THE TWAIN SHAN'T MEET

by Allen McGill

"Let's just say I'm a night person," Drusilla said, refusing Stanislaw's invitation to brunch. Her flowing black cape dramatized the translucence of her skin, the sensuousness of her green eyes.

"Perfect!" Stan, exclaimed. "I normally brunch around midnight ."

"It's almost that now."

"I know. Shall we?"

Drusilla paused; her tongue licked her upper lip. "Your place or mine?"

Stan's eyes gleamed. "I've been saving some delicacies for a special occasion. And I think meeting a beautiful woman qualifies as 'special.'"

"Now I'm flattered as well as intrigued," Dru responded. "Where do you...?”

"Just around the corner, a floor-through basement in an old brownstone. Very private."

"Better and better. I hate being disturbed while I'm being...entertained."

A sly grin crossed Stan's face. "You're not even a little frightened, being alone with a strange man?"

"You can't be as strange as some I've met. Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself." After he'd paid the bar bill, they strolled the dark streets in silence, each growing more eager as midnight approached.

They descended to the entrance of the brownstone and entered the dark interior.

"It's almost time," said Stan, loosening his tie. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable. Should I step outside?"

"I'm hardly a prude," Dru replied, settling on the cowhide sofa.

Stan removed his jacket and shirt as a clock somewhere began to chime. He then removed his shoes. As the rest of his clothes followed, thick patches of hair sprouted from beneath his skin to coat his body; his finger- and toenails thickened and sharpened into claws; his canines lengthened into fangs.

"You are gorgeous," Dru whispered. A light film of sweat on her face gleamed in the near-total darkness. "I've always admired hairy males. Perhaps, after..."

"Exactly what I had in mind," Stan interrupted, his voice more of a growl. "But first...." He reached for her hand and escorted her along a central hallway to the apartment's core. He pushed to either side, opening doors that faced each other, revealing barely lit cells beyond.

Inside one, a young blond female cowered, chained against a wall. The look of terror in her eyes was most becoming. The other cell held a young man, also chained to the wall, but staring defiantly with cold, unblinking eyes..

"Ladies' choice," Stan offered. "We'll dine together."

"Oh, no," Dru protested. "Please. You're the host. You choose. Both look quite delectable. You can't choose wrong."

"The female, then. She's a few days fresher and females are always more tender."

Drusilla and Stanislaw entered the cell and stood side by side.

"Leg or breast?" Stan offered.

"Actually," said Dru, her newly emerged needle-sharp fangs dripping with saliva. "I'm partial to the neck, if you don't mind."

“Of course not,” he said. “After you.”

The young woman's screams ended abruptly as Dru slashed at her throat. She turned her smile on Stan. "Now we can share a quiet evening."

"One of many, I hope," Stan said, biting into a thigh.

Suddenly, they were torn from their repast by powerful, unyielding arms and thrust together with great power. Dru shrieked and threw herself at the throat of the young man who was no longer imprisoned across the hall, her fangs sinking deep within. Stan's claws raked across the attacker's chest, stabbing within to tear at his heart..

No blood flowed with either's efforts. Dru's mouth came away dry, as did Stan's rapier-like claws. They looked at each other, then at the dead face of the man who grasped them helpless.

“You're trespassing.” The words came through dry, cracked lips that barely moved. “You're in zombie territory and we don't permit outsiders.” A flash of metal showed through the opening in the shirt that Stan had torn. It showed a badge that read: Dead Zone Police.

Dru and Stan were dragged through the house and up the stairways to the roof.

“We'll just wait until sunrise,” said the zombie. He tightened his grip, ignored the screams and waited until the bodies began to burn.