Desolation: Chapters 1 & 2
Dominion of the Damned: Book One
In a world where zombies roam and vampires rule, how far will Hannah Jordan go to survive?
Desolation is the first book in my post-apocalyptic horror trilogy, Dominion of the Damned.
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Chapter One
Hannah cradled the newborn in one arm and looked down at the iron skillet in her hand, at the droplet of red dangling from the bottom, about to fall. It broke free, and her eyes followed it to the floor, saw it splash onto the linoleum tile. That bright spatter brought her back to her senses, and suddenly she became aware of the infant screaming as only brand new babies can, of the blood on her face, neck and hands, already turning sticky as it dried, and of her mother.
Their mother, lying on the floor with her skull caved in.
She gripped the skillet. “Shhh,” she said absently to the baby. She waited.
Her mother didn’t get up again.
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. But then the grief of what she’d done hit her like a swift kick to the gut.
She dropped the skillet and spun toward the sink. Her last meal hit the drain as the skillet hit the floor. She stayed bent over the sink for a long time, retching even after her stomach had given up everything it had to give.
Finally, she rinsed her mouth out, grabbed a rag and wet it down before shutting off the water.
She slid to the floor, still hugging the baby to her chest. Dried blood and fluid from the birth still coated him, and he’d gotten more of their mother’s blood on him during the fight. Hannah absentmindedly hummed a lullaby as she wiped him down. She tossed the bloody rag in the sink and leaned over to pull a fresh towel from a nearby basket. She swaddled the baby and held him tight, and for the first time since taking his first breath, he stopped crying.
“Noah,” Hannah whispered, tears burning her eyes as she cradled her newborn brother. “They wanted to name you Noah.”
She lifted her gaze from the baby to her mother’s disfigured corpse, and her cries took over for the baby’s. She didn’t know what to do next. She wasn’t sure what was happening. And she didn’t understand how the whole world had gone to utter hell before the day had even begun.
“No!” her mother had screamed while fighting her contractions. “He can’t come now! Not like this!”
“I don’t think he’s giving us a choice,” Hannah told her. The bite on her mother’s arm bled heavily. Hannah retrieved the first aid kit from a nearby shelf and tore open a package of gauze. A distant part of her mind had already guessed what the bite meant, but that part had stopped communicating with the rest of her, the part that moved quickly to wrap the bite and then put water on the stove to boil.
For a long moment she stood staring at the pot and trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. Not even an hour before, she had been asleep in her own bed, and the biggest problem she'd had to worry about was whether she should head back to the university if the baby didn't come by the end of spring break. Then her dad shook her awake. The baby was coming, he'd said, but that wasn't all. He shoved a duffel bag filled with guns at her, handed her a pistol and told her to cover him as he carried her mother. They had to get to the shelter, the big underground bunker he'd built from shipping containers to protect them from terrorists or nuclear bombs or tornadoes.
But not from this.
Neighbors. Schoolmates. Friends. People Hannah had known her entire life, killing each other, eating each other, getting back up and coming after them.
“Aim for the head,” her dad told her, and she didn't ask how he knew. All of the training her dad had put her through, since she'd been big enough to wrap her hands around a pistol grip, kicked in, and there was only one imperative: protect your family and stay alive.
Except he didn't. He was too weighted down with her pregnant mother to defend himself from the disfigured thing that had been their next door neighbor, Mr. Helton, when it dragged itself along the ground and bit right through his jeans to tear a chunk out of his calf. As her dad fell to his knees, he screamed for Hannah to get her mother, and she obeyed. She couldn't say how, but she got her mom down into the safety of the bunker while the remnants of her neighbors piled on her dad.
She didn’t even know how or when her mother had gotten bit.
Her father’s screams still echoed in her ears as her mother let out an agonized shriek, snapping Hannah back to the present. She hurried back to her mom’s side.
Hannah was only in her second year of a four-year nursing program. She could calculate the dosages of medications and identify all of the organs on an anatomy chart, but that hadn’t exactly equipped her to deliver a baby on her own, so she was mostly going off of things she’d seen on television.
She found a knife, stuck it in the boiling water, and then gathered up several towels and took them over to her mother, who she helped to remove her underwear and get into position to push.
