Vampocalypse (old first draft)

Chapter Two

Somehow through my fear, I felt the warmth of a firsty's body heat as someone came to stand at my side. A calming sensation trickled over me instantly.

It was my grandmother.

"Young man," her soft voice said steadily, as though calling him out of a trance.

The superior snapped his attention in her direction, above and beside me. He was taken aback by being addressed either as 'young' or 'man' or both. My grandmother and her old habits. Thank goodness for them! She was silent while he studied her, giving him time to come to his senses. His fangs retracted, and he rose from the floor slowly - even slow by firsty terms. He seemed to recognize something in her. Perhaps he was a new superior and Gramma was technically his elder. He shook away those morbid thoughts again.

"Forgive me, ma'am," he said kindly.

If I had been shocked before, I was in complete awe now. I knew the superiors had a strange respect for my grandma, but I had no idea even a new superior would follow their suit without a nudge.

"It's quite alright, young man." She patted his shoulder, like a gentle old lady as herself would. "I will be sure to remind Harper to dress appropriately next time."

She was making this out to be exactly what it was: my fault. It was wise on her part. Had she tried to defend me blindly, claiming it was just his vicious tendencies making themselves known, someone may be offended. Never offend a superior. It may be the last thing you ever do. She knew how to play her cards, my grandma. I rushed to clean the mess on the floor.

"Be careful." My mother warned me before kissing my cheek and promising to see me at diner.

I accepted another kiss on the cheek from my father, who showed my grandmother the same affection as if to say, "Thank you." Then my brother and I got on either side of my little grandma again. For a small woman she had a large impact on those around her. I realized.

"Sorry," I mumbled to the new guard.

I kept my head bowed down low as we passed, trying not to make any eye contact and risk riling him up again. Skip didn't say a word until we got back to the safety of our living quarters and we'd settled grandma back into her rickety old rocking chair.

"Stupid superior douche." He complained.

I didn't know where he'd heard such language. I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open. At least he was smart enough to hold it in until we were alone.

"Nonsense. He was only being what he was, and we must never forget what they are. No harm was done," Gramma told him and then to me, "Though you're lucky I was there, dear. Do be more careful."

"I will Gran," I promised.

"Good. I want you to live to be as old as I am." She smiled in a way only she could, warming my heart.

---------

Gramma told me our family is from the south- at least, she lived in the south when she was free. I suppose it used to be called Mississippi, now it's mostly abandoned except for the hybrids. We'd seen some of it on the programs that came on, but Gramma never watched them long. She was like me: it was sickening to her. She spared some time to tell us that is where she was born and raised, it's where her grandparents and her parents were buried in the ground, and it was where she once thought she would be buried. Here, they burned everyone, so they didn't turn into deaders after they died.

I'd wondered once if my great grandparents or my great-great grandparents had turned into deaders and clawed out of their graves, but I learned that couldn't happen. When the epidemic hit, it only effected the freshest corpses. They had been long dead - too long dead, my father had assured me. My grandfather had to be burned with the other firsties that died at the compound, so he hadn't turned deader either, to my relief. I don't think I could handle it, if one of my loved ones or ancestors was a deader.