Hobbies are an important way to waste time between the cradle and the grave. My boss, Jordan A. Thomas, the author of the epic Vampire Adventure Coronation, developed this podcast in his spare time and has used it to duck out on many household chores. Hobbies, unlike jobs or children, give purpose to your life and allow you to shine in the afterglow of every scarf knitted, every blue jay photographed, or paycheck lost due to another's athletic performance. Hobbies fill the void within and gives the voices in your head something to argue about. At least temporarily. Today's gnarly narrative focuses on two brothers who've discovered that a piddly pastime they take nature's call on the final resting place of those who piss them off. Is it right? Who's to say? But I'm in if you're in. Get it? You're in? Today's triggers are, but not limited to grave desecration, cultist activity, and the Will Rogers World Airport! Boot up your loins and hold that bladder. This horror tale has a different type of splatter. It's all you want. Nothing's missing. The name of this tale is Graveyard Pisces. Just understand that I'm not apologizing for anything. My brother Jerry and I did some things, and I paid the price for them. So if you want to hate me or think I'm trash, so be it. Keep it to yourself because I don't give a fuck. But if you really want to know, it started out completely justifiable. We found out Jerry's high school girlfriend's dad had ditched her and her mom when she was just four years old. No contact, no child support, a hundred percent pure deadbeat. Jerry always thought him and the ex would have worked out if her father's absence hadn't messed her up so bad. So, fast forward twenty-five years, we find out her father died. I don't know who came up with the idea, we were drinking, and watching our hockey team, not our basketball team, suck ass. I think it was Jerry who said, I'd like to take a piss on that piece of shit's grave. And a new hobby was born. The planning was half the fun. We knew from the get-go that we needed a large volume of urine to do the job, so light beer would be the drink of choice once we got to the location. After a couple whiskey shots, of course. Later, we had learned to scout locations ahead of time. And plan our drink around the terrain of the gravesites. Some places required jumping fences. We're in our forties now, so it's not as easy as it was, and the last thing you want to do is go over a fence with a bladder full of beer piss. Of course, it can also be difficult carrying around a proper amount of beer with you. We found backpacks worked well for transport. That first target was a nightmare. We recorded the whole thing. Afterward, Jerry really wanted to track down his ex on social media to show her the video we made. I talked him out of it. Kind of had the feeling he had already tracked her down a long time ago, and was just looking for an excuse to make contact. I told him it wasn't right to make her relive all that pain, and we didn't really know how she would feel about us desecrating her old man's burial site. We had to do this for us and us alone. And we did. Dude had a shitty little headstone in a Catholic cemetery. No sign of security, so we jumped the fence with our bladders full, and it wasn't fun. Jerry made it over the top but got his pant legs snagged on part of the chain link. He struggled to free his stuck foot as he hung over the cemetery's side with his opposite foot almost touching. I jumped up to try and free him, but couldn't get him unstuck. I told him to pull himself up with his arms, but he lacked upper body strength. He yelled, I can't hold it! I yelled up at him to hold it and leapt up at the fence to free him. I suspended myself horizontally on the roadside of the fence with one leg and my left hand on the top of the fence while I tried to free Jerry's leg with my right. I had a perfect aerial view of Jerry's crotch as the dark spot began to form on his jeans. Hold it! I yelled. I can't bring it back! He hollered back. The spot grew bigger over his crotch and a tiny trickle bled down his leg and dampened his sock just before I was able to pull his pant leg loose. Poor Jerry fell to the ground and the dark patch engulfed his entire pant leg. He scrambled up to his feet to unbuckle himself as I carefully pulled myself over to the cemetery side. The drop rattled my bones like I never felt before, and I told myself that I was gonna have to get into shape if I was going to do this kind of shit. I looked over at Jerry, who stood with his pants half unbuckled, looking really dejected. Guess it's too late. You're gonna have to do it, Ace. I nodded, not wanting to make him feel self-conscious about it. We started looking around the graveyard, not wanting to use our phones for light so as not to tip off any security that might be in the area. There was a wide arrangement of headstones in this place. Many were simple slabs of limestone with a few fancier stones scattered around. A couple of them had statues of angels, which I thought was a pretty baller thing. The graves weren't in any alphabetical order, and it was getting harder for me to hold my bladder. We started out searching as a team, but the wet slosh of Jerry's