Always Hate Me

37. Draining the Bodies

Frida tried to keep her eyes open, but it seemed like a great deal of trouble for a wasted effort.

"Talk to me. Tell me about this place." She coughed, her breath fogging in the frigid air. "Tell me about this small slice of hell." She entreated- her voice hoarse. Enlai reached for her hand and placed her frozen fingers under his arm to warm them. He tilted his head, resting his chin on the top of head – allowing her to nestle against him.

"There's a trap door above us," he began – his voice low and soft. "It was used in funerals. During the service, the trap door would be opened and the shrouded body would be lowered down into this place." His gaze roamed the walls, with their crude uneven niches. "Into this dark and festering dungeon."

He waited for another coughing fit to subside. Frida's body shook with every cough – her shoulders trembling from the effort. The cold didn't bite so much anymore, but – she knew this was because she was losing feeling in her body. "The remains needed to be prepared for death," Enlai explained. "So poor bastards worked down here – draining the bodies."

"Draining them?"

Enlai nodded, her hair brushing against his cheek.

"It takes a long time to drain the fluids from the body. Especially in an airless, sunless hole."

Frida shivered. She tried to picture it. The niches filled with dead. Men at work – placing buckets beneath the bodies for the juices to drip into... "They used criminals facing execution to do the task. It made men plead for death. Your last days were spent poking holes into the fat blubbering bodies of the rich – their bile flowing into the only water the prisoners had to drink from."

There was an edge to Enlai's voice. Frida tried to raise her head, wanting to see his face – but she was too tired to move much. She stared down at his hands instead – at his long fingers. He wore rings on his fingers – gaudy, ostentatious rings...old looking.

"Did you...?" Her voice trailed. Enlai made no reply, though he could guess her question. There was a long silence and Frida thought that he wasn't going to talk anymore, but then he spoke – his voice rough.

"It's a smell worse than Satan's breath."

They both heard the roar of engines overhead.

"Planes?" Frida asked. Enlai nodded. They listened to the jets circling the skies. Enlai put a hand over Frida's head just before the bombs dropped. Frida tensed, huddling into him as dust fell down – blanketing over them.

"We're safe down here." Enlai reassured her. But Frida knew that wasn't true. Yes, they were underground, but if the church above collapsed – they'd be no way out.

"Do the resistance have fewer numbers?" She asked, her teeth chattering in the cold.

"Yes, but better equipment. Dracul should never have allowed himself to be drawn into a prolonged fight – we were out of resources already."

Frida considered this.

"I don't think it was Dracula who ended the peace talks – I think it was my side." She closed her eyes, satisfied that she was giving up with keeping them open.

Enlai continued paying attention to the fight outside. He heard the slaughter and he felt very little about it. In fact, he felt old. Vampires fighting vampires – it was a tale as old as time. They barely needed werewolves, demons or hunters to keep their numbers down. They did a good enough job at culling their own.