Tyran's Thirst (Blood Lust)

Tyran’s Thirst
By: Erika Lindsen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

 

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

 

including photocopying, recording, or by any information

 

storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

 

from the author, except in the case of brief quotations

 

embodied in reviews.

 

Publisher’s Note:

 

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and

 

events are the work of the author’s imagination.

 

Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is

 

coincidental.

 

Erika Lindsen ©2012

 

Dedication

 

This goes out to the one who read my stories first, and is
always there to slap the bad ideas out of me.
CHAPTER 1

It was like walking the plank. Holding my breath, I turned
the knob leading into the office. Nervous shakes flooded my body
until I was hit with the putrid smell of Lacy’s dollar store perfume.
I wrinkled my nose, hoping the odor wouldn’t assault my senses
too much. The office was a nasty color of white with sections
peeling away like a sunburn. Her desk was a garage sale special
with stuck on faux wood stickers.

Lacy turned, putting her newspaper aside as I clicked the
door shut. Her red lipstick was smeared from the lunch still sitting
in front of her. She had a half smoked cigarette in her ashtray that
was as equally covered in red. I tried to smile, but something about
her appearance made me uneasy.

She picked at a piece of chicken between her teeth.“I’m
sorry, but we’ve decided to go in another direction for manager.”

I stared at my boss, mouth hanging open. When I could
regainmy composure, I asked, “Why not me?”
“It’s none of your concern. We just felt another would be
better suited for the position of dairy manager.”

“But…but…”

 

Picking up her paper again, she flicked the edges at me and
said, “Good-day,Kathryn.”

“But, Lacy. Who is better than me? I stock the milk before
it’s even close to being low. I check the expiration dates on all
products and discard them at least two days before the date, and I
make sure the newbies are on time and dressed fifteen minutes
before their shifts.”

She huffed, obviously irritated with my arguments. Lacy
picked up her cigarette and took a drag, staring at me from the
corner of her eyes.

“Lacy?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I feel like I deserve a fair chance and reconsi“

 

“I said good-day, Kathryn. Now please leave before we
find someone else for your regular position.”

I nodded and walked out the door. As I cleared it, Mike was
celebrating, clapping his hands and smugly telling everyone how
much he deserved it. Looking down at me, Mike smirked, knowing
I had been turned down. I wanted to tell him where to go. He was
an awful choice. The other employees had no respect for him and
we’d had a number of customer complaints about milk and cheese
being past due. Mike always brushed it off as everyone else’s fault.

I couldn’t figure out what made Lacy a bigger bi
tch; her
attitude, or the fact that she hired a lactose intolerant slacker to
head the dairy department. Whatever the reason, she was, indeed, a
true bitch.

Walking back to my post, I slammed into a rude customer
whose cart was moving fast.
Must be one hell of a sale somewhere.
I hated working at Food City ever since I got the job right out high
school.

High school. A time when your biggest problem was
whether or not to date the class president or jock. I opted for
neither. Well, that’s not true. They chose to ignore me. Lacy
ignored me. Maybe it’s my black-rimmed glasses that are too big,
or my waist line that could use some work. I had been dieting. Just
thinking about it caused me to pull up my size sixteen stretch
pants. My red shirt was falling out of them, so I re-tucked.

Why did Lacy choose Mike? Thinking about it, the answer
was simple: I was a mess. My short, spikey dark blonde hair
caused everyone to think I was a lesbian and men treated me as
such, my weight was an issue and of course, I was shy. Useless.
Nothing could help me.
Okay, Kathryn. Don’t overdue the pity
party.

Over the intercom,
“Kathryn Meloncamp, could you please
report to customer service for customer assistance? Kathryn
Meloncamp, report to customer service.”
It clicked off.

I sighed. Customer service was my least favorite position. I
wasn’t even sure why a dairy supervisor would work there. Oh,
well. Must report before the big bad witch had her hissy fit.

Upon reaching the desk, I saw a woman, older, with
medium blonde hair and glasses. Her Minnesota Vikings hoodie
covered down to her knees. Her stance was strong with one knee
bent. She was on a mission. More importantly, she sported a scowl
so her lower lip was pursed and eyes were narrowed into slits.

I smiled, knowing it wasn’t going to end well. “May I help
you, ma’am?”

 

She cleared her throat. “I bought these batteries the other
day and they don’t work.”

 

I checked overthe double A’s. The package was opened
and missing two batteries.

 

“Ma’am, where are the two missing batteries?” I asked.

 

“It didn’t come with them.”

 

Wanting to roll my eyes, I said, “Well, I’m sorry but we
cannot take back merchandise that’s missing parts.”

Her eyes blazed. “Now you listen here. I bought these
fucking batteries and they don’t work. Now you’re telling me I
have to keep them because you guys didn’t pack them right to
begin with?”

I tried to stay calm. “Ma’am, if it was missing two, why did
you purchase them?”

 

Wrong thing to say. “I want to speak to someone who
knows what they’re doing, not some school kid.”

I’ve been out of school for a few years, bitch.
I nodded,
glad to get away from this lady. What did she expect from me? I
dialed the phone which linked directly to Lacy. Great. Trade one
for another.

Lacy answered, “Yes, this is Lacy Schim.”
“Hi, Lacy, this is Kathryn Meloncamp. I have a customer
up at service who is requesting to speak with you.”

 

“The woman about the batteries?”

 

“Yes.

 

“I just sent you there. Explain to me how you can’t handle
one disgruntled customer.”

I repeated, “She would like to speak with the store
manager.”
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there. Keep her calm until then.”
She clicked off.

