Young Blood: Young Blood, #1

By Sean Platt and Sylvester Barzey

New York is a desolate wasteland overrun with vampires. To survive, a sixteen-year-old girl must do the unthinkable.

 

Raven has carved out a precarious existence as a trader, navigating the treacherous underworld to secure supplies for herself and her autistic sister, Star. Their only sanctuary? A room in the local gun shop is provided by a kind-hearted owner who will risk everything to protect them.

 

They're safe –

 

Until vampires swarm their doorstep and devour the only person willing to protect them.

 

Desperate to keep her sister safe, Raven joins a covert military unit dedicated to eradicating the vampires that terrorize the city. Her life will be brutal – early morning workouts, grueling weapons training, and a deadly showdown with the bloodthirsty vampire who rules from the city's shadows.

 

But even her new military family is far from safe.

 

Whispers of a traitor spread and their knife might be angled at Raven's back.

 

Young Blood is the first book in the new Young Blood series by Sylvester Barzey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sterling & Stone
• Release date: Jan 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224188079

Book preview

The Event

4 Years Ago

Blood carries a distinct scent, a lingering copper stench that coats the city. Some people force themselves to grow accustomed to the odor, while others crave it and seek it out. The virus makes blood smell like a sweet syrup to the infected. They run to it, even when common sense would tell them to stay away. It calls to them. There were reports suggesting that the infected could detect an open wound from a distance of 15 yards. So, as Raven sat in the cramped closet, clutching her baby sister Star in her bloodstained arms, she knew her parents could smell her. The footsteps outside were no longer frantic; they had acquired an eerie calmness. Raven pressed her hand firmly over the pacifier, pressing it into Star’s mouth.

Their mother took the first steps toward the closet, making her way through the ransacked living room. The sound of breaking glass echoed under the weight of her high heels, shattering the picture of their once happy family, lost to the splinters and shards. A photo of simpler times.

The CDC labeled it Z1V1, an immensely contagious virus. It originated in animals before leaping across species and infecting humans. The disease gradually eroded the infected individuals’ cognitive abilities, leaving them with only two instincts: fight and feed.

Star started squirming in Raven’s arms.

The world thought Z1V1 was going to be our extinction event, but like every other crisis, humanity confronted it head-on. All household pets were swiftly removed from the equation. Pet owners, regardless of infection, were instructed to surrender their animals to local authorities. This mandate didn’t affect Raven’s parents much, as they had never believed in domesticating living beings. But Raven knew the real reason was her father’s severe allergy to pet dander.

Stepping over the overturned couch, their father stood shoulder to shoulder with his wife, fixing their gazes on the closet door.

The infected could not be saved. The military had been deployed to ground zero, tasked with two objectives: eliminating the infected and distributing the vaccine.

Mother’s dark, sweaty hand clasped the doorknob.

The nation lived under a strict stay-at-home order, and while life was far from normal, it possessed an eerie calmness, at least until New York began its vaccine trials. But there is a funny thing about being in a state of calm — it often comes before the storm.

As the doorknob turned and the door swung open, their black eyes saw only the blood-soaked towels that hung in the closet. Before they could react, Raven slammed her shoulder into her father’s back, propelling him and her mother into the confines of the closet. She swiftly closed the door and toppled her father’s mahogany bookcase, causing it to crash onto the wooden floor, effectively barricading herself from the very people who had given her life. The closet door rattled, and Raven questioned whether all of this was real or a trick conjured by her racing heart.

Raven! Her father’s bellow echoed, providing a chilling confirmation that this was indeed her dark reality.

Raven stumbled back into the hallway closet, cradling her baby sister in her bloodied arms. A tightly wrapped shirt covered a deep gash running down her forearm. The once-pristine white fabric was now soaked in dark crimson, keeping Raven alive until she and Star could reach safety.

