The Tower of Blood

From the perspective of Chase Cringle.

I was groggy, my mouth was dry, and my eyes were crusted, all as I awoke from a dream I couldn't remember.

I looked down. My clothes were burnt and covered in soot. My stomach roared continuously, completely empty. I ate only hours before now, but I was hungry again. This time I had an insatiable blood craving.

I lay on a bed of newspapers in a dusty printer room. I noticed, in the corner of my eye, Jeriah, who was asleep, snoring very loud. Brandon was nowhere to be seen.

I sat up and, for a moment, I saw only stars. With my hands behind my back and strapped together, I knew I was bound by iron shackles. I heard desperate screams come from some other room in the tower, muffled by the dusty thick walls. It was Brandon's voice. Helpless, I frowned and hung my head, thinking of the limbo that Brandon must be experiencing.

"Jeriah!" I mustered a loud whisper. Still, Jeriah snored, slumped against the wall, strands of yellow-blonde hair partially concealing his face.

The stagnant air suffocated me. The entire room seemed like a thousand year old crypt. I saw, in a ray of potent moonlight from a hole in a bolted window, dust particles floating in the air, cobwebs in the corners and dust blanketing the printers, printer tables, and the vinyl wood floor. The light fixtures above were stripped of their light bulbs, and all the air vents were bolted with plywood. All around were the bones and skulls of countless victims of the Flesheaters, and blood stains and blood splatters.

There was a big question stewing in my head.

I tried to grasp Jeriah's attention once again. "Jeriah!" I whispered a little louder.

Still Jeriah snoozed. I thought about my pocket knife in my pocket and thought maybe I could throw it at Jeriah to wake him up since I didn't want to make any loud noises, but my hands were tied. What was I to do? Break the chains with some miraculous brute strength? Not possible.

In my despair, I noticed two men pass through the broken window pane in the door. Both stood side by side, next to the door, then one of them stepped aside while the other retreated from the door and then charged forward, busting the door open. I figured anyone that had to bust in had to be on our side.

"You, the one with the silver hair and blue eyes. Stand and come here," said the first man.

I stood up, completely silent, and I walked forward.

"Now, let's see what we can do about those chains, shall we?" The first man beamed with confidence.

"We're getting you out of here," said the second man.

"What about my friends?" I asked.

"Your friends, they can come as well. That other boy. Is he your friend?"

"Yeah."

"Wake him."

I stepped near Jeriah and gently kicked him in the abdomen, to which he awoke with a startle.

"Why'd you kick me?" Jeriah yawned, glancing upward with one eye through his messy strands of blonde hair. His other eye was bruised black, almost completely swollen shut.

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice," I said.

"That savage, Micah. He did worse things than this. Brandon, he was hit in the head so hard he passed out. Then Micah spat on his face, and he kicked him in the ribs, over and over."

"I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm more sorry for Brandon. But we have our lives to worry about."

"Who are these people?" Jeriah asked.

The stranger replied, "My name is Zed and my brother is Vence, and you and my two other friends in the hall are Lukas and Chris. My brother and I are members of Organization 99, an organization of professional vampires that do recon, surveillance, and espionage for Vampyr Society. Before that, we worked as spies for the former Flesheaters.

"Ahh," Jeriah said. "You want to help us? Why?"

"We despise the Flesheaters."

Jeriah nodded. "Are there more of you guys? People to help?"

"Only Lukas and Chris, the guys in the hall. We need to get those chains off you guys. This tower is crawling with Flesheaters. We're on the fifth floor. We'll need to find one of the three squad leaders and get them to tell us which floor and which room that Brandon is being held, fast, while we remain hidden, or we risk all of the Flesheaters descending upon us."

"That would be one hell of a predicament," Jeriah admitted.

"What are your names?" Zed asked.

"I'm Chase, and this is Jeriah." I pointed at Jeriah.

Zed walked up to Jeriah and said, "Jeriah, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, sir."

"Your shackles. May I see them?"

"Of course," Jeriah gleefully replied.

Jeriah turned around so Zed could inspect the shackles and chain that bound Jeriah's hands. Zed then reached out both of his hands and carefully grasped each shackle.

