Chapter 3 Of Nora Blackwell Dead Walker

The maids sorted us into ten groups of uneven people. In our group, we have eight boys and twelve other girls. I got put in the same group as that girl who sat beside me, which made me happy. It was like having a familiar face, even though I knew nothing about her.

As we left the room, I looked to the right, where I heard the others run too, and saw it covered in red with splatter on the wall and ceiling. There was no sign of what had gotten them or where their remains were. The guy behind me put his hand on my shoulder. I met his green eyes, and he shook his head no. I nodded slightly, understanding that he was telling me there was nothing we could do.

I wasn’t the only one who glanced. Some, like me, took a deep breath and kept moving; others started hyperventilating, being pushed forward by the person behind them.

As we walked deeper into the castle, the other groups split off one by one until it was just our group left. I realized that the Castle was bigger than I initially thought. It felt like a maze cause no matter how hard I tried to remember every turn, I couldn’t.

We kept walking like soldiers marching into the unknown. The maid led us for what seemed like forever, stopping at a room that looked like a typical modern classroom. It felt odd after walking through the stone hallways filled with old decorations.

“Find your name and sit down,” she demanded, holding open the door for all of us, then closing it behind her. I walked around looking for my name, and it was at the front, on the other side of the room. I sat down and started looking through all the papers.

“Miss, why did you lock the door?” a boy with long blonde hair to his shoulders, blue eyes, and pale skin, in torn clothes, asked, which made all of us look at him, then the maid.

“For our safety, Mr. Frederick Palmer.” She replied, walking to the middle of the front, and stood still with her hands folded at her midsection. I wondered whether she was breathing, because it didn’t look like she was.

“What do you mean?” a girl asked with a buzz cut and hazel eyes.

“Exactly what we said, Miss. Rachel Hunter for our safety.” The maid stated firmly. We all looked around nervously, like some monster would jump out of the shadows.

“This school is no joke. You will notice this room has no windows on the walls or on the door. When we lock the door, metal rods extend into the center of the door to prevent it from being forced open. Every room that will have humans inhabiting it will have a door like this,” the maid explained, gesturing to the door like it was some expensive prize on a game show, then back to her original position.

“Sounds miserable,” a curly blonde girl with blue eyes, giving a girls-next-door vibe, stated.

“Miss. Bethany Jackson, survival isn’t fun,” the maid responded, looking at her blankly. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and slowly took a deep breath and let it out. Glancing around, I wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy. Was she being serious?

She looked around at us, waiting for any more questions. When there were none, she started to talk.

“The main thing we need to beat into your head today is that at this school, you are not at the top of the food chain, and you never were,” she stated firmly, looking at each and every one of us for our reaction. I could tell some of them, though she was being extra, but the sincerity in her voice had me second-guessing.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Bethany snapped.

“We do not make a joke,” the maid responded, ”This school is where what you call monsters learn to be a part of human society.”

“What happens to us if they fail?” the guy who put his hand on my shoulder earlier asked. I couldn’t help this time around that his brown hair was spiked a bit with his olive brown skin.

“Mr. Mathew Beck, if they fail, I pray it will be fast,” she solemnly said, which made my breath catch.

“I see,” Matthew replied, not meeting her eyes. No one asked any more questions, so she started to explain that surviving would be easy and how to do it.

There was a long list of rules, but the few that stuck out the most were to make sure you are in the human hall before 8 pm. What A weird name for a place. If you're bleeding, cover it up quickly, and if you're on your period, wear the leggings provided.

“Will we be paid? My sister said we will be.” Rachel snapped impatiently, ignoring the weirdness of those rules.

“Yes, Miss. Rachel Hunter, you all will be paid,” the maid replied and was about to carry on like it was nothing.

“How much?” Bethany interrupted, and we will never know what she was about to say. I wondered if there were any more messed-up rules she felt the need to explain.

“It depends on each person’s situation,” she answered.

“Ok, but how much?” Rachel asked, then turned to everyone else, “My sister never told me how much, but she says she doesn’t have to work ever again.”

“Legacies will get paid a thousand dollars more a month, along with their family, because we want to incentivize them to send their kids and for them to stay. If your gift is rare, we will pay more to keep you here longer, but we will adjust the price later once we know what it is. You will be paid for attending classes and other school events. The details are in the packets on your desk,” she said, and we all started looking through the papers unfazed by the sudden movement. ”That is the amount you will make each month if you do what you’re supposed to do. If you don’t, you will be paid 1000 to 4000 less each month.”

I shuffled through my paper until I found it, read the page greedily, and I was stunned by the amount. 15,000 a month. As I read each line about what I was being paid for, there was a separate section at the bottom that said, "Mr. and Ms. John Blackwell get $1500." I know she said it, but I was hoping I wasn’t a legacy —I knew I was, cause they sent Lina here. Did they send me here knowing everything? That idea filled me with rage because if what this maid said is true, they sent me to die because they knew everything about how dangerous it was and didn't say a word, but screamed at me for hours. I will get these answers one way or another, but I know that, regardless of the answer, they will pay.

 I heard others discussing their amounts and was upset that some were getting more than others. Bethany bragged she was getting 8000 while some guy snarked it was getting ten. 

“This isn’t fair,” Bethany screamed, and I noticed her southern accent. She balled up her paper and threw it at the maid, hitting her arm. She didn't even flinch.

“Miss. Bethany Jackson, life isn’t fair, and not all life is the same. You are being paid on your worth,” the maid explained. I just stared at her in disbelief.

“All life is equal,” the quiet girl who sat beside me stated.

“Miss. Elian Rogers believe that all you want, but you will be paid for your worth and your knowledge, no matter where you go and what you do,” the maid responded flatly with no emotion.

“That’s fucked up,” I muttered, not realizing I let it slip.

“Such as life, Miss. Nora Blackwell,” the maid replied, looking right at me.

“I guess, but if we're getting paid for our service here, will we get our own bank account?” I asked, thinking of what my mom did, making me angry and upset.

“Yes, Miss. Nora Blackwell, your cards should be somewhere among the papers,” the maid’s answer sent a cold chill down my spine. It takes about two weeks to get a debit card. Why did they have mine already?

“It's around 1 pm, let's call it a day, so you all can eat, and we will see you all tonight around 7:45 pm,” the maid stated, walking over to the door and unlocking it.

We followed her through the maze of a school to a long, high-ceilinged hall that reminded me of a church. The walls were lined with doors every five feet. In the center was a large area with tables and a buffet bar filled with food.

“See you tonight,” she assured, then left.

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