Dead Flesh (Kiera Hudson Series Two #1)

She darted across the room, colliding with chairs and tables, until she reached one of the Addisons’ desks. Here, she snatched up his jug of dirty paint water, which he’d cleaned his brushes in, and raising it to her mouth she gulped down the lot. Thick coloured water spilled from the corners of her mouth and dribbled off her chin. She threw the empty jug onto the floor where it smashed into tiny pieces. Sister Margaret then headed towards another kid’s desk. Here she took hold of his glass of dirty water and hurriedly swilled it down. As she drank, I could hear the revolting sound of her slurping and choking as it washed down her throat.

Chucking the empty glass to the floor, she was off again and heading straight for me. She took hold of my paint jug in her grey hands, tilted her head back on her neck, opened her mouth wide and poured the muddy-looking water in. She spluttered and coughed as water appeared around the creases of her mouth in tiny bubbles. Once the water had gone, she sighed as if her thirst had at last been quenched. Sister Margaret then let out the longest and loudest belch I had ever heard, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, turned and left the room. As she disappeared into the depths of the school, I heard her start to scream.

The class remained silent. I glanced at Sam.

“I told you,” he whispered.

It was so still and quiet that I could hear the racing heartbeats of those that sat nearby. The silence was broken as Pryor jumped up, knocking his chair flying. He grabbed hold of Dorsey with one meaty hand and with his other he scooped up a paintbrush and dangled it in front of Dorsey’s face.

Dorsey flinched away, but he wasn’t quick enough and Pryor began to daub his face with paint.

“There you go! You look a lot better already. Let’s cover up those hideous burns,” Pryor teased.

Some of the others in the class began to laugh and jeer at Dorsey, as he was humiliated in front of us.

Although it wasn’t me who was being bullied, I felt for him and was furious inside. The feelings I’d had the day Pryor had attacked Dorsey in the yard came flooding back. I had wimped out that time and I’d felt ashamed ever since. Those memories of how I’d been tormented came flooding back and I felt sick for Dorsey.

“Let’s see if I can’t make you look more human,” Pryor jeered, lurching forward with the paint brush again. Dorsey made a whimpering sound as he cowered before Pryor.

I felt rage explode inside of me like a bomb going off in a confined space. Then, before I even realised what I was doing, I leapt at Pryor, swinging my clenched fists at him.

“Leave him alone, you fucking arsehole!” I screamed.

Pryor looked up, saw me, ducked out of my way and as I shot past him, he punched me around the back of my head. Sam had been right, Pryor didn’t give a shit that I was a girl. He would beat up on anyone weaker than him, or so he thought. I lost my footing and clattered heavily into a table, sprawling it and myself across the floor. With my head throbbing from where he had struck me, I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at him again.

“Pick on someone your own size!” I roared at him. Then, all of a sudden, I felt a hand grip my shoulder and yank me backwards. I tried to whirl around to see who had taken hold of me, when I realised that it was Sam.

“Leave it, Kayla. He’s not worth it!” he shouted at me.

“Come on!” Pryor taunted me, his huge fists swinging before him.

I wanted to break free from Sam. I wanted to hurt Pryor, like he had hurt Dorsey, like I had been hurt before.

“Leave it, Kayla. Leave it!” Sam warned me.

I turned to face him. He looked me in the eyes and I could feel myself shaking with rage. I just wanted to rip Pryor’s fucking head clean off. I knew that I could do it, too. In a blink of an eye, his head would be spinning from his shoulders, and I would be on him, sucking the warm blood from his twitching corpse. But if I did that, the pleasure – satisfaction – would be short-lived. Everyone would know that I wasn’t really one of them – human. However angry I felt, I had to stay focused on the real reason I was at Ravenwood and that was to discover what had happened to Emily Clarke. I wouldn’t be able to do that from the Rat-House or worse.

“There’ll be another time, I promise,” Sam said, his crystal blue eyes looking into mine. I looked away and glared at Pryor.

“Chickenshit,” he said, then laughed and picked up his chair.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and McCain came bursting into the classroom. His lips were drawn tight, looking as if someone had just run a purple coloured marker pen across his face. McCain marched to the front of the class and screamed at us.

“Get yourselves in the courtyard right now!”

On his command, the class began to slowly exit the room in single file and I followed.

“Move it! Move it! Move it!” He wailed, his voice shrill and annoying.

