Fight or Flight

            Elliot squeezed Justin’s hand tightly. They looked out from the darkened alley at the busy nightclub. He took several deep breaths to steady himself and then nodded to Byron. As one, the family left shadows and crossed the street, cutting to the front of the line where they were promptly ushered inside by a massive bouncer. Elliot turned his head to look over his shoulder as the doors opened and caught a glint of red in the eyes of his companions, but before he could pass thought on it, they were in, and his attention was torn in a hundred different directions.

            Though even the front room was packed, it was clear that not a single human had been allowed in this night.

            Eyes all around the room darted to him and then away again in a weak attempt at subtlety. Arkell pressed up behind him, but only long enough to inform him, ‘I took a chance and let it slip out that the Mimic might be showing up here tonight. I guess they got your description from somewhere too.’

             He thought he saw Amelia at the bar, but then a group blocked his view, and by the time they cleared, she was gone. As Byron pressed into the crowd, they made space for them, a traveling wound in the packed space that healed up in their wake. Elliot allowed himself to be guided towards the door at the back—the normal VIP lounge on any other night.

            Behind the door, the scene was far different. Red light poured from every fixture and dozens of people seemed to be waiting just for his arrival, conversing in small groups. They fell silent as he entered. The floor under him buckled and Elliot looked around for the cause. However, none of his companions seemed to notice the undulating floor beneath him, nor that he was being dragged towards a corner table. Aker gazed up at him from behind the glossy table, Amelia pressed against one side and the dark-featured man named Thomas reclined on the other. Neither looked at him. Aker smiled warmly. ‘I’m glad to see you managed to make it on your own.’ And then the room re-stretched itself and Elliot was standing again with Byron and Justin.

            A man moved from one of the closer groups and cleared his throat. He shook Byron’s hand firmly, and something passed between them in whispered voices. He had Auburn curls that fell loosely to his shoulders and he looked like a man torn from the canvas of a Bellini masterpiece.

            The man gave a pointed look towards the darkest corner of the room where a hooded figure sulked, and then turned back to Elliot, bowing low and gracefully. ‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Heimdall.’

            Elliot bowed back clumsily. ‘Elliot Harper.’

            Eventually, it became clear to him that the vampires introducing themselves to him in this room were the patriarchs and matriarchs of only the largest, most powerful clans—at least those outside the scope of the government. Some time around the eight or ninth introduction, someone pressed a warm cup into his hands. More introductions, distracting him from the contents, and then instinctively he raised the darkened crystal to his lips. A flash. He was with the brothers once more, and then back. He blinked, his lip trembling a hair from the thick liquid. The scent of iron filled his nostrils and he suppressed a shudder.

            His hand shook, and he looked over the glass, around the room. The man in the corner had left, storming out after gauging the mood of the gathering. A chill ran down his neck and someone whispered out of the red gloom:

‘Son of Earth!

I know thee, and the Powers which give thee power!

I know thee for a man of many thoughts,

And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,

Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.’

            Elliot could hear his heartbeat like a metronome hammering inside his head, thundering slowly as stalks of golden wheat forced their way up through the floor, rasping as they brushed against one another in a non-existent wind.

            His chest felt heavy, and his breaths started to come in shudders. He reached behind him and caught hold of Justin’s sleeve. Justin’s hand found his and the grain was gone. Elliot pulled him close and steadied himself against the taller boy’s weight. His eyes shot around the room, searching for the speaker. It could have been any one of them—they still clustered, gossiping quietly, those not yet introduced still waiting eagerly.

            Then something struck him. The hands. How many hands had been pressed into his already this evening—and yet… Not once had he felt the sudden rush of immersion into Duat. He gripped Justin’s hand and tried to force a connection through the touch. Nothing.

            ‘Something’s wrong,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t connect!’

            Justin’s other hand reached up and gripped his elbow. He stepped forwards almost imperceptibly so that his mouth was near Elliot’s ear and spoke softly. ‘It’s fine. They hire Dampers for things like this.’ Dampers? The gentle push and suck of air on his ear was almost enough to distract him. ‘They’re Vampires specially trained to dampen out connections. Think how many others there are in the other room. They’d be paralyzed by so many connections if someone didn’t block them out. It’s fine.’

