Genocide to Genesis

Genocide to Genesis

By Eli Ashpence

Copyright 2011 Eli Ashpence

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

For an immortal like Val, the aftermath of the so-called ‘apocalypse’ was just another curious--and inevitable--sequence of events. Humans had no idea how predictable they were. The rise and fall of civilization was nothing more than a page in his life. World War Three was a mere sentence.

The first children of the new world had been the signal his days of hiding were coming to a close once more. It was the sixth time in his life he’d an opportunity to walk openly among humans and he hoped this time would be more lasting. How could he not hope when the man sitting next to him had no ears and the woman who wanted to hear one of his stories had a third eye? With every new mutated child who grew up and took on the mantle of humanity, self-styled vampires were far down the list of things to blink twice at. Unfortunately, it also meant he got no respect.

I'm starting to miss the years where I was feared, he groaned, plunking his beer mug down on the bar. Turning to the man next to himself in hopes of getting a reply, he hung his head in defeat after only a glance. No ears, he reminded himself. It was time to go home. He wasn't in the mood for memory lane and the conversation would be too one-sided if he stayed. Getting drunk just to be drunk was an option, but he had work in the morning.

Even vampires had to pay bills.

Throwing several barter tokens down on the bar, he gathered his jacket and headed for the door. Wading through the quiet crowd of alcoholics, he held back on the inclination to snap a few necks. He could do it so easily, but it was completely meaningless. Killing one room full of cockroaches would only aggravate the rest into attacking and he didn't feel like being run out of another city. Also, they might hit back and getting punched would hurt.

Val was rewarded for his patience as soon as he stepped outside and looked to the sky. One year after the smoke had settled from World War Three, he'd seen his first painless sunset through a thick barrier of dirt and fallout. It was actually said to be a miracle, because everyone had expected the surface of the world to burn from the sun before nuclear winter had suddenly canceled out Mother Nature's wrath.

An act of god, he scoffed. Shaking his head, Val stuffed his hands in his pockets and stumbled in the direction of his office. The irony was laughable. Mankind had destroyed the world's climate through negligence, then they gave credit to an invisible benefactor when they survive due to more negligence.

Although, he had to admit there was something particularly divine about the sight. The unwrinkled curtain overhead shone from atmospheric fallout and was completely untouched by weather currents, almost as if it were a giant hand hovering with indecision. The skyscrapers in the center of the city seemed like scaffolds built to hold the hand at bay and the ghettos making up Val’s part of town were nothing more than piles of discarded masonry, crawling with mindless ants and worms who would live and die without ever feeling the heat of the bare sun.

Pleasantly waving to one such worm as he passed an apartment building overtaken by thugs and their pitiful excuses of trophy-women, he noticed how the gazes of those hanging out the windows were focused upward to check the weather. The temperature always dropped rapidly once the sun was down, but the wind brought him the scent of burnt rubber and clay--a warning that another dust storm would pass during the night. That was good news for him. There was always some fool who got caught out in it and was reported missing in the morning. When the pathetic excuse for police showed no effort to find someone likely to be dead, the family would show up on the doorstep of Vampire Val, Private Detective.

It made him chuckle when he looked up to see the sign over his office door. He'd managed to steal enough barter tokens off of radiation-poisoned corpses in his travels to legitimately buy the abandoned building nearly eighty years ago. The brick walls were sturdy enough to withstand the worldwide Dust Bowl and the size was twice what he needed. Unfortunately, the location was in the poorest part of the ghetto--only three blocks away from the trash heap--but he was fine with that. It meant more of his clients were willing to pay with a pint of blood when they didn't have money. Not only did his work bring him amusing diversions, but he got free meals out of it, too.

His only question was which of the two was knocking on his security door with such a worried look on his face--a diversion or a meal.

He's not home, Val called. His would-be visitor spun in place and Val became even more curious than before. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Not only was he clean-shaven with pressed clothing, but he didn't have a visible mutation to speak of. There was always the possibility he had it hidden somewhere under his clothing, but Val didn't think so. His bearing was too proud and his body language marked him as one of the wealthy elites. The impression was only verified when the man opened his mouth to speak. The fact he had all of his teeth meant he had clean water and a radiation shielded bedroom. He was definitely in the wrong part of the city.

