Tomorrow's Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles, page 1
TOMORROW’S DEAD
THE JULIA POE VAMPIRE CHRONICLES
CELIS T. RONO
Cover Designed and Illustrated by Tariq Raheem http://www.tariqart.net
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Tomorrow’s Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles,” by Celis T. Rono. ISBN 978-1-62137-179-3 (Softcover) 978-1-62137-180-9 (eBook).
Published 2012 by Virtualbookworm.com Publishing Inc., P.O. Box 9949, College Station, TX 77842, US. 2012, Celis T. Rono. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Celis T. Rono.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
Dedicated to Elvie Hawk and Simon Garcia Kim
PROLOGUE
JUDGMENT AT NUREMBERG OR get-out-of-jail-free card? Such was the dilemma facing Kaleb Sainvire’s skeleton crew of the resistance. The Gray Armageddon had choked the world and left only a few survivors, and powerful undead ancients edged out of hiding to reign for nearly 20 years. They herded and marked humans as cattle, drugged them with toxic bites, and harvested blood to feed the vampire population.
A year after permanently killing master vampires and removing despots from their lofty thrones, Kaleb Sainvire and his allies were left to mop up the mess in Los Angeles. Option one – kill vampires and the human leeches that committed crimes against humanity. Option two – pardon them. His main goal was to get Plasmacore, a manufactured blood alternative, in the hands of vampires in major cities around the country so they could release human cattle from captivity. This wasn’t going to happen if he slaughtered vampires in his own city. Neither did he want to be a Mussolini or a Mao, butchering their own countrymen to supposedly disinfect the city.
Sainvire was well aware of history. Even though he was an American from Chicago, in the 1930s he had fought against the fascists in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s. Stupidly he thought he could fight against Franco’s regime, and for his effort a Spanish whore turned him into a vampire.
These days all he could think of was how to restore order and end violence without resorting to iron-fisted or Machiavellian tactics. And of course there was Julia Poe, whom he hadn’t seen in months. An important figure in the release of cattle, she’d firmly decided to stay on Catalina Island and avoid returning to Downtown Los Angeles, a place of unrelenting nightmares for her. Because of Sainvire’s impossible schedule he couldn’t visit the only woman he’d ever loved. In his mind Poe didn’t want to have anything to do with him, or perhaps the bullet she had received from master vampire Quillon Trench pierced not only her chest but her confidence. The small superhero, as many called her, was broken. The woman who was as responsible for the obliteration of the ancients and master vampires that had ruled the city with viciousness was a shell of her former indomitable self.
Sainvire sat in his spartan office at the old Biltmore Hotel in Downtown Los Angeles. He had dropped the trappings of extravagance of the vampires of old who lived in the best buildings. He conjured her face, marred with a five-inch scar that only added to her mystique. She was the most beautiful woman to him. He had never loved anyone so stridently, yet his work with Plasmacore and the cause always won out.
Sainvire ran fingers through his black hair and sighed. All he desired in life was to be alone with Poe and enjoy the smell of her, the taste of her. He wanted to take her away from the slime of politics and live with her and hold her close until old age took her away from him. Perhaps then he could end his own life.
He hoped for James Maclemar to persuade her to leave the island that shielded her fears. Even love for another man would have been better than her isolation and fear of the world.
CHAPTER 1
UNDULATING WINDS COURSED ALONG unrelenting rain that beat down on the inhabitants of the 22-mile-long, 8-mile-wide Santa Catalina Island. One human, a terrier, bison, and indigenous animals of the wild variety currently occupied the rocky land mass, once a favorite Southern California getaway.
The one human in three layers of thermal underwear, wool sweater, Dickies pants, rain slicker, and Wellington boots sat on the stump of an ironwood tree, watching a half-dozen bison munching on grass, not at all affected by the downpour. Windswept island oak and torrey pines camouflaged her small frame. She inhaled the tang of the ocean mixed with the clean scent of rain. Her dog, Penny, kept dry under an open umbrella and waited patiently for her friend to scrap the sightseeing and slink inside their dry cabin.
