by Tim O'Rourke
The vampire took hold of me again, but this time not about the throat, but by the arm. It began to drag me across the clearing to the wooden pole that had been driven into the ground.
“Get the fuck off me!” I cried out, frantically pulling away. But just as before, the vampire’s grip was too strong and I just couldn’t break free without shattering the bones in my arm or risk having it torn from its socket.
“Why don’t you just rip my throat out and get it over with?” I cried out. “Why don’t you just kill me like you did that little girl, Annabel?”
“I’m not going to rip your throat out,” the vampire said from beneath its hood. And unlike the vampires’ screams I’d heard as they had earlier attacked from the darkness, this voice was eerily soft – almost gentle. The voice was that of a male.
“Why not?” I asked, still struggling against the vampire as it marched me closer to the pole sticking out of the earth.
The vampire said nothing as it forced me roughly up against the pole. The back of my head slammed into it with an audible crack and I cried out.
“If you don’t want to kill me, then just let me go,” I said, trying not to sound too desperate – too needy.
With one of its long, white hands pressed flat against my chest crushing me firmly against the pole, the vampire reached down and snatched up a length of thick rope that was buried amongst the burnt pieces of wood. Now that I was so close to the pile of old logs and tree branches, I could see that not only were they scorched black, but some of them were covered in a thick coating of white ash. With the thick rope trailing from its fist, the vampire began to wind one end of it about the pole then about me.
“Hey, hey, stop that!” I shouted, kicking out widely at him.
The vampire soaked up my blows as it quickly wrapped the rope about me, strapping me tight against the pole. I looked down at the burnt remains of the fire and my heart shot into the back of my throat as I feared what the vampire might do next. He had said that he wasn’t going to rip my throat out, but did that mean he had a more hideous plan for my death – my execution? Terrified of what the vampire was going to do next, I thrashed and wriggled frantically against the pole, desperate to loosen the rope that the vampire had wound and secured about me. With my arms now pinned to my sides and legs strapped together by the rope, I looked at the vampire who stood shrouded in his hooded cloak before me.
“Please don’t,” I cried out. “Please don’t burn me.” But as my shrill cries stretched away into the night, they grew somehow distorted – like they weren’t my cries at all – but belonged to another.
Slowly, the vampire raised its head, so once more I could see beneath his low hanging hood. But its face wasn’t that nightmarish mask that I had seen before, but was once again angelic and beautiful looking. The face that looked back at me was a beautiful man. His hair was fair, and skin smooth, eyes blue and bright. The corners of his mouth turned up into smile that wasn’t cruel, but kind.
And just as Rush had warned me, the vampire’s beauty was blinding. It blinded me from seeing the danger that I knew at some subconscious level that I was in. It was like the creature’s beauty sucked not the blood from my veins, but my fear. I suddenly no longer felt scared of the creature that was looking out at me from beneath the hood, but loved it. How could I not fall in love with such a beautiful looking man?
“Please…” I whimpered, not wanting to beg him for my life, but wanting to plead with him to let me stay with him, lost in the woods forever – to never leave his side.
But before I’d had the chance to say anything more, the Beautiful Immortal had gently cupped my face in his soft but strong hands. The vampire leant in as if intending to kiss me. I closed my eyes and tilted my head, offering him the soft flesh that covered my neck.
“Sleep,” he whispered in my ear.
Instead of kissing me, the now beautiful-looking vampire thrust my head backwards, hitting the back of my head against the pole he had tied me to. That was the last thing I could remember before my world went black.
Chapter Three
I could smell the sweet and intoxicating aroma of meat cooking. It smelt like steak being heated over a grill. The scent reminded me of the times my Uncle Sidney would cook meat over hot burning coals in one of the fields that stretched away behind the small shack where he printed his newspapers. It was a very rare treat indeed for my uncle to lead me out into the field, my arms full of freshly baked rolls, as he carried thick slabs of meat in his giant hands. Meat wasn’t so easy to come by in Maze. It was something that my uncle would suddenly appear with once a month. He’d arrive home from town with chunks of red meat wrapped in wax paper. Sometimes the meat looked so fresh that blood would drip from between his fingers and all over the poky kitchen floor. I would mop it up while my uncle would prepare the meat by covering it with herbs and spices that he had gathered while on his many journeys he took beyond Maze. As I cleaned the floor, I would often glance up to see him licking the animal’s blood from between his thick fingers. He would smack his lips together, before smiling down at me.
Once he had prepared the meat, and if the weather was fine, my uncle would lead me out to the field. Here he had a makeshift stove. It was nothing more than two piles of bricks which he had placed a metal grill over. Beneath the grill he had placed some pieces of dried wood and some coals.
“This is what the people who lived before the war called a barbeque,” Uncle Sidney would explain as he lay down the giant slabs of bloody meat onto the grill.
Handing me a stick, I would prod the meat until it was cooked on one side then turn it over.
“Make sure you don’t overcook the meat,” my uncle would warn. “You know I like mine rare.”