Do you know when he'll be back? the man asked with a tremor of fear cracking his voice. Val found his interest spiral upward. What could bring a rich, healthy man into the lower reaches of the city? He had to be scared out of his mind, thinking he was going to be mugged at any moment. He was also clueless to have left his home with a dust storm coming.

Eventually. Val shrugged in the decision to play a little game on his guest. Why don't we go inside and wait on him?

Are you an assistant? the man asked. Val grinned and shrugged once more while he punched in the security code for his front door. His guest waited meekly with several glances up and down the street, obviously expecting something to jump out at him. Val could almost visualize the proverbial tail between his legs when he darted inside once the door was open.

The interior of Val's office didn't have much in the way of furniture. It was the bare minimum required to put up a legitimate front for his work. He preferred an approach to work which didn't require mountains of meaningless paperwork, so everything other than his desk, from the filing cabinets to his briefcase, was empty. The furniture was merely part of the show he put on for humans to give them a sense of comfort.

If you want coffee, there's none here, Val warned with a gesture for his guest to take any of the seats scattered around the room. This place doesn't keep much in the way of amenities.

Because your boss only drinks blood? he asked as he took the seat in front of the desk in a prudish and proper fashion. After a quick moment of thought, Val collapsed into the seat behind the desk and put his feet up on a stack of photos, curious to see whether his guest would pick up the clue about his identity.

No, he chuckled upon seeing the man's face turn green at the thought of drinking blood. He's just too cheap to buy something others would enjoy and he hates coffee. If you want whiskey, I think there's still a bottle around here somewhere.

No thanks, he mumbled in open discomfort. Val couldn't hide his smile over it. Ninety percent of his first-time clients had such incredibly naive thoughts about what a vampire was supposed to look like. Personally, he always enjoyed squashing those stereotypes. He knew his own appearance was that of a cheerful, middle-aged mountain man, while most people imagined vampires to be young, clean-shaven, and depressed.

What's your name? Val asked.

Richard Rivals, he answered promptly. My colleagues call me Ricky. Colleagues instead of friends or buddies, Val mused. He was assuredly part of the upper elite. That was perfect. Playing with him would be more fun than the jaded criminals and poor misfits who usually came to call.

Dick, Val grinned. From now on, I'm going to call you Dick. Is that okay with you, Dick?

I-I'm not sure if that's really appropriate.

Sure it is, Val laughed. Don't be so uptight, Dick.

I'd really rather you didn't--

Let me guess why you're here, Dick, Val continued mercilessly. Tilting his head back against his chair to lounge while he thought, he kept Dick in the corner of his eye to watch as his face turned red in frustration. Your wife is cheating on you and you want me to get pictures to catch her red handed, he guessed.

No, that's not--

Your co-worker is trying to blackmail you and you want to get something on him to counter with.

No, that's--

You want information on where to find a hacked phone jack--

No, I-- Dick paused and blinked in surprise. You have that kind of information? Wait! No-- he amended, shaking his head to get the improper thoughts out of his mind. No! That's not why I'm here!

I almost had you, Val chuckled, taking the slip as a good sign. Dick might be upper-class, but he wasn't a philanthropist. By the way, hacking phone jacks is illegal, so I can't be hired to find that kind of information. Back to our guessing game, Dick. Does it have something to do with vampires? Val narrowed his eyes when Dick paled. It was too obvious. Why else would a rich elite come into the slums at night instead of sending a messenger to ask Val to visit? You want information on vampires and you don't want anyone to know you're researching them, he stated with his eyes closely watching every twitch of Dick's expression and body language.

H-How did you know, Dick said with his eyes downcast and his feet planted firmly together. The way he absently played with a manicured thumbnail gave off the impression of a child being caught in trying to tell a lie.

Give me a break, he scoffed. Dick was far too easy to read. The game was no fun when there was no chance of losing. The only ones who come here at night are the ones who actually believe my sign.

"Your sign?!" he choked in disbelief.

Catch up, Dick, Val sighed in resignation. You're lagging behind. What I want to know is why a resident of Snob Hill wants to know about my family tree? If one of my cousins scammed you for money, I'm not taking responsibility. I'll track him down and gift wrap him for you, but I expect twice my normal fee.

No, that‘s not it, he replied with a furious shake of his head. It's actually-- It's really complicated. I'm not really looking for information on vampires. It's just vampires and werewolves always seem to go together and--

Werewolves? Val repeated in surprise. Sitting up, he leaned onto his desk with his interest perked once more. I think you better start from the beginning.

