Chapter 5

      We all get out of the car, and it’s dark out. The fresh smell of saltwater floods my nose, and the soothing sound of the waves make it seem like the long ride was worth it. My mom approaches a man who is average in height. He is wearing a dark-green fitted army cap that covers all of his hair. He is wearing a dark-green uniform that seems military. They talk as they head toward a small wooden boat. The boat doesn’t have an engine, and it is barely big enough to hold seven to ten people. When they reach the boat, the man starts loading what seems to be several gallons of blood, some canned foods, and multiple cases of water. I have no idea what is going to happen, and after all this time, why did we stop here? Who is this stranger? Can we even trust him? I have to know more, so I join them to hear what they are talking about.

      “How long will this take?” Mom asks, looking at all the supplies.

      “We are on course for six to seven years,” the man says quietly.

      I play the scenario out in my head: two drops of blood; three meals a day for Cara, Ezra, and me; plus food for Mom. Even if we ration properly, eating the minimum, we would only live three or four years max, and that’s only if the man doesn’t eat any food, which is impossible.

      Confused, I interrupt the man, “How is that possible. Even with the smallest rations, we would all be skin and bones by at least the fourth year,” I try to explain.

      “Boy, I’m just following orders, and my orders do not include you eating food, only blood. For the first year of this trip, Cara and Ezra will not have any blood, and for the second year, they will only drink blood. We have everything under control,” he tells me.

      “Is it supposed to take so long?” Mom asks.

      “No, but we have to move silently. We can’t be loud, so we can’t drive big ships. Humans cannot know we are leaving. They might follow, or worse, they might think we are trying to start a war. I specialize in this, but I’ve never carried this many people at one time. I will row the boat, carrying all of us and the supplies,” he explains. He finishes stacking the supplies at one side of the boat, he puts a net over all of it. He ties it down so we do not lose any supplies we greatly need.

      We all get into this small wooden boat and sit at the opposite side of the supplies, and the man sits in the middle of the boat. He starts to row into the great blue sea. He explains that we all have strict times to eat, sleep, move, what we move, and how much to move. As strict as it sounds, it seems this trip is only made for one to two people. We have twice that, which is less room and space for food.

      At first, it isn’t so bad, but after a couple of hours, we all start to feel uncomfortable. We try to shift our body weight to get more comfortable. The man scolds us for moving, and we stop moving, trying to listen unsure of what happens when we don’t. Halfway through the day, he stops rowing and tells Mom to stand up and stretch. After she is done, Ezra is able to move. Then Cara follows, and last, I can move. A couple of hours pass, and he passes around canned food for Cara, Ezra, and Mom. He passes me a small cup of blood. Then I look around to see Ezra and Cara staring at me, obviously uncomfortable. I can’t help it. I’m so hungry, so I hurry and drink it as fast as possible. I don’t want to look at their reaction, still ashamed that I crave blood. The blood barely fixes my hunger. I still constantly crave it, but I try to control it as much as possible. A couple of days pass, and I start having trouble ignoring my craving.

      “Excuse me, I know we have specific times to eat, but I was hoping if I could get some blood.”

      “No,” he says, concentrating on moving the small boat.

      “We don’t know how much blood I can even live off of, and I feel like I’m dying.”

      “I understand, but we all have to make sacrifices. Everyone will feel hungry. I’m not here to keep your stomach full. I’m here to make sure you get from point A to point B safely,” he says, slightly annoyed.

      “Okay, but if you don’t give me enough, won’t I die?”

      “I’ve had enough out of you. You get a cup of blood every day. That’s plenty for you. Now sit down and shut up!”

      Getting angry, I take it upon myself to take the blood. I’m a vampire. I need blood. Leaping for one of the jugs of blood, I get smacked in midair. I’m barely able to get my fingertips on it, but I can’t grab it. The force of his hand knocks me off the boat, and I slide a couple of yards across the water. In the water, I try to process the speed and power of his hit. Once I reach the top of the water, I notice I’ve broken open a jug of blood. I hear him screaming and cussing as the last drop is being drained out into the ocean.

      I start to swim back to the boat till I feel water moving underneath me. But it’s not like a current; it’s more like something swimming. I look down to see a school of fish, and I’m convinced that they are the only danger beneath me. Then I get pulled down by my leg, and sharp pain shoots through my leg in multiple spots. My leg starts to tear as I’m aggressively pulled down. Holding my breath, I look down to see a huge fish that I can only assume is a shark. I try to concentrate through my panic and pain so I can find a way to survive. I remember reading many books all claiming that the best chance of survival from a shark attack is to hit its nose, which isn’t a spot I can reach.

      When I see the shark’s jaw about to open to get my leg further in its mouth, I kick the side of its mouth and free my leg. Frantically I try to swim to the top, but then I see the shark turning around. How can I make it through this? I know I can’t outswim it, so I wait as the shark swims toward me with such speed, and I anticipate my attack. I strike half a second before the target is in place. I know it is faster than the speed of my hand. When I feel contact from the force of my hit, it hardly makes the bite miss. My hand is in its gills, and when I find a vein, heart, or anything important, I rip it out. I feel and hear the gills slide across itself as I tear my hand out, blood pouring everywhere. The shark moves a couple of yards till it stops and just sinks. Feeling the warm blood surrounding me, my senses ignite. I look down to see its heart in my hand. I take a big bite and sink my teeth in it. The taste is awful. The flavor is a jelly substance. It just tastes unnatural for even me to feed on this beast.

      Finally, I make it to the boat, bleeding everywhere. The man gives me blood so I can heal quickly. Months pass, and the strictness on blood is becoming severe. I can’t have access to anything until my eyes start to pulse. Feeling drained, I start to dream about getting blood in vicious ways. One dream feels so real. I can feel the hunger as I try to get close to my mom. Sometimes I bite her; other times, I don’t. But this time, I bite a vein that pumps more and more blood into my mouth. Then I wake up.

      I must be talking in my sleep because my mom seems more distant every night that passes. It’s been almost a year, and I’m overwhelmed with everyone’s eyes on me. The sun is brutal, burning our skin. The only one who gets shade is Mom, from an umbrella the captain supplied for her comfort. Ezra, Cara, the captain, and I will heal fairly easy from the burns. Mom can’t. She is unable to heal as fast as us.

      “Mom, how are you feeling?” I ask.

      “I-I’m fine, honey,” she says, uneasy and nervous.

      “Well, you look kind of sick, like you’re very pale,” I say, concerned.

      “I’m fine.”

      Realizing I wasn’t going to get a response, I sit there in silence. When it comes time to sleep, I feel sick, knowing I will have the same dream about attacking my mom. I try to think about anything but blood when I am awake. Maybe controlling my thoughts while I am awake will help my dreams. If I can control my dreams, maybe I won’t talk so much. Therefore, Mom will not be as uncomfortable being around me. The rations have gotten slimmer, and it’s the only thing I can concentrate on. The meals start to slowly spread out further away from each other.

      By the second year, I can tell Cara and Ezra are extremely uncomfortable. Ezra describes it as being fatigued and that his skin is crawling. Oddly enough, Cara