Page 116 of So Thirsty

Someone’s screaming.

I look up, and there’s a woman. I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but I know she’s seen too much. She turns around and takes off running.

Naomi slips off her boot and chucks it. It hits the woman square in the back of the head, and she falls forward. She does nothing to catch her fall, so I assume she’s unconscious.

“Really?” I say.

“I should’ve played softball.”

“We need the keys,” I say. I check the man’s hands. He must have dropped them somewhere. “They’re in the snow, I think. Fuck!”

“Should we just leave him here?” She takes him by the legs and starts to drag him toward the patch of woods at the edge of the pavement, leaving red streaks in the snow.

“The bloody snow is a sort of dead giveaway, don’t you think?” I say, feeling around in slush. “Got them!”

“Should we take him with us? Put him in the trunk? If he wakes up, he’ll report the car stolen. He’ll report us.”

“What about her?” I say, pointing to the woman laid out near the dumpster.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’ll drive,” she says, dropping the man’s legs. “You’re too slow.”

“Fine. But if you get us pulled over…” I say. I’m climbing into the passenger seat when I hear it. A scuffle, a grunt, and then…

It’s a distinct sound. I know exactly what it is.

A gunshot.

I slam the back of my head emerging from the car, dizzying myself as I turn to see what just happened.

He shot her.

He shot Naomi.

She staggers backward, her eyebrows rising in surprise as her chest smokes.

The man, laid out on his back, gun raised, smiles, contented in his violence.

He turns toward me, and I watch the realization sweep across his face. That he needs to use that stupid weapon again. He aims at me. He pulls the trigger.

But there are no more bullets.

I fly forward and rip the gun out of his hands and bash his head in with it. I hit him again and again, so his blood sprays into my mouth. Then I toss the gun aside so I can watch his eyes bulge as I choke him, as I squeeze, as I feel the blood rushing. He looks at me with such horror, such disgust, and I don’t care at all.

He curses at me, so I shove my hand into his mouth and dig my nails into his tongue and tear it out and show it to him, and then it slips from my grasp and then it’s beside us on the snow, like a fillet of tilapia in a grocery-store seafood display. I bite into his neck, and I drain him, and while I’m doing it I don’t even notice that I’ve crushed him. I’ve caved his chest in. My eyes roll back, and the blood comes in, warm and gratifying. It tastes so good. Even better than before. It might be the best I’ve tasted yet.

It frees me from the false righteousness of deprivation, introduces me to the glorious, necessary selfishness of vampirism.

I drink him dry.

When I’m done, I stare at my trembling, bloodstained hands, and then I lick my fingers clean.

“Sloane…”

Naomi. I snap out of my bloodlust, and I turn to her as she collapses to her knees, holding her chest.

Her eyes are open. I think she’s breathing. Do we even need to breathe? Aren’t we supposed to be immortal?

“Naomi?”