by Mike Bennett
‘He looks like The Mummy,’ said Beltran.
‘Yeah,’ David murmured.
‘But why is his hair not longer?’ asked Ana. ‘If I don’t cut my hair for fifty years, I need a wheelbarrow to carry it round in.’
David shrugged. ‘Massively reduced heartbeat leading to massively reduced growth metabolism? His hair and nails have grown about as long as ours would in maybe six or eight months.’
Beltran nodded. ‘It makes sense. Either that or the growth ended 49 years ago and he’s as dead as a door knob.’
‘That’s er, door nail,’ said David, leaning closer over the face. He considered feeling for a pulse but found he couldn’t bring himself to touch the body.
‘Oh, thank you. As dead as a door nail – it sounds better.’
‘And yet if the stories are true,’ said Conchita, ‘he’s neither alive nor dead, but something in-between.’
‘He is undead!’ said Ana, dramatically, ‘The Lord of the Undead!’
‘Alright, Ana, calm down,’ said David. ‘Let’s not get hysterical.’
‘I am not hysterical. I am right! You know it in your heart.’
‘I will check for a pulse,’ Beltran picked up one of Underwood’s wrists and felt carefully, as if he were afraid that he might accidentally break off the hand.
David waited, nervously. ‘Well?’
Beltran shook his head. ‘Nada.’
‘Did you bring a stethoscope?’
‘Yes,’ Beltran lowered Underwood’s hand and went over to the equipment in the corner. He opened his doctor’s bag and took out a stethoscope. He put the earpieces into his ears and returned to the coffin. He pressed the stethoscope to Underwood’s chest and listened. After a moment he moved it around a little, as if the heart may have drifted. Then, he looked at David and shook his head. ‘By all common definitions, this man is dead.’
‘But this is not a man, is it?’ said Conchita.
‘He is a vampire,’ said Ana. ‘The Lord of the Undead!’
‘Yes, thank you, Ana, you did mention that,’ said David.
‘What’s going on down there?’ called Lydia from the stairs. She walked into view, behind her the Bensons were craning to see what was going on.
‘Nothing,’ said David. ‘We’re just ... getting things ready. Come back in ten minutes.’
‘Ooh, you’ve got the lid off. Can I have a look?’
‘Not yet, Lydia!’
‘I say,’ said Gerald from his high vantage position. ‘He looks a bit on the dead side.’
‘He is dead Gerald, you clod,’ said Cynthia. ‘Undead.’
‘The Lord of the Undead,’ added Ana, sombrely.
‘Can you see his fangs?’ asked Lydia.
‘No!’ David walked to the foot of the stairs and pointed to the door at the top. ‘Now go away. I’ll call you when we’re ready.’
Lydia trotted down a few stairs and held out her hand. ‘Here,’ Two thick elastic bands dangled from her fingers, ‘for your sleeves.’
David took them. ‘Thank you. Now please, clear off.’
Lydia turned and ushered the Bensons up the stairs. ‘Go on, Cynthia, get that arse of yours up those stairs and out of my face.’
‘Oh shut up, Lydia,’ said Cynthia, giving her bottom a wiggle. ‘You like it.’
Lydia slapped Cynthia’s bottom and Cynthia gave a little cry of delighted alarm as they went through the door and back to the party.
David turned back to the group around the coffin. ‘Well then, despite the fact that the patient has neither pulse nor heartbeat, we have a job to do. So, Ana, Beltran, take your places and I’ll get you prepped for sacrifice.’
Both Ana and Beltran started.
‘Oh, sorry.’ David grinned. ‘I mean, prepped for transfusion.’ He pulled the elastic bands up over his sleeves and snapped them into position. ‘Right then, señores and señoras, the hour is finally upon us. If there’s any life left in that body in the coffin then we shall soon revive it, and after fifty years, Lord Underwood will rise again. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, now is your last chance.’
No-one expressed any need.
‘Okay then, let’s resurrect this bastard … and may God have mercy on our souls.’
