Tomorrow's Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles (21 page)

“I’m not a runaway,” insisted Poe.  She was badly allergic to skinheads after watching
Romper Stomper
and
American History X
.  “I have narcolepsy.  Just like that I fall asleep wherever I go.  The kitchens
of the big boss know this, so they give me a pass.”

“What a story,” said Frenchie in disbelief.  “And what kind of accent do you have? 
What the fuck race are you, little man?”

“Your accent bites, too, gator man.  Where you from?  The bayou?” said Poe with annoyance. 
“I’m Blaxicano if you must know.  If you eat me or harm me in any way, the big boss
will cut off your head.”

“Big boss, eh?  Ugly man, I wouldn’t drink your tainted blood if it was the last drop
on this earth,” grumbled the younger looking of the two wearing a Metallica t-shirt. 
“Come, Blaxicano, follow us.  We’ve got something to show you.”

Poe had no choice for Cajun pushed her roughly on the back.  “Alright, alright.  Let
me get my bag here.”  She slid the backpack on her shoulder and hoped that the moron
twins would lead her to the underground.  If they were evil, they would’ve attacked
her neck already.  But then again, she was a minority, and minorities were considered
too dirty to eat.

Poe glanced at her watch.  One more hour until sunrise.  The black sky and foggy air
didn’t bode well for Poe who was starting to kick herself for not killing the two
vampires right away.  The three of them had been walking for 20 minutes before they
reached a Methodist church with a substantial concrete and stone façade that obviously
belonged in the ’60s.  Frenchie knocked on the wooden door and was let in right away
to the sound of hollering and booing.  The vampire exterminator’s eyes widened as
she was prodded inside the packed church.  The church pews had been moved alongside
the walls, leaving a gaping space in the middle of the main sanctuary. 

Two tatted up vampires with Hitler square fuzz on their upper lips fought on the makeshift
ring.  With their shirts off, they sported Nazi body art.  One skeletal vampire with
“HH” inked on his back had one of his eyes gouged by his bigger opponent, a scarred
dead who probably made his living fighting for bored bloodsuckers dying for entertainment. 
About 50 folks rooted for their chosen warrior and screamed profane encouragement. 
The surrounding faces etched of bloodlust, boredom, and evil gave her the willies. 
Who would’ve thought I’d find myself in a bind like this? 

Poe thought the smaller one would eat it for sure, but when the scarred vamp leapt
to punch him with a fist covered by sharp bones, Skinny moved out of the way.  He
kicked his opponent in the chest, sending him reeling on the altar decked with a black
swastika-shaped candle.

Meanwhile her new friends pointed in her direction and spoke with a seedy-looking
creature with a whale of a belly, thick gold rings, and fat chains.  Hitler’s ugly
mug was embedded on his forehead.  Suddenly her belly ached.  If she could have kicked
the shit out of anyone in history, it would have been Adolph Hitler.  She was the
only minority in a sea of bald skinhead vampires whom she suspected would torture
her as a finale to the Thunderdome for morons.  Perhaps the iron cross banners and
a large picture of the Fuhrer where a cross should have been were obvious indicators. 
That’s just like you, Julia Poe!  Getting yourself stuck in the lair of neo-Nazis!

Again the crowd roared as they screamed, “Finish him!  Finish him!”  Skinny leapt
on top of the warrior and began to pound his face with thin wrists that split the
bigger vamp’s face into ground beef.  The ringside bell sounded out of nowhere to
end the bout.

“Fuck that fight!” someone screamed. 

“Give us something new for fuck’s sake,” said another spectator.  “I’m tired of watching
those two have at it every goddamn night!”

Similar angry voices shouted their unhappiness when the whale belly promoter turned
on his microphone that resembled a silver ice cream cone.  “Alright, cretins!  We’ve
got something for you.  Lucky and Hooch just brought in a dirty custodian.”  The promoter
was known as Ben.  He had come up with the idea of MMA-style vamp fighting and something
extra besides.  His white skin, bald head, and distrustful eyes studied Poe from foot
to fro.  “You know what this means.”

Every eye in the room turned toward Poe, who stood out like a blueberry in a bowl
of milky yogurt.  “We haven’t seen a Revenent fight in ages.  What do you say?” asked
the promoter, yelling the last bit to rouse the crowd.  The crowd didn’t seem too
excited at the size and look of Poe.  “Every hit and kill this impure scum makes will
be marked and tallied.  If he exceeds the total of the last custodian, and if he doesn’t
die from the Rev, one of you by raffle will get to torture blackie here in front of
all of us.”

