Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) (27 page)

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Even though he hadn't slammed on the brakes, Lotinger felt the Roadster flip forward when it smashed into the green truck. His head crashed into the ceiling of the ‘vette and then flung back into his seat just as fast from the hold of his seat belt. From outside the windows of the car, the Earth was a blur spinning in some direction, but exactly what direction that was, Chuck couldn't tell. Faded black pavement zoomed closer in the side window as the Roadster battered itself into the road and lay still. After a moment of delirium, a quick analysis of his situation told Lotinger that his left arm was broken, his head had suffered a definite blow, and likely both of his ankles were sprained. Biting his lip through the pain, he reached with his right hand under his broken arm and unlatched his seatbelt with excruciating, deliberate movements. Then he pulled his right arm free from his mangled left arm and reached for the rearview mirror. It was just out of his reach at first. But as he stretched upward, his arm aching, his middle finger was able to get a slight hold on the black plastic casing. Eventually he was able to pull it little by little until he could get the rest of his fingers over it and began to pull himself tediously upward.

His right arm swelled with screaming pain as he lifted himself up from the door of the Roadster. When he was able to put his first foot down, he was ready for the pain that shot into his ankle. In fact it was nothing compared to the arm, making it almost easy to stand on. But easy as it was, it was not very sturdy. He found his balance severely altered once he stood on both of his feet. Between lifting with his foot on the gear shift and pulling himself up with his one good arm by the side mirror, he was able to pull himself out of the car. By then, the sun was out completely and the full light of it blinded him for a moment as he lay hanging half out of and hunched over the passenger door of the horizontally sitting Corvette.

After a few moments, when his sight returned, he continued pulling himself the rest of the way out of the ‘vette. He remembered the small tracking device he had been using to pursue his current prey. He knew instantly it was in neither of his pockets, the last place he had remembered it being was in the passenger seat. He looked back down into the ‘vette and saw nothing resembling the tiny gadget. He tried to fight back his fury that he might not be able to find it and might not be able to complete his mission. The thought of disappointing his master flooded him with pure hatred for himself. It was, after all, completely his fault, and he deserved to be punished for it. After envisioning all the horrible ways he deserved to be slaughtered, he finally was able to focus on looking for the device. He dropped down from the bottom side of the car landing on his feet, but springing forward from the impact and banging his head on the car's all but shiny muffler.

He rubbed his head lamely and began scanning around the car for the device. He found that when he swung too quickly, his left arm tried to shoot outward and jarred his entire existence. So, he held onto it gently with his good hand when he needed to swing himself around in a hurry. He searched the ground of the entire perimeter around the car and the scene of the accident with no luck. He focused farther outward from the accident, letting his eyes adjust to the change in focus when he noticed a speck in his peripheral on the hood of the truck, just under where he was looking. He let his eyes slide over the speck and focus, but he couldn't make it out very well. He moved closer and no sooner had he confirmed it was the device than it started to vibrate wildly. He picked it up and quickly navigated through its menu to see what it was trying to tell him. He grinned wide when he found what he was looking for. The device was telling him with its vibrations and blinking lights that his target was within a mile radius now.

He put the device in his pocket, grabbed his bad arm, turned around, and dashed for the trunk of the Roadster. He no longer had the keys to the car anymore as he headed toward it. He was hoping against hope that the trunk would have opened from the jolt of the accident. When he got to it, it was tight as a drum and he began slamming his non-mangled side into it with no results. He looked around for some sort of way to break it open. He sure as hell wasn't going to give up now. He got inside the cab of the truck and started looking around for any kind of tool he could use. There was nothing there, so he opened the compartments attached to the bed of the truck. The first two, he was unable to budge the cover, but the third opened freely for him. Inside, shinier than the shiniest of metal weapons, sat a long tire iron of gleaming silver. Chuck could see his own gruesome, stretched-out reflection in its base. He grabbed it with his one good hand and spun it around between his fingers. It twirled like a baton, sliding swiftly between his fingers as though it were a ball bearing already greased. Great pleasure filled him as the tire iron spun in his hand, and he began to whistle cheerfully. When he finally opened up the trunk, he ended up having to put his right leg into it along with his one good arm, but it gave sure enough. He pulled a single long, thick, black case out of the trunk and slung it by its strap over his shoulder. Then he pulled out the device and began following its directions until he was as close as the Emperor would allow him to get. Then he found himself a nice sized dune to set up behind.

He laid the case down on its side and opened the latches along its front. Inside the case were fitted pockets with pieces of his long range sniper's rifle and its many attachments for various different convenient uses. He sat down in the sand, crossed his legs, and started piecing the rifle together with his one hand, using his lap and legs for leverage. Once the rifle was complete, he attached the scope. Looking through it, he scanned the area where the navigation device claimed that Hank Evans was currently located. Sure enough, there he was. It only took a second to focus in on him. He was flailing about like a fish in the sand. Chuck Lotinger growled. He certainly wasn't going to get a good shot if the man wouldn't sit still. He watched the strange motions the man made as he rocked back and forth and kicked wildly at the sand.

