Shareware Supreme Volume 6 #1/swsii.zip/swsii/201/RUBYV22.ZIP/RUBY22-6

Text File | 1993-06-26 | 25KB | 431 lines

Copyright 1991(c)
                                 Lifeforce
                               By Duke Davis

            Coarse. Cold. Wet. The stone surface screamed its
       texture at him. Rain water trickled down the dark cut
       stone, mixing the new city dirt with the old, but not
       cleaning anything; Instead creating a thin sludge that
       coated everything it touched. Rain and sludge dripped
       over the wrinkles on his hands.
            His head hurt. The screams from the stone stopped.
       Were they just his imagination?  Were they demons trying
       to be free?  A kindred spirit perhaps?  Another monster
       trying to escape the prison that confined it?
            Claws split and cracked against the stone as he
       scratched at the wall in agony. Blood mixed with the
       sludge, forming a new stain on the building. He held his
       torn and bloody hands in front of his face. The blood
       quit flowing, the torn flesh healed. The claws returned
       to the nails that normally decorated his finger tips.
            He looked at the small patch of dark sky that showed
       overhead between the two buildings. Clouds obscured the
       moon but he knew it was there. He could feel its pull on
       his body. A low moaning escaped past his lips. The
       moaning built to a howl of anguish that quickly rose past
       the level of human hearing.
            He rushed from the alley. His clothing was spotted
       with blood. He must hide. He couldn't be found again.
       He was tired of running. They wouldn't understand his
       need. His thirst was great. The fates had made it
       unquenchable.
            A jagged slash of light burst across the horizon like
       a neon varicose vein on the black thigh of night. Thunder
       crashed, heralding a heavy downpour of rain. He ran down
       the street.
            Fiends screamed in the dark rain, their bright eyes
       flashing blue fire as they searched for him. Pulling his
       cape over his head and melting into the shadows behind a
       dumpster, like some ham actor in a thirties horror movie,
       he cringed, not in fear, but in safety. They couldn't
       hurt him, they were just an irritation.
            Lights flared around but not on him. The fiends went
       their way, ever searching, ever hunting. He snarled at
       the quickly disappearing trail they left. Soon the rain
       would obliterate all traces of his passing as it had
       theirs.
            The red hot spark of life reached him. A rat sat
       back in the alley, watching. His thirst rose, bile came
       with it. Moaning he started up the alley, hands
       outstretched, fingers tipped with sharp talons.
            He sensed fear in the rat, fear that gibbered and
       squirmed before him. The rat was trapped. The only way
       out of the alley was toward him and it couldn't do that.
       The rat backed to the wall, giving ground till it could
       back no farther. Needle sharp teeth flashed as the rat
       hissed at him. Hair rose all over its body in a futile
       attempt to fool its adversary into thinking it was bigger
       than reality.
            Anger mixed with the fear he saw in the rodent. It
       was ready to fight him even in its terror. The rat had
       more guts than most humans. Talons slashed, rat teeth
       bit, both made their mark. The rat collapsed, mortally
       wounded.
            Gathering the dying creature into his hands he stared
       deeply into the pain glazed eyes. Fear had again replaced
       the anger, pain now replaced the fear. The spark of life
       slowly died, the eyes dimmed. He hardly noticed the surge
       of life in his system, or felt the slight tightening of
       his skin.
            With elaborate care, he placed the rat on the
       pavement. "You deserve better than this," he whispered
       and fled. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, the rain
       fell.
            The fiends were close, he could hear their shrieking
       in the distance, but he was safe. They could never catch
       one of his kind. Not today. They no longer had the
       knowledge to catch him. A thousand years ago, perhaps,
       two thousand years ago, yes, but not now. They no longer
       believed. He laughed, his power was strong. He must feed
       again tonight. Mankind had shed its belief in magic,
       instead taking on the belief in technology. They had
       erred in that technology cannot defeat evil, it can't
       even slow true evil. Only magic can do that. With no
       magic, mankind was doomed to be victims forever.
