Then again, they seemed really distracted by the blood. And there was a lot of it.
Maybe he could just walk on by. Save a bullet for when he desperately needed it…or at least for when Jenny could see him shoot it.
He kept the gun extended in front of him and picked up his pace as much as he could. The draculas continued slurping up the blood. Hard to believe that Randall was so concerned with the blow to his own dignity when these things—human beings who probably would’ve had a good chuckle at his injury just hours ago—writhed on the floor like animals. Disgusting. Pathetic.
He quickly stepped past them. They didn’t look up from their meal.
How much blood did they need? If you tightened the muscles in your arm just right, you could get a mosquito stuck as it was sucking your blood, and the little bastard could keep drinking and drinking until it popped. He’d love to see one of these draculas pop.
Wow, he’d done it. Walked right by the distracted draculas.
If not for the absolute shitstorm of misery he’d gone through tonight, he’d almost think that the rest of this was going to be easy.
Okay, his mind had more or less returned to where it needed to be to get himself back to Jenny and the other kids. He’d be fine now. Nothing but redemption from this point forward.
He continued down the dark hallway, still ready with the gun.
More blood on the floor. Better not slip on it.
There was some sort of commotion behind a closed door. Randall didn’t open it. He kept moving forward.
He tried to focus on the layout of the hospital. He was a floor above pediatrics, but distance-wise, he hadn’t really gone that far. If there was another stairwell close by (or an elevator, if by any chance they were still working, which they probably weren’t) he’d be in good shape.
A dracula burst through a swinging door, less than ten feet in front of him. He had a pasty complexion and too much gel in his hair. The dracula saw Randall and immediately charged, arms outstretched.
For a split second Randall considered conserving his bullets, but the stupidity level of being ripped apart while holding a handgun was more than he was willing to commit to, so he pulled the trigger. The top half of the dracula’s head virtually exploded. The creature kept running forward for a moment, as if the message that it was dead hadn’t quite reached its legs, and then it collapsed to the floor.
Clay Theel was a man who knew his guns. And that kick felt good.
Randall continued down the hallway, his confidence further boosted. He moved quickly, probably fucking up his numb leg beyond repair, but for right now he didn’t care. There were a lot of shadows, lots of places where something with claws could hide and jump out at him. Though Randall couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t scared, nothing was going to stop him.
Another dracula stepped into view at the end of the hallway. Looked like a teenage girl. She wore a hospital gown, had long blond hair, and much less blood on her than most of the other creatures he’d encountered. Randall imagined that she was rather adorable in her previous life. Not so much now.
She rushed him. He aimed for a spot right between her eyes and pulled the trigger.
His aim wasn’t spot-on, but he got her in the neck. It burst in all directions, her head flopped backward, and she tumbled to the floor just like the other one.
Half of his bullets gone. Damn. Randall needed to pick up the pace.
He reached the end of the hallway. Left or right? Both looked equally spooky. He was pretty sure pediatrics was to the right, so hopefully there’d be a staircase close…
He laughed out loud. There was. Right there. Finally some good luck.
Randall opened the door to the stairwell carefully, half-expecting dozens of draculas to tumble out and make him look dumb for having believed that he was having some good luck. But the stairwell seemed clear.
He sat and scooted down the stairs on his butt. It wasn’t comfortable or dignified, but it got the job done.
When he reached the bottom, he heard some screams.
And a sound that was…familiar. Couldn’t be, though.
As he pulled open the door at the bottom of the steps, the noise became much louder. Thought he had to be imagining this, because it sounded a hell of a lot like a chainsaw.
He stepped into the hallway. Definitely a chainsaw. How in the world…?
Randall walked down the hallway. Yes! This looked familiar! Now he knew exactly where he was! He was getting closer and closer to the sound of the chainsaw, and hoped that it was being put to good use on one or more of those monsters.
There it was. Pediatrics.
He pushed through the door, and the first thing he saw was that goddamn, motherfucking, toothless, unfunny son of a bitch clown holding his chainsaw.
His chainsaw!
This was blasphemy! Fucking blasphemy! You could dunk a cross in a pool of urine while environmentalists burned the American flag and Randall would not have been more outraged than he was at the sight of Benny the Clown holding his precious chainsaw. The grease-painted fuckhead didn’t even know how to hold it properly.
Heroes in the movies that Randall so dearly loved said cool things before they blew away the bad guy. But that would mean a few extra seconds of the clown holding his chainsaw, and that was unacceptable. Randall pointed Clay’s gun at the clown, who stood in front of a closet or something, and pulled the trigger.
Missed completely.
Shit!
Benny the Clown turned to look at him. He tossed the chainsaw from his right hand to his left, and then back again.
What the hell was he trying to do? Juggle?
Somebody inside the closet screamed. Even over the roar of the chainsaw motor, Randall recognized it.
Jenny.
Alive.
Randall was not going to miss a second time. That shiny red nose was just begging to have a bullet rip through it. He stepped forward, focusing on the spot with every bit of concentration he could summon, narrowing the distance between them. He’d fire into that clown’s head from just out of chainsaw range. His brains could make shadow puppets as they scattered against the wall.
He continued walking forward.
Focus…focus…focus…
His foot came down on something slippery and wet.
His legs flew out underneath him and he landed on his ass.
The gun went off, blowing apart a chunk of the ceiling. He winced as a large piece of plaster struck his eye. Dignity, gone.
With his other eye, he saw what he’d slipped on: a tied-together string of guts. What the hell…?
The clown tossed the chainsaw from one hand to the other again, then pointed the blade at Randall and took a big squeaky step forward.
