Let's Rob A Blood Bank!

Oakland. Night.

The Red Cross Blood Bank sat like alone on the corner's edge. Gerald, forty, overweight and bone-tired, lumbered out the front door. Last one out, like always. He locked the door behind him and gave it a final tug. It stuck, then held. Satisfied, he turned and waddled toward his car parked along the curb under a dead streetlight.

Up the sidewalk, a homeless man pushed a rattling shopping cart. Skinny. Black. Large beard. The cart overflowed with garbage. Gerald groaned the second he saw him. Picked up his pace, sweat already forming at his collar.

The man clocked him and started closing the distance. When he got close, he stuck out a hand. Gerald fumbled with his keys.

"Spare change?"

"Piss off!" Gerald barked, hitting the unlock button and grabbing the door handle.

From the shadows came another voice. "Nah, run them pockets!"

Gerald froze. Something hard jabbed his lower back. He turned slowly.

A long gun barrel stared him down, sticking out of the trash heap in the shopping cart. The garbage moved. A masked man emerged from beneath it, young and wiry. This was Lamar. Twenty-three. Black. Eyes dead steady behind the barrel.

Gerald looked back at the homeless man. The beard was gone. A ski mask in its place. Darius. Same age. Same intent.

Gerald swallowed hard and raised a shaky hand. His other one dug into his jacket pocket.

"At least let me keep the car!"

"Bro, don’t nobody want that old ass Suzuki! The building!" Lamar demanded.

Gerald’s eyes flicked back to the blood bank. His hand came out with the keys.

"Here."

"You’re funny."

Lamar shoved him hard toward the door. Gerald stumbled, keys clattering in his hands. He tried to find the right one as fast as his nerves would let him.

"My finger’s itching!" Lamar warned.

Gerald found the key and jammed it into the lock. The door clicked open just as Darius rammed him from behind with the shopping cart. He tumbled inside.

The place lit up like a Christmas display gone wrong. Sirens wailed. Red lights pulsed overhead. Lamar stepped out of the cart and hauled Gerald off the floor.

"Cancel the invitation, fat man!" Lamar said.

"We’re a blood bank!" Gerald said. "We don’t have that many pre-paid cards on hand!"

Lamar pressed the barrel to Gerald’s head.

Gerald flinched, then scrambled to the security box. His fingers danced over the keypad. The alarm shut off. The red light turned green.

"We good?" Darius asked.

"We good!" Lamar confirmed.

The door behind them burst open. Ten masked men flooded inside, each pushing carts of their own. Silent, efficient. Gerald stared, dumbfounded.

"Tyla!" Lamar shouted.

Tyla entered last. Swedish girl with blue died braided hair. Eyes like like the blue sky. Lamar tossed her a coil of rope. Tyla shoved Gerald to the floor and got to work.

"90 seconds!" Darius called.

Lamar ripped the keys from Gerald’s hand and turned to leave. Gerald latched onto his wrist.

"You don’t know what you’re doing!"

Lamar slugged him in the nose, then tossed the keys to Darius without missing a step.

Darius moved fast down the hallway. Down the corridor to a set of double doors. He pulled out a laminated employee badge and swiped it across the reader. The light blinked. The door unlocked with a beep. He opened it. The crew followed him in.

Inside, the cold hit them like a fist. Darius strode across the icy floor to a row of heavy metallic cabinets. He unlocked them one by one. As the doors swung open, the crew saw red gold. Rows of blood bags, stacked tight.

Jackpot.

***

Gerald sat in a chair, wrapped in duct tape, bleeding from the nose. Tyla paced the room like a caged lion. Gerald chuckled.

"You morons! You’re all dead."

Tyla didn’t speak. She slapped him. Hard. Then rolled up her sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his wrist. Golden wings.

Gerald stared. His smile vanished.

"...No... You can’t! We’re protected!"

***

Men snatched bags, stuffed them into coolers. Darius moved between them, unlocking more cabinets.

"Put them in the coolers BEFORE you get them in the carts!" he barked.

He checked his watch.

"60 seconds!"

The men poured out front, carts now full of blood. They looked around. No truck.

Darius sprinted into the lot, panic rising. Lamar joined him.

"30 seconds! Where’s your guy?!"

"Let me check dick-head tracker."

"Lamar, I swear to God-"

SKEEEEERRRRRRRR!

A white reefer truck skidded around the corner, tires screaming. It jerked to a stop in the lot. The driver bailed out, looking like a deer in headlights. Lamar stormed up.

"S-sorry, I got caught in-"

WHAM. Lamar’s fist cracked the driver’s jaw. The man crumpled.

"We ain’t delivering fucking pizzas! Back! Now!"

The driver scrambled to the back. The men moved fast, loading the coolers.

Darius pulled Lamar aside.

"Shit’s gonna spoil if it ain’t cooled first! It’s like an oven! And what part of covert made you think 'White'?"

"Guess we should’ve gotten the FBI ice cream truck."

"Think, Lamar! Think!"

"Anything else, ma?"

Darius got in his face.

"I don’t like risking my ass!"

"Cut the pussy shit right now or-"

A scream tore through the sky like a banshee. Every man stopped cold. Heads tilted up. Silent. Waiting.

BEEP BEEP. Darius’s watch rang.

The crew didn’t need words. They dumped the last of the coolers into the truck, climbed in without hesitation. Darius behind the wheel. Tyla in the middle. Lamar riding shotgun.

***

Gerald bit at the tape like an animal caught in a trap. He freed one arm. The screech came again. Closer. Louder. He worked faster. Down the hallway, shadows moved like a hive of hornets. Massive. Silent. Swift.

He screamed into an on coming void.

They covered him.

***

The truck’s doors slammed shut. Darius hit the gas. The reefer peeled out, tires squealing as it disappeared into the dark.

***

In the back, weapons were reading. Handguns. AKs. One man racked a belt-fed machine gun. Body armor was passed around, thick vests marked with silver crosses front and back. Water bottles were sealed. Grenades filled with garlic powder were checked and locked.

In the front, Lamar clicked strange bullets into a handgun mag. The tips were wood.

"Clear?" he asked.

THUMP. The truck rocked sideways.

Darius fought the wheel. Adjusted the mirror.

A shape clung to the side of the trailer.

It wasn’t human.

The ghoul’s claws sank into the metal skin of the truck. Its eyes were black holes. Its teeth, razors. Bat wings folded tight. Skin pale and wrinkled like a dead mole rat.

Darius reached behind him and grabbed his piece.

"Just some 'Top Flight security'," he muttered.