Raven! Their guttural roars reverberated through the door. She imagined their teeth sharpening, anticipating the opportunity to sink them into her and Star. Raven retreated towards the front door, her gaze fixed on the closet.

It wasn’t the virus that spelled doom for humanity. No, it was the cure — the vaccine that was meant to save us from the clutches of the infected. It became a lifeboat with a gaping hole, bringing about the end of Raven’s world. New Yorkers became unwitting guinea pigs, because for every ten people the vaccine saved, it mutated another into a bloodthirsty monster. And even worse were the winged abominations it spawned.

Raven! We can smell you! Their unified screams filled the air, yet both Star and Raven were gone, two souls swallowed by the darkness of this new generation.

It’s The Time Jump For Me

4 Years Later

Idespise Manhattan, and it’s not just because I’m a Bronx girl through and through. It’s an absolute nightmare trying to navigate in and out of this place. The entire city is a graveyard, and somehow traveling has become even worse instead of better. Roadblocks, flipped cars — it’s a constant mess. But I go where the customers are.

The man in front of me twirled the bottle in his hand, the brown liquid inside splashing against the clear glass walls.

I haven’t tasted this since my prom, before everything went to hell, he said.

People who like to dwell in the past and bring up the old glory days before the virus are called Pops. No matter the age gap or relationship to their listeners, they’re always Pops. I don’t hang around them; in fact, I do my best to avoid them. There’s no good that comes from me looking back on the past.

How do I know you didn’t just mix this with water or piss? Pops asked.

I wouldn’t waste my water on you. My fingers drummed along the countertop of Pops’ bar. He traded a lot to get this place up and running — tables, candles, even food — but without me, it’s just a clubhouse. You want the bottles or not? I could find someone else to buy ‘em.

You didn’t say no to the piss, he replied.

I snatched the bottle from his hands and twisted off the cap. The sharp scent of honey and aged wood filled my nostrils, making me grimace before pushing it toward him. Try it.

Pops took a sip, his face crinkling before a smile spread across his lips. Oh, that’s the stuff. He tilted the bottle in my direction, but I waved it off. How many you got?

Counting that one? Seven.

Seven? How am I supposed to run this place with just seven bottles of whiskey? Pops complained.

He ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair as I stood up from the counter. Placing my bag of bottles on the counter, I shrugged. Piss in them to make it last, or sell it one shot at a time. Either way, not my problem.

Pops capped the bottle and reached into his pockets, pulling out four pink slips of paper. Food ration slips. One slip was meant to get you a week’s supply of food, or what the Suits call, a week’s supply, if it could last that long and you were willing to ignore your stomach talking to you at night.

Here, he said. My greedy hands reached out too eagerly, and he pulled the slips back. I’ll give you five if you tell me where you got the bottles from, Pops said.

I lunged forward and snatched the papers from his fingers. Nah, I’ll just get another four from you when you run out.

He smiled, and I pulled my hood over my curly hair as I made my way toward the door. Pausing, I looked up at the photo hanging over the doorway. Pops stood there in his clean black tuxedo, with his arm around a cute brown-skinned beauty. Her white dress hugged her in all the right places, and her red lips were slightly parted, holding back the biggest smile I’ve seen in months now. Was it nice?

Was what nice? Pops asked.

Prom? I replied, glancing back at him. Was it nice?

His eyes met mine, and I could tell he had only just realized how young I was. He looked away for a moment, trying to think of a lie. People lie to me a lot about things, I guess to make me feel okay with everything I missed.

It was amazing, he finally said.

I stared back at the white dress. Is she?

Pops glanced up at the photo and then went back to the bottle, opening it up and pouring himself a glass. She turned a year after that photo was taken.

Death stared back at me through that photo before I walked out into the New York winter. I missed out on a lot because of the virus, but I only missed them. People like Pops lost them. I guess when you look at it like that, I’m the lucky one.

