The early morning sun began its laborious journey of the new day. Its rays, still weak from the early hour, fought with the myriad shadows that still dominated the city. Harris easily assumed the slow, awkward gait of those around him and tried not to stare at the surrounding scenes of disrepair.
The vampires cared little for the living conditions of their food supply. After they had taken over they had merely erected walls around the cities and left the survivors to do as they would within these huge pens. Except, of course, for the thralls and the serum.
The thralls were not vampires, but not fully human either. The vampires could not function in the daylight, so they needed others to protect them during the day and to police their food supply. The thralls, so named due to their total bond of obedience to the vampires, had all been bitten but not fully drained. The condition gave them strength beyond human capabilities, but nowhere near the level of their vampire masters. They were allowed to live in luxury and do as they pleased with their charges, so long as the quota of fresh blood was achieved.
"God-damned serum," Harris fumed silently as he passed two thralls manhandling a woman too doped to defend herself.
The vampires had developed the serum to keep the humans docile. Each month everyone was forced to attend their local clinic for a fresh injection. The thralls kept records and they rounded up and killed anyone who failed to attend. Harris and the others did not know much about the serum; its ingredients and how it actually worked were still a mystery to them, but they did know that it acted to slow down the body's ability to interpret signals from the brain.
Each and every one of the people living in the city were fully aware of the horror around them, but were physically unable to do anything about it. Although the city was surrounded by walls, each person inhabited their own private cell: able to eat, dress and perform simple, mundane tasks, but completely incapable of acting independently to save themselves or those they loved.
Harris had grown up in this city and it tore his heart to see the once beautiful Town Square, always awash with blooming flowers and laughter, now desolate and dark. His father had brought him here regularly and they'd sit and watch the world go by, neither one saying anything as they soaked up the life that surrounded them. Harris felt deep regret when he remembered his parents. His mother had been the glue that held the family together, although he never knew how she had put up with three men in the family.
She had died of cancer two years previously. Soon after that his brother Josh had taken off and they hadn't heard from him since. His father, once a tall mountain of a man had shrunk terribly after the stroke last year and, though the doctors had said that he should recover fully, he never had. Harris knew that no medicine could have treated the real reason for his death. His wife's passing had drained his vitality and spark; the prospect of a lonely old age was just not worth fighting for.
Harris had enrolled in the local university to study Engineering and, although he had plenty of friends, he often came down to the square alone for lunch to enjoy the area's sunshine and vitality and remember happier times. The fountain in the middle of the square, previously the centrepiece with water gushing from its twin spouts, was now dry. Clumps of weeds and dead flowers spilled out over the fountain basin; limp and desiccated. There was no life in the city anymore just the dull, grey hopelessness of a defeated people.
Harris stopped at a red brick building at the end of the street and joined a queue of about ten people. When he finally shuffled into the serum room, he suppressed the urge to run, and had a difficult time concealing the look of shock that wanted to register on his face.
Twelve thralls, he thought frantically. He tried to keep his emotions under control but he could feel his face flush and he tried to lower his head to hide his reaction. There had never been more than four thralls before, and that had been in the early days of the serum. In the last year one or two very bored thralls had overseen these sessions and it had been an easy matter to fool them.
Harris" heart skipped a beat when two thralls approached him. The first grabbed his right arm roughly, while the other pulled up Harris" sleeve and plunged a large needle into the soft flesh just below the elbow. Pain shot through his arm and Harris bit down firmly. He clamped his teeth firmly together to stifle the scream that threatened to burst from his throat. Somehow he maintained the stoical look of indifference that he assumed this "test" was meant to challenge. Properly sedated humans would feel the pain, but would be unable to react to it. Only when the thralls moved on to the person behind him did Harris allow a small grimace to appear.
Thoughts jumbled frantically through his head. Had they been discovered? Did the thralls know how they avoided the serum? All the time that his mind desperately searched for an answer his body continued to shuffle along in the queue. His heart hammered in his chest, but he reasoned that the thralls couldn't know everything. If they did then they would have searched both arms much more closely. This test obviously meant the vampires knew that some humans had figured out a way to avoid the serum, but they didn't yet know how. These thoughts calmed Harris somewhat and he was still deep in thought when he reached the top of the queue.
At the end of the room the serum dispenser squatted on a low table like some huge, ugly bug. This was the time he was most vulnerable. Harris pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. As he plunged it into the small hole in the top of the machine, he turned it clockwise as far as he could. He prayed the guards would not notice which arm he used but he couldn't look around to see if he was being observed because such movement definitely would attract attention. He stood for the few seconds the machine took, expecting to feel a hand on his shoulder any second.
