Tomorrow's Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles (3 page)

Maclemar hugged her closer.  “We’ll all be there for you.  You won’t be standing alone
on the throne.  We want this new society to succeed.”

Poe’s throaty laugh aroused Maclemar more than a little.  “You’ve given your opinion
quite clearly, my friend.  You want me to be a showpiece, too.”

“That’s not—”  Before he could say another word, Poe laid her cheek on his chest. 
“No matter, chum.  All’s good.  I’m not going because it doesn’t feel right.”

“Then you should stay on the island, and I promise to visit every weekend,” he said
with a light voice.  Poe knew how hard it was for Maclemar to appear cheerful.

“I love you, Maclemar.”

“I love you, too, sharren.”

Poe listened to Maclemar’s heartbeat all night long.  Even his shallow breathing couldn’t
lull her to sleep.

M
ACLEMAR
BOLTED
UPRIGHT
.  S
LEEP
left his state of mind damn quickly.  He reached for the six-shooter on his bedstand
and quickly slid his feet into his New Balance shoes.  In his dark-blue boxers he
scurried outside the cabin. 

“Poe,” he said with fear.  The woman who had held him all night was not in bed.  “Be
alright, please.”

Thunderous gunshots continued to disturb the silence of the morning.  He realized
somebody must have followed him to the island, and he stupidly led the culprit to
the one woman he needed to keep alive.

His heart dropped when he saw Poe crouching on the ground as if in pain.  Maclemar
clutched his gun as he stiffly tried to spot the enemy. 

“Oh.  Hey, Maclemar,” said Poe.  She was bent over, picking up bullets from the moist
ground.  She’d been refilling magazines when she clumsily spilled bullets.  “Sorry
about the noise.  I couldn’t wait for you to wake up.”

Maclemar lowered his gun while breathing erratically.  “You fired the shots!  I could
kill you for nearly giving me a stroke!  What the hell are you doing?”

“I should ask you that,” she said with a snort.  “You’re in your underwear, and it’s
cold.”

“I thought you were getting murdered,” he said.  Maclemar was feeling the bite of
island winter weather.

“In a way I was.  Take a look at my target.”  She gestured to the full-size poster
of Arnold Schwarzenegger appearing fierce in
Commando
stapled on a chunky tree and frowned.  Out of two rounds she’d managed to shoot the
lower edges of the poster.  Not one hit.

“Ah, sharren.  You just need to work on your aim,” he said encouragingly.  “I myself
couldn’t shoot worth shite, but I worked on it.  Now I’m a little better than before.”

Poe squinted at Maclemar’s Dirty Harry gun and shook her head.  “What did I tell you
about heavy, antiquated six-shooters like that, Maclemar?  That gun is hella slow
to load, and it’s gonna get me killed if you’re going to be my bodyguard.  I swear,
between you and Morales—”

“This gun is tops.  And Morales did give it to me.  Don’t you start that again,” he
said with a shudder.  “Now about the bodyguard remark, does this mean you’re coming
back with me?”

“If you don’t mind a useless girl who lost her spirit and would probably never sleep
with you,” she said in all seriousness.

“Fine with that, sweetheart,” he shrugged.  “As long as there’s ‘probably’ then there’s
hope.  Now mosey on back to the cottage before my only asset freezes over and falls
off.”

“Right.  Plus I’m going to need you to chop my hair off.  Can’t look fierce with long,
girly hair.”

M
ACLEMAR
WANTED
TO
LIE
down and die during the grueling session cutting Poe’s thick hair to a more manageable
shoulder length. 

“I can’t believe you had me desecrate your beautiful hair,” he said.  He brushed away
hair trimmings from her neck.

“It’s only hair.  It’ll grow back,” she grunted.  She couldn’t help her insecure mind
and a moment later asked, “Do I look awful?”

“Nope.  You look snappy, but I’d gotten used to your lustrous hair.”  The way Maclemar
gave his answer earned him a punch in the gut.

“Ouch!  What do you care anyway?  You’re going to pull your hair into a ponytail after
I finish brushing.”  And indeed, Poe took a hair band from her wrist and tied up her
hair.

“I’m ready to go now,” said Poe.  She got up from the chair and pinched Maclemar’s
cheek.  “Gracias.”  She stuffed another pair of sweater in her pack and slung it over
a shoulder.

“Sure you’re not forgetting anything?”

“Only my sanity.” 

