Blood Awakens Page 2

  Perhaps everyone was right to fear them.

  Dimly, Sean tried reassuring himself that it had been an accident, a mistake, that he just didn’t know how to control his abilities yet. But he remembered the pleasure he took in killing his brother’s assailants, how badly he’d wanted to make them all suffer. Maybe it was just in his nature now.

  When Sean finally regained the will to move, the sound of nearby sirens rung in his ears. The last thing he needed was to be caught at the scene of his brother’s murder. No one would believe his story, not as a Black man, and certainly not as a blood guide.

  But he couldn’t just leave either.

  Sean took one last look at his brother, identity tags laying limply around his neck. Beneath the pools of blood, he could see the talisman their father had given Samson. A singular die, carved out of amethyst, hung from a short, beaded chain, meant for good luck. A lot of good it had done either of them.

  Something prevented Sean from believing it was true. Samson couldn’t be—he couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it—gone. He was the only family Sean had left. Their father had died in combat during World War III and their mother passed just last year. Samson was his best friend, the man he’d learned how to be a man from. He had goals, dreams. He’d just made Sergeant.

  The two of them had planned on going to Italy next year.

  For a second Sean tried binding to his brother’s blood, a desperate attempt at healing him. It was like trying to hold water, his life just kept slipping through his fingers. He had been gone too long. Tears slid free from Sean’s eyes as the disbelief evaporated. His brother was dead.

  It felt wrong to loot his body, but even worse to leave the necklace to be forgotten. With deep sorrow, Sean bent down and unhooked the dog tags and die from Samson’s neck.

  Then, he began to hum. A sweet and gentle noise unlike the deadly sound he’d made earlier. Dried flecks of red unstuck themselves from the necklace and pooled in the air. Larger globules, still moist, followed, until every droplet of blood was removed. Sean commanded it off of his own body as well and turned away before he could watch the mass of it slap down to the floor, covering his brother anew.

  With a hard swallow, Sean stomached his grief and coronated himself the new wearer of his brother’s dog tags.

  “Thank you,” The temptress of blood whispered as he took his final steps out of his home. “Until we meet again.”

  Chapter Two

  Graciela

  “Don’t let them get away!” Someone snarled in the distance.

  With nauseating haste, Graciela propelled herself over the uneven road, every intersection presenting opportunities for escape. There was no time to think through any of them though. Her muscles seemed to guide themselves, solely fueled by instinct and necessity. Up until a few months ago, she had no idea that her body was even capable of such exertion. Adrenaline was a remarkable thing.

  “Come back here, Awakened filth!” another screamed.

  Graciela, feet moving faster than she could keep track of, stumbled in a pothole. Fortunately, Santiago’s extended hand was there for stability.

  “Thanks,” she huffed. Without him, she didn’t know what she would do.

  Through ragged breaths, he joshed, “It’s what I’m here for, to rescue the ladies.”

  Graciela rolled her eyes to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She shouldn’t be able to laugh given the circumstances. If they were caught, they’d be beaten, taken hostage, likely separated and ultimately murdered. Leave it to her brother to make light of their current situation.

  But seeing the lethargy in his eyes reminded Graciela that his sense of humor was his most utilized mask, especially when his power became too burdensome.

  “Come on,” she said, giving her best effort to push aside the fear clawing at her chest. In its place, she summoned the confidence she thought an older sibling should possess. As they rounded into an alleyway, Graciela gripped the gutter to take a sharper corner. “We’re almost there. Have we lost them yet?”

  Santiago’s movements were a mirror image of her own, a fraction of a second behind. “Not yet, but they must be moving away from us. I don’t feel them as strongly anymore,” he bolstered optimistically.

  Graciela nodded in response and dropped to her stomach at the chain link fence in the back of the alley. The loose gravel dug into her palms, but that too she tried to ignore for Santiago’s benefit.

  Without needing to communicate, Santiago peeled back the sheet of twisted metal that wasn’t secured to the corner pole, and Graciela wasted no time in crawling under the opening. Once through, she did the same for Santiago so he could follow and the two of them hid, bodies taught against the backside of the building, heaving silently.

  Scuffling feet echoed from the other side. Graciela could hardly breathe given the pressure of adrenaline seizing her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, a glimmer flashed in Santiago’s hand, and Graciela wished she too had a weapon, or at the very least knew how to use one.

  At long last, their pursuers passed.

  Finally, her drumming heart began to settle, and they each used the break in running to catch their breath. It was the first moment of pause they’d had in over an hour. Each day this area grew more dangerous. Soon, no doubt, there would be no hiding from anti-Awakened radicals. They’d both be caught. They’d both be executed.

  “That was close,” Santiago panted.

  It always was. Sometimes she wished she had been impacted by the Awakening like her brother had been, though she never dared say as much. But maybe then they’d be stronger. As of now, it seemed that their only chance at survival was running and hiding.

  Once Santiago was certain the area was safe and deserted, they crept to the main street to head back to the barrio they’d been squatting in. They didn’t bother searching for supplies along the way. What they hadn’t grabbed in the area, someone else had.