            But someone had made a connection, and directly to him. He pushed his un-touched drink into Justin’s hand and made for the bar, ordering a cocktail. The large wall mirror behind the bar let him watch the other patrons though his back was turned to them. Aker was still cozy in his corner, Amelia and Thomas pressed close on either side. He took his drink, hesitated a moment, not sure about normal payment protocol, before meandering over to their booth, trying to look as casual as possible. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say, if anything, but he felt he ought to thank the patriarch at the very least for not killing him. Before his lips could part though, Aker’s eyes locked with his and the man spoke.

            ‘I don’t care who he claims to be. I want nothing to do with him or his plans.’

            Elliot’s brow knotted. What the hell? ‘What the hell?’

            The world shifted around him once more until he and Aker were face to face, inches apart. He could see the minute pores in his chocolaty skin and smell his sweetened breath. Aker hissed, his mouth barely moving. ‘I’ll have no part in his designs.’ Then his eyes narrowed, and softened again after a moment. ‘If he hasn’t found you yet, then run. He’ll come for you sooner or later. He wont be able to resist.’

            His throat was dry all of a sudden and his question came out almost inaudibly. ‘Who?’

            ‘The Master.’ Then space un-contracted itself and he was back in the middle of the room. He’d never made it to their table. Amelia looked at him, gave a glimmer of a shy smile, and then let her hair fall like a curtain between them.

            He turned on his heel and stepped into place beside Byron and Justin. ‘This was a mistake.’ He told them. ‘We need to get out of here now.’ They both looked at him in surprise, but something in his eyes must have convinced them, for Byron nodded and then led their way towards the door and out into the front room. He felt more than heard someone follow them out of the room as the waves of music cascaded over them. Dancers pressed all around them. It was only his sheer size that allowed Byron to push through the crowd. The rest of the family saw his figure and made their own winding ways towards the exit.

            Elliot caught a glint of something metal in the crowd, and then a body shoved itself in front of him. His chin smashed into an iron-like shoulder and he heard the man in front of him grunt and caught a clang of metal on metal. Arms wrapped around him from behind and he shouted out in surprise. He struggled and then heard Justin snap at him ‘It’s me. We’ve lost the group. I’m getting you out of here.’

            The black tattoos on Justin’s arms swirled around until his forearms were pitch black and he began to shove his way through the crowd, protecting Elliot from the other dancers. He heard another metallic clang over the music and looked over his shoulder. The man from before was behind them now, walking back to back with Justin as they moved through the crowd. The dancing was no longer so innocent. He felt a threat from every face that turned towards them. The back wall of the club seemed to take forever to reach, but then they were against it and Justin and the other man pushed Elliot behind them so he was against the wall, their bodies in the way. He caught sight of the man’s face finally—Thomas. What was he doing with them? Where was Aker?

            The emergency exit bust open to let them out into a darkened alleyway. Thomas blocked the doorway to prevent anyone from following, but it didn’t matter. Out in the open now, away from the Dampers, Elliot could almost sense them. There were already several lurking in the darkness of the lane. He didn’t bother to wonder who they were, but grabbed Justin’s hand. ‘Do you trust me?’

            The boy’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

            ‘Do you?’ The others had noticed their appearance.

            ‘Yes—’

            ‘Run to the street, and find the others. Stick together tonight and I will meet you back at the factory.’

            ‘Elliot what are you—’

            No time now. ‘Run!’ He hissed and shoved Justin away from him. He looked around, saw them coming down the alley towards him, Thomas had closed the door, but he saw his out. He ran the opposite way from Justin, towards the deeper shadows of the street, he heard a sigh of metal as someone drew a knife, and as they were almost on top of him, he leapt. His feet caught the lid of a trashcan. It crumpled downwards as he threw himself up and caught the fire escape. Something whistled past him and glanced of the brick wall with a shower of dust. But he was already moving again. He tried to summon up the feelings he’d had when running with Aker’s family that night, now weeks past. The metal steps flew beneath his feet, and he was almost to the top of the building when he saw the shadows draw up and a figure loomed at the top, waiting for him. With just one floor to go, he caught a glimpse of the roof to the building across from him. It was a storey lower. It was a split second decision, but it saved his life. As he reached the last flat level before the final stairway, he used his momentum to fling himself across the open space as flames gushed down upon the fire escape.

