by Alex Dire
Skeete bared her fangs and hissed. A moment later she regained her composure, running a hand through her hair to tidy it up.
“You can’t stay in there forever,” said Skeete.
“No,” replied Norman, “but I can stay in here longer than you can wait me out. I’ve got several days of food and a lot of sick days banked.”
Skeete seethed.
“The sun will come up in a few hours. That’ll take care of your friends on the fire escape. Then people will start going to work. You’ll be noticed. Maybe they’ll ignore you for a while…not for long, though. Security will show up. Police will follow if things become difficult. Sure, you’re stronger, but I’ll bet it’s only a matter of time before they get you out into the sun.”
Skeete narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need to come in there for you, Norman. You’re going to come out here.” Skeete looked around the room. “Hmm. It seems you’re missing your partner in crime?”
“He’s fine.” Norman wasn’t so sure.
“Oh, is he?” replied Skeete. She then reached an arm over her shoulder. One of her henchmen placed something in Skeete’s hand behind her back. Skeete pulled it back in front of herself. A sack dangled from her hand with a heavy round object in it the size of a bowling ball. The bottom of the bag was stained dark red. “This is for you. Come and get it.”
Dear God. Richie. Norman hoped is wasn't true, but something told him Richie was dead. He felt the emptiness, the loss of connection to his progeny. He tried to keep his growing rage and despair in check. He failed. His words exploded through his descending fangs. “I’ll kill you, you mother fucker.” Norman reached his hands up toward Skeete’s throat. She pulled back, her smile returning.
Norman baulked at the last second. He slowly pulled his hands back from the doorway.
“Not in there, you won’t,” said Skeete. “I’ll be waiting for you in a car right outside the front door. I’ll hang on to your…gift for now.” Skeete jiggled the sack. Then she looked over to the vampires on the fire escape, stabbed one finger into the air above her head and twirled it in a circle. The fire escape crew leapt down and out of sight. “See you soon,” She turned to leave. “I’ll be gone by sunrise. I suppose, then, I’ll have to regift this.” She raised the sack up in the air as she and her henchmen walked away.
Norman turned back to his students. Once again they looked to him. Before today he would just glamor them and get them going on one assignment or another. Leadership was never an issue when you have a cheat like that. As he saw the anxiety in their eyes, he considered glamoring away their fear and stress. However, it would only be temporary. Although Norman had a unique ability for mass glamorings, it would only suffice for a forty-seven-minute period within the confines of the walls of a thirty-by-thirty-foot classroom. However, those walls had been blown out by the night’s events. The classroom had greatly expanded. None of them were quite aware of its new limits. No, a simple glamor wouldn’t do. Not this time.
13
Hookey
“We need to get underground,” said Norman.
“Why?” asked Felicia. “I have the deed. They can’t come in here, right?”
“That’ll be fine until we run out of food,” said Matt . “Mr. Bernard is right.”
“We can go out in the day to get food and stuff,” said Felicia. She caught herself. “I guess except for you, Mr. Bernard.”
Norman replied, “They’d get to us eventually. Pick you off one by one. The longer we stay, the more time we give them to figure it out.”
Then Declan chimed in. “But, how are we going to get under ground? Dig?”
“Unreal,” said Matt, “How does your mind always come up so short?”
“We’re heading to the sewers, Declan,” said Norman.
“What, with the rats?” asked Darius.
“There are more frightening things than rats on this Earth, Darius,” replied Norman.
“True that,” said Tyreese.
Then a somber Keon spoke, “But what about Mr. Taylor?”
“In that sack?” said Cindy. “Was that Mr. Taylor’s…” She trailed off.
No one wanted her to finish the sentence. The room fell silent for a moment. His rage began to fade to remorse. Why didn’t he go back with Richie? Why didn’t he wait for him to check the room and return? He knew the answer, though. If he hadn’t fled, his own head would be in that sack, too. And every one of his students would have been fed on and massacred.
“I’m staying up here,” said Keon.
“They’ll be back, Keon. They’ll get to you eventually,” said Norman.
“I’ll take Skeete down with me.”
“Keon, you can’t win,” said Norman.
“I’m staying.”
Norman walked over to the youth and put a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. Keon’s eyes began to swell with water. “Skeete will get her due. I promise you.”
Keon wrapped his arms around Norman as his eyes released their tears.
“You need to come with us,” said Norman.
Keon lifted his head from Norman’s shoulder. “I’ll come.”
Norman sighed, relieved.
“I’ll come if I get to do it.”
Norman pulled back slightly.
“I’ll come if I get to stake Skeete.”
“Keon, I don’t…”
“Otherwise, I’m staying and waiting,” said Keon, resolute.
Norman nodded not sure how he would ever make good on this promise.
“How will we get to the sewers, Mr. Bernard?” asked Matt.
“Getting there will be easy,” he replied. “Folks like me tend to have ways to stay in the darkness if things go bad. I plotted out an escape route when I moved in here. This building is old and there’s a drain in the basement that leads to the sewer.”
“Sounds…um…fun,” said Darius.