She pushed back the skirt of her mother’s nightgown. “I can see the baby’s head. I think it’s time to push.”
Her mom shook her head. She looked deathly pale, and dark circles had already formed beneath her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Mom, you have to. The baby will die if you don’t.”
“What kind of life will he have?”
The distant part of Hannah wanted to cry and scream and curl up next to her mother for whatever time she had left. But the part of her that was currently in charge took hold of her mother’s hands and said, “Look around, Mama. We’re in a safe place. Right now it doesn’t matter what’s happening out there. All that matters is what Dad sacrificed so we could all be safe. So Noah could be safe.”
“Will you keep him safe, Baby?”
Hannah nodded. “I will. I promise. But first he has to come out. You have to push.”
Her mom gripped her hand and took a deep breath. She bore down, screaming out enough grief and pain for the both of them in the process. The baby’s head cleared. It was covered in thick, dark hair, slick with blood and fluid. “That’s good,” said Hannah. “You need to do it again.”
Somehow, her mother found the strength to bear down one more time. The baby’s shoulders emerged, and Hannah’s mother fell silent. “One more time, Mom. Just one more push and he’ll be out.” She looked up to see that her mother had lost consciousness. “Mama?” She left the baby to check her mother’s vitals, but she couldn’t find a pulse. “Oh, God. Mom. Mom!” The distant part of her slammed back into her body with full force, and took over, shaking her mother. “Mommy, please! Please wake up!”
She didn’t respond.
It was over. There was only one thing Hannah could do.
Gently, she took hold of her brother's tiny shoulders and pulled. He slid out with less effort than she expected. She used the corner of one of the towels to clear his mouth and nose of fluid, and he took his first breath and let out a strong cry. Hannah left him lying on the bed next to their mother and went to retrieve the knife. The water hadn’t yet come to a boil, but there was no time, no need, to worry about disinfecting it. She only prayed that it wasn’t too late as she cut the umbilical cord, that the sickness hadn’t already spread. But as she examined him, everything about him seemed healthy and perfect. As the baby cried, Hannah sat down at their mother’s feet and joined him, cradling him close as her grief erupted in uncontrollable sobbing.
After what seemed like an eternity, she got her crying under control enough to reach over and pull her mother’s skirt down, to grant her a measure of dignity.
Hannah gasped as her mother’s leg twitched. Hope welled up inside her. “Mama?”
Her mother turned her head and looked at Hannah. That well of hope dried up, replaced by a surge of fear at the sight of her mother’s lifeless gaze. Too transfixed to move, she sat and stared as her mother sat up slowly, her expression a blank slate. Then she looked down at the baby, bared her teeth like an animal and lunged.
Hannah jumped up from the bed and backed away, holding the shrieking baby to her chest. Their mother’s movements were slow and clumsy as she climbed out of bed and lurched toward them. Hannah heard herself crying along with the baby, felt new tears sliding down her cheeks as she backed up against the stove. She reached behind her and grabbed the handle of the pot she’d placed there earlier. Heat and pain seared her hand, forcing her to let go. Still lumbering toward them, the thing that had been her mother had eyes only for the baby. It gnashed its teeth as it came, biting the air as if in anticipation of biting into flesh.
Hannah grabbed a dishtowel and used it to grasp the pot handle. Shielding the baby, she flung the pot of now-boiling water at her mother. It hit her in the face, scalding her flesh and causing the skin to bubble and peel.
She kept coming.
Hannah scanned the shelter for something she could use as a weapon. Her gun still lay where she'd dropped it once they entered the shelter – on the other side of her mother. She reached behind her again and fumbled until her hand found another handle, this one cool to the touch. She grasped it and picked it up. The weight of the iron skillet felt reassuring in her hand as she raised it above her head.
The ground was rocky and hard. It took longer than Hannah expected to dig a decently sized hole. She had to use the edge of the shovel to bust up smaller rocks and tree roots, which made more noise than she liked. With every shovel of dirt, she would stop and scan the perimeter to make sure she was still alone.
It was a shallow grave, but it was taking too long to dig, and she had to get back to the baby. It would have to do. She laid the shovel down and went to get her mother.
