The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Never had the air smelt so clean. Crisp and chill the morning mist tantalizing as a lovers touch across my lips. Deeply I filled my lungs. Savoring the moment. My mind was made up. That had been the easy part. But, clichéd as it sounded, the spirit was weak. With all I’d gone through, the fear, the anger and despair! Why was I still lingering. What was the point?



I glanced downward, to the Porsche far below. The first few rays of sunlight glistening over its pleasing form. It had been lust at first sight. The car of my dreams. How ironic it now felt. The hours spent gathering fuel and locating the keys. For what? To satisfy my own selfish wants? It had been self-gratifying, how could I deign that. Though there was no one to gloat to.



With a sigh I look out over the empty city. Watching the sun illuminate the corpse of humanity. The lights had finally failed last night. And that was the end for me. While they had flickered alive each dusk, my hopes lead me to believe I’d find someone. Their abandonment of me was the final blow. The last rejection I’d face. All the why me’s and how’s were long dead. Like mankind.



“I might as well finish the job.” I was startled at the sound of my own voice. The noise alien, having given up calling aloud over a year ago. Then I smiled, the voice of my father echoed in my memory. ‘Last one to bed, turn off the lights!’



“All done Dad. All done.” Thank God he and mum had been together for the end. And thank God the virus was so quick. Running for home, racing desperately to be with them. People slumping quietly to the ground all around as I ran. That image had haunted every dream this last five years. But not tonight, I promised myself. Not this time.



Two quick purposeful strides and I reached the point of no return. My momentum carried me over the edge. Wind whipped my clothes and hair. The sound almost deafening. But, it wasn’t as loud as my sudden scream.



Birds flew, startled from their slumber as an anguished cry tore through the city. Bouncing from building to building. It was hard to tell its point of origin. But, if you had been there, close enough to trace its source you would have heard an underlying sound. A metallic, repetitive sound. One that became immediately recognizable once the scream abruptly stopped. It was the sound of a phone ringing.







End.

He could hear them behind him, matching his pace stride for stride, never gaining or losing ground. The sound of their tread was infuriating to him. Running, walking, it made no difference, even stopping and demanding the end to this game, to finish him off, provoked no response. So, he kept on through the night, rain blinding him and turning the once hard packed dirt of the pathway into slick footing. Falling again, uncaring now of his clothing, he paused to catch his breath. No use in pushing himself too hard, they'd have him when they wished. How long had it been going on? How long was one night? With a sigh, he pulled himself upright and continued on. Amazing how one's sense of survival can push so hard he told himself. If, by some miracle, he survived this night, he promised to write an article about the subject. And a wry smile crossed his face, it sure was a hell of a way to cure his writers block.

Lightning blinded him momentarily turning the landscape into cut outs of silver and grey when movement caught his eye but the returning darkness snapped the vision from his sight. Why him, he asked the night, flinching at every branch that caught at his clothing, slowing his flight. He didn't consider himself much of a challenge, it wasn't like he was a prime specimen. In his late thirties, slightly overweight and decidedly unfit, it didn't make sense. The others, surely one of them would of made a better chase. The others. The thought of them and their last moments, sent a shiver up his spine. He didn't think anyone was capable of making the sounds they had as they died, one by one.

Six of them had survived the crash, thrown clear of the bus as it burst apart in its death roll down the cliff, people and metal screaming as they died together. Then fire had engulfed the wreckage, destroying the chances of anyone left alive inside. Together, the survivors huddled in the driving rain to watch the wreck burn, numb with the suddenness of so much death and unable to grasp how they had survived it.

Flickering light from the flames played across the cliff showing them their prison but also revealing a cave, a haven from the night. The daunting height of the cliff the weather and the fact that none of them possessed any climbing skills, found them committed to staying with the wreck. Surely help would find them there. The only woman survivor spotted the strange writing high on the cave roof, her lighter showed them flowing lines of text covering the rear wall as well. None of them could read it or had seen anything like it before, and strangely, they found that they couldn't look at it for long their eyes seemed to slide away of their own accord. But, when he had forced himself to follow one whole line of the strange text, his head had suddenly been

gripped by a vice. Never had he experienced a headache like it. Sitting with his head propped on his knees, he was the furthermost from the back wall when it cracked open.

