The School of the Undead

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