Page 9 of Heathens

I take a deep breath, cracking my neck as I stand.

“I’ll call the bank, see if they can run something over in a pinch.”

“Great! I’ll get the cash out of the vault.”

“Double,” I remind her. “Remember, delivery’s extra at night.”

She’s already nodding as she heads for the door.

“So, what, five grand?”

“Maybe seven?” I call. “Make it worth the driver’s while.”

She stops and throws out a quick salute with two fingers.

“On it, boss.”

“We’re both the boss, Ruby. You can do this stuff too!” I yell after her, but she’s already long gone.

Ruby’s always been better at the whole bar-part of the operation, but I’m the one with the connections. She’s never liked negotiating with the blood bank, says there’s too much technical speak, and it all gives her flashbacks to her days as an ER nurse. I think she just doesn’t enjoy doing the legwork, but who can blame her? Blood is finicky and has to be transported carefully. If it gets too warm, it’s virtually unsellable. The vamps say it doesn’t taste the same.

The bass from the music out front rattles the walls as I pull out a cigarette of my own and dial the blood bank. It rings and rings and rings, and I grow bored within seconds. My eyes fall to the polaroid on my desk, lingering a little longer than I’d like. Me and my baby boy Charlie. He’s got that fiery red hair, just like mine, and a big smile that practically splits his face in half. I reach out and trace the outline of that smile. There’s so much joy in his eyes, in his little arms that stretch out toward the camera while I push him on the swing. This picture is the only thing I have left of him – that and the memories. He died during the first wave of the plague, right along with Sam.

I blink away the threat of tears and suck a little harder on my cigarette. Most days, I try not to think about Charlie too much. It’s hard to hold on to that grief. There’s been so little time to mourn the ones we lost, and now, with this newfound stability, I’m too tired to do it. Sometimes I worry I wouldn’t know how anymore.

We always share a few words of comfort when someone brings up the unending waves of death we’ve faced. There are always a few pats on the back, and someI’m so sorry’s, but nobody’s reallytherefor you. Who wants to sit here and listen to me cry over my dead son and husband? Everyone has a dead spouse, a dead child, a dead parent, a dead friend. I can’t hold it against them, but it weighs on me all the same.

They haunt every room I’m in.

So I swallow it, every last bit along with shots of whiskey at the bar. Most nights, it’s easier to be drunk. Even if I pretend to be okay, it comes out in nightmares, bursts of anger that seem to sprout up like weeds at the most innocuous things, or racing thoughts that keep me awake while I lie in bed.

I’m so tired of this anguish, but it seems like it’s not tired of me.

Ruby’s heels click against the floor, and suddenly, there’s a rolled up bundle of cash in front of me. She grins and hops up onto the desk beside me, kicking her feet like she’s a kid at the doctor’s office.

Finally, the phone line clicks and someone picks up.

“Santa Cruz Blood Bank.”

I turn on my best customer service voice and exhale smoke and grief all at once.

“Hey Avery! It’s Sofie Fournier at Nox. We need another delivery–”

Avery laughs and I can hear the “no” already. It’s in the way her tongue clicks.

“Can’t do that. We’re short-staffed.”

“Come on, Avery,” I whine, immediately losing my professional tone. “Don’t do this to me.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, but this is the third order in two weeks. I told you, we’re short-staffed and we’ve got our donations coming up soon.”Avery sounds exhausted.“If you want more blood, you’re going to have to come and pick it up.”

My eyes fall on the clock in front of me. It’s only 11:00 pm. We need this blood to get us through the night.

“Fine,” I groan. “I need 150 units of… god, just everything you can spare. It should tide us over for tonight.”

“Business that good, huh?”Avery chuckles over the other line.

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