            The rain slacked, slowed to random drops, and
       stopped. He wandered the streets, far away from where the
       fiends looked for him. They would never find him here.
            A street light reflected in the puddles ahead,
       turning the dirty littered pavement into a glittering
       promise of beauty. Though it was late, a woman stood
       under the light, plying her trade. It had been a busy
       night, she had accompanied several men and one woman into
       the van parked in the lot behind her.
            "What you looking for, honey?" she said as he walked
       up.
            "You're what I'm after," he answered, struggling to
       keep his impatience from showing.
            She leaned toward him, pulling her shoulders in and
       making the top of her blouse gap, showing her breasts.
       She was proud of her breasts, they were large and firm.
       "See anything you might be interested in handsome?" June
       asked, looking at the wrinkled old man.
            He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Her life
       force was strong enough to last him for a long time. He
       pulled some crumpled bills from his pocket and showed them
       to her.
            "You found the right place, honey. I can fix
       anything that's wrong with you."  She flashed him a big
       grin with her mouth while her eyes calculated the total of
       the bills he held. Putting her arm in his, she lead him to
       the back of the van.
            Stomach muscles jumping he slavered at her touch.
       The door swung open and they climbed inside. She
       pulled the door closed and lit the little incense burner.
       "Are you now or have you ever been affiliated with any law
       enforcement agency?" she asked in a litany and opened her
       blouse, exposing her breasts.
            "No," he managed to mumble as she moved close.
            Reaching out she placed a hand on his crotch. "What
       do you want, baby?  Head?  A little hershey highway?
       Straight up?" she asked. "Head is the cheapest, fifty
       bucks and I catch it in my mouth, up the ass for
       seventy-five and a hundred for straight up."  She hoped he
       would want a blow job, that way she didn't have to take
       off any clothing. Just suck, swallow, and go. Maybe
       Lenny would let her quit for the night.
            His head bursting with the pain of holding back, he
       groaned and let his talons flash out. A sweeping rake of
       nails ripped her throat out in the beginning of a scream.
       Instead she gurgled and blubbered, grabbing at her gaping
       neck. Another swipe and the talons shredded the front of
       her blouse, ripping the breasts she had so proudly
       displayed. Blood spilled from the new wounds and added to
       the torrent from her neck.
            Grabbing her head between his hands he pulled her
       close to him. His lips closed over her open mouth and he
       stared deeply into her eyes, sucking the life force from
       her dying body. He watched surprise turn to fear skipping
       the anger and going straight to terror. Soon he dropped
       the lifeless body and sat back, letting his breathing
       slow. He felt sated, refreshed.
            A stirring in his loins made him smile. All the
       wonderful sensations of being alive were returning.
       Opening the door he stepped from the van. Sliding the
       door shut he caught his reflection in the mirrored window.
       Black hair swept across a high forehead. Heavy arched
       brows met over his dark eyes. Smooth skin pulled tight
       and firm over high cheek bones. He felt alive.
            At the sidewalk a black man stepped from an open
       doorway. "Hey, mother fucker!  What you do with June?"
       yelled the man. He turned toward the big black man in the
       fancy suit, a feral grin spreading over his face.
            "Why the lady is resting in the van, come, let me
       show you," he said softly.
            A pistol appeared in the pimp's hand. "June don't
       rest till I tells her she can. Now get your ass back over
       there and open that damn van," Lenny said harshly.
            He walked toward the pimp, the fire building in his
       veins. Bring up his hands the claws came forth.
            "Hey white meat, you stop right there or you one
       dead Honky!" said Lenny. When the man didn't stop or slow
       down Lenny pulled the trigger three times. Three holes
       appeared on the man's shirt front. He didn't slow down.