15
BELTRAN AND ANA SAT on the dining chairs on either side of Underwood’s coffin. David had completed the setting up of the apparatus that now extended between them and over the coffin. It consisted of two metal stands with a cross-section; along this, two transparent I.V. tubes had been threaded that ran from each of the donors to the centre of the cross-section where they dangled down directly over Underwood’s face.
David held up an I.V. needle in a sterile wrap so Beltran could see it. ‘Eighteen gauge canula: my, that’s a big one.’
Beltran tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the floor. ‘You want the blood to pump along this tube? You’re going to need a big needle, and a big vein.’
‘So where do you want me to stick you? Crook of the arm?’
‘An anti-cubital? Hmm, a pretty good flow, but if you want to get a really good rush, we should go for the jugular, no?’
David shook his head. ‘Oh no way, Beltran. That’s too risky. I’m not happy tapping into that gusher.’
‘David, remember – my blood is not thinned because we are not permitted to use any drugs. Consequently, we are going to need the strongest flow possible to get the blood through the tube while it is still warm.’
‘He is right, David,’ said Conchita. ‘It would be an advantage to have a strong flow, even if only to get things started. And then, when Beltran has almost given his fill, we can begin to bleed Ana.’
David considered for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, but I don’t like it.’ He turned to Ana. ‘So, where do you want the needle, Ana? Please say your arm.’
Ana shrugged. ‘Arm, neck, I don’t mind. I would give every drop of blood in my body for the Master. My life for the Lord Underwood.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s not get too generous, eh? We’ll get to you in a minute, dear. First we’ll prep the good doctor. Conchita, could you tape the canula down after I stick him?’
‘I’d be delighted.’
David nodded and went to the Hostess drinks trolley that they were using as a wheel-able table. He opened a bottle of surgical spirit and drizzled a little of it over some wads of cotton wool in a steel dish. ‘Very well, Beltran,’ said David, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. ‘The jugular it is.’ He walked over to Beltran and felt for the jugular in his neck. Then he swabbed the area with the moistened cotton wool. ‘So, tell me, doctor. To volunteer for a needle in the neck like this you either have to be very brave or – I don’t know, very weird. Which are you?’
‘We already admitted that neither of us was feeling particularly brave, David,’ said Beltran with a smile. ‘So I suppose it must be the latter.’
David ripped open the packaging and took out the I.V. canula. The needle was one-and-a-half inches long and surrounded by a clear plastic catheter. ‘Well, this is going to hurt, but it sounds like you won’t mind that too much anyway.’
‘No, I don’t mind,’ Beltran turned his head to one side so David had easier access to his neck. ‘The blood sings in my veins, calling out to the needle.’
David exchanged a doubtful look with Conchita. She smiled and pulled out a strip of surgical tape in preparation. David turned back to Beltran. ‘Righty-ho then. Well, let’s answer that call.’ He pressed the needle against Beltran’s skin and gently eased the point into the vein. Blood immediately filled the safety flow chamber and a trickle ran from the wound. David swabbed the blood with cotton wool and then withdrew the needle, leaving the catheter in place in the vein. ‘Conchi, do you have some tape there?’ Conchita moved in beside him and he made way for her to tape the canula against Beltran’s skin. Then David connected the hub of the canula to the I.V. tubing that ran over Underwood’s coffin. He then tightened the small roller clamp on the tube, pinching it a
nd so halting the flow of Beltran’s blood.
‘There we are, then, said David. ‘Lovely job. How do you feel?’
Beltran grimaced. ‘Like an aperitif.’
David smiled. ‘Not too uncomfortable?’
‘David, please. I have a tube in my jugular. Yes, I’m uncomfortable, but I’m also very ... aroused.’
‘You mean excited?’ asked David.
Beltran took a last draw on his cigarette and dropped it to the floor. ‘That too.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Ana, who was looking intently at the tube attached to Beltran’s neck.
‘Sí.’
