Dead Surround - The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles (9 page)

They were both tall, dark men, but they couldn’t have been more different. Sainvire had a broken body and a scar on his upper lip that disfigured the nobility of his face. His shoulder was misshapen from a wound he’d attained trying to defeat Franco in Spain.

Maclemar was a perfect specimen of a healthy male with the exception of bite chunks on his flesh.

“Julia,” he said, still looking out of the porthole.

“If you want to see a school of dolphins, you had better go on deck at once.”

“Dolphins?” Poe said stupidly. “Flipper? I’m there!”

She paused mid-step and looked back at Maclemar who was in the process of gathering the dirty dishes. “Um, Maclemar, call me Poe. I don’t much fit the name Julia anymore.”

73

SHE KICKED WITH HER feet as nobly as she could in such an unflattering position. Poe, down to her skivvies and supported by an orange inflatable tube, tried to keep up with both Maclemar and her expert water trotter of a dog. Even Chops, occasionally paddling in circles to show off, did a better job. It was the price of never learning how to swim. Her pack contained a few guns and knives, decade-old candy bars, two packets of squished cotton candy, night vision goggles, junk, toiletries, and spare clothes dryly ensconced inside two plastic garbage bags.

The unhealed bites and scratches on her body stung. She felt the sort of pain she hadn’t practiced for, the sort of pain that proved to be vastly different from pounding a tree.

Buck up. At least they’ll heal quickly from the
salt water,
said the voice in her head.

Maclemar swam effortlessly, his marked arms cutting the water in powerful strokes. Occasionally he would tug Poe’s dawdling floatie along, and the break gave her time to hawk out remnants of salt water accidentally swallowed.

“We can’t dock at any pier. Someone would see us,” he had told a sour Poe earlier. He chose a secluded cove with more trees of different species 74

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

than sand. “We’ve got to drop anchor a mile then swim the rest of the way.”

And the mile seemed like swimming the English Channel tenfold. “The hell with this. We’ve been going for thirty miles, it seems,” Poe grumbled. “I’m dying from hypothermia.”

“We’re nearly there, woman. Can’t you see how close the trees are?” He tugged at her tire floatie more aggressively.

They finally reached the narrow shore. Poe lugged the garbage bag behind her in the pebbly sand, and she coughed the salt water out of her lungs.

The ground stung her pruned feet, proving the northern shore to be harsher and colder than its southern counterpart. She was winded and out of breath, and the vibrant tire float still hung about her waist. “That felt more like a billion miles,” she said to Penny.

Poe was so tired and heavy-limbed that she’d forgotten about her state of undress. Like most of her clothes, her underthings were predominantly black.

The cotton panties contrasted sharply with skin untouched by the sun.

She pursed her lips the moment she felt eyes watching her. Poe wasn’t exactly ashamed of the bruises, lacerations, and gun shot scars that marked her body. But she wasn’t proud of them, either.

“Hey,” she said. She turned to Maclemar who stared his fill of her shivering body. “Could you not look at me? Because you’re pissing me off.”

“Right. Can’t blame a guy,” he said without guilt. “Haven’t seen a woman half-naked since I was taken.” He shook his head from the vision of Poe in black bra and panties dripping in sea water. Her 75

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

tapered waste, full breasts and luscious posterior called wildly to his celibate body. He’d never seen any woman so cut and so deliciously supple at the same time.

“Why don’t you bother Passionada then? She seems partial to dogs.”

“No need to get testy,” he said, raising an eyebrow. His eyes continued to inspect her.

“Passionada’s a sweetheart.”

“For your information, Passionada slammed me over the head, and I still got the bump and the headache to prove it. If you don’t quit eyeballing me, I might just have to beat the shit out of you to teach you some manners, you damn pervert.”

“If you’re self-conscious about the scars, don’t be,” Maclemar said matter-of-factly as if he’d read the girl’s mind. “They’re quite alluring.”

Poe touched the deep scar above her bra and remembered a vengeful vampire’s hook lifting her by way of her breast. “Glad you think so, kilthead, but there was nothing alluring about the way I acquired them. If you want to talk about scars, then let’s talk about yours.”