The crowd roared out of excitement more for the torture than the gambling part, for
torture meant bleeding the custodian and having a healthy meal, dirty blood be damned. 
The promoter’s assistant grabbed Poe by her backpack and flew her down to the ringless
arena.  Poe blinked her disbelief away as a dull machete was thrown at her.  She was
going to have to fight something, and she hoped to Xena she heard wrong.  Revs?  At
least she comforted herself that she was given a weapon.  She waved her machete in
broad sweeps to get used to the feel, and the audience roared with laughter.  Fuming,
she swiped the black candle shaped swastika to the floor.  She stomped on it, eliciting
angry curses.

Poe flipped off the crowd for belittling her non-warrior pimp look.  Immediately angry
shouts laced with racist epithets filled the church.  She adjusted her wig, smoothed
down her mustache, and spat on the floor.  “Bring them on, you fat prick,” she yelled
at the promoter.  “Then I’m coming after you!”

“How dare you speak to me like an equal, you son of a bitch bean snatcher!”

“Fuck you, lard gasket!” screamed Poe.  “Get this Thunderdome going, or I’m gonna
cut you down myself like Mad Max.”

The promoter blew into a whistle, and the doors behind the altar opened.  Poe shook
her head in disbelief.  “Fucking Revenents.  For crying out loud.”

“Eat the wetblack!” yelled someone in the crowd.

Five creatures were pushed out the door, landing heavily on the ground.  Poe could
hear bones breaking from the starved humans who had each been turned accidentally
into something ravenous and dead known as a Revenent.  They were unthinking skin-and-bone
beings that could repair their bones and click back to their disconcerting selves. 
Most were naked for their clothes had fallen off their skeletal bodies.  Poe shivered. 
She hated Revs and their fishy smell but abhorred racist pieces of shit more.

Before the two Revenents that fell could repair themselves, Poe swung at their heads,
halving the skulls.  The growls from the crowd of baldness were good signs as she
could hear the promoter’s voice screaming, “Let them all out.”

Suddenly the church was bursting with Revenents.  The skinheads began to kick the
clicking beings onto the floor when they tried to join the vampires on the benches. 
Calm down and lob off their heads.  Do it.

Poe’s heartbeat calmed, and she started hacking at heads, limbs, and necks.  Whatever
tried to grab her, she kicked sideways.  Her instincts told her which creature was
getting closer and when to leave her back unprotected.  A tall near-skeleton took
hold of her jacket, and she had no choice but to crouch low and swing at his lower
legs.  When he fell twitching on the ground, Poe swung the machete to his skull. 

Poe was methodical and fierce.  She’d dealt with such aberrations before, and they
were easy to down as long as she locked fear out of her head.  When their fishy skin
brushed her hand, she seethed with revulsion.  In fact just a glimpse of their withered
hands with yellowing nails filled with dirt and blood disgusted her like nothing else. 
She swung, hacked, and maimed as gracefully and calmly as she could.  Within 10 minutes
a pile of headless bones lay convulsing on the church floor, finally reaching peace.

The guest stood in the middle of the carnage of over 20 dead Revenents.  Poe’s chest
heaved from giving such profound entertainment to a bunch of delusional dumbasses. 
“Who’s next?” she asked vociferously.  “Take me on, you shinehead motherfuckers!”

A vampire who looked 18 got to his feet and rushed Poe with super speed.  It was a
good thing Poe stepped out of the way or she would’ve suffered internal bleeding as
he bunted his head toward her midsection.  She lunged at the dazed vampire who hit
a pillar of concrete, stabbed him in the throat, and severed his neck.  Three other
vamps jumped toward her, careful to step over the fallen Revenents which could trip
them up and make them lose face in front of their comrades. 

“You fucking blemish,” a high-pitched dead said. 

Poe merely smiled, reached inside her jacket, and took out her .45s.  She shot him
in the head and continued with shots at his two racists friends just because.  Before
long every vampire was flying or jumping at Poe, but her bullets tagged them before
anyone could harm her. 
You’ve got 28 bullets, Poe.  There are two clips in your pocket.  Good luck trying
to replace the magazine,
said an unidentifiable sarcastic voice in her head.

