That Which Bites

chapter 2–CORNED BEEF, YAM, AND A PINT OF RED



SHE SPENT HER BIRTHDAY by herself, eating a can of sweet yams in a shed in Chinatown. All night she craved something salty because of the sickeningly sweet canned root that smelled of rust. Worse, it gave her terrible gas.

“No more yams for me,” she vowed.

During the day, Poe foraged for water. The thought of undead eyes following her every move ate at her, cutting her outings short. These were the times she ignored her preference for non-animal food, gulping down expired Spam, rancid corned beef, and slimy Vienna sausages from cans placed by Sister Ann and Goss in various hiding holes. She sorely missed the safe, cool bunker containing her favorite movies. It was like reliving the nightmare of being homeless the first few weeks of the Gray Armageddon.

The darkness of the streets was the worst for it made her hideaway more tomb-like. Streetlights, their bulbs long expired, were only towering relics of days long passed. Otherwise, the moon, flaming metal rubbish drums, and flashlights were the only light sources at night. The city truly became dead after sunset.

Not once during the weeks under metal slabs, inside janitorial closets, and semi-buried below the 49

Rono/That Which Bites

earth did Poe avoid hearing the garbled, gleeful sounds of vampires hunting four-legged beasts.

“Look how low we’ve been reduced to,” the bitterest of two voices complained from below a dark attic hideout where Poe could clearly see through the uneven floor slabs. “Man, we’re the top of the food chain, but we hunt dogs and vermin for something warm to munch.”

“That dickhead Sainvire and his farms! He can just shove his microwaved plasma up his ass!” his friend exclaimed, kicking a malnourished dog that barely yelped. The shorter, rounder vampire picked up the medium-sized beagle-spaniel mix and began plucking its neck fur. Once a clearing was formed, he sank his lengthened fangs into the dog’s neck. He handed it to his disgruntled friend after a couple of sips to drain what was left of the blood.

“The hell with cold, bottled blood! I want to hunt and kill people again!”

Many wished for the good old days when vampires hunted for their supper. The vampire life had once been romantic and noble. Being on the blood dole sucked, and they were extremely bored of it.

“Too much Anne Rice would have every undead thinking leather and lace, Goth sex, and the titillations of drinking blood,” Goss had said some time ago.

“These vamps are missing out on their lusty New Orleans heritage. If they only knew that their favorite author became a born again Christian. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you.”

A nervous old dog followed by two cats and a rat slinked up to Poe’s half-buried hiding place. In normal circumstances, these beasts would’ve acted like the cartoon characters of old: Tom the cat, Jerry the mouse, and Spike the dog. Under vampire rule, however, the lesser beings bonded together in an 50

Rono/That Which Bites

alliance of convenience, companionship, and protection – or perish. On some nights Poe needed them as much as they needed her. Oily fur, fleas, and the bubonic plague didn’t even occur to her as she snuggled wearily against the trembling animals that were worse off. At least she was only homeless for a few weeks while street critters fended for themselves in the wilds of downtown Los Angeles all their brief, terrified lives.

When the days were up, Poe bounded back into the old three-story brick hotel in Little Tokyo surrounded by the stench of garlic bulbs planted almost in every garden, pot, and planter around the block. She thanked the Great Ali for keeping her neck fang free and her cranium intact. Poe entered the hotel with relief after careful inspection of an undisturbed single strand of her hair strategically taped on the door. The descent to the basement where the latch to the bunker was hidden was not as terror-free as she had imagined, however. Every creak and shadow from her flashlight evoked an image of old Nosferatu.

These were the times when her mantra needed to be uttered. “I am Bruce Lee’s daughter, Muhammad Ali’s niece, and Xena’s clone. I fear no one!”

Chanting, she let herself down to her cozy bunker.

Now it seemed like a prison. Her favorite films no longer held her interest. As for her jeet kune do workouts, she almost always had to force herself to strengthen the calluses on her shins and knuckles just to please Goss. The kicks and hits she bombarded the punching bag with no longer felt solid.

Thai kicks were considered the most lethal in the world. Even Bruce Lee incorporated them into his own martial arts style, jeet kune do. The video she often watched for guidance showed kickboxers hitting metal tubes and concrete posts as if they were mere foam.

51

Rono/That Which Bites

Poe could never follow through correctly because most everything she did was half-assed. It didn’t matter.

Yet deep down lingered the knowledge that JKD

mingled with Thai boxing and other fighting styles would be no match against immortal vampires that could lift her Vespa with one finger while drinking a bucket of human blood.

Six weeks after the cattle drop, she still hadn’t heard from her partners. She knew something was wrong. If they had been captured, or worse, killed, then it was up to her to either free or bury them.

“Get your butt off this futon, dummy!” Poe yelled in frustration, punching a pillow. The outburst was supposed to be an order and a challenge, not another excuse between bathroom breaks. The thought of losing her family of nearly eight years made her want to vomit.

“Let them be alive,” she prayed to no particular god as she put on her lucky Pixies t-shirt.

(((

The lukewarm feel of late-November rain against her pale, scarred face nearly drove Poe back into the sanctuary of her underground home. The last time she was above ground, everything was warm to the touch.

Now the world was saturated. Even the patented California sun was gone, leaving the city in a dampened gloom. The rats scuttling away from the overflowing sewer onto the cracked asphalt streets gave her a sense of foreboding. The day was too gray, reminding her too much of a grisly time. But she had to go to Goss’ home on Broadway as she did not know Sister Ann’s permanent safe house. Her tall friend was the only one privy to the nun’s convent of one.

52

Rono/That Which Bites

Poe took comfort in imagining Sister Ann living in a downtown church, scared to death of the life-size statues of bleeding saints and wide-eyed angels that resented her.