       Lenny fired again and again. The man kept coming,
       smiling. Lenny pulled the trigger until the automatic
       clicked, empty. His eyes rolled, sweat poured from his
       face. "Die you mother fucker, die, please God, die!"  he
       said hoarsely, fear making him wet his pants.
            A fiend screamed in the night, eyes of blue fire
       appeared in the distance. The black man turned and ran.
            He watched the man run. He had gathered enough
       strength to last for a week. They wouldn't catch him, and
       if they did what would it matter!  Laughter echoed as he
       disappeared into the night.

                                   ***

            He shut the door on his apartment as dawn spread over
       the horizon. The familiar smell of a musty tomb and the
       evil corruption it contained calmed his nerves.
            Picking up the remote control he turned on the
       television and changed to the continuous news channel.
       Some fool blathered about an earthquake in South America.
            He smiled, a lot of death there, but foolish to rush
       down and try to partake. The dying would be over before
       he could arrive. You had to be on the scene when a
       natural disaster occurred or you were too late. While the
       announcer prattled on about the poor victims he let his
       thoughts drift. What he needed was another war.
            World wars were the best. Viet Nam had been good,
       except the jungle was such a dismal place to live. He had
       picked up enough life force there to last a long time.
       Nothing had been as good as the trenches of World War I.
       So much life to take. He had grown sated there.
            Wars had changed a lot in the short time man had
       lived on the planet. With the invention of firearms wars
       had grown in size beyond his greatest expectation.
       Europe, then the American Civil War, and several smaller
       actions had kept him young and vibrant. World War I and
       then World War II had feed his need beyond belief. He had
       learned not to waste the force, how to store it for the
       long dry spells in between major conflicts.
            In England he had been called by many names; Jack the
       Ripper being the most famous. Now he was reduced to the
       same modus operandi he had used then. Killing whores was
       an insult to his power. He needed another war.
            A new announcer reported a bus crash in Southern
       California that killed most everyone on board. According
       to witnesses, the driver of the bus had suddenly gone
       crazy. He recognized the handiwork of his people. There
       are only a few of us left.   Soon, in another thousand
       years or so I may be alone. Something had happened to
       Langton, his only counterpart in  the North Eastern United
       States. Langton had disappeared some months ago. Langton
       had never been careful. He turned his mind away from
       thoughts of his end. Thinking you could die was the first
       step in death. Each death he brought about was the portal
       to another life.
            Commercials replaced the announcer. Such
       uselessness, he thought watching an advertisement for a
       feminine deodorant spray, another for diapers for adults,
       and still another for something to slow the ageing process
       of the skin. He could tell them a few things about
       slowing the ageing process.
            The announcer came back on the screen. The Soviet
       Union was deeper in turmoil. The KGB and Military
       Hard-liners have staged a coup and removed the President
       of the Soviet Union. The Russian President was calling
       for strikes all over the country trying to force the
       reversal of the coup. People were revolting in several
       provinces. The nation was in an uproar.
            He chuckled. Soon there will be civil war, he would
       have to journey to the continent. There would be life
       force for the taking by anyone knowledgeable of the
       process.
            Another story, this time a local piece, caught his
       attention. New York's soaring murder rate had attracted
       the attention of the nation. One of the church groups
       were bringing together all of their holy men to pray for
       a reduction in the crime. What a laugh, these miserable
       people thinking that by wishing they could rid the world
       of a force like his.
            The news continued. He slept.

                                   ***

            The night was clear. A fiend pulled up beside him,
       silent, blue fire hidden.
            "You want to be careful walking this time of night,
       sir," said one of New York's finest.
            "Thank you, officer. I couldn't sleep and thought a
       stroll would help me relax."
            "Well, keep a sharp eye," said the cop and drove on.
            He smiled as the fiend disappeared around a corner.
       He looked at his hands under a street light. Smooth, no
       wrinkles or spots. He really had no need to be out here
       tonight. His flight to Paris was tomorrow afternoon.
