Page 60 of Envious Of Fire
The closer he comes, Kyle realizes the man is muscular and young. Sweaty. Short blond hair. Some college football player, perhaps, like Kyle might have one day become had his fate been different. Or a wrestler. A gymnast. Amateur bodybuilder with a side gig in modeling. None of these possible conclusions help Kyle understand what this man is doing running around naked in the middle of the desert at this hour. For all Kyle knows, this is a completely unrelated drug deal gone wrong, and the guy was dumped in the middle of the desert without a thing on him, left for dead. He could have been lost out here for days.
When the man grows close, he slows down, quickly slaps a hand over his privates as if just now remembering his state, and spits out the words, “Please, I need—I need to get—to get a—” He can’t catch his breath, doubling over, grabbing Kyle by the arm to prevent himself from collapsing. “P-Please, h-h-help … I need—I need a phone … Do you have a phone? … Can we—Can we even get reception all the way the fuck out here?”
Kyle reaches out to help steady the exhausted young man, causing him to let go of his privates in favor of clinging to Kyle like a life raft. “You’re okay, you’ll be fine,” Kyle quickly tells him, because what the fuck else? “Take a breath, tell me what you’re running from. Tell me why you’re all the way out here.”
“You … You wouldn’t believe me if I—” The man sucks in air,desperate to catch his breath. He looks like he may pass out. “I just need a phone … P-Please, dude. Please.”
Kyle, with one arm steadying the guy, pulls his phone from his pocket. Utterly no reception, as expected.
“You gotta get me outta here,” begs the man, drooping his head on Kyle’s chest, breathing heavy, nearly in tears. “They’re comin’ after me, dude. They’re gonna kill me one of these days, they’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, I just know it …”
“Who’s gonna kill you?” Kyle tries to straighten the man up, but it’s like fighting with deadweight. “Tell me who.”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” he repeats.
Kyle can’t presume anything. He has to be absolutely sure. He sees no bite marks, no obvious bruises, nothing to indicate this guy is any victim of his kind. “Try me,” says Kyle.
“Thirsty …” The man chokes out a sob. “H-Help …”
Then he full-on collapses in Kyle’s arms.
Kyle, who was already exhausted making this reckless trip into the middle of the desert, has now been given the unasked-for gift of another burden: the passed-out body of some guy running for his life from likely the very individuals Kyle seeks.
Perhaps this is sign enough that this mission was a bad idea.
Kyle should turn back, carry him to Nowhere, and return another night. If he heads home now, he may beat the sun if he’s lucky. And that’s assuming he can even carry an amateur bodybuilder. Or football player. Or fitness model.
Or whoever this naked mystery man is.
Kyle’s first and second attempts to lift the young man fail, his body proving far too heavy. Kyle keeps trying to grip him in different ways in an attempt to hoist him onto his back, but the man’s body is either too slippery, too awkward, or too naked. “I need you to help me help you,” mutters Kyle in frustration, “or elsebothof us might die out here once that sun comes up.”
Kyle even considers leaving the poor guy here. But then hewill certainly die, whether eaten by a pack of coyotes or the deadly sun itself, which given the right circumstances can be just as fatal to a human with zero supernatural sun allergies. Kyle waves his phone in the air, angry with himself suddenly, to no avail. He closes his eyes and, crouched next to the guy, attempts to cast his Reach out as far as it can go. Beyond the distinctly different pulls of animal presences, Kyle detects no other humans.
Shouldn’t he be getting another surprise passive-aggressive visit from Wendy right about now?
Kyle grows more desperate as the minutes tick by, grabbing the naked man in an awkward bear hug, one hand on his back, the other trying to find purchase on his ass, the man’s bare cock grinding against Kyle’s front as he strains to hoist him over a shoulder, or at the very least carry him like a sack of luggage. The moment he thinks he’s winning, after managing seven and a half steps, his sweaty human cargo slips through his arms and crashes onto the hard ground. Kyle trips, catches himself, then lands atop the muscled man with an awkward grunt, rolls onto his back next to him, sighs with exasperation.
“Do you not know the hour?”
Kyle rises off the ground at once, turns.
The dauntingly tall Lazarus towers over the two of them, his shape painted over the pallid moonlight, his long black hair swaying like cables in the dry night wind.
“Part of me didn’t think you’d come,” admits Lazarus with his usual detached expression and deep voice. “But the Devil’s Mouth is a bit farther, however.” He points off. It’s only now Kyle notices how long the vampires fingers are, with nails as sharp as talons. “In a shadowy basin, safe for us even in the morning hours, but not in the late afternoon.” Then, like an afterthought, he adds, “That one belongs to Salazo.”
Kyle is confused for a moment until his own eyes return tothe body by his side. “You mean—?”
“I don’t understand those of you who keep pets,” Lazarus goes on. “It annoys me. But Salazo loves keeping one from time to time. This one’s lasted longer than the others.”
Kyle feels protective suddenly, frowning. “He cried out to me for help. I’m not just gonna let him go back to you. I—”
“He isn’t yours.”
“He isn’t yours, either.”
“No, he isn’t.” Something whips past Kyle’s face, sweeping dust into the air. Kyle barely flinches, blinks, then discovers the body of the young man now hanging limply from Lazarus’s pale arms, like he’s as light as a bundle of sticks. “This is Salazo’s.”
Kyle can’t help but be staggered by his supernatural speed and strength. “He doesn’t belong to anyone!” he shouts back.
