by Alex Dire
A spray of blood and bone slapped Norman in the face. The soldier’s head cocked to the side in an unnatural angle by the impact of the bullet. If he’d fed recently, he’d heal almost instantly. Almost.
That was all Norman needed to tip the balance. He launched at the soldier. This time he hit his mark. They tumbled into the muck on the floor of the sewer. Norman grabbed one of the soldier’s thick arms and twisted. It broke with a sickening crack. His students continued their sprint into the melee.
Soon, the soldier would regain the upper hand. However, his little squad now had this one moment. Norman had bought this moment, with a little help from Matt. All purchases, however, must be paid for. The soldier’s good arm wrapped around Norman’s neck and squeezed.
Norman tried to cough, but all passage to Norman’s lungs had been cut off. His faced reddened as his eyes bulged from his head. He would black out very soon, but not before his students reached the partially incapacitated soldier with their stakes.
Cindy raced in first. She was small but quick. She shrieked anger as her reptile brain drove her on, point-first, into danger. In one more step, she would reach her target. She leapt at the soldier, her stake hand held high and ready to plunge.
Make it count. Norman watched his only hope fly through the darkness at the soldier. Norman sensed her aim was true. Her trajectory would put the stake at the center of the soldier’s sternum with all her weight behind it.
Rage launched Cindy’s attack, but gravity completed it. The arc of her motion brought her down on the wounded vampire. In a fraction of a second physics and nature would take its course and the fight would be over.
In Cindy’s new world, however, nature did not always hold sway. Unnatural things had crawled up from the darkness ages ago that defied physics, that were faster than physics. The soldier’s other arm shot up from behind himself, perfectly healed. It took two swipes at Cindy before she could complete her airborne path. His first swipe knocked the stake out of her hand. Norman heard two of her finger bones break. The soldier’s second stroke smacked Cindy in the face, batting her out of the air and against the wall.
Norman’s eyes rolled back to the soldier’s face to see his head had mostly healed as well. Norman’s dearly-bought moment had passed. The soldier had proven stronger than he had anticipated.
In the few instants before the rest of Norman’s group could reach the combat, the soldier picked Cindy up by the neck. She dangled without a struggle. Norman detected a heartbeat. She was alive.
The soldier stood with Norman under one arm and Cindy dangling above his head. He reached back with Cindy’s limp body preparing to throw her at the five charging students.
His students surged on, undeterred. So brave. He had a whole new level of appreciation for them. His little band of the forgotten residue of society had turned out to be more loyal to him and each other than he thought possible. How many people in Norman’s life would risk such sacrifice for him?
The soldier flicked Cindy at the group. They fell like bowling pins. Norman’s mind began to fade to black as his oxygen supply ran out. In his last moments of consciousness, he saw that one student remained standing. Tyreese maintained his charge.
Norman realized it was futile. He wondered if the soldier would kill them all, or if he’d awake again at some point as a prisoner. Tyreese screamed as his doomed rush became berserk, his stoic calm completely consumed by adrenaline. He aimed at the vampire’s heart, but the soldier easily batted him away.
Then came the twist. The soldier now held Tyreese’s stake in his hand. He raised it above his head and looked down at Norman’s eyes. He released his grip slightly to keep Norman conscious. “I told them not to trust you. Say hello to all the other appeasers.” The soldier raised the stake high to deliver the fatal stab.
“Enough of this,” boomed a voice from the opening in the wall. The soldier stayed his hand for a moment. Norman saw debate in his eyes. Would he listen to the voice?
“Put our guest down, now,” insisted the voice.
Norman gasped. The darkness receded from his vision as oxygen returned to his brain. Norman thought he might survive. He twitched his head pulling at the arm around his neck trying to account for each of his students.
The arm held. It felt like it was made of brick. Then the brick turned to leather and Norman dropped into the muck. He got a mouthful of the viscous ooze on the floor as he gasped to get more air into his lungs. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, coughing furiously. Thick droplets of sewage and mucus spat from his mouth with each spastic heave.
