John works in the vampire processing room. A beep sounds and an open box rolls in on a conveyor belt. He grabs a stake with his left hand. Holds his mallet with the right, and drives the stake through the vampire’s chest. Then he hits the large red button, signaling he’s ready for the next. Mallet, stake, button. It’s how he survives. Mallet, stake, button.
It’s morning now, and he’s waiting for the battered old Ford truck that picks up factory workers.
His siblings, Mick, fourteen, Sienna ten, and Leo, six, stumble from their shack, though he has told them to stay in. Their clothes hang on their thin frames. He should work harder to get them more food. He’s eighteen. He’s responsible for them now. He’s the parent.
The world didn’t end with zombie hordes, or vampires, or one type of monster. It’s like some door opened to another world and zombies and vampires and werewolves, and all manner of creatures surged in.
Across the street, the hunters wait for their Mercedes van to pick them up. They find the vampires during the day when it’s safe and they’re asleep, box them for the factory workers to kill.
The hunters do well. Their big bellies show their prosperity.
John notices them staring at his siblings.
“Get in and barricade,” John yells to his family, as the worker truck comes and he jumps into its bed.
Mick runs after and joins him. “I can work. Sienna knows how to barricade the door. And she’s got that crowbar you found.”
Mick smiles, that cowlick in the back sticking up, and John thinks he looks like a kid. But in this new world, no one can be a kid. John figures Mick better learn to work in case something happens to him, so he agrees.
Mick works with him for practice. Every other body, they switch places. If he’s good, soon he’ll get his own room. He is good. He keeps up.
Then Mick steps away.
Never stop. Mallet, stake, button.
Mick says, “That one blinked.”
John says, “Keep moving. If they’re in the box, they’re vamps.” He squeezes Mick. “You want to eat?”
Mick doesn’t flinch. Drives the stake into the creature. Stares a moment, then John takes his hand and they push the button.
The next morning, Mick starts in his own room. Two working now. Food is good. A can of tuna. Big meals. Celebration. Even the dream of a can of beef stew.
But there could be more. Maybe they could trade for a shack with a locked door.
One morning, a hunter walks over. Big, tattooed. An old veteran. Could be over twenty, even. She talks to John, but glances at Sienna. “Want to come?”
John sees her glance. And he thinks as a hunter he could do more for his family. “Yes,” he says, he’ll go. Before he leaves, he makes sure Sienna has the door barred. Ordered not to open it until he or Mick comes home.
Before he goes to the hunters’ BMW, he glances back at the shack to make sure it’s locked.
Soon they’re in the outskirts. Empty malls. Wild grass growing through concrete. “Is this where the vamps hide?” he says. Then he hears a snigger. And he feels a poke and now he’s in a box, tight, and he knows where the vampires come from.
He figures he’s going to die, and he’s sorry, but he worries about his siblings. How will Mick feed them until Sienna can work, too?
The bump of his box being unloaded stirs him. He can move. Someone screwed up. Does he have a chance?
His box rolls in and the top is popped off, and he’s going in and he’s in a vampire processing room.
It’s over.
But it’s not.
Mick stands over him.
Mallet, stake, button, John thinks. Do it, Mick. Let me know you’ll all be okay. Do this. You’re the parent now.
But no, Mick grabs him, struggles to lift John out. “John,” he says.
No. No. John thinks. Don’t rebel. We have to do what they want. No losing a vamp. They
Count them. Organized. Any missed are deducted from their pay. And will cause questions.
When John’s out, the drug wears off more. He can move.
He’d fall back in, but he knows now Mick won’t do it. He can’t handle this world. The roar of the plant fills John’s ears, tears fill his eyes. He can hardly see. Mick should have done it. But he won’t. He doesn’t fit in to this new world. He won’t be able to care for the others
“John,” Mick whispers, and John does it.
He flips Mick into the box. Quick, efficient, so he suffers neither pain nor disappointment.
Mallet, stake, button, and Mick is gone. Mallet, stake, button. That’s how it must be.
Image: A red button from Pixabay.com
literally stories 
Ed
This is one of those truly smart pieces that makes me wish I had the idea. I worked on a production line for a while many years ago and “turn, fasten, lock” still echoes somewhere in my brain!
Leila
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Thanks, I thought of some boring jobs when I wrote this and the quote about the banality of evil.
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A fresh perspective on a well-worn theme, given a nicely chilling new twist!
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I appreciate your comment.
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Interesting take to make such a staple of the horror genre into a blue collar worker tale. I liked this for the short, staccato style – not words wasted. Out of interest – with the following 3 sentences: ‘A can of tuna. Big meals. Celebration.’ – was the A, B, C intentional?
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Thanks for commenting. The A,B,C wasn’t intentional. It didn’t hurt, but that’s something one needs to be aware of.
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Well written and different for a vampire story with the care and feeling for family. I’m not a lover of vampire stories but this one stood out from among so many. – Diane
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Hi Ed,
I was delighted to see this get its day in the sun!!!
I first read this and it niggled so I read it twice again. (Always a good sign!!)
I think there is a lot more to this than is initially considered.
I may be taking more out of this than was put in but whether or not that is intentional, it doesn’t really matter – If it makes you consider, you have done your job.
First off, the difference in careers pay-wise is something that has been going on for years. If a porter doesn’t bring a surgeon the patient, the surgeon doesn’t work.
I then thought on the section of him killing to eat, that made me think on our slaughterhouses being run the same way.
This might be a bit crass of me, but the missing vampire numbers being deducted from their pay made me think on the nazis one way or another getting their numbers.
And the affluent hunters taking whoever surely was a comment on capitalism??
Overall, what came to me was the sacrifice that processing, not thinking for survival causes.
You have taken something that is well known, spinned it and made it a helluva lot deeper!!!!!!
Brilliant, ma man, really brilliant!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hugh
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Wow, Hugh,
Thanks for the comments. I must say this is one of a number of stories I’ve workshopped with the editor Anna Yeatts, who always gives me great suggestions.
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Am I the only reader who doesn’t understand why John was captured and then set up to be slain. I get that somebody had to die — in this instance his brother Mick — in order that the processors be paid, but what did John do to deserve to die? Is it because the Hunters had to make their quota, as well? If that’s the case, then this dystopian word certainly is screwed up (but I guess that goes without saying). I’m just beginning to talk myself into this scenario and now it makes sense. The bureaucracy and the pay differentials of the different jobs were salient points, as well. I too worked an assembly line, making boxes: BEND into shape; TAPE; and STACK, so like others, I can relalte.
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I saw this as being short of a quota and grabbing the first poor slob available to fix the problem. I felt that having one “blink” earlier was related to it.
In Casablanca the Nazi told Ilsa that life there was cheap.
In this undead hellword well presented by Ed I get the same impression. If you are willing to let children starve in a shack then you haven’t put much value on their lives
Leila
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Thanks for your comments. I was trying to illustrate this horrible, dystopian world. And as much as I would have like to, I could not come up with an optimistic endingl
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Just when you think there’s no fresh blood for a vampire story, this comes along. Very economical world-building and character development. I think Bela would approve.
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