“And that’s for still considering me unworthy of your secret even after eight years of friendship,” she fumed. “I hope the statues march around like they did in Exorcist 3.”

She walked a couple of blocks to the Japanese American National Museum and retrieved her Vespa.

The old building was a safe place to stash her moped.

Even the baddest vampires around couldn’t abide the depressing pictures of Japanese Americans interned in Tule Lake, Manzanar, and out-of-state camps during World War II. They generally left the place alone. The Hotel New Otani in Little Tokyo was another matter.

High-class undead repeat-debutantes and movie stars were known to frequent the posh hotel at night. Poe swore that she spotted the Governator late one night snogging Paris Hilton, both looking like well preserved pickles.

Vampires who enjoyed something more gritty and banal could be found in the outer blocks of downtown.

Gambling, live and illegal suckage, and whatever naughtiness anyone wished for were located in one of the many warehouses in the industrial zone. The decaying distribution centers were purported to attract the darkest denizens of the city. Even the master vampires and ancient undead gave the outskirts a wide berth.

“Under no circumstances will you go anywhere near the warehouses,” Goss admonished one day when Poe attempted to take a shortcut home but got lost in the maze of oppressive concrete-block buildings.

53

Rono/That Which Bites

“Heed his words, Poe,” Sister seconded. “At least in the city there are still some rules left standing, however corrupt they are.”

Quillon Trench lived in the Los Angeles City Hall with his LAPD sycophants, but ran a nightclub for creatures of the night at the famed tubular glass towers of the Bonaventure Hotel. Kaleb Sainvire, known for his quieter tastes, inhabited the Los Angeles Central Library and used the beaux arts Biltmore Hotel as his official business space at night. Poe smiled grimly at the thought of these vampires having such high times at the expense of human misery.

“I’ll blow up your glass showcase someday,” Poe vowed.

Because it was a habit she hadn’t yet licked, Poe berated herself, This compulsive behavior has really gotta stop! She bent down anyway to inspect her shoelaces once more. Her self-reprimands went nowhere.

Only when she was satisfied that they were double-knotted did Poe hop on her Vespa. She placed an Uzi in the basket, adjusted her two guns of choice in her shoulder holster, rearranged her backpack over her trench coat, and pulled the hood more securely about her face. She turned the key, and the engine sparked to life at once. Good ol’ reliable Vespa.

The darkening sky quickened the beat of her heart. Just to satisfy her many compulsions, Poe checked her watch. It was a little after one. She should have left earlier, but she took hours to psyche herself up to leave the bunker and get her ride. The cloudy skies made her nervous.

The thought of Goss’ friendly three-legged hound named Legs gave her a warm feeling. Instantly it vanished because Legs’ face was replaced by an image 54

Rono/That Which Bites

of Penny, Goss’ other dog, a ratty-looking terrier mix with the coarsest dirty-white hair there ever was.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that little rodent drained of blood,” she sniffed. “I still have a loud scar on my ankle from her bite eight years ago.”

So deep was her animosity toward Penny that Poe soon forgot her fear of the outdoors. Her little Vespa, easily maneuverable through the blocked streets despite the partial floods, fractured asphalt, and massive weeds, delivered her to the Eastern Columbia building in no time. The rabid street dogs milling about the intersection scampered to the shadows. They did not like the buzz of the engine.

Poe parked her bike round the corner from the building. She put the key, strung on an extra long shoelace, back around her neck. She could put her idol, Mr. T, to shame with the array of necklaces she wore.

She pulled out an ancient breath mint from a pillbox around her neck and popped it in her mouth. As a force of habit, Poe kissed the rosary cross Sister Ann had given her for luck even though it didn’t do squat to vamps.

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

She saw her startling reflection on the window of Goss’ tower and instead of a vampire killer, Poe looked more like a vampire chump. The bulky pack on her back gave her a Quasimodo bulge, and her wet and scarred face made her look depraved. She held the small Uzi at the ready and hurried into the green deco building.

Goss was as paranoid as Poe when it came to home safety. A year earlier, he had booby-trapped thirteen flights of stairs and rigged all but one elevator to be permanently disabled. In order to get it to open at the bottom floor, a code had to be entered correctly.

55

Rono/That Which Bites

“You’re a hundred times more paranoid than me, Goss,” she accused.

If incorrect numbers were punched, the elevator would open and deposit the invaders onto the thirteenth floor where Goss would be waiting for them, or climb back down the emergency staircase, booby-trapped with exploding holy water and shrapnel. Only the three knew which steps to avoid down the thirteen flights.

Poe had suffered dozens of nightmares about forgetting which stairs to dodge in the dark.

She stood in the lobby and entered the over-the-top sixteen-digit access code. The asthmatic wheeze of an old descending elevator filled the silence. Just in case, her finger touched the hammer of the Uzi. Her ears stood at attention and burned with fever.

“No f*cking gits, please,” she prayed.

Her prayers were answered as the doors opened to an empty elevator car. She stepped in and blew out a shaky breath. Goss lived at the floor where the giant clock was perched. The elevator rose and opened to an almost cylindrical room tastefully decorated in a Danish Modern motif, where a sprinkling of pilfered Diebenkorn and Picasso paintings hung on the walls.

She had helped him pick out the Diebenkorn at the MOCA museum. Apparently none of the vampire looters thought much of such a plain painting. The strange feeling of nostalgia was so acute that Poe clutched the rosary around her neck with a ferocious grip.

“Mess with my friends and I’ll kill you slowly,”

she threatened the elevator.

Instant relief washed through Poe as she spied the dozing head of her friend, his giant feet draped over the couch arm. She was going to give him the biggest kiss ever. Then Poe realized that Penny and Legs were nowhere to be seen. They may have been a raggedy 56

Rono/That Which Bites

couple of canines, but they were excellent guard dogs.