I wasn’t so keen on rare meat, but my uncle didn’t seem to feel the same way. He liked his meat so rare, it was practically still raw. As we sat together and ate, I would often wonder why he bothered to cook his piece of meat at all.
And it was that same scent of cooking meat that I could smell now as I stood, head slumped forward, eyes closed and tied to the pole in the middle of the wood. But I didn’t want to open my eyes, I wanted to stay dreaming of my uncle and me and how we had often sat together and cooked then ate the slabs of meat that he would return with from town. They were happy memories – treasured memories. It was much nicer to keep my eyes closed than open them and be reminded of the horrors that were unfolding in the darkness of the wood. And there were other memories – nicer memories – that I would rather think about than open my eyes and look upon the harsh reality of the events that were unfolding in Shade. I wanted to stay a while longer in Maze, because I’d planned to sneak out of my uncle’s house that evening and go meet with Flint. I couldn’t have been any older than thirteen at the time – perhaps fourteen tops. Of course my uncle knew nothing of this – or so I believed at the time. My uncle had returned that day with more of that meat. While he hadn’t been looking, I’d cut off a strip of that bloody meat and wrapped it in some paper. I hid this amongst the folds of my skirt and left the kitchen. Fearing that the meat might spoil in the summer heat before sneaking away that evening to meet Flint, I knew I needed someplace cool to hide it. The door to my uncle’s printing shack had been open. That place was always cool and dark inside, so peeking back over my shoulder to make sure my uncle hadn’t been watching, I slipped inside. I hid the meat beneath some of the older newspapers he hadn’t managed to sell to the people of Maze. Flattening down the front of my skirt and smearing away some blood that covered my fingers from where I’d handled the meat, I left the shack, closing the door behind me.
I spent the afternoon lying on my bed, imagining myself taking that piece of meat with me when I met with Flint that evening. I would find someplace to cook it, perhaps down near to the shoreline. We could light a campfire on the beach and I could cook the meat for him. With romantic teenage notions floating about my head, I fell asleep. When I woke, it was near dark outside. I called out for my uncle
but got no reply. Fixing my hair, I headed downstairs. I couldn’t find my uncle anywhere. Fearing that perhaps he had left on one of his many trips away from Maze, I headed out of the house and into the yard. I went straight to the shack where I’d earlier hidden the piece of meat that I had planned to share with Flint. I yanked on the door but it was locked tight just like it always was when my uncle went away. For reasons unknown to me, my uncle always locked up the shack. It wasn’t as if there was anything of any value in there. I mean, who would want to steal his oily old printing press or the old newspapers? He could barely give them away! Imagining the meat that I had taken for me and Flint to share as part of some romantic supper, spoiling in the shack, I kicked the floor of the cobbled yard.
Knowing that there was no way of getting into the shack without the key my uncle kept secure on his keychain, I set off into the fading sun and went to meet Flint.
“Why do you look so glum?” He smiled as he saw me approach along the narrow dirt track where we had arranged to meet. There was a deserted barn in a nearby field and we would go there to be alone. It was where Flint and I first went all the way – where our kissing and touching led to something far more. But that didn’t happen for another year or two.
“I’d planned a surprise for you,” I said, reaching the tree that he stood beneath.
“I like surprises,” Flint said, taking one of my hands in his.
“I wouldn’t get too excited,” I told him. “My plans have all gone horribly wrong.”
“Plans?” Flint asked leading me out from beneath the tree and toward the field and the barn. “What did you have planned for me?”
“My uncle came back with some of that meat from town today and I took a piece for us to share,” I explained. “I was going to cook supper for us down on the beach. I thought it would have been nice – you know, like a proper date instead of always going to the barn.”
“I like what happens in the barn.” Flint smiled, shooting me a sideways grin.
I slapped his groping hand away. “I just thought it would have been romantic, that’s all. I know boys aren’t meant to like that stuff much…”
“I like this stuff.” Laughing, he groped my behind with his grubby hands.
“I’m being serious, Flint,” I scowled at him. “I wanted it to be nice. I had it all planned and my uncle went and spoilt everything by locking our supper in his goddamn printing shed.”
As if seeing how much it had really meant to me, Flint smiled. “I’ve got an idea. How about I cook you a romantic supper?”
“What are we going to eat?” I asked, wondering if he wasn’t just playing along, teasing me again.
Taking me by the hand, Flint led me away from the field and back along the narrow dirt track in the direction away from town.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as the last of the sunlight faded and was replaced with the blue glow from a slow rising moon.
“I know where that meat comes from,” Flint explained in little more than a whisper like it was some kind of secret.
“Where?”
“There’s a place right on the outskirts of town,” Flint said as we walked side by side, fingers entwined with each other’s. “My father used to work there a few years back. He was always coming home with that meat. There seemed to be plenty to go around.”
“My uncle told me that it was quite rare and was rationed,” I told him.
Flint shrugged. “My father always came home with plenty. Sometimes we had more than we could eat.”
