by Alex Dire
21
First Day Redux
They all voted for Norman to explain the plan to the others. He was the lone, dissenting vote on this matter. They thought that Norman represented a new hope. They’d all awaited his arrival knowing he’d staked Skeete once before and might lead them out of hiding. Norman did not share their hope. But a vote was a vote. He began regretting putting forth his plan.
Ian stepped up to the raised portion in the center of the chamber. The group of vampires gathered together, growing silent to hear him speak. Ian coughed into his fist, looked at the faces in the group and began.
“Friends. We’ve toiled and diminished for too long down here. You can see as well as I can that we’re losing. Many of you didn’t choose this fight. However, if you don’t join it now, you’ll lose. We’ll all lose. The only way to go on is to fight. We can’t hide anymore. We’ve talked a long time about our new friend, Norman Bernard. He has beaten our enemy before, single-handedly. He’s going to help us do it again…once and for all.”
The chamber full of vampires and teens remained silent as Ian’s last words died off in hollow reverberation.
Norman stepped to the center of the raised platform. He knew the words he said in these first few seconds would determine the success or failure of his plan. If he gained their confidence, he could get them to do anything. He felt his stomach flitter wildly as he prepared to speak. How much easier this would be if he could just glamor them and pull them under his will. This was different than Night School. If he was training an army of humans, he would have them in the palm of his hands. These were vampires, though. He sensed their cool, stable wills floating. There was nothing to grab on to.
“We’ve got a plan,” said Norman. Seconds of silence followed, so he continued. “We’re going to get some information.”
“We’re not going to kill them?” said a man in the crowd.
Here we go. “No. Well, yes. But first, we’re going to get information on Skeete and…”
“Why? We thought you knew how to kill her?” said a woman. “Right, Ian?” She looked over at their de facto leader.
Another young man chimed in. “What information do we need? We know where they are and we know that they’re killing us every chance they get. We need to disrupt that cycle.”
“I’m sorry,” said Norman. “Let me finish.”
“If you killed Skeete, why is she still alive?” said yet another.
This was not going well. Norman could feel them slipping away. Why did they bother bringing him here if they didn’t want his help? Perhaps he should just give up and walk away. He never wanted to be part of this survivor’s group anyway. They came for him. They led him here.
The group’s questions began to blend together into background chatter. Norman looked from face to face, from will to will. He could see them and their lack of unity as their orbs shifted in color and wild arcs flowed out of them like solar flares. Their opinions became noise with no discernible signal - save one. A single tone emerged just underneath the noise of squabbling and bickering. The group fell to chaos as they no longer questioned Norman. They now spread their stasis amongst themselves mouth-to-mouth, will-to-will.
But that signal… He couldn’t hear it. No one could. He could sense it. He felt a single frequency. A feeling. An emotion. A connection. Who was sending the signal? He scanned the crowd looking from face to face. The vampires argued amongst themselves. Norman discerned nothing but rumbling. He turned to Ian, who was arguing with Rufus.
Finally, Norman saw Naseem, who stared directly at him—into him. Norman searched for the signal. It did not come from Naseem.
Naseem’s eyes told his story, though. He knew the danger this little group faced now, what would happen if they spun out into chaos, into nothing. He looked to Norman. Naseem had brought Norman here. He knew more than he let on. Perhaps he knew more than this little remnant of vampire civilization. However, Naseem couldn’t save them. He could only do so much. He was only human, after all.
Norman looked for the source of the feeling. He searched again among the faces in the crowd. The noise grew louder. Naseem stared back like Norman should know the answer…like he was special. Why? Why was he special?
Norman swung his neck between the group and Naseem. He shook his head back and forth again and again. Then he saw it. He saw the source of the signal, the origin of the feeling. Fourteen mortal faces looked up at him with utmost attention. They wanted to hear. They trusted. They believed. They were the reason Norman wouldn’t just walk away. Norman realized that he would not leave these catacombs without them at his back. To do that, he would have to win. But how? They watched.
Norman closed his eyes. He saw the wills of his fellow vampires, wildly out of sync with each other. Words would not bring them back together. Not now. He’d lost that opportunity ten seconds after he’d opened his mouth, like a rookie on the first day of school. As with school, he would have to rely on his special talent. He’d never glamored a vampire. No one had. Now there were thirty he needed to bring under his will.
He went to the place inside his mind that allowed him to grab hold of others. He reached. As he did so, he sensed the smooth, soft tendrils of his will reaching out. They slid across the arcs of the thirty vampires. He did not retract. He pushed out harder. His will slid along theirs. He felt nowhere to grip. He kept pushing. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His mental and emotional stress began to take a physical toll. He felt his knees weaken. He felt Naseem staring into him. He sensed the signal, the hope and faith of those teens. The signal pushed him on. If he lost this struggle, that signal would go out. He knew that. But where to grip? The arcs of his will kept slipping along the smoothness of those thirty vampires before him.
Then he felt something different, something familiar. A shift occurred in the room. Friction, he felt friction. He tried to exploit it, to grasp onto the group. He gripped hard, but his energy ran out. As he grabbed with his will, the vampires slipped away. But they all felt the change. A wave of order rippled through the room. The volume of chatter decreased. The vampires noticed. Naseem noticed. The students noticed.
