The School of the Undead

by Michael Woods

  ***

  The accommodation sections of the Tunnels turned out to be just elongated versions of the many concrete or brick corridors through which Brenden had passed since his descent. Indeed, they were almost exactly the same apart from being ever so slightly darker and for one other notable exception: On one side of the accommodation tunnels, which generally spanned between about ten to thirty feet across, was a series of identical, flat-topped wooden chests, each placed one after the other with no space in between to create the impression of a continuous object that stretched far beyond what the eye could see. Upon the lid and front of each chest was a number, daubed on in a thick black paint that stood out against the dull blue of the rest of the container.

  Many of the numbers were obscured by seemingly lifeless bodies, which were often sporting baggy, time-worn, old fashioned clothing; in possession of dry, grey skin; and very similar to the individuals Brenden had seen in the library he had left only a short while before. Similar only, as unlike what he had seen in the library, the stillness of the many prostrate figures Brenden passed in the accommodation areas was not even punctuated by the occasional movement required to progress through a book. Instead, the majority of the forms he passed just lay there, unmoving and silent; even if, to some extent, they were still conscious.

  A handful of individuals resembled the comparatively animated and healthy-looking Daniel, but they were few and far between. Many of these lucky few, indeed a surprising number, as well as quite a number of even the most lifeless forms, were strapped down, most probably to ensure they did not tear others apart when they succumbed to their hunger. Or at least, this is what Brenden hoped as he did not want to know what else could require anyone to tie down something that was barely more than a clothed skeleton. Though he tried not to admit it to himself – all the while, trying to convince himself that the people he was passing by as he cautiously followed Daniel down the passage were just like himself – Brenden was unnerved by what he saw. It was not just because of the grotesque sight of body after lifeless body atop the wooden chests, or the feeling that the staring, cloudy eyes of a few of those strapped down seemed to follow him as he went by, but also because of what he saw told him of his own future. He may have had a supply of blood guaranteed by the school for the next two years, but after that, he would slowly become just another undying, motionless body; anonymous, except for the number he would lie upon.

  Lost in thought, Brenden only noticed that Daniel had come to a stop just in time to avoid walking into his guide. Though clearly a little unhappy to have Brenden almost crash into him, Daniel maintained his composure and made a deliberate action to tap his index finger on the top of the wooden chest just beside him. When Brenden looked down at what Daniel was pointing at, he saw a familiar number: 10,148.

  “This is mine?” asked Brenden.

  The old vampire nodded slowly, paused briefly, and then took one of Brenden’s hands in both of his own. He fixed the boy with a hard stare, shook his hand and, after letting go, turned to slowly make his way back down the tunnel. Brenden, taken slightly aback, was unsure what the taciturn man meant by his strangely dramatic departure, but he supposed that living in such a place would eventually unhinge anyone and that, if anything, it might have just been the man’s quiet way of wishing the boy goodbye and good luck. After watching Daniel disappear behind the tunnel’s curve, the boy slumped down on the thick chunk of wood that would be his bed and home. The strap of the cool bag he had carried all the way from the storage room beyond the entrance of the Tunnels, a place that could not seem further away to Brenden, slipped down his shoulder and came to rest on his hand. He had his eyes closed and he tried his best to drift off to sleep; to give in to the exhaustion resulting from what felt to him to be the longest day he had suffered since he had been brought out of the ground. But he could not settle. The feeling of the fabric strap against his skin reminded him not only of his own small gift of blood, but the one the deputy had asked him to pass on to another. After a heavy sigh, he drew himself up into a sitting position, unzipped the bag and took out the two pint bags. One pint was labelled with Brenden’s own name, the other with just a number that was only several off of his own.

  The problem was, no matter what he may have wished, there was a time limit on how long he could keep this other bag. If what Gwen had said about thieves was true, there was a chance someone would soon steal the thing. But Brenden was sure that even if he was able to protect the bag from such a threat, he would not be able to keep the blood indefinitely. Eventually, it would go off, but long before that Brenden would probably consume it himself. Therefore, he knew that if he wanted to get the bag to its rightful owner, he had to act without delay.

  With the disordered array of numbers he had seen in the locker room, Brenden imagined that he would most likely have to wander for some time around the labyrinth of tunnels before he tracked down the owner of the bag of blood in his hand, even if the number was similar to his own. Indeed, when he inspected the vacant chests that were near to where he was sitting, the numbers painted on them seemed to follow no sequence or pattern that he could determine. He thought of trying to catch up with Daniel to ask if he could help, particularly in light of how quickly the guide had tracked down Brenden’s locker, but the man was likely long gone. Consequently, in spite of his tired state, Brenden considered the best thing to do would be to return to Gwen: he just hoped she was still in her office.

