Texas Hold 'Em by Patrick Kampman Page A

unsuccessfully to hold in as he shambled, he looked like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie.
    “Eric, I told you to stay put,” scolded Sylvia.
    “But I’m hungry! I can smell the blood. So much of it is going to waste!” He managed to whine despite the raspiness of his voice. His eyes had that feral red cast. We locked gazes and I knew he was about to go for me, until he tripped over an intestine and fell face-first to the floor with a wet thud.
    “Eric, pull yourself together.” Sylvia found an ancient cardboard soda cup and walked to where I lay.
    “Do you really think that’s sanitary?” I asked.
    “Oh, honey, that’s the least of your worries.”
    “I meant for poor Eric. I wouldn’t want him to catch anything.”
    “How kind,” Sylvia said before she reached down and started hoisting my chair upright. I was most of the way up when she paused, cocking her head to one side. “Martin, I told you to find Katy. She’s liable to—”
    Maybe it was because she was an old vampire, or perhaps she had been gifted with exceptionally keen senses, but she had already started moving before the crossbow bolt struck her. Her quick reaction meant the stubby wooden projectile pierced her shoulder rather than her heart. It also meant she dropped my chair.
    I crashed back to the floor. An involuntary cry burst out as my weight once again crushed my injured leg against the hard ground. This time the pain was so intense I almost blacked out. I took a deep breath, trying to regain some focus.
    Confusion swept across Sylvia’s face as she tried to process what was happening. I struggled to see where the shot had come from, but the angle from where I lay prevented it. All I could get a good look at was the red stain spreading across Sylvia’s white sweater.
    Sylvia was moving again. She sidestepped the next crossbow bolt with inhuman speed, and the projectile whizzed over my head, planting itself in the stage floor a couple of feet behind me.
    I decided it would be prudent to use the distraction to escape before I was killed, either intentionally or otherwise. The good news was that Sylvia had dropped me closer to the broken glass. The bad news was that some of it was now embedded inside of me, which explained part of the additional pain I was in.
    The impact of my second fall had loosened the tape enough to give me some limited movement in my arm. It was enough to allow me to get my hand to within inches of what remained of the bottle. The bottom circle was still intact. Jutting up from it, like a wicked shark’s tooth, was a single triangular piece of glass. I stretched my fingers but couldn’t quite get hold of it. It was mere inches out of reach.
    “Damn, that bitch is fast!” I heard the unmistakable voice of my brother, followed by the staccato of a fully automatic M4 assault rifle. He must have grown impatient and dumped the crossbow for something he found more gratifying but, of course, less useful.
    “So shoot the slow one over there!” A new voice. Female. Lacey?
    I heard more gunfire, a cry, a loud crash, then the sounds of an epic catfight. High-pitched snarls and screeches were interspersed with more crashing and gunshots.
    “Look out, she’s coming right for you!” My brother’s voice was followed by more automatic gunfire.
    “You hit the wrong vampire, you idiot!” Lacey screamed.
    I strained with everything I could to get hold of the piece of glass, but it remained out of reach. I began rocking back and forth, slowly inching my chair toward the bottle. It was almost unbearable. The chair moved each time, but so did my leg. The large open wound screamed along with its smaller glass-induced brethren as they scraped against the floor one excruciating millimeter at a time.
    Finally the tip of my finger touched the edge of the bottle bottom. I gave it a flick, causing it to turn so I could pinch the edge of the triangular wall between the edges of my two fingers.
    “Yes!” I was victorious. I