But then, it was gone. The noise rose again and Norman fell to the floor in exhaustion. He looked up at Naseem. Naseem dropped his glance to the floor. The squabbling around Norman filled his head. He put his hands on his ears and closed his eyes.
Then he felt a touch. It was warm, human. It was kind. He noticed the signal again. The one source of unity in this tomb of chaos. Norman looked up. Keon had taken Norman’s hand.
“Mr. Bernard, you have to.”
“I can’t,” said Norman. “No one can. I was stupid to try. I’m so tired. I need to sleep. Sleep…” Norman collapsed further onto the cold, cobblestone floor.
“You have to, for Mr. Taylor.” Keon reached down to his belt and withdrew the stake that Norman had given him when they first approached the vampire catacombs. Keon then took his hand from Norman’s and raised it, palm up. He placed the point against one side of his palm and pushed. A bead of blood developed where the point pierced his skin. Keon dragged the tip along the width of his palm. He winced as the sharpened wood sliced a rough gouge along his hand. Blood seeped profusely, forming a red trail along his palm. It ran in tiny rivulets through the creases and cracks in his skin. Keon then raised his hand and tightened it into a fist. Blood squeezed through his fingers and formed a drop at the bottom of his fist. The drop fell and landed on Norman’s forehead.
Norman opened his eyes. Another drop fell to his cheek. It felt warm on his cold skin, its life-giving energy radiating into his exhausted body. He wiped the drops from his head and licked his hand. He then opened his mouth as the drops began to fall in a stream from Keon’s hand. Norman felt the instant rejuvenation of warm, fresh blood. A small amount of this worked so much better than the bag of the old stuff he’d forced down in the refrigeration room.
As the viscous liquid slid down his throat, he felt himself coming back. At first,
it felt like a shot of bourbon in his stomach. Then, the warm sting grew into strength. Strength expanded to hope. Hope hardened to resolve. Norman sucked every drop from his lips and fingers. He took Keon’s bleeding hand.
“Thank you Keon. Go bandage this up. I’ll take it from here.”
Now, Norman was strong and mad. He rose with a fortitude he’d forgotten he had during his time under the city. He did not think. He just acted. He let the words come out.
“Listen,” boomed Norman. “You’re all going to die.”
Norman, now at his full height, towered over the other vampires as he stood on the raised platform in the center of the chamber. Naseem looked up. The chaos quickly shrank to nothing.
“Skeete is going to kill each and every one of you.” Norman let it sink in. “I have a plan to save us.” He once again allowed silence to punctuate his statement. “If you don’t want to hear my plan, then step to the other side of the chamber.” As Norman now allowed a space for dissent, a tiny hint of the previous noise began to show itself again. Norman let it expose itself for just a moment. Then he finished his thought. “And I’ll kill you myself right now.”
The nascent chaos died. Norman’s words had staked it through the heart. He had them.
22
Choices
Norman’s students re-entered the chamber. Seamus brought them out of the dark passage that led to the refrigeration room. Rufus had insisted he bring them there just before Norman explained the plan. Ian suggested it might not be a bad idea, “for their own protection.” Norman suspected there was more to this than Ian’s diplomatic explanation revealed. His students walked to him with urgency. Something was wrong. They practically ran past Seamus and huddled around Norman.
Something’s wrong. He counted twelve students. Two were absent. Who were they? Who was missing? He checked each face as they stood around him. Some looked at the ground. Cindy had been crying.
Norman finished his census. “Where are Felicia and Declan?”
“Felicia…” said Matt. He looked down at the floor as water filled his eyes.
Norman pushed past the group and sprinted to the refrigeration room. He peered into the opening. The fluorescent light barely lit the room. Against the wall, he saw Declan kneeling at one of the meat refrigerators, his head bent down. His body convulsed as he sobbed. Stretched out on top of the refrigerator lay Felicia. Declan held her hand.
Norman already knew what was happening. He sensed her fading heat. He heard no heart beating in her chest. No! Failure. He never should have taken his students down here. He should have fled the instant Skeete showed up in his classroom. Felicia didn’t deserve this. She was so smart and observant. She should be back in school right now.
Norman entered and place a hand on his student’s shoulder. Declan lifted his head. His red, watery eyes stared into Norman’s. “She just closed her eyes,” said Declan. “They wouldn’t let us come get you. They made us stay.”
Anger welled within Norman. It quickly faded to despair. Even if they’d come to him, what could he do? “There’s nothing we could have done, Declan. Her injuries were too great.” He put an arm around his mourning student.
Norman noticed how tenderly Declan held Felicia’s limp hand. A memory of a near fistfight between the two of them briefly spun through his brain.
“Rufus,” said Declan. He wasn’t a scheming type, but Norman could sense his simple plan solely on that single word.
Norman replied softly, “You can’t win, Declan. Not that way. Rufus doesn’t understand you…us. He’s a vampire and a soldier.”
Declan did not seem satisfied.
“We need him if we’re going to get out of here,” said Norman. “He’s strong. He’ll help us kill Skeete. All of this is Skeete’s fault.”
