Page 21 of House of Crimson Hearts
“Chief sent a group out on a routine investigation of the border of the Montague territory last night. Sarge was with them. It was meant to be a standard recon. Practicing for the finals.”
“Okay…”
“Three students are missing, presumed dead.”
“Shit. What the hell attacked them?”
“We don’t know,” Winston says and his eyes well up. My fingers twitch. It’s not really the done thing for me to give him a hug, but it hurts seeing him so devastated. I don’t want my students in pain. I want to fix it.
He continues. “Sarge managed to drag Janie out and halfway back to the hunter territory before collapsing. They’re both in the medical wing after the early morning patrol found them.”
“Oh shit, Winston.”
Winston shakes his head and wipes his nose. I can’t watch him like this anymore. I pull him in and wrap my arms around him. I’m short at the best of times, and he’s like two feet taller than me, but I hug him anyway. He buckles in my arms, a huge sob ripping from his chest as he trembles against me.
“My… my girlfriend is in the group that didn’t make it back,” he sobs into my chest.
And now I understand why he’s cut up so deep. We all cope with grief in such different ways. It’s a strange, unpredictable emotion.
“I want to help. Do you want to talk? You need to hurt? Want to go to a different class?”
He lets me go and wipes his face. “I want to train so hard I can’t feel anything, not even the ache in my chest.”
“Okay, buddy. You got it. Get the group to run two laps of the grounds, I’ll get the stakes. We’ll do close combat weapons defence this morning.”
He nods, his lips a thin line. “Thank you.”
I wave him off and head to the gym cupboard. He’s already barking commands and sounding more like his usual self.
I catch sight of the group as Winston swings the gym door open and they all, without exception, look various shades of shit. Red eyes, exhausted bags and sad expressions. But Winston sets off at a gruelling pace and not one of them complains.
I open to the storeroom and pull out a set of stakes, nunchuks and batons. Then I put the padded body suit on so they can batter the shit out of me until they feel better. I can’t make what happened go away, but I can do this.
By the time I’ve clambered into the suit, they’re back.
“First round is two of you against one of me. The first person or team to knock me on my ass wins,” I say.
Of course, they’re clumsy, both rushing me instead of working together to allow one of them to take the win. Which means I knock the first three groups down in about three seconds flat. I drill them until they’re dripping with sweat and red-faced. But their expressions are lighter.
“Round two. Stake drills.” I hand rubber stakes out and pair them up in front of the body bags. “Aim here, hithardor you won’t break through a drainer’s ribs.”
They practice till their training kits are soaked with rings of sweat. When I think their muscles are nicely aching, I up the ante.
“Right. Round three. We’re taking what we just learnt and now we’re practicing it in one-on-one sparring.” I demonstrate the throw down with Winston in one liquid movement. The second time, I slow it right down. “See here. Use the momentum of the takedown to push the stake through the vamp’s heart.”
The students line up.
“Five full three-minute rounds. Winner is the first one to get their opponent on the floor with a clear strike to the chest.”
This is the clincher. Sparring usually is. The first girl spews on round three. I get another four students hurling their guts up after the fourth round. But finally, on the fifth round, Winston runs to the hall door, drops on all fours and hurls on the concrete. I half wish I’d bet Lincoln I’d be the one to get the students chundering. But never mind.
Despite the vomiting, all of them, without exception, seem a little brighter than they did at the start. Endorphins are an amazing thing.
As the class disbands, Winston helps me pack away the body bags and stakes. He pauses after handing me the last pile of batons as if he wants to say something.
“Just…” he hesitates and then nods. “Thanks. That’s all. You’re the best, Red.”
“You’re welcome. Stay safe, Winston.”
