“They had some apple juice in the Fridge,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Adam
ADAM came up behind Nurse Herrick at the entrance to the maternity ward. The double doors were closed, and she was kneeling, fighting to slide a lock into the floor.
He stepped up to one of the small, square windows at eye level and stared down the corridor on the other side of the door.
Empty.
Nothing moving.
Linoleum floor shining dully under the ceiling panels of fluorescent light.
“Please don’t mention this to my wife.”
“You haven’t told her anything?”
“Just that there was a disturbance and we’re on a mandatory lockdown. Have you informed the other patients on the wing?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. I told them there was an outbreak in the ER, and we all have to stay put until help arrives.”
“How many in this wing at the moment?”
“I have a single mother who’s alone in her room.”
“So it’s only the four of us?”
“Yes.”
Adam pushed the deadbolts up into the ceiling and glanced once more out the window before turning to Nurse Herrick.
“Can you deliver our baby?” he asked. “If the time comes and there’s no doctor?”
“Yes.” She wiped her eyes, crying again. “I’m sorry.” Her hands had begun to shake.
“What exactly did you see down there, Carla?”
“I can’t…”
“Do you want me to pray with you?”
She nodded, and Adam took her hands in his, had just opened his mouth when a scream came rushing up the corridor beyond the doors.
It didn’t sound human.
Felt like someone had run a cold finger down Adam’s spine and he took an involuntary step back.
“What’s out there, Carla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can these doors stop it?”
“I don’t know.”
A thunderous succession of gunshots splintered the silence several floors below.
Adam stepped toward the window in the door.
The view through the single square foot of glass was of a long corridor that extended for a hundred and fifty feet to a sitting area.
One of the fluorescent lights halfway down had begun to flicker.
A figure appeared at the far end, turned the corner, and sprinted up the corridor toward the double doors—a woman in black scrubs and white tennis shoes, her curly brown hair pulled back in a scrunchie.
Adam could hear her crying and gasping, and she’d covered twenty strides when three others ripped around the corner in pursuit, chasing her, fast and low to the ground like pit bulls.
Carla whispered, “Oh God, that’s Pam from Radiology.”
Three seconds, and they were upon her, bringing her down in a violent tackle under that flickering light, the woman screaming, pleading for them to stop.
“We have to help her,” Adam said, reaching up to retract the top lock.
The nurse grabbed his arm.
“There’s nothing we can do.”
And they stood watching through the windows as two of the creatures held Pam from radiology down while a third swiped a bone-white talon through her jugular.
A stream of dark blood rushed out across the floor and they screeched and descended upon it, lapping it up off the linoleum with a ravenous intensity as their prey’s twitches became more sluggish.
“Dear God in heaven,” Adam said.
The creatures fastidiously sucked up every drop of blood, their long, black tongues digging into the crevices between linoleum tiles.
They had human hair and human clothes, but there the similarity ended, their faces literally exploding with prehistorically savage teeth and their hands deformed into talon-like claws.
The blood was gone, like someone had spit-shined the linoleum to a high-gloss sheen, and then one of the creatures looked up, down the length of the corridor toward the maternity wing.
Adam grabbed Carla’s arm, pulled her down.
Too late—footsteps already on the way, claws clicking across the floor.
Adam and Carla plastered themselves against the door as something bumped against the other side.
Adam craned his neck and looked up, saw a nightmare face peering through the window.
He whispered under his breath, The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not—
Something crashed into the door, set the bolts rattling in their housings.
Five seconds elapsed.
Adam’s heart slamming in his chest.
It came again—twice as hard, enough force to jar them both onto the floor.
Adam reached into his shirt, came suddenly to his feet, knees like jelly, but he spun around, despite the fear, and held up a small gold cross his father had given him on the day he’d graduated from seminary.
The monster running toward the door pulled up short two inches from the glass.
Its head tilted to the side—a fleeting moment of curiosity as its breath fogged the bloodied window.
Adam pressed the cross against the glass and spoke with as much authority as he could muster, “By the power of Jesus Christ—”
The talon that punched through came within a half-second of driving into Adam’s eye socket, but he parried out of the way, the thing screaming now, trying to climb through the square foot opening, jagged glass slicing into its head, but the moment the blood began to flow, the creature was sucked back out of the window.
The two others ripped it apart amid a chorus of screams, took less than a minute for them to fully exsanguinate the creature.
When they’d finished, they crouched motionless for a moment, as if briefly at peace with the glut of blood filling their stomachs.
