Night School Book 2: Vampire Legion Page 16

“Mushrooms are strange organisms,” replied Georgios. “No one knows how long they live underground waiting for the right conditions to send up fruiting bodies. Some say they live forever.”

  “Like us, eh?” added Petre once again assuming his jovial but threatening demeanor.

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” said Georgios. “I’ve inspected several sites that had supposedly been former resting places of Worms. I found these mushrooms that tasted of an ancient world. They tasted like the earth itself, unsullied by time.” His eyes seemed to return from a distant place. “Never found a Worm, though.” He popped the rest of the mushroom into his mouth.”

  “Fuck this, then,” shouted MacManus in a display of temper out of nowhere, his brogue contrasting the Romanian dialect of Petre. “Take us to the fuckin’ Worms ya piece of shite.”

  “Easy,” said Chip placing a hand on MacManus’ shoulder. He turned to Petre “We want to negotiate with Rolph.”

  “No,” interjected Petre. “You talk with me.”

  “Rolph,” insisted Chip.

  “I’m hurt. You not like me? But I treat you so kind, eh?”

  Shoving Chip’s hand off of his shoulder, MacManus shouted, “You heard him. Rolph.”

  Petre’s face assumed a quizzical demeanor. He slowly walked over to MacManus who breathed heavily. He walked a small circle around the Irish vampire, looking him up and down. “I not understand why you with them.” He then stopped directly in front of MacManus. “You like us, eh?”

  MacManus looked like a bomb about to go off.

  Chip stepped toward the two to intercede. “He’s not like you.” He placed a calming hand back on MacManus’ shoulder. “Not anymore.”

  MacManus responded to the touch by jerking his head to the side and looking Chip in the eye. For a moment, his rage seemed to subside. Then, out of nowhere, his fist shot up and smashed Petre in the chin. Petre’s head jerked up as he fell back to the ground. In a second, MacManus was on him pounding his clenched hands into the punk's face. The other negotiators stepped back stunned.

  “MacManus,” shouted Bronte as she moved toward the fray.

  Chip held out an arm to stop her. She looked at his face. Chip shook his head as if to say, let it go.

  In a moment, it was over. Petre lay unconscious on the ground, blood trickling from cracks in the skin of his head. His mouth hung open in the shape of a scream that never came. His eyes were not-quite-shut as if in a trance.

  MacManus stood over him taking deep breaths, saliva and mucus dripping from his mouth.

  “Well, then…” said Norman.

  Before he could finish his thought, MacManus punctuated it by raising his booted foot and smashing it down on Petre’s face. Norman heard the cracking of teeth and bone. When MacManus lifted his foot, Petre’s mouth displayed a set of cracked tooth shards.

  “Now you understand,” spat MacManus punctuating his statement with one final, “eh?”

  Suddenly Norman understood why they’d brought MacManus into this tunnel of wasted vampires. MacManus understood their language.

  Rolph stood in his small private chamber facing a painting that hung on the wall. It depicted a river of light flowing into a pool. On the opposite end of the pool the water spilled down a waterfall, it’s color transformed to a rich red. “Apparently your negotiating skills are greater than I expected. Your arguments proved…” Rolph turned to face Norman and his group, “convincing.” He looked especially at MacManus. “You. You’re different than the rest. You’re like us. You should stay. Join us. You would do well down here.”

  “Not anymore,” replied MacManus. “Let’s get this over with.” He let a moment of silence pass before providing incentive. “Unless you’d like to hear more of my… arguments.”

  “No,” replied Rolph. “Not necessary. You should really think about staying, though. I leave the offer on the table.” He then looked to Chip. “This seems rather simple to me. We have information you need. In return, you can supply us with blood.”

  “That’s no simple task,” replied Chip. “Petre said you’ve been unable to send vampires out successfully for blood.”

  “Yes. That’s true,” said Rolph. “It’s dangerous out there. And while my people would do anything for me. In their current state, they seem to have lost their ability to be…subtle. I think you may have more luck in that regard.”

  “How much opposition have you encountered?” asked Bronte.