"Don't be surprised if your wrists burn; there's no other way to undo these shackles without the proper key. Not even ridiculous vampire strength can tear these shackles apart. They're cursed so that no one but a Flesheater can undo the shackles, but I'm betting it's a simple curse. I should be able to undo the curse, no problem. I'm still a Flesheater, for now."

Zed traced his index finger downward along the length of each shackle, then he whispered, "Apscindo." Jeriah's shackles unlocked themselves and fell to the floor with a thud.

"Thank you so much," Jeriah said, smiling weakly, his burn marks searing bright red.

"No problem," Zed replied.

"Now, I need to undo your shackles, Chase."

I agreed and I let Zed perform the same procedure with me, then I too was free of my shackles.

It was now time to find Brandon and get out of the building, alive.

"We must go," Vence announced in a hushed tone as he rushed out of the room and into the hall.

Zed concurred. "He's right. Let's go."

"Right," I said, a little overwhelmed. "Come on, Jeriah."

"I'm coming," Jeriah casually replied, trailing behind.

The hallway stank of rotten flesh. Jeriah nearly doubled over after receiving a strong whiff of the foul odor emitted from the adjacent room.

"Whoever was in that room is long gone," Zed mentioned. "The smell says it all."

"Sick." Jeriah gawked at the bloody mess.

"Keep up with me!" Zed thundered in the quietest tone possible. Zed rushed down the hall like a bullet train, and he reached the east end of the hall in mere seconds, his troupe following suit. I hesitated and glanced behind to see Jeriah dash past me as two Flesheaters ambled round the corner at the west end of the hallway.

Instead of running for cover, I devised a quick plan.

I dropped to the floor and pretended to be dead as the others fled into a corridor at the north end of the hallway. I inhaled through my nose and I ceased to breathe, then I closed my eyes and relaxed, and I did all this without any fear of being caught in my ruse.

The sound of footsteps drew near and stopped mere inches next to me. One set of footsteps was light and brisk, like a woman's step, the other was quite heavier and more burly like a heavyset man.

"Brian, look at this douchebag on the floor pretending to be dead," the female vampire said to her companion.

Brian replied, " Haha, yeah. We disintegrate when we die. Whoever's on the floor there can't be dead."

"Exactly!"the female shouted. "Our dead never sticks around, not like a human corpse. Isn't this the dude that Orrus wanted alive?"

"I think so. We better be gentle with this one, Brandi."

"Nah, fuck that. This faggot can take a few punches. Hold him up for me. I wanna smash his face."

Brian bent over to pick me up by the collar of my tattered, blackened white T-shirt. No time to think, I grabbed my pocket knife in my right pocket and grabbed Brian' right shoulder with my left hand, then I drove the pocket knife deep into his chest, then I yanked it out. I stabbed Brian again and again, over and over, until he gushed black sludge from multiple holes in his chest. Brian attempted to cover his wounds with his hands to prevent himself from bleeding out, but it was to no avail. Black sludge poured out of his abdomen and through the gaps in his fingers. Brian's eyes turned jet-black and black flames erupted from his body. The flames subsided quickly, almost immediately, as Brian turned to solidified ash.

With a sneer of disgust, I kicked Brian's ashes which then collapsed into one big pile.

"What the fuck did you just do to Brian?" Brandi asked.

I told her plainly, "Brian has expired. See?" I nudged the ashes with my foot. "Ashes."

"He owed me two bottles of hydros! For fuck sake! Screw protocol. You're gonna pay."

I accidentally dropped my pocket knife as I was forced into hand to hand combat with Brandi, her speed outmatching my own. "Woah, woah. Slow down, chick," I pleaded. I couldn't move fast enough, the woman jabbed at me again and again, then she knocked me down in a single powerful thrust. "Aaah, that hurt," I gasped, sprawled on the floor.

"Does it?" Brandi laughed as she rolled her eyes.

I regained my stance, but, again, I was too slow, and Brandi grabbed me first, twisting my arm and kneeing me in the center of my spine. "Hot damn, lady!" I shouted from the sharp pain in my back. Brandi then thrusted me like a battering ram into the wall, face first, and my head felt like it had exploded, causing me to see stars.