It was slightly easier to drag the corpse across the yard than it had been to get it up the steps and through the bunker’s hatch, but the maze of fallen bodies she had to navigate slowed things down. Finally, she reached the open grave. She didn’t pause to catch her breath. That would allow too much time to think about what she was doing. She rolled her mother’s body into the grave, sheet and all, then picked up the shovel.
A rustling, scraping sound came from the front of the yard, near the house. Hannah threw down the shovel and lifted the shotgun.
She didn’t see anyone at first. Then she noticed movement low to the ground. Something crawled toward her. It pulled itself into a clearing, and as she got a good look, Hannah’s heart plunged. Her father’s corpse drag itself along the ground with its one remaining arm. Half of his face had been eaten off, but she could still recognize him. She lowered the shotgun and waited.
He moved surprisingly fast. It only took him a few minutes to cross the yard but it felt like forever. Swallowing bile and blinking away tears, she waited until he drew closer to the grave and then she raised the gun and fired.
She let the tears come as she dragged her father into the grave. He landed on top of her mother. Shoveling dirt on top of them, Hannah tried to take some small comfort in the fact that at least they were together. She only filled the grave in part way before realizing that the gunshot had attracted more of them. They spilled into the yard from around the front of the house. More crossed the field that adjoined the back yard.
Hannah didn’t waste ammo. They were still too far away to be an immediate threat or provide an obstacle between her and the shelter. She wanted to shoot them, to destroy them all for interrupting this moment, for not allowing her to finish burying her dead. But that would only bring more of them.
Her work done as best as it could be, she headed back to the shelter, where her brother slept in a peace she could only envy.
Chapter Two
The lights were on in the house.
Hannah’s mind raced as she climbed out of the hatch. It had been thirty days since the last time she’d emerged to check the lay of the land and try to raise someone on her dad’s ham radio. Had she left the lights on after her last trip to the house?
A shadow went by the kitchen window. Someone was in the house.
She debated what to do next. If the house was infested, she might still be able to make it to the the truck to try the CB radio. It would be safer to go back to the bunker and wait, but for how long? What if those things never left? What if help was out there, but she missed her shot at it?
What if whoever was in the house was alive? What if they could help her?
She checked the magazine on the .45 she carried to reassure herself that it was fully loaded. She had another pistol tucked in the back of her waistband and a rifle slung over her shoulder. If there was one thing her dad had stocked no shortage of, it was defensive weapons and ammo. If they could eat bullets, she and Noah could live down there indefinitely.
But since they couldn’t, she had to risk venturing out once in a while. As well-stocked as her dad had left the shelter, sooner or later their supplies would run out.
So far, every trip had resulted in nothing but radio static and target practice.
Maybe this time would be different.
She lifted back the flap of the sheet she used for a makeshift baby sling. Noah was snuggled up against her side, sound asleep. It amazed her how he could sleep through almost anything. Even so, every time she left the shelter she debated whether to take him with her. But what if she never made it back to him? Imagining him alone, starving and helpless, always compelled her to bring him along.
Quietly, she closed the hatch. Holding the .45 ready, she crept forward, choosing her steps carefully. The bodies that had littered the yard were gone. Had someone removed them? Or did they get up and leave on their own? She gave a wide berth to the spot where she’d dug her parents’ grave, partly to avoid falling into it, but mostly because she didn’t want to see if any part of them was still exposed.
At the back of the yard, Hannah waded through grass that had grown waist-high, but as she got closer to the house she found that it had been recently mowed. She headed toward the east side of the house and the gate that led to the front yard. She stepped softly, careful to make no sound.
She picked up speed as she crossed the middle of the yard, hurrying to get into the shadows cast by the wooden privacy fence that ran along the property line. She was almost there when a bright light snapped on, temporarily blinding her and leaving her completely exposed.
The back door swung open. Hannah pointed her pistol in its general direction and squinted into the light. The shape of a man stepped out and asked, “Who’s there?”
He was back lit by the flood light. Hannah couldn’t make out his face. She could, however, make out the silhouette of another shotgun in his hands. She lowered her gun. “Don’t shoot!”
“Who are you?” He sounded like an older man. He turned and trained the shotgun on her.
“I live here. This is my house. Who are you?”
He pointed the gun away from her without completely lowering it. “Your house? If that’s so, where the hell have you been all this time?”