One of them turned and looked at Adam and Carla. It stood, then ambled over, stopping ten feet away. It wore a knee-length, floral-print dress, its blond hair still pinned up with silver barrettes.
Adam realized its black eyes weren’t looking at them. They were studying the doors, the locking mechanisms.
At length, it turned away from them, cried out to its companion, and the two monsters loped back down the corridor.
Adam looked over at Carla when they had disappeared around the corner at the far end.
“We have to barricade this door.”
He turned to head back toward the nurses’ station, but stopped in his tracks.
Stacie stood twenty feet away in her hospital gown, hands cupped around her enormous belly, a look of pure horror on her face.
Clay
“SHERIFF, Lanz wasn’t kidding. There’s a bunch of monsters in the hospital.”
He stood by the open rear of his Suburban with his cell pressed against his ear. He’d thought a few moments before making the call. Decided not to say that formerly normal people were turning into those monsters. First he had to get the sheriff on board with the simple existence of the monsters.
“Okay, Clay,” the sheriff said. “I know it’s your weekend off, so it’s okay if you started drinking early, but—”
“Sheriff, I just blew three heads off. And they were not—I repeat, not human heads. The ER looks like a slaughterhouse and Lanz is nowhere in sight.”
“Not even a nurse around?”
“Not a live one.”
“Where’s hospital security?”
“Dead.”
He decided not to mention that he was the cause of their passing.
A long silence on the other end, then, “You’re not shittin’ me? You better not be shittin’ me, Clay.”
“I’m telling you I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I think you need the National Guard, or staties at the very least.”
“No staties.”
Clay clenched his teeth. This was no time to get territorial. Something was going on. He was sure that nurse hadn’t shown up for work looking like that. He’d seen enough vampire and zombie movies
to know that if you get bit you turn into one. That seemed to be what was happening here. And that meant more monsters were running loose inside—with Shanna.
Shit, what if she got herself bit?
“Sheriff, just send help, okay?”
“I’ll free up somebody—”
“Somebody?” he shouted. “We don’t need somebody, we need a fucking platoon—a full company. The people in that hospital are in deep shit, sheriff. You send in the troops. You send in the fucking cavalry!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call in the staties. But this better be worth it. I’m trusting you, Clay. Meanwhile, you’ll stay?”
“Not a problem.”
“I love when you say that. Just hang around outside until—”
“That will be a problem, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shanna’s inside.”
“Oh, shit. Just wait where you are and—”
“I’m going back in.”
“Wait—”
“Bye, sir.”
He ended the call and slipped the duffel bag’s strap onto his shoulder.
The bag weighed a freaking ton. Clay could feel his collarbone bending under its weight as he walked toward the ER. Well, why not? It held just about everything he’d been working on since last year’s show—all his new pieces and the ones he’d been modifying. They’d been on their way to the Denver convention where he’d planned to show them off and demo a few. Now it looked like he was going to have to put some of them to use.
He had to admit he was excited about this. No, scratch that—he was ecstatic. He had murderous, blood-thirsty monsters to fight. He could throw anything he wanted at them and it was all good. If only Shanna were back home and out of harm’s way, this would be perfect. This had a gun show beat to shit.
He had an old friend and a new piece out and ready. His lovely lady, Alice, the nickel-plated Taurus Raging Bull .454 Casull revolver he’d owned for years, was loaded with Cor-Bon 300-grain JSP flat heads. The .454 Casull could take down a cape buffalo. These babies had a muzzle speed of 1800 feet per second and kicked like the devil himself. He stashed Alice in his belt.
In hand was the newbie, an AA-12 automatic shotgun. Its drum was loaded with thirty-two three-and-a-half inch twelve-gauge shells loaded with #2 titanium alloy shot. He could shoot one round at a time or hold down the trigger and fire at a rate of 300 per minute. A true street sweeper.
It might have to become an ER sweeper.
He stopped inside the doors and looked around. Everything seemed quiet and still—no, wait…
The patient on the stretcher, an elderly, gray-haired woman, was writhing under the safety straps, hissing and spitting teeth. Shit, where were the two EMTs who’d been dead on the floor a few minutes ago?
Suddenly the patient sat up, ripping through the straps. Clay watched, fascinated, as those unreal teeth shredded her wrinkled lips. He hesitated. A little old lady…someone’s granma. But as the teeth sprouted further and talons popped out of her fingertips, he realized this lady would eat her grandchildren without a second thought.