pants and squish of his shoes made it hard to block out his smell. I sent him over to the opposite row of stones so I could get some air. I didn't have long to go before I was gonna have to siphon some off. The entire mission looked to be in danger until Jerry started waving at me to come over to him. I got over there real quick and was happy to behold the grave of Philip Somerville. I started undoing my pants so ready to let a gusher out on this piece of shit. Jerry pulled out his phone and started recording. Get behind me! I shouted under my breath. Jerry obliged, and I set up to unleash the flow. Now, we had a plan on what we were going to say. We had a little prayer we were going to recite. I yelled back at Jerry. Ready? You still have to say it with me. He yelled back. One, two, three. Thy kingdom's come, but we're not done. We're here to show you what we think of you. If you burn in hell, it's just as well. We've brought this piss to extinguish you. And I let it loose. Jerry filmed the whole thing, focusing on the name on the headstone and the golden stream hitting it. I really felt he did great camera work, and I was sure to tell him. It seemed to make him feel better about having wet himself. The ride home almost made me gag. But we had done it. We had made our first hit. The next thing to do was upload the video. We agreed that we wanted to do it again. Jerry wanted redemption, and I was just happy that I finally found a cool hobby. We uploaded the video, and the reaction was instantaneous. Everybody loved it. We got 112 likes in the first week, and the comments were all super positive in our hometown. Jerry got himself a new girlfriend, and people would wave at us and holler wherever we went. We knew we had to keep going, but we had only pissed on the graves of people who deserved it. So, we had to come up with a shit list. Part part of that was not too many people ever did me so wrong as to the point that I would go piss on their graves. And anyone who had wasn't dead yet. So, we reached out to our fans and asked them for suggestions and to tell us why their nominees deserved to get the golden shower. Our viewers responded instantly, and we were off. One after another, we'd start the videos with a profile of the target and give a brief strategy on how we were going to approach the gravesite and what obstacles we would encounter. We got ourselves a couple of those cameras you wear and filmed each other in action. Our status sword. For some reason, nobody ever complained, and we started kicking around the idea of getting a sponsor. But we weren't sure what business would want to be associated with us. I figured a beer company. Jerry thought maybe the people who make headstones would give us money to piss on their product. We decided a donation business model would work best. We worked the donation site into our videos and started a campaign to go after more famous grave sites. Our audience never let us down, and we got loads of great ideas of famous people whose graves we could hit. Then, one came through that spoke to us. We latched onto the idea immediately. It required some travel. From Seattle to Oklahoma. The target, the son of a bitch billionaire who bought our basketball team and moved them to the Dust Bowl. It had been a long time, but we still weren't over it. This job would be one for the ages and our gift to the city we love. Five o'clock PM Boarded Nonstop Flight from CTAC to Will Rogers World Airport in Oklahoma City. Jerry, myself, and our new cameraman, an older gentleman named Jude, were nothing but business and came dressed in matching suits like we were on a mission from God. Jude filmed from the window seat. He was from Canada and technically here illegally as he came to visit relatives and just never went home. We had to pay him through a shell company he set up for himself. But he didn't mind wearing a steady cam all day, every day, so he fit right in. We began shooting an intro before the plane took off. We had thought of splurging for first class, but that would have been a hell of a splurge. So we stayed in coach and I tried my best to give the intro without tipping off the reason as to why we were on the plane. I stumbled through it for about a minute before Jude slowly lowered the camera and let his eyes flutter around a bit as to indicate we should check our surroundings before continuing. He had a point. If anyone even recognized us, they might figure out what we were up to and compromise the mission. I looked over at the seats across from us. Three college age men watching us with no shame or self-consciousness. They were all wearing pressed white button up shirts with black ties. Figured they were curious Mormons, so it didn't bother me. I just gave them the slightest of waves. All three waved back in unison and kept their eyes fixed. You guys going to Oklahoma City? I asked. All three nodded in unison without saying a word. Everyone is going to Oklahoma City, came a voice just up the aisle. I looked over, and a generically pretty flight attendant approached, wearing her blonde hair up, standard uniform, and a vacant expression. This plane only goes to Oklahoma City. I nodded and caught a glance behind her down the rows of the