“Hiding.” She didn’t mention the shelter. They had obviously missed the concealed hatch when they cleaned up the yard. If things went to hell again, she didn’t know how she felt about having to share it with this guy.
He lowered his gun and gestured toward the door. “Well, come on in. All this standing around and talking’s liable to raise the dead.”
Hannah hurried inside. She paused to look around the kitchen, which looked pretty much as they’d left it. A wave of grief and nostalgia washed over her as she remembered the last time they’d all gathered there around the kitchen table, laughing and playing Pictionary and having no clue what the next morning would bring. Her throat tightened and she coughed to clear it.
A woman came into the kitchen. “Albert, who’s this?” She was thin, about fifty, with gray-streaked brown hair done up in a loose French roll. She wore a pair of dark glasses. At Hannah′s questioning look, she waved a hand. “I just put in eye drops. The light hurts my eyes.”
“Um. I’m Hannah.” She turned to get her first good look at Albert as he stepped inside and locked the door behind him. She’d been right about him being older; he looked like he had about ten years on her father. He, too, was slim, but wiry and strong.
He moved past her toward the woman. “Says she lives here. Says she’s been hiding out all this time.”
“Good gracious. Where on earth were you hiding, child?”
“Around.” Hannah still felt wary about mentioning the shelter. “My dad was heavily into survival. He taught me a few tricks.”
“Well, how about that, Albert?” She approached Hannah and held out a hand. “I’m Marie. You already met the old coot I’m married to.”
Hannah studied Marie’s hand before reaching out to shake it. “What are you folks doing here?”
“We thought it was abandoned,” said Marie. “We’ve been here just short of a month. You seem a little young to own a house. Are your parents hiding out around here, too?”
Hannah went still. “No.”
Noah picked that moment to wake up and start squirming and fussing. “Oh, Albert, look! A baby!” Marie leaned over to peel back the sheet and have a look. “Hi there! Look at you! Oh, you’re so scrumptious I could just eat you up!”
“Marie!” Albert barked. “Let the girl get her bearings.” As Marie pulled away, he propped his shotgun by the back door. “What made you come out of hiding?”
“The radio.” Hannah lifted Noah out of the sling and snuggled him. Marie stood gazing at him, her hands clasped in front of her chin almost as in prayer, grinning from ear to ear. “The ham radio, I mean. I’ve been coming here once a month to see if I could raise anybody who could give me some news. Is it still here?”
Albert grunted. “’Fraid a power surge fried the circuits. I stripped that thing for parts.”
Hannah bit back her anger. He didn’t know any better. Did the CB in the truck still work? Or had they dismantled the truck, too?
“We can tell you the news, though,” said Marie. “This area’s been cleaned out. It’s a safe zone. All those poor plague victims have been gathered up and burned, and the ones still walking around have been put down.” She smiled and held out her hands, clearly expecting them to be filled with baby. “May I?”
Hannah hesitated. She thought she’d be nothing but overjoyed to see living people after so long, but she couldn’t shake a feeling of wariness that kept gnawing at her gut. Still, Marie hadn’t been anything but nice. Hannah didn’t want to be rude. “Sure.” She handed the baby over. “How did you guys end up here?”
“Government initiative,” said Albert. “They’ve started repopulating the safe zones, dividing up abandoned homes among the displaced.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a wallet. “There’s a number to call if any survivors turn up.” He thumbed through the wallet’s contents. “I’ve got it here somewhere.”
“I already called them.” Marie snuggled the baby. “They’re sending someone out to pick you up.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. “Oh, I just love the way babies smell.”
“We haven’t cleared out all of the bedrooms yet,” said Albert. “Your things might still be up there, if you’d like to take anything with you to the processing center.”
Hannah’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. Nice or not, the thought of these people up there pawing through her bedroom, through her parents’ bedroom, made her ill. The edge in her voice was sharper than she’d intended as she said, “Thanks. I’ll go check it out.”
