“The sight of your face is more than anyone should have to bear,” Paul said.
“Perhaps so, but I wasn’t the one who had to look at it. So, how’d you make it up here. What’s your story? I get tired of hearing the same old dried up tales from these fools. I knew that Benjamin had a brother, but he never talked about you, so I figured you were dead, or,” he looked around but there were only humans in the room with, “a vampire. Lucky for you I guess that you’re not.”
I wasn’t surprised that my brother had left me in the past and never sent anyone to look for me in the vampiric south, it would have been a fool’s mission and I’d been nothing but a nuisance to him since I’d arrived already, but as I sat there telling my story in short, halting spurts I didn’t feel hurt. I felt warm, warm from the fire that had grown to a crackling warming entity, warm from the beer, warm from the second large meal I’d had in as many days and warm from the people around me. They were loud with life and happiness. They talked and they laughed without fear of discovery, without worrying that they’d have to run. As I talked more and more people gathered around to listen, people who’d lived for years in the camp and who savored the excitement of my story. Interjections came and went; jokes and sidetracks, and still I told on until Ryan yawned and said that we had a long day ahead of us and stood to go to bed. The room had already emptied somewhat and those that remained were more subdued. I followed Ryan out and made my way to the small room in which my cot sat. The other cot’s occupant already slept. I lie down and fell asleep.
The next day, I was awakened before the morning bell by a young man with barely a sprouting of yellow fuzz on his sharp chin. He jumped back when I spun around reaching for his arm to throw him to the ground and flailed with my fists when I didn’t grab him. “Ryan said to wake you, dude.” He stood quivering, outlined by the hazy light that came in from where he’d thrown back the heavy blanket that served as a door to the tiny shack that I had been put up in. My brother had a room in the farmhouse when he slept at all. Outside, a rustle of wind and the soft murmur of the camp coming alive were the only sounds.
“Sorry,” my voice was gruffer than I’d intended it. The boy looked at me warily, his eyes wide and his breath ragged.
“We’ve got to eat breakfast if we’re going to get any at all.” How old was this boy, 15, 16? How old was the camp, or village or whatever they called it? Had this boy ever known the day in and day out fear and paranoia of humanity on the run or had he always awakened each day to warm food, clothing, and the comfort of others. I felt as if I was scowling so I attempted to smile.
“Lead the way,” I said, and he hastily left the cabin.
The morning was crisp but clear, the pale blue strip that lined the ridge was spreading away from the orange glow that preceded the sun. A steady stream of smoke rose from countless fires around the camp, the largest from the farmhouse. Everywhere men, women and children scurried down the narrow paths that divided the cottages, dogs dashing around them happily. My legs were tight, and walking comforted me though I worried that Dottie was right and that I would not be able to acclimate to the settled lifestyle of these folk. The farmhouse’s atmosphere was different from the previous night. People moved through a line picking up bowls and ladling them full of grits then stacked biscuits around the edge. I resisted the urge to fill my bowl to the limit and use my shirt as a pouch to carry all the biscuits. Some ate sitting, some standing up. The air was hushed. I did not see Mary or my brother around, so I wandered over to a corner near a window and leaned up against the wall where a cool draft ran from the papered window. Ryan was talking with some men in low tones over their bowls, gesturing with their spoons. I spooned in two scoops of grits before I’d even thought and hissed as the molten food scalded my tongue. I tried a biscuit and found it cooler, so I ate the two I’d picked up. They were so light and buttery I almost moaned. Everything in the camp was so delicious it was no wonder people lived in the camp.
As I ate people wandered in and out and each time the door creaked as someone entered or shut behind someone I jerked and looked. No matter how hard I tried to remain at ease each tiny noise caught my attention. So, when the door creaked, and the preacher and his two bullish sons strode in I caught his eye. Those dark eyes, seemingly too small for the bulbous head that bestrode his neck contained a knowing smile and an icy brittleness. As he entered someone called out, “Morning Reverend,” to which he nodded respectfully. Another asked him if he wanted any food. “No, no I have been up for a while and I have already eaten. The wise man rises early and begins the Lord’s work as all of you do. In the days before the fall men stayed up all night and slept all day as if they were vampires forsaking the God given cycle of the land.”
After locking eyes with