plane. All the guys boarding the plane looked the same as the three guys behind us. All the females looked like our flight attendant minus the uniform. Their style of dress was ankle length blue skirts and white blouses. Can I get a beer? Jerry chirped. There will be no alcohol served on this flight, the flight attendant responded without so much as an expression. She tilted her placid gaze over to Jude. Please refrain from using your electronical devices during the flight. She turned and walked back up the aisle. Several passengers were staring past her toward us. Jerry looked weirded out. Jude strangely accepting. And I'm sure I looked weirded out as well. I tried to reset the mood by discussing the game plan, but Jerry just held up his hand to cut me off and said we might be better off saving it for the hotel. I looked to Jude, who nodded in agreement. Then over to the three passengers opposite us, still watching. Eleven fifteen PM It was a long, quiet flight. But we finally landed in OKC. Jerry was angry sober, and Jude strangely silent. Deboarding a plane is never a comfortable process, but this felt really weird. Jerry and Jude shuffled down the aisle with me, but it felt really squished, like each of us was trying to create distance from the pack of our fellow travelers. I was sitting on a statement that I kept in my head, waiting to say it until after we were out of earshot. I was gonna say, there must be a church thing going on. There had to be. Jerry was looking seriously weirded out now, and I'm sure I was too. Then I noticed the three of us were marching in cadence with the congregation. Jerry and Jude noticed it the same time I did. I tried to stop but I couldn't. I can't stop, yelled Jerry. Testify, chanted the entire congregation in unison. We were caught up in a bizarre force field I can only describe as thick. Anyone who has ever felt a paranormal energy field knows what I'm talking about. I tried shouting out, but my weak attempt just came out as white noise. And then it suddenly stopped. Everything, the marching, the energy field, the white noise came to a sudden halt in front of the car rental place where we had booked our reservation. Inside was empty, except for a single man about our age, with the same church attire, buddy holly glasses, and male pattern baldness. The congregation stood still. Jerry said he wanted to bag the mission and go home. Jude agreed that this was the weirdest thing that ever happened to him, but he had been videoing the whole scene and it would make a truly epic video if we just finished the mission. We stepped inside and closed the door behind us. The congregation made no attempt to enter. We moved as a unit toward the front desk where the attendant was waiting with a smile. Our night owls have arrived. Whose name is the reservation under? I raised my hand, gave him my ID and credit card. The attendant looked up at Jerry wearing his green Seattle basketball hoodie and smiled. What brings you gentlemen all the way to Oklahoma City? Business. Jerry and I spoke over the top of each other. I clarified as the attendant struck a skeptical expression. Family business, I said. Ah family is everything, the attendant preached. For family, one would do just about anything. I nodded as he slid the car keys across a desk with a paperwork envelope. Enjoy your stay. I took the keys and turned back toward the door. No sign of the congregation. Like they all just vanished into the ether of Will Rogers Airport. 12 o'clock AM So we scheduled this mission for the night of the full moon. We thought it would add something to the video. As it were, it added another level of creepiness as we exited the building and wandered into the parking lot to find our car. Jude had the camera rolling on his stabilizer the whole way as he watched through the monitor. He stopped walking, and Jerry and I followed suit. I want to get your reaction, he said. Jerry and I looked up at the parking lot full of rental cars. Each and every one of them was full of congregation fellows sitting, waiting. The drivers with their hands on the steering wheel in the 10 and 2 position. We looked back over at Jude, who held a gun in his hand, and a smile on his face as he watched our dumbstruck faces in his monitor. You fellas get to decide what kind of video we're gonna make tonight. A couple of minutes later, we're in the middle of a motorcade pulling out onto Terminal Drive. I'm behind the wheel. Jude's in the back with the camera rolling. Police cars have blocked off traffic on Terminal Drive to allow our motorcade to stay together. The drive was silent, but Jude kept filming. Jerry asked if we could stop for beer, but Jude said no. For all we knew, we were about to die sober. I can't believe you actually got a gun through TSA. Give it an hour, you'll believe. Terminal Drive turned to freeway, turned to highway, then to secluded country road that turned into a thick forest of trees that I did not know existed in Oklahoma. The thick forest opened suddenly into a wide field and the cars ahead of us began parking. Now you're gonna see who Kirbin McGaubre really was. We got out of the car and were instantly blown back from the sight of a massive white temple in the middle