  After emptying his own blood bag, Brenden lowered his feet to the cement floor once more and started back along the way Daniel had guided him. As he passed each chest, he checked its number, while also attempting to ignore the pale grey faces of the bodies that resided on top of many of them. However, his gaze was often drawn by the force of curiosity to flash a glance at the dead staring eyes of his unknown new neighbours. As he made one of his fleeting glances, Brenden noticed that unlike the individuals he had passed before, the figure before him returned his gaze. Brenden looked away quickly while increasing his walking pace, but he could not resist the urge to look back. When he did, he instantly regretted it. The haggard figure was moving, with a crawling step, towards the boy in its ragged, loose clothing, which only emphasised the extent of its emaciation. Though Brenden knew that he could easily outrun it for a time, the limit of the Tunnels meant the thing would always catch up with him.

  “What do you want?” cried Brenden, his voice becoming shrill through fear on the final word.

  The figure stopped its advance, and for a protracted pause, the two just stood, stock-still, some ten feet apart from one another. That was until something crashed into Brenden’s back; something that turned out to be another wraith-like body that must have removed itself from the top of its chest after Brenden had swung around to see what was following him. Brenden was jerked forward a pace, but the thing was too insubstantial to do anything more. As Brenden adjusted his position to ensure he could stand his ground, a pair of grey arms – draped in papery thin, hanging skin – reached around the boy in an attempt to take a hold of his cool bag. Brenden was able to throw off his assailant, before casting it to the ground with almost no effort at all. As it hit the floor, the thing emitted something that sounded little more than a pathetic plea for help. The boy’s confusion, created by the noise, only lasted a moment as he saw that the other figure had once again begun to creep towards him. With little consideration about what he was doing - and casting aside his knowledge that he had nowhere to run – he turned in an effort to put as much distance as he could between himself and his pursuers, and propelled himself into a gathering throng of tunnel dwellers.

  As he broke into the crowd, Brenden tripped and landed hard on at least a couple of the figures. The boy felt an array of hands, with skin as dry as sun-cracked earth, moving over him and only slowly came to fathom that many, rather than harming him, were trying to lift him up. Nevertheless, not all of those around him had intentions of assisting the boy. Indeed, as Brenden was slowly lifted up from
the floor, several arms curled around his body in an attempt to gain access to the bag of blood. Each time, Brenden managed to shake off the potential thieves, mainly by pulling the cool bag closer into himself. After the group had returned Brenden to his feet, without any fuss they collectively managed the few who clearly did not want to leave the boy alone. These few were gently dragged away and, after several sets of straps were removed from some of the nearby chests, belted down to give them time to pass through their hunger. The gathering dispersed and the tunnel returned to the quiet, still state that appeared to be the place’s natural condition. The transformation was such that Brenden almost doubted that what he had just experienced had truly happened.

  Brenden opened the cool bag to check that the blood was still there and to ensure that nothing had been damaged in all the commotion. Satisfied that everything was in order, the boy decided that there was nothing to do but continue on his way. After only taking a few steps, an arm reached out to stop Brenden’s progress. Instinctively, Brenden pulled the cool bag away from the sitting figure, thinking that the strange nightmare he had just been through was about to be repeated. In the process of trying to keep the blood he held safe, the boy lost a hold on the cool bag and it was only through a lucky, fumbled catch that he prevented the thing from hurtling to the cement floor. After expelling a gasp of relief, Brenden realised that the person who had startled him was making no effort to steal the blood. Indeed, he was just waiting patiently for Brenden to return his attention to him.

  Brenden did not recognise the man at first. In fact, even when he looked directly at the man, Brenden did not notice anything familiar in the man’s face as it generally just resembled the gaunt and grey appearance of dozens of others the boy could see in the tunnel around him. Instead, it was the suit that gave the man away. Brenden realised that before him was Peter, his attacker, sitting in the same drab brown suit that he had worn the day the man had been sentenced by the deputy. Suddenly, it came to the boy that the man must have been one of the crowd, and as he was not making an effort to grab the blood, there was even a chance the man had helped rescue him from the needy hands of those afflicted by their hunger.

  “What do you want?” said Brenden, a little louder and more forcefully than he intended, his voice reverberating down the otherwise silent tunnel.

  The man responded by withdrawing into himself, and by attempting to hide his hurt expression by focusing on the floor just to the left of the boy’s shoes.

  “I’ve got this to deliver,” added the boy in a gentler voice, as if he were trying to reason with the man. “I’ve got to go. This isn’t even mine and if I don’t find out who it belongs to then I might as well have just let those others have it.”

  Brenden continued to look down upon the fragile creature he had once feared so much. Eventually, his patience wore out.

  “I’ve got to go,” he repeated before turning to leave.

  “Wait,” said a hoarse voice, causing Brenden to swivel around abruptly in frustration. The boy intended to tell Peter to just leave him alone, in no uncertain terms, but the man prevented him from doing anything of the sort by surprising him. While his eyes still were fixed on the same patch of cement, now several feet further away from Brenden’s shoes, Peter now held aloft a piece of paper in the air.

  “What’s this?” demanded Brenden as he snatched the paper from Peter’s hand.

  When he unfolded the sheet, Brenden discovered a very familiar form, one that very much resembled the one he carried in his own pocket. At first, he did not understand. It was only when he looked over some of the details that he realised what Peter was trying to tell him: Peter’s assigned number was very similar to Brenden’s own; not only that, but it was exactly the same as the one on the bag of blood the boy was carrying.

