“Alright, here is your order!” the waitress at Rodeo Grill House announces. “One plate of smoked ribs for you, sir.” She slides the oval plate of tender meat in front of Willow’s dad. “And one Mighty Round Up Steak for you, little lady!” She slides a plate in front of her, the slab of juicy meat as big as Willow’s head.

“Steak!” Willow squeals in delight. She breathes in the mouth-watering mix of seasonings garnishing her perfectly browned dinner. “Let’s eat, let’s eat!”

Willow’s dad, Mr. Hunter, smiles. But Willow can still see the sadness hidden behind his contented facade. “Alright. Go ahead. But make sure you cut them into small pieces and chew well.”

Willow nods and snatches up her knife and fork. She saws exuberantly and quickly stuffs a chunk of thick meat between her lips. She slows down only after the seasonings grace her tongue and the meat squishes between her teeth.

Mr. Hunter chuckles genuinely as he pulls a rib clean from his meat. Willow doesn’t miss it. She knows he cries at night over the loss of Mrs. Hunter, but he tries to hide his pain during the day. She resolves to bring another genuine chuckle from him before dinner is over.

The lights in the restaurant flicker and Mr. Hunter’s smile is lost. He glances up.

Fwoom! A distant explosion makes the lights flicker again then black out.

BroooOOOOOOOOOOoooo! Sirens wail outside.

The staff of Rodeo Grill House call to their guests to hide in the kitchens. The emergency generator flicks on as families are ushered from their tables.

Willow’s heart pounds. “Daddy…?”

Mr. Hunter jumps up. “Wills, Daddy needs to go to work. Go with the waitress and stay with her, okay?”

Their waitress hurries over and kneels by Willow’s seat. Her expression is calm but her voice reveals panic. “Sweetheart, I’m going to take you to the kitchen, okay? We have some little chocolates back there! Would you like one?”

Willow shakes her head. “I’m going with Daddy!”

Mr. Hunter circles to her side and hugs her. “Go with the nice waitress, okay? Daddy will be right back. I promise!”

A sour memory pops into Willow’s mind. Her lip protrudes. “That’s what Mommy said, too.”

Mr. Hunter clamps his mouth shut. Tears form at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away. “I’ll always be here for you, Wills. I promise you that. Now go with the nice waitress and make sure to save some chocolate for me.”

Willow bites her lip and nods. “Come back. You have to.”

He smiles sadly. “I will.”

Mr. Hunter runs from the building, pulling a concealed Glock from under his shirt. Willow watches him go before taking the waitress’ hand. She follows her behind the bar and crawls under a counter with another child who is nibbling on a little chocolate square.

The thought of food suddenly makes Willow’s stomach churn. She looks away, focusing instead on the pale expressions cast in the shadows of the low lighting.

The waitress crouches beside her and hands her some chocolates with a faux smile. “Make sure to save some for your dad, okay?”

Willow takes them with shaky hands and nods.

Another explosion, this one closer, makes the restaurant tremble. Moments later, gunfire explodes outside the restaurant. Something slams against the walls, the windows in the sitting area shatter. Growls and screams and shouts flood into the kitchen. The waitress moves closer to Willow, eyes switching between the kitchen’s only two entry points to the seating area.

Some of the guests whimper whenever a new explosion rattles the utensils above. Some cover their ears or eyes as though they can hide from reality. A spare few grip carving knives and other sharp or long tools, prepared to protect themselves and others if the need arises.

Willow watches the entry points with wide eyes, waiting for the noise to stop flooding her senses and for her dad to return with open arms. But the longer it takes, the more she thinks about her mom—the puncture wounds, her still form.

CRASH!

Everyone jumps as something barrels through the seating area. Willow’s heart slams against her chest as spoons clang into view and glasses shatter. A figure steps into the entryway, red eyes bright and lips pulling into a thirsty grin.

“Jackpot…” he hisses.

Several guests rush the vampire, stabbing and beating him with their tools. He breaks their arms and gores them with their tools. The staff throw pots, pans, and dishes to ward the vampire off. But every hit makes him grow angrier.

The vampire lunges at the nearest staff member and rips at his neck. He snatches a fleeing waitress and sucks up some blood before throwing her aside in disgust and moving to the next.

Guests scream and run in a tangle of legs before Willow’s eyes. The vampire catches a few and bites into their shoulders or neck or whatever appendages he can clamp down on.

Willow watches with wide eyes. She scans for an escape. When her eyes alight on a small hole between fleeing adults, she darts. A chef slams to the floor in front of her and she scrambles over him. Several guests knee her face and arms in their wild attempts at fleeing. She runs for the hole but gets shoved into the vampire. He topples over and she dives madly for the exit, not stopping until she reaches the seating area.

Tables are turned and smashed, chairs are in pieces, the floor is littered with warm meats and sticky sauces, shards pepper the floor, and culinary implements of all kinds are scattered about. Willow’s head snaps around, looking out all the windows for her dad. Every uniformed man catches her attention, but none are Mr. Hunter.

The flash of MP40s lights up the dark streets, its blackness accented with hungry red eyes and shouts for back-up. Familiar faces pass but Willow doesn’t want just anyone, she wants—no she needs—Mr. Hunter. Her breath is raspy as she trips toward a shattered window and climbs out. Something stings her hand and she looks down at her palms. Her heart misses a beat.

Red.

A hungry growl snaps her attention around. She screams as a vampire flies at her.

A trashcan cracks against his skull and the vampire skids across the asphalt. A Region Commander named Ashe pours ammo into the downed vampire with a victorious cry. “I’ll teach you to attack children!” she roars.

“Willow!” Mr. Hunter races over and scoops her up. “I told you to stay with the waitress!” he scolds.

Tears streak her cheeks as she buries her face into his shoulder. He sighs and softens his tone. “Hold on tight, Wills.”

Willow jostles back and forth as he carves through a path of corpses and war cries. When Willow looks up again, they approach a friend cleaning off a Karambit in an alley as his team takes a moment to reload.

“Dube!” Mr. Hunter yells over the onslaught of grenade explosions and the crunch of metal from thrown cars. “I need someone I can trust. Take Willow back to Foxhound for me.”

The large man’s expression hardens in determination. “She will be safe. I promise,” he says in a deep Zulu accent.

“No!” Willow objects, tightening her arms around Mr. Hunter’s neck.

“Willow,” Mr. Hunter says sternly. “Hidden Hill is very dangerous right now. I need you safe so I can focus on work.”

“You have to come with me then!” she cries.

Dube puts a hand on Willow’s back. “Your father is a strong man. Trust him. He can slay an entire army of vampires just for you.”

“But… I don’t want him to.”

“I know, Wills,” Mr. Hunter says sympathetically. “But there isn’t time to argue. Go with Dube.” He hands her off to him then gives her a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t want to lose you, Wills. You stay safe and I will stay safe. Sound like a deal?”

Willow’s lip protrudes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

She hugs Dube, and they set off at a run. Over his shoulder, she watches Mr. Hunter exit the alley and mix with the bloodthirsty chaos.