Their barking and snarling usually alerted Goss to the elevator’s every movement.

The Uzi shook in her hands, but she prayed to her patron saints, Bruce, Ali, and Xena, for courage.

“G-G-Goss,” she called, butchering his name in stutterspeak. She cleared her throat and tried again, at the same time sweeping the room with her eyes. “Goss.

The boys are w-waiting downstairs. You’ll never believe how big and muscular they’ve become. They, um, only eat chocolate steroids these days.”

Her friend didn’t even stir. “They brought the flame throwers and bazookas.” She walked closer to the couch where her friend looked to be asleep. At least, she prayed that he was sleeping.

“They’ll be up here any–”

She gagged. Her friend’s face was ashen. His left arm hung lifeless to the floor. Blood trickled from the needle in his arm onto an overflowing makeshift container. A ballooning stain on the vanilla rug gave Poe pause. An unconscious Sister Ann lay where the coffee table used to be. Her mouth was open as if she couldn’t gulp in enough oxygen. Her habit was tainted with splotches of blood. Legs was dead, his head twisted in a strange angle. Penny, the dog she had cursed, was the only one of the group to acknowledge her with terrified eyes. She had two broken legs, and blood trickled from her mouth. The attackers had cut off her tongue.

Even before “Jesus!” came out of Poe’s mouth, an undernourished halfdead with Gatorade strength fell from the ceiling, landing feet first between her unconscious friends. The ceiling dweller hissed, showing a mouthful of missing teeth but for two yellow fangs. From the kitchen area came two gold 57

Rono/That Which Bites

encrusted leeches carrying machetes and guns. Another emerged from behind the powder blue curtains.

“Don’t even think about it, little chick. You’re outnumbered,” the scrawny, pockmarked halfhead with a tan warned. Who ever said vampires were attractive?

“If your big friend here and his Chilly Willy chum couldn’t take care of us, what makes you think you or your imaginary m-m-muscled boys can?”

Poe looked down at the two friends she considered family, and for some reason she did not care anymore. If she died, big whoop. There was nothing left for her. Then the inimitable voice in her head said, Snap out of it! and the self-pity ended there.

If she was going to croak that day, she was going the JKD way and take out as many as she could. She would not be made into cattle or a stinking vampire.

Hell would freeze over before she lay bloodless and dead on the floor next to her friends.

She nodded, trying to look scared which wasn’t hard. “W-what do you w-want me to do?”

The leader smiled, pleased by her quick acquiescence. “That’s a good girl. Just drop your gun, and you’ll be treated like candy.”

“I’ll do whatever you say. Just d-don’t hurt me,”

Poe said in her most childish voice, which came out as a croak since her voice was quite deep for a girl.

“Can’t wait to re-slice that caterpillar of a scar,”

said one of the stoner leeches, but the tanned halfdead quickly silenced him.

“You’re not slicing anything, leech. You, girl, put your weapons down on the floor,” he ordered. “Slow like a snail.”

“Y-yes. Please don’t shoot me.”

“You’re the freshest dish anyone’s come across in years. No one’s gonna do no shooting, girl,” said the halfdead gallantly.

58

Rono/That Which Bites

Poe lowered the strap of the Uzi, as if to lay the weapon on the ground. With a whip of a hand, the Uzi snapped into her palm, spraying a round of bullets. The halfdead was showered first, his chest and head eviscerated. The leeches, not at all slow to react, dashed behind the marble columns and shot at her from every direction. Poe, invigorated by fear, adrenaline, and hate, dove to the ground, making sure not to step on Sister Ann and the dogs.

Peeking from the floor, she spied an ankle and fired. A body fell clutching at his splintered anklebone.

Poe finished him off before he ruined her eardrums.

Two left. Her Uzi locked, refusing to fire. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, not now! She took out her Walther PPK

and Beretta, cursing the wretchedly unreliable Uzi. She sat up, careful to keep her head low. A squeak of pain nearly caused her to jump and be a human target for leech heshers. She had accidentally stepped on Penny’s injured foot.

“Sorry,” she whispered apologetically to the suffering dog.

Poe touched Penny’s neck with the tip of her smoking Beretta and vowed, “If I get out of here alive, I promise I’ll take you with me.”

“You’re done for, a*sholes!” she declared. She lunged and ran at the two leeches, guns blazing. With her right hand she shot leech one dead center in the forehead. With her left, leech two got it in the heart and eye.

Like a crazed hyena, Poe ran around the suite, checking out the ceiling, bathroom, columns and nooks. Only when she was sure that the home was secure did she re-sheath her guns and put a new clip in the Uzi. To make sure, she looked under the king-size bed. Instead of vampires, she found a gift-wrapped box with her name written on it. The sight almost undid 59

Rono/That Which Bites

her. Shaking, she brought the box to the living room and placed it beside Goss.

Poe pulled off Goss’ intravenous drip that was pumping hardly more than air, and she checked for a pulse. Her most brave and tender friend was dead. She turned her attention to the nun, who lay unmoving on the floor. On her arm were days of needle marks. She, like Goss, was lifeless. Not since her parents’ and siblings’ deaths did she feel this awful, so awful that she wanted to puke her entrails out. She was alone.

Again.

Sister Ann and Goss, her second family, had taught her how to fight back in this horrific city overrun by thugs and bloodsuckers. They treated her like kin. Poe had the urge to shoot herself. If she had left the safety of her bunker days earlier, she could have done something to help her friends.

“F*ck me and my goddamned phobias!” Poe cried, smacking her forehead with her palm several times. She wiped an errant tear. She didn’t even deserve the comfort of a good cry.

Poe stroked Sister Ann’s icy neck. Unlike Goss, she had not been bitten. Sister once said that no creature of the dark would dare bite a nun. She turned Goss’ head and found marks.