“You can change here,” Maclemar said. He pointed at a clump of cypress trees, and his dark blue boxers dripped seawater. The scars on his body shamed him. An awkward silence fell between them.

He tore his own garbage bag and pulled out some items. “Here’s an extra towel for you and the dog.”

His eyes politely stayed on her face

“Thanks,” Poe said. She accepted the towels. For once it dawned on her that she might have a smidgeon of sex appeal. Or Maclemar was just desperate for warm female flesh. Never really taking 76

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

her looks seriously, Poe had assumed she was boyish and quite possibly cute, but that was all. Her facial scar prevented any hopes of entering post-apocalyptic beauty contests. What she didn’t know was her ignorance of female enhancing items like make-up, blow dryers, and curling irons endeared her to Sainvire and to men like Maclemar. She was a natural beauty, understated and humble. Her body had filled out with relatively healthy food and plenty of exercise. Rigorous training sculpted her body into something strong yet womanly.

“I’ll dress over there, I guess,” he said with a nod toward a grove of birch trees.

“Hey, Maclemar,” she said, sounding curious.

“Yes?”

“Are you going back to your boat after you drop me off?”

“Yeah. That’s as far as my debt to Passionada goes,” he answered. He was drinking in Poe’s near nakedness one last time.

“Okay then. See you in a bit,” Poe said with a sardonic smile that showed her thoroughly flossed and fussed-over white teeth. He turned away but not before she saw him redden.
Imagine. A grown man
like Maclemar blushing because I smiled at him.



Every rock, leaf, and piece of bark her Adidas trod on perturbed her. She credited her paranoia to being a city girl lost in the wilderness.

It’s Sainvire. He’s got you so jumpy. Don’t think
about him anymore, and focus on not getting
77

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

ambushed. Think of the lives in your hands. Penny,
Chops, and the Welshman.

“This is a lucky sign,” Poe said with forced cheer, fishing out two sticks of gum from the pocket of her blue straight-leg Dickies. She handed a stiff piece of Orbit Wintermint gum to Maclemar who crouched tensely behind a sage bush.

“Thanks,” he said with a nod. “This’ll take me a while to chew. Just to get it soft.”

He’d changed into dark jeans and a green t-shirt.

After hunching over for an hour, they felt the weather in the shady forest turn chilly. He slipped on a black hooded sweatshirt and warmed his cold palm against his thigh.

“You look super-grim, Maclemar,” Poe whispered, refastening her shoulder holster and rechecking the firearms she had positioned on different parts of her body. She slid out both wrist sleeves that held small but lethal throwing knives slick with garlic oil. Once satisfied she put on a black zippered pullover, and she looked like a smaller version of Maclemar. She left it unzipped.

“I don’t like when guides are late.” He gazed at her chest then looked away. “In my experience it bodes nothing pleasant.”

“He’s only half an hour late,” Poe shrugged, looking down at her shirt.
Really, there’s nothing to
see. I’m wearing a bra for Pete’s sake.
It was the second time he’d looked at that part of her anatomy.

What’s up with that?
Peevish, she tied up her damp shoulder length hair with one of the many black bands around her wrists. They had walked over a mile to get to that spot. “Probably lost in the forest.

Must be thousands of trees here.”

78

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

The thought of getting left behind in the vast forest didn’t sit well with her at all. Her sense of direction, though poor to begin with, was Kryptonited by verdant nature.

He didn’t say a word, just pressed his lips together then snuck another look at her chest.

“Do I have bird crud on my shirt or what?” Poe asked rather severely.

Maclemar’s mouth twitched on the sides.

Shaking his head, he quickly explained, “Ah now.

Don’t misunderstand my lingering admiration for your t-shirt as something predatory. Just wondering if you actually listen to the Ramones or you just found the shirt somewhere.”

“I grew up listening to the Ramones and a bunch of other bands like the Pixies and Pavement,” Poe said, insulted. The fire in her eyes ebbed, however.

“They’re my mom’s favorite bands.”

“I assume she liked the Clash as well, seeing that you wore that shirt yesterday.”