Declan looked up. “First, we’ll get Skeete. When it’s done…”
Norman knew Declan could never defeat the soldier, but nodded anyway. He’d have to deal with that problem later. For the time being, he was confident that Declan wouldn’t try to do something that would cause Rufus to snap his neck.
Declan looked back down at Felicia’s body. “What are they going to do with her?” he asked.
Norman replied, “They’ll probably burn her. They don’t have the means to…”
“I won’t let them do that, Mr. Bernard,” said Declan. “She deserves to go back to her family. She lives—lived—with her…abuela.”
Norman was surprised at Declan’s attempt at Spanish. He didn’t know Declan had a sensitive side. He’d probably found it more useful to bury it inside and let his weight do his talking for him.
“We can’t bring her to the surface. It’s too risky.”
“We can’t let them burn her.” Declan looked back up at Norman. His eyes grew teary. “Can we, Mr. Bernard?”
Norman answered, “There’s no choice, Declan.”
As tears began to trickle down his cheeks, Declan mustered some resolve and wiped them away.
“My brother sells drugs. He has his own car and an apartment. When I got kicked out of school he asked me to go with him. He said I could make good money as his muscle.” Declan wiped his eyes. “Instead, I went to Night School…to learn Shakespeare.” Declan’s eyes stopped tearing. The tough street kid resurfaced. “There’s always a choice, Mr. Bernard.”
There was more to this boy than Norman had seen. There always was. This is a lesson he seemed to have to relearn every year. Declan sacrificed. His whole life was a sacrifice. Now he mourned. Norman owed him more. It was time for Norman to reject “no choice.” It was time for him to create choices.
“You’re right, Declan. We owe Felicia more than that,” said Norman.
Declan’s face softened. Norman had failed his students in many ways. He only wanted to teach them composition and grammar. Now, he’d put them all in mortal jeopardy. He owed them all. He owed Declan. He especially owed Felicia.
“Go back with the rest, Declan. I’ll take care of Felicia,” Norman said. Declan stood and Norman gave him a confident embrace.
Declan looked back down at Felicia’s face. He gently placed Felicia’s hands on her chest, then stood up. His eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t want to go, Mr. Bernard. I’m going to help you.” He dragged an arm across his nose. “I don’t care what happens to me.” He looked up at Norman. “We’re going to finish this. I don’t care what happens to me after that.”
“I do. Let me take care of this. They’re not going to burn her. I promise.”
Declan stared into Norman’s eyes. What was he searching for? Love? Trust?
“Everyone’s waiting outside,” said Norman
Declan bent down and kissed Felicia on the forehead. He wiped his eyes, turned, and left.
Norman watched as Declan’s form disappeared through the entrance. He listened as his footsteps faded. Then he turned back to Felicia. He bent over and kissed her forehead much the same way Declan had. Choices.
23
Insurance
“We leave in fifteen minutes,” Rufus said. “That’ll get us up to the surface just after sunset.”
The assembly prepared themselves with what weaponry they had: mostly sharpened pieces of wood, some knives, a shovel.
Norman’s students huddled together at one side of the chamber, largely ignored by their immortal hosts.
“I’m going to get the kids some more food before we leave,” Norman said to Ian.
He walked over to his class. “Matt, Ivol, come with me to get some food.”
The two rose and walked to Norman.
“Don’t forget your pack,” said Norman. “We can put the food in it.”
Ivol threw the backpack over one shoulder.
Norman led them into the refrigeration room and to the racks which contained what remained of the MRE rations.
Ivol looked into the boxes. “That’s all that’s left?”
“I didn’t bring you here for food, boys,” said Norman.
Matt crossed
his arms. “Didn’t think so.”
“Rufus and Ian don’t want you to know the plan. I don’t trust them, though. So, I’m going to tell you.” He extended a hand to Ivol. “The maps, please.”
“Hmm?”
“In Mr. Taylor’s backpack,” said Matt.
“Oh.” Ivol took the pack off his shoulder and removed the leather book with the pages of hand drawn maps.
Norman opened it and leafed through. “We’re going up-top. We’ll come up here.” Norman pointed to a spot on the map. It’s near St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. Our friends have acquired a set of orderly badges. They go there for blood.” Norman paused to make sure the students absorbed the information. “This isn’t their usual exit for these excursions. However, it is closest to…” Norman slid his finger along the map. “Two Twenty-seven Amory Street.” He looked up at the youths.
“I know that place. It’s abandoned,” said Matt.
“It’s haunted,” said Ivol. “My older brother used to dare my sisters and me to go in there.” Ivol looked back and forth between Matt and Norman. “We never did. That building has eyes. It watches you. It breathes. Definitely haunted.”
“It’s much worse than that,” said Norman. “It’s Skeete’s lair. She’s been sending out small groups to attack as Ian’s people go up top for blood and supplies. One of these groups attacked us at school. Another tried at my condo.”
“Why are you going up near them? Shouldn’t you take this exit on the other side of the block?” Matt pointed to a sewer grate farther from 227 Amory. “Couldn’t you avoid them that way?”