“Jesus Christ!” she cried in frustration.

It was then that Sister Ann blinked open, a hoarse sound emitting from her throat.

“Holy God,” said Poe, pulling out a bottle from her pack and pouring some water into Sister’s open mouth.

“Do not,” began Sister, coughing. “Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Julia Poe,” she said tiredly.

“Sorry, Sister. Are you alright?”

Sister shifted her position and attempted to sit up.

Poe helped her. “I feel like hell. Go slice some lemons.

60

Rono/That Which Bites

They’re in Goss’ cupboard.” She stared at the discolored face of Goss.

“They’ll be back soon,” said Sister Ann when Poe came back with four sliced lemons. “Better cut off Goss’ head. He’d a wanted it that way.”

“But there’s no hole in his head.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’d bitten him several times.

I’d do it, but I’m weak.”

Remembering the pact with her friend, Poe swallowed her disgust and shot Goss in the heart with a holy water bullet.

“Sorry, doggy,” she apologized to Penny’s tongueless whimper as she pulled out a battery-operated meat carver from her pack. With numb efficiency, she cut off the head of her friend. She flung the bespattered carver once the deed was done. Lifting the heavy bloodless head of Goss put a permanent frost in her heart. She placed the head in a pillowcase and covered his body with a sheet.

“I’m so sorry, Sister, for being a coward,” Poe said as she dropped Goss’ head down the garbage chute. “Sorry, Goss. I let you down after all you’ve done for me. I’ll be brave from now on and kill as many of them as I can.” She listened to his head banging against dirty metal as it made its way down the shaft.

“Don’t take it so hard, child,” said Sister Ann, gulping down the rest of the water. “Goss knew it would end bloody.”

Poe sniffed, crouching over Penny. “Hold on for a while longer,” she said to the dog with wiry hair. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise!”

Poe could do nothing about the dog’s tongue. All she could hope for was that the bloody wound would coagulate on its own. She wrapped the shaking dog in 61

Rono/That Which Bites

her trench coat and stuffed her in the pack, scruffy head sticking out.

Sister got unsteadily to her feet and held to the arm of the couch. “Better scoot. They’re bound to check on their friends. They know you’re here by now.”

Because she didn’t deserve a present from a friend whom she had betrayed, Poe left the unopened box on Goss’ stomach. She doused the body with holy water and sprinkled the rest all over Legs. Penny whimpered, tightly bound inside the pack.

“Sorry about being mean to you before, doggie,”

Poe apologized, feeling awful for the injured scruffy dog. The dog whimpered again in response, turning her head toward the elevator, almost as if in warning. Eyes widening, Poe dashed to the elevator, placing her palm on the cool metal surface. Sure enough, she felt a vibration.

“Oh shit,” she groaned.

“Give me a gun,” said Sister Ann. She deftly caught the .22 Poe tossed her way.

“You’re not fit, Sister. Get by the staircase and let me handle this.” Before the nun could protest, Poe shook her head. “Don’t fight me now, Sis. I need you safe. I can’t be alone again.”

Reluctantly the nun struggled to the emergency exit to the west side of the pad. She was dizzy and shaken from her ordeal. “I’ll watch you from here.”

Slinging the pack over her shoulders, Poe pointed her Uzi at the elevator and prayed that the gun wouldn’t jam. Her left hand slid down to the Velcro pockets of her green army pants. She had at least three rounds per handgun in each pocket.

“Nice work leaving the incendiaries underground,” she chided herself. Realistically, explosives would most likely have left everyone 62

Rono/That Which Bites

permanently dead, including herself in such a confined space as Goss’. Her eyes quickly darted down to her shoes. Just fine. She was ready.

Hate and guilt overpowered her fear, and when the elevator door opened, she let the eight halfdeads and leeches have it. Shrieks and cursing accompanied the sound of her bullets ricocheting, hitting steel and flesh alike. She didn’t know the body count because the bullet-ridden elevator door closed again. Not waiting for their return, Poe said a quick goodbye to Goss and the loyal dog, Legs.

“I’m sorry about this. If I had just left sooner…”

She stopped to pick up an old picture I.D. of Goss on the floor and sped down the emergency staircase, which Sister swung open for her. She was flabbergasted to read that Goss’ real name was Fred Beaver.

“A dorky name,” Poe said to no one in particular.

“I’d change my name, too.”

“Who’s a dork?”

“Goss’ name, Sister. Very funny sounding.”

“Can’t help that. In any case, you’ve done fine, Poe. You’ve done me proud,” said Sister Ann, accepting Poe’s arm as they made their way down the stairs. She patted the stake in her pocket she’d found at Goss’.

“Shoot! This whole booby trap thing is confusing!”

“Just remember not to step on the first, third, sixth, and eleventh steps between landings,” warned Sister.

The trek down was difficult since they were on the thirteenth floor, and the one energy saving light bulb per floor made the journey dark and perilous. One false step and she and Penny were goners. She had to 63

Rono/That Which Bites

rescue Penny and Sister so she could redeem herself in Goss’ estimation.

An explosion two flights above let her know that vampires and leeches were in pursuit. Soon after, a halfdead or leech tripped a booby trap a few floors beneath. The enemy was above and below them. The feeling of panic burgeoned, getting more pregnant by the second.

“I’m going to be sick,” she said to the nun, swallowing a heave. “I try to only battle sleeping vampires.”

“You did a damn fine job a few weeks back,”

muttered Sister, breathing erratically. Twice she’d paused to vomit and steady herself. “Not to mention today.”

The darkness, smoke, and explosions were making it horribly difficult for Poe to concentrate on counting the stairs accurately, let alone practice her breathing exercises while swallowing bile. Twice they had to retrace their steps to start the count all over again. She was almost hyperventilating from sheer terror.

