Blac Vampire: Zombie Apocalypse

Dahir Adewale grimaced as he crawled his way out of the mud. The Hunters had been on his trail the night before, and the only way to escape them and the coming sunlight was to immerse himself in the grime. Even after nearly three centuries of vampiric existence, Dahir still had his sensibilities. The son of old-school Nigerian nobility, he carried himself with style and grace wherever he went. To be reduced to this irked him...

"Fuck Florida and fuck the damn swamps," Dahir muttered to himself as he exited the mud. The Nigerian vampire scanned his surroundings. The Hunters were gone. The Everglades were alive with the sounds of the night. Raccoons. Small deer. Rabbits. Bobcats. The area was full of such critters. As Dahir waded through the swamp, he made sure to watch out for the apex predators of the area. Everyone knows that alligators and invasive pythons are locked in a war of supremacy over the Everglades. Dahir didn't want to be a casualty.

Seventy-two hours ago, Dahir was living it up in Miami, having the time of his un-life. Staying at the Marina View Hotel, Dahir was soaking up the nightlife. The San Alberto Casino was the perfect spot for such activities. Dahir went in, decked out in a sharp business suit. The tall, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome Nigerian man walked into the casino like he owned the place. The ladies stared, as did the men. The staff smiled. They knew a high-roller when they saw one.

With ten thousand dollars in his pocket, Dahir went to play cards with some Russian fellas. Dmitri, Karpov and Sergei were newcomers to Miami and they were trying their luck. A card shark with centuries of experience, Dahir fleeced the hell out of the unfortunate Russians. Dahir left the casino seventy thousand dollars richer. He intended to return to his hotel and perhaps order a sexy female companion for the night. There were lots of gorgeous female escorts available. Yeah, Dahir was looking for a good time. Fate had other plans.

"You uppity negro, you cheated us," Dmitri said as he approached Dahir as he awaited his Uber in the parking lot. The stocky, red-haired Russian gangster glared angrily at the Nigerian vampire. Dahir forced himself to be calm. Dmitri was packing heat, as were his buddies Karpov and Sergei. The fuckers didn't know what they were dealing with, and they were in for a surprise. Raising his hands in the air the moment Dmitri flashed his Glock, Dahir smiled impassively at the three Russian gangsters.

"Gentlemen, you made a mistake," Dahir began, and he didn't get to finish. Like the worst imitation of Kanye, the three Russian gangsters interrupted his speech with a hail of gunfire. Dahir went down for the count, or so it seemed. Dmitri stood over him, and Dahir did his best to look dead. Vampires don't breathe and have no pulse, but most humans don't know that since they don't believe vampires exist. If Dmitri had bothered to blow Dahir brains out, he might have lived a little longer. Oh well...

"Get the cash and let's go," Sergei said sharply. The tall, bald-headed and green-eyed Russian gangster looked around while Dmitri and Karpov retrieved the cash. Dahir counted to thirty, and then let out a ferocious roar. Surging to his feet, the Nigerian vampire waded into the three Russian gangsters. Bullets made out of lead bother vampires about as much as mosquito bites bother ordinary humans. Dahir raked his claws across Sergei's throat, and blood shot out like a fountain. He ripped his fist through Sergei's abdomen and snapped Karpov's neck as he tried to shoot him. Yeah, the whole thing took ten seconds.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Dahir said as he took the cash, along with the contents of Sergei, Karpov and Dmitri's wallets. Zipping up his suit to hide the bloody stains, Dahir sauntered away. The vampire didn't worry about witnesses. The Undead don't appear on camera, or mirrors. Not even cellphone cameras can capture their likeness. Dahir returned to the Marina View Hotel, took a shower and then watched the news. Feeling bored, Dahir ordered himself some entertainment of the carnal sort.

If Dahir had paid attention to the news, he would have learned that Miami Police had its hands full with an outbreak of violence. People exhibiting animalistic behavior were all over the news. Ordinary men and women were attacking their friends, family members and total strangers. The cops and hospital workers had a nightmare on their hands. There was even talk of involving the U.S. Army National Guard to help quell the unrest. Some people thought a new kind of drug was behind the unrest and the violence. They were dead wrong.

An hour later, the escort showed up at Dahir's hotel room door. Tall, curvy, brown-skinned and dark-haired, Miss Candy Noir had that exotic look common to Afro-Caribbean women. A lot of them were black mixed with white or black mixed with Native American. Whatever. Miss Candy Noir looked great in a early 2000s Alicia Keys kind of way. The black jacket, red tank top and black leather pants hugged her curvy body in fetching ways.

"Hello, I'm Candy Noir," said the ravishing young woman. Dahir smiled at Candy Noir and welcomed her inside. Over the next hour, the two of them made love on the bed, in the bathroom and even on the balcony. The big-booty, brown-skinned beauty had passion and energy. Dahir savored every moment he spent with her. Candy Noir was a lot of fun. The four hundred dollars that Miss Candy Noir charged was money well-spent as far as Dahir was concerned.