Holding the AA-12 chest high with the stock clamped under his arm, he let fly a round. The number-two shot took off most of her face and slammed her back on the stretcher.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
But then she began to rise again.
“Crap!”
His second shot knocked her flat again and left only her lower jaw hanging, swinging from one hinge. This time she was down to stay.
“Sorry, granma”—and he truly was—”but you weren’t granma anymore.”
His ears were ringing from the loud reports. He always wore ear protectors on the range and had a set in the duffel, but didn’t dare wear them now. He needed to hear these things coming. The racket must have attracted attention. A bloody blond guy in a softball uniform was stumbling toward him with only half the usual complement of talons because he had only half a left arm.
Took two head shots to stop him.
And then a second softball player—bearded with a black eye—lurched around the corner and charged him. He took three rounds.
Toughest damn sonsabitches to kill. He had only 25 shells left in the AA-12’s drum and it was taking two or three shots each to put these monsters down. He hoped there weren’t too many more. He’d brought a shitload of ammo, but not an endless supply.
But what a weapon. He was firing major shot with barely any recoil.
He scoured the ER—all the treatment areas and the wide-open supply room. All clear. He could move on. But how was he going to locate Shanna? He checked his cell and got no service. The in-house lines were useless if he didn’t know what extension she was near.
He moved toward the doors to the hospital proper but stopped just before he pushed through. Anything could be waiting on the other side—a whole army of monsters.
He placed his duffel on the nurse’s station counter, then stepped back toward the entrance where he grabbed granma’s stretcher. He got behind it and started pushing it toward the door. Hard to get traction in the congealing blood all over the floor but he wheeled through it and had built up decent speed when he rammed it through the double doors.
All hell broke loose.
Half a dozen monsters leaped onto the stretcher, tearing at its occupant in a wild, hissing frenzy that lasted all of maybe twenty seconds. They soon realized she was dead and looked around for a new victim.
Clay was already backpedaling when they spotted him. They charged and bunched up at the doorway on either side of the stretcher, elbowing and clawing at each other to be first through. This slowed them—not much, but enough to let Clay put some distance between him and them. He set his feet and raised the AA-12 to his shoulder. He sighted down the barrel, pulled the trigger, and kept it pulled.
The AA-12 went to full auto then, firing five rounds a second. He sprayed back and forth, two quick passes, left and right at first, and then more deliberate, aiming for the heads, watching them explode. The drum emptied quickly, but during those five seconds he shredded those monsters, all six of them. They went down and stayed down, leaving the doors, the walls, the ceiling, the stretcher dripping blood and brains.
He’d done it. Wiped them out. All of them.
Well, all except one. A guy in a torn-up bloody suit with the back of his head gone was trying to crawl toward him.
Clay watched him and couldn’t resist: “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Did he fire thirty-two shots or only thirty-one?’ Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself.’ “
He was reaching for the Taurus when two more of the damn things appeared in the doorway and charged him.
“Shit!”
Not trusting a hurried shot with the kind of kick a Casull delivered, Clay turned and ran for the supply room. Slipped and almost went down as he tried to grab his duffel from the counter. Missed the handle but kept on going. They were right on his tail. He could hear their hissing, could almost feel their talons slashing the air at the nape of his neck.
How many of these things were there? Had the whole hospital turned? Weren’t there any humans left?
What about Shanna?
He ducked into the supply room and whipped the door closed behind him. Almost closed. One of the things managed to shove its hand through. The door caught its wrist. Clay heard bones crunch as he threw his weight against the door. More weight hit from the other side, pushing it open a few more inches.
Needed a wedge, or something to block it. A metal shelf behind him. He grabbed it and pulled it toward him. He ducked aside as it crashed against the door, sending bandages and bottles of disinfectant smashing to the floor—but not before the thing shoved its arm and shoulder through.
Clay stayed out of reach of the slashing talons as the thing gnashed its awful teeth and hissed. It wore a jacket with the emblem of the ambulance outside. One of the formerly dead EMTs. He saw a second one right behind it, trying t
o push its pal through the opening. That gave him in idea.
He pulled out Alice. Only half a dozen rounds in the Raging Bull, but they were .454 Casulls. He aimed between the eyes of the lead monster and squeezed off a round. The report was like a punch in this small room, and the kick damn near sprained his wrist, but when he looked, the doorway was empty. Cautiously, he peeked through and saw both monsters on the ground, both with holes through their foreheads and enormous exit wounds.
DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror) Page 10