Grimwood Adventure: Charred Miles, and 'Fang-uring" It Out

WRITER'S NOTE: The original title of this chapter was going to be "The Morning of the Burning Sun".

OCTOBER 2, 1989
---

It was early morning. A cool breeze bowed the tall grasses near the outskirts of the marshes and sent a passing chill through the ranks of cadets along the old trail. Cadets William and Joseph scrambled to towards where Sibella lay, medical supplies at the ready. With the help of Williams, they set about bandaging her as carefully and securely as they could; despite wanting to help in every way he could, Anon was asked to stand aside.

He stood near one of the large trucks, accompanied by the other ghouls. He was confused, but most of all deeply concerned; ‘how could this happen,’ he wondered, ‘she seemed to have been able to handle the daylight?’
“Boy, she sure took a hard hit,” Winnie remarked, “lit up just like that.”
“She seems to be ze only one affected,” Elsa said pensively. Then she said, “Everyone else is fine, ja?” to which Phantasma, Winnie, and Tanis confirmed. Tanis hugged Anon tightly around his leg, her face buried in the denim material of his jeans. He couldn’t feel her there, though--he felt as though he’d gone completely numb with sheer terror and worry. The sustained rush of adrenaline from the confrontation with Revolta had begun to die down, and it occurred to him how much worse things could have been. This was compounded with Sibella’s apparent loss of her ability to walk in the daylight.

“Bandages!” a cadet called out, “we need more bandages!” Another cadet ambled back to the rearmost transport, climbed inside, rummaged for several minutes, and then ambled back to the group. “Can’t find any more,” he announced, “that’s it. Without a second thought Anon stooped down next to Tanis, who stared at him inquisitively as he ran his fingers lightly over her dress until he found what he was looking for: a loose strip of cotton wrapping. Anon tugged sharply at this strip, momentarily spinning Tanis like a little white top. When he determined he had a decent length, Anon cut the strip free with his pocketknife. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he gathered up the bandages and started towards the cadets.
Sibella lay unmoving beneath the dwindling shade of the tree, jacket still covering her head and surrounded by Williams and a couple other orderlies; one of them rose to take the bandages from Anon, whose hands, he had noticed, were lightly trembling. “These will do just fine, Anon.” Nodding, Anon turned and walked back to the truck.
Winnie and Phanty were stifling giggles while Elsa tried to hide a wide grin. Tanis stood with her arms folded, staring irately at Anon; what he pilfered from her dress resulted in its skirt being almost completely removed, leaving her roundish, obsidian-shaded abdomen exposed. Anon retuned an apologetic glance.

---

An hour or so passed as the convoy continued along the winding, swampy trail. Sibella was now bound almost entirely in bandages and was carefully delivered via stretcher into one of the large trucks, both of which had olive-colored canopies made of a thick canvas material. The other ghouls had either resumed spots or taken empty ones in the leading jeeps. Anon sat in the frontmost jeep, completely trembling as if he was cold; he wasn’t. The adrenaline high had long since faded, but due to its extreme nature he was now shuddering as a result.
Sitting beside him to his left was Tanis. She too was shivering, though it was actually due to the chilly late-morning air. She gently rubbed her bare stomach in attempt to warm herself with the friction of cloth bandage against skin. When this did not work, she groaned and folded her arms again. Anon then remembered that he had his jacket with him again, having retrieved it from one of the cadets after patching up Sibella. He shimmied it off his shoulders and placed it around Tanis, even wrapping her up with its sleeves. She relished this newfound warmth, for she let out a little happy hum. Smiling, Anon looked back at the landscape passing them by.

He found it amazing how he, just one person, managed to save five individuals without getting maimed or killed himself, though he came dangerously close. He could only imagine how different things would have been if he had perished.
Gradually, the trail began to wind less and less, eventually straightening out completely; it was the home stretch. The convoy began speeding up now, almost tearing down the trail towards the upcoming clearing. Anon checked his watch: 9:19.

