Misery County

Chapter 22

"What, and then all the monsters disappear?"

"Yeah, 'cause you see, the hero has taken down their vampire queen, so without a central command, they just scatter back to their... wherever it is they go."

"That's the best you got? 'Wherever it is they go?' Look, kid, you –"

"No, no, I can think of something for where the monsters go, OK? This is just a rough outline I'm giving you here." Eric felt like he was losing the man on the other end of the phone.

"If you haven't even got the full story, why are you bothering me with this?"

"Because it's still fresh in my head. I wanna get it all out there before I start forgetting the details."

"Fresh in your head, huh. Did you dream this all or something?"

"More like a nightmare," Eric muttered.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"No, nothing. I was just talking to myself."

"Right, right, OK. Well, look, if you want to get this novel of yours published, you need to write up a manuscript first. I don't even know how you got my personal number, but I can't represent you to the publishers on just an elevator pitch." The man paused. "An uncomfortably-long elevator pitch."

"Aw, come on, who's got time to write up a whole manuscript?" Eric said as he squeezed another pair of trousers into his duffel bag.

"Apparently you, since you want this published."

"You're not getting me, man. I'm willing to put in the work, but first I just need to hear that I've got a book deal, marketing, and an HBO adaptation lined up. That's all I'm asking."

"Uh huh, right. Well look, I'm trying to be polite here, but among other problems, you keep on calling your protagonist 'the hero.' He doesn't even have a name."

"Yes, he does." Another pair of trousers went into the bag.

"All right, I'll bite. What's his name then?"

"Eric."

"Eric?"

"Yes, Eric."

"Isn't your name Eric?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Don't you find it a bit presumptive that you're naming the hero of your story after yourself?"

"No, why would – you know, it doesn't matter. That's all subject to change. Just hear me out here, man. I really feel this story, you know?" Eric bit his lip. "Almost like it really happened."

The literary agent on the phone laughed. "Kid, your story is full of more holes than a French whore. It couldn't be further from anything plausible if it tried."

"What? What fucking holes?"

"Jeez, where do I start? OK, so 'the hero' kills the vampire queen with a UV lamp."

"And?"

"And how'd he know it would work?"

"Because she couldn't go in the sunlight, so he just found a way to recreate the sunlight at night and indoors. Come on, man, keep up."

"Right, right, and how was he so sure that it was the UV part of the spectrum that would kill her?"

"Because – because sunlight is, like, ultraviolet, you know."

"The radiation from the sun spans most the electromagnetic spectrum, actually. How did your protagonist know it was UV specifically that kills vampires?"

Eric didn't know that, any of it, but he wouldn't admit it. "Infrared is, like, everywhere, you know – security cameras, remote controls, all that stuff."

"And the entire rest of the spectrum?"

"Radio waves... come from... um, radio towers, so that can't be it." Eric was even losing his own confidence at this point, let alone the confidence of this stranger. But hey, at least he apparently got very lucky with that lamp the night before.

The man sighed. "I could sit here and poke holes in your story all day, kid, but I won't."

"Because you see the potential in it?"

"No, because I can't be bothered. Like I told you before, if you want to be considered for a client, send your manuscript by email. That's the way everyone else does it. Frankly, I don't even know why I'm still speaking to you."

"Because you see potential in me?"

"Most decidedly not."

"OK, but if I just rework the –"

"I'm going to hang the phone up now, kid. I wish you the best of luck finding an agent, as long as you look elsewhere."

"No, wait, I just –"

An unceremonious click stopped Eric in his tracks.

"Yeah, well, whatever. I don't need you, bitch." Eric said into the disconnected phone.

Packing his last pair of socks into his duffel bag, he zipped it up, flung it over his shoulder, and left the motel room. From outside, a quick view of the main office showed no one there, but he figured as much when he left his key on the bedside table. The desk clerk clearly had better things to do than getting eaten by zombies or sucked into a whirlwind of damned spirits. The walk down the metal steps along the side of the building was a challenge to his damaged and rather poorly-bandaged left ankle, but grinning and bearing it was something that Eric was exceptionally proficient at, so that little hiccup in his day didn't make much of a difference to him.

A National Guard convoy motored down the road in front of the motel as Eric got down to the parking lot. Called it, he thought as he made eye contact with one of the guardsmen, a young man who looked back at Eric with a terrified gaze. In truth, they were a bit late to the party. Missouri County's besiegers had indeed already left the area, scattering like roaches without their dear leader. Maybe if Aaron had still been alive, he could have salvaged the operation and taken control, but fate dictated that he should die too. It was for the best, Eric told himself. And besides, the real Aaron had died years ago. The creature that tried to kill Eric in the mortuary the night before was not Aaron, but a poor facsimile instead, twisted and perverted beyond recognition.

Duffel bag in the back seat, key in the ignition, and foot on the gas, Eric waited for one more convoy to pass the motel before he pulled out on the road and began his journey to wherever he'd be needed next. As tempting as a vacation was at that stage – maybe sipping cocktails out of coconut shells on some Caribbean island – he knew that people's lives depended on him, and even if they didn't know it, he knew what he meant to the country. Yeah, that was why he couldn't go on vacation. It certainly had nothing to do with his skinny wallet and hollow bank account.

Boarded up windows and doors left open made for interesting juxtaposition in the houses and businesses that passed him by on both sides as he navigated the winding county roads, each more desolate than the rest, as if being more than completely abandoned was possible. The National Guard would appear every now and then, but apart from them, Eric saw not another living soul on his drive. As was evident, the humans of Missouri County had become more than a little quiet over the past 24 hours or so. Eric thought these rural people would be strong, but it seemed that a little apocalypse was enough to get them to flee their homes and businesses. Pussies.