Dead Flesh (20 page)

I crossed the
room towards it and started to pull aside the books. Then, I came
across a small green light shining from amongst the row of books,
which lit up my face like a Halloween mask. The green light seeped
from behind a thick leather-bound book. I pulled the book from the
shelf, and there was the camera.

“Wassa-matta?”
Sam asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing me staring at the
bookshelf.

The camera was
very small and was one of those that could have easily been hidden
in the palm of my hand. It was the type of camera that didn’t take
a disc or memory card, but one which you downloaded straight to
your laptop. If I could take it without Sam noticing then that
would be great. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but the fewer
people that knew about it, the better.

“Wassa-matta?”
he asked again.

“I’m listening,
just in case someone comes down the corridor,” I told him.

“Chill out,
will ya? You’re making me nervous,” Sam said.

“I’m making
you
nervous?” I half-smiled back at him.
“How do you think McCain’s gonna make you feel if he catches us in
here?”

“He ain’t gonna
catch us. You don’t think he lives here, do ya?” Sam scoffed. “He’s
probably got some right nice drum somewhere. It’s just us mugs that
have to put up with living here. He won’t be back ‘till the
morning.”

Sam turned back
to the desk. I slipped my hand between the books and tried to free
the tiny camera. I could feel wires leading from the back of it. I
tried to loosen them with my fingertips, when I heard someone in
the corridor outside. Sam must have heard the footsteps too, as he
hissed, “Hey! Someone’s coming!”

I drew breath
and it made a shallow wheezing sound in the back of my throat. I
had been so close to taking that camera. I turned to look at Sam.
His eyes were wide.

“What are we
gonna do?” Sam panicked.

I scanned the
room, searching for a hiding place for the both of us. From the
corridor, the sound of approaching footfalls grew louder.

“Under the
bed!” I whispered.

“You’re kidding
me?” Sam groaned.

“Get under the bed!”
I spat and I could see terror in
Sam’s eyes, and seeing it only heightened my own sense of fear.

Sam seemed to
freeze, unable to do anything. Knowing that my friend had become
cemented to the spot, I rushed forward and pushed Sam hard in the
chest.

“How you ever
talked me into this, I do not know!” Sam groaned.

“Get under the bed!”
I hissed.

Sam dropped to
the floor and rolled underneath, and I followed. Wrapping his arms
about himself, Sam curled up, his knees were against his chest and
he was taking small, shallow breaths.

“Budge over!” I
whispered. “I need some room.”

“Perhaps you’d
like to sit on my lap?” Sam said.

“Yeah, very
funny. Now move!”

I forced my way
into the space and made myself as small as possible. I screwed my
eyes shut and prayed that whoever it was coming down the corridor
would walk straight past.

Please go right past! Please don’t come in here and find me
and Sam hiding under the bed curled up like a couple of
babies!

The sound of
approaching feet stopped outside the door.

Please!

I peeked
through my fingers and watched as the bottom of the door swung
open. A pair of gleaming black shoes entered the room. I knew who
was wearing them. I could hear him sniffing as if his nose was
blocked. McCain closed the door and came inside. He stood in the
middle of the room and sniffed the air. Then, crossing over to the
wall on the opposite side of the room, he did what I had fought the
urge to do. He rolled his tongue from his mouth and licked the
congealed blood that covered the wall. He licked it like you would
a lollypop, in long, drawn-out movements as if he was savouring
every moment. I watched as he pressed his nose into the dried blood
and sniffed. He sniffed again, and he seemed to become agitated as
if he couldn’t smell the blood in some way, like his nose was
stuffed with snot.

McCain crossed
the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

How did I get into this?
I cursed at
myself.
Should’ve listened to Kiera.

I heard McCain
sniff again and then rummage through his trouser pockets. Empty. He
sniffed again. I guessed he was looking for his nasal spray. McCain
squirmed on the edge of the bed as he bent forward. Sam flinched
beside me and rammed his fist into his mouth as one of McCain’s
shoes brushed against him.

