Dead World

A single fluorescent bulb lit the abandoned hallway of the lower-level classrooms, flickering as if gasping for breath. Broken desks and chairs formed a canyon of detritus. The occasional drip or gurgle accompanied a forest of mold, moss, and fungi.

A figure slipped into the umbra beneath the flickering light. The frayed hems of his loose pants slid across the dusty tile. His face and hands hid in the confines of his hoodie. He passed the seizing bulb, and his shadow darted ahead to join the darkness. 

The hallway reverberated with a drowsy yawn. They’d scheduled the meeting for midnight. Slick would’ve napped to prepare for the late excursion, but with twelve hours of classes, he hadn’t found the time. No one had time to sleep in the academic complex. He’d barely finished an excuse for homework before he’d left for the hideout.

A faint blue aura bloomed from an open classroom ahead like the glow of a computer monitor. With it came the low droning of heavy metal music marred by the familiar static of the cheap stereo.

A clatter tore through the hallway like a subway train. Slick bolted upright. Then, laughter followed, and he sank back into his sleep-weighted slouch. The door of the classroom leaned on a single mangled hinge. Slick nudged it open and slid inside. 

They’d had to excavate the hideout themselves, an effort that made the dank space feel like home. A mass grave of desks and chairs filled the back of the classroom, leaving a cozy cave in the bowels of the underschool. A naked bluebulb hung from the crumbling ceiling, somehow still connected to the power grid. Six chair desks remained intact, facing a wide desk in front of a chalkboard. Deep scratches rent the surface of the board, and white clouds dusted the black. Broken pieces of chalk littered the floor, accompanied by junk food wrappers and cigarette butts. Home sweet home. Another spray can clattered to the floor and rolled cacophonously to Slick’s feet.

The gang was all here.

Stryx’s twiggy frame occupied a swivel chair, legs propped on the teacher’s desk as he snored. Twitch, their resident nut, darted for another spray can to continue her masterpiece in progress on the far wall. The shoulder-heavy mass near the back belonged to Draugr. He stared stalk still into the grave of dead furniture. 

Myr perched elegantly on the table of a student desk. Only Myr would come to a meeting in an evening dress. She held a pocket mirror as she delicately applied dabs of vibrant color beneath her eyes. Her electric pink contacts darted up to see Slick as he entered. “Finally,” she intoned, “Stryx!”

The mass of bones behind the teacher’s desk jolted up in surprise. “Hwaguh?” he eloquently enquired. 

“He’s here. We can start.” Myr explained, snapping her mirror shut.

Twitch turned at the announcement. Her wide eyes swirled in their sockets like bobbles on the ends of springs. Even Draugr turned mechanically slow to meet the latecomer. Rather than entertain their attention, Slick dropped into a desk near the door.

Stryx pulled a grin across his face. “Excellent!” He stretched his spine with the elegance of a cat and stood. Pulling a yardstick from the desk, he rapped it loudly against the blackboard.

The sound pulled all eyes to the front of the classroom. Throwing her spray can aside, Twitch flicked off the stereo. Then she jumped over the back of a desk and dropped into the chair.

Draugr raised his hand glacially slow to rub at his eye. “How can you have so much energy? We got out of classes an hour ago.”

Twitch jerked a thumb to her chest proudly. “Cuz I was smart! I drank a crap-ton of coffee before I got here.”

Again, the yardstick slammed into the wall. The room fell obediently silent. 

Stryx retrieved a broken piece of chalk from the floor, wiping white dust from his sleeve. He turned to his sleep-deprived audience with a narrow grin. “Sorry to call you down here on a party night, but this is truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. As you may recall from the morning announcements, the cafeteria is being repainted.”

“So?” Twitch interjected.

Stryx frowned at the interruption but continued, “Thanks to Myr, we have the main security and lockdown program schedules for the painters. If we time it right, nothing stands between us and the cafeteria but padlocks.”

Shocked silence pervaded only long enough for Twitch to realize, “Are we talking operation Dead World?”

Stryx’s awful smile stretched his thin face. He pulled the chalk across the mangled blackboard to draw a rough outline of the cafeteria. He pointed to one of the entrances. “This is our incursion point. Administration has cameras here.” He drew four circles to indicate each. “This is the only entrance with a single camera on it. He turned back to his gang. “Since we’re all half asleep and this operation will mark the highlight of our lives,” he hissed manically, “I’ll refresh your memories as to our roles. I pick the locks. As soon as they’re open, Draugr takes out the cameras, starting with this one.” He indicated the offending camera. “Once all the cameras are dead, the rest of us move in. Draugr goes on lookout outside. Twitch, Myr, you tag the south wall.” Stryx indicated with his yardstick. “I’ll barricade the door while Slick,” Stryx grinned. “You drug the food.” 