---

The mansion was now starting to look more complete, though only the first floor seemed to be finished; the second third were still heavily damaged. Its overall odd appearance was further enhanced by the combination of old and new building materials--one half was decayed, the other was fresh and new. It was remarkable how the engineers managed to get this much done in only a few hours, and their toil was applauded by the cadets as the convoy thundered to a halt just beyond the iron gates.
Anon stepped out of the jeep, his legs feeling like jelly after being seated for so long. Just before he finished stretching, fe felt something bumping and rubbing up against his legs. Matches jumped about the dusty ground, panting like a happy dog. “Hey, Matches,” Anon said, ruffling the tuft of downy fur on the little dragon’s head, to which Matches responded with a pouty groan. Immediately, the cadets began disembarking from the transports along with the four other ghouls.
Grunt and Baxter scrambled to the gates and pushed them open while a group of cadets, one of them being Roper, gingerly hauled the stretcher containing Sibella up the walkway; three other cadets led the other ghouls away to the mansion. The remaining cadets went off to the site of the mansion where they could be of use, others simply stretched or munched on their MRE foodstuffs for breakfast.
“Yo, Anon!” called Miguel, “heads up!” Anon turned, and he had only a split second to catch a flying MRE packet. Catching it like a football, he heard Miguel again: “Chow down, buddy!”
Anon nodded his acknowledgement, and looked down at the brown plastic packet; it read “Ham Slice” in bold letters on the front. After several hours of no real food, save for a doughnut from Grunt, Anon thought the offerings of this packet sounded appetizing. But Anon didn’t want to eat at this moment, however. Stuffing the packet into his bag and hiking its haggard straps over his shoulder, he made a beeline for the mansion.

Inside, the main hall had been mostly cleared of wood and drywall debris, but there was still much work to be done. The ghouls (at least the tangible ones) were either sat on the battered furnishings or down on the floor, all being patched up where they really needed it; in Elsa and Winnie’s case, it was mostly electrical burns and bruised paw pads. In Tanis’ case, it was a matter of being re-wrapped. Anon drifted through the bustling cadets, almost dragging his feet. His shakes have mostly ceased, but his shoulder still ached and he desperately needed to rest. As he sauntered down a corridor he heard Calloway talking to Miss Grimwood, whom Anon assumed was on her feet.
“--likely won’t hear anything about it.”
“I understand, but we’ve got to do something about it.”
“Well, I don’t like to be untruthful. Unfortunately that might be our only option.”
Anon was sure they were talking about his parents. He sighed. ‘Won’t matter what story you two cook up,’ he thought wearily, ‘I’ve really stepped in it this time.’

Anon pushed open the door to a room that was mostly empty, save for the presence of a ratty notebook and a small loveseat--exactly what he’s hoped to find. Plopping down on the dusty furnishing, he rummaged in his bag for the MRE pack. Though tempted to devour the main course, he settled for peanut butter spread on a cracker. As he munched on the dryish morsel, he began thinking of how Sibella might fare; she was no doubt in good hands, but suppose their efforts weren’t enough to save her from succumbing to her injuries? Did he fail to save her in time? Did Revolta manage to kill her, or did he?
He found himself lying down on the loveseat now, worn out, eyelids growing heavier. Not a minute later, he nodded off to sleep.

By the time he awoke, it was noontime. Anon didn’t feel fully rested, but it was enough to get him through the rest of the day. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, only to find that his feet dangled a good five inches off the ground; that’s when he realized he wasn’t on the loveseat anymore, he was in his own room! Looking around frantically he spotted his bag on the floor, its straps still torn, and his Walkman on his bedside table. He was so bewildered by all this that he almost didn’t notice the folded piece of paper on his pillow. He picked it up and was about to read it before his door clicked open.
“Hey, pal. How’re you holding up?” came the familiar voice of his father.
Anon murmured his response, “Pretty okay.”
His dad grinned warmly, then glanced at the paper in Anon’s hand. “What’ve you got there?”
The presence of this note was questionable to Anon as well, though he had an idea of whom it was from. Thumbing it open, he quickly glanced at the writing. “Oh, it’s just a note from Conrad at the music shop--says he’s getting some new albums in.”
“Ah, alright.” his dad said with a grin, “Your mom’s getting lunch ready.”
“I’ll be out in a sec.”
As soon as the door was shut, Anon sat there for a minute, completely awestruck. How did his father not question where he had been all this time? Anon folded the note open. In neat handwriting, it read:

“You need to come back at the school as soon as you can--preferably this afternoon. Hope Miss Grimwood’s trick worked out for you.
							-Roper”

