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Andrew Roller Presents
GIRL PATROL
Chapter Twenty-One
�Master! They�re beating on the door!� the ghoul yelled to Fat Arnold.
He was already loading a Seismic Shotgun. It could stop a vampire at
twenty paces, and take out anyone nearby. But against a whole city of
vampires it was decidedly underpowered.
�Make them stop!� Fat Arnold told his ghoul. The racket was
deafening. He had been asleep when it started, lying in his big black coffin
down in Vlad and Esmelda�s wine cellar, amidst priceless vintages that
now nobody would drink.
�They won�t stop, master! They�re yelling something about a
machine! A- A time machine!� the ghoul told Fat Arnold.
�It�s the sun,� Fat Arnold muttered. It�s heat and light had suddenly
increased. The whole day had been sweltering, and the night was getting
worse, hour by hour. The sun was sick, very sick now, and like a patient on
the edge of death it was wobbling between life and what lay beyond, in
this case, a giant explosion. Somehow the denizens of Darkness City knew
this now, and they knew Vlad and Esmelda weren�t just away on vacation.
Fat Arnold walked through the stone chamber that served as an anteroom
to the front door. There was only one door in this tower, sensibly so, as
Vlad and Esmelda had ruled through fear, and Fat Arnold knew of no other
way, on this dead planet, to rule himself.
�Leave off the door!� Fat Arnold yelled. But his voice couldn�t be
heard on the other side of the heavy door. Instead the chaos beyond began
to resolve into a chant.
�Time! Time! Time!� the vampires on the other side of the door
cried. Nothing mattered anymore, not wealth, not even power, as Fat
Arnold was quickly learning. All that mattered now was getting out of
here, off this doomed planet and into the past. Some were leaving, amidst
rumors, circulated since several days past, that wraith vampires beyond
the Missup River were evacuating into the past.
�Fucking Esmelda!� Fat Arnold swore. He looked at his ghoul.
Impulsively he asked the human, �Why would they be taking the wraiths?�
The ghoul�s eyebrows raised. Fat Arnold had denied that there was a time
machine, yet what was this he was saying now? Fat Arnold grimaced.
Someone needed to know the truth, and who better than his conniving,
back-stabbing little blood doll? �Yes!� Fat Arnold told the ghoul in
frustration, as the beating against the door increased. �There is a time
machine. Vlad and Esmelda built it. There�s another machine in the
desert--� he began, but the ghoul�s face suddenly showed doubt. Lying was
a way of life in Darkness City, was his master concocting something now
in hopes of dispersing the riot? �There really is!� Fat Arnold yelled at his
ghoul. �But it�s not a time machine,� he admitted. �It�s just an old
machine. Have you found anything in the computer yet?�
�No, master,� the ghoul said. But there seemed to be deception in
his face now, and suddenly Fat Arnold was turning his shotgun on the
human. �Tell me!� Fat Arnold cried. The ghoul cringed.
�There is, master! There is,� the ghoul said. �But I was hoping that
it might be worth something--�
�What?! You were going to sell it?� Fat Arnold cried, meaning, of
course, the information about time travel.
�No, master, never!� the ghoul said. �Not without making sure you
got paid to!�
�Damn bastard human!� Fat Arnold cried. He fired his shotgun.
Vampires were much more powerful than humans and, being only human,
his ghoul wasn�t simply killed, he was practically incinerated. Fat Arnold
growled when he saw the waste of good blood, splattered like haphazard
wallpaper paste over the entire floor and back wall. Then he realized the
knowledge was gone too, and his stomach sank. Now he would never get
out of here. He would die in Darkness City, killed by the sun or the mob
outside.
30
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