Slick nodded in acknowledgment. He didn’t need the reminder. Operation Dead World was his idea.

Stryx’s lunatic smile turned to address the rest of the gang. “We’ll have less than two hours to miss the painters. We leave out the kitchen once Draugr gives the signal or Slick runs out of juice, whatever comes first. Everyone clear?”

Silent approval answered.

“Excellent. Get what you need from your dorms. Meet at the cafeteria in half an hour.”

Twenty minutes later, an elevator rang its arrival to a vast empty hall. Slick stepped out. Other cafeterias sat vacant deep in the underschool, built over and forgotten. The one currently in use for this student block lay only a couple of levels below ground, for easy access to all seven skyscraping dorm towers in the vicinity. Administration kept the electricity and plumbing in working repair at the upper levels, but the claustrophobic atmosphere of the deep academic catacombs still pervaded. 

As promised, Slick easily bypassed the guards patrolling the corridors and slipped through every set of security doors.

Who figures formed from the dark hazy gloom in the distance, resolving into an alert hulking mass keeping watch over a twiggy hunched comrade. 

As Slick approached he heard the faint tinkle of thin metal. A roll of lock-pick tools lay unrolled at the foot of the door to the cafeteria while Stryx worked on the oversized padlocks. 

Draugr nodded to acknowledge Slick. A balaclava covered his square head. A trenchcoat contained his broad shoulders. Slick almost laughed at the disguise before he realized that despite the distinctive frame, the sheer number of students in the complex lent even Draugr statistical anonymity. As the cameras didn’t catch anyone else, he couldn’t be identified by association either. 

While they waited, Draugr methodically checked each of his four prepared throwing daggers. 

At a pause in his work, Stryx hissed, “You got it?”

Slick rolled his eyes and patted the pocket of his hoodie. 

Stryx grinned. “Lucky thing one of us survived chemistry.” He bent back to his lock-picking.

They waited. Draugr stood motionless as stone, staring into nothing. The innocuous click click of Stryx’s tinkering was the only sound, at least until Twitch arrived. They heard the clatter of jostled spray cans corridors away. Only a miracle, and Myr’s exquisite forethought and planning, itself a miracle, kept any guards from investigating. Twitch materialized from the gloom, juggling the cans in her arms like a nest of metal snakes. “Sorry, I couldn’t decide what colors, so I had to bring all of them,” she said, catching a can with a cacophonous movement as it attempted escape.

With no forewarning, Myr slid silently into their company shortly after. Slick only noticed she’d arrived when he stretched and looked around. The sombre young woman handed Slick a small piece of paper. He squinted to read in the dim light of the security lights. On the paper Myr had scrawled the ID code of tomorrow’s meal dug from the school’s database: a shipment of mashed potatoes and fish sticks in freezer A3G. With a nod of appreciation for her skill, Slick slid the paper into his hoodie. Mry pushed her thick hair behind her shoulder, and turned her pink gaze to Stryx’s work.

At last, the door clicked, and Stryx pulled the last padlock away. He wiped is brow and stood with languid pride. Taking hold of the handle, the gang leader and turned to his cohort, heaving breaths with such excitement they fringed on hysterical. “Ready?”

All but Draugr stepped off to the sides. His thick arm readied a knife, he prepared a stance, then he nodded. Stryx yanked back the door. 

Draugr moved as if he’d saved all his motion of the last fortnight for this single moment. He darted forward so quickly Slick would have sworn to teleportation. The first camera was out. Three more blades, and the others followed. Pulling the balaclava from his head, Draugr declared, “All clear.”

Slick released a sigh of relief. No sirens or warning lights. 

As the others filtered inside, Draugr returned to the hall. Stryx sent their lookout a salute before he pushed the doors closed again.

The sprawling cafeteria smelled of nothing but emptiness. Its concrete walls and ceiling curved in purely utilitarian lines to contain an orderly herd of long folding tables and attached benches on wheels.

Twitch advanced on the blank back wall, bobble eyes aflight with excitement. The lanky girl held a spray can poise for attack, letting the rest clatter to the floor. Myr slid behind her, consulting a pre-drawn diagram of their project. She knelt and selected a discarded can. While her companion feverishly ran back and forth giggling like a percolator and leaving long crazed strokes across the blank canvas, Myr took careful measured steps to tag key points along the wall for reference. 

A rending screech echoed in the empty room, and all heads turned. Their leader, meanwhile, had started to pull the first table towards the entrance. Even with the wheel locks loosened, the table continued its loud protest to movement all the way across the floor.

Heaving a weary sigh, Slick went for the swinging doors of the kitchen marked with an unheeded “Employees Only” sign. Beyond the serving line, the residual heat of the kitchen lingered. He passed rows of wide stoves caked with years of stubborn charcoal. Deeper, stood massive storage vats and corridors of fridges stocked full of preserved material the academic complex generously called food.

