen since she came in
to investigate the changes in blood supply.  He asked twice without getting a
response before giving up with the niceties and whirling David around by the shoulder. 
Harold took a chance, growling and displaying his fangs to David.  It worked,
though not exactly as Harold intended.  David squealed and didn’t stop.  He
clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, shushing him, and glancing out their
shared office window for passersby.  No one out there on the dead shift. 

            “Shut up, or I
will shove you in the cooler,” Harold hissed.  The man quieted.  Harold
released him.  David stared wide-eyed and open mouthed.  He stepped back a few
feet, actually hitting the wall before he stopped. 

            He mumbled, “You,
you, you’re,” over and over as his mind moved with agonizing slowness towards
realization. 

            “Yeah, I drink
blood too.  And I have a few questions to ask about your bookie,” Harold
muttered.  He glanced out their window again, before grabbing David’s arm and
pulling him to sit behind the desk.

            David’s bleating
look of confusion and fear nagged at Harold’s conscience.  Then, he remembered
how the guy tried to sell him down the river to save his own ass.  David ran a
hand through his hair, rested his arms on the chair’s armrests, couldn’t seem
to get settled and reached for the cup of coffee on the desk.  His hand shook
so badly that the coffee quavered in the cup, threatening to spill over the
sides.

            Harold sighed, “Look,
you don’t need to get so spooked.  I wanted to get your attention.”

            David stopped
trying to sip from his tremor ridden coffee cup.  He set it carefully back on
the desk.  “Spooked?” He asked, staring pointedly into the coffee cup.  “I’m
surrounded on all sides by … by ... ”  It was David’s turn to sigh, seemingly
unable to bring himself to say the word, which Harold assumed was,
“infecteds.”  He leaned forward, pressing palms flat against his face.       

            “How did my life
get to this point?”  David muttered to himself. 

            “Could be the
uncontrollable gambling problem,” Harold said.  He had little pity for the man
beyond the need to get him calm enough to answer some questions.  If Harold
were going to figure out how to get to Orlen before she decided to show up on
his home turf again, he’d need to figure out what she did at the casino.  Hell,
for all he knew she could just be arm candy, literally, for that zombie Harold
saw her with and Mr. Rotting Fleshy Parts actually worked there.  It didn’t
quite jive with Harold’s gut, from her behavior and the odd, almost too
convenient way she came into his life.  All of it revolving around blood and
when it came to blood Harold’s gut was never wrong. 

            Harold waited
patiently for David’s face to reappear.  When it did, David didn’t look too
close to this side of sane anymore, but who did?  Harold drilled David about
Orlen. 

            Had he seen Orlen
since she came into the office?

            No.

            Did he ever see
Orlen at the casino?

            No.

            Was it really
David’s idea to blame him for taking the blood?

            Yes.

            Harold resisted
the urge to slam David’s face into the desk.  Broken teeth made it so much
harder to question a man.