Devoured by - (ebook reader browser .txt) 📖

from his sides, the adhesive still sticking to his shirt and skin. Hair pulled from the roots of his forearms as he tore pieces of tape off. Following her lead, he threw the waste into the corner, thinking that it didn’t make the place look any worse.

He turned back to her, rubbing his sore arms and hands, shaking them out as he tried to get his blood flowing again.

She leaned against the wall, weapon held at the ready in front of her.

Lance pointed at it. “Where the hell did you get that thing? It’s straight out of Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Found it back there in another room.” She bobbed her head toward a door by the television.

“You found Paul Bunyan’s axe in a meth lab?”

“Drug dealers are crazy, what can I say?” She sat on the arm of the couch, giving the appearance that she was relaxing. Lance could see from the thin line formed by her lips and ramrod straightness of her back that she was anything but.

Lance followed her lead, sitting in the chair. He felt relatively at ease in her presence, though he knew that was stupid considering what he’d just gone through with the goons at the restaurant. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t respond.

“Should I just call you Blondie then?”

“Cassandra.”

“Nice to meet you, Cassandra.”

“No it isn’t. The world has gone to hell in a hand basket, I just beheaded an ill woman, and we’re locked in a meth lab. This is anything but nice.”

Lance laughed in spite of himself. “You said that you killed gladdies—why do you call them that?”

“Vladdies. What the hell sense does ‘gladdies’ make?”

“About as much as Vladdies.”

Cassandra lowered the head of the axe to the floor and rested it against her leg. She pulled a small rubber band from her hair, letting the blonde strands fall to her shoulders. “I call them Vladdies because of Vlad the Impaler.”

Lance scratched his head. “Have you been testing the meth? You aren’t sounding so rational right now.”

“Vlad the Impaler is the man Dracula is based off of.”

“You’ve definitely been smoking some good shit. You’ve gone completely off the rails.”

She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it a bit. Lance noticed for the first time how attractive she was. Her arms and stomach were toned, her skin tan. Her hair was so bright that he thought she might have colored it. The style of her clothing and accessories left something to be desired though.

He averted his eyes before she could notice him checking her out.

“This isn’t an advanced physics problem,” she said. “Those things out there are vampires. Dracula was the first vampire in fiction and he was based on Vlad the Impaler. Vladdies.”

“Wait a minute. Vampires?” Lance looked her over again, thinking he’d fallen in with another lunatic. She carried around an axe, believing she was a vampire slayer of some kind. “You can’t be serious.”

She held up her hand, fingers splayed. “They hate light.” She curled one of her fingers to her palm, leaving four remaining. “They drink blood and eat flesh.” Another finger down. “They’re fast as shit and strong as an ox. If you’re bitten, you turn into one of them.” She paused with only her pinky finger still in the air. “OK, that’s all I have, but you get the point.”

“You actually think these are some kind of mythical creatures? The CDC thinks it’s a prion disease. I was in the hospital when all of this fell apart and I heard it right from the horse’s mouth. This was a terrorist attack that’s spreading a plague. They aren’t vampires.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and smacked her forehead with her palm. “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t think Bela Lugosi is stalking the streets in a fucking cape. Who says vampirism has to be supernatural?”

“I—” Lance stopped himself. She had a point. Even if they weren’t vampires in the tradition sense, the description did sort of fit. Kinda.

“See what I mean? Vladdies.”

“I’ve just been thinking of them as infected.”

“Infected? Nah, that’s what zombies are called. Vladdies.” She nodded as if she’d just finalized the discussion.

Lance said, “Vladdies it is, I guess.” He pointed at her axe again. “So, do you think you’re Blade? You’re running around and killing vampires with a big axe. It’s actually kind of ridiculous to say it out loud.”

“I’m a blonde woman, not Wesley Snipes. Besides, I couldn’t do a karate kick to save my life.”

“You’re pretty good with the axe though.”

“I grew up in the country. Chopping wood for fires was what I used to call Thursday night.”

Lance looked at her short, leather skirt, tattooed stomach, torn shirt, and over-the-top bracelet things. “You grew up in the country?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She dismissed him with a wave. “I have a unique style. I don’t usually wear a shirt like this, but I tore it climbing through a window yesterday and haven’t found a new one yet.”

“It’s unique alright.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to take shit about my clothing anymore. Fashion and culture are shitsville, amigo.”

She had another point. Besides, why was he complaining when he had an attractive, half-naked woman in front of him?

“So what’s your deal, Cassie?”

“Don’t call me Cassie. I hate girly shit.”

“Cassie is girlie shit?” The angry wrinkles in her eyebrow told him it was. “Cass then?”

“Fine. Anything but Cassie. And what do you mean, what’s my deal? I’m living like a rat and trying to stay alive, just like everyone else.”

“I haven’t talked to anyone in days, so I guess I’m just looking for a little conversation. Unless you’re planning on booting me out the door, we might be in here together for a bit.”

Cass shrugged. “I’m an Aries, I like to read, I’m a failed artist, and I had to kill my best friend two days ago.”

“Oh.” Lance knew that everyone who was still alive probably had similar details in their short-term history, but hearing it put like that made him feel sorry for her anyway. He hadn’t killed anyone close to him, but his wife ran out with an old friend just as the apocalypse hit.

“Yeah. Shit happens when the world ends, I guess.”

“I take it your friend was sick?”

“She was my roommate, and yeah, she caught the Xavier virus. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Cass grabbed a handful of her long hair and inspected it. She grabbed the knife from the floor and starting cutting chunks out of her hair.

“Uh, what the hell are you doing?” Lance asked, stunned. He considered trying to stop her, but he didn’t want to take an axe to the face.

“Like I said, fashion and culture are gone now. There’s no reason for me to have long hair because it looks good or it makes guys want to fuck me. Now it just gets in the way when I’m trying to run or save some dumbass in an alley.”

“Dumbass?”

“Yeah. You’re a dumbass to me until you prove otherwise. Being wrapped in tape and lying in a pile of trash while Vladdies are about to chow down on your legs makes you a dumbass.”

And Cass scores another point.

“Fine. I’ll concede that I wasn’t in the best of positions when you came by. But I have managed to stay alive until now so that has to count for something. You said so yourself.” He watched as she continued butchering her hair, hoping his wit would elicit a smile or a giggle.

It didn’t.

Concern over her state of mind lingered with Lance. He’d never encountered a woman who would purposefully chop off all of her hair. Liz obsessed over hers.

“And I’ll go on record to say that I never wanted to have sex with a girl because of her hair.”

She sliced another handful away, dropping it to the floor. “Please. Blonde hair is a homing beacon for guys. They see it and coming running like the dogs that you are.”

Lance stayed quiet for a bit, not wanting to argue with her about the merits of men while she carved large chunks from her hair. Her comment about men being dogs made him wonder who had screwed her over in the past. Then again, who was he to try to figure out someone else’s life? His was nothing short of a disaster.

She finished what could loosely be described as a haircut, and looked at her reflection in the blade of the knife.

“That’s better.” She dropped the knife onto the large pile of hair and leaned back in her seat.

“It, uh, doesn’t look so good.” He stared at the uneven, gouged appearance around her head. All of the front strands stopped above her eye line. Some were only an inch long, while others on the back or sides were close to four.

“Who gives a shit? It’s not like I have to impress anyone at the gym anymore.”

Though she made him more than a little nervous, Lance liked her attitude and view of things. She came across as a no-nonsense kind of woman. Still, he decided not to push about the hair or the comments about his sex.

“So why did you come out and save me? That was a big risk.”

“To be honest, I almost didn’t. I heard