A metal barrel crashed through the bay windows of the cabin, causing all three inhabitants
to jump out of their skin.  Penny began running in circles like a mad dog.  Poe reached
for the pair of Blackhawks in her shoulder holster, and Maclemar fished in his jacket
for his six-shooter. 

“Hell on earth!  I think I was followed, sharren,” whispered Maclemar.

“Well that’s not your fault.”  Poe resheathed one of her guns and went through the
closet in the hall.  She picked up an angular machete she’d forged in one of her pathetic
attempts at swordsmithing.

She checked her wrist knives and exhaled a breath just in time for a Molotov cocktail
to splatter the west wall. 

Maclemar grabbed Penny and kicked open the back door to the mini-garden.  “C’mon,
Poe!  The cabin’s burning!”  Poe didn’t have to be told twice and secured her pack
on her shoulder while blinking the smoke from her eyes.  She followed Maclemar outside,
and both coughed from the acrid smoke. 

They hovered three feet in the air.

A rather chubby undead in green plaid under a medieval-looking tunic with a red cross
on the front stared Poe down.  Her companion, a haggard brunette with thinning hair
and the same type of gray tunic sized her up.

“Sally and Bette,” hissed Maclemar.  “What the hell?”

Sally, the big-boned grunge Generation X-er spoke clearly so there would be no mistaking
her motive.  “She stays on this island or she dies.”

Bette smiled and said, “This morning we saw she can’t shoot worth shit.  She’s no
match for us.”

Maclemar put Penny down.  “Your politics are Downtown,” he snarled at the two sun-immune
vamps.  “You have no jurisdiction on this island.”

 “There’s only the two of you,” said Bette, swiping her thin hair back.  “And an old
dog that’s dying as we speak.”  She laughed as if she’d told a joke to die for.

Poe who had been silent narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t talk about my dog that way.  Tell
them how sensitive I am about Penny, Maclemar.”

The Welshman stared at Poe, who seemed the perfect model of concentration, and shrugged
off his fear.  “She’s bloody sensitive when it comes to her dog, ladies.  Don’t make
her angrier than she is right now.  He watched Penny, her sinewy body taut as she
stood bravely by Poe.

“Or else she’s going to shoot us and miss?” said Sally.  Bette joined her in laughing
at Maclemar’s words.

Poe spun her .45 with her index finger like Clint Eastwood in The Man with No Name
Trilogy.  The muzzle pointed at Bette when the spinning ended.  The vampire was as
shocked as her companion.  “Let’s find out, why don’t we?” said Poe, too calmly acting
the cowboy.

“You’re a fraud, Julia Poe,” Bette said and flew at Poe.  The ex-vampire executioner
shot at the undead who suddenly hovered above.  She missed.  A raging Bette pried
her gun from her fingers and threw it to the ground.  She lifted Poe by the back of
her neck.  “Your shooting days are over, and we know this now.”

Poe turned from the visage of the angry vampire.  “Could you quit talking that close? 
Your breath kills.”

Bette eked out her dissatisfaction and prepared to hurl Poe to the trees.  But Poe
took her by surprise, seizing the vampire’s neck, burying her garlic-oiled wrist knife
in her throat, and cutting open her neck like the lid of a can of beans.  Poe fell
from the air with a thud but quickly rolled to her feet before Bette’s dead body could
flatten her.

“Next!” she said as Sally’s eyes became slits. 

“You shit!  I’ll kill you for this,” Sally said as she looked at her friend’s lacerated
neck.

Poe walked to her pack and unearthed her crappy sword, slick with garlic oil, one
of the few things vampires were allergic to.  “Let’s go then.”  Penny suddenly ran
toward the vampire while Maclemar raised his pistol.

Sally hissed at the goofy weapon and Poe’s pathetic friends and lunged at the girl. 
Like a boomerang, Poe hurled the machete at Sally before dog or bullet could beat
her to it.  The triangle-tipped sword slashed at the heavy vampire’s right thigh. 
The vamp, an undead for less than a year, screamed and pulled at the weapon.  Once
it was dislodged and dropped, Sally took to the air, wailing like a banshee.

“Those guys aren’t L.A. vampires, are they?” asked Poe tightly.  “They were pure amateur
league.”  She patted Penny on the head.  

“In a sense, they are,” answered Maclemar.  “They’re ex-blood cattle who chose to
become vampires.  They call themselves Tunics.”

“And they don’t want me on the mainland because?”

“Because you can show friendship between vampires and humans is possible.”  Maclemar
hugged Poe and kissed her on the head.  “I thought you said you couldn’t hit anything
anymore?”

