To a human, blood tastes like rusty tomato juice that has gone bad. Especially when the blood comes from one's own body, that much I remember clearly.
The same cannot be said about vampires and ghouls. The taste of blood takes on a rich and flavourful type of warm beverage when we drink it. Its taste depends on many factors: Lifestyle, health, purity, species of origin, etc. Most of the time it is quite palatable, even when you get refrigerated animal blood. High end blood packs cost a fortune, often only owned by the big cheese of society. People often discuss the nuances found in this quality of beverage, the subtle aromas, the viscosity, the nutritional content. Humans have sommeliers for their wine, vampires have croureliers, a fancy way to say blood specialists.
Vampire blood is another matter entirely. The fluid that circulates within us is an accumulation of the vampires' life energy, the center of that being the heart. Vampire blood can be constantly generated from within a special additional chamber found within the heart, allowing vampires to bleed and bleed for hours and days until they die of energy depletion or regenerate their wound. The liquid known as vampire blood tastes absolutely awful.
It is such a heavy concentration of nutrients that the apparent viscosity of the blood is much higher than how the fluid behaves. To put it into perspective, it tastes like a liquid soggy granola bar: Full of nutrients yet a very unpleasant feeling to have in your mouth. However, just like the granola bar, it can provide long term satisfying energy. That is what I need if I am to attempt to move my ex-boss' body out of this cell.
I always have a few empty bottles in my cleaning rack, in case I need to fill them with water to spray down walls. I use one of these and place the unscrewed neck of the bottle directly under one of the bleeding wounds that were caused by the broom handle. I was not about to suck blood directly out of the bleeding head of this disgusting creature known as Clemen Radford, I was not that desperate.
The speed at which this bottle was filling was concerning, this particular wound seemed to be lack luster in its want to give me blood. I decided to sip the little that had accumulated, the effects being an almost instant revitalization of my senses and physical strength. The taste was horrid, a bottled Clemen did not make a good snack at all. There was little else I could do in this situation other than drink what was provided by this rather gory fountain of life.
Using one hand to lift the head by the scalp, I positioned the bottle directly under the the entry wound of the broom handle with the other. The liquid fell off the tip of the smashed handle in a small stream, the flow pulsating with the beat of the heart found in the chest. After only 5 seconds of hoisting the upper body enough for the flow to be stable, my arms already ached due to the exertion. I was definitely weak, but this fat lump was heavy.
Ten more seconds and I should have a pretty decent amount of blood in the bottle. My arms were about to give out from this simple task, so thinking about the not so tasty drink was the only way to keep myself focused and not give up.
With a final grunt of effort, I pushed the body away from the bottle. It landed with a sickly thump and a splash due to all the blood and water on the ground. The bottle was a little more than a third full, which seemed disappointing when I felt how sore my arms were after that brief exertion.
I scooped it up and started taking deep gulps, blocking out the taste and focusing on the energy contained within the blood. If the shooter glass amount from before had an effect, then this amount was a whole damn revelation. The energy contained within the fluid seemed to reach out to every single one of my cells and wake them up from an angry and hungry nap. It flowed through me, and I immediately felt more powerful. If this was just a third of a litre of blood, I couldn't even imagine what a large blood pack might feel like. What about all the blood that is contained in the body of Clemen? My eyes shifted hungrily towards the still bleeding corpse, happily guzzling the remainder of the bottle that I held.
Bloodlust. It was one of the tells of a blood-starved vampire, of which I was bordering on before I ingested my boss' fluids. My mind was still there, so it only took a bit of effort to realign my thoughts to my current objective, which was fitting this lump of a human into my cart. There would be plenty of time later to drink more of this fuel.
Machete in hand, I decided the only way he could fit was if I quartered the body's arms and legs off. Even though the loss of blood would be a shame, I could wrap the parts in a garbage bag, which would at least allow me to collect some of it. But time was burning away, and if I kept wasting it by pondering I would eventually get caught. Time to slice.
The machete was razor sharp, it made easy work slicing through the pants of old Clemen. The blade dipped through the epidermis and first muscle layers as if they were butter. Spurts of warm blood shot out as I cut into the thigh, the motion needing to be shifted into a slicing type movement as I tried to sever tendons and muscles from their bony anchors. This guy was packing some meat, his thigh and leg would have to be put into a single garbage bag, anything else would make it too heavy for me to lift.
Now the femur is the biggest bone in the human body, It clearly had its work cut out for it when it had to support what must have been three hundred and fifty pounds of meat and adipose tissue. Trying to bash through it would must likely be quick, but the sound might attract a worker that has recently appeared in the halls, sawing might be the better approach here.
