Tomorrow's Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles

T
OMORROW
’
S
D
EAD

T
HE
J
ULIA
P
OE
V
AMPIRE
C
HRONICLES

C
ELIS
T. R
ONO

Cover Designed and Illustrated by Tariq Raheem
 
http://www.tariqart.net

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 “Tomorrow’s Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles,” by Celis T. Rono. ISBN 978-1-62137-179-3
(Softcover) 978-1-62137-180-9 (eBook).

Published 2012 by Virtualbookworm.com Publishing Inc., P.O. Box 9949, College Station,
TX 77842, US.
2012, Celis T. Rono. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Celis
T. Rono.

Manufactured in the United States of America.

Dedicated to Elvie Hawk and Simon Garcia Kim

J
UDGMENT
AT
N
UREMBERG
OR
get-out-of-jail-free card?  Such was the dilemma facing Kaleb Sainvire’s skeleton
crew of the resistance.  The Gray Armageddon had choked the world and left only a
few survivors, and powerful undead ancients edged out of hiding to reign for nearly
20 years.  They herded and marked humans as cattle, drugged them with toxic bites,
and harvested blood to feed the vampire population.

A year after permanently killing master vampires and removing despots from their lofty
thrones, Kaleb Sainvire and his allies were left to mop up the mess in Los Angeles. 
Option one – kill vampires and the human leeches that committed crimes against humanity. 
Option two – pardon them.  His main goal was to get Plasmacore, a manufactured blood
alternative, in the hands of vampires in major cities around the country so they could
release human cattle from captivity.  This wasn’t going to happen if he slaughtered
vampires in his own city.  Neither did he want to be a Mussolini or a Mao, butchering
their own countrymen to supposedly disinfect the city. 

Sainvire was well aware of history.  Even though he was an American from Chicago,
in the 1930s he had fought against the fascists in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s. 
Stupidly he thought he could fight against Franco’s regime, and for his effort a Spanish
whore turned him into a vampire.

These days all he could think of was how to restore order and end violence without
resorting to iron-fisted or Machiavellian tactics.  And of course there was Julia
Poe, whom he hadn’t seen in months.  An important figure in the release of cattle,
she’d firmly decided to stay on Catalina Island and avoid returning to Downtown Los
Angeles, a place of unrelenting nightmares for her.  Because of Sainvire’s impossible
schedule he couldn’t visit the only woman he’d ever loved.  In his mind Poe didn’t
want to have anything to do with him, or perhaps the bullet she had received from
master vampire Quillon Trench pierced not only her chest but her confidence.  The
small superhero, as many called her, was broken.  The woman who was as responsible
for the obliteration of the ancients and master vampires that had ruled the city with
viciousness was a shell of her former indomitable self. 

Sainvire sat in his spartan office at the old Biltmore Hotel in Downtown Los Angeles. 
He had dropped the trappings of extravagance of the vampires of old who lived in the
best buildings.  He conjured her face, marred with a five-inch scar that only added
to her mystique.  She was the most beautiful woman to him.  He had never loved anyone
so stridently, yet his work with Plasmacore and the cause always won out.

Sainvire ran fingers through his black hair and sighed.  All he desired in life was
to be alone with Poe and enjoy the smell of her, the taste of her.  He wanted to take
her away from the slime of politics and live with her and hold her close until old
age took her away from him.  Perhaps then he could end his own life.

He hoped for James Maclemar to persuade her to leave the island that shielded her
fears.  Even love for another man would have been better than her isolation and fear
of the world. 

U
NDULATING
WINDS
COURSED
ALONG
unrelenting rain that beat down on the inhabitants of the 22-mile-long, 8-mile-wide
Santa Catalina Island.  One human, a terrier, bison, and indigenous animals of the
wild variety currently occupied the rocky land mass, once a favorite Southern California
getaway.

The one human in three layers of thermal underwear, wool sweater, Dickies pants, rain
slicker, and Wellington boots sat on the stump of an ironwood tree, watching a half-dozen
bison munching on grass, not at all affected by the downpour.  Windswept island oak
and torrey pines camouflaged her small frame.  She inhaled the tang of the ocean mixed
with the clean scent of rain.  Her dog, Penny, kept dry under an open umbrella and
waited patiently for her friend to scrap the sightseeing and slink inside their dry
cabin.

The young woman named Julia Poe observed the majestic creature 20 feet from where
she sat and shuddered in wonder.  No matter how many times she watched the non-native
bison, her awe never seemed to subside.  She had lived most of her life in a basement
bunker, and nature was a marvel to her. 

A movie production had brought the animals to the island in the 1920s, and they never
left.  They’d become tourist attractions, but the tourists had been unaware of the
slow extermination of the majestic beasts as they crowded out native island species. 
Poe’s shivering was incidental to the sight of a baby calf nudged by her mother to
eat more grass.  The scene reminded her of Piper, her goddaughter, and she felt a
pang of guilt.  She’d promised Megan, the child’s mother, that she would look after
Piper after her death.  Instead she accepted a solitary life.  She failed in her duties
like she had failed in many things.