Iwas eleven when the virus hit and twelve when the vaccine was developed. So, it’s not like I remember nothing before all this. I just didn’t get to experience all the fun things older kids did, like dating or partying. There aren’t many parties these days. That’s why Pops’ place might be a success. It’ll be a refuge where people can momentarily forget about the monsters lurking in the darkness.

I swung my leg over the cold chrome of my bike and adjusted the duffel bag resting in the sidecar. My gloved fingers twisted the key, and the engine reanimated back to the land of the living. I tucked the pink papers into the inner pocket of my jacket and sped off along the snow-filled streets of New York, or as the heartless Suits call it, Casket City.

The wind and snow cut across my cheek as I observed people carrying their wooden boxes of rations from the checkpoint deeper into the city. A uniformed escort followed them, ensuring they weren’t robbed or robbing them himself. Either way, he’d be returning with his pockets full of something. The snow fell heavily under pale gray skies, and I gripped the handlebars tighter, urging the old chrome beast to conquer more road before the sun disappeared behind the clouds. My eyes caught sight of children playing along the rooftops. They knew the darkness was coming, and their entertainment was about to begin. Kids lined the rooftops with UV lights every night to witness the monsters birthed by the darkness, but I didn’t allow Star to do that. Part of me thought it was too dangerous, while another part felt it was too disrespectful — like watching someone play puppeteer with your grandmother’s decaying corpse.

I got stopped at the entrance to Washington Bridge, and the Suits surrounded my bike. One of them placed their hand on my headlight.

Kill it! he shouted. I inspected their slung weapons and then shut off the engine, sending the beast back into a deep slumber. You trying to get yourself killed riding that thing without a helmet? the Suit continued.

Raven Romero, 633 Beach⁠—

What’s your business in Manhattan? the Suit interrupted.

Seeing a friend. Another Suit yanked my hood down, exposing my black curls to the cold air.

Name of the friend? the Suit inquired.

Clouds are coming in. I need to get back home and lock— I started to explain.

Should have thought of that before venturing this far out, the Suit replied.

I sighed, closing my eyes and exhaling deeply. Raven Romero… I overheard one of the Suits whisper something about someone being cute, and it quickly triggered me. Are you coffin makers gonna let me pass, or do I need to speak with whoever’s holding your leashes?

The whispering ceased, and the Suit standing in front of me stared for a moment before stepping aside.

Thank you, I said.

Get home before we have to make a coffin for you, the Suit warned. I turned the key, and my beast rumbled to life with a cough followed by a roar. I rode across the snowy bridge, watching Manhattan fade into the gray and white of my rearview.

Home Sweet Home

When the orange tint takes over the sky, that’s when the city starts dying. Life slowly shuts down, vendors lock up their shops, and people go home or what passes for a home. The buildings aren’t the same — windows are broken, bricks are scorched from prior fires. Parkchester once had so much life. The train would bring more and more people in, watching us as we played in the park with our families. But no one is playing anymore, the playgrounds resemble graveyards, and the train is now forever silent.

I parked my bike in front of Emily’s gun shop and killed the engine. The shop’s windows faced the east, offing an amazing view of everything in the shop when the morning breaks. However, as each day goes on, the light dims. Once you have to squint to see what caliber you’re looking at, the price doubles. And once the sun vanishes, you’re on your own.

I pulled open the door and scanned the shop. Em!

The shutter doors slammed down behind me, and I almost dropped the duffel I cradled in my arms. The sun is setting, Raven, Emily said.

I know. I got held up at the bridge, I replied.

You need to do business within the borough. What you gonna do if the soldiers— she began.

They’re hardly soldiers, I interrupted.

You know what I mean. If they close that bridge early, you’ll be trapped. What the hell are you gonna do then?

I placed the duffel on the glass counter and unzipped it. The bulbs tumbled within the bag, and I let out a sigh. I’ll stay with a customer, or find a renter like you.

Emily picked up one of the bulbs and examined it. Your customers don’t like you, and renters are hard to find these days … are you sure these are UV? she asked. I was still mentally getting over her nonchalant attack on my character.

