"Shit," Galveston Moor said to himself. The six-foot-two, dark-skinned and burly African American fellow looked at the television set inside Harry's Pub. The New England Evening News was on, and like every other patron in the pub, Galveston couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. There was an outbreak of a disease, and whatever it was, it was transmitted through bites and turned ordinary people into violent maniacs. All of this cut a bit too close to home. If Galveston's heart still beat, it would have thundered. Mercifully, his pulse didn't quicken. The man has been Undead for well over two centuries, after all.
Harry's Pub, located on Main Street in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, has been one of Galveston's favorite watering holes for ages. Located down the street from the courthouse, the public library and the local YMCA, Harry's Pub has a reputation as a rowdy establishment. Harry Brown, the owner, a tall, fifty-something black man, stood behind the counter, eyes glued to the television. Across from him, a red-haired young white woman and her Latino boyfriend talked while looking at their cellphones. Nothing unusual there. Today's generation is all about social media presence and constant entertainment. They wouldn't notice an asteroid until it hit them.
"Can you believe this shit?" Refika Mehmet asked, shaking her head. Galveston shot Refika a look. He was still processing it all, and hadn't exactly asked for her input. Refika licked her lips and frowned. When the old guy gets like this, it was best to give him his space. Several of the pub's male patrons and some of the women looked at Refika. The young woman ignored them. Prey can wait. The news program changed to a developing story in Nashua, New Hampshire. Apparently, the New Hampshire State Police was dealing with a development situation involving some violent maniacs.
Galveston pried his gaze from the television and looked at Refika. Five feet nine inches tall, curvy and fit, with golden brown skin and long, curly dark hair, Refika is as alluring as she is dangerous. Born in the City of Malatya, Turkey, to a Turkish father and an African mother, Refika was the daughter of two worlds and a wild one. Ten years ago, Refika was working as a model in the City of Paris, France, when she got caught in a feud between rival Vampire houses. One of those Vampire houses was led by Master Vitar, an old enemy of Galveston's. After a series of events too complicated to get into, Galveston turned Refika into a Vampire. They'd been roaming together ever since.
"If what the news report says is true, we're all in deep trouble," Galveston said glumly. He gulped down his bourbon and then asked for another. Harry the bartender grinned and poured Galveston another cup. Galveston had been coming to this particular establishment for years. Refika, like a dutiful fledgling, followed her Vampire Master everywhere. Galveston could be crude and taciturn but by Undead standards, he was a decent man.
"Gal, do you know something the rest of us don't, buddy?" Harry the bartender asked, and Galveston flashed the man a wan smile. When Galveston first set foot in the pub, more than fifteen years ago, Harry was a recently divorced Jamaican immigrant trying to run a business. Galveston fronted Harry the cash he needed to open the pub, and the two became business partners. Galveston stayed on as a silent partner. Harry was decent, and didn't ask too many questions. He never even brought up the fact that Galveston didn't seem to age. Imagine that. What a guy...
"I think I've watched too much Walking Dead or Resident Evil," Galveston said mirthlessly, and he raised his glass to Harry, who nodded. Refika watched the two men, and slowly let out her breath. Even after being a Vampire for a decade, the young woman still couldn't get used to not breathing. The Undead do not breathe, and their hearts do not beat. Vampire skin feels cold to the touch, and they drink blood to survive. Their systems cannot tolerate solid foods, though they love alcohol and other beverages. Such is the life of the Undead...
"There's nothing about these things being like zombies, could be maniacs strung out on PCP," Refika said haughtily. Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully and nodded. Galveston looked at Refika and bit back a stiff reply. Among the Undead, newbie Vampires are supposed to show deference to their Vampire Masters, but Refika is a feisty, opinionated sort. That's what Galveston gets for turning a millennial woman into one of the Undead. Galveston silently grumbled, wondering what possessed him to turn Refika into one of the Undead. Eternity isn't for everyone...
"Whatever these things are, they're going to make life harder for everyone, us and the humans," Galveston said quietly. Refika smiled and shrugged, then took a sip of her whiskey. Even as a mortal, Refika had a high tolerance for alcohol and a lot of other things that weren't exactly good for you. At the age of twenty one, Refika had been one of the top models in the City of Paris, France. She had the face, body and booty that modeling agencies simply dreamed of. Refika had been on top of the world. Hollywood directors wanted to get her into movies. Everyone wanted a piece of her. Of course, all that came to an end after Refika became a Vampire. That last bit changed everything...
"Do you think we need to worry about them?" Refika asked, and Galveston licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. In his two centuries plus of existence, Galveston has roamed the world and seen much of its beauty and danger. The Vampire world is small, and dangerous. Worldwide, there are perhaps five to ten thousand Vampires, scattered across various countries and territories. The Undead don't get along with their own kind, but adhere to a strict set of rules to prevent chaos and conflict. Such is the way of the Vampire...
Powerful memories tugged away at Galveston's consciousness, and his mind slipped into memory lane. When Galveston became a Vampire, more than two centuries ago, he'd been a former slave. In his mid-thirties, Galveston escaped the Texan plantation where he'd been born and tried to flee to the North. While roaming the Midwestern wilderness, a starving, desperate Galveston came across a strange woman. The tall, bronze-skinned and dark-haired lady appeared to be Native American, but Galveston would soon learn that she was much more than she appeared. The Vampires were everywhere, and humans often encounter them without realizing it...
"Don't be afraid, lad, I am Luna of the Navajo," said the strange, eerily beautiful Native American woman. Galveston, who'd been hiding in the woods, hesitated. Luna smiled and waved at him, beckoning for him to come closer. Galveston joined Luna at her fire, and met her and her horse Thundercloud. The strange woman welcomed Galveston by her fire, and offered him the meat of a rabbit she'd killed. Galveston humbly accepted.
"Thank you for your generosity Miss Luna," Galveston replied, and as Luna looked on, he hungrily wolfed down the rabbit meat. With his hunger sated, Galveston looked at his host. The lady wore elegant feminine attire that was nevertheless practical. Luna carried a rifle, a machete and a knife, and seemed quite adept at using all three. Galveston had seen Native American scouts come by his former Master Jefferson Moor's plantation, located near Austin. They were something else. He'd always been fascinated by them.
"What is your name, my friend?" Luna asked, and Galveston told her without hesitation. He was half-naked, dog-tired and stank to high heaven, but Luna seemed to welcome his presence. As the night rolled on, Galveston shared his tale with Luna. The life of a slave in pre-Civil War Texas was a living hell, and Galveston ran away even though he knew he'd be marked for death. Slave owners fear runaway slaves more than the plague. Galveston's likeness was put up on billboards across Texas, and there was a reward for his capture or execution. Galveston wasn't just a runaway slave, he was also a wanted man.
"I want to make it to the North, to freedom," Galveston said to Luna, who smiled and nodded. the two of them talked throughout the night, getting to know each other. Luna told Galveston about her life among the Navajo people, and spoke of how the Americas were before the arrival of the white man. Galveston was intrigued because, well, Luna appeared to be in her forties, and therefore, couldn't have known about that era. Of course, he refrained from saying so. Ladies were sensitive about their age, even an uneducated rogue like Galveston knew that...