How can I fight back? I thought. What was I to do? I couldn't let her beat me to a pulp. I had to turn the situation around. I can manipulate her! Manipulation was something I had experience with.

I turned roundabout and gazed into Brandi's flame-orange eyes. "Let's not fight, darling." I kissed her with my hand around her head. "Do you like that?" I asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

Brandi stopped her assault and lowered her fists, her rage suddenly fading.

I continued my manipulation tactic. "I've been so alone for the past few years. I have no girlfriend, no wife, no kids, no family, and a handful of friends. We both need someone to love. You know you want me, and I want you."

"I want you too, you crazy motherfucker." Brandi grabbed my hair and kissed me with fiery passion. I noticed a key was attached to her gold necklace, probably the key to get into the room holding Brandon.

I came out with the truth. "Listen, lady. Your name is Brandi, right? I need to find my friend. His name is Brandon, and he's being tortured. Where is he? Because if you can't help me, you're useless to me."

Brandi's face soured. "Your friend would be on the third floor, the room nearest to the west stairwell, on your right. Consider him dead. After Orrus is done torturing him, your friend won't be recognizable. Give up while you still can."

I grabbed the key attached to Brandi's necklace, then I shoved Brandi away with my other hand.

"At least you know where to find your friend, you asshole," Brandi cursed.

I began to walk away, wishing Brandi would just let me go.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"To find my friend," I said plainly.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted one of Zed's entourage emerging from the corner down the hall. I signaled for Zed's friend to join me.

"Chris? I thought you were with Zed and the others. What are you doing here?" asked Brandi, both angered and confused.

Chris, unsurprised, replied. "Brandi, did you just kiss the prisoner?"

"That's none of your business. The prisoner was trying to escape. He killed Brian, too. Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Nah. Brian deserved what he got. And you deserve what's coming to you."

"You're taking the prisoner's side?"

"I'm taking his side because me and my crew are ditching your gang. But before I go. I'm gonna enjoy killing you for selling out our friends from Chicago that were hog-tied and ran over by a fleet of motorcycles."

"I always knew you were crazy, but damn, Chris. You're just nuts. Orrus is going to eat you alive for stealing his prized prisoner."

"Not before I turn you to crushed ice."

"Go to hell!" Brandi rose to her feet, charging at Chris in a blind rage. Chris responded with a mere wave of his right hand, causing the air temperature to drop sharply. I instinctively backed away quickly and without hesitation when hoarfrost formed on the floor around Brandi. Her boots freeze-dried to the floor, and even with all her might, she could not lift her feet.

"Let me loose, assmunch!"

"You know I can't do that," Chris replied.

"I'm gonna rip out your throat!" Brandi shouted at Chris.

"Brandi, you're ten feet away, and you're glued to the floor. You're a succubus, and you're going to die like a succubus."

Brandi continued to scream like a banshee, throwing herself and her arms toward Chris, but it was to no avail. "Traitor!"

Chris ignored Brandi as he taunted, "Have fun in the next life."

With a single upward thrust of his fist, Chris commanded the frost to coat Brandi in frost, imprisoning her in ice. But Chris did not stop there. With a forward thrust of his hand he caused Brandi's frozen body to shatter into thousands of frozen shards of flesh which proceeded to boil and vaporize into smoldering ash and thin black smoke.

Chris turned to me, then he said, "We must regroup with Zed and the rest, fast."

"Where are they now?" I asked.

"They're still on this floor, in a room by the east stairwell. Come with me."

Chris led me back to our small group. Jeriah stood alone in the corner of the room, uneasy, coddling himself, shivering. Boxes and crates filled half of the room. Strange, the air was cool, and there were two vents at opposite ends of the room pumping out cool, crisp air. "So, vampires like to keep cool," I said.

"Yes, a little much," Zed replied, stepping out of his circle of family and friends.

"I trust that you now know the location of your other friend?"

"Yes, his name is Brandon. He's on the third floor. West wing. I have the key, too."

"Room number?"

"The room nearest to the west wing stairwell."

"Good enough. When we find Brandon, we may encounter multiple Flesheaters. If one of them gets close to Jeriah, he can be killed within seconds. He needs to be protected, and at the same time we must eliminate any Flesheaters that may be in the same room as Brandon. I suggest we form a circle around Jeriah. Do we all agree?"