‘Maybe I don’t want that, then.’
David raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you said didn’t care where we put the needle, Ana?’
‘That was before I saw the look on the doctor’s face. I don’t want a face like that when the Lord Underwood wakes up.’
‘Oh, right,’ said David. ‘Fancy your chances with His Lordship, do you?’
Ana shrugged. ‘A girl likes to look her best.’
David felt a sudden need for a cigarette. He looked at Conchita. ‘Could you prep Ana please, Conchi?’
‘Of course,’ Conchita wheeled the Hostess trolley around to Ana’s side of the coffin while David went to where his cigarettes were, on a small table beside the cellar stairs, and lit up.
‘How much blood will you need from me?’ Ana asked David.
‘Hopefully none, but if we do, we won’t take more than a pint.’
Conchita swabbed a vein at the crook of Ana’s arm then inserted the I.V. as David had done with Beltran.
‘And after Ana has donated her blood?’ asked Beltran. ‘What if Underwood still thirsts?’
David shrugged. ‘Well, if he still needs more after that, we’ll just have to use other Sect members.’
Conchita raised a hand. ‘I volunteer.’
‘There we are then, there’s the answer to your question, Doctor: Conchita will go next if necessary. And I daresay everyone else upstairs will be just as keen to bleed for the cause.’
Beltran grinned. ‘For sure, it is an incredible honour.’ He looked across the coffin at Ana. ‘Ours will be the blood that revives the Master, Ana. Maybe he will remember us, and one day, he will make us immortals like himself.’
David frowned. ‘Oh? How do you work that one out?’
Beltran looked admiringly at Underwood. ‘He will be drawn again to our blood, that first sweet blood that revived him from his deathly slumber. He will come for me in the night and drain me. And then I shall be born again, a vampire like him.’
David snorted. ‘Sorry, mate. But I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ said Beltran. ‘I feel it in my heart; he will take me, and I will rise from the dead to stalk the night at his side.’
‘It is my wish also,’ said Ana. ‘To live forever as a vampire. A true servant of the Lord Underwood.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said David, walking to the foot of the coffin so he could face them both. ‘You think he’s actually going to make the pair of you into vampires?’
Ana and Beltran glanced at each other for confirmation then back to David. She nodded, ‘If he wills it.’
David raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, whatever gets you through the night is fine with me.’ He looked at his watch: it was half-past eleven. The resurrection was set to take place at midnight. ‘Okay, in a minute now I’m going to go up and get the others. Do either of you two donors have any last requests? Let me re-phrase that: is there anything I can get you before everyone else comes down?’
‘For me, no,’ said Beltran. ‘I have all I need: a tube in my neck and a song in my heart.’
David looked at Ana. ‘Ana?’
Ana considered a moment then turned to Conchi and said in Spanish. ‘How is my make-up?’
Conchi smiled. ‘You look beautiful, Ana.’
Ana was delighted. She turned back to David. ‘I need nothing, señor David. As they say in the United States, bring it up!’
David chuckled and gave her the thumbs up. ‘Okay, Ana. I’ll do that.’
Fifteen minutes later, with slow and stately steps, the hooded members of the Sect descended the stairs to the cellar. They proceeded in single file to where David gathered them against a wall towards the back of the cellar. No sooner had they taken their positions than many of them, realising they had a poor view of the coffin, began to shuffle about, pushing each other and vying for a better view. David told them to settle down. Then he noticed that Lydia was missing. He turned to see her and the Bensons chatting to Beltran beside the coffin. He called to them. ‘Er, Lydia and Mr and Mrs Benson.’ They looked over. ‘Could you come here, please?’
Lydia rolled her eyes, muttered something to Beltran, and she and the Bensons walked over to David. ‘Yes, your guardianship. What is it?’
David held out a hand to the hooded assembly. ‘If you could just join the other Sect members here, please.’