I put my hand over my heart and smirked. Some of them like me a lot.

No, they need you. Don’t mistake being needed for being liked. I need the guards in Queens to look the other way so I can get my ammo shipments every month. Doesn’t mean we’re friends. Once the transaction is done, the relationship is done. So I ask again, what are you gonna do if you get trapped in another borough? Emily placed her hands on the counter and looked at me. The concern in her eyes reminded me of a mother’s concern, and as nice as that felt, I let that feeling fade. Because Emily wasn’t my mother.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged. I don’t know?

And that’s the problem, Raven. You have more than just yourself to think about. You shouldn’t take risks without a fallback plan. Emily sighed and gazed at the bag of bulbs. And you shouldn’t be running around this world without friends. She peered into the glass and shook the bulb. Friends keep you alive when no one else gives a damn.

I smirked. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but schools are shut down, clubbing is a death wish, and there are fewer and fewer opportunities to make friends.

Emily looked at me and smiled. I have friends and I’m not in school. You sure these things work?

I pulled the bulb from her hand and placed it back in the bag. What is with everyone doubting my products? We can turn it on tonight and see.

Okay, touchy. Emily nodded and looked over at the back room.

She okay? I asked.

She got worried, that’s all.

I zipped up the bag and slung it over my shoulder as I walked down the dimly lit hallway. After sunset, no lights were allowed, unless you had a colored bulb, but even those could get you in trouble with the Suits. Blackout curtains or boarded-up windows were the best bet, but if something was boarded up, the Vamps would figure something’s inside. Best to keep everything looking normal and dead.

As I approached the door, I noticed a bright ring of light peeking from underneath. I rested my hand on the doorknob and pulled it open. Star was sitting on the closet floor, staring at me. Her gloved fingers clicked off the light, and her soft, black curls blended into the darkness.

Hey punk, Em says you missed me, I said, expecting some kind of response. However, Star simply stood up and wrapped her arms around me. Aww, I guess you did miss me.

Star is four, and I think her lack of speech might be because of our life after Mom and Dad. All the hiding and the times I told her to be quiet, she never saw a reason to use her voice. Emily believes it might be something like autism. Emily’s brother was autistic before the virus hit, so she would probably know. I figured Star would speak when she was ready. Tell Emily thank you for watching over you. Star ran off and hugged Emily’s thigh.

Emily smiled. That’s sweet, but…

I rolled my eyes, then pulled out a pink slip of paper, shoving it into Emily’s extended hand.

Wow, she said. She tucked the slip into her bra and then lifted Star into her arms before turning on her headlamp. We need to lock down for the night.

No customers tonight? I asked.

The last one cleared out of room 16 this morning. I figured we could start⁠—

Before Emily could finish her sentence, the glass door shattered, raining shards onto the floor through the metal security shutters. I stood frozen, unable to react. Thankfully, Emily grabbed hold of my shirt and forcefully pulled me down to the floor. She shielded me and Star as bullets penetrated the shop, sending glass everywhere.

Move! Emily shouted, pushing me even lower to the ground.

Crawling along the floor with my stomach pressed against the tiles, I followed Emily deeper into the building. Star’s hands were latched to her eyes, and she was moaning and crying. I wanted to be mad at her, to strike out at her for refusing to follow simple instructions, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She was terrified, just like I was. I wrapped my arms around her and dragged her along through the darkness.

What’s going on? I asked.

Shut up and keep moving. Emily had the duffel firmly strapped to her back as we made it to the back staircase. Clear of the hailstorm of bullets, I stood up with Star and ran up the steps, forcing myself to match Emily’s stride. She took two steps at a time, her duffel swinging from side to side with each movement. Third floor, don’t stop! she instructed. I didn’t. My legs were on fire, and Star’s tears soaked my neck. The musty scent of cheaply washed sheets and mothballs overwhelmed