  After an hour of walking, hiding, and more walking, they reached the creek that separated them from their claimed home, a fallen tree the only means they had to cross. The path reminded Graciela of their childhood, of the forest behind their home where they played, of summer nights spent at the local waterhole, of chasing their neighbors’ chickens out of their garden. With a sentimental pang, she wondered what children would do for fun now.

  She returned her attention to her brother. “Stay close.”

  “I wasn’t planning on running back there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  With extreme calculation, Graciela stepped onto the makeshift bridge of a tree trunk. She slid across on hands and knees, until she reached the safety of the other side. Santiago waited until she’d crossed completely before following. He wasn’t taking as many precautions as Graciela had, walking the log tightrope-walker style rather than lowering his center of gravity.

  Again, her eyes rolled, prompting his flaunting smile.

  The threat lost somewhere behind them, Graciela felt her heart rate returning to its normal steady strum in the comfort of a familiar place. They’d come across this deserted barrio a week earlier. Over a year had passed since the Awakening began, but it had only been a few months since the world had utterly collapsed. Even still, by now most people had joined larger communities for protection, whether they were Awakened or Unawakened, leaving this area, on the outskirts of Guatemala City, utterly abandoned. Fortunately for Graciela and her brother, many of the homes had been left un-pillaged since their owners had discarded them, providing the siblings with plenty of options for food, medical supplies, and shelter.

  For the time being, they’d chosen a small shack as their interim home, though their overall journey was leading them toward a suburb to the west. But even that wasn’t their exact destination. They were simply keeping themselves moving. Nomads like everyone else not affiliated with a community.

  Surrounding them were a handful of houses, either constructed of wooden boards or sheets of metal.

>   Given the depressing display of brutality that remained, she deduced that the house on her left had been home to an Awakened family. Where the walls were still standing, she could peek through the shattered windows and find bricks among the rubble inside. The house had endured a devastating fire, like many that housed the Awakened. Graciela only hoped that the family had made it out alive. The smeared, rust-colored stains leading away from the entrance told her otherwise.

  The house on the right, however, had remained unmarked by such horror. The yard was slightly unruly, but at least the walls were still intact, void of graffiti even. A pleasant jade green awning hung over a table set out front, and a doormat by the door read “Welcome”.

  Regardless of the invitation, neither she nor Santiago had felt right about raiding a home that symbolized a time in their lives that they both longed for dearly.

  One house a reminder of what could be lost, and the other, a beacon of hope.

  Graciela snuck a worrying glance of her brother. It was obvious he was still reeling from it; he needed more time to recover after what they had been through earlier. He’d need time alone for that.

  Once Graciela caught sight of the front door of their transitory home, she began pulling the few items free from her bag and stuffed them into Santiago’s. “I’m going to search around a little longer. I’ll be back in an hour?”

  He peered at her from over his slouched shoulder, doubt guarding his expression but exhaustion preventing him from acting on it. “Be safe. Oh, and keep an eye out for some—”

  Graciela guffawed. “Don’t I always?”

  He beamed, the bags under his eyes heavy.

  Once she deemed him safe inside, Graciela left with her once-again empty duffel bag and headed out under the guise of searching for supplies.

  She found a house with potential at the end of the street. They hadn’t had the opportunity to search it yet, and though Santiago would’ve told her if he’d sensed someone’s presence, her heart always fluttered when entering unchartered territory.

  Most of the houses on this block were intact on the outside, but in disarray on the inside. This one was no different. A thin layer of desertion sifted over every surface. The family that lived here had left in a hurry some time ago, like all the others. Every time she found a home in this state, she couldn’t help but wonder why they had fled. Were they Awakened seeking safety? Unawakened being chased out by radicals? Or, like Santiago and herself, a combination of both without anywhere to go?

  Giving her blinking flashlight a couple whacks, Graciela made her way into the kitchen. The few cabinet doors were swung ajar, but for some reason, the family had left a significant amount of food behind. It was possible they couldn’t carry more, or perhaps they misjudged the severity of things like Graciela had when they left.

  Like the family that had once lived there, Graciela loaded only a few items into her bag. It was one of the rules they’d established early: travel light and never take more than they could carry. She grabbed a can of mixed fruit for Santiago. He would be pleased to eat something other than beans for once, but when she saw the bags of dried beans and rice, she couldn’t resist adding them to her collection as well.

  Next, she found the bedroom. It was divided into two sections by a hanging floral cloth: one side for the parents and one for three other beds wedged together. After pushing the fabric aside, Graciela inspected the smallest and closest bed first, but found nothing of interest.

  On the wall at the head of the second and third beds, was a poster depicting a purple planet, with large, neon letters that read Paníhava. Graciela rolled her eyes, ridding herself of the few memories she had of the last war, before moving onto the bathroom. Even if she did find her brother’s request ridiculous, she honored it every time.

  Somehow it felt more abandoned than the rest of the house, as it was almost entirely gutted. No toothbrushes—which was fine because thankfully they’d been able to bring their own—and no soap. The shower curtain had been pulled from the rung, and the towel rack and cabinet were on the floor. Not even a roll of toilet paper had been left.

