In The Season of The Damned (Book One) by Allen Shannon

Author:Allen, Shannon [Allen, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

We hit Indiana that same day. It was not long before we were on the main street that led to her house. “I’m going to the library to research vampires; can you point me in the direction?” I said to her.

“I can do better,” she said, “please let me go with you. I have a bad feeling. I need to know what happened, to see if I can understand it.”

We went to the library and took out as many books on vampires as we could find. We searched everything from, “Vlad the Impaler,” to Stephen King’s, “Salem’s Lot.” With every tick of the clock, I felt a little more dread for what the night might bring, I fessed up and told Deidra about my first run-in at the rest station. She showed a great sympathy for me and the thought of going through that all alone for these days.

It was very hard for me not to walk away from this delivery. I think a part of me wanted to figure this all out before getting back home. Here it was, just me, but at home I had a family to worry about and someone I loved. We left the library, finding a $500 ticket for parking the truck where I did. It was the first time I didn’t care about getting a ticket. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen the last few days, your attention is more on questioning your sanity.

It was already afternoon, and I was tired again. We pulled up to Deidra’s house, a nice, small house, with plenty of neighbors. “Would you like to come in to rest?” she said. “You could pull the truck into the alley in the back.”

“No,” I said, “I probably better get going.”

Seeing her open the gate and stand there, I knew what was on her mind: She was terrified. I think I’d better go in. She fixed us a drink. I asked for the strongest thing she had, which ended up being an over proof rum. I wasn’t a big drinker, but after what we’d been through, this buzzed my tongue, seeped down my throat with a pleasant burn, and alleviated the day. Her house was very nice, and the sofa was inviting me to lie down. “We need to talk about protecting ourselves, what items do we have from those books we read?”

“I have a bible,” she said, “but is that the same as a cross?”

“I don’t know. They said holy water, crosses.”

“I have garlic!” she said, racing to the kitchen. “It’s powder, but technically should work, I think. This just sounds insane.” But we both knew what we’d seen. The idea of a bible and garlic were comforting. We sprinkled it around the house at every opening, and we taped crosses made of paper on the windows. We prayed together over a glass of water and stuck a bible page in it. If there had been any indifference toward God, it was gone. We were going to need divine intervention on this one.

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