The young woman named Julia Poe observed the majestic creature 20 feet from where she sat and shuddered in wonder. No matter how many times she watched the non-native bison, her awe never seemed to subside. She had lived most of her life in a basement bunker, and nature was a marvel to her.
A movie production had brought the animals to the island in the 1920s, and they never left. They’d become tourist attractions, but the tourists had been unaware of the slow extermination of the majestic beasts as they crowded out native island species. Poe’s shivering was incidental to the sight of a baby calf nudged by her mother to eat more grass. The scene reminded her of Piper, her goddaughter, and she felt a pang of guilt. She’d promised Megan, the child’s mother, that she would look after Piper after her death. Instead she accepted a solitary life. She failed in her duties like she had failed in many things.
“I told you to stay home, Pen,” she said in a husky voice unbefitting her youth. “You know shivering like that is an easy way to pump up the guilt.” She glanced at the miserable-looking dog and sighed. Her one true companion was getting on in age. Penny had slowed down, and her hearing hadn’t been the same. The dog’s sense of smell remained strong, however, as proven by her tracking skills when it came to island foxes and mule deer.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her dog. The thought of Penny’s waning days always brought tears to her eyes. I don’t know what I’d do without you, old pal.
Poe had hiked the hills and camped the length of the island the past year and a half, hoping to find solace from plagued memories that still fueled nightmares. Nature soothed some of her cares, and she stayed outdoors as much as possible. However, sometimes the silence bothered her. There was a time when the voices of Sister Ann, her parents, and Goss, whether real or imaginary, would enter her mind and advise her where to aim her gun or what to do next. They had all left her head, never to be heard from again, when Trench enslaved and tortured her. She knew then that she was on her own.
“Let’s go then, Pen. I’m pretty damn cold myself.” As she reached under the umbrella to pet her dog, Penny emitted guttural noises only a tongueless dog could make. The girl had heard the twigs snap, too. Someone was on her island. She reached under her rain jacket and pulled out a Blackhawk .45 Colt just moments before a looming presence appeared a few yards behind them near the oak trees. Without thinking, she fired six shots in succession in the direction of the enemy. The bison scampered away from the unnatural blast of bullets. Poe was as startled by the booming sounds. It had been a while since she’d fired a weapon.
“What the—! Sharren, don’t shoot! It’s me, James.” The man’s accented voice sounded like a croak. The large man was hiding behind a young oak that barely covered half of his body.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry!” cried the girl.
“Dammit, Poe! You don’t wait to know who’s around? You just shoot them dead?”
“I’m really sorry,” Poe said, her voice nearly breaking. Maclemar was a dear and loyal friend, and if Poe had killed him, she never would’ve forgiven herself. The tall man wearing blue rain slickers approached her. “It’s fine, Poe. Next time look first.” He didn’t like the defeat in her voice and the shame in her brown eyes.
Visibly shaken, Poe, the one-time feared Public Enemy Number Two, allowed James Maclemar to take her trembling hand. Without saying a word, the two humans and Penny climbed a hill to Poe’s cabin. The vacation home was a small wooden cottage with two rooms, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen. Poe could’ve chosen a more spacious home, but she wanted to be near the docking area to see the comings and goings on her island.
James Maclemar switched on the lights in the cabin, but they didn’t turn on. “Must be a short,” he said mostly to himself. He helped Poe with her raincoat and hung it on the door peg. He slid out of his, clapped his hands, and rubbed them for warmth. The cottage was arctic. No piled logs could be found on the porch, and Maclemar had no choice but to stomp on an old rocking chair until he had an armful of wood. He crossed the room, piled pieces of the rocking chair into the fireplace, and lit them.