  “After the war, very little. I scraped these vampires together from the basements and abandoned buildings of the city.” Rolph took a deep breath. “Lately, it’s bad. I never go up any more. Not alone. And it’s been so long. We’re so, so hungry.” Rolph’s eyes seemed to drift as he momentarily retreated into a vision within his own mind.

  Chip snapped him out of it. “We didn’t come to risk our lives in a blood drive. We’ve already taken a big risk just flying here.”

  “We live in risky times,” replied Rolph.

  “I was told we’d be taken to Hoia Baciu and shown the locations,” said Chip, beginning to display a rare show of anger. “Petre said nothing about a blood run when I contacted him.”

  “That’s because I told him not to,” said Rolph.

  “He never mentioned you either.” Chip fought to maintain his composure.

  “Once again, at my command.” Rolph looked across the room and met the gaze of each member of Norman’s group.

  “Why don’t we just make a quick trip up tonight and raid a hospital or bring down some glamoured vagrants,” suggested Bronte.

  Chip shot a glance at her. “Because we don’t know this city at all. We don’t know the streets, the hiding places. We can’t plan. We’ll be hanging out on a limb. If anything goes wrong. If we’re attacked. We’re done. Plus…” Chip stopped before he finished the thought.

  “Plus what?” asked Norman.

  Chip looked over at Matt.

  “So we don’t take him,” said Bronte. “We’ll do a vampire only raid.”

  “And leave him with a blood starved horde of vampire junkies?” replied Chip.

  “I see,” said Bronte. “He presents a problem.”

  They all stood in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch out to minutes.

  “No,” said Matt. “I’m the solution.” He stepped forward. “A negotiation represents a compromise, right?” He stared at Rolph as he spoke.

  Rolph narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Matt’s meaning. “Go on.”

  “We will not feed your whole…clan,” said Matt.

  Rolph pursed his lips. “This seems to be going in circles.”

  “I will donate my blood for you, and you alone,” replied Matt.

  Rolph raised an eyebrow. As he thought on the offer, he seemed to get weaker, his muscles going slightly limp. His gaze began to focus to infinity.

  After a moment of this, Chip interrupted, “Rolph we have…”

  “Deal,” said Rolph before Chip could finish his sentence.

  It seemed Norman and his companions weren’t the only ones who were desperate.

  17

  Waiting for The Worms

  Rolph raised the glass to his nose and breathed in deep. He swayed his head back and forth as his eyelids closed and shuddered with ecstasy. A moan escaped his throat. He took a tiny, elegant sip. “An excellent vintage.” Then he dropped all composure and drank the rest of the glass in massive gulps.

  Norman watched the glass tip the viscous red fluid into Rolph’s mouth. He leaned to Chip and whispered, “makes you wonder who’s the junkie down here.”

  Matt rubbed the bandage on his arm as he watched his own bodily fluids flow down the starving vampire’s throat.

  When the last drop ran out of the glass and into Rolph’s mouth, he paused for one last swallow. Then he let out a prolonged “Ahhhhhhhh.” A wide smiled crossed his face. Then in one instant, he opened his eyes, raised his arm and smashed the glass onto floor. Shards exploded everywhere. Norman lifted his hand to shiel
d his eyes from the flying slivers.

  “You have no idea how I’ve longed for that,” exhaled Rolph.

  “I think we have a pretty good idea,” chided Bronte.

  Rolph looked at the stiff-backed warrior. “I see through your…subtlety. No need to mock us, Ms…”

  “Bronte. My name is Bronte,” she replied. “And I’m not being subtle. You disgust me. You have all these vampires under your command, and you choose to lead them in this…a glorified crack house.”

  “It’s not easy to be…father to so many,” said Rolph. “I keep them safe, and in return, they cherish me. So, we stay down here. How can I protect them otherwise?”

  “You could fight,” exclaimed Bronte.

  “Like Charles?” Rolph looked over at Chip. “And how has that worked out for you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Chancellor.” The air seemed to freeze in the room as an energy beyond words flew back and forth between Rolph and Chip. Then, Rolph smiled. The air moved again. “Shall we conclude our business?”

  “Yes, lets,” said Chip.