  ***

  When Brenden attempted to press the blood into Peter’s hands, the man pushed back to indicate he wanted the boy to keep it. After it became clear to the boy that Peter would not take the blood directly from him, Brenden placed the plastic container on top of the chest just next to where the man was sitting.

  “I don’t want your blood,” Brenden said firmly, “I don’t know why I’ve ended up having to deliver this to you and I don’t want to know. I’m not sure if it’s the state you’re in that’s preventing you from talking to me, but if it is, drink the blood and tell me what’s going on.”

  With more than a little hesitation, and seeing that Brenden clearly meant what he was saying, Peter carefully brought the bag of blood to his lips, tore off its little plastic cap and gulped down its entire contents. Though Peter made an effort to hide it, the drink evidently gave him great pleasure and relief; it was not just as if he were still a living man who had been given water to drink after days barely surviving in the empty wastes of a desert, it was much more than that as the process of rejuvenation, which took away some of the pain the man’s reduced state inflicted upon him, brought back the very memory to his body of what it was to be alive. In the minutes that followed, the man’s grey complexion gradually transformed into a pale white that could almost pass as something that would belong to a member of the living, and his dry, dull eyes regained something of the vigour that had haunted Brenden’s dreams. The clear joy of this rejuvenation, though, was short-lived. The change was only a partial one, as the extent of the man’s decay – resulting from his inability to source a supply of blood – was far beyond the task of what Brenden had been able to give him. Peter also became sombre as he was fully away that his next few weeks would be full of torment brought about by an intensified and excruciating hunger, the inevitable result of drinking blood once more.

  “You want to know why you were given that blood,” said Peter, with a strain in his voice that indicated that his strength was still far short of that which he had possessed when Brenden had previously seen him. Nevertheless, as he then began to talk again, gathering a little more pace and composure as he continued on, it was clear the blood had done enough. “But, I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you. After they put us down here, they gave us nothing. I don’t know who would have been so cruel to make you, poor boy, track me, of all people, down. Perhaps they meant to give you the chance to hear an apology from me, and as I can give you nothing else, I will give you that. I am truly sorry for what I did to you. It may mean nothing to you, and I understand you may not even want my words of apology. But, for whatever it is worth, I’m sorry.”

  It was evident to Brenden that Peter was telling the truth, and that towards the end of what he said, the man was clearly struggling to maintain his calm as an underlying anger at his situation grew. This anger - which was driven by his sense that someone was either playing a game with him or uncaring and unthoughtful enough to think that a reunion between him and the boy could in some way be positive – led Peter to stop speaking. Despite his sense of abandonment - as well as the pain he now carried with him after having to witness Mary slowly fade away and transform into just another member of the grey living dead in the drab, silent hell around him – Peter did not want to take out his anger on the boy; to him, Brenden was still the poor innocent whose life he had taken. He took a few moments to compose himself, and then, as calmly as he could, attempted to change the course of the conversation.

  “But what are you doing down here?” he said, with a degree of venom he just could not control.

  “I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you mean,” replied Brenden, unable to avoid being a little stung by the force of the man’s question. “I decided to come down here myself.”

  “What! Why?” exclaimed the man in such a way as to even disturb some of the generally unmoving grey bodies that lay nearby. “This place is worse than any hell: its inescapable silence… the loneliness that sets in even though your head may only be inches away from another poor soul, who’s possibly been in a near death-like state longer than most people will ever be alive. And the thought that that’s what lies ahead for you. No, boy. Get out of here! Get out
if you can. It’s not just the terrible anguish that’s brought on by that hunger that you can do nothing to sate except to wait for it to pass. It’s the long slow decline, as you feel your body decay into the sorry state of a shell, the likes of which you can see all around you now. Did you not have the option to stay up there? I thought you could stay to make something of a life out there, like Johann or the others. Who convinced you this was a good idea? Why did you come down here?”

  Though Brenden anticipated a negative reaction from Peter, the force of what the man said surprised him and shook his conviction that he had made the right choice. However, before the natural heavy silence of the Tunnels returned, Brenden reminded himself of his reasons and became content once more.

  “What happened to Mary?” he asked, aware how strange it was to be standing there, asking such normal questions to that man. “Where is she?”

  “My wife?” said Peter, with an absence that showed he still had his mind on Brenden’s decision to enter the Tunnels. “She wasn’t as used to what the hunger can do to a person as me. I’d been through the process so many times before. It’s not so much that it gets easier, you just come to know it. You become more aware of what it does. Over the years, while I was hidden away, I tried to train myself to withstand it. I failed out there in the real world, but down here, it seems to have made a difference. I guess I was quite near the end - of being able to get around, I mean – just before you came. But it was because I knew to batten down the hatches, like the others you see strapped down, long enough before the hunger came on to avoid the worst of the drive to hunt even though you know there’s nothing out there. But she didn’t know. I suppose it was a couple of months ago when she became one of them,” he jabbed his thumb in the direction of one of the motionless corpse-like bodies on a chest nearby. “It’s hard to keep track of time down here, maybe it was not that long ago at all. When you’re on your own, time passes slowly.”