Dead Flesh (Kiera Hudson Series Two #1)

Dead Flesh (Kiera Hudson Series Two #1) Page 18

Just like my blazer, the classroom smelt old, musty, and of sweat. It was full of teenagers all about the same age as me and Sam. Some looked a few years younger. They sat in rows behind single wooden desks. I followed Sam across the room, and finding a spare desk and seat next to him, I sat down. Along one side of the classroom, windows spewed dreary shafts of winter morning light across the desks and chalkboard. Glancing out of the windows, I could see one of the turrets that surrounded the school spiralling up into the overcast sky. At the top I could see a hooded figure pacing back and forth as it kept watch over the school and everyone imprisoned within it.

Chapter Eighteen

Kayla

“I thought you said we shouldn’t be late for Brother Michael’s lesson?” I said to Sam, looking at my watch. “He’s five minutes late already.”

“Shhh!” Sam said. “He might already be here!”

“What do ya mean?” I asked. But before Sam could explain, something happened.

At first there was a rustling sound, like leaves being carried along the street in a storm. This was followed by a wailing sound and a spray of shadows that flickered across the chalkboard like the silhouette of a giant bird. Then out of the gloom in the corner of the room stepped one of those Greys. His robes fluttered all around him as he made his way to the front of the class.

“Where did he come -” I began.

“Shhh!” Sam said again, prodding me in the ribs with his elbow. “That’s Brother Michael.”

Brother Michael stood at the front of the class, his giant frame wedged into a grey coloured robe. But it wasn’t just his cloak and the hood that he had draped over his head, everything about him was grey. His hoodie was pulled so far down over his face that the only part I could see was his mouth. Brother Michael’s lips were puckered, cracked, and blistered looking.

“For the benefit of the new student,” Brother Michael’s mouth hissed, “I will remind you of the entire list of school rules.” Then, running his tongue over his lips to moisten them, he began. “You will not leave the school grounds. In fact, you won’t have any contact with the outside world until you leave this school!”

School! Is that what he calls it? I wondered.

His tongue snaked from between his lips again and a silver globule of spittle glistened as it dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked as if he were about to throw a fit. “If you should see anyone other than a member of staff in the school grounds, you are to report it at once!” Straightening the rope that hung about his waist, he continued. “By that I mean anyone odd – anyone looking strange! Do I make myself clear?” he asked.

What? Stranger than you? I thought to myself. Not likely!

“Yes, Brother,” the class replied. I sat silently and watched Brother Michael knock away the spit that swung from his chin.

Brother Michael continued to inform the class of the many rules that we must all obey, and as he did, I stole a glance about the room and spied at some of the other students. They sat with their backs straight, faces taut and emotionless, like mindless dummies in shop windows. They looked haunted – lost in some way – like they had given up somehow. Then, as I was turning back to face Brother Michael, I caught someone staring back at me. It was a boy, about my age I figured, with narrow green eyes and a scrunched-up looking face. He had a fierce-looking crew cut like a Marine, and he had his fists on his desk like two giant clubs.

The way he stared made me feel uncomfortable, so I offered him a half smile. In return, he grinned back at me. Then, pointing his thumb and forefinger like a pistol, he aimed it at me and pretended to fire a shot off. I faced front again to find Brother Michael continuing to recite the never-ending list of school rules.

“Apart from the searchlights in the grounds, all the lights will be switched off at nine p.m. After this time, the school will be in total darkness!”

I had no trouble in conjuring up eerie images of Ravenwood at night and as I pictured the long, soulless corridors, a thought came to me. Raising an arm above my head, I tried to get Brother Michael’s attention.

“What is it, Hunt?” Brother Michael hissed. “It had better be good!”

I lowered my arm, glanced at the other kids seated nearest to me, then back at Brother Michael. Just above a whisper, I said, “Brother, if the school is in total darkness, how will I find my way to the toilet – you know, just in case I need to pee?”

The class erupted into hysterics. I stared at them, never intending my question to be humorous, it was a genuine concern that I had.

“Silence!” Brother Michael screeched and the laughter stopped. “So we have a comedian in our midst, do we?”

“No, Brother...I was just wondering…”

“You’d better not be trouble, Hunt. I’m not known for my sense of humour and children who break the rules make me laugh even less!” Brother Michael spat, reaching into the folds of his robes and producing a long, black, plastic rod similar in size to a ruler.

