Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) (14 page)

As he boarded the plane, Chuck wondered what was happening to Henry Evans that had the Emperor so up in arms. It wasn't like Joseph to act so irrationally.

Once Chuck was seated he looked through the file he had on Evans. He stopped when he found a picture of him from five years prior, when, according to the file, his wife had still been alive. Hank Evans smiled up at Chuck Lotinger from the photograph with bright green eyes and long shaggy, straight hair which Chuck knew from the other pictures had since been cut short. Chuck smiled
back,
sure deep inside himself that this man would be the first to make it out of that dreadful city alive and Chuck would be waiting for him there with an even bigger grin.

Chapter 11

Beneath the Neon

S
tones of all different sizes littered the ground as Hank followed Ishan toward the middle of three graffitied, concrete, underground tunnels. Above the three entrance ways stood the edge of the blacktop from the highway. The tunnels sloped downward. Ishan stopped where the gravel and cement met and turned to face Hank.

"No matter what happens in here, you are not under any circumstances to drink any of that blood. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Hank answered as he exhaled.

Ishan could be scary if he wanted. The vampire nodded, turned back to the abyss ahead, and began moving forward. Hank followed wearily. He was starting to feel the effects of not sleeping. As they entered the pitch black tunnel, he was almost knocked over by the stench of mildew. Though the ceiling seemed low, neither Hank nor Ishan were tall enough to have to crouch. Ishan stopped and put one arm back for Hank to stop also. Then, he turned his head.

"You will want to stay close to me as we continue through these tunnels. They are the dwellings of the ancestors."

"The ancestors?"
Hank asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew what Ishan was referring to.

"The ancestors are the others.
The ones who fly.
The ones who were attacking you when I found you."

"Won't they stay away from me if I'm with you?" he asked.

"Only if you stay close.
Then, they will think you are mine."

"But I thought you were the leader here."

"I am the leader of my kind. The ancestors have no leader here," he said, then paused as he turned to the right to follow a different tunnel. "At night, they mostly roam the city. This place is where they go to sleep while the sun is up. But some of them may be here at this time of night. So, keep quiet and follow me closely."

You don't have to tell me twice
, Hank thought. He grabbed hold of the tail of Ishan's jacket and kept as close as possible.

"These tunnels used to be storm drains for the city. However, when it became ours, I had my people cover the drains with cement so the ancestors could live here. Being much like their natural habitat, it suits them well."

Hank thought the word
natural
was pushing it a bit, but decided he would keep his mouth shut. All the while, the blonde fledgling's feet hung from Ishan's shoulder. Every once in a while, Ishan would shift right and almost hit Hank with Simon’s legs. Hank nearly went stiff with fright when he felt what he thought to be a large spider web scrape against the fingers of his left hand. From the feel of it, he could tell there must have been much more of it and he tried hard not to imagine the size of the spider that created it. Between the darkness, the horrible smell of the place, and the spider web he just found, Hank started to feel a strong sense of urgency he knew could easily turn to panic. He tried to calm himself but found he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"It would be wise to calm yourself, Mr. Evans. If there are any ancestors here, they will hear you well," he said.

Hank tried to focus on the jacket tail he held in his hands. After a few minutes, he calmed enough to let his mind wander a little. Then, tossing around different aspects of what he’d learned so far, he thought about the army surplus store. That reminded him of his backpack and all its contents. He let go of Ishan's jacket with one of his hands and slowly unzipped one of the zippers on the bag. When he was sure it was open enough, he reached inside and felt around. It took a few minutes but he finally felt the hard round cylinder of the flashlight and pulled it out.
Raising
up on the tip of his toes, he turned the flashlight on, shining it ahead of them and over Ishan's left shoulder. Ishan let out a long annoyed sigh.

As Hank shined the flashlight over the sides of the tunnel, he was surprised to find a vast array of colorful graffiti far more artistic than he would have expected. It was like some of the world's greatest artists had holed up in this dark, dreary place with nothing but spray paint. When the flashlight shone on rusty metal handles lined upward like a ladder, Hank moved the beam up to the ceiling of the tunnel to see exactly what Ishan had been talking about. He could see metal grates with hardened cement falling through like gray mud frozen in time in mid-drip. They were about to come to another crossway of tunnels. It looked like a four-way street of tunnels. As they came closer, Hank saw swift movement and before he could make it out, Ishan shifted to the right. His arm shielded Hank from the open tunnel way they now faced. Hank couldn't see anything since he dropped his flashlight, which now illuminated the tunnel they just came from. The next second, he heard a low growl followed by a high-pitched hissing. Then, he was surprised to hear an even fiercer growl come from Ishan. He could feel its vibrations from the tail of Ishan's jacket.

He saw more movement ahead of them and was able to catch a glimpse of their adversary. It was one of the "ancestors," as Ishan called them. It appeared to be backing away down the tunnel they now faced. Ishan shifted to the right again, walking backwards and pushing Hank along as well.
After a while of walking in reverse, Ishan stopped and Hank accidentally kept going, slamming right into something hard with his back.
It had some sort of ridge sticking out that Hank assumed was a door handle.