"What the hell is he doing?" he asked the desert as if it had a logical answer for him. The man's kicking slowed and eventually he plopped to the ground. This was even worse. Now, he was lying so close to the ground that Chuck could barely see him. A renewed hope came to mind. Maybe Evans would just lie there, and Chuck would have to go and do the job by hand. Maybe that would be a good enough excuse for the Emperor. And just as quickly as this idea excited him to his very core with possibility, the man sat up. Then he jumped to his feet and began to spin around and shout. Lotinger had heard of people succumbing to the mirages of the desert before. Usually after dehydrating in the sun for hours, the mind could do all kinds of things to try and come to terms with its inevitable situation. But then, after a long moment of hysterics, the man stood completely still and took a deep breath. And as he exhaled with a huge smile on his face, Chuck Lotinger took the moment, lest it not return, fired a single shot into Hank's heart, and watched as the man's body crumpled to the ground.

Chapter 22

Toby's Last Stand

M
r. Sandburn took it upon himself to personally escort Toby to dinner that evening. Toby was unable to keep his eyes off the TV screen as he followed Mr. Sandburn to the table in the far back of the cafeteria. With a senior staff member present, the rest of the boys behaved like saints. But Toby barely noticed. He was too busy nervously awaiting the list of
Penitents
, as they had been called for years now. He was torn between feeling morbidly hopeless and desperately optimistic. And though Mr. Sandburn had spoken previously as though he had compassion for what Toby was going through, he didn't seem to care what Toby was about to experience. Either that, or he had forgotten, which wasn't much better in Toby's mind. The news focused on the continuing drop in crime throughout the nation, the record high employment rate, and most of all, all the good things the
Imperial
Church
and its leader, Emperor Caesar, had been accomplishing for the great American Empire. Toby couldn't help but think that anyone with half a brain had to be able to see through the obvious layer of propaganda. But he had watched many people, children and adults alike, sit drone-like as the TV told them how to think about their mighty Empire and its God. Even some of the smartest people he had met in his life bought into the belief that their role as a citizen was to help keep
America
holy and pure from what the Emperor called the
iniquity of liberty
.

"Coming up after the break, what you've been waiting for all week. The list of
Penitents
is in, which, as always, brings about the perfect time to praise our great Emperor for the safety that we all share, and to remember what happens to those who do evil deeds and live sinfully within the walls of the holiest nation on Earth," the news anchor said sternly. The break consisted of a ten-minute-long sermon performed by the Emperor himself, on the virtues of attending the weekly Imperial Church services and drinking the weekly communion, which the Empire claimed would not only run your cup over in the happiness department, but would also help to spread patriotism and holiness throughout the land. The sermon ended in prayer and Toby was forced to bow his head with all of the other boys and staff members. When it was over, the news anchor returned to the sound of triumphant orchestral music to read off the names and the offenses of the
Penitents
who had died the night prior.

"Jared Rodriguez, 19, who committed the robbery of a
Gainesville
,
Florida
grocery store.
Roger Compton, 36, who committed the murder of a
Columbus
,
Ohio
man," and the list went on as Toby heard nothing but meaningless words, waiting for the cue that his father's name would bring. But suddenly, as if he had awoken from a trance, Mr. Sandburn stood up from his seat and strode toward the TV hanging from the upper wall. Toby sat paralyzed, unsure of whether he really wanted to stop him or not. But James Henderson wasn't quite so unsure. He moved quickly up to Sandburn, attempting to take his attention from what he was doing. Toby couldn't hear what the boy was saying, but he could tell from James's expression that he was laying it on thick as an innocent query of the utmost importance. Sandburn lingered for only a moment and motioned for James to talk as he walked with him towards the television set. Then without hesitation he turned off the TV as the name "Alex" and a last name that Toby thought started with a "C" was being listed. As Sandburn was focused on what he was doing, James gave one glaring look at Toby.

It didn't seem a stretch at this point to think that it was probably James who had left him his death threat that afternoon. He thought about how he should feel about that. He certainly didn't have the strength to fight, but he still had enough hope that he did not want to just lay down and die. Even though he wanted to know the truth so badly, he was sure that if he had heard the rest of those names, his father's would have been listed, and that little glimmer of hope would be completely gone. He wanted to hold onto it, no matter how impossible it seemed. When Mr. Sandburn returned to sit beside him again, he apologized to Toby for forgetting about the program and offered to pray with him for his father's soul. In any other situation Toby might have been angry with the man, but he had to give Mr. Sandburn credit for turning off the television, and whether purposely or not, helping to retain what little hope Toby had left.

After Mr. Sandburn decided that Toby wasn't going to eat his dinner, he led Toby back to his room. A newfound hope in the man caused Toby to plead his case again.

"Sir, someone left a death threat in my room for me earlier today. I know it was James Henderson, sir. You have to believe me."

Mr. Sandburn sighed and looked at Toby solemnly.

"Toby, there is no way any of the other boys could possibly get into your room. It is kept under constant watch. I know this has been a trying time for you, and I hope that you will get some rest and seek guidance in your prayers. Lord Caesar is merciful and is always waiting to heal those in need," the man said.

Toby could only look at the poor man with disdain. He wanted to have the energy to shake him and ask how he could say such things of the very man who had set the laws in motion which took his father to that very city in the first place. But instead, he lowered his head, and when Mr. Sandburn opened the door, Toby walked into his room and collapsed into the bed.

Toby awoke to the sound of many voices he couldn’t quite make out at first. He opened his eyes but saw only darkness. The voices continued in a dull, indistinct reverberation in the background. The sound was so confusing that he couldn't tell if it was far away or right in front of him. He attempted to call out for help but found he could only make an indistinguishable noise, and that it hurt his jaw quite profoundly to even do that. He was not surprised to find his babbling returned with laughter from the voices he could tell were in the same room with him. There had to be at least ten of them. Another painful sound escaped Toby's mouth as he reflexively cried out in fear.