            He rolled across the rough surface of the new roof, scraping his shoulder badly, was on his feet again and running before the pain even registered. He hadn’t lost them yet though. Others were already waiting on the roofs and were in pursuit on the neighboring buildings. His muscles strained under him as he pelted towards the next street. His feet cracked the concrete edge as he hurled himself forwards through open space. The streetlamps below illuminated unaware cars passing below in the street. Another bar with people lined up outside, and then the tarred surface was under his feet and he was climbing up a sloped roof. He reached the crest and cast a glance back. Something massive launched itself over the street he’d just leapt, landing deftly, still in hot pursuit.

            Elliot’s curse was whipped away by the wind as he slid down the other side of the peaked roof. He caught a chimney stack with his hands and made a quick turn, vaulting over a low dividing wall. He needed a way down, he was running out of roof. The buildings here were getting higher as he headed deeper into the city. A parking garage lay ahead and he sprinted towards it. The street was wider than he’d thought and he sailed through the air, aware that he was going to miss the roof. He pulled his body in tight as the air whistled past and he careened through the gap between concrete floors. He offered a silent prayer of thanks that the parking space he’d landed in had been empty, before running for the stairwell. He heard a sickening crunch as someone behind him experienced different luck with their landing. A car alarm blared and drowned out any other sound of his chasers.

            He leapt the divide between flights of stairs, ricocheting off the wall, and then down, again and again. The lights overhead flickered and then cut out. He skid to a halt, unable to see where he was going. Footsteps and shouts above told him he hadn’t lost all of them. Looking up between the stairwell, he could see their hands on the railings, some leaping as he had done around corners and over the gap. He looked down. Lights were still on there. He heaved his body over the wall and into the gap, holding the edge with his hands—and then let go.

            He fell faster than he’d thought possible and saw three landings fly past before his hands caught another edge and his arms were almost wrenched from their sockets. He screamed as they dislocated momentarily and then locked back in. He hauled himself up, muscles burning, and staggered towards the door. He kicked it outwards and heard the heavy metal smash into a body, but he was already running. There was only the slope downwards left, before he was out of the car park and onto the street. He didn’t dare look back as his shirt flapped around him. But with the ticket booth looming before him, he looked up into one of the large, domed mirrors placed for traffic safety. What he saw almost made him stumble. A wolf of huge proportions was hot on his heels, and as he came closer to the street, to the public eye, the beast grew larger as it transformed into a man, leaping after him.

            Elliot took the barrier in a bound, landed, then barely had time to pull his legs up again. He caught a hold of his feet and his knees skid across the smooth surface of a car pulling into the garage. It’s brakes screeched and the horn blared, but he didn’t have time to care. This was the open street now, and he knew he could run here without fear of falling. Acrobatics were useful for jumping gaps, but they slowed him down. His muscles pumped and he ran, blazing a trail down the pavement.

             People scattered before him, but he had no idea where he was headed. Street signs flashed past too fast to read, and he had no idea how he was going to get back to the factory from here. Already, he was in a part of town he didn’t recognize. He rounded a corner and cast himself through the open door of a coffee house. He moved out of the doorway and waited, watching the window. A few seconds later, two men dashed past, no clue that their quarry was mere feet away beyond the glass. He waited still longer, his heart hammering in his chest and ears. One, two, then three more ran past. He took a breath and then bolted from the café, back around the corner he’d taken, and straight across the street. Cars swerved to avoid him and honked, he heard shouts from behind, and then he was off again. His momentum was building and then he saw the canal to his side. Ahead, he saw a man stop, turn and pull a gun from his coat. He aimed for Elliot, and the window of the car beside him exploded. No noise from the gun though, which meant it had a silencer.