Norman stared at the liquid on the floor. Nothing reflected back at him. As his breathing began to return to normal, he made out the sounds of his students recovering from the ordeal.
Norman rose. Matt and Keon were helping Tyreese up. Tyreese touched his head and looked at it. A smear of blood streaked across his fingers. Felicia lay in a daze, awake but out of it. Cindy rubbed her neck and winced.
The soldier stood at attention between Norman and the opening. Norman needed to get through to the other side to see who exactly had saved them from the attack. More importantly, he needed to check out Declan. Norman knew that the soldier had broken his arm. That was not Norman’s primary concern, though. He’d hurled Declan pretty mercilessly and with great force through the opening. An impact at that velocity with concrete or stone could easily prove fatal. Human bodies crushed so easily. They were like paper.
Norman felt adrenaline once again baste his brain with its provoking sting. He imagined the awkwardly-angled neck of Declan crumpled against a wall with his eyes rolled back in his head. The impulse to rush in for his wounded student nearly overcame him. Centuries of practice prevailed over his biology. He calmly walked up to the soldier and stood one inch from his face. He looked up to make eye contact with the tall vampire. Norman stood, almost as motionless as the soldier, talking to him through his eyes. If Declan is dead, I’ll kill you.
He then broke off the silent threat and walked around the soldier to where Felicia lay, wondering how he would make good on his threat if he discovered the worst.
Felicia was limp against the wall. Norman bent down and put a hand on her hair. In the tangles of her shoulder length brown hair, he felt a warm ooze. “Are you OK?”
Felicia’s eyes drifted, half-closed. She was worse than he’d thought.
Then, Norman noticed the stake still in her hand. He flitted a glance back at the soldier to see if he was looking. Norman slid his hand down Felicia’s arm and pretended to take her pulse. He palmed the stake and slipped it into his belt.
Now, to confront whoever stood on the other side of the wall. Norman rose and stepped through the opening. He squinted as his vampire eyes, tuned so long to near blackness, adjusted to a chamber filled with flickering light. He took quick stock of his surroundings. Cobblestone walls curved around in a great circle converging on an arched ceiling forty feet above. All along it hung torches. A raised, circular platform jutted up in the center of the room, elevating that part of the floor a foot above the rest.
Thirty or so individuals stood around the chamber, all staring at Norman. The nearest was an older gentleman in what was once probably a very nice sweater and collared shirt. His ragged tan pants were stained, and frayed at the cuffs. The man had salt and pepper hair that would hang near to his chin if it had not been combed back on his head. Norman wondered what disgusting juices from the guts of the city held it in place. He looked in his late sixties and had displayed a kind smile.
Beyond the man, three people huddled over Declan giving him some water and holding a rag over his head. The rag was wet and red. Declan was awake. He would survive.
“Thank you,” said Norman returning his attention to his grey-haired savior.
The man reached out his hand. “Welcome, Norman. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Ian Faircastle.”
Norman shook the vampire’s hand.
18
Inner Circle
; “Who are you? What is this place?” asked Norman, bewildered.
“We’re all that’s left,” said Ian.
Norman wondered what the hell that meant.
“Let’s save this discussion for later. First, we have some guests that you’ll be very eager to be reacquainted with.”
Ian waved his arm toward the other side of the room. The group of thirty or so vampires parted to reveal a small cluster of six humans on the opposite side of the chamber. They shivered and huddled around a torch.
“It’s Mr. Bernard!” shouted one, pointing his finger.
Norman realized that these teens were some of his students. But how? What could have possibly brought them down here into forgotten portions of the city’s intestines.
The student who pointed his finger was Ivol Brown. He was a plump kid of sixteen. Norman had learned that Ivol’s persistent goofiness had steered him out of the various institutions that had tried to help him and into Night School.