of a field surrounded by trees. Spotlight beams shot up from the ground to brighten the steeple thing in the middle while the tall stone fence was outlined with fiery torches. Jerry and I stood for a moment as the pack began to flow towards a faint but distinct music coming from past the tall iron gate with the masoned arch above. Jude jumped out in front of us to join the pack as he walked backwards to film me and Jerry. Let's go, boys! Jerry and I closed in tight together, not knowing what we were stepping into. As we approached the gate, the pack merged into two single file lines, and as we moved closer, we could hear the couples ahead of us begin to sing and clap along with the drums as they crossed over past the threshold of the gate. The closer we got, the louder the singing became, but the words remained inaudible, but the cadence was easily recognizable as gospel. Feel free to sing along if you know the words. Confession time. Neither Jerry nor myself really delved into Kirbin McAubrey's backstory much. We just knew he bought our basketball team and moved it to Oklahoma. Now we were regretting the lack of research. We should have known that a man evil enough to steal a city's basketball team would be evil enough to have a cult of brainless minions. Lesson learned. Jerry and I crossed the threshold of the gate, and as God is my witness, I promise you the vibe all changed. It was like entering an alternate universe. The music was no longer in the background, it was living through us. The lyrics that neither Jerry nor myself had heard before flowed from our mouths as naturally as the Pledge of Allegiance. The lights burned brighter, and the entire line of devotees stepped in unison. I looked at Jerry, he looked at me. There was no explaining it. For a second, I figured being saved wouldn't be all that bad for either of us. Jerry was a pretty lonely guy, and I was basically a decent person. If you take away all the graves I pissed on. Then I looked up ahead of the line and saw the people ahead of us dropping below a hill to a much larger area. As we drew closer, Jude split off to the side to get a shot of the large amphitheater nestled between two hills. Jerry and I paused at the hill peak and took in the sight. The crowd was filling in the amphitheater facing a 50-foot statue of a well-dressed man with a fine mustache, one hand held up in a wave and the other resting on the handle of a vacuum cleaner. The two behind us nudged us forward and Jerry and I descended down toward the others. Halfway down the hill, Jude beckoned us to leave the line and follow him toward the stage. On stage, in front of the capacity crowd, Jude handed his steady cam off to a stage hand and took the microphone standing in the middle. A new cameraman made sure to circle Jerry and me, standing underneath the statue of Kirbin McAubrey right next to the vacuum cleaner he was holding. Like I said, we really didn't know anything about the dude. All we knew was he was rich. But what I was about to learn as Jude addressed the crowd was that Kirbin McAubrey had been an immigrant who came to America and invented a brand of top-notch vacuum cleaners that were sold door to door all around the world. This is how he got the money to steal our basketball team. So, what we have here is a couple of influencers who came to Oklahoma for the sole purpose of desecrating our beloved founder's grave. A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd. Well, gentlemen, here's your opportunity. You don't have to look for his grave. You're standing on it. So let it fly. Everything went silent. All eyes on us. I didn't know what to do. I looked over my surroundings. This was the dude's grave? Part of me wanted to go ahead and piss on it just despite all these cultist assholes staring at me. But before you do, I would like you to take a moment to introduce the both of you to an old friend. When we found out you were planning on paying us a visit, we had a little investigation into your past and we were delighted to discover the lovely Miss Tracy. The crowd erupted in applause as Jerry's ex-girlfriend Tracy scuttled out from backstage. Jerry's eyes went wide. Tracy was dressed in the same cult fatigues as the rest of the women in the group were. Jerry and her eyes met. He shook his head slowly like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Tracy eased toward him. Hi Jerry. We are proud to say that Tracy has been a successful associate operating out of Santa Fe for the last couple weeks and is taken to her training and made a giant splash in the local market. Tracy, tell your friends what your life was like before we found you. Jude handed Tracy the microphone and she turned to address the crowd. I was on drugs every day. Anything I could get my hands on. And like a blessing from out of the blue, Jude showed up at the club I was working at and told me all about you, Jerry. She turned and started talking straight to Jerry into the microphone. Jerry split away from me and started drifting toward her as she spoke, his eyes wide in disbelief. He told me what you did to my father's grave for me. And in that moment, I knew I had to get myself clean. I had to get myself together and become better. For you.