  Checking below the sink, Graciela found her options just as limited. Toilet cleaner, nail polish, lotions, and perfumes, all useless. There were, however, a handful of feminine products, which she shoved appreciatively into her bag.

  Along the back of the cupboard, something in a familiar green tube caught her eye. It was either the shape of the bottle or the color of the lid, but she knew she’d seen it before. Graciela jostled a few of the larger items out of the way and reached around to retrieve it.

  On the bottle was a picture of a chiseled man with a glistening grin and immaculate hair. A jagged dialogue bubble beside his head read, “Muy sexy!”

  It was perfect.

  Chapter Three

  Santiago

  Santiago leaned against the door as it shut behind him, making it close with a subtle thud. The impact Graciela’s emotions always had on him waned slowly. It was like she walked at the pace of a snail. He couldn’t complain though. With every step she took farther down the street, he grew closer to being himself again. To being normal.

  These were the moments he looked forward to, the ones he had entirely to himself, where his sister was somewhere far enough away that her worries didn’t drain him.

  Some days, he felt guilty that she was the one doing all the hard labor. It drove him mad to go from a young, athletic man to being someone who needed frequent resting breaks and who relied on his sister for her protection.

  Fortunately, on days as grueling as these, those thoughts were more easily ignored. All he could think of was sleep, the relief he’d feel the moment he’d lay his head down and his eyelids shut him off from the rest of the world.

  Before sleep though, there was something else he needed to do: eat.

  Shuffling across the floor, he made his way to the couch in desperate hobbles until he fell chest first into the armrest. Oftentimes his gait reminded himself of the mummies and other undead monsters he’d often read about when he was a child. On numerous occasions, he would even play into it. It was about the only thing that could bring a smile to his face these days.

  Behind the couch, Santiago fingered for their stashed food supply, in search of something other than beans. Every day it was the same: black beans, pinto beans, green beans. He never thought he’d be one to grow to hate beans, but the thought of one more spoonful sent his stomach into flips, protein or not.

  Instead, he pulled an ear of corn from a bag. As if the world was going to end within the next few seconds, he tugged and strained to strip each shuck away. Vaguely he was aware that he was exerting more energy in preparing the corn than he would receive from eating it. Still, it had to be better than beans.

  The first bite was nirvana dipped in honey and sprinkled with sugar. It was the kind of deliciousness that left him moaning in appreciation. Never before had uncooked corn tasted so rich and sweet. And the crunch—he’d almost forgotten what it was like to bite down on something with texture. A chalky film was easy to ignore if only for that crunch.

  Both hands not daring to let go of the cob, Santiago wiped a dribble of drool from his chin with the back of his wrist and unhinged his jaw on another row. And another.

  One cob of corn now a naked graveyard of yellow sockets, he grabbed another with ravenous greed. Again, he sunk his teeth into the yellow vegetable.

  Suddenly, with a flash of guilt, Santiago stopped chewing. Graciela had found the cornfield just yesterday and had been thoughtful enough to bring back a bag of ears, leaving the rest behind for whomever or whatever came across it next. And here he was, gorging like a glutton.

  Reluctantly, his hands fell from his mouth, the half-eaten cob along with them. He sat in silence in the home that wasn’t theirs. Completely alone.

  It was moments like these that he also dreaded, the ones he had entirely to himself, where his sister was somewhere far enough away that he could no longer sense her. It wa
s in these moments that the dark shadows of shame and despair devoured him. They’d hide in the shallow cracks of his thoughts, waiting for the opportune time to pounce and dig their claws deep into his heart. The world grew dimmer in their presence.

  He missed home. He missed his friends, most of whom had made it clear they wanted nothing to do with someone as “weird” as him. That was their nice way of saying that he was different, evil incarnate, unnatural, diseased. Not to be trusted. He couldn’t blame them. If he too could abandon himself, he would. Nothing made him feel more disgraceful than being Awakened.

  Santiago missed fútbol. He longed for the days when all he’d do was run up and down the field and not even get winded. He even missed the girls who would cheer him on, even though none of them ever really interested him.

  His free hand floated to the greasy, ratted mop on top of his head, and he grimaced. He missed proper hygiene. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t try to maintain his prized, glorious fauxhawk, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with the increasing dangers they’d encountered. More danger meant more running which ultimately meant more sweating and, as a result, gross, greasy hair.

  Yet Santiago took great pride in the fact that his hair looked much better than most anyone else’s they’d run into. Especially his sister’s appalling mane of split ends.

  Lastly, Santiago missed the enjoyment of reading. Some of his favorites had always been stories of wizards, back when imaginary superpowers were exciting to fantasize about. The Awakening had ruined everything. Once enjoyable fictions were now stark, unpleasant realities.

  He missed the way life used to be. That, above all, was what he missed the most. Normality. What he wouldn’t give to no longer be an empath.

  Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Santiago slumped deeper into the couch and took one more, albeit small, bite of corn.

  Graciela walked in then. “I see you’re feeling well enough to eat.” She attempted an optimistic tone, but nothing could veil the emotions behind the words. “That’s good.”