“The fun starts when we get there. I don’t know my way around the under parts of this city. It’ll be dark. We’ll probably run into people that may not exactly welcome us with open arms. We don’t have a choice, though. It’s our last resort.”
“Sounds like Night School,” said Matt.
14
Dropouts
Norman filled two backpacks with supplies. He loaded up three flashlights, several packs of batteries and all the dried food he could find laying around his apartment. He also filled a small cooler with the blood from his freezer. It wouldn’t last long, but might get him through a day or two. After that, he’d have to resort to rats and whatever else crawled around the sewers.
He put one pack on his back and gave the other to Declan. One thing Declan could definitely do was haul stuff. His large frame could barely accommodate the pack even with the straps completely loosened.
Felicia picked up the cooler and looked around the room for other things to take. Declan approached her and gently took the cooler from her hands. “I got it,” he said.
“Thanks,” she replied, her veneer of bristly toughness stripped away by the night’s stresses.
Norman looked around at his students preparing for the unknown. They’re just kids. He couldn’t stop thinking about the difficulties that lay in front of them and wondered how he would guide them through by himself.
He noticed someone missing. “Matt?” he shouted.
Matt re-entered the living room from Norman’s bed room. “I found this,” he said holding up a Civil War era pistol in his skinny hand.
“Where did you get that?” asked Norman who hadn’t seen the pistol in many years.
“I found it in your closet behind a bunch of stuff. Thought it might come in handy.”
“Probably not,” said Norman extending his hand to take the weapon.
“Oh. Yeah. Right,” replied Matt.
Norman opened the revolving cylinder and looked down the length of the gun. Five chambers remained loaded. He could see clear through the sixth. Norman hadn’t fired the gun since he’d pulled the trigger
and emptied that sixth chamber. It was only moments after he’d acquired the thing that he’d used it for the first and only time. Norman remembered the day clearly although it occurred several lifetimes ago.
The sky was grey and a cold mist clung to his skin. He crawled through a thicket of prickers and came upon the body of a Confederate officer. He noticed the holstered revolver and slid it out from his opponent’s belt. Then the body moved. The officer really only twitched, but Norman heaved back, falling on his elbows. It’s not every day the dead come back to life.
In the next few moments as Norman shook in his Union blues, it became clear that the officer wouldn’t be getting up again. Norman crawled over to look into his face. The officer flicked his eyes and stared back, blinking. Norman recoiled again and pointed the revolver at his head.
The officer struggled to pull his lips into a shape that would form a word. Norman watched and listened to hear what he would say. Finally mustering the energy, the officer said, “Please.” Norman moved the pistol away from his head.
The officer coughed weakly. A gurgling sound came from his throat as he began to twist his lips again. Blood oozed down the corners of his mouth. “Please,” he repeated.
Norman rose to his knees. He looked around to see a forest devoid of movement. The fighting had moved on. He looked back down at the wounded soldier, this time taking in his whole body. He noticed some blood on the officer’s shirt just below his rib cage. Norman loosened his clothing and exposed the wound. He choked back his gag reflex as he saw part of the man’s liver and several chords of intestines dangling from his abdomen.
“Please,” said the Confederate once again.
Norman looked at the man’s face and then again at the pistol. He popped open the cylinder and saw that all six chambers contained bullets. He snapped it shut and looked at the officer’s face. The pale man with a massive shaggy beard just blinked back at him.
Norman once again pointed the gun at the officer’s head, chin quivering. He’d shot his rifle so many times at men just like this without remorse. Why was it so hard to point this pistol now, when mercy was the goal?
He tried hard to muster the will to pull the trigger. The officer spat up more blood. He suffered intensely. Norman closed his eyes and commanded his finger to squeeze. Before he could complete the task, the soldier gripped his hand.
Norman opened his eyes. The Confederate officer guided Norman’s hand to his chest. Norman felt a lump beneath the surface of the ragged grey uniform. The man released his weak grasp. Norman slid his hand inside the officer’s jacket. He withdrew a journal and looked back up into the soldier’s face. The officer nodded. Norman slipped the book into his own jacket. The dying soldier closed his eyes.
Norman re-aimed the pistol at the Confederate’s head ready to end his life. At that moment Norman could not possibly know, that his own life, his human life, would end by war’s finish.
Norman’s little coterie managed to make it to the basement without notice. They quietly wound their way through the bowels of the old building, squeezing between dusty pipes and ducking past dripping structural elements. Bare bulbs stuck out of the ceiling and walls in a seemingly unplanned arrangement. As they worked their way past old furniture and other long forgotten items, the amount of moisture increased. Even the air seemed to have drops of water hanging in it. Norman flicked a flashlight as they moved into the darkest part of the basement.
Eventually, the moisture became so pervasive that a small stream formed along the ground. At first, Norman guided his students on the dry cement to the side of the trickle, but as the rivulet became wider, he soon walked right through it. No sense in trying to keep dry where they were going.
“These sewers stink,” said Cindy.
“These aren’t the sewers,” said Norman, stopping at a grate in the floor where the water trickled down. He pointed his flashlight through the grate. A grid of light filtered down into the darkness illuminating the stream of cascading brown water and the first few rungs of steel bars, which formed a ladder.