“Give it 10 minutes, love, and we’ll get you warm and toasty.” Looking shamefaced, Poe still stood by the door. “Ah, Poe, no need to look like that, or I’m going to drown you in a barrel of ale with the kittens.” He held out his arms, and she went to him reluctantly. The feel of her friend’s strong arms reminded her how long she’d been without his company. Three months and six days. Maclemar was the only one who made the effort to see her at all. Not even Kaleb Sainvire had visited her since he left the island 18 months ago.
“You’re lucky I’m not a sure shot anymore,” she said, her voice extremely still.
“You told me so last time I was here. I didn’t believe it. Saying you’r e the best shot in our shoddy world would be an understatement.”
“Not anymore. I’ve lost the one questionable talent I had. I fired six rounds, and I should’ve plugged you good. But I missed.”
“You sound sorry you didn’t make Swiss cheese out of me,” he said. He ran his hand lightly over her back.
“You’re my only friend now. Why would I want to turn you into cheese?”
“Ah, sharren. You have many friends, but now they’re busy laying down the foundation for a better city which includes vampires and humans alike. That’s not a simple feat.” Maclemar nicknamed Poe “sharren” for in Welsh it meant a woman who thought she was tough.
“Yeah, well they got stuff to do. So do I. I hope you’re not here to convince me to go back with you again,” she grunted. She pulled away from his embrace and kicked off her Wellingtons. Penny was already sitting on her hunches by the fire.
“Why don’t we talk about it after dinner, eh? I brought seaweed, shellfish, and goodies for my famous seafood porridge. Take a hot bath while I prepare the best meal you’ve had since last time I was here.” He ran his hand in his dark, buzzed hair as his deep green eyes followed Poe’s every movement.
Poe smiled for the first time. “Must be a stiff decree from Sainvire to send you all the way here in rainy season. He’ll get the usual no from me.” She cut Maclemar off before he opened his mouth. “I haven’t had hot water in two months. No electricity. I’m going to have to heat up some water on the grill outside.”
Maclemar seethed with anger directed at himself. Poe had been living without heat or electricity since he’d left, and her rough lifestyle made him feel like a heel. “I’ll take care of it, sweetheart.” He grabbed a tool box from under the kitchen sink and put on his rain slicker.
Maclemar, an exceptional mechanic and repairman, went outside to have a go at the generator. “Poor girl,” he whispered to himself. Pain suddenly inflamed his entire body. The woman he loved had turned into a fearful hermit. She’d been so magnificent once, destroying Revenents and vampires with her eyes closed. There hadn’t been anyone like her with her fierce fighting skills and tenacious love for her friends. He recalled the girl running through an ocean of Revenents, non-sentient walking dead that could reform broken bones to repeatedly attack, to rescue Michelle and him. Without pause for her safety, Poe had tried to reach the farmhouse where the last of the fighters holed up to protect Megan who was dying from childbirth. Trench’s henchmen outnumbered her friends.
Her legend had grown on the mainland. She had rescued hundreds of cattle and protected revolutionaries fighting against Trench, master vampires, and Vampire Council members who had been angling to keeping human slavery alive for their bloated self-interests. The city needed Poe. A symbol of hope. Sainvire had asked him to deliver a letter and convince Poe that she was needed back Downtown.
“No matter how much she refuses, you’ve got to get her back to L.A.,” instructed Kaleb Sainvire before Maclemar left. The vampire’s hair had grown to the nape of his neck and stubbles freckled his face. The man responsible for distributing Plasmacore was neck-deep trying to keep Downtown and its residents afloat without a return to violence.
“I’ll try my best, Kaleb,” said Maclemar.
Sainvire’s gray eyes bore into his green ones. “Don’t try, my friend. You have to do it. I don’t care if you have to hogtie her in your boat.”
Maclemar didn’t envy Sainvire’s task. Being an idealist could kill a vampire.
