Revenge Road

When the end came, everything changed. There had been warning signs, decades of them, but no one had taken heed. And who could really blame them? Nothing had changed, not that they had noticed, so busy had they all been living their lives of work and family and partying. Of buying this car and that gadget, all the while distracting themselves from the beginning of the end.

And hadn’t the governments encouraged them, keeping up the pretense of control, of power, for fear that if the populace should find out the true extent that the end would come early, brought on not by nature but by civil unrest? Or perhaps even they themselves hadn’t truly believed, never thinking that the colossus of capitalism, of law and order, of control, would ever fall. Perhaps it had been the ruling classes who had suffered the most, believing that somehow their money and prestige would save them, that the end would never really come, at least not for them.

But the end did come, and when it did, it cared not for riches or wealth or for power. When the end came, it came for rich and poor alike, for money couldn’t protect from solar flares or flooding,  from famine, drought or the myriad of other natural disasters that together formed the first extinction event humanity had ever seen. Everything had changed. Whole cities, countries even, were swallowed by the sea, whilst continental plates had crashed into one another, forming new mountain ranges, volcanoes new land masses. The face of the planet had changed so completely, and with it so had everything else.

For some though, it hadn’t been the end, but instead the beginning of a new life, one of struggle and survival and hardship. Humanity had fallen from grace, there was no mistaking it. And with their fall, others had risen, others who had hidden in the dark depths of the night now found themselves at an advantage. The humans had lost their power, their armies and their technology. The playing field had been levelled, and now it was time for them to take their place at the head of the table. Only they too were fragmented, species fighting it out for top place, for survival. For dominance. Everything was for the taking and they would make this new world theirs.

* * * * *

It was all her fault.

Her mother lay dead on the tiled floor, her head at an unnatural angle. Her neck had been snapped and her eyes were open;  the stare of the dead. When Amelia had shot her first rabbit, the shot hadn’t been true, hitting the animal in the spine so that it hadn’t died instantly. Instead it had tried to drag itself away, a pitiful sight, but Amelia had caught the thing and held it as it lay dying in her arms. She had watched as the life drained from it’s hazel eyes, how they had taken on that dead, empty glaze. That was what her mother’s eyes looked like now that the animating force had left them, now that she would never smile again, or laugh or shout or cry.

A single tear ran down her cheek.

She could hear Jessie sobbing behind her, and she wanted to turn to her and comfort her, but fear kept her rooted to the spot, fear that she would somehow make things worse. And things could always get worse. That was a lesson she was rapidly learning the hard way.

‘Tell me where it is David. Why make things harder than they have to be. All of this could have been avoided.’ The vampire spoke in a high pitched voice, watery and thin like an old woman, gesturing with his arm, indicating the scene of destruction contained within the small kitchen.

It was too hot, Amelia felt sick and dizzy, the room too small. She could smell the men, the ones with the vampire. They reeked of blood and body odour, alcohol and cigarette smoke, filling the small kitchen with their vile stench. Her mother had loved this room, had said that the kitchen is the heart of any home, when in reality she had been the heart of the home, of their family, and now she was dead, and it was all her fault.

‘I will not ask again.’ The vampire said. He stood behind the chair on which Amelia’s father sat, his hands on his knees. He was tall, the vampire, and had the palest hair and skin Amelia had ever seen. He could almost have passed for a man, almost, but for his eyes. The irises were red, a bright deep red and were pupiless.

Amelia let her eyes fall to the floor. She didn’t want to look at her dad, couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, not after all she had done. She’d led them here, all because she’d been a selfish little bitch. Her guilt was so palpable she could taste it in the back of her throat, sour and bitter like bile. Oh how she wished she could take it all back, how much she wished she could, but she was fourteen, not four, too old for wishes, too old for take-backs. There was no coming back from this.

Her dad remained silent and Amelia Jade wanted to scream at him to just tell it. For god sake tell it what it wants to know, but some part of herself, some new, mature part knew this would only end in one way. 