            But how had he known? He was ahead of Elliot. The pursuers were behind him, yet the man had known. Elliot ducked to avoid more shots and darted between parked cars so he was running on the street now. He saw the man take aim again and ducked, throwing his arms uselessly around his head, as if they could offer some protection. Glass exploded above him from a car window. Now he was level with the armed man. He caught the wing-mirror of the car and swung his weight up and across the hood—the side-view mirror snapped off in his hands and he ended up skidding recklessly across the smooth metal to crash feet-first into his attacker’s midriff. Together, they tumbled to the ground, and he lost hold of his weapon. The man scrambled for it, and Elliot did the one thing he could thing of. He drove the Plexiglas appendage into his head. It shattered in his hands, but so did the bone. Blood poured, and the man fell limp, twitching slightly.

            Elliot pulled his way free, blood spilling onto his clothes, and then his hand brushed the man’s. The connection came as if through a storm—loud rushing filled his ears, and the fog was thick all around him. He saw the man before him glinting, but fading fast. Duat pulled his attention in all directions as the lines shot out around him, heading in myriad directions. Figures were running at him through the dense fog, and then the man before him faded. The lines that extended from him severed and vanished. The connection ended.

            He grabbed the fallen gun and dashed to his feet again. Of course, they had been communicating through Duat. Any vampire he encountered could be—probably would be—alerted to him, ordered to attack him. His only hope was the seemingly feeble loyalty most seemed to have to their government. And of course, they could track him through Duat as well. He made his muscles scream, running past cars and side-streets, as he brought to mind all that Danielle and Tess had tried to teach him about masking his presence. His head throbbed and he almost stumbled, before he felt something inside him change. A subtle alteration in his body, impossible to describe or locate, but he knew it had worked. He flung himself down the first alley he passed and hunkered down behind a garbage dump, covering his mouth and nose against the overpowering stench of refuse.

            He held his breath. He waited. He panted. People walked past the alley, a few ran. No one stopped. He clutched the cold gun in his hands, unwilling to release his last defense, but altogether uneager to keep hold of such a thing. It felt heavier than he’d expected a gun would. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, sighing at last that he seemed to have lost his pursuers. He tried to take a deep breathe through his nose, and gagged at the intense smell. Staggering to his feet, he closed his eyes against a head-rush and he moved deeper into the alley, away from the direction he knew to be the main street. His chest heaved, and when he opened his eyes, his vision swirled. The alley twisted in on itself, bending around him and making his stomach churn. He closed his eyes again. He choked down the rising bile in his throat. He opened his eyes once more with a shaky breath and found colors swimming around him. The bricks around him radiated with a faint glow and the steam vent above billowed red into the night. Was this some new attack? He squeezed his eyes tight and focused on blocking off Duat as utterly as possible, a palm against the luminous wall.

            A door swung open deeper in the alley and liquid was sloshed out into a drain. Then, ‘Hey,’ and footsteps. ‘Hey, are you alright?’

            Elliot wasn’t sure what transpired next, but through the brilliant haze of colors he saw a young man’s face and a white collar. There was fear in his face, but he blended in with the wall behind him, his color only warmer and brighter, so that he was hard to distinguish from the surroundings.

            He felt warmth flooding his mouth and a surge somewhere deep within him. He felt a brief flush of connection to Duat, and then he fled. His position had been given away. He reached the end of the alley—a brick wall—and his body responded of its own accord, casting him upwards to windowsills, and then onwards.

            He was on the rooftops in moments, and then he was running. Running. Running.

            Justin paced anxiously. He stopped every twenty or thirty seconds to peer out of one of the grimy windows. Nothing moved in the courtyard below. Dawn was only a few hours off, and there was still no sign of Elliot.

            ‘I shouldn’t have let him go of like that,’ he muttered, more to himself than to his sister who sat tensely nearby.

            After Elliot had shoved him, he’d run. Run as he was told; around to the front of the club where Byron was waiting for them, panic clear on his face. He knew something was up as soon as they’d become separated.

            ‘Where’s—?’ Byron had started.

            ‘Running. He wants us to get out of here.’ Elliot had looked back towards the alley, looking for a sign of the boy. ‘He said he’d meet us back at the factory when he lost them.’

            ‘Who?’

            ‘I have no idea, but they were waiting for us in the alley—and in the club too. I don’t know who that was, but someone helped us escape.’