Penny stopped squirming inside her pack. “Please don’t be dead.”

She prayed to whoever was listening to keep the little dog alive and Sister conscious. It was vital to have friends during trying times.

“I need a reason to stay alive,” Poe gritted under her breath. “Watching all the movies ever made and killing vampires doesn’t cut it.”

On the eleventh floor, a raging halfdead missing a nose nearly sliced Poe open with a twenty-inch machete. She wouldn’t have seen him had his blade not reflected the weak glow of the light bulb.

“Watch out!” cried Sister Ann as she slipped on the landing.

64

Rono/That Which Bites

Poe hung left to avoid the menacing steel as Sister Ann let a torrent of bullets hit the creature. If he wasn’t dead yet, the trip-switch his body fell on did the job, exploding a round of puncturing nails and broken glass.

“No!” Poe shrieked as an errant nail lodged into her left thigh, causing her to almost fall back onto the rigged stairs. She waited for the ringing in her ears to stop then dug out the rusty four-inch nail and shoved it in the left eye of a dwarf vampire that abruptly appeared from between the stairwell grates. “What’s this? A Fellini hallucination?”

The little creature covered his eyes and shrieked,

“F*ck you!” to Poe over and over. Poe had the urge to give Sister Ann a hug for the nun had insisted that she forget her needle phobia and get rabies and tetanus shots, all good for ten years.

Sister Ann plugged the dwarf with her remaining bullets to shut him up. “I need more bullets, Poe.”

With shaking hands, Poe handed the nun a Ziploc full of .22 bullets.

“What the heck do we do now?” Poe asked, lightly smacking her ears to get the ringing to go away.

“Let’s hope that’s the last of the little people.”

“Crap. I forgot the count.”

Either the explosion or the pain in her leg distracted her enough to forget the stair count. It was too dark to count the steps up and the steps down below. She gripped her Uzi, briefly thinking about strategy, when Penny’s whimper prodded her to keep going. The dog was still alive! The little mite was encouraging them.

“Hold on, little Penny. I’m gonna get us out of here real soon. Sister, do you think you can slide down the handrail without toppling over?”

65

Rono/That Which Bites

“No. But we don’t have a choice now, do we?”

The nun looked spectral in her bloody wimple and habit in the tiny light of the staircase.

“I’ll go first so I can stop you from falling over.”

“With my bulk? It’ll take a miracle.” She straddled the railing after Poe and slowly, shakily, made her way down the next level. Poe slid down until the end of the curve and the beginning of a new flight of stairs was distinguishable by feel. She jumped down at the landing and caught Sister Ann. Once again, they started the count.

Nothing untoward happened, only an occasional explosion above the stairs brought on by trip wires to unsuspecting vampire minions, until they hit the eighth floor. There a vampire actually flew at her, catching her by the throat, nearly dragging her to the wired eleventh step. She blasted the flying vermin in the leg, but the injury to the enemy only fueled wrath. Sister, fighting dizziness, couldn’t take a shot.

“Kid, don’t you know the golden rule?” the vampire with a unibrow asked.

“No, Frida,” Poe managed to squeak out. “I guess I don’t.”

“You can’t just go around shooting vampires.”

The vampire backhanded her with such force that she ended up flat on her butt with a resonant thud on the seventh floor landing. Unlike the moderate body temperature of halfdeads, this vampire’s hand was cold to say the least. She tasted warm metallic blood on her lips and ran an investigative tongue over her teeth.

Complete and cavity-free teeth were very important to Poe.

“Ouch, that hurt,” she said to the dog who kept silent. Only when the vampire’s dark high heel shoes floated next to her forehead did Poe realize that the 66

Rono/That Which Bites

Bert creature was a woman. Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows looked tame in comparison to Berta’s caterpillar brow.

Woman or not, Poe shot her private parts, heart, and head from the ground, showering herself with vampire fluids and hot shells. She knew she would be extremely bruised and sore the next day – if she survived that long. A sickening thought came to her.

Why would a full-blooded vampire come out this early in the day? Without wanting, but knowing she had no choice, Poe pressed the chrono light button on her limited edition Iron Giant watch. It was 4:49pm.

“Jesus, where did the time go? Is it Double-Daylight Savings Time?” she asked the dog while wiping gut from her person. They were moving too slow. She climbed up once more and helped Sister descend the stairs.

“Did I hear you use the Lord’s name in vain again?”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. There was this hairy woman and–”

“Poe, this is your soul we’re talking about!”

complained the nun.

To keep from getting annoyed, Poe took out some holy water in a spray bottle and dangled it from her belt, making her look like a window washer. Her Rambo knife was hooked on her belt already. Poe looked down at her shoes, but couldn’t see well enough to check if her laces were still in position.

Two vampires flew down at them. Poe managed to shoot one dead, but the other was too quick. It slashed Sister Ann’s shoulder as it landed on the steps, drawing blood.

All Poe remembered was the cry from Penny as the two of them were thrown against the wall, landing with a groan on a platform. Her Uzi, cut in two by vampire nails, lay on her stomach.

67

Rono/That Which Bites

“Sorry, Penny,” Poe whispered. Her jaw hurt.

Death was so close, Poe could taste it. The movement was too quick for the human eye. The vampire’s tongue had snaked out to lick the blood on her cut lips, and he smiled at her. When the bombastic undead’s white face lowered to her neck, his reddened mouth parting for a bite, Poe was just able to grab her holy water and squirt it into his throat. The vampire’s scream sounded like a pig being butchered in the PETA video she had lifted two years ago. Faces of Death had nothing on undercover PETA exclusives.

The scream was terrible, but Poe preferred it to the sound of her blood slowly drained by fanged muthas.

Her James Bond gun ended the squeal.