The vampire continued, ‘David, David, David,’ his voice sickly sweet, like a cruel child coaxing a small creature closer and closer still, waiting to pounce so that it might catch it and inflict pain, kill it even. ‘’I am not one for this brutality. I have lived for centuries, have witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms. I have seen the viciousness of man, and I can honestly tell you I am bored with violence. But David, if you continue to withhold what I want, then I will be forced to make you tell me.’’

The vampire circled David as he spoke, ‘There are many ways to make a man talk David, many ways indeed, but shall I share a secret with you? There’s nothing a man won’t do to save his child. Razor here,’ the vampire signalled to one of the men, the one who’d twisted her mother's neck as easily as a chicken’s,  and he stepped forward, a leering grin showing his discoloured teeth, stretching his face into a mask of evil. ‘Razor here is quite the savage, I must say. Don’t get me wrong, I do not share his appetites, I find them repellent if I’m honest, but still, men like him do come in useful for life's unpleasantries.’

A surge of hatred welled up in Amelia then, not just for herself, but for these cretins. She could feel the weight of her  flick knife in her hoodie pocket. It was small but sharp and she could have it out and open in less than five seconds. You can do it,  she told herself, and she could too. She could feel her anger and rage and guilt swirling inside of her, looking for release, but something stayed her hand.

The one called Razor, but who Amelia would forever know as Mother Killer stepped forward and bent low so that his nose was centimetres from Amelia's head. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of her hair, of her. Amelia wanted to gag with the stink of him.

‘Nice, but too old for me.’ Mother Killer said in a voice like gravel. ‘I like ‘em young and tender.’ And he moved past Amelia towards Jess.

Amelia's heart thundered in her chest, fear and anger exploding inside of her, and this time she met her father’s eyes, letting the tears fall as she recognised the forgiveness in them, the love that burnt brightly in them. Before she knew it, the knife was out and in her grasp. For an instant, she thought she’d imagined the  short nod from her father, but then it came again, and there was no mistaking what he wanted her to do.

With a roar of anger, Amelia sprung from her chair, heard it clatter onto the floor behind her, but she didn’t stop. She launched herself at Mother Killer, landing on his back, jabbing and slashing furiously with the blade, not caring where each blow landed, caring only that they did.

With a grunt Mother Killer threw her off easily, but Amelia was up in an instant. She could hear Jessie screaming, could hear scuffling and fighting at her back, but she dared not take her eyes off Mother Killer as he came towards her, bleeding but seemingly unhurt.

She swung the knife and missed, letting the momentum carry her around full circle, just like her father had taught her. She bent low as Mother Killer lunged at her, bringing the blade  in an upward arc so that it dug deep into the flesh of his cheek, continuing upwards. Mother Killer wheeled away, clutching his left eye and screaming, a sound so full of pain, of pure physical agony it sounded like an animal.

Adrenaline coursed through her and she went after him, wanting to make him pay for what he had done to their family. But then she felt herself being grabbed from behind, felt herself being thrown through the air until she hit the far wall and fell to the floor. She lay there dazed and hurt. Her vision was blurry and the air had been knocked from her lungs.

The room was alive with noise, the sounds of fighting and movement but Amelia felt  like she was in a cocoon, separate from it all, and then she was face to face with her father. For a moment she thought that he had come to save her, to pick her up and take her away from all of this. She could hear Jessie screaming somewhere, and as she stared at her father, she realised something was wrong. She searched his face for answers, but then slowly, she recognised those  eyes, dead and empty, saw the thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, she realised that it wasn’t Jessie who was screaming for she had been silenced already, but that it was her own screams that rang in her ears.

Amelia screamed and screamed, even as a shadow fell over her and she looked up into the face of Mother Killer. He stilled clutched at his damaged eye with one hand. The other he pulled back and then punched Amelia once, and then again and again until the darkness took her and she too fell silent.