A/N: Apocalyptic stories are overdone, and vampire stories are way overdone. I decided to combine the two, add a science fiction twist, and see just how badly I could mess up two categories at once. Fun!

Another Vampire Story

Written by Jessie Danielle

Chapter One

My mother is going to be so pissed.

I mean, she's usually mad at me for one reason or another, but this is the twelfth time I've disobeyed her. You'd think I'd learn, but then again, after the first eleven times, why bother? Besides, she just doesn't understand. She's not that type of person.

But someone has to do something! Millions are dying, and no one seems to be willing to do anything about it! How fucking awful is that! They're too worried about their own skins to give a damn about anyone else's. It's pathetic, and it disgusts me.

Today was my twelfth transfusion. It's a dangerous number…okay, honestly, it's a stupid number. Even the few people who do give only go to about eight times, and that is usually over a long period of time, at least a decade. My first transfusion was two years ago - on the day after I turned seventeen actually. I'm kind of pushing it.

Even under normal circumstances, it's not healthy to give so much blood that quickly. I was very careful to obey all the rules though. I donate every fifty-six days on the dot, and I'm always very hydrated and filled to the brim with nutrients. Sure, there have been a few side effects – mostly dizziness and the like – but they usually go away after a good meal.

Still, a little light-headedness isn't the real problem here. The thing is…these aren't exactly safe times. Giving blood is the only way to save lives, but so many people refuse because…well, giving makes you more perceptible to the disease. It's a vicious cycle really.

The disease is one of the blood, and a total blood transfusion is the only chance there is of surviving. If you donate, someone could live, but your chances of getting the disease drastically increase. Not to mention, there's no guarantee that the person you give to will survive anyway. With those odds, it's no wonder that no one donates blood anymore. It's simply easier to stay at home, keep to yourself, and try to ignore the friends and neighbors disappearing around you. Unfortunately for me, my conscience can't handle that.

I really should go home. It's dangerous to be out after dark in the big bad city, but as I've already knocked on death's door once today, I don't see any problem with throwing caution to the wind one more time. Besides, I'm starving, and I'd rather not face my mother right now. With these two facts brought out in the open, I take a left turn and walk down to the local diner.

This isn't necessarily a 'rough' part of town, but it definitely doesn't hurt to have your guard up at all times. With this in mind, I take a table in the corner with my back to a wall. Now I can see everyone and everything…and the absolutely delicious choices on this menu as well.

"What can I get ya to eat, hon?" the waitress asks and pops her gum.

"I'd like a double cheeseburger with everything, a large order of fries, and some onion rings. …and a coke." I try to eat healthy for the sake of my donations, but since I won't be back for another fifty-six days, what the hell?

The waitress raises an eyebrow but jots it all down on the notepad. I've eaten more in the past two years than I have in my entire life, yet I've also lost ten pounds. Go figure.

While I'm waiting for the food to be cooked, I take a squirt of hand sanitizer from the restaurant's bottle, and I scrub down the table with the sanitary wipes. There are face masks offered, but I plan on annihilating some food soon, so I don't bother. Lastly, I use the disinfectant spray on my general area.

It's hard to imagine a time period when this all wasn't necessary. Vaguely, I can remember going to a restaurant and just eating, but it's a hazy memory, more like a fairy story than anything. The epidemic started fifteen years ago when I was four, so sanitizing and disinfecting has always been a part of my life.

When I come back from retuning the spray to the counter, the waitress is waiting for me with my order. All the food literally takes up my entire table. I slide into my booth happily.

"Here you go, honey. Got yourself enough to eat there?"

I critically observe the huge amounts of beautiful food before me, mulling over her question. "Maybe," I answer. "I'll let you know if I need something else."

I inhale the burger in five bites. The fries quickly follow, and the onion rings never stood a chance. I actually do end up calling for the waitress, and a slice of coconut cream pie is also delivered to my table. I eat that in less than a minute.

When I get up to pay, the clerk looks at me, then to my check, and then back to my thin build.

"Some people have all the luck," she mutters as she gives me my change. I smile.

It's eleven now, and the full moon is my only guide home. My mother is probably seething mad right now – she doesn't get worried, only mad – but I take my time as I stroll down the street. It can't get much worse, so I might as well enjoy the cool night air while I can.

My mother and I live alone together though I have no idea how we manage it. To say we don't get along is the understatement of the year. A more accurate way of putting it is that we hate each other's guts. The only reason we even attempt to keep a halfway friendly environment is for family's sake. As in, we're the only family we have left.

