Baked Scribe Flashback : The Other
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David knelt down over the walking path, and even in the near total darkness of the new moon, was able to pick up the signs of his prey. The jogger was still several hundred yards ahead, weaving his way through the park. David kept far enough behind to remain hidden, under the shroud of darkness, relying only on the scent, and the lingering echoes of footfalls.
He had to be patient, wait for the right moment. His growing thirst, combined with the sound of the man’s heartbeat, pushing blood through his body made it nearly impossible. Still, he had to wait. Better to suffer the effects of the famine rushing through his body than risk the attention of any of the enforcers who could be nearby.
David had seen the effects on those who had been captured, their teeth ripped from their mouths, leaving them as hollow shells of themselves. That would not happen to him. Could not happen to him. He just had to be careful.
The jogger had taken the long, slow left turn in the path which would lead him back into the woods. David leapt up onto the lower branches of the nearest tree and began making his way towards the man. Up here, above the lights, he could move faster to overtake his target and there would be less chance of being spotted.
He had to move quickly, as it was a narrow strip of woods that the jogger was moving through. David pushed off the tree, stretching out his arms as he did so, slowing his descent and positioning himself to land squarely on the man’s back. There was a heavy exhalation of air as the two of them tumbled off the path.
As they rolled to a stop, the jogger started to scream, but David came down on the man’s chest, the blade already in his hand. He slashed straight across the man’s carotid artery. The sight of the blood flowing freely overtook his remaining self control and he hunched down, drinking deeply until the man’s struggles slowed to a stop.
David rolled off, and onto his back, closed his eyes as his head began to swoon. After several minutes, his breathing finally started to return to normal. He stood up, slowly to allow his body time to readjust. David produced the pistol from his shoulder harness, chambered a round, and fired into the now gaping neck wound. The damage would erase any sign that the throat had been cut, or fed on. Using the knife to cut the throat would prevent Enforcers from discovering the enzymes that would be left behind by his teeth, but it was always better to err on the safe side. David holstered the weapon and pulled the collar of his jacket up over his face, turning into the breeze. There was still no one in the near vicinity, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled out of the woods.
Already, he could feel the high from the life-giving blood, now pumping through him. Is this how he really wanted to live out his life? The answer wasn’t relevant. He didn’t want to die. That was what mattered. He hadn’t asked to be turned, but now he had to live with that consequence and do what he could to survive.
His head was rocked from the surge of senses, the sound of a bird chirping three miles away, the flick of a lighter, lost amongst the sound of the wind through the trees, mostly covering the sound he recognized far too late as that of metallic scraping, a bolt being drawn back.
David’s reaction came seconds too late, as he spun around to take the bullet in the shoulder. The treated shell hammered through flesh and into the bone, expelling poison as it went. David was knocked to the ground. He ripped aside his shirt to see the brownish-green color, now spreading into spidery veins, radiating out from his shoulder. His head felt like it was going to burst down the middle and the last thing he heard before darkness, was the sound of feet crunching dead leaves.
He woke slowly, but the coldness of metal brought him quickly back to his senses. He tried to sit up but the restraints made that impossible. The corners of the room felt unhinged, as if they were about to start spinning wildly around him, and out of his control. As the effects of the synthetic swirled away, he could sense movement around him, muffled voices and the clatter of what sounded like tools being placed onto trays.
Twin lights popped on above him, and cold fingers took hold of the sides of his face, peeling his eyes open and applying a wide strip of clear tape to hold them in place. His head was maneuvered into a vice that quickly clamped down, immobilizing him as the straps around his arms and legs were pulled even tighter.
A dark figure stood over him, obscured, just outside the range of the lights. David caught movement and looked up in time to see the needle nose pliers swoop in, and between his lips. His attempts to clamp down and prevent entry were useless. He tried to retract his teeth, but knew that the medication would make that nearly impossible. The pliers took hold, bore down, and twisted until he could hear the tooth starting to crack, like dry wood. Agonizing minutes later, it snapped free from his gums, exploding brilliant pain as he started to scream.
He passed out again, but woke in time to suffer the full pain of the second extraction.
He slept, but without dreams.
Birds were singing when he woke, crammed into a cardboard box. There was the taste of salt in the air, the smell of the sea. David looked up and down the shoreline, seeing no other people as he struggled to his feet. He walked up the beach, trying to breathe through the pounding headache when he saw the couple.
They were older, making their way along the surf, picking up stones and skipping them out across the surface of the water. He saw them and in a split second, knew nothing but the most intense hunger he had ever felt. He could feel their distinct heartbeats in one combined thudding that made him actually reach out towards them, needing to feed.
The teeth, the appendages he needed, not just for tearing flesh, but also for his body to ingest that life-saving blood were both gone. Forcibly removed, broken off at the root and cauterized, crippling him and abandoning him into an eternity of unending desire and hunger. He felt the pulse of every person around him who he would never be able to feed on again, lost within himself on an unending tidal wave of need.
No one knew if the ones who had been hobbled like this remained immortal. It was unknown if it was even possible for his kind to starve to death. Those who had been attacked tended to withdraw into their own private hell, never heard from again. He could only hope that his end would come soon. He would welcome the bliss of eternity, as that now stood as the last remaining escape from this immortal existence of insatiable lust.
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