"Aye," Chris said.

I nodded in agreement, as did Vence, Lukas, and Jeriah.

Zed beckoned for Jeriah to join us. Jeriah walked forward and the rest of us gathered around Jeriah as we waltzed out of the storage room.

We all ran, as quietly as possible, toward the west stairwell, then we trampled down the stairs where we were confronted by a vicious, slobbering, enraged mongrel, which charged at us as soon as it heard our clobbering footsteps. Zed snickered and raised his right hand as sparks pulsed from his fingertips.

"Watch closely, folks," Zed gloated.

Zed pointed his right index finger at the mongrel, just ten feet away--he zapped the savage dog with a bolt of lightning, nearly busting my eardrums. The poor beast stumbled over and down the steps, charred and lifeless.

"That was wicked as fuck," Jeriah said in response.

"Wicked?" Zed retorted. "That was nothing."

Our party continued down the stairs to the third floor and opened the door to the west wing. I turned to my right, stepping near the doorway to room 304 nearest to the west stairwell. With the room key in hand I inserted the key into the aluminum knob and turned the key, then I turned the knob, and I threw the door open.

We stormed the room, prepared for a violent clash. But there was no confrontation. We were met with Brandon, who was transparent and pale, with a chain wrapped around his neck, his hands tied behind the chair with duct tape. His jacket and shirt laid on the floor. Brandon was riddled with cuts on his torso and bite marks up and down his arms, his legs were twisted and mangled. He was parched for air, blood dripping from his wounds and down the metal chair, splashing onto the dusty vinyl wood floor.

Jeriah rushed forward to help unwrap the chain from Brandon's neck, so that Brandon could breathe without restraint. Brandon huffed, and he huffed, and he huffed. His senses came back to him, slowly. He blinked, once, twice. Then breathed the stale air into his nostrils. Then released. He was staring down and didn't have the strength to move his head. Slumped forward, Brandon wheezed like a dying man with lung cancer.

Jeriah unraveled the duct tape on Brandon's arms and threw it to the side. I forced myself to calmly amble forward until I stood before Brandon, who lifted his deep brown eyes to meet my gaze. "You alright?" I asked.

"No. No, I'm not. Do I look alright to you?"

Brandon stared up at me, sickened and beleaguered. His injuries were due to my actions. I was the reason he was in the shape he was in, and I felt lower than dirt for being responsible. I was no better than my adversaries. I wanted to make it up to Brandon, to do anything to help him out.

"I need water," Brandon pleaded. "And about ten thousand hydrocodones."

I sufficed a laugh and replied, "We might be able to find you some water. The pipes in this building might still be working. If not, we'll have to fetch you some water from the back of the semi, wherever the hell it is."

Brandon replied bluntly, "The semi was blown to bits back in Mt Vernon. We lost everything. There's no longer a reason for us to go on to Denver."

"You're shitting me," I said.

"Not shitting you," Brandon reassured me.

"What are we gonna do, then?"

With a grin, Jeriah butted in, "I know what we could do."

Brandon scoffed, rolling his eyes, "We are not taking any suggestions from you. Did you not see what those Flesheaters did to me? We need this band of vampire rejects annihilated as soon as possible."

"That's not possible," Vence replied.

"Why not?" Brandon glared up at Vence.

"The seven of us stand no chance against a gang of over 100 flesh-eating vampires. Such a task will take some coordination, and more manpower. Also, my brother and I are due in Chicago tonight for an impromptu meeting with the Sevaldi Clan, one of the Seven Vampire Clans of the North. Chris and Lukas will travel with us as our personal blood donors."

"Sounds exciting," I said.

"I don't know about you guys... but… I think… I'm dying…" Brandon mumbled as he suddenly lost consciousness and fell forward. Thankfully, Jeriah grabbed him and stopped him from slumping out of the chair.

Zed, concerned, turned toward me and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Your friend will die without intervention. What will you do?" Zed questioned.

"None of us are doctors. How can we possibly save his life?" I asked in response.