He’s gonna find us!
I screamed inside.

Sam lay on his
side, eyes closed. If he had popped his thumb into his mouth, the
image of a baby in its cot would have been complete. McCain shifted
above us again, and the springs in the bed groaned.

“Where is it?”
I heard McCain curse under his breath.

I can’t breathe!
McCain’s feet were now so close to
us, I could smell the leather that they had been cut from and see
the stitching that was holding them together. Then, something
landed on the floor just inches from where we were hiding. Sam
jumped and looked at me. Seeing what it was that had fallen beneath
the bed, Sam’s eyes bulged in their sockets like hardboiled eggs
and he pointed at it with one trembling finger. I looked in the
direction that Sam was pointing, and could see McCain’s bottle of
nasal spray lying between us beneath the bed.

Suddenly,
McCain’s hand appeared. It scurried about like a bony spider, as it
felt for the medicine beneath the bed. To my horror, his hand began
to scuttle towards me. And with no room to manoeuvre beneath the
bed, I might well end up in Sam’s lap. McCain’s hand inched nearer
and nearer, in search of the bottle. Sensing that I was only
seconds from being caught, I leant forward and pushed the medicine
towards McCain’s hand with my fingertips. McCain’s spidery-like
hand curled around it and snatched the bottle away.

I looked
sideways at Sam. He closed his eyes, then tilting his head as if
looking up at the ceiling, he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

I felt McCain
stand up, and from our hiding place we watched him head over
towards the bookcase to where the camera was hidden. I watched
McCain unscrew the cap, like a desperate drunk opening a bottle of
beer, then ram the bottle into his right nostril. Throwing his head
back, he squeezed the bottle between thumb and forefinger and
breathed in deeply. He then thrust the bottle into his left nostril
and did the same. Shaking his head from side to side, tears began
to trickle from the corners of his eyes, and his nose began to
dribble snot onto his top lip. He replaced the cap and put the
nasal spray back into his pocket. There was a small mirror attached
to the wall next to the bookshelf. From our hiding place, we
watched as he pushed up the end of his nose and tilted his head
from side to side as he glared up his own nostrils. Then with his
right forefinger, he pulled a bloody length of snot from his nose.
After inspecting it, I gagged as McCain rolled it between his
fingers then popped it into his mouth.

Forget being discovered under the bed with Sam, if he ever
found out we saw him do that, we’d get more than a few zaps with a
sizzle-stick – we’ll be doing twenty years hard labour in the
Rat-House,
I thought and rammed my knuckles into my mouth to
stop myself from puking.

I looked at
Sam, who was pretending to throw-up. He was putting two fingers
into his mouth and grinning. Turning away, I watched McCain stand
in front of the bookshelf and my stomach scrunched up in fear.

The camera! He’ll see the camera!
I screamed inside my
head.

Then, a
high-pitched wailing sound broke the silence and McCain turned away
from the bookshelf. The noise was ear-splitting and I placed my
hands over my ears. Spying from beneath the bed, I could see the
green light from the camera peeking between the spines of two
books.

“I don’t
believe it!” McCain groaned. “How many more of those
things
are gonna freak out?” McCain left Emily’s
bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

No sooner had
the door closed then Sam and I were scrambling out from beneath the
bed.

“C’mon!” Sam
said, heading towards the door.

“Hang on,” I
told him, knowing that I would never be able to sneak the camera
out of the room now without him seeing me. But I needed that camera
– that’s what I had risked everything for – and I wasn’t leaving
without it. I pushed aside the books and grabbed the camera. It
wouldn’t come free; the wires attached to it were still holding the
camera in place.

“What are you
doing?” Sam hissed from the doorway.

“I think I’ve
found something,” I said back, tugging the camera free of the
wires.

“Have you lost
your mind?” Sam snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Can’t you
hear the sirens? This place is gonna be crawling with Greys.”

I yanked one
last time on the camera, and it came free of the wire. The green
light went out. “I’m good to go,” I said, trying to conceal the
camera in my hand.

