Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (26 page)

            So, maybe Harold
created his own challenges by getting sloppy on the job.  Letting on to others
what he did most nights and even getting caught in the act. 

            On some level he
must have wanted a change, to break free of the old rut.  He wanted the
challenge.  Well, he sure as hell got it. 

Chapter Sixteen

            Donald rolled
into the lab on a high.  He looked refreshed.  He looked happy.  He looked to
Harold and Rufus trapped as usual in their shared cell and called out a hello,
to which Rufus actually smiled and waved. 

            Harold scooted
into a kneeling posture on the balls of his feet, watching Donald move deeper
into the lab.  The silver tipped arrow protruding slightly from his left sleeve
with his strip of clothing pulled away and hand carefully shielding the arrow
from view.

            Rufus got up too,
but into more of a wriggly glad to see you position.  He’d completely forgotten
their earlier conversation about electric chambers and watery demises.  Harold
might be on his own with this escape attempt or on the defense from two sides
instead of one.  

            “I’m so glad to
see the two of you are still alive.”  Donald wandered over to stand in front of
the cell.  Hands in his trouser pockets and knitted cardigan on over a button
up, he could have been a version of Mr. Rogers, from the dark side of the
neighborhood.

            “Sorry,” Harold
said, “We didn’t feel up to biting each other’s head off today.”

            Donald made a
face at Harold and turned to Rufus to greet him in an equally inane way.  The
wolf man stood up, using the walls for support, talking happily with the man. 

            Harold just
wished he’d get it over with and open the door for that promised
interrogation. 

            “Hey,” he called,
“why don't you feed us something.  I’ve been waiting for a table for days
here.” 

            The remark had
the effect of drawing Donald’s attention, which Harold wasn’t so sure was a
good thing.  Donald grinned at Harold for a very long time before turning away
from the window and moving out of view. 

            Rufus eased
closer to the window, rubbing the palms of his hands on torn, dirty pants and
licking his lips.  “Do you think he’s going to get us something to eat?” 

            “No.”

            “I haven’t eaten
since last night.”

            “Really,” Harold
muttered.  More recently than he’d eaten at any rate.  “What’d you have?”

            “I think it was a
banker,” the wolf man replied, “He was pretty rich.”  Rufus was at the window
now, nose pressed against the glass, fogging it up with his open mouth as he
stared intently at whatever Donald was doing in the lab. 

            They were going
to be waiting around for a little longer.  The balls of his feet hurt from
kneeling on them so Harold shifted back into a seated position on the floor. 
He rewrapped the arrow and slid it back into his sleeve.

            The thought of a
meal sounded really good right now.  Harold found himself sizing up the
werewolf.  In human form, mostly anyway, he was weaker than a vampire, but
Harold was already pretty weak from lack of food and his injured shoulder held
him back.  He didn’t know if he could really take down Rufus for a dinnertime
snack.  Heck, he didn’t know what could happen to him if he ate werewolf for
dinner anyway.  He was already infected with the same virus.  It would really
suck if he had to worry about his time of the month on top of not being able to
go out during the daytime, not to mention it would severely curtail his
productivity and confuse his diet.  Would he eat flesh?  Would he eat blood? 
Would he eat normal again?

            Werewolf blood
might not have any effect on him.  Or, it could completely cure the vampirism
and make him into a werewolf.  Which was better?

            Rufus excitedly
called Harold over, tapping the glass and practically wagging a not as yet
existent tail.  “I think he’s actually getting food for us,” the wolf man
said. 

            It wasn’t likely,
but Harold got up anyway.  As he got to the glass, his mouth went dry and his
fangs twanged.  Sure enough, several bags of blood, real blood, not the fake
artificial stuff lay on a counter next to where Donald was hunched over a mini
fridge.  Harold felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to actually try Rufus for
dinner. 

            Donald stood up
with a couple packages of ground beef and saw them at the window like kids at
the candy store.  Right then Harold felt weak, and angry with himself for
hoping Donald might throw a couple of pints his way. 