"Ow," Hank said, reaching over his shoulder to rub the sharp pain. Ishan turned to face Hank and made a gesture for him to move out of the way. He did so without question, still holding his back. He couldn't see what it was Ishan was doing but he guessed it involved entering a sort of code by some means. Then Ishan pulled at the ridge, confirming its purpose to Hank. As the door unsealed inward from the wall, bright light shone out from all around the edges in thin rays shining outward like sun rays through broken clouds. The light was no brighter than an ordinary electric light but the darkness had filled Hank's vision for so long that his eyes were extremely sensitive to it. It left large purple and blue ghost images in his field of vision.

At first, Hank was so blinded he couldn't see Ishan had
went
on ahead. He reached out his arms and moved forward feeling his way. He wished he was back in the pitch black of the tunnel now. At least the darkness didn't hurt his eyes like this terrible blinding light did. He closed them for a moment, squeezing hard, hoping to make the huge, bright-colored shapes go away. After blinking a few times, they faded to a dark yellow but still fought on for dear life. Then, he opened them to see Ishan standing, waiting patiently in what looked like some sort of round hallway up ahead. Hank sprinted in his direction as Ishan turned and continued walking down the strange hall. He could see through the glowing spots enough to notice several different cultural decorations on the circular walls all intermingling together into one intricate pattern. Most of these looked Oriental or African.

His eyes began adjusting to the light more as they came to the end of the hall. It ended in a huge open room with a high ceiling. He could now see that the entire place had the opposite vibe as the tunnels. The walls were a sterile white untouched by any trace of artwork and were naked in an ugly sort of way. He also noticed spotless windows of which he could see other rooms within. He followed one of the walls upward with his eyes, surprised to find they all went upward into a slope, making the ceiling look like the inside of an egg.

It seemed to Hank the vampires had also added this on after they inherited the city. Everywhere Hank looked in this place reminded him of a brand-new hospital. The large open room contained many tables with what looked like electrical equipment, computers, and various-sized glass beakers. It reminded Hank of his high school chemistry class. Among the various tables and computers were at least a dozen other pale figures in white coats all busy doing different
tasks.
Some typed at their computers, others read paper readouts, and others wore goggles handling small medicine droppers. Hank couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. They looked like mad scientist vampires. Their flesh almost matched the white of their coats. When they were completely in the room, Hank heard voices all around him as if he were surrounded by many people. He circled around in fright. Ishan smiled and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

"It's the shape of the room. It causes voices to equally distribute throughout," he said. "Come on. This way," he added, pointing ahead. Ishan walked toward the far wall, greeting several other vampires as he went. Hank followed, trying to calm himself and taking in his surroundings as he did so. Ahead of him, he noticed a door. Ishan stopped in front of it and turned to Hank.

"Sit here and wait for me," he said, gesturing toward a plastic chair sitting next to the door. "I must put Mr. Withers here in a safe place for the time being."

Hank took off his backpack and sat down as the door Ishan entered slammed shut. He put the backpack in his lap, holding onto it like a security blanket or a teddy bear while he looked out at the many vampires doing lab work. Some of them went back to their business while he noticed others watching him with a hungry look in their eyes. He was hoping that walking in with Ishan would label him off limits. As he looked around with more time to scrutinize the scene, he noticed something he hadn't before. Several of the vampire scientists were performing tests on subjects lying on metal tables. When he recognized what the subjects were, a chill ran up his spine. They were the "ancestors."

He noticed one exceptionally tall African-looking vampire with shoulder-length hair tied back in a pony tail in one of the windows. He was putting trays of dirt inside a machine, sifting through other trays,
then
picking out bones and other things Hank couldn’t identify. After a while, he scanned the entire room to find all but one vampire had lost interest in him. The remaining vampire watched him intently. When Hank looked back at the vampire, an average-looking Caucasian, with brown eyes and short black hair, he returned Hank's glance with a wave and a smile. The smile appeared all the more creepy by the long yellow fangs sticking out. Hank waved back nervously with a face he was sure was anything but smiling. As soon as he lowered his arm, he looked away,
slumped
his head, and stared at the floor, waiting for Ishan to return.

* * *

Ishan walked down a long rectangular silver hallway toward a vault door at the end. It was guarded by a single tall human vampire Ishan knew simply as Terrance. Being a leader of so many, he never recalled everyone's full name but made it a priority to at least remember their common name. As he came within ten feet of the door, Terrance nodded and stepped aside, opening the vault door for Ishan without question. Ishan nodded back and spoke.

"Wait here for me."

Terrance nodded again in acceptance. Then, Ishan angled himself so he could get through the narrow opening without disturbing the body dangling over his shoulder. Behind the door, Ishan entered a small room with several pieces of furniture and a solitary bed. It was one of several hundred public sleeping chambers kept open for any vampire to use, either human or ancestor. He carefully set Simon down on the bed, wondering if he should strap the newly born vampire to the bed, just in case. Even though he hadn't actually said it, the term
vampire
left a bad taste in his mouth. His mind filled with all the different names his
kind were
called over the centuries. In his native
land
of
India
some called his kind Baital, some called them Pey. In
Rome
and
Greece
, they were known as the
Lamia
, the Strigae,
then
the Vrykolakas. There were so many names as he traveled around the world.
The Upir, the Skatene, the Sukuyan, the Vulkodlac, the Undead, the Vampir, the Vampyre, and more.
Always, each name added its own strange variation of truth. But not a single one ever came quite close enough to the real thing.