            Alyssa had burst out of the club doors, eyes looking wildly for her brother. She found him and ran to him, then stopped, hopping on one foot. He’d seen her eyes search for Elliot and find him missing. They’d exchanged a look, and then his eyes had darted back the way he’d come. She looked as well, and then red light had filled the alleyway. They heard an explosion, and people screamed and scattered. Byron hadn’t waited another moment before rushing them away. He’d taken them the most direct route, through well-lit main streets, to their parked and stolen cars, and as a group, they’d made the winding journey back to the factory.

            Justin had been pacing since they got inside. The dust had been kicked out of the way by his passing, and collected on either side, leaving a clear rut in the grimy floor. His sister said nothing. There was nothing to say. He already knew he couldn’t have stayed. And maybe, just maybe, the explosion had been something else. Something unrelated to the fleeing boy.

            Justin broke off his pacing once more to move to the window and look out. A blur of movement caught his attention. Not in the courtyard, or even out in the street. But something was moving across the roofs of the gutted-out houses and run-down buildings. He sucked in his breath. Alyssa was by his side in a flash, peering out as well. ‘Go get Byron. They might be coming for us now…’ She tore off, shouting for their Patriarch. However, in the few moments it took her to run to the stairway, the blur resolved into a human form, and then a male body, streaking across tile and tar. Justin watched as he reached the last roof across the street, and then flew through the air, rushing, tumbling, hurtling over the compound walls and down onto the cracked pavement. Concrete shattered, throwing up a cloud of dust into the pre-dawn light. Whatever—whoever—it was, was moving still. He saw the body rise to it’s feet and then struggle for a moment. It took a step, and its leg seemed to re-locate. Then the man was moving forwards again and the grimy window wouldn’t let Justin view him anymore.

            He ran to the front door. If someone was coming to attack them, the least he could do was buy his family precious time by heading them off. He tensed his muscles, and waited for the door to be kicked in. Nothing happened. Then a knock. A dull banging on the metal door. He heard Byron’s bulk pound down the iron stairs, and he cast him a confused, concerned glance.

            The knock came again, like a drum on their hearts. Would an attacker announce himself like that? Was it a ploy? Justin hesitated, then reached out his arm and pulled back the heavy bolt. He jerked the door open inwards, and sprang to a ready position, his tattoos swirling in readiness.

            Elliot took a step inwards. His trousers were ripped and bloodied, and so was his shirt. As he slipped through the doorway his right arm gripped his left gingerly. For just the briefest of seconds, Justin thought he saw bones shift in the arm, moving under the skin, mending a splintered limb. And then he didn’t care anymore. He grabbed the boy in his arms, hugging him closely and breathing in his scent. Never mind the blood, never mind the dirt and grime that stained his own clothes. Elliot was safe again. They were together again.

            When he finally released the boy, Byron had already closed and locked the heavy door. The rest of the family was watching from the catwalk above, questions unspoken dripping from their lips like so many over-ripe fruit.

Justin broke the silence, by asking for them all, ‘Elliot, what happ—?’

But the boy held up his hand for silence, his eyes closed reflexively. His right arm gripped his left bicep and jerked, pulling out and then letting the joint re-settle back into its socket. His face contorted, and he let out a hiss of breath, before reaching behind him and pulling the gun from his pants. He pushed it into Justin’s hands, and then moved past him silently, up the metal stairs, down the catwalk to Justin’s room, his footfalls ringing like dull knells every step of the way. He slid the door closed behind him, and then they heard a heavy ‘whoompf’ as Elliot collapsed onto the mattress.

The mattress came as a boon to his aching body. He’d fallen face-forwards, and so rolled onto his back. A blurry image of the ceiling filled his view, and then his lids closed, the energy draining from every inch of his body. He fell into blessed blackness with the relief of a dying man who knows his end has finally come. It was soft, and enveloping, and smothering and comforting and all sorts of terribly frightening and delightful things at once. He felt suspended in the eternity of space, and for a moment, the darkness held.

Then light glimmered around him and he saw the wavering wheat stalks sprouting around him. He tensed his body. Not this time. Not now. He wouldn’t watch this again. He screamed his denial at the lightening sky and the dream shuddered to a halt. It twitched, jerked, and then crumbled into pieces, sending him falling back into the encompassing darkness of unconsciousness.

