CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

FIFTY SEVEN
He came out of nowhere and was on me like
a wild jungle cat, clawing and scratching and trying
to sink his fangs into me. We were in the shadows on
East 89th Street at four a.m. a couple nights after my
eye-opening excursion to the Jersey Shore. I wrapped
my arm around my back, encircling his body, and
squeezed until I heard his vertebrae snap. He flopped
like a broken toy. I retracted my arm and he slid to the
ground, though he was still trying to grab me. He was
strong, very strong – but nowhere near as strong as I.

I kicked him hard in the jaw and that bone
snapped as well. Bones are why we originals will
always win against the revenants. Their bones may
be too strong for human force to break but they will
never be strong enough to withstand the strength
grown over millennia, the strength of an original.
All of which I realized later, and none of which I was
thinking about at that moment.
I reached down and pulled open his mouth
and saw the fangs. I had sensed his vampire energy
as soon as he landed on my back. I knew that he was a
revenant immediately.
I look up and down the block and saw no one.
I scooped him up in my arms and leapt into the night
sky. As I flew I elasticized my arms and wrapped
them around him several times, like a pair of boa
constrictors, and snapped most of the bones in his body.
I landed in a clearing atop a mountain in the Catskills. I wanted to know what he tasted like. I sank my fangs into his throat and sucked him as dry as possible. He tasted strong. It was a new experience, to feed on powerful second-generation vampire blood. It was like a drug high must be for humans.
I was able to penetrate his mind and found out that he was the one who had been invading my computer with warnings and threats. I saw that he was one of several who had been taught to feed off each other to increase their strength. I began to search his mind to discover his maker but he realized what I was doing and threw up a shield against my probing. He was very well trained for one so young.
What will not work on an original vampire will work on a zombie vamp, as I still like to call them; though this one had moved almost with the preternatural speed I associate with true vampires. I laid his broken but still alert body on the ground. I found a fallen tree branch and snapped it off so that a three foot length was left in my hand. It was as thick as my wrist. One end was sharp enough. I held the stake above my head and brought it down with all my fury and might, driving it through his heart. He was dead.
I studied his features. He still retained a youthful cuteness. His hair was black and he had high cheek bones. He might have grown into a handsome man one day. He could have been no more than sixteen years old when he was transformed, which quite likely would not have been that long ago – perhaps even less than a year. It was fascinating and a bit upsetting that he achieved such strength in his short duration as a vampire. I left his corpse there to rot or dissipate or even turn to ash in the sun.