Some vampires moved so swiftly that she missed them altogether.  One even shoved her
with enough force to send her five feet in the air and down upon a pew.  She groaned
as her spine hit wood.  Thankfully she kept her hold on her guns and shot the opponents
that came for her first.  By her count she only had four bullets left.  The thought
of dying in the hands of fucking Nazis nauseated her.

“Stop, everyone!” she ordered.  “I’ve killed a lot of you already.  Who wants to be
next?” She quickly took a head count. 
About 19 left.  I don’t think they’ll let me replace my clips.

“You’re out of bullets, 8 ball!” accused a chisel-faced vampire.  She answered him
with a bullet in the forehead.  As his muscular body slumped on the ground, Poe hissed. 
“I’ve got 20 bullets in each clip, you Hitler-loving fuckfaces,” she lied.  “I can
shoot mosquitoes from a mile away, so think twice about crossing me.  And keep this
in mind – Hitler was part fucking Persian, you assholes and he was Austrian to boot!”

Poe hoped they would buy her bluff, but anger at a brown man who could either be black
or Mexican and dared insult the white race took the fear out of their bigoted hearts. 
They nodded at each other for confirmation.  They were going to attack all at once. 
“Help me, Xena and Bruce,” she whispered as she shot her last two bullets at the most
violent looking dead.  She crouched on the floor and covered her head.

“Enough!” a gruff familiar voice ordered.  The 15 or so vampires paused in their tracks. 
They sensed the vampire’s power without even looking at him.  They studied the handsome
vampire, disfigured by rage that floated in the air.  He blared his fierce eyes at
the skinheads with bloodlust in their hearts. 

“Hello, brother,” one of them said, mistaking Sainvire for a compatriot. 

Sainvire landed next to Poe and said in an even tone, “Stand up.”  He stared at the
vampire who called him brother.  “I’m not your brother.  You’re lower than garbage,
you pond scum.”

He put his arm around Poe and kissed her deeply and passionately to the disgust of
the skinheads that surrounded them.  Poe’s eyes remained open in confusion.  The vampire
should have realized how inappropriate a kiss was at that juncture.

“Race traitor!”

“Forget race traitor, he’s a fucking fag!”

Sainvire ended their kiss, and he stared at the angry shaven vampires before him. 
He smiled at the disgust and hatred on their faces.  “You ought to try kissing a man
this gorgeous,” he said and slapped Poe’s rump with a leer.  Before Poe could utter
a protest, his lethal nails shot out of his fingers.  With the speed of a master vampire
with true-to-life powers, Sainvire darted around the room, slashing heads and bodies
until the neo-Nazis became horrid vestiges of history.

Poe was busy picking up the microphone from the floor and tackled the hefty promoter
trying to escape.  They both rolled to the next pew, and as quick as a cowgirl roping
cattle, Poe shoved the microphone into the vampire’s mouth.  The church echoed the
sound of teeth breaking like fine porcelain.  The man tried to get up, but Poe tied
the cord around his fat neck.  Satisfied that the sick promoter was done for, Poe
rose to her feet and landed her boot on the back of his neck. 

“White power’s dead, you asshole,” said Poe short of breath.  “Hitler lost and committed
suicide with his girlfriend.  Get over it.”

“Y
OU
’
RE
SUCH
A
HARD
-
HEADED
woman!” roared Sainvire irately as he lit the church on fire.  “If I hadn’t heard
gunshots, I wouldn’t have been able to find you in the fog.  You would’ve been tortured
by ignorant bastards who worship a moron with a postage stamp for a mustache!” 

Poe was never one to take criticism.  She walked away from the vampire, and before
any daywalkers investigated the burning church, she retraced her steps to the tortilla
factory where she’d stashed her bicycle. 

“I don’t like you bald.  You look evil.  Especially with the fault line on your lip,”
said Poe to annoy Sainvire.  He’d offended her by accusing her of being a raging lunatic
that ran into trouble before calmly checking the waters.  In Poe’s mind, however,
it was the rat’s fault for stepping on her foot and making her scream like a girl.

The vampire clamped his mouth shut and followed Poe in her one hell of an ugly disguise. 
He couldn’t believe he’d kissed such a creature with a fake itchy mustache for the
benefit of the Aryans.  But he couldn’t stop himself.  “You look frightening yourself,
you know.  From your wig down, you look the absolute picture of a seedy minority. 
We’re all trying to humanize each other, and you wear something insulting like that.”