The older woman was staring me like a hawk does food. I
was in for it.

 

“Well?” she asked.

 

“Our store manager, Lacy, is coming.”

 

“Does she have more brains than you?”

That
was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Listen, bitch. It is
not my fault that you bought a pack of damn batteries missing two.
Hell, you probably kept the two and are returning the rest. People
like you rip us off all the time. I could exchange or refund
defective product, but not product you have kept the pieces to.
Now, take your crap and leave.” I threw the package at her, hitting
her in the chest.

She stared at me, wide-eyed, mouth open.

 

I finished my tirade with, “Trying to catch flies with that
trap?”

 

It clamped shut.

 

I smirked and turned, only to slam in to Lacy. Her face was
red, almost purple. Oh, no. I was in deep.

 

“Kathryn, get your things and get out.”

I knew it was over. Nodding, I walked back to the break
room to grab my jacket and purse. It was the last time I would ever
be in Food City.

Like I would miss the place. Looking around, there was an
off-white paint that had been there longer than my own four years.
It actually appeared to have been there for twenty. The brick
accents I always found ugly and the white tile floor was stained
with the snow and mud of December.

In the break room, I had to cover my nose at the smell of
someone’s lunch from last week that was still hanging out in the
fridge. In my locker was my patent-leather red purse and black
winter coat. I found my gloves and hat, which were also black, and
out the door I went.

It had snowed. I started my rusty Oldsmobile and found the
ice scraper. Chiseling the frost from my windshield, the scraper
broke and scratched the glass. I swore while trying to wipe away
the mark. My fingers became frozen after rubbing for a couple of
minutes. The scratch was permanent and right in my driving view.
Toes iced, I gave up.

I flopped in my car and used the de-icer from my washer
fluid to finish cleaning my view. I sighed.

I was fired, single,
and alone. I didn’t have any friends.
Most of my days were spent watching re-runs of Sex and the City.
My mother died from cancer two years ago and my father wanted
nothing to do with me. It had been four years since my last date, to
which that was only one outing. The only real boyfriend I had was
in school. He used me for sex. I was just a notch on his belt. He
was a B-lister on the football team. Jay enjoyed showing off his
muscles, which were not very big, and trying to impress the ladies.
In the end he cheated on me with some freshman hussy. A shiver
ran over me thinking about him. Or was it the cold?I didn’t know,
nor did I care. Knowing I was throwing the pity party, I figured I
could for an hour or so. Christmas was right around the corner and
it would be alone.

Once my car was warm, I threw it in gear and away I went.
Four days until Christmas. My plan was to put up a desk tree on
my buffet and drink hot chocolate all day. I bought myself a
present, but nothing special. A knife set. I needed new ones as my
current set was dull.

The roads were icy. I had to drive slower and take things
cautiously just to keep from getting in an accident. The car in front
of me tried to stop at a light. He skidded through it and collided
with the curb. My own car swerved around him and just barely
missed hitting his bumper. In my rearview mirror I could see him
standing outside and assessing the damage. He was all right and I
was free to go. There were a number of accidents along the way.
One car had flipped on its side. Another hit a tree so hard the tree
trunk snapped in two and it fellin someone’s house. Ambulances
were everywhere. I had to take deep breaths and hope I would
make it.

I made it home. As I got out of my car, I skidded on the ice
and fell on my bum. Standing up, it was difficult and my butt was
sore. I rubbed it as I walked the two flights to my apartment.

Could today get any worse?

Clicking on the T.V., Sex and the City was on. I smiled.
My favorite girl was Samantha. I loved her carefree spirit and
boldness. She was such a spit-fire. If only I could speak my mind
like that.

I did, and where did it get me? Fired.

I plopped down on my coral couch and one side broke. It
didn’t faze me. My answer was to pull my quilt on the floor and
watch as Carrie and Alexandr had a fight about cancer. Samantha
was recently diagnosed and Alexandr was telling Carrie about his
friend that lost her battle with the disease.

As the episode ended, I gazed at my clock. 2:30pm. What
was I going to do for the rest of the day? Maybe take a nap or work
on painting my figurines. Anymore, that was how I passed the
time.

The ground began to shake. Fear surged through me as my
soda fell from the stand, then my DVDs. I stood and ran past my
TV as it toppled over. Barely able to walk, I made it to the closet
where I hid in the doorway. Bracing my hands, I bit my lip so hard
I could taste blood. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the earth
shook so fiercely that my stove rumbled from its place. My fridge
toppled over and slammed onto my dining table. Pots and pans fell
from my cupboards, slamming against my counter and crashing to
the floor. Whimpers escaped my lips as I watched my apartment
being demolished by the quake.

Finally it stopped. I waited in case of aftershocks. Nothing.
The coast seemed clear after hiding out for almost two hours. But I
heard nothing. The world stilled almost as fast as it turned to
chaos. Slowly walking away from the closet, I shuffled toward the
window. My mouth dropped.

The cloudy sky had turned black. Dark clouds covered the
ceiling as fire spewed from the northernhorizon. It wasn’t a
building on fire. The sky was blazing. Waves of smoke blanketed
the Earth. It appeared to be a flood of smog and blaze lapping over
the sky. I couldn’t look away. My neighbors were outside, equally
as stunned as me. Then they began running.

Down the road I could see people walking in my direction.
My brow creased as I saw them moving like they were drunk. A
man moved to one of the people, trying to assist them. The drunk
guy grabbed the Samaritan by the shoulders and bit into his neck.
Blood poured from the victim as he shrieked. The rest of the
drunks found their own victims, tearing their skin from their flesh.
The grass became stained with the blood of the innocent.