Connections at The Bite

Growl the Alpha led his pack through the wastelands of what used to be Wall Street. They were all in wolf form, large and multicolored lycans with expandable backpacks strapped to their chests or backs. The backpacks held their clothes, or two pairs of clothing - werewolves did not need shoes, for there was little to nothing that could pierce the tough underside of their feet, even in human form, plus "grounding" was essential to knowing and remembering one's terrain. Grounding was when an area was canvassed barefoot and much better "remembered" by this type of canvassing. Growl Alpha leaped atop the Wall Street bull, almost as big as the statue itself. He was the leader of about two hundred lycans and a little over fifty thousand humans. The humans were weak and knew their place. Even the strongest human was no match for the weakest lycan. Growl Alpha let out a bone chilling howl that reverberated for miles throughout New York City. Or what used to be New York City.

Almost thirty years back, Vladimir Putin had made good on his threat to use nuclear bombs if he felt Russia faced an existential threat. The United States, in continuing to assist Ukraine with military arms had finally provoked Putin enough for him to launch fully half of his nuclear weapons arsenal. New York City, Houston, Los Angeles, Washington DC, Chicago - all were wiped out. Curiously, so was an obtuse city by the name of "Dinwiddie" in Virginia. God only knew what was going on over there for a nuke to have been dropped on that city. And so many other cities throughout the continental United States. Russia did not exist anymore, quite unfortunate for them, but neither did most of France, most of Ukraine, Finland, Sweden, England and other nations or most of the cities thereof.

China had come to Russia's aid and Great Britain had sacrificed itself to neutralize China, which was too large of a landmass to have been completely neutralized. Pi Xinping, the daughter of Xi, was now Supreme Ruler of China, ruling over most of a radioactive wasteland. Malia Obama was now President of the United States - it seemed as if most world countries were electing women as their leaders to get them out of the nuclear shithole men had dug the world into. The initial bomb blasts had been terrible and had killed millions upon millions everywhere, but the real killer was what now hung over the skies of most cities in the world: radioactive ash.

When humans had started dropping like bowling pins, the werewolves and vampires had come out in their numbers. As if they had a choice, when most of a vampire's or lycan's neighbors started dying from contaminated water sources and airborne radiation. And when they surfaced, so did their eons-spanning war. Growl Alpha's pack echoed his howl, minorly. And then they were off again, looking for food and a fight.

*

Bastion lounged on a long couch in some club downtown the name of which he had long forgotten. He held up a glass of what appeared to be (but was not) the thickest red wine and appreciated its scent and its sight before taking a sip and allowing the liquid to be absorbed into his nodes and nerves as he swallowed it. The clientele in the room was fantastically dressed. All manner of wealth was on display but what was wealth when barter was a quaint memory. There were still pockets of healthy humans but, when a vampire took the blood of an infected human, he too became infected... in the case of radiation. Radiation was not a manmade disease that the constitution of vampires had no problem overcoming; it was not a disease! And it could harm, if not kill, vampires. It was a direct result of mankind's messing with chemicals and elements he had no right messing with in the first place. The quest for power was intoxicating but it was also destructive and corruptive.

Bastion was playing some video game on his phone when a familiar and wild scent caught his attention. Standing up at super speed, he hurled his phone at the deejay, a young vampire called Lyric, who merely watched the phone smash against the wall behind him instead of catching it. Bastion was tall, almost gaunt, and could be seen from afar. The deejay saw Bastion pointing to the sound system and putting a finger to his lips. The smooth jazz abruptly cut off. Most of the vampires stood up, roughly forty in number.

The club was situated at the top floor of a 19-storey highriser. It occupied the entire square floor space. Out of habit, heavy drapes adorned half of the room's massive floor to ceiling windows. The windows of the other half of the massive suite were bare to the bleak and dismal sight of what so many movies had amusingly presaged of in previous times as "post apocalyptic."

Inside and directly opposite the elevator was the front door to the club, a longtime vampire hangout even back when they had had to hide from humankind. Back when this place was called Alphabet City, with its piles of trash long gone, and its colonies of rats, even now, still teeming. As food leavings became scarcer and scarcer, rats, wild dogs and even wild or abandoned cats had become feral, cannibalizing on each other when food became a sweet and persistent dream. The homeless population dropped to zero as these once domesticated friends of humanity, so many radioactive sick, turned on their former masters.

Into the club suite sauntered one of the biggest black men -one of the biggest men- Bastion had ever seen in his life. The Black guy confidently walked to the bar area and sat down. Vampires were not averse to drinking werewolf blood, especially the blood of Alphas, as this hulk before them surely was. This werewolf would boost the energy of a vampire to obscene levels. Canines throughout the room lengthened and plasma salivation began pooling in vampiric mouths at the thought of how nourishing this particularly healthy specimen of werewolf would be. The Alpha was wearing a pair of baggy shorts, a hoodie and some Air Jordan sneakers that had definitely seen better days. Still, he carried himself aloof, as if he were a king among paupers. There was a bookbag slung over his shoulder. Yes, this Alpha was definitely different than any of the werewolves the bite had shredded apart.

"Gimme a Johnny Walker double on the rocks, bartend," the Alpha spoke. The drink was served professionally by the only human in the room, a burly and masked character who knew that shit was about to hit the fan but he still had to work. A set of vampires approached and stood behind the Alpha, watching him drink. The Alpha turned his head to the side after downing the whiskey in one go. "Last call for drinks?"

And then all hell seemed to break loose.