“That must be the sewer,” said Matt.
“Not quite” said Norman.
He handed his flashlight to Felicia and reached down for the grate. They were meant to be lifted, but not by one man alone. Norman gave a swift heave and liberated them from the floor.
“Stay here and shine the light down. I’ll call up when I’ve reached the bottom. One at a time. No more.” Norman slowly climbed down with careful footsteps. Water trickled down the side. Drops landed on the rung and drops spritzed water onto his face. He took care not to let any in his mouth. Who knows what filth had dissolved in the unnatural stream? Probably nothing that could kill him, but…
Norman reached the bottom and stepped into water half an inch deep. The rays from the flashlight above seemed to peter out before it could illuminate anything down here. He could barely make out the ground with his keen vampire vision. He looked back up the fifteen feet he’d just descended. “Come on down,” he said.
One by one his students climbed. Last came Declan, hitting the ground with a splash and almost losing his footing. Felicia caught his arm.
“What’s this space for?” asked Matt Barnes.
“It’s a sub-basement. The super told me it was used as a stop on the underground railroad before the Civil War. Escaped slaves would move on to Canada from here.”
“What happened to the train tracks?” asked Declan.
“Perfect,” replied Matt in his snarky tone.
“Lights on,” Norman said as he retrieved two more flashlights from his pack. The extra light did little. The dense atmosphere absorbed their glow.
“I can still barely see,” said Keon.
Norman’s vision, however, improved greatly with the additional illumination.
They all peered around the underground room through squinting eyes.
Darius began to breathe uncontrollably. “Where are you taking us?”
“Calm down, Darius,” soothed Norman. The boy was cracking. Norman wondered how much more these kids could take. He knew they couldn’t go back, though. “We need to go deeper.”
“Deeper?” gasped Tyreese. “We’re already in a tomb.”
“Stop it, Darius,” said Cindy. “You’re freaking me out.”
Norman could feel the final loose threads that held his students together begin to come apart. He could never keep them alive if that happened. He narrowed his vision and looked into Darius’s eyes. He could sense the student’s spastic, arcing will grow wilder with fear.
“Darius,” said Norman.
Then he stopped. In his classroom, he glamored kids regularly. This was different. He and these students had been through too much and were probably about to go through a lot more.
Norman looked at the others. They watched him. They knew what he was doing. Their faces hardened. Distrust crept back in. If Norman wanted them to survive, he’d need to keep that trust. The usual methods wouldn’t do.
Despite the energy he’d already exerted, he aborted the glamoring. Instead he put his arm around Darius and enfolded him in an embrace.
“It’s going to be OK,” he whispered. Norman rocked the boy and put a hand on his head which rested on Norman’s chest.
Darius sniffled and wiped his nose. “Thanks Mr. Bernard.”
“Let’s get going,” said Norman.
They only walked about fifteen feet before they came to another grate. They gathered around and shined their three flashlights down. The water that poured through the grate barely reflected any light. Calling it water was being generous. It was a disgusting soup of whatever substances made it down this far into the bowels of the city. “Remind me to call a plumber,” said Norman.
Declan reached down to remove the grate. He grunted and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Allow me,” said Norman and yanked it out with one hand.
“You must work out,” said Declan.
“Not in a hundred and fifty years,” rep
lied Norman.
“You’ve got serious power, Mr. Bernard,” said Matt. “You should wear a cape. You know, like a superhero.”
It didn’t surprise Norman that Matt Barnes was into comics. “Only at night,” joked Norman.
He led what remained of his class down another set of steel rungs. This set proved trickier as several had corroded to nothing. Norman didn’t know the sewers well and wondered if they now descended into an active part of the system.
Once again, Declan climbed down last, splashing into the inch-deep fluid. The splash sound echoed a great distance away.
“Everybody OK?” asked Norman as he prepared them to march who-knows-where. “Let’s go.”
The tunnel led only one way so he shepherded his group in a small cluster down its length. In about twenty-five feet, they approached a corner. Norman heard clicking or tapping from around the turn. “Shhh…” The group stopped. He listened intently handing his backpack to Matt. He inched his way to the corner with slow, quiet steps.
“Who’s there?” shouted Declan.
The others gasped.
Norman stopped and held up one palm to his students. He heard Matt fumbling with the backpack, unzipping it in hurried spasms.
Norman put his back against the wall and slid toward the corner. An inch away he looked back at the group. He placed a finger to his lips. Could they even see him?
Norman turned to the corner. His danger sense remained cool, but something wasn’t right. He inched his face closer to the corner. Before he could peek around, a figure stepped out. Norman leapt back. He lost his balance and landed in the muck. “Get back!” he yelled.
Norman heard a click behind him. He turned to see Matt holding the revolver.
Matt raised the gun in shaking hands. A bang filled the tunnel with thunder.
The muzzle flash lit the sewer for an instant. Long enough for Norman to get a good look at the man before them.
He stood in a ragged robe and hood. A goatee surrounded his chin and a gold medallion hung from his neck. The medallion featured an eye in the center of a five pointed star. The man stood hands clasped at his waist, unflinching.