He is alert now. More then ever before.
He can feel the heat rising in the air, taste the fear.
He smells urine, sweat, and regret.
He senses the change in the atmosphere, the residual ozone of his brothers cut down by the last group of stragglers. The food chain is made of barbed wire sometimes.
They had cornered the family in an old church. Mordecai could smell the dry rot and termites. Dust of prayers never finished, the Lord had been gone a long time.
One by one his nest had braved the doors only to be spurned and burned by the family holding a cross.
“Back demon! The power of our God will smite you!”
With a confident stride he walks towards the church door. When he is aroused by blood, Mordecai becomes silent and arrogant.
“Demon! You will not harm us! Die like your foul brothers!”
A man puts the cross in Mordecai’s face. They expect fire, they receive a chuckle.
One by one Mordecai feeds. The last survivor clings to the cross, “Why didn’t the cross stop you?”