  Rolph strode across the room and opened the door back to his artifact filled chamber. They all quickly stepped through. Norman stopped. The room had changed. The vampires that had menaced them earlier had all left, all except Petre.

  “Petre, are you prepared to see our new friends to the conclusion of their business?” said Rolph.

  Petre nodded his head. He paused a moment as Rolph closed the door behind him.

  Everything felt wrong. None of Petre’s motions matched his exchange with Rolph. He looked like he was waiting. Norman heard the gentle smack of Rolph’s door closing. Still no motion from Petre. He stood. He waited.

  Then a second click sounded from the door Rolph had closed. Norman heard the familiar sound of a lock engaging.

  The instant the lock clicked, Petre narrowed his eyes and stared into MacManus. Then he turned to the door that lead back to the tunnels and opened it. A swarm of angry junkie vampires flowed into the room. They clutched a variety of sharpened pieces of wood in their hands. The sound of their angry breathing pressed down on Norman, like gravity. Norman twitched his neck in desperate jerks, searching for some kind of escape.

  “What’s this?” shouted Chip. “We kept our end of the bargain.”

  “Yes,” said Rolph. “And for that, I thank you. Now it is time for me to keep my end. You wish to see a Worm, yes?”

  The junkies closed in, teeth bared.

  “Petre, show our friends to the Worms,” said Rolph.

  Petre looked back to MacManus for an instant. “Tell Worms we said hello, eh?” Then he leapt at him. Petre landed on top and the two fell to the ground. Petre raised a fist clutching a stake.

  The horde of vampires advanced on him and his friends, hissing and growling. They sprinted through the air and slashed haphazardly at Norman’s small group. Bronte batted them away effortlessly. Norman turned to move toward her. Before he could complete the motion, though, a vampire charged him and threw him to the ground. Norman felt bone crack in the back of his skull when it hit the hard concrete ground. His head rang like a bell. The sound vibrated his head and remained in his ears, stabbing at his brain.

  He managed to shove his hands into the neck of his attacker. The junkie hissed violence. Saliva foamed and dripped from his mouth. Norman looked over to Bronte. A vampire clung to each of her arms. She continued to fight, slowed down by the encumbrance. No help from that quarter.

  Norman looked back up into the eyes of the vampire on top of him. They seemed to glow a malevolent red. Those eyes. They were worse than dead. Worse than undead. Norman raised a knee in a quick thrust to the vampire’s groin. He roared in pain. His distraction proved momentary and only served to enrage the heavy vampire. He grabbed each of Norman’s wrists and tore them from his own throat. As Norman’s hands wrenched from his opponent’s neck, his nails carved gashes which leaked blood. The vampire screeched and shoved his forehead down onto Norman’s nose. His cartilage split into shards. Pain radiated through his face and obscured his vision. The crack in the back of his skull and his smashed nose squeezed his head in sharp agony.

  The vampire released Norman’s wrists. Norman, blinded by pain, grasped at him with random swings. His hands desperately searched for something to clutch, to hold the enemy back. His lack of vision made the task impossible.

  The vampire roared again. Norman caught a momentary glimpse of him, sitting atop his abdomen with a wooden stake raised high above his head. Norman stretched out a hand in a desperate attempt to stop the blow. He felt a massive pain stab through his palm. It felt like a knife of sandpaper chaffing its way through. The point of the stake pushed throughout the back of his hand. His elbow bent and the stake continued its arc, pushing his hand down with it. The point came to rest in Norman’s shoulder, it’s trajectory interrupted by his hand. The knife now pinned Norman’s hand to his own shoulder. The pain in both body parts merged into a radius of wooden agony.

  A quick and merciless jerk pulled the stake back through Norman’s wounds. A thousand splinters tore through his flesh. A scream exploded through Norman's lips. The presence of wood inside his body weakened Norman. He continued to clutch with his good hand at the vampire. His efforts proved fruitless. The vampire raised his stake for one final blow. He screamed as he put his effort and rage into the motion. His scream intensified, becoming louder and horrifying. Then it morphed into something different, something terrible and ancient. Blood exploded from the vampire’s mouth and drenched Norman’s face with gore. The gurgled scream continued for a moment more as the vampire fell forward onto Norman.