The machine was designed to inject the right arm with serum. The rebels normally coated their right forearms with a skin coloured sack that gave the impression they had received their usual dose. It wasn't an ideal solution, but a combination of luck and general apathy among the thralls had worked in their favour until now. Anticipating that the last attack would elicit some sort of check on that arm, they had switched the packs to the left instead. Aligning the left arm was quite awkward and, if they survived today's check, they would have to come up with another plan from now on.
The pressure relaxed and Harris felt relief flood through him. He withdrew his arm, resisting the impulse to pull his arm out quickly, and started for the exit in the slow, awkward gait that typified the others around him. His heart thumped as he passed the first thrall and he suppressed the urge to pick up the pace. He could see the door ahead but the queue ahead of him seemed to move so slowly that it seemed it would take him hours to get outside. He began to take shorter breaths as he tried to calm himself but his heart thumped faster. He forced himself to look down at the ground and not at the thralls in case this attracted their attention but this meant that he would have no warning of their intentions if they came towards him. He ...
Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and two other thralls began to move ahead of him to block his path. He tried to keep his face expressionless but he could feel his mouth twitch as adrenaline flooded through him. Should he run? He might even make it if he acted before the thralls were fully ready for him. There were another two thralls at the door so he would have to get past them as well and then somehow lose himself in the crowd.
The thralls were not only stronger than humans; they were faster as well so running wasn't really an option. But he couldn't just let them take him either. His mind filled with horrendous images of what they would do to him to get to the others. There would be no human rights observed and there was no way he would be able to hold out for long. Better to die trying to escape that give them the pleasure of torturing him. Outwardly he remained calm, but, in contrast, his mind frantically weighed his limited options. Decided on his course of action, Harris felt a calm suddenly wash over him and he prepared to run. The thrall on his right moved much quicker than he had expected and grabbed his left arm. Harris froze for a second instead of immediately pulling his arm away and that moment of indecision saved his life. A commotion suddenly broke out to his right and the thrall holding his arm was distracted as he looked beyond Harris towards the noise.
Harris couldn't see clearly and dared not move his head but he could see a commotion of some sort. Suddenly he saw a man brake from the queue. In his haste to get to the exit he knocked two thralls over who bellowed in outrage as they struggled back to their feet. Shouts and obscenities filled the small room and thralls seemed to come from everywhere at once to give chase. Harris nearly fainted with relief when the two guards who had stopped him turned and disappeared after the fugitive. Shots rang out and Harris cringed with every retort. Bullets flew after the man, but somehow the first volley missed him, tearing chunks out of the wall and ceiling instead. Harris watched as the man reached the door, and he willed him on. For a minute it looked like he might actually make it, but then one of the thralls shouted in triumph.
The man jerked as a bullet ripped into his left shoulder. The force of the impact spun the man around and sent him sprawling to the floor and Harris saw his face for the first time. Powell! He thought. My God he's only twenty years old.
The thralls were on him in a second. They kicked and punched Powell viciously until finally he lay still and unmoving. Harris boiled inside, but had no choice but to continue his forward shuffle. He passed the thralls while they congratulated themselves and was sorely tempted to forget the pretence and run screaming into the middle of the group, tearing and punching his rage at these vile creatures.
He ached to lash out and deliver some of the same punishment to these inhuman monsters, but the worthless gesture would only get him killed and dishonour Powell's sacrifice. Harris forced himself to look straight ahead and finally reached the door. He exited and felt the sun on his face. For a moment it felt like he had just walked from the bowels of Hell into the cleansing rays of Heaven and he drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. God, that was far too close.
He continued walking, forcing himself to remain calm and keep his motion slow and relaxed, it was still possible that the thralls could come after him. Finally, he reached a small alley about two blocks from the clinic. He took his time to cautiously look around before he slipped out of sight. Once in the alley, his knees wobbled and he slumped against the wall. Harris retched and his body convulsed with the relief and frustration of the last hour.
"Oh my God," he muttered as he grabbed at the wall to steady himself.
He lost track of time as he let his body slowly recover. His heart eventually stopped hammering, his legs were finally able to support him without holding onto the wall and he slowly began to recover from the rush of adrenaline that had soaked his system.
Finally he pushed himself away from the wall and raised his sleeve. He peeled the flesh-coloured pack off his arm and smiled grimly at the extra weight. He ripped a hole in the pack and watched the serum drain out and pool on the ground. After he finished he replaced the pack and left the alley.