Zed answered, "I have a solution, but your friend may not like it. Your friend is useless in the shape he is in, and he won't be of much help if we do save his life. His wounds are catastrophic. He will likely never walk ever again. The only way to save him, and reverse the damage done, is to make him a vampire. The procedure is quite fast and he would be healed in no time. But the procedure does require him to die first."

"That sounds awful," I said.

"Got any better ideas?"

I sighed and gritted my teeth. "No."

"Then it's settled. One of us will convert your friend into a vampire. Which one of us will do it, then?"

Jeriah hastily replied, "Chase should do it."

Zed turned toward me and began to speak. "Then Chase shall do the procedure. But first I must explain one simple subject. When Brandon is resurrected, he will be unpredictable. He doesn't have much blood left in him and he's going to be very thirsty and flooded with new, unusual, and intense senses when he wakes up. He'll be unpredictable."

"I don't even know how to turn someone into a vampire," I confessed the truth.

"It's simple, really. What you need to do is grasp one of your arms and sink your incisors into your radial artery, below your wrist. I'll show you."

Zed proceeded to delve his canines into his left wrist, drawing black blood from the wound. He spit it out, making an awful face. "It tastes awful, but just do what I did."

I did as Zed had shown me. I sank my fangs into my right arm, and I sucked the thick black blood from out of my arm, then spit it out in disgust.

"You're right," I admitted wholeheartedly. "Tastes like Mountain Dew laced with a shit ton of salt."

Zed chuckled, then he warned, "Don't vomit on me. Now, I want you to hold back Brandon's head with your left hand. Then put your right arm over Brandon's open mouth. We must get him to drink your blood. When he does, he will have convulsions, but they will pass. Then we wait."

I grasped Brandon by his long black hair, pulled his head back, then I put my arm over his mouth. Black blood droplets dripped freely, falling into Brandon's mouth.

The effects came sudden, as Brandon whipped his head side to side, his fingers cringing uncontrollably. He wailed and gasped as he clawed at his chest. His eyes opened, twitching violently, black blood oozing from out of his left nostril. Then began the violent convulsions, as Zed had predicted. Brandon's misery continued, yet I felt endowed to him, and I wanted him to survive, even though his pain was unimaginable.

When the convulsions subsided, Brandon lay back in his chair, exhausted of all his energy. He groaned, unable to mutter a single word. He coughed up a storm of black blood before he was able to catch his breath and so he lurched over. He then took his right hand and very, very slowly, he raked his stray black strands back into place.

"How do you feel now, bud?" Jeriah asked Brandon.

"I feel… I feel renewed. Yeah. That's how I feel." Brandon pupils widened as he glanced around the room. "I'm quite parched, though."

Brandon jumped up, exhilarated, then began to prance like a horse, huffing as fast as a train. He huffed one last great huff, and glanced back at me. "All of a sudden I have a bunch of energy! I don't know what to do with all of it!" Brandon said excitedly with a hint of concern.

Jeriah backed away, almost fearful of the newly energized Brandon.

Zed spoke. "See, he's already using up his adrenaline reserves. He's going to need to drink some fresh blood before he crashes. I'm sure my donor wouldn't mind helping--"

"No thanks. That won't be necessary," I answered. I thought of Jeriah instantly, and I knew he had to be the sacrificial lamb. I, too, was feeling mighty thirsty. For blood.

"Um, Jeriah, would you mind if Brandon and I took a tiny drink of your blood?" I asked.

Jeriah appeared hesitant and wary as he lifted a single eyebrow.

I stepped over to Jeriah and I whispered into his ear, "If Brandon doesn't drink some blood right now, he could go berserk. Think over that for a moment."

Jeriah cringed, knowing he was the only human in the room. Of course, Jeriah could have outright refused my plea and put me and Brandon's immortal lives in jeopardy, but he chose to help us.

"Okay, sure, fine, let me provide the blood for you two. Just don't suck me dry. Go ahead, drink. I'm ready."

Jeriah held out his hand, clenched his fist, and braced himself. Brandon replied, "Thanks, mate," then he waltzed toward Jeriah, grabbed his arm, pulled it up to his mouth, and he delved his fangs into Jeriah's flesh.