“We’ll watch the baby while you do,” said Marie.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s never been separated from me. He’d probably get scared and start to fuss.” As if to back her up, Noah started to cry and look around for her. “I’m right here, Boo.” Hannah took him from Marie. “He’ll settle down in a minute or two.” She headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
The nursery looked the way her mother had left it, except that Albert and Marie had used it to store some of her parent’s things. All of her mother’s hard work, the antique crib she’d painted and the decor she’d carefully chosen, had been totally disregarded, and framed family photos and other belongings casually gotten out of the way. Just like they were getting her out of the way. As nice as they seemed, Hannah had to wonder what kind of people wouldn’t so much as bat an eyelash about taking over someone else’s home and turning out its rightful inhabitants. She realized that this was an extreme situation, and everyone was just doing their best to survive. But there hadn’t even been a hint of guilt or shame as they made it clear that she and Noah no longer belonged here.
The baby monitor still sat on the changing table next to the crib. The rechargeable transmitter was nestled in the charger base, and the receiver sat next to it. Hannah removed the transmitter from the base and turned it on. She set Noah down in the crib—his crib—and stepped back into the hall. Quietly, she edged toward the top of the stairs. The older couple’s voices sounded muffled and distant, like they had gone into the kitchen and closed the door. She slipped her shoes off and set them by the bedroom door before creeping down the stairs, careful to avoid the steps that creaked. She never thought she’d be so grateful for all of the times she’d had to sneak into the house after curfew as a teenager.
She placed the transmitter at the foot of the stairs, tucked out of site beneath the banister. Any guilt she might have felt about spying on her unwanted guests was swallowed up by anger. Who the hell were these people, and how did they not feel just awful about stealing her home?
Back in the nursery, she found the receiver and turned it on. Their voices were still muffled, and even harder to hear over Noah’s crying. “Shh,” she soothed as she took him out of the crib. “Look, Boo! This is your room! Your mommy and daddy put this all together for you.” She sighed. “Maybe we can talk these people into giving it back.” She glared at the monitor and considered the weapons she still wore. “Or maybe Sissy could just take it back.”
Noah’s crying abated to the occasional whimper. Carrying both him and the monitor, Hannah slipped back out of the nursery and went to the door of her room. She paused with her hand on the knob, afraid of what she’d find when she opened the door. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and pushed, then blew out the breath she’d been holding. This room remained untouched. It was exactly as she’d left it all those months ago, right down to her unmade bed and her discarded pajamas lying on the floor by the closet.
Hannah patted the baby’s back as she crossed to the window and looked out at the street. Lights were on in the Gifford house across the street and in a few other houses as well. Apparently Albert and Marie weren’t the only squatters in the abandoned neighborhood. Her dad’s truck still sat parked in the driveway. Everything looked normal, as though nothing bad had ever happened here.
She went to the bed and sat down, settling Noah in her lap. She felt numb as she looked around the room. For her entire life, this had been her room. Even after going to college her parents had kept it for her. Her bed had always felt welcoming whenever she came home to visit. She set the monitor on the nightstand and lay down. Curling up with her brother, she pulled the covers over them both. Closing her eyes, she prayed to wake up. For a few sweet moments she allowed herself the luxury of pretending that this had all been a bad dream, that she would open her eyes again and find that her dad had never shaken her awake, that she’d never gotten out of bed, that her world didn’t end.
She opened her eyes. Albert’s voice sounded on the baby monitor. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?” asked Marie.
“We can’t keep him, Marie. We have to give him to the authorities.”
“I suppose. But I didn’t tell them there was a baby when I called. I didn’t even know myself then.”
Hannah threw the covers off and sat up. She grabbed the monitor and held it close to her ear.
“Marie,” Albert sounded agitated, “you know what will happen if we get caught hoarding food. They’ll stake us out in the yard and leave us there to burn.”
“Oh, you worry too much, Albert. How would they find out? Besides, it’s not like that little thing’ll make more than a snack between the two of us.”
Hannah wondered if she’d actually fallen asleep and this was her dream. She couldn’t be hearing them right.
“And what happens when that girl starts ranting and raving about her baby being taken? You think she won’t tell?”
The monitor fell silent for a moment. Then Marie said, “She can’t tell them if she’s dead.”
“What?”
“She found us out. She tried to run, and we tried to stop her.”
“Marie―”
“We can’t feed from her, I know. They already know about her, and they’d investigate. But we can break her neck, and then the baby―”
“Marie! Get serious!”
“I am serious, Albert! Think about it! Think about that fresh, warm b—”
Grabbing the baby, Hannah charged out of the room. She pulled the pistol out of her waistband as she ran down the stairs. Marie and Albert stood at the bottom of the staircase, between Hannah and the door. She pointed the gun at them. “Move.”
