By Blood We Live

"What have you done?" the stationmaster began, as he crawled out from under the desk. "What have you done? You should have just peacefully left in the afternoon…"

"You're not sick of living this way?"

"Everybody's living this way, it's bad for everyone now."

"No, not everyone's living

this way," Denis said resolutely. "Go."

The stationmaster set off for the door in an arc, but the young man's boots-heavy, laced-up army boots-were lying right on the doorstep, and he was forced to step over the body.

"Is this one a newcomer, or one of yours?" Denis asked.

The stationmaster stopped, awkwardly leaning over the body. He licked his lips, took off his service cap with raspberry-colored piping and crumpled it in his hand.

"One of ours. The doctor's son."

"Where can I find him?"

"The doctor? Take this street," the stationmaster said, and flicked his hand so that it was clear right away there was only one street in the town and it goes from the station to the sea. "There's a little hospital, halfway down the street. A clinic, of course, not a hospital. We just call it that."

"You go home," Denis suggested. "Go, go. I'll clean up everything."

The hospital was very small, but even so, it was a little bigger than the train station. It was two stories tall, but on the second story, parts of broken window panes were awkwardly patched with clear plastic. Denis walked back and forth on the porch, finishing his cigarette. Finally he made up his mind, gave a short knock on the door and, without waiting for an answer, entered.

The doctor must have lived in the hospital-otherwise why would he be in his office so early? Fairly old and heavy, he was sitting at his desk. A stethoscope, the symbol of his profession, was in the corner. He was eating a watermelon.

"Have a seat," the doctor said, pushing a plate at Denis. "Eat. We have sandy soil, the watermelons are really good. They help your kidneys."

"I'm not worried about my kidneys," Denis said. "Your son-"

"I know," the doctor didn't raise his eyes to look at him. "Pyotr stopped by earlier."

Denis remained silent.

"What do you expect?" The doctor asked. "I can't say 'thank you' to you. But I'm not going to begin to accuse you of anything. Yes, certainly, it's good that this torment has ended. To watch your son being turned into a monster-it… burns up the soul."

"I can imagine," Denis said.

The doctor set aside the green rind and started on the next piece of melon. "Just what have you achieved?" he mumbled. "Now they'll kill you. And punish us for the fact that we didn't kill you ourselves."

"How many of them are there?" Denis asked.

"Twenty or so."

"Can you be more precise?"

"Eighteen," he said, red juice trickling from his lips. "Not counting my son."

"We don't have to count him," Denis confirmed. "There are about a hundred men in the city, couldn't you handle this yourself?"

"It's not a hundred," the doctor shook his head. "If we count just the adults, it's about seventy."

"Well? There are only eighteen of them."

"That's easy for you to say," the doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Eighteen. Fifteen of them are our children."

"Initially there was just three?"

"Yes. They settled in. Everything began little by little. They promised to protect us and for a while they really did protect us. Then one our boys went over to them, then another, then a third…"

"You should've done something about it before the first went over to them," Denis said firmly. "How many men, how many women?"

"They have about two women," the doctor winced. "But that's not a problem for them. If they get bored, they come take our women."

"What is the name of this gang?" Denis asked.

"They call themselves the 'High Noon Vampires.' They come to harass us every day at noon, like clockwork."

"And the leader?"

"His name is Anton Pavlovich."

Denis stood and went to the door. "I could never understand this. A handful of bloodsuckers puts the entire town on its knees…and everyone sits in the corner like sheep," he said. He was quiet for a moment, then said: "Where can I get something to eat?"

"There's a café across the street." He already had finished another slice of watermelon and was now gnawing on the rind unconsciously. "We have just one café."

The owner of the café was the first person with living eyes Denis had met in the town. When he entered, there were three people sitting in the dining room, but they immediately got up and left, as though a nasty odor were hovering around Denis.

A woman, not yet old, but with hair streaked with gray, came up to him, peered into his eyes for a second, and then nodded her head: "Kill as many as you can," she said. "I'm begging you."

"I'll kill them all," Denis answered simply. "What can I have to drink?"

"Just something to drink or 'have a drink'?"

"Just drink. I can't stand alcohol."

"Coffee?"

Denis just smiled, as if she were making a joke.