Slick pulled the crumpled paper from the pocket of his hoodie, then wandered the rows of freezers until he found A3G. He punched in the code, and the door hissed open. Cool air greeted him, a welcome contrast to the kitchen. Scanning the shelves, he found the matching ID and carefully unwrapped the package. He arranged the first load of foodstuffs neatly across the floor. 

Now, the moment of triumph. A syringe of dark liquid materialized from his hoodie pocket. He pulled the protective cover from its needle, and each food packet received several jabs. When he was satisfied, he carefully rewrapped them, then retrieved the next load and repeated the arduous process. When his syringe ran empty, he produced another. Time ticked by as he duplicated each tedious step. Unwrap, jab, jab, jab, rewrap, repeat. 

A3G was at least five thousand kilograms of food, but that was only enough to feed a single block of students within the confines of this academic juggernaut. Slick’s ambition ached to drug the entire school, but that would take all night.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway of fridges, and Stryx’s gaunt face poked in. “There you are. Draugr gave the signal. We gotta go.” 

Twitch and Myr materialized in the doorway behind their leader.

As carefully as speed would allow, Slick packaged up last of the food. At least he’d gotten most of it. He latched the freezer closed behind him.

Just as they turned to leave, they heard a distant pounding.

“The tables won’t stop them for long,” Stryx urged.

The four ran to the back of the kitchen and out the rear doors to disappear back into the school catacombs. 

Slick blinked peacefully awake. For the first time since his enrollment, no blaring alarm clock screamed him from his dreams. After relishing the precious moments, he turned his head to check the clock. He’d missed all his morning classes. Typically, such an offense would earn him double shifts in the detention work yards, but his absence wouldn’t matter after lunch. It was almost time.

Standing in his dorm cell, Slick occupied the only space not claimed by his bed, desk, or toilet. His hands touched the ceiling as he stretched. He splashed water on his face, pulled on his hoodie, and stepped into the stuffy corridor. His innards surged with the inertia of the elevator as the metal box careened down the infinite heights of his dorm tower. Others joined from lower floors, all headed to the cafeteria. 

In the lower halls, Slick mingled with the crowds. The flow of bodies avoided the paths of armed patrol guards at each checkpoint. The news reached his ears long before he saw the cafeteria doors.

“Have you seen it yet?” voices around him murmured.

Entering the cafeteria, he heard gasps from newcomers who either hadn’t believed or had underestimated the gossip. Every soul stared at the mural on the back wall that had appeared overnight. 

A collage of multitudinous faces bloomed from a mist of neon clouds that stretched from floor to soaring ceiling. Gold and vermillion streaks ran through like ribbons. Each expression showed a varying portrayal of bliss or joy, but all eyes were closed as if in sleep. White specks of stars dotted the infinite sky behind the mist. As Slick crossed the room, the mural seemed to shift so that the mist churned and he felt he and the whole of the cafeteria might slip into the void beyond.

Groups murmured to each other, wondering, “Who painted it?”

A space nearby had been cordoned off for the hired painters and their equipment, but they stood in idle disarray. As Slick passed, he heard them murmuring. “They can’t expect us to paint over this!”

Slick spied Myr and Draugr sitting with their cohort of bleary-eyed goths. Both seemed contented by the excitement of the usually somber group.

Slick reached the lunch line and picked up a tray. Ahead, he spotted Twitch coming off the line. She gesticulated wildly to a companion as they exchanged words of admiration like “genious” and “inspired.”

Slick slid his tray across the metal bars as the line advanced. A set of distracted cafeteria workers scooped him a handful of fish sticks and a mound of mashed potatoes. 

He took his laden tray and sat at an empty table with a good view of the wall. Any other day, Slick would sigh in despondence at the depressing fare. Today, he stabbed a fish stick with his spork and examined it like a succulent morsel. He caught Stryx’s eye across the cafeteria. The gang leader grinned ear to ear, held up his own fish stick in salute, and slid it into his mouth. After another moment’s contemplation of the mural, Slick did the same.

The drug should take effect in a few hours. It only required small doses to induce a euphoric sleep that should last up to forty-eight hours if he’d gotten the concoction right. For once, the students of the academic complex -at least this block anyway- would enjoy a hassle-free sleep. A break from waking up early to screeching alarms, stressed and worried about the day ahead. A night without staying up late to study. No more unsettling dreams of failing tests or missing homework. They’d all share in a peaceful, rejuvenating slumber. At least for a little while. When the drug finally wore off, they’d return to their classes like zombies or slaves, but they’d wake with smiles, grateful for a long overdue rest, and regret leaving their dreams behind.

With a satisfied smile, Slick took another bite.