            As Donald held up
the ground beef and pointed at it for the wolf man beside him, Harold resolved
not to be distracted by the food.  Though, immediately the thought was
overpowered by  cruel hope for kindness. 

            Harold grabbed
the wolf man by the shoulder.  “Don’t fall for it,” he hissed, “When he comes
to the door it’s our chance to get out.” 

            Rufus looked at
him dumbly, drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth.  Harold shook the
wolf man back to reality and a small amount of recognition glinted in the his
eyes.  Rufus pulled out of his grasp, grumbling for the vamp to calm down he’d
be all right when the time came, as long as the vampire didn’t try to hurt
Donald.

            The thing was,
Harold found his eyes drawn back to the bags of blood on the table, he didn’t
know if
he’d
be okay when the time came.  They stood at the window
watching Donald, with Donald knowing they were watching him as he dumped the
meat into a big stainless steel dog bowl.  A special bowl for Donald’s special
class pet, at the very least that had to stick on wolfie’s craw, but one glance
at the werewolf let Harold know he didn’t care what the meat came in as long as
it came to him and soon judging from the rivulets of drool seeping out of the
man’s mouth. 

            Donald pulled out
a vial of liquid and mixed it up in the meat with his bare hands.  It was
almost certainly a drug of some kind, sedative probably for the werewolf and he
didn’t care that they watched him put it in.  A hungry dog will eat about
anything you know. 

            A smug,
self-satisfied smirk on his face, Donald cleaned raw meat from his hands at a
small sink, drying them with a towel, he moved over to the blood.  Donald
tossed the towel aside and casually picked up a pint of blood.  He also filled
a syringe with the same clear liquid and cast a knowing look at Harold, just
before jamming the pint of blood with the syringe and injecting it with the
sedative.  Harold’s lips curled back involuntarily.  It was plain insulting. 
Yet, in all likelihood he’d pounce on the blood within hours of Donald tossing
it at him. 

            Donald repeated
the act with all remaining pints of blood on the table, so there’d be no
avoiding the drug if Harold wanted a snack.  He wondered at what cost the snack
would come if this didn’t work, with his luck it was a sedative and he would
probably wake up in the chamber right as Donald flipped the switch. 

            Donald slowly
placed it all on a tray, arranging the bowl and violated blood before walking
the tray to the window in front of the cell. 

            “Dinner is
served,” he said.

            “No thanks,”
Harold muttered, turning away from the window, “changed my mind about the
quality of service.”

            “Now Harold,”
Donald said, “I went to special effort to prepare this meal.  It’s O-negative,
your favorite.”

            Harold turned
back toward the man who nodded before he could speak.

            “I know a lot
about you Harold,” Donald stated, “I know a lot about vampires in general and
you too Rufus.” 

            The werewolf
plastered his face and hands against the glass, shuffling his feet and
snuffling like he could actually smell the meat. 

            “Rufus, I wanted
you to see me put the sedative in this meat.”  Donald hoisted the tray closer
to the famished werewolf.  “I’m doing this for your personal safety.”

            “Oh please,”
Harold muttered.

            “I want to keep
the both of you secure,” Donald said.  His face settled into a pleasant smile,
“I also want you to know about everything I do for you Rufus.  Trust is
important to me.”   

            “Which is why
you’ve locked us up in such a spacious cage, right?”  Harold muttered.  He
couldn’t help himself.  He needed to keep his cool to get out of there, but he
just couldn’t help himself.  More than anything he wanted to break through the
glass and destroy Donald. 

            “Please step back
now.  I’m turning on the lights,” Donald said, “Rufus, I trust you, so please
don’t try anything silly.”

            Harold pulled the
werewolf away from the window and backed off himself.  Lights wouldn’t affect a
werewolf, but no doubt Donald put something in place for Rufus too.  This was
it.  Their chance to get out.  He had to be quick. 

            Donald moved to
the door.  Harold mimicked him, staying a good ten feet away from his side of
the cell door.  Rufus stood where Harold left him.  Lost in a food induced
fervor. 