“Calm down, girl,” said Albert. “We don’t want any trouble here.” He looked directly at her for the first time. His eyes...
The irises were an icy blue, so pale they were almost white. The pupils seemed to glow, reflecting light the way a cat′s eyes do. It wasn′t normal. It wasn′t human.
“What are you people? Are you more of those...those things? What, you can talk now?” She didn’t want to think about the implication of what that meant for her parents. The sight of her mother lurching toward her, gnashing her teeth, hungry eyes on the baby, flashed before her and made her feel sick.
“She knows, Albert,” said Marie. “This is our chance!”
“Marie, shut up! She clearly doesn’t know anything.” Albert reached a hand toward Hannah. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but let’s all just―”
Hannah turned the gun on him. “I should just shoot you where you stand.”
He looked surprised for a second, but then he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It sent a chill through her. “Go ahead. It won’t help you.” He took a step toward her.
Hannah didn’t hesitate. The bullet hit Albert right in the middle of his forehead, snapping his head back. A trickle of blood ran down between his eyes.
He didn’t go down.
Marie laughed. “Perfect. Now we’ve got our excuse.” She started to come at Hannah, but Albert grabbed her.
“Listen!”
Everyone froze as the pulsating sound of a helicopter grew near.
“They’re here! Kill her, Albert! Do it now!”
“It’s too late!”
The helicopter grew as loud as thunder. Bright light flooded through the front windows. Marie lunged at Hannah, moving faster than she would have believed an old woman could move, and grabbed Noah.
Hannah turned the gun on her, for all the good it would do. “Give him back!”
Holding the baby up like a shield, Marie smiled coldly. “I could dash his little brains out on the floor before you even start to pull the trigger. But I hate to waste my food like that.”
Hannah circled around her, trying to get a clear shot. She would aim low, but she didn’t want to risk the woman dropping the baby.
There was a knock on the door. “It’s over,” said Albert. “We’re turning them both over.”
“But Albert―!”
The front door burst open. Men in military gear and body armor rushed in, carrying bigger guns than Hannah’s. One of them pointed theirs at Albert. “Surrender the humans!”
Albert raised his hands, letting go of Hannah. “We’re cooperating!” he yelled. “Marie, give the man the baby!”
Marie reluctantly stepped forward, a petulant look on her face. She held the baby out as if in offering. Hannah saw an opening―not a big one, but the only one she was likely to get. Grabbing Noah, she drove a shoulder into Marie to knock her off balance. She ran into the living room and toward the den.
Someone shot at her. Instead of a loud bang, Hannah heard the quiet hiss of an air rifle. Something grazed her arm as she ducked into the den. She continued through a wide doorway into the kitchen, made it to the back door and outside, where she ran as fast as she could toward the safety of the shelter.
She triggered the motion sensor on her way out, and the floodlight lit her way. It also lit her up. “There she is!” a male voice shouted behind her. “Take her out!”
Something stung her back. She kept running, but her legs grew heavy and slow, and her vision grew cloudy. “Hit her again!” the voice shouted, and something struck her thigh. Darts, she realized, too late for it to do her any good. They were drugging her.
Hannah stumbled. She knew if she kept running she’d end up falling and hurting the baby, so she dropped to her knees. Cradling Noah against her, she tried to crawl toward the shelter. Just a few more yards and they’d be safe again. She should never have left it. It was a stupid thing to do, risking the baby like that.
Footsteps came up behind her. Too fast. Hannah couldn’t hold herself up any longer. She lay down in the grass, curling around Noah. “We got her,” said the voice. The static of a walkie-talkie preceded a voice on the other end. “What about the infant?”
“It’s secure.” A pair of black gloved hands pried Noah out of Hannah’s arms. She tried to protest, but her tongue felt thick and useless. It came out as a pitiful moan.
“Bring them in,” said the radio voice. Hannah felt hands lifting her up and carrying her. Hannah opened her eyes and saw the stars. Then they faded, and she saw only darkness.
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Interesting. A zombie apocalypse put down by vampires, and the vampires are relocated into "safe zones." This reminds me, I need to invest in silver bullets dipped in holy water. Can't be too careful, you know.