The Bensons did as they were asked, but Lydia’s face darkened. She grabbed David by the sleeve and pulled him aside. ‘What are you talking about, David?’ she hissed. ‘I’m a Flinch. You can’t shove me in with the rank and file. I demand to be at the foot of the coffin. It’s my birthright!’
David closed his eyes and massaged his temples. ‘Lydia, if I make allowances for you, everyone else will want to come forward. They’ve all got some claim to a better view, you know?’
‘I don’t give a shit about everyone else! I’m your sister, a Flinch – and a proper Flinch at that.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What was it you changed you name to? David Smith?’ she poked him in the chest. ‘Unlike you, I’ve never been ashamed of who I am, David. So stop being a git and let me stand at the foot of the coffin.’
David ran a hand through his hair. ‘Alright, alright, but just you.’
Lydia went back to the coffin and took up position at the foot end. Seeing this, the Bensons immediately broke rank and started forward to join her.
‘Whoa! Stop right there,’ David held up a hand to the Bensons. ‘I’m sorry, but this is a delicate medical procedure, not a dinner party. So please, get back with the rest of the spectators.’
‘But we’re ...’ Cynthia wanted to say Black Circle, but knew she was forbidden to do so. ‘Close friends of the family.’
‘Me too!’ said Miguel, holding up his hand and waving from the group. ‘I am a close family friend also.’
Making the most of the distraction, various Sect members started to drift away behind the stone pillars trying to improve their view of the coffin.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ David shouted. ‘All of you, get back – get back against that wall!’
‘Except me,’ Lydia called.
David spotted a hooded figure skulking in the shadows behind Lydia. ‘Oi!’ The hooded figure froze. David pointed at him. ‘You there! Yes, I can see you!’
The hooded figure pointed at himself doubtfully. ‘Who? Me?’
‘Yes, you!’ David cocked his head to the rest of the Sect members. ‘Get over there with your mates.’ The hooded figure walked back sulkily. ‘And from now on,’ David said, addressing all the Sect members. ‘There’ll be no more going walkabout around the cellar. The next person who goes creeping around looking for a better view will be sent upstairs. Do I make myself clear?’
No-one responded.
‘I said, do I make myself clear? Comprende, amigos?’
Begrudgingly, the twenty or so hooded heads nodded and mumbled in the affirmative.
‘Good.’ David looked at his watch: it was 11:45. He went over to the coffin and beckoned to Conchita who was holding a candelabrum with three candles burning. ‘Could you bring those candles over here, please, Conchi? I could use a bit more light seeing as how we have to work in these ...’ he waved a hand at the candles that lit the walls around them. ‘... dungeonesque conditions.’
‘Oh, stop m
oaning,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s atmospheric.’
‘It’s bloody dark, is what it is,’ said David.
Lydia turned and went to where another candelabrum flickered in an alcove. She picked it up and returned to the coffin. ‘There. Better?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ David took a fresh pair of surgical gloves from the Hostess trolley and pulled them on. ‘Okay.’ He looked at the candlelit faces gathered around the coffin. ‘Are we set?’ They nodded. ‘Right then,’ David reached out over Underwood’s face and took the end of the tube that ran along the apparatus from Beltran. ‘Time to insert the feed tube.’
Carefully, he pulled down on the tube and drew out the slack. Then he found Underwood’s chin through his beard and eased it down. The lower jaw moved down and the withered lips parted soundlessly. The mouth was dry, like the inside of an old leather purse. David used both hands to open the jaws wider, and as he did so, he noted with interest that the canine teeth were not the pointy fangs of fiction but were the same as those of any normal man. He felt a small sense of relief; perhaps the creature he was working on was more human than monster, after all. He took the end of the tube and fed it into Underwood’s mouth. He inwardly recoiled at the touch of the thin, leathery tongue, pushing it down so as to allow the tube to pass over it and into the throat – the last thing he wanted was blood flowing into Underwood’s windpipe and choking him. He continued to feed the tube in until the remaining inches of slack had been taken up, then he stood back and gave Conchita a nod. She withdrew the candles.