We quickened our step, our heads down and fearing the worst. On reaching the courtyard, we stood in line and waited for McCain.

“I promise if any of you grass on me, I’ll rip your fucking heads off!” Pryor threatened the rest of us.

“But…” one of the Addison twins began.

“Shut the fuck up!” Pryor spat as he stepped out of line. He jabbed Addison in the face with his fist to illustrate what would happen if we so much as breathed a word. Addison placed his hand over his lip, which had already begun to swell and I could see a trickle of blood ooze through his fingers. My stomach somersaulted and I clenched my fists. Sam must have seen me do this, as he placed his hand on my arm as a warning that this was not the right time to get into a fight with Pryor.

The door to the courtyard was thrown open and McCain came striding out across it, Taser – sizzle stick – in hand. His emaciated face shone an angry crimson. I half expected it to explode right there and then on top of his neck, sparing us the beating we were all expecting. He paced furiously back and forth before us like a caged beast.

“Which one of you idiots is responsible for throwing water over Sister Margaret?” He seethed, trying to keep his obvious anger under control.

We all remained silent.

“Who was it?” his voice barely a whisper, as if his anger was fighting its way up his throat, causing him to lose his voice.

Again we remained silent.

“Answer me, goddamnit!” he screamed.

Dorsey visibly flinched beside me on hearing his screeching voice. We continued to remain silent, stupidly refusing to give up Pryor’s secret.

“Right, seeing as not one of you has the moral decency to own up, I take it then that it was a team effort?” he asked, his anger reined in momentarily, but still bubbling under the surface.

Silence.

“If that’s the way you want to play this unfortunate game, then so be it. Each and every one of you will be sent to the Rat-House.”

On hearing McCain’s threat, I immediately felt sick with fear. Not for myself, but for Dorsey.I couldn’t stand back and watch him being punished for something Pryor had done. Dorsey had put up with enough from Pryor and his friends. I could see that he was frail and at a breaking point.

So I stepped forward out of line and said, “It was me. I did it.”

McCain looked at me, “Well, well, well!” he said as if swallowing a mouthful of bile. “Hunt, come here.” He pointed to a spot on the floor within a couple of feet of him. I moved towards it.

“Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions?” McCain roared at me, his anger now completely unleashed and uncontrollable. “Do you even care?”

I said nothing and stared at him.

“Answer me!” He screeched.

His eyes glowed yellow and spun in their sunken sockets. I knew it didn’t matter what I said – what excuses I gave – the outcome was inevitable, he was still going to send me to the Rat-House. As I stared back at him, all I could think of was what Potter might say if face to face with McCain. Then, by accident and without thinking, I said, “Let’s get this over with shall we, McCain?”

On hearing my remark, some of the other kids began to snigger and McCain’s head turned a darker shade of crimson. I was convinced I saw his head actually swell in size, and I wondered if it might just go bang! right in front of me. A deep greeny-blue vein appeared in the centre of his forehead and began to pulsate like a deformed heart.

“Goddamnyou!” he cried one last time as he gripped me by the arm and shoved me across the courtyard and back into the school. As he led me away, I turned and looked at Sam. He looked scared for me. I then caught sight of Pryor who smirked.

I mouthed the word coward at him, then looked away.

McCain dug his fingers deeply into my flesh.But instead of taking me to the Rat-House like he had threatened, McCain forced me through the winding corridors and up the stairs to my room. Pushing me against the door, he shoved me inside. He closed the door behind him, and stood looking at me.

“There is something different about you,” he whispered, taking a step closer towards me.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” I said, pulling my blazer tight about me. I wasn’t scared of him hurting me, I was scared that he might realise that I was different – different from the others at the school.

He came closer still, so he was brushing up against me. Then, leaning over me, he rested his cheek against mine. I flinched away at his touch. McCain pressed the tip of his nose into my cheek. It felt wet, like a dog’s. I thought of how he had sniffed at the bloodstains on Emily Clarke’s bedroom wall and I felt sick.

“Who are you?” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. “What are you?”

“I’m Kayla Hunt,” I said. “I’m human.”

“You don’t smell like any human I’ve smelt before,” he sighed,

as if he was actually getting a thrill out of sniffing me. The urge to kick his arse was unbearable.

“I thought I was going to the Rat-House?” I asked him, as he ran his nose through my hair.

“No, no, no,” he breathed. “There is something about you.”