Respite was not to be had by Penny, Poe, or Sister Ann. At the hand of five, all the lights in the building went dead, even the sickly one-bulb lights in the stairwells. With shaky hands, Poe fumbled for the much-maligned headlamp in her pack. Without it, Poe knew they were dead. Vampires had excellent night vision. She did not.

“Sister. Do you need me to come get you?”

“Eleven, twelve, thirteen,” the nun counted to the next landing. “No thank you.”

“Sister, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s nothing, girl. I’ve been cut worse before.

Lead the way with that light.”

“You know, doggie,” Poe said softly to dispel her fears. “I’ve been a full-fledged smuggler for years, but nothing like this has ever happened. This is a nightmare.”

“Don’t be negative, Poe. Nothing good ever comes out of negativity.”

Even with the miserable headlamp, she could scarcely see the gun in her right hand. She stopped talking to Sister Ann and the dog. Between trying to 68

Rono/That Which Bites

see, trying to count, and trying to aim at anything that moved, Poe was a basket case. Like an errant fly buzzing too near her ear, Poe waved away the thought of the lobby waiting outside the door of the stairwell.

Since no further incidents plagued them, Poe was able to concentrate on counting down the sixth floor, then the fifth, then the–

“Crud!” screamed Poe, whose scalp felt like it was on fire.

A pudgy male paw grabbed at her hair from the air until her feet no longer touched the ground. She clutched at the cold hand and tried to pry the dead fingers away. She was going to go bald, Poe thought absurdly. Then she remembered the present from Sister Ann on her 17th birthday – her Rambo knife.

The fall to the third floor was nasty after she hacked at the intractable hand. Her funny bone hit the railing and she screamed out a family of expletives.

The severed hand continued to pull at her hair from sheer reflex. Pissed, bruised, and on the verge of insanity, Poe grabbed her spray bottle and blasted away at the squirming digits.

“Get off me, crummy hand!”

The hand hissed with exploding pustules and left yet more ooze on Poe. She flicked the smoking flesh off her head and watched out for a single-handed vampire. The creature did not come, but another did.

Still holding the spray bottle, Poe neglected to grab her gun. The only thing she could do was spray ineffectually at the hovering vampire until she could unsheathe the weapon. With a flick of the vampire’s hand, both the Beretta and the spray bottle clanged on the marble stairs. The container fell on a trip-wired step and exploded, spraying holy water at Poe and her vampire companion.

69

Rono/That Which Bites

Poe thanked whoever was looking out for her and jumped on the smoking fallen vampire at her feet. She lunged at the undead with the full force of her five-foot-two-and-three-quarter frame and drove her wrist knife into the creature’s dead heart.

“See that, you ass wipe!” Poe screeched, slashing away. “You mess with me, you die a one-time death!”

She was on the verge of tears and hysterics.

Her headlamp was smashed somewhere on the steps, and she couldn’t see an inch ahead.

The Rambo knife and the beloved Beretta were lost. Poe wiped away cowardly tears. She felt silly to fret over lost things. After all, they could be replaced.

“Sister? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” she said, sliding erratically down the handrail.

Poe caught her voluminous rear end and helped her down. The handrail, Poe noticed, was slick with Sister’s blood.

Poe reached for the two weapons she had left, her faithful James, the Walther PPK and her Faka knife.

She transferred the extra magazines from her leg pockets to her waist and handed the wrist knife to Sister.

“Sorry, but there’s only one gun left,” she said miserably.

“Don’t apologize, child. You’ve always been a better shot than me, even when I wasn’t seeing double.”

“So if we open that door, it’ll be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid time. You know that, right, Sister?”

“I’ve been ready to die since this whole Armageddon started. Don’t worry about me,” she said, clutching her stake.

70

Rono/That Which Bites

“Remember, doggy. Shoot, release, and reload,”

Poe said, voice quivering. She knew she had to keep her shit together. There was more than a good chance that they would be overtaken. If so, she had to be brave enough to shoot Penny, Sister Ann, and herself.

“Just don’t let us be bloodsucker fodder,” the nun intoned in her Tennessee twang.

“You said it, Sis. And um,” she began, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner.”

“Child, you’re here now. I thank you for that.”

Feeling for the last of the holy water in her pack, Poe was heartened somewhat when Penny licked her hand. She patted the dog’s head and doused her with holy water. She sprinkled Sister Ann and herself as well.

Her pack again secure on her back and the rosary cross kissed, Poe hobbled down the last steps with an exhausted Sister Ann. Her gun was drawn and her bottle of garlic water was in her other hand. She took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby of the Eastern Columbia Building.

Blinded!

The sudden emergence into a brilliantly lit room hurt more than her eyes. Defending herself became a problematic. Her eyes, wet from the lights and possibly from defeat, were forced open until they adjusted to the bright hotel lobby.

“Motherfu–”

Surrounding them were over two dozen children of the night and their leech groupies. Some grinned while others cast looks of contempt. They had not forgotten the murder of their friends. An especially belligerent, thickly mustached undead had to be restrained by two vampires from attacking her.

71

Rono/That Which Bites

“I’m going to squash that little shit!” he gritted.

The vampire was missing a hand that would never regenerate because of Poe.

We’re dead, thought Poe. She gripped her gun and spray bottle even tighter, shielding the nun with her back. She flicked her eyes about the group. Close to the end, Poe’s most significant thought was, Some of these vampires are really, really ugly. Whoever said they were–

Her scattershot musings were interrupted when a mixed diaspora of vampires, humans, and subhumans parted dramatically, making way for an immaculately attired vampire in a black turtleneck and his entourage of mustached Village People wannabes.

“Oh no,” groaned Poe. “Quillon Trench and his LAPD goons.” They were truly dead. She swallowed.