            When Elliot woke again, dingy light was filtering its way through the caked windowpanes, and Justin was using a washcloth to gently clean the blood and grime off his body. His clothes had been carefully removed, and the damp cloth was like a whispered kiss upon his skin.

            ‘I killed someone last night,’ Elliot said quietly, so as not to surprise Justin.

            The boy didn’t say anything though. His only reaction was a momentary pause in the movement of the wash-cloth.

            ‘He had a gun. He was shooting at me. I killed him.’

            Still no response.

            ‘I don’t even know who he was.’

            The cloth made a painfully careful journey up his leg, washing away more dried blood.

            ‘I can’t do this Justin.’ Elliot’s tone was almost begging. ‘This isn’t me. I don’t run around with guns or kill people, or get chased by people. I can’t—‘

            ‘Yes you can.’ It was blunt, a statement. Justin rinsed out the cloth in a bowl of reddish water. ‘You… have it so much easier than the rest of us. And I don’t just mean because you can daywalk.’

            Elliot opened his mouth to say something childish like ‘how dare you’ or ‘go to hell,’ but Justin held up his hand for silence, though his head was till bowed over the task of cleaning away the grime.

            ‘You don’t have to drink blood. You don’t know what it’s like for the rest of us. None of us like it. None of us want it. When you…’ He sucked in a slow breath. ‘When you drink someone’s blood, you see them. Them. Their lives, their experiences. You get a rush of them flooding into you. You know exactly who you’re drinking. It’s… terrifying. And you get off on it. It makes you feel dirty and perverted, but the virus thrives off it, and so do you. You have no idea how lucky you are not to have that. Ever. I think it’s part of why you interest so many people. If they can copy your blood—‘ He stopped talking, but his message rolled on inside Elliot’s head like a great boulder.

            If they could reproduce his blood—give it to other vampires and have it take root, Vampires would be free—of their need for blood. But the blood banks would shut down. Corporations would collapse. Of course the government wanted rid of him.

            Justin finally set aside the washcloth, drying his hands on a corner of the bedspread. Elliot became explicitly aware of his nakedness. He spoke.

            ‘If I could give it to you… would you take it?’

            ‘Yes.’ But there was hesitation in his voice.

            Elliot moved, not suddenly, but quickly. His hand found Justin’s neck and turned his face towards him. He leant into him, his breath fogging moisture across Justin’s neck, and he felt the boy stiffen, his back harden, his breath catch. With almost exhausting deliberation, his mouth dragged across the topography of his skin, not touching, lips a fraction of an inch from brushing flesh, cresting warm waves of breath against him. They were both trembling now, anticipation building, hearts thundering inside their chests, pumping blood and hormones—liquid attraction—around their bodies, swelling as a reservoir within each. Their lips brushed, the banks broke, and they flooded into one another. There was a terrible moment just after first touch, when they both seemed frozen in place, the walls crumbling, cracking, the wave swelling and then crashing as their lips sprang to life, meeting again and again. They fell back together on the bed, bodies entangling like so much debris thrown forth. Hands moved together, stripping away barriers of clothes, breaking through those last levies and pressing together undiluted.

            His hands guided Justin’s mouth to the cleft of his neck and provided gentle pressure. Lips gave way to teeth that pierced and his body responded with a rush of endorphins, boiling ecstasy, as he felt something leaching out. A torrent of force, leaving his body. Justin’s fingers gripped his back. Pressure rose screaming inside of him and then his own mouth reared and bit. The cry was washed down as heat flooded his mouth, then throat, coating him in warm, crushed velvet from within. His eyes broke open, pupils shooting to pin-pricks. His mind swamped into Justin’s. Horrifying moments dragged past in which he felt mired deep within this other consciousness. And when the cloying grip broke free, it was as if he were on the rooftops again, running, break-necking through a pattern wandering around Justin’s body. Brief seconds dragged into eternity and he was rampaged through every possibility of the changing tattoos that covered him.

            Their mouths broke free, both gasping, both shaking, heaving. Spent.