“Yup. These t-shirts were hers.” Poe gently smoothed the front of the Ramones shirt that was far from black from frequent wear.

“She had great taste in music,” Maclemar said.

His green eyes were sincere.

“Thanks. I always thought so,” Poe said. “She was a terrific artist, you know. Neon sculptor. That’s what she was.”

Poe gripped her Walther PPK and pressed it against her cheek
. Please, Mom and Dad, look after
the four of us. Yes
,
I’ve changed my mind about
Maclemar. He’s a bit of a perv, but he’s alright.
She took a deep whiff of fragrant forest air until she felt a calm descend like meditation for vicious killers.

79

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

Violent yoga she called it. Her seven chakras were long past purifying, tainted by her past kills and future destructive behavior. Her soul was too craterous for saving. She knew this, but she didn’t want to give up on salvation.

So Sainvire has a girlfriend
, Poe thought. The news hurt like lime juice on broken skin.
But what
the hell
. It had been two years since they’d made love in her underground bunker. The vampire had probably forgotten about her.

She eyed Maclemar who looked tensely about him. He was leaving her after the guides picked her up. For some reason she didn’t want the man to go.

He was a good cook and a lover of literature.
You get
attached so easily
, the voice in her mind told her. Poe didn’t know what came over her, but she asked the Welshman the same question she’d asked Sainvire who’d slipped from her. “Maclemar, do you think I’m pretty despite the scar on my face?”

Maclemar turned to her with a frown on his face.

“Are you serious? You’re asking me this now when we’re supposed to be in silent mode?”

Her dark eyes wide, Poe nodded. She was feeling insecure. “Well, Sharren, I think you’re one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met in my life. The scar on your face doesn’t take away from your unique features. You have nothing to worry about.”

Poe expelled a breath of relief. “Thank you, Maclemar. Would you, um, mind kissing me since, um, you’re leaving and all?”

Maclemar couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Though danger lurked, he cupped the back of Poe’s neck with his large hand and kissed her sensuously parted lips. His tongue delved inside her mouth, 80

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

coaxing her inexperienced tongue to dance with his.

Poe remembered Sainvire’s cold kiss and couldn’t help comparing the two experiences. Maclemar’s warm tongue left her breathless.

Her eyes remained closed long after Maclemar ended the kiss. When she opened them James Maclemar was smiling down at her. “How was that, my love?”

Poe rolled her shoulders and shook her head. “It was nice. Been a while.”

“Since your lover, Sainvire?”

“He wasn’t my lover. It was one day,” Poe sighed. “We made love exactly three times. In one day. That was the extent of it.”

“Sainvire’s a fool,” said Maclemar, and he continued scanning.

The fallen cypress where they took cover was double torsoed and quite intact, a genuine twin tree downed by disease and its own heavy weight.

Brambles and bushes sprung out along its limbs, giving it a second life. It was the pre-arranged spot.

Poe’s trigger finger was poised, anticipating.

Maclemar calmly peeked between mint-colored shrubs that leaned lazily against the fallen tree, an Arminius Windicator revolver in his hand and Poe’s rifle on the floor within easy reach. The American Lit scholar was no munitions expert. She could discern that fact without any effort. Granted he had shot those Revenents the night before, but he had been not five feet from where they stood. And they had moved terribly slowly.

A six-shooter? What’s he thinking? We have tons
of guns to choose from. Just ransack every other
81

Rono/DEAD SURROUND

house, and he’d find something that can shoot more
than six rounds.

The rectangular barreled gun was attractive and powerful but useless against a dozen vampires.
He’d
have to carry two or three of those things to have an
even keel with swift-footed undead
.
He and Morales
should get together
. The rustler, her friend, was also fond of useless guns. The thought of the time it took to reload those things brought on another migraine.

She made a mental note to educate the scholar about firearms when it was safe to talk again.
But the man
sure can kiss.

A heavy bout of apprehension, the kind that came with a tummy ache, fell upon her.

“Put that thing away and use this,” Poe whispered as quietly as she could. With brashness she peeled the six-shooter from his hand and stuffed it in the band of his pants right above the zipper. Flicking the safety off, she placed her reserve Beretta into his palm.