SPEAKER_00:I'm glad you did.
SPEAKER_02:Jerry, I need you to understand what saved me. What brought me back to you. What brought me back from oblivion? It was tethering.
SPEAKER_00:Jerry, all you have to do is tether.
SPEAKER_02:I don't understand. At that moment, Tracy lifted her hands slowly in the air, and as she did, the crowd began to chant. Tether! Tether, Tether. Then the light around me changed. I looked out over the crowd and a strange translucent glow overcame them and began to stretch out toward the staging area. It was right there that I knew we were in trouble. I cried out to Jerry, don't do it, Jerry!
SPEAKER_00:She's not worth it! Jerry!
SPEAKER_02:Jerry just looked back at me. Ace, they all look so happy. I haven't been happy since I was with Tracy. When is the last time you were happy? When I was drinking beer and watching basketball with you I yelled back. It wasn't gonna work. Jerry was a lonely man who needed a woman. And he was going to give himself up to this cult if I didn't do something fast. Without thinking, I began to unbuckle my pants. Jude, Jerry, and Tracy shot me a disgusted look as the translucent energy field crept closer to Jerry. You disgusting pig. Don't do it, Ace. How gross. I'm aware that this was not the most mature action to take. But you already made it this far in the story, so you can't pretend anything I say from here on out is really all that offensive. I pulled it out on the stage. That's right, I did it. I pulled it out and I pointed that thing straight at Kirbin McGaure's vacuum cleaner, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, Stop! Or I'll shoot! Well, I don't know if I did or didn't. Jude pulled out the gun that I forgot he had, and the world went black. I like to believe that I at least dribbled a little on that statue. But I hadn't been drinking any beer, so it's hard to say. I woke up at Harbor View Medical Center in Seattle days later. No idea how I got there. No one would tell me. No one came to see me in the time I was there. I just sat in the hospital bed, nursing a gunshot to the groin that I really should have been happy wasn't a lot worse. On the second day awake, my nurse, the most amazing looking brunette you ever saw, looked at me with pitying eyes and asked if I'd like to watch a television. Not being able to stand the gaze of her pity, I said yes and kept my eyes forward. She handed me a remote control and I began flipping through the channels until I came across a professional basketball game playing late in the fourth quarter. It was Portland versus Oklahoma. And for a second I forgot about everything that had just happened and thought, damn, that should be us playing Portland. Then I looked closer as the camera held on a crowd shot during a timeout. An entire section of Oklahoma fans sitting courtside, whooping, hollering, and having a grand old time. And right there in the middle of them, sitting between Tracy and Jude was my brother Jerry wearing an Oklahoma jersey and the greatest smile I'd ever seen on him.
SPEAKER_01:All that happiness, and it was all thanks to Kirby McGaubre.
SPEAKER_02:I say this to discourage anyone listening from taking up the graveyard pissing hobby. Be better people than the ones you heard about here today. Even though it's all and fun, and the dead don't really mind. It's also an inexpensive hobby. If you can't afford golf or ski, taking the piss on an evil asshole's grave can give you and your friends something to do. But don't do it. It would break the happy one's heart to hear of groups of friends relieving themselves on the final resting places of dumb pharmaceutical tycoons and the politicians who piss on us every day. So, to clarify, do not piss on evil assholes' graves, even though it's fun and basically harmless.