"Have a pleasant evening," Dahir said, and he even handed Miss Candy Noir an additional hundred as she reached the door. Smiling pleasantly, Miss Candy Noir thanked Dahir, took the cash and exited. Feeling good, Dahir went back to bed. The Nigerian vampire turned on the TV and watched the news. Sure enough, there was a report about the bodies found in the casino parking lot. Of course, there were no witnesses and security camera footage revealed nada. Dahir was half-relieved. Miami Police wouldn't know what they were dealing with. The Hunters would...

Dahir spent the next day resting and recovering. With heavy sheets draped over the hotel bedroom windows, Dahir was safe from the lethal rays of the sun. When Dahir awoke the following evening, shortly after sundown, he was hungry. Vampires have the ability to regenerate, but it's all contingent on their intake of fresh human blood. In his heyday, back in Port Harcourt, Nigeria, Dahir and his fellow vampires had it made. The local criminal syndicate marveled at the vampires power and influence. They kept them supplied in fresh human blood harvested from their enemies.

When Dahir came to America a few years ago, he had to start from the bottom like most immigrants. The American vampires had their well-established places of power, and their great houses. As a clan-less vampire, Dahir was tolerated but not welcomed. The Nigerian-American vampires that Dahir encountered were few and far in between. They weren't well-organized, lacking both numbers and powers. Due to those circumstances, Dahir became a drifter. He hoped to amass enough power and money to create a clan made up exclusively of Nigerian American vampires...

Driven by hunger, Dahir walked the streets of Miami. The Floridian night was hot, almost hotter than Port Harcourt, Nigeria, would be this time of year. Dahir wandered all over the place. He wasn't just watching out for Miami Police. The Nigerian vampire knew that there were lots of vampires in Miami and they wouldn't be thrilled that an unaffiliated undead stranger was hunting on their turf. Oh, and there was also the problem of the Hunters...

A hundred years ago, the leaders of the vampire world got together with the kings, queens, prime ministers and presidents of the human world. The Pact was signed, guaranteeing the vampires safety as long as they didn't actively hunt humans. Networks were created in order to provide affiliated and registered vampires with fresh human blood. The Pact was observed by most vampires. When certain vampires broke the Rules of the Pact, by killing humans and feeding on them, the Hunters were deployed.

"Fitz, I know you cheated with Stacey, fuck you, asshole," came a feminine voice. In a dark alley, not far from San Giacomo Avenue in the South End of Miami, two people were arguing. A feisty, dark-haired young white woman was arguing angrily with a tall, demure-looking young black man. The fellow raised his hands in the air in a contrite manner while the young woman kept bumping his chest. Dahir walked up to them and stopped about ten meters away, watching the scene.

"Ramona, please, I didn't cheat," said Fitz. Dahir watched the scene and shook his head. Even if the Nigerian vampire lived to be a thousand years old, some things would never change. Women accusing men of cheating, and then acting out in anger while society expects the man to stoically endure the abuse without defending himself. Double standards much? Abusive men are punished and abusive women are excused. Dahir didn't care to saddled up with a jealous, insecure female whether she was human or undead. As a human and as a vampire, Dahir paid for sex and avoided relationships. Life was simpler that way...

"Well, what's going on here?" Dahir asked, and both Ramona and Fitz stopped arguing as they suddenly became aware of him. In the third decade of the twenty-first century, with technology everywhere, humans believe they rule the world. Of course, there are things that go bump in the night. Dahir smiled as Ramona and Fitz looked him up and down. To them, Dahir looked like a tall, handsome black man who spoke with the faintest traces of a West African accent.

"Stop the fuck out of this, asshole, or I will call the cops," Ramona hissed, and Dahir smiled. If Dahir still possessed a conscience, he would have felt bad for Fitz. Life is too short to waste it with a woman like Ramona. Oh well. Dahir was hungry and these two were...convenient. Chancing a glance backwards, Dahir made sure he had privacy for what was to come. Dahir's eyes turned bright yellow, his teeth elongated and sharpened, as did his nails. His handsome features twisted in something feral and downright animalistic.

"Unlike the cops, I don't discriminate," Dahir said as he went after them. Ramona cried out while Fitz whipped out a knife. Most humans were usually terrified when confronted with the unnatural. Dahir grabbed Fitz by the throat and tossed him against the alley wall. Before Fitz hit the ground, Dahir went after Ramona. To her credit, the young woman was halfway through pulling a gun out of her purse. Dahir ripped the gun out of Ramona's hand and sank his fangs into her neck.

"No," Fitz cried out as Dahir drained Ramona then snapped her neck. Tossing Ramona's lifeless body aside, Dahir went after the young African American man. Fitz put up a fight but Dahir possessed the strength of ten men. After breaking the young man's neck, Dahir feasted on his blood. Like Sergei, Karpov and Dmitri, these two wouldn't be coming back. A vampire must always clean up after himself or herself ( once the feeding is done ) otherwise the world will be overrun with undead.

Fitz and Ramona were tossed into a nearby dumpster. Feeling invigorated, Dahir continued his nighttime stroll. An hour later, as Dahir neared a bar called Soldado's Place, he was approached by a trio of humans in nondescript black clothing. A young white guy with purple hair, a blonde chick with short hair and a tall, athletic black man. All three drew pistols from their dark overcoats. Dahir could smell the silver in the guns chambers. Instantly, the Nigerian vampire realized he was dealing with the Hunters.