Slowly, Dick told his story. Slowly, Val became certain Dick was delusional because Dick thought he was a werewolf. Since popular culture had always connected werewolves to vampires, Dick had searched Val out in belief that he would know more about them.

Val did know more about them. He'd been around for millennia, so he knew more than Dick could ever dream of, but all of Val's knowledge and all of his experience told him one thing: werewolves didn't exist. He knew he should be more open-minded to the idea, but he had years of experience to back up his cynicism. If they existed, they were as good at hiding as aliens.

However, it was all very logical from Dick's point of view. He would wake up after a night out on the town, covered in blood with his clothes ripped to pieces. When that happened, his hair had grown a couple of inches, he needed to clip his nails, and he couldn't remember anything. His drinking buddies would only tell him he'd turned into a monster. There was no way to tell first-hand whether the incidents corresponded with a full moon since the sky was always covered, but Dick's personal research said it did. Ironically, he also had an allergy to silver, a biting fetish he heatedly blushed over, and he preferred his steaks to be cooked rare.

Even so, Val softly shook his head when Dick finally said he needed to know more about his 'condition' as quickly as possible.

I think you went to the wrong place, Val sighed. The asylum is eight blocks down and two over.

I'm not making it up! Dick spluttered. I really am a werewolf! When I was twelve, I got attacked by a wolf. Afterward, I started changing! My weight kept increasing and I started growing hair all over my body!

I see, Val murmured with a slow nod, causing Dick to pause at the sudden acceptance. We vampires have a word for that.

You do?

It's called puberty, he said. His smile cracked into life once more. Even if Dick was delusional, it was fun to tease him. All of his symptoms had logical explanations. He was just a violent, black-out drunk with strange tastes. Waking up covered in blood was bound to make him self-aware. If he was a workaholic, which explained why he drank to relax, then he wouldn't notice if his hair and nails needed to be clipped until he was shocked into noticing.

The memory loss...? Dick prompted with a scowl.

Traumatic experiences can do that, Val answered solemnly. Then he took pity, feeling slightly guilty at how he'd teased the guy. I'll have to ask a friend of mine, but a drug called Sable could be to blame. It's possible you somehow got some in your system and a relapse triggers when you drink.

I see, Dick sighed as he finally loosened up enough to collapse back into his chair in relief. I'm not a werewolf. That's wonderful.

Wonderful? Val repeated in surprise. I thought you wanted to be one.

Of course not! Dick exclaimed. Who would want to be a werewolf? I've been racking my brain for two months now on how to tell my wife she might be having puppies! Val choked at the image, snorted, and finally burst into laughter. For him to have such an idiotic reason to confront a vampire was absolutely hilarious. Val hadn't come across someone so simple-minded in centuries. Even Dick cracked a smile in the aftermath of his own statement. I'm really relieved. If I'm not a werewolf, then the baby should turn out fine as long as Linda stays in an isolation tank. Is there any way you can track down a sample for me to give to my physician? I'll need to verify it’s the source of my problems and check to see if it causes any birth defects.

I can do that for a price, he agreed absently. It was too easy of a task. He'd hoped Dick would be more interesting than this, but the mystery was already solved. Dick was just another mundane human now.

You seem disappointed, Dick commented. I thought you'd be happy to have a simple case and... I can pay well.

I don't really care about the money, Val replied. I'd rather have a difficult job than an easy one. If I take on a tough job, it reminds me I'm still alive.

You're alive? I thought vampires were undead. Feeling a mischievous urge rise in him again, Val pressed two fingers to his neck to probe for an artery.

Yep, he nodded when he found his pulse. It's still going, so I'm not dead. My blood pressure seems to be a bit high, though.

"I said undead--"

Oh, wait, Val interrupted as he probed around the spot a little more. I think I feel a lump, he lied. That's just great, Dick. Thanks to you, not only do I know I have high blood pressure, but now I've got cancer. Do you know what this means?

W-What? Are you serious? I thought cancer--

Now I've got to take a walk outside when it rains again, he answered with his smile bursting back into life. Instant radiation therapy.

That's not funny, he replied with a sour scowl. I was actually worried for a moment.

Get a grip, Dick, Val taunted with a laugh. To be undead, you have to die first and I'm immune.