Her throat was parched from all the killing and dodging. She stayed quiet and alert, not daring to make any threats or beg pathetically for her life. They would not understand a word she would say anyway. She was so nervous that only rat-a-tat stuttering would come out. To top it off, she was on the verge of urinating. If only she had packed explosives.

Trench dared to approach, undeterred by Poe’s spray bottle. He was a pleasant looking man of the Velvet Underground variety. He broke the mold by not being as malignantly hideous as his minions. In his perpetual thirties, the man exuded an aura of arrogance. His mid-neck reddish-brown hair was gelled back, leaving a few well-placed curls to escape.

“Sister Ann,” he nodded at the nun trying her hardest not to look woozy. “I see no one had the balls to puncture your neck. It must be the habit.”

“Must be my superpowers,” said the nun, tracing her cross and clutching the stake with her other hand.

72

Rono/That Which Bites

“And you’re the human that’s been causing all this commotion, the one we set this elaborate trap for.

You see, we had a feeling you’d be coming back for Goss and the nun.” He looked the girl up and down like she was for sale then tapped his nose. “And from the smell of you, one of my favorite women is dead.”

He came closer as if for a better sniff, but Poe would not have it. She thrust her gun at the slick vampire to warn him that he was close enough. At this, Trench’s lips trembled as he tried to keep from laughing.

“Jasmina. You’ve killed my beautiful Jasmina.

Great dresser but for the shoes. Never understood her fondness for Walmart.”

“The unibrow,” Poe answered automatically.

“What can I say?” Quillon shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s of Eastern European stock.” A smile lingered as he spoke. “Am I to believe that you are the supposed leader of an underground network of hundreds of human survivors? I expected someone larger.”

What the freak are you talking about? Poe thought silently. She wanted so badly to turn to the nun and ask what the f*ck was going on. She allowed Quillon to do all the talking.

“Do you deny this, little girl?”

Again, Poe didn’t say a thing. The head vampire sighed, giving her another once over. She hated being called little. In her mind, she was five-foot-seven, for crying out loud.

My folks were decent-sized. If it weren’t for poor diet and stress, I’d tower over Mr. Turtleneck.

“Your friend, Fred Beaver, also known as Goss, told us all about your little network. Over two hundred humans in our downtown playland.” He looked pointedly at her. “Your fat nun told us the same thing.

They must be telling the truth. Nuns don’t lie.”

73

Rono/That Which Bites

The vampire’s blue eyes darkened, annoyed at Poe’s silence. “I assume you’re the leader now since your Goss is dead and the Flying Nun there is about to keel over.”

Poe bit back a pain in her throat that could at any second betray her. She inhaled deeply, willing her voice not to fail. Slowly enunciating each word, Poe finally spoke.

“There’s no network. Just the three of us.” There.

I did it. No stuttering gibberish whatsoever.

“Ah, so our little rebel finally speaks. And what a voice she has for one so young.” His own voice was caressing, but Poe wasn’t fooled. He had referred to Sister Ann as fat. She was stocky and muscular, but she wasn’t fat. And even if she was, who gave a fig!

The standards of vampires were worse than all the magazine diet gurus combined that still beleaguered living room coffee tables.

“She’s Julia without a surname, isn’t she, Ann?

The mythical secret weapon you were telling us about.”

Sister Ann merely narrowed her eyes, not saying a word.

Poe winced at hearing her first name. No one called her Julia anymore. Only Poe, her last name.

The vampire, tickled by her obvious surprise at his vast knowledge of the underground, including her name, laughed.

“Well, Julia, stop acting the ignorant bumpkin, and let us know where we can find your other friends. I am most anxious to retrieve my stolen cattle and add a few more to my stock.”

“I told you, there are only the three–”

“I’m hungry, I’m bored, and I’m quite tired of this conversation. Scar and all, I want to have you for dinner tonight. What a treat to have someone so 74

Rono/That Which Bites

obviously untouched and deliciously young.” The smile on his lips turned into a tight line. His eyes glinted. Poe would have retreated a step if it weren’t for the emergency door at their back.

“I would dearly love to have you replace Jasmina.

You have a pleasing figure and face despite the mark, but I’ll have no problem turning you over to Clyde and Bergman over there.” Trench indicated a leech and vampire with unhygienically long mustaches that arched chinward.

Poe, who had been conjuring Butch, Sundance, and Cleopatra Jones inside herself, couldn’t take it anymore. She was not going to be turned into a vampire slut or a luau centerpiece.

“Fine. My blood tastes like chewed aspirin, and my feet are way too wide for high heels,” Poe said, her voice strong. She couldn’t afford to stutter and appear weak. “There are over a thousand of us in the city, even more in the ’burbs.” She let this sit for a moment until the faces of Trench and his pals turned from grinning buffoons into nervous jackasses.

“Some are straight-away human, some recovering ex-cattle. They’re all well armed like me.” Her cheeks were hot and her palms sweaty, but she had forgotten her speech impediment. Too bad she had one lousy gun to her name.

“They have acres and acres of garlic bulbs.” She permitted herself a slight smile as some of the so-called immortals shuddered. For effect, Poe raised her own brow at the goon on Trench’s left. The vamp scooted back as quickly as an undead could. “Our plan is to hose down vampires with garlic water as they sleep during the day. Maybe decapitate a few heads.”

“You are sorely exaggerating, Julia. A mere two hundred were mentioned by your friends. Now you say there are thousands.”

75

Rono/That Which Bites

“I didn’t say thousands, Quillon. I said over a thousand.” Trench’s surprise at the use of his first name was well worth dying for. The strength in her voice pleased her. “My death will only piss them off since they see me as a sort of leader, and I feel sorry for the dingbats who sleep in attics all day.”

“Nun, is what she says true?”

Sister shrugged tiredly. “She’s the savior, and saviors don’t lie.”