A gust of foul air forced them outside, into the rain. One man, grey haired and frail, had collapsed in the entrance wheezing from the stench. Before anyone had time to step back and help him, something dragged him back inside. There was a moment of stunned stillness as the group tried to make sense of the scene, then, the screaming started. The shear volume of the old mans

screams froze them to the spot, unable to move from terror, wondering how any one person could make such noise. Abruptly, the sounds stopped and the hiss of the rain seemed unnaturally loud to their ears. Silently, the group moved closer, as if seeking protection from physical closeness. There was no talk of venturing into the gaping blackness of the cave mouth, they simply backed away. Gathering what they could from the wreck that would burn, they managed to make three, small fires. In the middle of these feeble flames they huddled, peering into the surrounding inky darkness. The remains of the bus had provided

little in the way of flammable material. Most had been consumed in the earlier flames or was now soaking wet. As the fires died down, arguments broke out. One wanted to have only two fires, prolong the fuel. Another wanted to make a run for it. The woman was with him. He himself didn't know what to do, both ideas made sense. The last man simply sat, staring at the cave, not saying a word.

In the end, they weren't given a choice. He jerked as the person sitting next to him disappeared. "No!" He had cried out, his voice sharp with fear.

"Stephen!" Another yelled, leaping to his feet to pursue but was grabbed by himself and the woman. Then, abruptly the rain stopped and the dark night mocked them with its silence. After what seemed an eternity, the branches of a nearby bush rustled violently and something landed with a heavy sodden sound in the flickering shadows.

Unwilling to grope blindly in the dark or even reach into it for that matter, he used the womans lighter to show what lay beyond the edge of the firelight, his hand shacking violently. It was an arm. Still clad in their companions’ distinctive coloured jacket, it oozed dark, steaming blood into the chill night air. The panic hit them like a physical blow. He didn't remember leaping to his feet but found himself running blindly through the darkness. Behind him, the womans screams rendered the air as another begged for his life, pleading for help.

He heard them all die, one by one, their screams and cries enough to make him want to breakdown and weep. Now he was waiting for his turn. Another flash of lightning tore his sight from him. Was that a clearing ahead, a road? Blinking his eyes to restore vision he broke into a jog, the best his tired body could do. There was still a fair distance to cover towards his possible safety, but a surge of hope flooded through him all the same. He just might make it, or were they teasing him, waiting to pounce at the last moment. Was that laughter he heard or far off thunder? No, it was a truck, a roadway. His salvation!

Tiredness forgotten, he plunged headlong though the undergrowth, tearing a path to safety. As a moan that was almost a growl echoed around him. The footsteps picked up their pace and for the first time in this long race, he heard the lashing of branches and snapping twigs. But instead or terrorising him, the sound gave him a true sense of hope for they came from behind, he was ahead of them.

He was almost at the roadway, headlights sweeping through the trees teasing him with the promise of freedom when he realised he was at the top of a ridge. A twenty-foot high embankment, almost a vertical drop, barred his way. If he slowed to climb down without killing himself, they would have him. Hissing laughter told him that they knew too.

The newspapers reported that after surviving a horrific bus crash with five others, Gary Hopkins had snapped. He had murdered his companions, tearing them apart after torturing them and then killed himself by throwing himself in front of a truck. What the papers failed to mention was the truck drivers’ statement to the police. He swore blind that it wasn’t suicide, that Gary’s face had a look of absolute terror on it as the headlights caught him. But it wasn't the truck he was looking at, it was the top of the embankment. And as he lay dieing on the wet roadside he had not taken his eyes from the spot. The driver had turned to look and swore that he had seen people there. Dark figures who smiled before turning away and disappearing.









THE END.