“I told you to stay home, Pen,” she said in a husky voice unbefitting her youth. 
“You know shivering like that is an easy way to pump up the guilt.”  She glanced at
the miserable-looking dog and sighed.  Her one true companion was getting on in age. 
Penny had slowed down, and her hearing hadn’t been the same.  The dog’s sense of smell
remained strong, however, as proven by her tracking skills when it came to island
foxes and mule deer. 

There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her dog.  The thought of Penny’s waning days
always brought tears to her eyes. 
I don’t know what I’d do without you, old pal.

Poe had hiked the hills and camped the length of the island the past year and a half,
hoping to find solace from plagued memories that still fueled nightmares.  Nature
soothed some of her cares, and she stayed outdoors as much as possible.  However,
sometimes the silence bothered her.  There was a time when the voices of Sister Ann,
her parents, and Goss, whether real or imaginary, would enter her mind and advise
her where to aim her gun or what to do next.  They had all left her head, never to
be heard from again, when Trench enslaved and tortured her.  She knew then that she
was on her own.

“Let’s go then, Pen.  I’m pretty damn cold myself.”  As she reached under the umbrella
to pet her dog, Penny emitted guttural noises only a tongueless dog could make.  The
girl had heard the twigs snap, too.  Someone was on her island.  She reached under
her rain jacket and pulled out a Blackhawk .45 Colt just moments before a looming
presence appeared a few yards behind them near the oak trees.  Without thinking, she
fired six shots in succession in the direction of the enemy.  The bison scampered
away from the unnatural blast of bullets.  Poe was as startled by the booming sounds. 
It had been a while since she’d fired a weapon.

“What the—!  Sharren, don’t shoot!  It’s me, James.”  The man’s accented voice sounded
like a croak.  The large man was hiding behind a young oak that barely covered half
of his body.

“Oh shit.  I’m so sorry!” cried the girl.

“Dammit, Poe!  You don’t wait to know who’s around?  You just shoot them dead?”

“I’m really sorry,” Poe said, her voice nearly breaking.  Maclemar was a dear and
loyal friend, and if Poe had killed him, she never would’ve forgiven herself.  The
tall man wearing blue rain slickers approached her.  “It’s fine, Poe.  Next time look
first.”  He didn’t like the defeat in her voice and the shame in her brown eyes.

Visibly shaken, Poe, the one-time feared Public Enemy Number Two, allowed James Maclemar
to take her trembling hand.  Without saying a word, the two humans and Penny climbed
a hill to Poe’s cabin.  The vacation home was a small wooden cottage with two rooms,
a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen.  Poe could’ve chosen a more spacious home, but she
wanted to be near the docking area to see the comings and goings on her island.

James Maclemar switched on the lights in the cabin, but they didn’t turn on.  “Must
be a short,” he said mostly to himself.  He helped Poe with her raincoat and hung
it on the door peg.  He slid out of his, clapped his hands, and rubbed them for warmth. 
The cottage was arctic.  No piled logs could be found on the porch, and Maclemar had
no choice but to stomp on an old rocking chair until he had an armful of wood.  He
crossed the room, piled pieces of the rocking chair into the fireplace, and lit them. 

“Give it 10 minutes, love, and we’ll get you warm and toasty.”  Looking shamefaced,
Poe still stood by the door.  “Ah, Poe, no need to look like that, or I’m going to
drown you in a barrel of ale with the kittens.”  He held out his arms, and she went
to him reluctantly.  The feel of her friend’s strong arms reminded her how long she’d
been without his company.  Three months and six days.  Maclemar was the only one who
made the effort to see her at all.  Not even Kaleb Sainvire had visited her since
he left the island 18 months ago.

“You’re lucky I’m not a sure shot anymore,” she said, her voice extremely still. 

“You told me so last time I was here.  I didn’t believe it.  Saying you’re the best
shot in our shoddy world would be an understatement.”

“Not anymore.  I’ve lost the one questionable talent I had.  I fired six rounds, and
I should’ve plugged you good.  But I missed.”

“You sound sorry you didn’t make Swiss cheese out of me,” he said.  He ran his hand
lightly over her back.

“You’re my only friend now.  Why would I want to turn you into cheese?”

“Ah, sharren.  You have many friends, but now they’re busy laying down the foundation
for a better city which includes vampires and humans alike.  That’s not a simple feat.” 
Maclemar nicknamed Poe “sharren” for in Welsh it meant a woman who thought she was
tough.

“Yeah, well they got stuff to do.  So do I.  I hope you’re not here to convince me
to go back with you again,” she grunted.  She pulled away from his embrace and kicked
off her Wellingtons.  Penny was already sitting on her hunches by the fire.

“Why don’t we talk about it after dinner, eh?  I brought seaweed, shellfish, and goodies
for my famous seafood porridge.  Take a hot bath while I prepare the best meal you’ve
had since last time I was here.”  He ran his hand in his dark, buzzed hair as his
deep green eyes followed Poe’s every movement.

Poe smiled for the first time.  “Must be a stiff decree from Sainvire to send you
all the way here in rainy season.  He’ll get the usual no from me.”  She cut Maclemar
off before he opened his mouth.  “I haven’t had hot water in two months.  No electricity. 
I’m going to have to heat up some water on the grill outside.”