I didn't notice until now that I had fangs of my own, when my need for blood was at its greatest. I could not curb the urge to drink, and I knew I had to, I had no choice. My nature took over my ability to reason. I couldn't hold back any longer. I, too, drank from Brandon's arm.

Jeriah's blood wasn't as bad as I thought. It was definitely a lot better than vampire blood. Though, sharing Jeriah's arm with Brandon seemed pretty weird. But we had our reasons.

Jeriah couldn't help but mutter, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. That's enough, guys," Jeriah insisted, pulling away as he seethed. He kept blinking and shaking his head. "Anymore and I may pass out."

"Can you see straight?" I asked Jeriah.

"I'll be fine, for now. I'll need something to drink myself, as soon as we get out of this hell hole."

I began to focus on the status quo. Orrus would stop at nothing to capture me. Entering a major conflict with Orrus would be suicide, I thought, so how could we get rid of him, and save ourselves?

I turned to Zed and asked, "Is there anywhere in St. Louis that we can corner Orrus and ambush him? Surely, there must be some place."

Zed answered, "There is one place where we can set up some extremely potent explosives. It's a place in Forest Park. The Muny Theatre. It's very open. We could simply lead Orrus and his gang into a trap, detonate the explosives, and kaboom. Bye bye Flesheaters. Question is, what kind of explosives would we need to destroy an entire gang of flesh-eating vampires? Lukas, can you shed some light?"

"Yes I can," said the final member of Zed's troupe. "What we need is--"

"Woah there, cowboy," I interrupted. "I don't think it'd be the best idea to intentionally blow up an outdoor theater. Isn't there another way to destroy this undead regime?"

Vence replied, "There's always another way. But the other way I have in mind involves a more complicated strategy."

"What might that be?" I asked.

"My plan involves you and your friends leaving St. Louis for good, while you can. We are spending too much time debating. Orrus could barge in here any second. As for my comrades and I, we have some urgent matters to attend to. But we can take care of that after seeing that you guys make it out safe and sound."

"Seriously?" I replied. "You want us to walk away and let this vampire gang run rampant and incur more casualties?"

"Listen here, punk," Vence countered. "You don't have much of a choice. You are horribly unprepared for an all-out conflict with the Flesheaters. You thought you could be the hero and save the day by ridding St. Louis of its greatest threat. There are seven of us. SEV-EN. Four dead men, two donors and a blond. That's it. So, you have two options now. You can walk away, or get eradicated. There is no third option."

Zed placed a firm hand on my left shoulder. "You should listen to him."

I considered a positive response.

"I suppose you're right," I confessed.

"Then we should hightail it," Zed replied.

"Yes, definitely," Jeriah agreed.

"Where are we going?" Brandon asked as he collected his shirt and jacket and put them back on.

"Me, my brother, Chris and Lukas--we are to travel to Chicago and to meet with the head of the Sevaldi Clan. The Sevaldi Clan themselves could wipe out the Flesheaters within a single day if the Flesheaters posed an immediate threat to their clan, but that just isn't the case. You think Orrus is terrible? He's the least bit of your troubles. Never cross another vampire clan, ever."

Brandon grimaced and asked again, "Where are the three of us supposed to go from here, if we are not meant to go with the four of you?"

"I don't know where you three should be going. All I know is, you can't come with us. I mean, you could come with us, but you really shouldn't. The Sevaldi Clan is only expecting four of us."

"Wonderful," Brandon said as he rolled his eyes.

"We'll need wheels to get out of St. Louis," I clarified.

"There should be some outside. Should. Problem is, how can we make it out of this building without alerting the entire gang?"

"There's no way around it," I said. "There's going to be resistance, sooner or later. Those monsters won't let us get away that easy."

"Let's just hope we don't encounter resistance," Zed replied, signaling for us all to follow him out of the room.

We all descended the tower via the stairwell and we reached the first floor in less than a minute. Funny, we hadn't encountered any Flesheaters since we took the key from Brandi. Where were those devils hiding?

"Strange," Chris mentioned. "It's as if they all deserted their precious tower. This looks sketchy. If we try to leave the city, the Flesheaters could ambush us at any moment."

I shouted, "We're not gonna stick around to find out! C'mon!"

The seven of us proceeded to exit through the front entrance of the Tower of Blood.