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stood a safe distance away, with two of his guards between them. The other vampire, who had the appearance of an old man, was smiling down on him.
    “I wanted to see how far you’d get,” Peterson said, “though it’s a shame about Chloe. I warned her to be careful. You’ve always been a tricky son of a bitch.”
    He motioned for the guards to hold Fitzsimmons down. Only then did he approach. “Well, now we know. Vampires can grow back limbs. I always wondered. However…” He removed the sword from his cane. “I don’t think we can allow that.”
    As Peterson stood over Fitzsimmons, a look of satisfaction came over his face. He slashed down, chopping off his former boss’s left arm, then his right.
    Fitzsimmons was too numb, too stunned, to cry out. He felt a sharp pain as his vestigial legs were chopped away. Then he passed out.
     
    #
     
    He woke in the dark, back in his little coffin.
    He screamed, unable to stop himself though he knew that his thrashing and cries were being observed and recorded. He no longer wanted to die. He wanted to live. Such hate as he felt was like a magic potion, strong enough to manifest itself into reality. He was certain that his time would come.
     
     

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Kelton awoke to the sound of explosions. Turning on the radio, all he got was garbled messages about groups of people attacking other people for no apparent reason. The authorities wanted everyone to evacuate to the National Guard Armory building at the county fairgrounds.
    It didn’t taken him long to realize that this was the best chance he’d ever have to spree kill. From everything he’d read, he fit the definition of a serial killer, but he’d always had the desire to kill a lot of people in a short time, too. Trouble was, spree killers were always caught, most often going out in a gun battle or turning their weapons on themselves. Kelton didn’t have suicidal tendencies. He just wanted to know what it would feel like to kill a bunch of people at once.
    He drove to the wealthier side of town, which he usually stayed away from. It was much easier to prey on the poor; fewer alarms, fewer police patrols; but he’d always harbored resentment against rich people, and this was his chance to act on it.
    Fires had broken out all over the city, but the fire trucks were in this part of town, taking care of the rich. Kelton caught a fireman between houses and approached him with a big smile, sticking the long blade of his knife into the man’s chest before he could call out, careful not to get blood on his big waterproof fireman’s coat. Kelton put on the coat and the helmet and started going house to house.
    With all the activity in town, people were being more wary than usual, but were also knocked out of their routines and easily seduced by the promise of safety. His uniform and his vaguely official demeanor reassured them. He’d ring the doorbell and stand there with his goofy grin, and they’d open the door for him.
    He approached this final home like any other. It was a small house near the ocean. It was out in the open on a bright, sunny day, and yet it seemed to be in shadow. It drew him in and repelled him at the same time. He almost turned around and tried the next house.
    Are you a coward? The thought came into his mind as if from some outside source. Kelton had never run from anything, and this mental taunt made him keep going.
    He talked his way into the house; the little old lady didn’t even question him. He picked her up as she keened a weird little cry and threw her onto the living room floor. He knelt over her, deciding he’d make short work of it. Kill her and be gone.
    Then the room seemed to spin completely around. Someone else was there. He rose and started running for the door.
    STOP! The command was shouted directly into his mind . TURN AROUND!
    His sense of direction was disrupted, and when he looked toward where he thought the front door was, he found himself looking in the wrong