“Well, Queen Julia, you won’t die so easily. You might just prevent me from becoming bored the next ten years until I find another pretty face with guts. I am rather looking forward to putting a hole in your skull, my beauty, and spitting blood into your brain.” As if to grind more salt in the wound, Trench added, “But I’ll be on the lookout for a face without a scar.”

Maybe it was the mention of her scar or the spitting blood in her brain part that did it, and she really did not care. She shot Trench in the chest and sprayed his face with holy water.

“Ahhh!” he screamed, clutching his burning face.

“Kill her!”

Quillon’s screams were awful, indeed, but she didn’t have time to dwell because bedlam reigned supreme. His bodyguards carried him a distance away from the melee. Poe high-kicked the Lou Reed poser to the sidelines. Some vampires took to the air while the rest bided for an opportunity to get at her. The leeches and halfdeads scattered to desks, couches, and whatever solid lumps of furniture they could hide behind. Every single undead wore the expression of livid hate.

“Sister, keep close to me,” she whispered behind her. In a booming voice Poe taunted, “You idiots wanna follow your leader, huh?” Teeth, pallor of skin, and the rise and fall of the chest distinguished the 76

Rono/That Which Bites

creatures before her. She shot two vampires, two leeches, and another suntanned halfdead in succession.

She knew that replacing the magazine was going to be tricky because her spray bottle would have to cover her.

When the gun clicked empty, she released the clip. Before she could reload, a vamp flew at her and kicked at the gun but missed. Sister Ann rammed her stake into his back.

Poe’s chest burned as it absorbed the brunt of the blow. She almost collapsed but had the foresight to replace the magazine first. By the time another vampire appeared, Poe was ready.

“F*cker!” she screamed, shooting the vampire’s foot and kicking him in the chest. For a second there, she thought she heard ribs breaking. Poe finished him off when he fell on the floor squawking like a mallard during Wisconsin duck season.

The stairway emergency exit door flung open and a halfdead with a rosy complexion jumped out, grabbing her from behind. Sister Ann tried to kick his leg from under him, but she was too weak. Fuming, the creature embedded his index finger into Sister Ann’s left eye socket. Poe did not see the nun crumple to the ground.

“You stupid little cunt! I’m going to–”

Poe stomped her right shoe down the tender part of his foot as the “Grab Twist and Pull” self-defense video had taught her, and she rammed her elbows into his ribs.

“I hate the c-word, a*shole!” Poe squeezed out.

Once her arms were free, she shot the bastard in the face. “Just so you know. For future reference and all that.”

From the corner of her eye, she witnessed a vampire carrying Trench outside. Another vampire 77

Rono/That Which Bites

locked the front door as soon as their master left the building. They were going to execute Poe and Sister Ann in the lobby. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! With her back to the wall, she moved away from the stairwell.

“Sister, keep close to me!” she ordered. When the nun didn’t respond, she looked behind her only to see Sister Ann twitching on the ground. “No! Sister!”

The body went still, blood oozing from the socket.

Poe released a strangulating screech, so full of grief and frustration that the creatures present gave her a temporary berth. Again, the voice in her head set her right. It’s not over yet, it said. Buck up. She doesn’t want you to die this way.

She pulled her gaze from Sister Ann’s body, looking up, down, sideways at anything that might aid her. Vampires were moving toward her from every corner.

Then she saw the glass wall on the west side of the building. Her moped would be right around the corner. I could either die in this miserable art f*cking deco building or die outside in the rain. She’d take the outdoors anytime. Blasting her gun and squirting her bottle, Poe ran for it. Two shots cracked the window into tiny veins. With her remaining strength, Poe booked it and slammed the side of her body against the spiderwebbed window, praying it would shatter.

“I’m sorry!” she bellowed to her dead friends.

She fell hard on the wet pavement outside.

Penny whimpered once in the backpack and quieted down again. Shards of glass lodged in Poe’s skin made getting up difficult.

“Ouch!” Poe belted out. Vampires soared out of the jagged hole she created and hovered above her, followed by the humans and subhumans who couldn’t fly. Poe shot at the first two vampires that flitted toward her and chunks flew everywhere. She inhaled 78

Rono/That Which Bites

sharply as her bleeding shard-infested right hand pulled the trigger.

With much effort, Poe hobbled over to where her Vespa was parked. She reloaded the last of her Walther PPK cartridges and sprayed the final few drops of garlic water onto vampire legs that dared scoop down too close. The bottle, completely empty, she tossed at the nearest halfdead who hopped back fearfully. The creature’s face would have made her howl in laughter a week before, but not then when she was about to die.

She switched the gun to her left hand, the less injured of the two.

“Hijo de puta,” escaped her lips. Her heart banged gong-clangs, for her beloved avocado green moped was nowhere in sight. She and Penny were truly dead.

She had less than nine bullets left and at least a dozen vampires and their minions were still in pursuit. Best case, she could shoot seven of them, saving the last bullets for Penny and her.

“Give up, bitch!” Pengle, the one-handed vampire she had hacked, screamed. He hid behind a group of leeches. “Your life’s over. Might as well face up to it.”

“That’s telling her, Pengle,” somebody from the crowd seconded, laughing.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Poe spat. “You’re the one that’s dead and can’t admit it. Go back to the grave and let the worms have you!”

Enraged, Poe shot in his direction and killed a leech instead. A fresh recruit of vampires wearing Kevlar vests marched boldly toward her, unafraid of her gun.

“F*cking cops,” she muttered.

Without even cringing, Poe shattered two vampire heads, a kneecap, and a neck before the rest scattered.

Zombie Hunt and Sister Ann, the dead aim from Tennessee, had taught her well.

79

Rono/That Which Bites

One bullet left. She prayed that Penny was already dead because the remaining bullet was hers alone.

Without further ado, she placed James, the trusted gun, to her ear and fired.