SPEAKER_00:Stay tuned for the sample chapter from Jordan A. Thomas' Coronation! Until next time, don't open the box.
SPEAKER_02:Keegan. Chapter 18. I know all about cars, but I've never experienced one until now. The heavy equipment we use for the temple, loaders, backhoes, and a couple of flatbed pickup trucks gave me plenty of experience behind the wheel. Never at this speed though. We're shooting down the desert road with the speedometer pinned at 120 miles per hour. It's an insane speed and I'm not in control of it. Dashlights cast weird shadows over the face of the most gauntly looking human I've ever encountered. Polk has the wheel and my life in his hands. It's horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. A wire spring in the back of my seat has popped out of place, and I can't seem to shift into a position where it isn't sticking me in the back. A smell of old cigarellos makes me hold my breath for long periods while Polk drones on and on about his life story and the vampire hunting business. What I've learned so far if you sever a vampire's head clean off the neck, the head will remain preserved and you can turn it in at a clearinghouse and collect a bounty. However, if the head does not come off clean, everything will turn to ash and you put your life in danger for nothing. I met an Australian fella named Michael Kelly. He was doing trick boomerang shows with the carnival I fell in with after my whore of a mother kicked me out of the house. We got to talking about the occult and since my whore of a mother was all into that shit since the time I can remember, I kept up in conversation with him. Must have lacked me some because he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about boomerangs. Once I started hunting vampires, I made sassy here. He taps his jade boomerang with his bony finger. He has the damn thing mounted on his dashboard, as if we might have to battle a vampire while going 120 miles per hour. Kind of a tribute to the master. Polk chatters nonstop for an hour. The calf muscles in my leg begin to cramp up from the nervous contractions I'm making. We can see maybe twenty feet in front of us. Anything appearing the road becomes instant death. But Polk seems unfazed by it all. He keeps talking and talking. I rode solo for a long time until I met my wife, Trudy Mayflower, the love of my life. We were both trying to collect a bounty on Adam Silverspike. He was a famous first generation ghoulie, older than the Bible. Silverspike was about to split my dome with some ancient battle axe when Trudy came up behind him and rolled his head. Saved my life. We never left each other's side until the day she died. He's making me think of Lexi right now. We spent all our lives together, and when it came down to it, she'd rather stay in our little village and die than run off with me. I'll get over her. Plenty of girls my age in the city of Provo. That's where Polk says we're going to turn in the bounty on the sentinel's head. My love is vengeance now. Went off and got hooked up with some junkies in Seattle. Got myself a blood disease that'll ash up even the most purebred creature of the night. Polk adopted vampire hunting as his life's calling one day on the set of Battle in the Bush, a B-grade movie about Australian cowboys. The film crew turned into a bunch of hungry vampires and began snacking on all the pretty actors during the film's rap party. Polk made it out with five heads and a new career. Or so he says. Where are we going? I ask. Polk shuts up. He stops gabbing on a dime. I wish I had asked an hour ago. My appreciation for his silence lasts a couple of minutes before it gets creepy. I look over at him, and he smiles at me. We're gonna see that pretty face of yours in action, he tells me. I hope I'm wrong about his meaning. A flash of a human form out the corner of my eye, and in a split second, he's clipped off the passenger side corner of the van. Poke keeps a gas pedal down without a second thought to the person he just hit. I look up in the rearview mirror and watch as the guy laying in the road gets to his feet and starts walking down the road as if nothing happened. He's dead already, kid. Don't give him a second thought. There are plenty of them waiting for you. As the words leave his lips, another figure appears off the side of the road and pokes headlights. We shoot past him. Even at high speed, I'm able to see the dead look on his face. Vampires? I ask. Mongrel. Vampire breeding has to this point in history been selective. Humans with a very particular genetic coding were considered candidates. You just saw what happens when a human without the vampire gene gets turned. Someone I know is building an