       Maybe he should just wait and feed on the French as he
       made his way across the continent to the Soviet Union.
            No, there's no need to hide from these simpletons. I
       can feed every night, there's a world of plenty, he
       thought.
            He crossed the street and entered Central Park. He
       liked the outdoors, it made him think of the old days in
       England. A light ground mist hugged the earth hiding his
       feet. A whistling call from a nearby tree caught at his
       memory.  A Whippoorwill. It had been fifty years since
       he had heard poor Will being whipped. He paused listening
       to the pleasant sound.
            With a gentle sigh he continued on. A rustling in
       the bushes accompanied by the hot sparks of life told him
       of his next victim. Casually he strolled toward the
       noise whistling between his teeth.
            A youth jumped out in front of him, knife held low,
       lips pulled back in a snarl. "Hey, man. Gimme' your
       wallet or I cut you bad."
            He smiled at the youth. "Why don't you come take
       it," he said.
            "Hey, guys. We got us a hero," said the boy.
            "Yeah, man. You think you big time," said a voice
       behind him.
            He looked around, behind him stood two more youths,
       Latin gang members, each with a knife. "You want to join
       the party?" he asked them. "Here, let me make it easy for
       you, boy."  He pulled his money clip from his pocket and
       dropped it on the ground at his feet. The top bill
       showing more than one zero.
            The first boy licked thin lips and waved the knife at
       him. "Who you calling a boy!  This boy cut your balls
       off, man!"  He waved the knife again.
            "I should be afraid of a child like you!" he said and
       laughed.
            The three youths circled the man, moving closer. The
       leader stepped in and slashed with the knife. He let the
       blade cut into his stomach before he moved. In a blur of
       speed he ripped out the throat of the first youth and
       spun, his talons flashing like blooded steel. The second
       youth tripped over his own intestines trying to back up
       and collapsed. The third boy dropped his knife and turned
       to run. He made two steps before falling victim to the
       flashing claws.
            He knelt by the first of the youths. The leader was
       too far gone. The second sat on the ground trying to hold
       his spilling insides in place. The third youth was going
       quickly. In seconds all three were dead. He rose from
       the last body, strength flooding his system. It wasn't
       often he managed to catch three at once. He felt
       invincible. More, he thought. I must have more. He
       hurried into the darkness.
            He saw more people, usually in groups of two or three
       but none presented an opportunity like the last three. He
       passed them by. Near two in the morning he was standing
       near a rest room when a lone young man walked toward him.
       The surrounding area was empty. Deep shadows were
       everywhere.
            When the young man noticed him he stopped. After
       several seconds the man walked up to him. "Hi, are you
       looking for a friend?" asked the boy.
            He looked at the boy. He wasn't as young as he
       appeared. Long hair fell to the man's shoulders. His
       lips and nails were painted a bright red. False eye
       lashes and makeup altered his features, turning him into
       something he wasn't. "Yes, would you like to be my
       friend?" he asked.
            "Oh my, yes. You can call me Maryann. I like big,
       handsome, strong men," said Mary, holding out his hand.
            He took the hand and pulled the man, Mary, into the
       shadows.
            "Oh, not so fast. We don't have to hurry. We have
       all night," whispered Mary.
            He placed a hand on Mary's shoulder. "What can we do
       that takes a long time? he asked.
            Mary licked his lips and smiled coquettishly. "I
       think we can find something," said Mary, letting his hand
       rub his new friend's crotch.
            "How about this for some fun," he said and slid his
       hand from Mary's shoulder to his throat. He flexed his
       talons, letting them sink into the tender flesh of Mary's
       neck.
            Mary stiffened, both hands flying to his neck. A
       gagging whimper escaped his lips.
            He pulled the Mary-man close and placed his mouth
       over the painted lips. The Mary-man struggled, spasm'd
       and gurgled. He tasted blood on his lips and watched the
       eyes glaze over in death. With a shiver he dropped the
       now lifeless body.
