"When the Zombie Apocalypse began, we blood suckers were just as surprised as anyone else, I mean, we definitely did not see this shit coming" Faisal Adewale said, flashing a toothy grin, and the towering, burly and dark-skinned Nigerian Vampire smiled, then passed the binoculars to the woman next to him. He did not need the high-tech binoculars to see into the darkness, nor did he care for what they revealed to him.
"Isn't that peachy keen?" Siobhan O'Brien replied, and the tall, sturdy and red-haired Irish-American woman took a look at the landscape beyond the Rampart, and scowled. She definitely did not like what she saw. The shambling hordes of the flesh-eating zombies had them completely surrounded, and standing atop the hundred-meter-tall, four-foot-thick marvel of engineering that was the Rampart, Siobhan did not feel secure.
The fact that one thousand one hundred and seventeen men and women, strangers, and entire families, depended on Siobhan's vigilance also irked her. A facility the size of the Rampart needed a lot more security than a few people marching along the wall, clutching guns in the wintry night, trying not to think about the fact that the world had recently ended.
"They can smell us, and having more humans in one place means more zombies sniffing them out and converging on said place, every predator must have a means of detecting prey, it's elementary," Faisal offered, and Siobhan shot him a look. The Rampart, built by billionaire industrialist Jason Whitmore, had become mankind's last best hope in a world overrun by the zombies.
"You should go back inside, dawn is coming," Siobhan said, and Faisal nodded sagely, before looking at the sky, which was lightening rapidly, though it was still mostly dark. Siobhan was the only person who knew Faisal's secret, the fact that the burly and jovial Nigerian was a centuries-old Vampire. They'd met in Houston, Texas, back when Faisal was the chef at a restaurant adjacent to the apartment building where Siobhan, a second-year student at the University of Houston, happened to live.
Faisal saved Siobhan's life during the initial zombie outbreak, and they'd been together ever since. They were together when the Texas Rangers and a coalition of civilian militiamen and women put up one hell of a fight to reclaim Houston from the zombies. They barely got out of Houston as the cops and militias found themselves overwhelmed by the zombie hordes. With the City of Houston fallen, the rest of Texas soon followed.
Faisal and Siobhan wandered across Texas for a while, looking for a safe place to hide from the ravenous hordes. And now they were on nighttime patrol duty at The Rampart, a castle-like complex originally intended to be a getaway for the super rich of Midwestern society. A ragtag bunch made up of all strata of society, from Mexican laborers to retired oilmen, suburban housewives and African American inner-city youth had taken over The Rampart, and turned it into mankind's last stronghold against the zombies.
"See you tonight, Nikki," Faisal said, and he returned to the Tower, where his relief awaited. Siobhan watched him go. Tall, dark and handsome, seemingly in his mid-thirties yet definitely much older, Faisal cut an imposing figure. Friendly, laidback, and smart, with a wicked sense of humor, he kind of reminded Siobhan of the Detective Carter character played by Chris Tucker in the Rush Hour film series. Of course, Faisal was taller and more muscular than Chris Tucker, by a long shot.
Sometimes, Siobhan found herself thinking of the other Vampires, who Faisal assured were definitely still out there. What were they doing, in a world full of zombies? With communications down, Siobhan had no way of knowing what was going on in the rest of the country, or the world. Last time Siobhan watched CNN, shortly before the news went off the air, there were reports of zombie outbreaks in Africa, Latin America and Europe, and they'd lost contact with India, Australia and China.
"Good morning sunshine, I passed your boyfriend on my way over and he didn't even say hi, kind of hurt my feelings," came a masculine voice, and Siobhan rolled her eyes. Turning toward the source of said voice, she sighed, then greeted Russell Clayton. Tall, almost gaunt, with alabaster skin, frosty blue eyes and a ratty Mohawk, clad in a faded Sons of Anarchy sweatshirt and jeans, he was the epitome of the wannabe badass.
"Russell, we've been over this, Faisal and I are just friends, and he's been on patrol all night, he needs his rest and quite frankly, so do I, so fuck your feelings," Siobhan retorted, and her chilly tone caught Russell by surprise. They were never going to be friends, since he was the sort who liked to call African Americans and Mexicans by less than charitable terms, but Siobhan had always been polite, if curt, in her dealings with Russell.
"Sheesh, no need to bite my head off, and while you're at it, where is Ernesto?" Russell said, and Siobhan looked past him, at a stocky, bronze-skinned and raven-haired young man who stepped forward, clad in blue jeans and a black T-shirt featuring boxing legend Oscar De La Hoya. Ernesto Chavez had been at The Rampart almost as long as Siobhan and Faisal, and she considered him a friend.
"Buenas dias, Siobhan, how's life?" Ernesto said, and Siobhan exchanged dap with the young Mexican, and wished him a good day. Passing Russell, Siobhan shot him a look, then walked back toward the Tower. She had a report to file, which was procedure after end of watch, and then she would turn in her weapon, before going to her room to get some rest. Daily life at The Rampart could be boring, but Siobhan didn't mind the routine. After being on the run for ages, it felt good to be in a place that sort of felt like home.