I flip the machete around so the teeth of the jagged saw edge lie on top of the bone. Breaking the surface of it should be the hardest part, the inner marrow would most likely be a breeze to go through. Pressing down with one hand and the other holding the thigh in place, I start the motion of sawing through the femur.
The grating sound that arises from steel skipping on solid bone is recoil worthy. Definitely not the best nail on chalkboard impersonation I've ever heard, but pretty dang close. I barely even scratched the surface of the bone. I need a new plan.
Bashing it in is going to have to be the move here. I'm going to put all the odds on my side before I attempt that, and I need to do so quickly as the amount of blood escaping the leg is making me nervous and somewhat thirsty. I pick up the empty bucket that was knocked over what feels like a few hours ago but in reality was most likely less than 10 minutes prior. Placing the leg at an upright angle allows the femur to hold almost the entirety of the leg's weight, hopefully helping me break through it.
Its time to commit. I focus my aim on the area I sawed clean of flesh, my eyes narrowing as I concentrated some force in the machete held above me head. In one smooth arc, I bring the blade crashing into the bone. The bone chips away a solid crack but still holds firm, the sound was like a hammer striking a rock. The impact vibrated my arm violently, but I held onto the knife and ready for another chop. A hit and another crack, this one was a little bit off to the side of the previous one. A third strike cracks the bone quite severely.
Using my weight, I step on the bone as if it was an old tree, cracking it completely and snapping the bone at my impact zone. The stump oozes blood out of it as it smacks weakly on the ground. I'm going to have to cauterize that wound before I lose more of that.
Wrapping the severed leg in a garbage bag, I shoved it into my cart's portable water tank, half full with a vile mixture of fluids and secretions. Hopefully the bag wont be pierced by the bone and ruin the meat. Time to get to work on the other limbs.
***
Maybe it's sheer dumb luck, but I have not heard a single soul walk by this cell. Perhaps the teams are busy in another sector or today is one of those rare slow days, it would make sense if the slaughterhouse had passed an huge order yesterday. Not all bosses that worked in this building were as sadistic as Legless Clemen over here, though most were definitely sadistic to a lesser degree. I had a special plan for him.
The removal of the arms and remaining leg had gone smoothly, using the leverage method made quick work of all the solid skeletal structures that stood in my way. The water tank also provided decent camouflage for the floating bags of body parts within it. The plastic was dense and opaque, and only if one stared very hard at it could they determine whether or not there were solid objects bouncing around in there.
The issue remained the bleeding stump of a body that occupied the entirety of a extra-large garbage bag. The smashed in head was sticking out of it like some bizarre growth. I noticed the bleeding has slowed from the head, indicating there was some kind of healing taking place within the caved in cranium.
There was absolutely no way that this lump was going to fit through the water tank hole. Even if I could squeeze him in, I didn't want to risk the water causing some sort of infection or ruining the body as it looked quite caustic in there. I could cut him up into respective chunks and flush him in there like a dead pet, but I wanted to keep this guy alive for as long as possible. Cutting him up would cause him to quickly bleed out and die, especially when I started playing around in the chest cavity.
I would have to fit him in the trash compartment near my cleaning supplies. Removing the bag that had recently been put in before entering the cell, I tried my best to lift the chump into the required cart bin. I got him off the floor but there was no way I would be able to lift him up the meter off the ground and into the slot. I needed more strength.
When placing him back on the ground, I felt the bottom of the sack squish as the blood at the bottom swelled outward. This gave me an idea that was rather disgusting, but practical. I dragged the corpse bag to a less waterlogged part of the cell and placed the spray bottle I had used earlier on a corner of the garbage bag. Tearing a small hole at the end of it with the tip of the machete, I allowed the water pressure, in this case blood pressure, from the bag to squeeze the blood into the bottle. It quickly started filling it up. Once no more fluid could fit inside, I used the elastic of a rubber glove as a makeshift tie to stop the blood from continuously dripping out of the bag, which would cause an even bigger mess.
Bottoms up. The bottle was warm from its content, the entirety a very dark garnet red. Somehow this liquid tasted even worse than the sample I'd gotten before. I realized I had probably gotten some amount of dirty wash water that had clung to the body and made its way into the bag mixed in with my favorite energy drink. Foul.
The purpose was served, and after chugging my way through the entire drink, I felt a noticeable shift in my strength and mental speed. Drinking more would probably be an additive effect and then I would be sufficiently confident in my ability to lift this almost hundred pound bag.
That's when I heard it. A clacking noise that sounded rather far off down the hallway. Someone was coming. I had to move this body and hide it, and I had to move it now.