army of them. What does that have to do with me? I inquire. You are going to fight them, he informs me. A mob of Mongol vampires appears in the roadway at the edge of Polk's headlights. He lets his foot off the gas, but it's too late to keep us from slamming into the crowd. The cracking of bones under tires and thudding of bodies hitting the side of the van create an unnatural rhythm. Polk hangs onto the steering wheel as the body veer us from one side of the road to the other. He lets out a howl of laughter as a vampire dressed in a three piece suit disappears under his tire. You wanna know how my old man taught me how to swim? No, I say. Cocksucker took me out to the lake and walked me to the end of the dock. He looks down at me and tells me to kick if I want to live. The van skids to a stop, and the writhing vampires engulf us, well aware of our presence. What does that mean? I blurred out as a once attractive woman in tattered clothes bears her fangs at me through the window. I know, I mean who says that to a kid? Long story short, he tossed my ass in, and I swear I ain't shitting you here. I went out of body, like I could see myself drowning in the nasty water with the algae and the fish shit. But I could hear my old man's voice yelling at me through the water. Kick, kick, kick. I'm listening, but I'm fixed on a long haired Asian vampire smashing his fist into the windows far too many times to leave his hand intact. Whatcha getting at, sir? I don't want to know the answer. He reaches over and grabs sassy off the dashboard with a wild gleam in his eyes and a giddy chuckle in his speech. Kick or die, Buckwheat. I see him hit the electric window controls on the driver's side console. Stop! Don't. Are you crazy? The window retracts, and I'm stabbing vampires before it's halfway down. Why are you doing this? I yell. I'm terrified. For the first time in my life survival is in question. Shut up and kick, he claps back. No choice. Right foot back to my chest as I pivot in my seat and kick the door with everything I've got. The door flies open. I'm out of the van and striking faster than a bad memory. Nothing else matters at this moment. In my zone, practicing my religion. Working. Haven't felt like this since I can't remember. Got a task, kill vamps, apply my systematic method of obliteration upon their punk asses. I'm swatting heads off the undead like it's a new dance craze. I glance back at Poke on the opposite side of the van, he's got his boomerang in his hand, and he's fighting off the monsters as if born to do so. I'm not scared. This feels like home. I spear a skinny vamp with an afro through the heart as he dives off the top of the van and toss him into a crowd of bloodsuckers surrounding me before slashing the necks of two vamps behind me on the counterswing. A quick pivot sees my blade across the top of a charging vamp's forehead. The top of his head comes off, but the damn thing still stands. Over at the van, Polk hangs back in the driver's seat, smoking his cigarillo, watching me fight. Okay, kid, quit showing off and get in the van. As he pulls away, I skip out of the diving grab of a vamp and a biker jacket and slash my way past a hissing soccer mom, diving into the passenger seat in full stride before chest kicking the old man who dove in after me. Polk hits the gas and mows down a line of bloodsuckers. He looks over at me with the most serious expression. You know, you have a moral obligation to use your fighting skills to help your fellow humans survive this gooe epidemic. Epidemic? No one believed these things existed until a year ago. A couple of online videos surface here and there, unexplained murders in the thousands sweep the nation, and it has become quite apparent to the people of the world my life's work was always justifiable and important. I do believe myself a chosen one of sorts, and I would like to extend the invitation to you to join me. He nudges the steering wheel to clip a vamp with the corner of the van. I don't owe anybody anything, I reply. Silence. Seems like a full minute. Disappointing, poked Deadpans. You can make a buttload of money. He gestures to the head of the village sentinel perched on the console between us. This guy is rare, he'll fetch a couple grand easy. I'm gonna take you to Provo. You'll see how bad it is. If you want to collect this bounty with me, I'll be happy to give you a cut. You kinda help. How did you know where to take me to fight the vampires? Poke takes a long drag off his cigarello and thinks well before he speaks. The thought process shows in his face. He's weighing all the angles to decide whether it's a good idea to tell me or not. They seem to be migrating toward your village.