Tyreese and Darius sprinted over and hugged Ivol and some of the other students. Norman approached as well. He saw familiar faces and rattled off their names in his head: Carla Sanches, Phung Nguyen, Dexter Miller, Jimmy Huynh, Empress Jackson. He was at once elated to see them but horrified that they’d been dragged into this.
They pulled Norman into a huddle. He noticed a new level of trust they placed in him. He had seen this with his other students as well since this ordeal began. Of course, he was their one hope.
Once they had Norman within whispering distance, Ivol said, “Mr. Bernard, I know this sounds crazy.”
Then Ivol stopped and looked around the little group he’d become part of over the last twenty-four hours. Phung, an extremely smart but reflexively confrontational teenager, gave Ivol a nod. Ivol looked back into Norman’s eyes and all signs of his ever present goofiness evaporated.
“Mr. Bernard, I think these guys are vampires.”
How could Norman explain this? How much could these kids understand? He couldn’t hide the truth. After all, what was the point? They were cowering deep under the city in an abandoned and forgotten dungeon. Norman could see no advantage in not telling them everything. They occupied a new world now. He might as well give them all the info at once. It might just save their lives.
“I know, Ivol,” said Norman.
Dexter, breathing quickly, added, “No, Mr. Bernard. For real.”
The information wasn’t sinking in. They wanted him to explain how, despite all they’d seen, that it wasn’t true.
The teacher in Norman knew the only way to convince them was to show them. The class waited in anticipatory silence. Norman opened his mouth and his sharp incisors shot down, extending to their full length.
Empress gasped. Dexter put a hand over his mouth. They were putting it all together. Their teacher is a vampire.
Ivol finally said, “They got you? Mr. Bernard?”
Norman answered, “A long time ago.”
Empress said, “You mean…this whole time…the whole time you were our teacher?”
Norman could sense the thousand questions bubbling to the surface of their brains. This could take a while. However, Norman had a few dozen questions of his own. How did this new group of students get here? What was this place? Who were these vampires living down here? Why did they keep a human, Naseem, amongst them? What was the meaning of the eye and star symbol that hung on a chain around his neck? Why were there VR soldiers here? How long had this group existed?
“Darius and Tyreese will explain what we’ve been through. I need to talk to our new hosts.” Then Norman walked back through the crowd of staring vampires toward Ian.
Ian was whispering with the soldier. When Norman joined them, their conversation stopped. The soldier turned, stood up straight, and looked Norman in the eye. “I apologize for the…incident. I misunderstood your intentions.” He gave a slight bow and walked over to another soldier who stood with the rest of the group. Norman found the apology unconvincing.
Ian spoke up. “Please forgive Rufus. He’s got a hair-trigger, but he and Seamus have been the difference between life and death more than once lately.”
“Who are you? What is this place? How do you know me?”
“We’re…survivors. Like you,” said Ian.
Norman waited for more, but grew impatient with Ian’s timing. “And…?”
“Where to begin?” continued Ian. “First things first. You must be famished. We’ve got something to keep you going.” Ian peered at Norman’s little group of adolescent humans. “Sustenance for your…company…will prove a little more difficult.”
Ian led Norman through a small, arched passage along one side of the chamber. Widely-spaced fluorescent lamps cast a monochrome glow that did little to light the way, but hurt to look at. They made Ian look old and sickly. He looked back to make sure Norman followed.
“This place was built a long time ago. Some of our working class brethren built it right alongside the old sewer. We’ve always lived in parallel to humans…a secret, dark, mirror image that they can’t quite see. Our tunnels, though, weren’t made for transporting refuse and waste. They were made for sustaining life.”
“Why haven’t I ever heard of this place?” asked Norman.
“Some knowledge is,” Ian pursed his lips, “privileged.”
Norman felt the prickling of offense boil up in his gut from that remark. However, exhaustion and hunger swallowed it back down allowing only the tiniest of its black ooze to spill forth. “Hmm…”
Ian stopped next to an opening in the passage on the left. Unlike the entrance to the large chamber they had just left, this opening was planned. A line of cobblestones formed an arch.
