the right half of his chest.
—
II
—
The close range and angle of the shot kept him from being knocked over. In fact, the blast went clean through him.
“What’s this?” he asked, the danger of the situation finally shaking him from his sweet intoxication. His left hand probed the crater in his chest. “It’s plain gone,” he muttered, looking forward again.
The man holding the double-barreled shotgun looked like an ordinary farmer.
Pain began screaming through the leader’s body. To escape it, he turned.
The green shirt the farmer wore was damp and black.
“That’s my men’s blood, isn’t it?” the leader managed to say. He hated the way the pain made his voice quaver.
Saying nothing, the farmer cracked open his shotgun and removed the enormous shells. White wisps of smoke still rose from them.
“That’s not like what you’d use on a human, is it?” the leader said, pointing feebly.
The farmer took two fresh fifty-millimeter shells out of his chest pocket and loaded them into his weapon. There was the sound of the gun clicking shut again.
“What the hell are you?” the farmer asked.
“I’m the same as you.”
The farmer could be heard grinding his teeth. Shooting a glance over to the window and his wife, who looked to be about the same age he was, he quickly looked back, saying, “I thought the two of us could live in peace out in a place like this, fake Nobility or not. Truth is, that’s just what we’d been doing for the last decade. But then you show up . . .”
Gunfire rang out.
BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!
As the leader emptied his handgun wildly, it delivered a comfortable kick to his hand that was more than a human being could’ve handled, and the top half of the farmer’s head was blown away. The outlaw’s wrist was about to break. The bones creaked. It felt good. Really good. Ricocheting off the back wall, bullets shattered commemorative plates that hung on the walls. The glass was blown out of the window, and gigantic holes opened in the wife’s chest and abdomen.
“Listen to the song of death. This is its melody. It’s comforting. So comforting! Won’t you die listening to it? Please, die now.”
Suddenly, there was silence. The slide on the handgun remained back. He didn’t bother to put in a fresh clip. Half of the blown-away portion of his chest hadn’t regenerated yet. Having been knocked back against the wall, the farmer and his wife were trying to rise again. Their wounds were starting to close. Their injuries were different than his. The rate at which pseudo vampires recovered varied based on the physiology of the individual.
“Just as I thought—you two aren’t going to die after all,” the leader said, his tone choked with sadness. “You can’t die, can you? You can’t. Well, doesn’t that just make you sad? Doesn’t it?”
“We gave up on sadness a long time ago,” said the farmer’s wife. “And we lived here in peace. We thought we’d do so for the rest of our days. You ruined everything. Your friends will be along shortly, I’m sure. We’re going to kill them all. But before we do, we’re going to make you pay.”
“Luna!” the farmer cried out. “Stop it. I’ll kill him now. Don’t get a whiff of the scent of blood. Control yourself. Go on outside!”
“It’s no use. It was always going to be like this. I knew it from the very time you suggested we live out here—so I’m just not going to fight it anymore!”
His wife’s mouth opened as if this were something that’d been a long time coming. Her lips and mouth were both the hue of blood. But it was the white of her fangs that was truly eye catching.
Running over, his wife pounced. She was like a she-wolf. As she bit down on the man’s throat, the two of them began to shake.
“Luna!”
Her husband’s voice meant nothing to her. There was no sadness in it, no anger, no despair, no futility—for despair wouldn’t kill her.
Gurgling, she
—
II
—
The close range and angle of the shot kept him from being knocked over. In fact, the blast went clean through him.
“What’s this?” he asked, the danger of the situation finally shaking him from his sweet intoxication. His left hand probed the crater in his chest. “It’s plain gone,” he muttered, looking forward again.
The man holding the double-barreled shotgun looked like an ordinary farmer.
Pain began screaming through the leader’s body. To escape it, he turned.
The green shirt the farmer wore was damp and black.
“That’s my men’s blood, isn’t it?” the leader managed to say. He hated the way the pain made his voice quaver.
Saying nothing, the farmer cracked open his shotgun and removed the enormous shells. White wisps of smoke still rose from them.
“That’s not like what you’d use on a human, is it?” the leader said, pointing feebly.
The farmer took two fresh fifty-millimeter shells out of his chest pocket and loaded them into his weapon. There was the sound of the gun clicking shut again.
“What the hell are you?” the farmer asked.
“I’m the same as you.”
The farmer could be heard grinding his teeth. Shooting a glance over to the window and his wife, who looked to be about the same age he was, he quickly looked back, saying, “I thought the two of us could live in peace out in a place like this, fake Nobility or not. Truth is, that’s just what we’d been doing for the last decade. But then you show up . . .”
Gunfire rang out.
BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!
As the leader emptied his handgun wildly, it delivered a comfortable kick to his hand that was more than a human being could’ve handled, and the top half of the farmer’s head was blown away. The outlaw’s wrist was about to break. The bones creaked. It felt good. Really good. Ricocheting off the back wall, bullets shattered commemorative plates that hung on the walls. The glass was blown out of the window, and gigantic holes opened in the wife’s chest and abdomen.
“Listen to the song of death. This is its melody. It’s comforting. So comforting! Won’t you die listening to it? Please, die now.”
Suddenly, there was silence. The slide on the handgun remained back. He didn’t bother to put in a fresh clip. Half of the blown-away portion of his chest hadn’t regenerated yet. Having been knocked back against the wall, the farmer and his wife were trying to rise again. Their wounds were starting to close. Their injuries were different than his. The rate at which pseudo vampires recovered varied based on the physiology of the individual.
“Just as I thought—you two aren’t going to die after all,” the leader said, his tone choked with sadness. “You can’t die, can you? You can’t. Well, doesn’t that just make you sad? Doesn’t it?”
“We gave up on sadness a long time ago,” said the farmer’s wife. “And we lived here in peace. We thought we’d do so for the rest of our days. You ruined everything. Your friends will be along shortly, I’m sure. We’re going to kill them all. But before we do, we’re going to make you pay.”
“Luna!” the farmer cried out. “Stop it. I’ll kill him now. Don’t get a whiff of the scent of blood. Control yourself. Go on outside!”
“It’s no use. It was always going to be like this. I knew it from the very time you suggested we live out here—so I’m just not going to fight it anymore!”
His wife’s mouth opened as if this were something that’d been a long time coming. Her lips and mouth were both the hue of blood. But it was the white of her fangs that was truly eye catching.
Running over, his wife pounced. She was like a she-wolf. As she bit down on the man’s throat, the two of them began to shake.
“Luna!”
Her husband’s voice meant nothing to her. There was no sadness in it, no anger, no despair, no futility—for despair wouldn’t kill her.
Gurgling, she
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