The asylum is eight blocks down and two over, Dick mumbled under his breath. Surprised, Val stared for a long moment into his client's clean-shaven, prudish expression. It was a retort. Maybe Dick was fun to tease, after all. If he had the guts to throw Val's words back at him, he wasn't as much of a sissy as he looked.

Congratulations, Dick, Val said in amusement. It looks like you actually have a backbone. Let me guess. You figure that if you aren't a werewolf, then vampires can't exist, either. Val stood when Dick paled once more and he took incredible pleasure in making the man nervous by slowly pacing behind his desk. Don't be naive, Dick. I wasn't really in the mood for memory lane tonight, but I'm going to tell you a little story.

Story...? Dick repeated in hesitant interest.

It's about a werewolf, he confirmed.

But I thought you said that werewolves--

Shut up and listen, Dick, Val ordered with a smirk. The year was... Val paused for a moment and tried to pull a piece of information up, only to have his memory utterly fail him. Screw it, he amended. I can't remember what year it was. We'll just say it was a long, long time ago in a village far, far away. There was this man and a woman who were forced to wed at their parent's bidding. This man was in love with two things: hunting and singing. Unfortunately, his wife was a vegetarian and he had a horrible singing voice, so neither of them were happy in their marriage. When he wanted to enjoy himself, he used the light from the full moon to sneak to a cabin in the woods. There, he could sing as much as he wanted while he ate a pile of steaks, but, as with all secrets, he was eventually caught by his wife.

What does this have to do with--

Shut up and listen, Dick, he repeated before blithely continuing. The wife bemoaned her husband's secret deeds to her neighbors by saying 'he hath changed and only by the light of the full moon will the urge take him!’ Have you ever played that repeating game, Dick? The one where you sit in a circle and pass around a sentence to see how it changes? That’s what happened with the woman's tale as it passed through the village. His unspecified change became a change in appearance. His craving for roasted meat became a thirst for blood. His singing became howling and, by the time it returned to the wife's ears, the tale was being sung of a bestial, shape-changing demon who lurked in human form and howled at the full moon like a wolf. Thus, the myth of the werewolf began.

W-What happened to the wife and the man? Dick asked with his mouth parted in awe.

No clue, Val shrugged, coming to a stop at his desk once more. I haven't made that part up yet. Dick's eyes widened in shock. With an ever-widening grin, he watched as Dick's face turned red with frustration once more. Unfortunately, he still wasn't mad enough to turn purple like Val wanted. It's a lesson, Dick, he winked. You should be more careful in what you choose to believe.

I'm going home, Dick barked as he got to his feet. Val nodded in agreement and flourishingly gestured for the door while he noted Dick's tolerance level for future reference. It was a line he had to make sure to cross again in the future.

Although, the chance was quick in coming. As soon as Dick opened the front door, it was yanked out of his hands and slammed shut by the force of the dust-storm raging outside. Dick froze in place at the sudden realization he was trapped, while staring at the door as if it had somehow betrayed him.

I've got a bed upstairs you can rent, Val offered in full knowledge that leaving the building would be equal to suicide. It's ten silver tokens a night, unless you'd rather walk home. If you don't have money, you can always pay in--

I won't let you bite me, he snapped.

--whiskey, Val finished in amusement. You've got quite the preset image of me, Dick. I hate to ruin it, but you smell like a sewer rat doused in cologne. I have much tastier and more willing ways to get my meals, so you can sleep soundly.

Assuming I'll be able to sleep, he grumbled with a suspicious glare. Alright. I'll pay you. It's not like I have a choice. Just add it to the fee for the Sable sample and wake me as soon as the storm clears.

How brave, Dick, he murmured in satisfaction. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room.

Chapter Two

Val watched over Dick while the man slept like a newborn baby in the middle of his rarely used mattress. Despite Dick's nervousness in laying down and his claims he wouldn't be able to close his eyes, he’d slipped into dream-land rather quickly. It was cute in a boy-with-a-puppy sort of way.

Since sleep was unnecessary for himself, Val decided to get work out of the way. His toy would be safe until the storm cleared in the morning and, unlike humans, having his skin torn off by sand and dirt was nothing more than a painful annoyance. A very painful annoyance, he mentally amended. It would be worth it, though. If he got work out of the way now, he would have all day tomorrow to play.