  The body hit him with a wet smack, devoid of any life. Norman shoved him off and looked up to see his savior, Bronte, standing above him with a grisly stake in her hand.

  “I owe you one,” said Norman.

  “Don’t mention it,” replied Bronte. She suddenly turned and stabbed a vampire who leapt at her from behind. His face first charge ended with Bronte’s wooden knife stuck through his mouth and into his brain. She quickly withdrew it and plunged it into his back, piercing his heart. Another scream. Another soul claimed by war.

  Norman abandoned his vampire lament when he saw Matt Barnes lying on the floor with a vampire hissing over him. His head was shaved clean and the skin had been studded with metal spikes. Matt struggled with levers on his malfunctioning weapon to no avail.

  “Looks like I’ve won the prize,” said the ghastly creature. “Don’t worry. It’ll only hurt a lot.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Before he could make good on his promise, though, Norman flew into him from the side, sending him reeling into the wall. Norman bent over and picked him up by his collar. His fangs shot out and anger pushed a hiss through his teeth.

  “Behind you,” shouted Matt Barnes from the ground. In an instant, Norman regained his composure and heard the snarling of a rapid attack. Norman spun quickly still clutching the vampire in his fists. He completed his rotation just as the sprinting opponent reached him. With a massive lurch, Norman shoved the spiked vampire’s head into the oncoming attacker. Norman’s lunge smashed the head into the enemy’s face. The spike protruding from the back of the skull stabbed into his eye.

  The two junkies dropped to the ground conjoined head to face. Blood leaked from the holes. The spiked vampire struggle to get free. Each twist and jerk tore greater gashes in his companion’s face. One final effort and he wrenched free, sending bits of face and blood spraying onto Norman’s.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he spat as bits of his friend’s nose slid down his face.

  Beneath the furry of the words a high-pitched whine emanated from behind him ending in a muffled bang. The spiked vampire looked down at the hole in his chest, puzzled. Then his body shuddered in pain as light shone through the hole and other bodily orifices. He fell to the ground, burning from the inside.

  Norman dashed to the vampire with the ruined face. He lifted him over his head. “Bronte,” he shouted. “Catch.” He
threw him at Bronte's back. She spun and slashed in one motion The vampire screamed as his chest opened up in a massive gash. Bronte’s stroke cut him nearly in two, severing his heart and ending his life.

  Bronte reached to her belt and withdrew one of her assassin’s knives. She tossed it at Norman. “Do your own dirty work.”

  Norman caught the blade and scanned the room, searching for his friends, hoping they all still lived. MacManus stood, taking heavy breaths over a vampire he’d just beaten headless. Georgios held a vampire’s neck in his hands, his bloody fingers sunk deep into his throat. Bronte spun like a tornado, unleashing blood at every turn. His friends had done well, but the junkies kept pouring in. Soon their sheer volume would overwhelm them. If his strategy was strength, Norman would lose this fight.

  “What now?” Matt Barns’ voice pierced the cacophony of combat.

  Norman looked around the chamber, searching for an answer to the question. As he pondered, he heard a scream from Georgios. A wounded vampire had dug his fangs into his leg. Before he could make a stride toward him, Bronte’s anguished grunt filled the room. The masses of vampires grabbing had begun to slow her. Their sheer mass overcame her considerable strength. Norman twisted his head again to see a growling MacManus holding two vampires by the neck. Despite his grasp, they pinned him against the wall, pushing at his arms.

  Norman attempted to assess who needed help the most. His equivocating increased their peril. They all stood no chance. Three new vampires burst through the door and sprinted at Norman and Matt. In a moment, if they remained, they’d only be able to help themselves.

  On the edge of his vision, Norman glanced a portion of the room devoid of violence. A vampire stood motionless, watching the carnage. It was Rolph. He had not embroiled himself in the onslaught.

  Norman leapt into the noisy air of the room. He sailed above the heads of the combatants and landed in front of Rolph. Norman heard the sounds change behind him. The steps of the three vampires who had just entered stopped.