Ian turned around and put his hand up to the cobblestones, blocking Norman’s way with his arm. He looked Norman in the eye. “I was right to call off Rufus. Wasn’t I?”
“Thanks again.”
“It was Naseem’s idea to bring you here. Convincing Rufus and the other VR…well…former VR took a lot of…let’s just say, finesse.” He smiled, raised his arm, and turned back to the arched opening. “Welcome to the refrigeration room.”
Ian flicked a light switch and a few pathetic, fluorescent lights blinked on, casting their sparse illumination as if they, too, were desperate and tired. Norman saw that the room was rectangular and had meat refrigerators along the walls. A wire from each ran along the corner where the floor met the wall and into a hole in the cobblestone. Norman could only imagine where those lines eventually led.
“We keep stocked by ‘visiting’ blood banks and…other methods,” said Ian.
Norman opened one unit and saw a small pile of sealed plastic bags filled with blood. Each had the insignia of St. Vincent’s Hospital.
“Please take only one. We need to conserve,” said Ian, as he watched Norman eye the blood hungrily.
Along the wall to the left of the entrance stood several metal shelving units. They contained a number of boxes. Ian walked to one of the boxes and withdrew three vacuum-sealed sacks.
Norman turned the medical bag around in his hands, looking for an opening. Then, hunger overcame patience. His fangs jutted out and he slammed his mouth into the bag, piercing it easily. He drank. The blood tasted old, like white rice left out overnight. It did the trick, though. Norman began to realize how exhausted he’d become as he felt his essence refill.
He watched Ian as he continued to empty the blood bag. Ian held up the three vacuum-sealed plastic sacks with the words “Meals Ready to Eat” printed on them. “MREs,” he said. “They’re for Naseem.” He looked back in the box and continued. “Not many left. Your group will have to share these three.”
When Norman saw the paltry amount of food that twelve of his students would have to share, he felt guilty for indulging on an entire bag of blood. “We’ll need to get more,” said Norman.
“That could be very difficult. We’d have to go to the surface. Very dangerous these days. We go less and less often and we just made a
trip a few days ago.” Ian paused, as if Norman should say something. “We were surprised when your little group showed up…more so when you brought along another contingent.”
This reminded Norman of all the questions he’d had when he arrived in this place. “How did they get here?” Norman asked.
“They had a map.”
“A map?”
“They had a very detailed map of the sewer system under the city. However, theirs was unique.”
“A unique sewer map?” wondered Norman.
“Yes. You see, there are many ways to come by a map of the sewers. Several city agencies possess them for a variety of purposes and they’re all considered public information. However, none of those agencies have in their possession maps that contain a single one of our secret tunnels. Your students’ map had many. Quite curious, wouldn’t you say?”
Ivol reached into his backpack and removed a small leather-bound journal with a snap fastening it closed. He released the cover and showed Norman the pages.
Norman flipped through. Each page contained hand-drawn sketches of tunnels, with markings for entrances, exits, and ladders. These were not the architectural drawings that could be acquired at city hall. Someone had painstakingly drawn these from firsthand experience--pages and pages of maps.
“Mr. Taylor gave it to us,” explained Ivol.
“When?” asked Norman.
“The night you stormed out of class and didn’t come back,” the young man replied. “Can I get some of that food now, Mr. Bernard?”
Norman looked up from the map pages at Ivol. Mr. Bernard? He just realized that his students had stopped calling him Bernie. Norman was used to glamoring his students into a loyal, functioning class. This was real. They knew they needed their teacher. Who else could lead them back to the light? Mr. Bernard it would be, for now.
Norman looked over at the group of students rationing out the MREs that Ian had given them. “Ivol, tell me what happened to Mr. Taylor.”
Ivol seemed not to hear him as he stared at the small portions of food his classmates debated over. These kids must not have eaten for a while.
