Blood Bound

Chapter 11: My nightmare

My world is falling apart.

I can see my quiet life shatter in pieces, like glass, and the shards that fly by me represent a specific period of my life:

One shard shows me my childhood, filled with love from my parents. Another represents my adolescence that is followed with tiny pieces displaying my hardship that I suffered through all the bullying.

One shard in particular floats in front of it, portraying Sophie as she moves her mouth urgently in front of my face. Must be a new memory, as she's wearing the same clothes she wore earlier today. I particularly focus on the blood-stained shirt.

Blood. . .

Murder. . .

Sophie murdered another vampire, which according to vampire law is a penalty of death. She is doomed. But in the process, she has doomed me as well!

I'm pulled back from the deepest part of my mind as Sophie grabs hold of me and shakes me.

"Wake the fuck up!" she hisses between her teeth.

No words come out of me, except pitiful moans. The trembling will start in a few moments, I can feel it deep within my core. I want to cry, to scream in denial but I'm afraid that will only wake my parents. They would come inside to investigate, spot Sophie and who knows what she will do to them? Probably kill them. . .she has shown herself to be quite capable of that as of lately.

"We need camping gear," Sophie whispers urgently in my ear. "Do you have anything like that?"

I feel my head bob up and down, nodding affirmatively to her question. I'm afraid to open my mouth, in fear of throwing up. My jaw is already clenched to that response.

"Good," she sighs in relief. "Can you go get it? We need all of it, a tent, sleeping bags, the works." Her own fear and paranoia seems to have evaporated alltogether after recounting her predicament and has been replaced with steadfast determination and authority. I'm sure she somehow transferred her fears into me. . .

My brain seems to have put my body on auto-pilot as I rise up from the floor without a fuss and quietly walk out of my room. I tiptoe softly on the rug in the hallway because I know the hardwood floor would creak. Thankfully, my mom had insisted on putting rugs on the stair as well because the creaking sounds annoyed her.

I enter the first floor without a sound and head straight for the storage room next to the kitchen. My parents keep everything there: canned goods, pantry stuff, old studybooks that mom's school doesn't use anymore, old baby stuff from both me and Nathan, dad's fishing gear and in the right corner, our camping gear. We used to go camping every summer when I was little, around Anchorage and sometimes we even went to Petersville near Mt.McKinley. I loved it as a child and I can remember the old spark of adventure alight in dad's eyes whenever we went camping. He was a scout and always loved those nature field trips at school and that appreciation for forest life carried on to his current occupation of park ranger at Kincaid Park. That is also one of the reasons our camp gear is always up to date with the latest and best equipment, in case Dad ever needs to camp at work.

It is all neatly arranged on the floor and on the shelves that occupy the right side of the wall. I grab the smallest tent we own, capable of rooming two individuals and two sleeping bags. I also spot water filtering gear and a battery-charged heater. It might get cold wherever we might be going. My hands move mechanically as they reach for all the necessary stuff. It's odd being on cruise-control; I should be panicking, screaming my lungs out but my brain decides that kind of nonsense can be delayed for a better time. So I'm bottling it all up within me, my emotional turmoil ready to strike at the right moment.