With that in mind, he quietly went to his closet and gathered the supplies he needed for a trip through the storm. The first a thicker trench-coat that could withstand the winds. A pair of goggles would do well in keeping his sight intact and an old, worn gas mask covered his mouth and nose so he wouldn't suffocate. Although, he didn't immediately put the gas mask on. After all, there was still one thing every thinking creature had to do before it did something extremely stupid--he had to down the remains of the whiskey stashed in his downstairs desk.

Thus inebriated enough to forget how painful his trip was going to be, he slipped the small mask into place, took several deep breaths to loosen himself up, threw open the front door, and jumped into the raging tempest outside.

Agony was immediate. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him was drowned out by the hissing lash of the dirt against his ears. Even through his clothing, he could feel the winds pounding into his body as if he were being lanced with thousands of needles and glass shards. Within seconds of exposing himself, the first blood was drawn as someone's discarded candy wrapper swept past his hand with enough speed to turn the thin plastic into a bullet.

Ignoring the wound, he started running in the direction of his destination. The alleyways between buildings were an immense help in blocking the winds and the sand, but the areas were like vacuums where a person could find the air sucked out of their lungs if they weren't careful.

Such was how most deaths during a dust storm would begin. First, they'd collapse due to the lack of air in the choking cloud of dirt. Then the winds would pull them into the open where the full force could cut open their flesh through a medium of dirt and litter. Finally, the vultures would be lured in with the smell of blood and would pick the corpse clean before the storm cleared.

Vultures were the reason he detested stopping when he finally had to pause from a lack of air. Tucking himself into a dead-end alley-way, Val dropped into a ball to create an air pocket with his body. Popping the seal on his gas mask, he grimaced at the distant pain he felt in his hands and on the nape of his neck. There was a tickling sensation trailing down his back, telling him the winds had already sanded off the skin. At the rate of the blood loss, he had less than five minutes before he passed out.

Hurrying so such a thing wouldn't happen, he let air gather in his mask, took a deep breath, and resealed the air-tight lock against his face. Jumping back to his feet in hopes of avoiding any unwanted confrontations, he bowed his head in defeat as soon as he looked around to check his bearings. Less than ten feet away from him, a vulture was making its way down the alley on foot since the walls were too narrow for its wingspan, attracted by the smell of an immortal‘s blood on the air. Val considered back-tracking, but he knew the carrion could out-run him even on land. The feathered, mutated bastards were worse than rabid dogs where he was concerned.

I'm not dead yet, he growled at the bird. Go find a corpse to pick at. The creature didn't respond to his orders. Its blood-red head bobbed from side to side on top of its long neck as it advanced on two dinosaur-like legs. More than birds, Val mused he hated evolution. It made him swear, yet again, to punch Darwin a few times if he ever managed to actually die.

Glancing around, he clenched his teeth at the lack of materials to fight with. He kept telling himself to buy a spear, but he never seemed to get around to it. He had no choice but to fight hand-to-hand. Preparing himself, he tried to remember all of his old hunting skills. He'd taken down bears, tigers, and an assortment of wild beasts over the millennia. An oversized, mutant bird should be nothing.

It wasn't until after he lunged forward that he belatedly remembered it'd been nearly three hundred years since he'd done something other than run away. He was out of shape and he got a sharp reminder when the vulture's pointed beak snapped down around his arm. Letting out a grunt from the pain, Val blamed the whiskey for the rash decision to attack while he fended off the clawed legs snapping up to rend him. The part that made him undeniably accept he was intoxicated was the moment he got the bright idea to punch the bird--after he'd already punched it. The vulture's beak opened to free his arm and its head shook from the strike to clear the daze from its eyes.

That actually worked, Val thought with a wide grin. Maybe vultures aren't so tough after all.

Memories of boxing in America surfaced in his mind. Fisticuffs had long become unpopular, but he'd been great at it back in its heyday. With that thought alone to spur him on, he took up his stance, raised his fists, and started punching. The vulture's long neck made it very good at weaving, but Val proudly landed a hit against the bird's forehead on the third attempt. Unfortunately, thought once again refused to catch up to him until afterward. While the vulture took two steps backward and lowered its head in shock from the blows, Val's hand finally felt the impact. His jaw dropped with a silent cry of pain at his own stupidity and he belatedly remembered vulture skulls were harder than their feathers. Not even bullets could penetrate, which was why hunters aimed for the soft spot at the base of their necks with spears.

