The Last Vampire-Revised Author's Edition
Author: Kathryn Meyer Griffith
Genre: Science fiction, Fiction, Paranormal, Thriller, Horror, Romance
Publisher: Damnation Books
"The earthquakes, the global floods and the devastating fires arrive first. The human race, displaced and panicked, at first flees, migrating to any place there’s food and shelter.
Then the worldwide plague arrives with its stench of death. And as mankind suffers and dies out, vampires, their numbers dwindling from the same sickness, struggle and fight fiercely among themselves to survive in a world where there aren’t enough humans to feed upon. As the months go by they become fewer, more desperate and more ruthless. Emma, as the world disintegrates around her, finds herself alone, her family dead…and fighting off an unnatural hunger as she becomes one of the undead. Defying her unwanted destiny she’s determined to resist the bloodlust she feels, the need to kill and feed on human blood, of losing her humanity, for as long as she can bear it…but she’s so hungry…and the night calls.”
The next morning, Emma faced the bridge.
She wanted to run away. Back to the shelter. Hide her head in
the sand. Die. It was insane, trying to go home, and this whole
scheme of trekking out to
like some brave person. When Maine
she wasn’t. What was she thinking?
No. She could do it. She had to do it.
She looked at the bridge, the water shimmering before her. It
had become a sort of a test. Cross that bridge, go home, and bury
her past and she could do anything. Even make it to
Her stomach growled in protest.
She promised herself she’d find food. Afterwards.
“Here goes nothing,” she grumbled, and waded into the frigid
water. She regretted that she didn’t have a change of clothing.
There was no help for it, she’d just have to build a fire afterwards
and dry her clothes out. Taking the rope out of her pack, she held
it close. She’d use it as a safety line.
The sun filtered down on her in the quiet early morning, as she
swam toward the first stretch of the half-submerged bridge. She
was a strong swimmer, but she knew her limits, so she took it slow
and easy. She braced herself mentally against what floated in the
water around her, or what she would find sandwiched in the sections
of the bridge. And the smell. God.
She was shivering so badly when she got there, that she could
barely claw her way up on the first section. Her hands cramped up.
Tears of anguish stained her haggard face. She tossed the rope,
snagged a broken girder, then torturously pulled herself from the
river. After she’d rested a few minutes, she started working her
way across the bridge, carefully. She had sturdy tennis shoes on
and was glad of it. Waterlogged, they squeaked and left round, wet
spots behind her. At the places the bridge dipped or plummeted
into the water, or was blocked with debris, she had to find alternative
Once everything under her fell into the water, and the only
thing that saved her from being sucked down with it and crushed
was her lifeline. As she was hanging out over thin air, twirling at
the end of the rope like a dead fish on a hook, she wondered again
why she was doing this. Maybe she was touched in the head? She
smiled at that. Of course she was.
But she gritted her teeth, wiped her tears away with numb fingers,
and kept crawling along the concrete span.
Not all the cars had toppled into the water. Most of the vehicles
on the bridge were empty, some weren’t. Emma tried not
to look at the decomposing bodies, but it was difficult. They were
“This is really stupid, Emma…this is really, really…dumb,” she
groaned under her breath, as her weight accidentally dislodged a
loose piece of the structure, and, with bated breath, she watched
it plunge into the watery depths below her.
Her bad leg gave her more trouble than she expected and soon
she was dragging it behind her like a useless dead thing.
It took agonizing hours to cross the bridge, and when she finally
made it onto safe land, her body was shaking with the exertion,
and her hands were scraped bloody. Her clothes were frozen to her like an icy shell. The first thing she did was gather wood and build a huge fire, then hunched over it until her clothes were almost dry. It was too chilly to take them off.
Since childhood I’ve always been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before I quit to write full time. I began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had fourteen (nine romantic horror, one historical romance, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.
I’ve been married to Russell for thirty-three years; have a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and I live in a small quaint town in
called Illinois , which is right across the JB Bridge from Columbia We have two quirky cats, ghost cat Sasha and live cat Cleo, and the four of us live happily in an old house in the heart of town. Though I’ve been an artist, and a folk singer in my youth with my brother Jim, writing has always been my greatest passion, my butterfly stage, and I’ll probably write stories until the day I die. St. Louis, Mo.
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