"Dahir Adewale, by order of the Hunters, in pursuant of the Pact's Edict Seventeen, you are under arrest, cooperation means containment, resistance means death," said the tall black fellow. He appeared to be the leader. The Latino guy and the blonde chick had their fingers on their respective triggers. Their guns were aimed right at Dahir's head and chest. Unlike the unfortunate Russian gangsters from the casino, the Hunters knew a vampire's weak points.

"Um, fuck you," Dahir retorted, and the Nigerian vampire took off into the night. The Hunters gave chase. Dahir ran, and headed for a nearby parking lot. A tall black guy and a chubby, red-haired white woman stepped out of a Rav4. Dahir snatched the keys, shoved the couple aside and leapt into the car. Pulling out of the lot, Dahir fled, determined to evade the Hunters. True to form, the Hunters gave chase. Hunting down and either imprisoning or eliminating vampires who broke the Pact was their sworn duty.

Dahir fled, not caring where he was going. The Hunters gave chase. Dahir drove away from Miami, knowing there was no place in the city for him to hide. The local vampires wouldn't shelter Dahir because he was a stranger, and also because they were in all likelihood the kind of undead wimps who obeyed the Rules of the Pact. Dahir fled toward the Everglades, with the Hunters in hot pursuit in their Pickup truck. Forty two miles and almost an hour later, Dahir arrived in the Everglades. The Nigerian vampire fled into the woods...

Dahir contemplated his fate as he walked through the swamp. A dull roar and a rustling sound startled the vampire. In the water, something thrashed wildly. With his preternaturally keen night vision, Dahir watched as an alligator and a Burmese python battled. The nineteen-foot, 470-kilogram alligator fought fiercely against the twenty-three-foot, 250-pound Burmese python. The python wrapped itself around the alligator, but the alligator's massive jaws clamped down on the snake's mid-section. With a sickening crunch, the alligator ripped the Burmese python in half.

"Bon appetit," Dahir said to the victorious alligator as it fed on the slain Burmese python. The Nigerian vampire continued to walk through the darkness. Suddenly, the vampire sniffed the air and smiled. The scent of man was the most appetizing scent of all. Dahir headed in the direction of the scent. One mile and a few minutes later, Dahir came to a clearing. A group of people were gathered by a campfire. There were a couple of tents nearby. Dahir salivated at the thought of feasting on the campers. Suddenly, Dahir tensed. Something was wrong...

Out of the darkness they came. Shambling figures. A mature white male with a ratty hat and overalls. A middle-aged white woman. A young Asian woman. All three were dirty. They emitted low, guttural moans as they approached the campers. Dahir sniffed the air while watching the scene. Those damn rednecks didn't smell right. For starters, they smelled...dead. Not Dahir's kind of dead, which was the undead variety. Nope, those fuckers smelled dead, as in they should be in their graves. What the fuck?

The campers screamed as the three shambling creatures came for them. A young Latin woman tried to fight them with a baseball bat but they pulled her down and bit her. A young white guy with blond hair tried to intervene. He also got bit. The black couple they had been camping with also met the same fate. Dahir watched as the shambling creatures feasted on the campers. After a few moments, they stopped feasting. Disgusted, Dahir finally stepped into the clearing.

"What the fuck are you?" Dahir demanded as he looked at the three shambling creatures. The things reminded Dahir of a Ving Rhames zombie movie he watched a long time ago. They were zombies. The living dead. The zombies surrounded the Nigerian vampire. The creatures sniffed Dahir curiously but did not attack him. Dahir looked at the four bodies that the zombies had been feasting on. What a waste. Moments later, the four campers reanimated, and joined the three that had savagely attacked and partially devoured them. The seven zombies stalked off into the night.

Scratching his head, Dahir wondered what to make of this. The Nigerian vampire had been around since 1790, having become a vampire in 1767 at the age of twenty five. He had seen much in his almost three centuries of existence, as both a human and a vampire. Dahir believed zombies to be works of fiction, like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. The vampire couldn't deny the evidence before him, though. The campers had been fed upon and then reanimated. Ipso-facto, they were zombies.

Filled with a sense of dread, Dahir walked back toward civilization. There were a lot of screams in the night, and the sound of police sirens and fire department trucks. Oh, and the obligatory ambulance sirens of course. Dahir reached Everglade City, and found it chaotic. Somehow, during the past twenty-four hours, a lot of Florida's cities were under attack from the hordes of slow-moving, flesh-eating undead. Sighing, Dahir shrugged. This whole thing was unreal.

"This is some bullshit," Dahir said to himself as he contemplated his next move. The zombie apocalypse was happening, which meant that he and his fellow vampires had competition. Sure, a lot of vampires probably welcomed the chaos since it meant the Hunters were occupied but they would soon realize their mistake. The zombies were a threat to both humans and vampires. If the zombies ate all the humans, what would the vampires feed on? Dahir pondered those things as he hid in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, shortly before dawn. Life just got harder for the world's blood suckers...