***
Clutter spread over the kitchen sink and dining table. Maclemar petted Penny’s bloated stomach on the floor while gazing up at an equally satiated Poe. Maclemar hadn’t seen anyone gulp down food like that in a long time. The girl took down three bowls of his seafood porridge, and he felt good about himself. He was feeling remorseful for being away for so long. He tried to visit once a month, but his duties had absorbed his time for weeks on end.
He studied Poe. The indomitable girl he knew was no more. In her place was a woman unsure which steps to take next. Julia Poe was one of the most attractive women he’d ever met, not only because of her unusual beauty stemming from a multiethnic background of Scot-Irish, Japanese, Mexican, and Filipino. Her grit was near palpable however much she claimed to have lost her fighting prowess. She was tough and caring despite her pleas for a solitary existence.
The five-inch scar on her face and the multitude of cuts, whip marks, and bullet holes in her body gave her the right to live as she wished. She’d done so much for what was left of humanity, and she earned bitter little in return. The diminutive Poe stood a little over five-foot-three but seemed so much larger because of what she’d accomplished by the young age of 26.
“Er, Poe. I must apologize for not visiting sooner,” he said. He ran his eyes over Poe’s damp waist-length black hair. The girl always tied her hair in a ponytail. If it weren’t for the fact that Poe was drying her hair by the fire, he’d never have seen the rare sight. “I’ve been indisposed.” The muscular man of over six feet in height looked uncomfortable.
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Maclemar,” said Poe. She rubbed her stomach like a pregnant woman expecting a kick from little feet. A man that could cook like Maclemar would make a young woman giddy-toed someday.
“Yes, I do. The thought of you here by yourself without heat in the middle of winter freezes my heart. I should’ve checked the electricity and the—”
“I’ve been alone most of my life, mister. Don’t get all dramatic.” She’d fended for herself since age eight in vampire-infested Downtown Los Angeles until Sister Ann and Goss took her under their wings and taught her how to defend herself.
“I’m not being dramatic. You know how I feel about you,” he said uncomfortably.
“Yeah, well I don’t think I can handle a relationship with a man or vampire ever again. Anyway, what’s so important in the mainland?” Poe changed the subject.
“Sainvire asked me to start a school for the children of victims we found in blood farm nurseries. Unbelievably there are over 200 of them from toddlers to 12-year-olds. I started a curriculum in the autumn. I have to say I love my job.”
“I can see you as a teacher,” said Poe. Her dimples showed, and Maclemar couldn’t help but grin. “Plus, all those American Lit books you’ve read ought to come in handy.”
“Yes. They should,” he said. The Welshman had been working on a degree in American Literature when the Gray Armageddon poisoned most of humanity. He rose from the floor and reached into his pack by the fireplace. He took out a letter in a plain white envelope. In a broadcaster voice he said, “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, love.”
“Ah. I thought you were on my side, Caveman.” Poe reached for the letter and shook her head. The envelope wasn’t sealed and had the word “Julia” written on it with masculine old-fashioned script. Poe unfurled the letter and read to herself:
Dear Julia,
I hope you are in good health. I often think about you. I understand how that must sound since I haven’t come and visited you since we evacuated the island. I would like to say, however, that my feelings for you haven’t changed. Circumstance has a knack for keeping me away from your side.
Calm confusion is the tone in Downtown. We are finding ways to bring vampires and ex-cattle to support certain causes. Our mission is to persuade cities around the neighboring states to free blood slaves and utilize Plasmacore as the main food source. The other (more difficult) goal is for the living and dead to get along. For now, Plasmacore in lieu of blood is accepted and surprisingly rather enjoyed for its benefits like being able to stay in the sun and the gift of strength. To humans, having vampires strengthened and out 24 hours a day is a nightmare naturally. A faction of ex-cattle is organizing to convert themselves into vampires so they can protect humans from undead predators. They will be the new police force if they have their way. I haven’t decided whether this is a good idea or not. In any case, humans have started paying vampires to turn them into the undead.