Whoosh!

Brother Michael cut the air with the rod, slicing it back and forth. With a malevolent grin, he said, “Children who wish to disobey the rules will receive this!” He waved the rod again, and this time the end of it lit up in an explosion of blue sparks. The tip of the rod fizzed and spat short bursts of electricity into the air, illuminating Brother Michael’s chin which jutted from beneath his hood.

I was right – I had been sent to live in a prison! The rod that Brother Michael was waving about was some kind of Taser – like the cops carried before the world got pushed.

I tucked my hands beneath the desk, and wondered if the police knew what was going on here. But then I thought of what Isidor and I had discovered on the Web about how the world was now, and guessed that the police couldn’t give a crap as to what happened to me or any of the other kids at the school.

“We take every pleasure in giving you children the odd zap,” Brother Michael said, firing up the end of the rod again. “Because on occasions you will need it. And believe me, one day you will thank us!”

Waving the electric rod around in front of the class, I noticed that one of Brother Michael’s fingers on his right hand was missing. Where his index finger should have been was a stumpy lump of flesh. But instead of it being grey like the rest of him, the stump was purple in colour and it looked raw like a piece of meat that had been gnawed at. Unable to stop looking at it, the flesh along my spine began to prickle and tighten.

“Want to get a better look at it do you?” Brother Michael asked, and he was now looming over me, thrusting the stump under my nose. I looked up at the shrouded figure before me, and that invisible fist tightened itself around my intestines again, making my stomach cramp.

“Do you want a better look, Kayla Hunt?” Brother Michael spat, the painful-looking stump just millimetres from my face. God, it smelt so bad I thought I might just puke.

I jerked my head away from it, the smell of rotting flesh and decay making me gag. “No, Brother,” I whispered.

Nodding beneath his hood, Brother Michael said, “Very well.”

I glanced sideways at Sam, and gave him a look as if to say,What a freak? But Sam just winked back at me and offered a nervous smile.

Chapter Nineteen

Kiera

Soon after Kayla had left for Ravenwood School, Potter, Isidor, and I packed a bag each and set off for the farmhouse that we had rented on the outskirts of Wood Hill. Potter had wanted to drive the Rolls Royce Phantom that he had found housed in the large garage at the rear of the manor.

“Yeah, and why don’t we paint it pink and really draw attention to ourselves?” I said, taking the keys to the smaller Ford Focus that Isidor and Kayla had been using on their trips to and from Wood Hill over the last few weeks.

“You’re such a killjoy, Hudson,” Potter said, snatching the keys from me and climbing behind the wheel of the Ford.

I got in beside him and Isidor sat in the back. All of us were dressed in jeans, warm sweaters, and boots. None of us stood out and that’s what I wanted.

Potter drove us across the Welsh Moors as we made our way through the bleak countryside towards the town of Wood Hill. Isidor had his head buried in a book for most of the journey and Potter chain-smoked, flicking the ash and blowing smoke out of the window.

“Close the window,” I groaned. “You’re letting the rain in.”

With a cigarette held between his teeth, Potter closed the window. At once the car filled with a cloud of blue-grey smoke.

“Better?” He asked, peering through the rain-streaked windscreen as he navigated the narrow winding roads.

“Not really,” I said, winding down my own window and drawing in a lungful of clean air.

“I thought you were getting wet?” Potter asked, shooting me a sideways glance.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, taking my iPod and placing it into the dock on the dashboard.

Potter frowned in confusion and looked back at the road.

“Fancy some music?” I asked him.

“Sure, why not?” he replied.

“Isidor?” I said, twisting in my seat to look at him.

“Huh?” he said, not taking his eyes from the copy of Harvey Trotter& the Dragon’s Throne that he had in his hands.

“What do you fancy listening to?” I asked.

“Oh anything,” he said, without looking. Then, added, “How about Voulez-vous by Abba?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Potter groaned beside me.

With a smile, I said to Isidor, “I don’t have that song but...” Then, scrolling through the tracks on my iPod, I found the song that I was looking for and hit the play button. Within moments, Dancing Queen by Abba was playing.

A sullen look fell over Potter’s face.

“Don’t be such an old misery-guts,” I said to him.

“Abba?” he groaned again. “Haven’t you got any U2?”

“Not in this world,” I reminded him.

Isidor started to sing along in the background as he continued to read his book.