***
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