            The lights
flickered off and then on again.  Their unnaturally bright shade of white
burning his eyes.  Except those in front of the door which remained off. 
Donald peered into the window.  Harold waited for it. The moment when Donald
noticed it was slightly darker in front of the door, but he didn’t. 

            Harold’s ears
strained for the sound of the door’s lock turning.  Each touch of the keypad by
Donald brought freedom a that much closer.  When the door cracked open it was
an explosion of metal to him.  Harold darted forward to grasp the edge and pry
it open. 

            Wait.  He did
hear an explosion of metal.  Donald wasn’t looking at him.  He was staring
across the lab, pure fright swiped the smugness from his face.  Harold forced
his way through the door and Donald didn’t fight him.  He remained entirely
focused on the lab doors as both thudded to the floor on the opposite side of
the lab.  The three inch thick metal turned to crumpled foil.  Two very burly,
very large ogres came in, flanking Orlen between them.  

            The next moments
were a blur.  Donald produced a loaded crossbow almost from nowhere and fired
at one of the ogres.  The silver tip did nothing to improve the creature’s mood
when it pierced the left shoulder. 

            In retaliation,
the ogre picked up one of the fallen doors and hurled it at Donald who
effortlessly ducked it.  Harold didn’t duck in time and the swiftly moving
object snagged him, carried him on it, right into a wall.  The drywall gave way
behind him, creating a Harold-shaped dent.  Pain told him he was still alive. 

            The others
continued on in their fight.  Donald’s crossbow firing shots in rapid rat, tat,
tat form.  To Harold’s dazed gaze, Orlen appeared to dash forward and leap
triple summersault the length of the lab in an Olympics worthy move.  She
engaged Donald in hand to hand combat, real live Hollywood style stuff. 

            Harold was amazed
Donald kept up with her.  As they danced the eternal battle around each other,
the ogres went on a rampage around the lab, destroying beakers, Bunsen burners
and the like, wresting entire islands from the floor and hurling them along the
walls. 

Harold, still trapped between
the wall and the door, found a space between them for a hand hold and pushed. 
A couple of false starts and he managed to push the door loose from the wall. 
To be fair, he wasn’t in best form.  Falling to the floor, Harold crawled along
the baseboards, sticking close to the counters for cover.   He got close to the
open cell and considered heading in there for safety, but didn’t want to get
trapped again. 

            Rufus crouched
against the door pane, feeding on handfuls of tainted ground beef. 

            “What the hell
are you doing?”  Harold reached forward to pull the bowl away from Rufus but
nearly lost a finger to the crazy man’s bite.  He hissed at Rufus to stop
eating the damn tainted meat, but the wereman continued wolfing down the beef
like he’d never seen real live beef before and staring Harold down, prepared to
defend his meal. 

            “Your choice
dog-boy,” Harold muttered. 

            Thunderous
vibrations shook the floor.  Harold peeked around the corner of the island. 
One of the ogres was down on his back, unconscious, Donald standing
victoriously on top, a king of the living hill, his crossbow aimed directly
into the creature’s face.  The other ogre was down the way ripping out the
mechanism of Donald’s watery death chamber.  Orlen was nowhere in sight. 

            This other ogre,
apparently not realizing his companion was in mortal danger, tore out the
control panel for the chamber and reached his great trunk of an arm into the
wall, ripping out wires and mechanics and possibly dusty chunks of concrete
block.  All the while, he mauled and growled and groaned.  Harold had no idea
what he was saying, but he looked like to be having fun until he managed to rip
out the wrong wire. 

            Lights across the
lab flickered on and off, as the ogre bellowed.  His arm, stuck in the wall,
siphoned off the high wattage electricity normally shunted into the death
chamber.  In the flashing darkness, Orlen came into leaping contact with
Donald, pulling him off balance to the floor where they struggled.  First
Donald was on top, then Orlen, then they both rolled to the side, trading kicks
and struggling over the crossbow.  The defeated ogre sat up, holding its head
in pumpkin-sized palms, completely unaware his compatriot was now in mortal
danger (perhaps already dead, Harold didn’t really know how much voltage an
ogre could handle).