Considering how fast the world had gone from a sunny era of progress and hope to a post-apocalyptic war zone, Balthazar was astounded that he truly could not say when it had all started.

Weeks ago, there had been a few rumors, some strange disappearances down in Florida. But people were always disappearing in Florida, so Balthazar had paid the rumors little mind. He had more important things to worry about as a physics student, such as the ambitious paper about potential mechanisms for time travel in order to convince a dubious professor. Balthazar had always enjoyed the thought of time travel and trying to puzzle out the paradoxes that came with it, and to be fair, growing up as a fan of Doctor Zone had likely contributed to this fascination. The show was from his native Britain; what could he say?

Did Britain look anything like America now did? How would Balthazar ever know?

Soon it was more than rumors. The media were on it, covering the overnight conversions of small, cheery towns to desolate shells with none of the original inhabitants left. Yet they still wouldn't explain why, and after all, small towns full of uncultured hillbillies were prone to disaster. Places like the University of Danville were safe pillars of innovation, where mysteries were solved inside of two days and any problems were dealt with by tightened security.

Where had all the security guards gone when it counted?

And soon it became painfully clear what was happening, and the whole country fell into chaos, with no telling when they might decide to descend on an unsuspecting neighborhood, thirsty for their next meal. Some people brandished guns, some huddled in prayer, some demanded increased defense spending from their government. None of this had done the least to quell the onslaught. Even quitting school in favor of the secure retreat of the Cavendish Countryside Manor proved futile.

The vampires had come for them all the same.

His mother. His father. Their butler and their maid.

Balthazar alone had made it out alive and intact.

But now he was cornered, and had been for days. Thanks to the enormous decorative cross Mrs. Cavendish had bought on a whim at an antique show, the vampires were blocked from the only entrance to the cellar, while Balthazar cowered and lived off of vintage wine, heirloom apples, and cheese. His head buzzed and his stomach churned from such a diet, but he was alive, and fed.

Unlike the vampires outside, who only grew hungrier. Why wouldn't they just leave already?

Why wouldn't he just leave already?

Balthazar shook, and he realized he was sobbing—from fear, from drunkenness, from grief; who even knew?

All he knew was that every scratch from above, every bit of howling, every feral snarl from a being who had once harbored a human soul, he loathed them more and more and more.

But more than that, he loathed being alone.

For all he knew, Balthazar was the last human alive. He couldn't build a time machine and stop it all from happening; he couldn't even build a solid weapon to get out of that cellar. And the temperature was dropping, and he would have given anything for a warm body to hold against his as the gusts of night air reminded him that things were only about to become worse.

And worse they became.

Tonight was a hundred times harsher than usual. Tonight there wasn't just generic noisemaking and predatory drooling and hissing.

Tonight there was screaming.

It sounded like flesh being torn away from bone, like somehow the creatures of the night had managed to make another kill and bring it back simply for the sake of taunting Balthazar.

Except some of the screaming was in English.

Probably.

The tones and inflections sounded like English to Balthazar, like angry yelling in a Bostonian accent, but that was nonsense, wasn't it? If the vampires could talk, surely by now they would have collaborated to formulate a strategy to forcibly dislodge Balthazar from his sanctuary.

Or, perhaps, that was exactly what they were doing now.

Some more tearing, some more bloodcurdling shouting.

Then it all went away.

And then the door opened.

Balthazar jumped behind the nearest barrel. Had they managed to remove the cross, finally, or grit their teeth to get past it anyway? Had they seen him? Could they smell him?

"Hello? Hello?" a voice called.

Balthazar peered out anxiously, and was met with a sight unlike that of any vampire he had seen yet.

It was a brunette man in a track suit, sunglasses on despite it being after sundown. He was tan, certainly darker than Balthazar himself, but that was still no guarantee of humanity. Perhaps he had simply had very dark skin to begin with.

"Hey look, if you're down here just come out already, it'll make this easier," the brunette man said in a commanding voice. He took off his jacket, revealing a white tank top that didn't quite conceal a firmly toned abdomen and showed off biceps that had clearly seen a lot of use lately.

Balthazar's breath caught, and he felt the full impact of every bottle of wine he had drunk down here hit all at once.

He fell over, rolled across the floor, and landed at the brunette man's feet.

Balthazar tried to get up, but the room was spinning now. He started to crabwalk away, but he didn't even have the balance to keep that up.

This was how he would die.

"Hey hey hey now, easy there," the brunette man assured him. "Look, you're safe now, and if you wanna leave this dingy dungeon, I got your back."

"Of my neck?" Balthazar quipped back crossly. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Look, if I was a vamp I'd've eaten you by now already. My name's Vinnie, Vinnie Dakota. I knew with that many vampires outside, there had to be a human in here somewhere."

"Cavendish. Er, Balthazar Cavendish. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dakota." The formalities tumbled easily and swiftly out of his mouth thanks to years of upbringing and sheer habit.

"Look, you want more room than this tonight? We gotta secure the border before more get here." Dakota turned back to the stairs and beckoned for Balthazar to follow, swooping down to help him up as he staggered. Finally, seeing that Balthazar was in no condition to make the ascent himself, Dakota tossed one of Balthazar's arms over his own shoulder and allowed the taller man to lean against him for support.

"Whatever did you mean, 'more'? Were there not enough?"

"Where their own kind die, more come back if you aren't careful."

"But what would have killed them?" Those menaces were strong, swift, and cruel. Surely they had no natural predators.

Dakota grinned smugly as he thrust open the door at the top of the stairs.

The parlor was in unrecognizable disarray, with bloodstains and broken furniture and…

"Bodies," whispered Balthazar in awe and terror. For indeed, nearly a dozen of those cruel, pale faces lay dead, eyes frozen open, fangs forever descended.

Nearly all of them had a wooden stake thrust through the left side of their chest.

"You're welcome!"