            He felt good. He was strong, invincible, nothing
       could stand in his way. Pitiful creatures, he thought
       looking at the crumpled remains at his feet. That's
       enough for tonight. He fled the park.
            Halfway up the steps to his brownstone apartment
       building he heard a voice.
            "Mister!  Help me!  Please, mister!" begged a young
       woman. "Hide me please!  Two men are chasing me!" she
       said in a halting rush between gasps for breath.
            She was a pretty young woman with long blond hair and
       crystal blue eyes. He had never taken a life near his
       home, but this was his last day here. His flight to Paris
       left this afternoon. One more before the trip would feel
       wonderful. "Quickly, inside," he said and opened the
       door. Standing to one side he let the girl pass by him
       into the hall. He looked up and down the street. No one
       was in sight. He pulled the door closed. "You can stay
       here until daylight, then you can leave safely," he said
       softly and added a warm smile.
            "Gee, thanks," she said and followed him to his door.
            He pulled the door closed and slipped the latch,
       locking it. "Would you like a drink?" he asked
       innocently.
            "Yes, thank you," she answered. "Can I use your
       bathroom?"
            He pointed at the bathroom door and turned to the
       bar. A smile of self satisfaction spread over his face.
       Home delivery, he thought and chuckled. As he finished
       the drinks he heard the bathroom door open. Turning, a
       drink in each hand, he smiled. A smile that quickly
       disappeared.
            An old man in a black robe stood in the doorway. A
       white beard fell nearly to his waist. "Hello, my friend,"
       said the old man in the voice of the young girl.
            Both drinks hit the floor with a crash. "Merlin!" he
       said with a gasp, fear pulling his features into a mask.
            "Yes, it is I," said Merlin in his own voice. "I've
       come to collect you. It's time."
            "Collect me?  No!  You can't do that!" his voice
       quavered in fear.
            "Why can't I do that?  I created you and the rest of
       your kind. I designed you for the sole purpose of
       continuing my life."  The old man chuckled. "You're
       nothing more than a meal for my soul. I collected Langton
       a few months ago, and just took care of Literrsa in
       California. You're the last one."
            "But if you take me, what are you going to do for
       later?" he asked babbling in fear, his eyes darting around
       the room, looking for a way out. "You'll need more later
       and there won't be any of us left!"
            "When I'm done with you, I'll simply create more,"
       answered Merlin. The old necromancer smiled and walked
       toward him, arms outstretched, as if to gather him in.
            With a scream of fear he darted for the door. Merlin
       flashed a hand at the door, turning it into a wall of
       flame. He jumped back and turned to the window. Another
       wave of the hand and hell's fire blazed up in a wall,
       surrounding him. He stood rooted in fear, his thoughts
       going back to the rat of a few nights before.
            Merlin placed a hand on each shoulder and pulled him
       close. "Come to me, my child. Come home and live for
       eternity," whispered Merlin.
            Merlin's mouth closed over his gaping lips. He
       felt a ripping sensation as his life drained from his
       body. Pain replaced his fear and was soon replaced by
       darkness. Merlin let the empty husk drop to the floor.
            Age caught up with the body. The skin darkened and
       shrunk, hardened, dried and crumbled, turning to dust.
       The bones collapsed into fine powder. With a wave of his
       robe, Merlin scattered the dust around the room.
            The necromancer smiled in satisfaction. He felt
       young, vibrant, more alive than he had been in a hundred
       years. He smoothed his dark beard against his chest.
       Muscles like steel cords rippled under his robe. "You
       were one of the best, Trantor, that's why I saved you for
       last."
            Merlin looked around the empty apartment. "Should I
       start creating another batch?" he asked himself. "No,
       I think I'll go to Russia first. I have plenty of time
       for that later."
            With a deep laugh, Merlin changed form back to that
       of a young blond girl with crystal blue eyes and walked
       out into the street.
                                    END