---

It was half past four by the time Anon made his way back to the mansion, and it was beginning to grow dark. He skidded to a halt on his bike, and he spotted Roper sitting outside on the perimeter wall, apparently toying with his pocketknife. He hopped down from the wall, he said, “You came later than we expected.”
“Really?” said Anon, leaning his bike against the wall, “what’s so urgent?” Then he started to worry, “Is--is Sibella okay?”
“C’mon inside,” Roper said, not answering Anon’s question.
Climbing the steps, Anon was about to open the door when he turned to Roper. “Really though, is she?”
“Yeah,” Roper said, “She’s hangin’ in there. But there’s someone inside that wants to see you.”
Anon sighed, relieved that Sibella was at least alive; but he was now interested in whomever it was that needed him. “Who does?”
“Just go inside--he doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Roper said quickly. He seemed increasingly nervous now.
After a short pause, Anon turned and stepped through the doors and into the main hall. There was a noticeable difference in the hall in that it was darker than usual; the only light to be seen was the fading daylight coming in through the windows. It was very eerie, and Anon was beginning to wonder if something was being kept from him. Anon looked around; there seemed to be nothing, and he seemed to be alone.

“Ah, so there you are,” a low voice said warmly. Anon froze, and he slowly turned in the direction of the center of the room. There stood the towering figure of a middle-aged man, clad elegant dark clothing; his graying hair was slicked back so as to form a sharp widow’s peak. His face carried an austere expression, as if to say ‘I do not like you’, yet this contrasted heavily with his somewhat inviting demeanor. What stood out the most was the man’s complexion: very pallid but with a distinct purplish hue, almost like Sibella has... No. It couldn’t be!
“Anon, you’re finally here.,” said Calloway as he strolled into the room, “Excellent!” He motioned to one of three battered armchairs, “Please have a seat.”
“Yes, please do,” the tall man said with a fang-baring grin, “I would like to talk with you.”

---

Despite being scared completely stiff, Anon was surprised by how calm Sibella’s father (as he was confirmed to be) was. He spoke to Anon slowly, his thick Romanian accent stressing the vowels in his words. “Miss Grimwood and the Colonel have told me much about you and what you have done; I am quite impressed, and very grateful.”
Anon didn’t quite know what to say, so he stayed silent. Just then, Sibella’s father slowly rose to his feet. “Stand, child.”
Anon glanced nervously at Calloway, who sat in the chair next to his; he seemed to share Anon’s uneasiness, but he was confident that nothing violent would happen. Anon rose, holding his breath in anticipation, and Sibella’s father placed a large hand on his left shoulder. “I have been made aware of her friendship with you, Anon. Her friends tell me that you two are very, err, close.”
‘Uh-oh,’ Anon thought, ‘here it comes.’
Sibella’s father paused for a moment, and then he asked “How close?”
Immediately Anon turned pale, which was enough of an answer. “Ah. I see.” He then began to pace around the room. “That injury on your shoulder--how did you get it?” Anon then explained Revolta’s weapon, and how its whip form delivered the glancing wound on his shoulder; Sibella’s father nodded in acknowledgement.
“Well, I am glad to hear that my daughter did not inflict it. For you see, as she grows older, the thirst will become more... aggressive. I suggest you be cautious with any wound you receive around her, however severe it may be. It is not me you should worry about--for the moment.” He gave Anon a stern look.

“So, y-you’re okay with us... knowing each other?” Anon ventured.
“Oh, of course,” Sibella’s father replied, his expression shifting to a lighter one, “far be it from me to break up such an innocent thing as a friendship.” There a was a look in his eyes, however, that told Anon that this wasn’t entirely true.
“Well,” Calloway piped up, “I believe the others are waiting for us.”
“Quite right,” Sibella’s father said with a grin, “Unfortunately I cannot stay, for I have business to attend to.” He turned to Anon one last time. Bowing, he said, “I Thank you again... for what you did.” With that, he melted into the shadows of the room and disappeared.
Finally, Anon breathed out. He was glad that he wasn’t slain right there on the spot, but the way Sibella’s father said ‘It is not me you should worry about’  worried him more than it should. There was a long pause.
“That will never not be scary,” Calloway sighed, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, “how’re you holding up?”
“I’m terrified,” Anon said, his face still deathly pale, “but he’s grateful, and so am I.”
Calloway smiled. “Good to hear you’ve got your thrills--you’ve got four other parents to meet.”

Anon keeled over onto the carpet.
“Oh, for the love of Hanna,” said Calloway, shaking his head,  “that’s what makes you pass out? After all you’ve done?”

TO BE CONTINUED