We walked until it had grown dark and I couldn’t remember ever visiting this part of Maze before. I glanced back over my shoulder and could see the derelict tower blocks in the centre of Maze silhouetted against the moonlight in the distance. The fractured buildings looked so far away. I guessed we must have walked to the furthest reaches of Maze.
“Mind your head,” Flint suddenly whispered, leading me beneath the low hanging branches of the trees that lined the road.
Once past them, I straightened up to find myself staring up at a wire fence. It reached up into the night. All along the top of the fence was razor wire. Fixed to it was a sign that had the words: Keep Out – Trespassers Will Be Punished. By Order of the Night Watchmen!
“Keep down. There’s a hole in the fence just along here,” Flint said, leading me along the side of the fence. He walked bent double at the waist as if trying to make himself as small as possible.
“We’re not really going in there, are we?” I asked, following him through the dark.
“Yeah, why not?”
“But that sign said…” I started.
“We’re only gonna take a piece of that meat,” Flint whispered. “It’s not like we’re gonna kill anyone.”
But before I could protest any further, Flint had found the hole in the fence he had spoken of and had climbed through it.
“Flint, come back,” I hissed at him, looking left then right along the length of the fence.
“Don’t be chicken,” he teased, a broad grin stretched across his young, handsome face. “I thought you wanted that romantic supper for two down on the beach?”
“I do. But…”
Then reaching back through the hole in the fence, Flint grabbed my hands and pulled me toward it. I tripped and Flint caught me in his arms on the other side of the wire fence.
“Okay,” he whispered in my ear.
“Sure,” I said, freeing myself from his arms and brushing myself off.
“C’mon then,” Flint said, taking me by the hand again and leading me across the field that we now found ourselves in. The grass was long, almost to our waists. Like before, we walked stooped forward, making ourselves as small as possible.
“What if we’re seen?” I whispered, my heart racing and stomach feeling like one large knot.
“By who?” Flint said. “This place is shut up for the night.”
“So why are you crouching down then?” I shot back.
Flint looked at me, moonlight glinting in his blue eyes. “I’m not scared,” he said, suddenly standing tall. Then looking ahead he added, “See, Mila, there’s nothing to be scared of. There’s no one about – just some old buildings over there. That’s where they must keep the cattle. C’mon.”
Without waiting for me, Flint set off once again across the field in the direction of the buildings. I followed him, and as we drew nearer, those buildings looked a lot bigger than I had first believed them to be. They looked like the biggest barns I had ever seen. They had vast corrugated roofs. There was one that was set apart from the rest and this one had a tall chimney that stuck up into the night like a giant cannon. Smoke poured from it in a thick black stream. As we drew closer still, I caught a whiff of that smoke on the air. I recognised the smell at once. It smelt exactly like the smoke that billowed from the meat that I cooked over the grill with my uncle.
“I’m not sure about this,” I said, reaching out and gripping Flint’s arm. “I think there might be people here after all.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“There’s smoke coming from that giant chimney,” I said, pointing up at the smoke that sat in the night sky like a black cloud. “It smells like someone is cooking up some of that meat.”
“That’s probably just the furnace,” Flint said. “The people that work here probably chuck all the spoilt meat into it at the end of the day before setting off home. I’m sure that’s what my father told me once. He said it was a waste of good meat.” Reaching for my hand again, Flint closed his fingers around mine and led me closer to the giant barns.
We hadn’t gone very much further when the grass started to thin out and grow shorter. I felt suddenly very exposed. There was now nowhere we could easily hide should we need to. From where I now stood, I could see that the barns didn’t stand on grass like I had first suspected, but on concrete, which was cracked. There was a road that led away from the barns and into the distance. Parked along one side of the nearest barn were several
trucks. They were huge and big enough to carry cattle. Now that we were closer to the barn with the chimney, that smell of cooked meat grew stronger and ever more pungent. It was so strong and sickly sweet that I fought the urge to vomit. I placed one hand over my mouth and nose.
“Are you okay?” Flint asked me.
I said nothing and just nodded my head. But I wasn’t okay. The smell of the meat was suddenly disgusting and I wasn’t so sure that I wanted any of it for my supper. I wasn’t sure that I ever wanted to eat any of that meat ever again.
Clearing the grass, we stepped onto the concrete that led to the barns. We weren’t that far away now. I stepped in something and looked down. At first I thought it was a puddle, but it hadn’t rained in Maze for weeks. It was the middle of the summer and the days and nights had been hot.
“What’s that?” I said, turning up my nose.
Letting go of my hand, Flint reached down, and placed his fingertips into the puddle. He stood, holding his hands up into the moonlight. His fingers glistened red. “It’s blood,” he said.
“Blood?” I gasped, looking back down at the puddle. “Where’s it coming from?” As if in answer to my own question, one of the barn doors slid open, showering the concrete square with light from within. It was then that I saw the river of blood flowing from out of the barn where it filled the cracks covering the ground at our feet. A man appeared in the open doorway. He pulled behind him a large cart. To my horror it appeared to be filled with bones. They shone white and fleshless in the glare of the light spilling from within the barn.