Sam looked at
it, then glancing at me he said, “Whatever is on that camera had
better be worth the shit we’re gonna be in if we get caught.”

Then, sneaking
from the room and back into the darkness of the corridor, we crept
with speed through the labyrinth of passageways. Not wanting to be
caught by McCain, who we feared might still be close by, we headed
back towards our rooms as quickly as we could.

Racing through
the hallways and corridors, the searchlights whizzed frantically
back and forth. No longer were they controlled, sweeping movements,
but desperate and erratic as if searching for something that was
now loose in the grounds of Ravenwood. Sam charged down the
passageways. Almost halfway back to the safety of our rooms, the
air raid sirens grew louder. It was like I had been transported
back in time to the Blitz. The noise was deafening, and with the
sudden flashes of light illuminating the corridors from outside,
both Sam and I became disorientated.

We raced on,
every part of my being urging me forward. Sam’s arms pumped beside
him, and he ran so hard and fast that his knees looked as if they
might just touch his chin. Reaching a bend in the corridor, we
sprinted around it, stalling in fright as a Grey sprung from the
shadows.

“Whoa!” Sam
shrieked as the Grey took hold of him by both shoulders.

Light flashed
into the corridor and in that instance, I recognised the Grey to be
Brother Michael. The light darted away again, leaving his large
frame shrouded in darkness.

Brother
Michaelmade a rasping sound in the back of his throat, like he was
gargling blood or something. His tongue smacked off his chin,
spraying spittle through the air. Brother Michael screamed, tilting
his head to one side as if waking from a nightmare. His screams
were hideous, gut-wrenching, and filled me with dread. I wanted to
get far away from Brother Michael but he had Sam trapped. Without
thinking, I grabbed at Sam. Taking hold of his shirt, I yanked him
back and away from the Grey. Brother Michael released his grip, and
then shook all over, as if he’d just received an electric
shock.

Spinning round,
Brother Michael charged into the corridor wall, smacking his head
against it. He staggered and then fell backwards. The sound of his
head striking the wall was a dull, sickening thud and I half
expected to see the Grey’s brains explode out of the back of his
head. Somehow, Brother Michael managed to stay on his feet as he
began to spin around and around, his arms flapping up and down on
either side. We watched in disbelief as Brother Michael bounced off
the walls like a ball in a pinball machine. He reached the end of
the corridor, where he crashed through a set of doors and out into
the grounds of the school.

Seizing our
chance, Sam and I dashed up the stairs, taking two at a time until
we had reached the landing outside our rooms. At the top of the
spiral staircase, I looked out of the window. I watched as several
of the Greys wrestled with something on the lawn beneath the
window. Whatever it was, it was screaming. The noise that it made
sounded like it was having its throat slit.

Sam crashed
into my bedroom, and I followed close behind. I slammed the door
closed, lent against it, my chest pumping up and down, trying to
suck mouthfuls of air into my burning lungs.

“That was
close…
too
close!” I gasped. “I guess
Brother Michael will be sending us to the Rat-House when he catches
up with us!”

Sam collapsed
onto my bed and lay there panting for breath like a tired dog.

“Are you taking
the piss, Kayla?” Sam wheezed.

“No.”

“He ain’t going
to be sending us to no Rat-House. We won’t be seeing him again.
Didn’t you see him? He’s freaked out – gone bat-shit!” he puffed.
“Have you still got that camera?”

“Yes,” I said,
not wanting to let go of it.

“What do you
think is on it?” Sam asked, getting his breath back.

“I don’t know,”
I said, collapsing onto the bed next to him.

“Maybe it will
show us what really happened to Miss Clarke,” Sam said. Then he
added, “It might show us where all that blood came from.”

“It might,” I
said, wondering now if I really wanted to watch what had been
recorded on the camera. Did I really want to see Emily Clarke being
butchered?

“Well, let’s
have a look then,” Sam said, propping himself up on one elbow. We
lay so close to each other that our heads nearly brushed
together.

“We can’t,” I
said, holding up the camera. “I left the power cable behind.”