Staring at his hand as it went numb, Val pouted at the way his fist was shattered. Then the combination of pain and whiskey turned the injury into fuel for his anger. It was the vulture's fault his hand was broken, therefore the vulture had to be punished!

Sadly, punching the vulture in revenge for his broken hand didn't turn out any better, but Val felt a surge of unmerited pride since he was smarter this time. He held back so he only broke two fingers on his good hand instead of breaking the whole thing and, having gone that far, he added another strike for good measure. However, the problem with merely punching was the speed in which the bird recovered from the shock of the first two hits. It shook it off so quickly, the third hit was completely useless.

The bird ignored the follow-up blow as its beak darted forward once more to mercilessly tear into his shoulder. Val could feel his skin tearing and his muscles ripping under the protective layer of his coat. In the time it took for him to realize how much he'd screwed up, the bird knocked him onto his back and pinned him down with its full weight.

Hey, bird, he grunted rather than struggling. You're kind of stupid. I might not be able to beat you with boxing, but I'm still a damn vampire. Grinning to himself, he slowly held up one finger in warning. Of course, the carrion didn't see it since he was trying to tear Val's shoulder off. If it had, it still wouldn't have been able to defend itself when Val’s finger darted forward to stab through the vulnerable point at the base of its throat.

The bird screamed and tried to jump off, but Val wrapped his arm around the vulture’s neck to hold it steady in a headlock. As easily as that, he won. He didn't win because he killed the beast with a skillful blow or because he overpowered it. Val won because the bird was already a meal.

He always found it amusing that humans thought sucking the life out of something must include the act of sucking their blood. Perhaps it was because they preferred to attach a physical counterpart to an intangible power, much like they attached the concept of a spirit or soul to their physical heart, but Val didn't need blood nor did he need to actually bite anyone to get his energy. A mere touch was enough.

Rather than blood, a vampire truly fed off of life itself. Anything living was a source of food for him. Whether humans called it auras, chakras, or even mana, it didn't change the reality that he didn‘t need the medium. It was only the energy itself--what he preferred to call aether--and aether could be found in every living thing.

With the single finger impaled into the bird's chest, he was able to drain the vulture's aether as if he were a sponge soaking up water. He pulled it from the avian beast with a merciless mental tug and his body only took a moment to process the meal. The influx of strength kick-started his regeneration abilities while the bird died in his arms.

When he could feel his wounds closing and the bones of his hand trying to heal, he tossed the bird's corpse aside. He had to work quickly to stay ahead of the reconstruction. One meal could make up for a month's worth of healing at a normal rate, but letting his hand heal wrong would mean he'd have to re-break the bones and find a second meal.

Stretching out his fully pulverized hand on the ground, he used his three good fingers to straighten out the bones and pound them flat. Then, after popping the seal on his mask for air once more, he hurriedly placed his other hand on the ground to straighten out his two broken fingers. Thankfully, he was able to straighten those simply by laying his hand down instead of having to pound them out and, once that was done, he waited.

The tingling on the back of his neck was maddening, but such was the healing process. His body had a hierarchy of what got healed first and skin was on the top of the list. After open wounds were closed to stop blood loss and his blood went into reproductive overdrive to make up for what was missing, his bones got the brunt of the remaining energy. He couldn't see what was going on under his skin, but he could hazard a guess from the pain. His skeleton was being rebuilt in a way humans couldn't recreate.

In less than two minutes, the bones in his hands worked as if they had never been hurt. Since he didn‘t care about anything else, he ignored the rest of the process. He'd have residual pain in the morning, but he was in no danger of dying. Of course, he couldn’t die, but that was beside the point.

Throwing the bird over his shoulder by its neck, he resealed his mask and started walking again. With the vulture's bulk shielding him from the wind, he made good time in crossing the last six blocks to his destination. No other vultures came near since his scent was covered by the dead bird's blood, so the walk was uneventful afterward.

At the end of the alley, he wiped his goggles clean in order to peer through the dirt-filled winds and he instantly knew he had the right place. It was hard to miss Sally's Emporium, even with his vision impaired. Her neon sign, like so many others, was embedded into a recessed outlet in the building next to him and was shielded by a thick plating of clear, impact-resistant plastic. Sally prided herself on the fact her store was the brightest on the street by going so far as