Poe grinned.  “I said I was a worthless shot, but my knife skills and Bruce Lee moves
are still a-ok.”

***

After a choppy voyage on a retooled Chameleon, Maclemar secured the lovingly maintained
boat to the San Pedro dock.  He led Poe and Penny to the four-story parking structure
where his carefully restored 1985 Ducati 600 TL was tucked away. 

“What in the world, Maclemar!” complained Poe boisterously.  “How the hell are the
three of us plus my giant backpack going to fit on your antique motorcycle?”

Maclemar cleared his throat.  “I left Penny out of the equation, but she can sit up
here with me.  I won’t go so fast.”

Poe wore a black hooded waterproof coat which cut made her look taller and slimmer. 
Beneath she had on a plain black American Apparel t-shirt, snug black jeans, and high-top
Converse shoes.   To Maclemar, Poe looked like a fresh-faced teenager not quite ready
to face the real world.

“If you drop her, I swear, I’ll snap your neck,” she said in a frustrated voice. 
“She’s my prized friend, you know.”

“Aye.  I know, sweetheart.  That’s why I would never do anything to the pooch.”  He
watched Poe fiddle with her wrist knives and secure her guns in the shoulder holsters
hidden by her coat.  The bent machete hung from her bulky backpack.  The engine sprang
to life like a brand new motorcycle.  “Hand Penny to me.”  The dog whimpered when
Poe deposited her on Maclemar’s lap.  “Now, Penny, be still, won’t you?  I promise
not to let anything happen to you.”

“Pen, stay put, okay?” ordered Poe.  She kissed the mutt on the head and climbed to
the back of Maclemar, and her travel backpack containing her only possessions weighed
on her shoulders.

The little hairs on the back of her neck warned her that something was wrong.  She
shivered as she scanned the garage that was chiefly in the shadows. 
You’re imagining things, Julia Poe
, she chided herself. 
You haven’t been to L.A. in over a year, and you’re all nerves.  You’ve got to cool
it
.

Maclemar revved the engine.  Without realizing what she was doing, Poe tapped the
Welshman’s shoulder.  He had parked in the middle of the half-full garage of two-decade-old
cars.  He turned his head to the right, and Poe whispered, “We’re not alone.”  The
moment she mentioned her fears, the Ducati’s engine fizzled and expired.  Silence
enveloped the garage.

The sudden clang of metal cages opening and closing from three different nooks of
the concrete parking facility spurred Poe from her stupor.  Dogs.  She scanned the
first emaciated dog heading toward them.  “Take Penny.  Climb up the storage shed
in the middle of the garage,” she ordered Maclemar.  The metal storage container was
over six feet high, and she doubted the dogs of various states of starvation could
reach the top.  They came silently with not even a bark.  Poe realized later that
their vocal cords had been tampered with to keep them silent.  She counted 15 dogs,
all selected for their larger size.

“I don’t think I can hit any of them,” said Poe, backing away when a balding husky
with a limp boldly approached her.  “Try shooting the ones close to you, alright?”

“Okay, but you should come up here.  It’s safer,” said Maclemar.

Before she could answer her friend, three dogs sprung, and she fired her Colt as a
warning.  When they didn’t take flight from the thunderous noise, Poe backed up and
swung her machete to the nearest abused dog that intended to eat her and her friends. 
Maclemar fired his useless Magnum, and Poe prayed that he’d hit at least a few of
them. 

Poe blasted the balding husky with a blue eye and a brown one but missed, hitting
its ear instead.  “Fucking A, Poe,” she cursed.  “Two feet and you miss?”  Again she
relied on her ugly machete and beheaded two more salivating dogs, but at this point
she was surrounded by dogs unafraid of gunfire.  She hacked at the ballsy ones that
dared invade her space.  Then she noticed it.  She figured out that the poor starved
dogs had blood in their ears.  Somebody had punctured their eardrums so they wouldn’t
be able to hear.  The dogs were meant for her.

Poe tried shooting with her left hand, but she found more success hacking with the
homemade weapon in her right hand.  So far she’d killed at least 10.

Behind her a German Shepard whose ribs protruded like a barbecue grill nipped at her
coat.  Poe cursed like a barmaid.  She was distracted from the four dogs she was fighting
in front of her.  Suddenly a flash of white ran past her and confronted the much larger
German Shepard.  Penny the spitfire attacked the weaker dog’s throat fervently.  Penny
was well fed and exercised daily, and though old she still had some umph in her.