Everyone else was taken by the disease. Dad was a doctor, so that wasn't really a big surprise. It was established early on that the disease was contagious and could be transmitted through touch. Not long after that, my little sister fell ill when she was only eight years old. That one was a shock.

Most people had accepted that we were living in Hell, and they continued their lives in the best way they could – with the necessary disinfecting precautions of course. My mother, however, was stubborn to the point of crazy. She home-schooled both of us, and she was the only one allowed to leave the house. After what happened to Dad, she didn't want to take any risks. Not that it made a difference.

Emily didn't last long. The young rarely do. It's really a blessing though. Since it's a blood disease, your entire body basically turns on you. It starts simple enough with nausea and a cough, fatigue and cold flashes. Then it slowly gets worse until you're vomiting blood and practically begging for death. I'm thankful Emily didn't have to go through the final stages.

What kills me though, what absolutely torments me at night, is that Emily had a chance. We caught it early, so there was plenty of time for a total blood transfusion. There was just no blood to give her. Of course, Mom and I would have donated on the spot, but neither of us had her blood type. Mine is too rare, and Mom's simply didn't match. And all the hospitals within a hundred mile radius were fresh out.

So Emily died just as Dad did. Now it's just Mom and me.

Mom was crazy before, but now she seems to have personally declared war on the disease. She's not so protective of me because she fears for my life. No, she just doesn't want to let the disease take another of her family. It's out of pride now.

I've declared war on the disease, too, but I like to think my way is more sane and logical. I give.

Others refuse out of fear for their lives. I personally don't care much for my life anymore. It honestly doesn't matter much to me whether the disease takes me or not as long as I can die knowing I saved others. If one person had given, Emily would still be here. I like to think that I'm that one person for countless other little children.

It's a romantic idea at best, but without hope, what do we have? Considering this debris-ridden city, nothing pleasant comes to mind. Maybe despair.

Suddenly, pain explodes in my side, and my body is thrown to the hard concrete of the sidewalk.

"Give me the needle!" someone shouts, and all at once, I'm surrounded. Large powerful hands grab at my arms, and I can vaguely see shadows dancing around in my peripheral vision. Panic and fury bubble up inside of me, but I can already tell that I'm going to lose, and that pisses me off even more.

"I need a sedative. She won't stop squirming!"

"We gave our last pill to that guy near the library."

"Damn! Then hold her down tight!"

I'm flipped onto my back, and four men fill my hazy vision. One takes my left arm and holds it to the ground; another sits on top of me to keep the rest of my body still. The third and fourth are working above me, digging around in a large brief case.

And suddenly, I know them. They're Vampires.

You mostly hear about them in newspapers or on television. Though they're always portrayed as ruthless criminals in the media, I had always taken them to be more of the Robin Hood types. They mug people in the streets and steal their blood to donate anonymously later on. Generally, they don't take enough to kill the victims, but it's still not exactly safe considering the exposure and the disease.

Under normal circumstances, I'd be asking for autographs, but there's one problem.

"Wait!" I protest. "You don't understand! I've already given blood today. You're going to kill me if you take anymore!"

"Yeah, like we haven't heard that one before," the one on my waist retorts.

"But it's true!"

"Whatever, girlie. Stick her!"

I feel the familiar pain of a needle sliding into my vein. I'm used to it by now, but my arm still twitches. I watch as my blood flows into the bag, horrified as I think of how it happened only a few hours earlier. When the first is finished, he tosses it to his partner. "Check the type," he orders.

Now the second bag is attached, and I feel my blood once again leaving my body. I'm feeling dizzy and light-headed which is normal, but it's happening too fast. The average person has eight cups of blood in their body at one time. You can lose six and survive, but I've already given two today.

"Guys, you won't believe this! Her blood type is AB negative!"

All three of them shoot him skeptical looks. I don't blame them. AB negative is the rarest blood type, and it's almost impossible to find.

"Don't joke like that, Danny," the tallest says as he fills the third bag. "Eric searched this entire town for that type, and he's come up blank."

"No, I'm not kidding! Look!"

The dizziness is getting worse. Vaguely, I realize that I should be worried: worried about what they're getting so excited about, worried that they're taking too much blood. But I'm not. My head hurts very badly, and I'm just so tired. All I want is to sleep.

Eventually, all I can see is a few stars in the darkness. I'm not very aware of anything, but that's okay. My blood keeps flowing, and I'm just sitting here…sleeping here…going…to sleep…