Randall realized that he might very well be about to die, and he was going to die pissed.
He threw Clay’s gun at Benny the Clown.
Missed.
He needed something else to throw.
There wasn’t much in the way of dracula-killing equipment left in his utility belt, but he yanked out a tape measure as he scooted away from the chainsaw-wielding clown. His left eye kept blinking by itself—the falling plaster had really gotten in there.
The large, bloody hole that comprised most of Benny the Clown’s face curled up slightly on one side, as if he were trying to smile.
Randall threw the tape measure. In a battle of chainsaw versus tape measure, Randall would put his money on the chainsaw, but the tape measure was enclosed in metal and he certainly wouldn’t want to get hit in the face with it.
It struck the clown in the forehead.
His head snapped back.
The large, bloody hole curled downward.
Randall kept scooting away. The clown was less hyperactive than the other draculas, but Randall still didn’t want to get in the way of a waving chainsaw. There had to be other stuff to throw at him. Something heavy.
Jenny emerged from the closet, holding a plastic bucket. Randall hoped
it was full of acid.
She swung the bucket with both hands, bashing the clown on the back of the head. His shiny red nose popped off and fell to the floor. The clown stumbled forward but maintained his footing. He turned around, chainsaw still roaring.
Sawing up my wife with my chainsaw? I don’t think so.
Randall got up and rushed at him, tackling him like the football player Randall might have been if he hadn’t decided to become a lumberjack. The clown maintained his grip on the chainsaw, damn it, and the two of them spun around in a complete circle.
“Stay with the kids!” Randall shouted at Jenny, praying the kids weren’t all dead.
Jenny hesitated, as if she didn’t want to leave him (was such a thing possible?) but when the chainsaw swung at her head she retreated back into the closet.
Randall grabbed the clown’s arm. He was sure he could tackle him to the floor without much trouble, but that carried the very serious risk of falling on the chainsaw blade. Benny the Clown struggled, trying to twist the chainsaw blade around into Randall’s stomach, and though he was a lot stronger than the clown, Randall felt off-balance and vulnerable.
Fuck it. Who said these draculas were the only things that could bite?
He leaned his head down and sank his teeth into the back of the clown’s neck. He then yanked his head back, tearing off a chunk. A small chunk, but a chunk of dracula clown neck nevertheless.
The clown convulsed.
Randall spat out the flesh.
Then he howled in pain as the goddamn chainsaw blade bounced against the back of his good leg.
Randall let go of the clown and took a step back. It’s okay. Just a superficial cut, he told himself, even though he knew no such thing.
The clown spun around, facing him.
There was no time to turn chickenshit. Randall threw a brutal punch at the clown’s face. His fist landed right in the clown’s open mouth, smacking against the back of his throat. The clown twitched, gagging, then his mouth closed around Randall’s fist.
Sucking on it.
Randall pulled his blood-and-saliva covered fist out and punched him right in his “Benny the Clown Says ‘Let’s Have Fun!’“ button, crumpling the metal.
He still didn’t drop the chainsaw.
In fact, Benny the Clown swung the chainsaw with more enthusiasm than ever, coming unnervingly close to spilling Randall’s insides out onto the floor. The clown swung the roaring weapon back and forth in a wide arc as he walked forward. Randall moved back at an equal pace.
Not enough of a gap between the swings to charge him.
Randall decided to retreat. Get the clown away from Jenny and the kids.
“C’mon, clowny clown!” he shouted, moving back toward the exit to pediatrics. “C’mon, Bozo the Prick! Let’s do this!”
If he ever got to relate this story to others, he’d come up with something better than “Bozo the Prick,” but for now it worked.
The clown followed him as Randall moved into the hallway, wishing that his newly cut leg would hurry up and go numb like his other one.
He picked a door, any door, with the clown in hot pursuit.
Stumbled into some sort of storage room, not much bigger than Jenny’s closet when they’d lived together, with a large metal shelf on each side. No way out except the way he came. Very little room to maneuver.
Randall tried to focus like the Terminator, imagining red lights flashing around the things that might be useful. An android from the future wouldn’t need to stumble around the room, looking for something to kill a clown with.
Benny the Clown’s chainsaw swing very nearly took off Randall’s arm, missing by inches. Randall continued his robot-scan as he tried to keep from being dismembered. In a few more steps he was going to smack against the back wall and be very deeply screwed.
Something caught his attention. Metal tanks in the middle row. He grabbed one of them, not knowing what was inside. How awesome would it be if it was laughing gas?
He threw the tank at the clown. It struck the chainsaw blade, creating a shower of sparks, but that still wasn’t enough to knock it out of his hands. Benny the Clown had one hell of a grip. The tank hit the floor, landing on the valve, and then the tank shot like a rocket, whizzing past Randall’s feet, bashing into the back wall, then spinning in a wild circle. He had to jump out of the way to keep it from tripping him.
Yeah. He could work with this.
The clown stared at the spinning tank. Maybe it reminded him of some sort of circus trick.
Randall grabbed another tank and slammed the nozzle against the shelf. He tried to hold it steady long enough to aim it, but the tank shot out of his hands, and flew straight into Benny the Clown’s stomach. The clown doubled over…and dropped the chainsaw.
Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.
The clown stood back up. No guts exposed, which was disappointing. Randall couldn’t even tell if the clown was in pain, though the tank had to have shattered some ribs.
Deciding that he would stick with what worked, Randall grabbed a third tank. Making sure he gripped it tighter than before so he wouldn’t lose control, he bashed off the nozzle, then lunged at the clown with it.
Poor clowny bastard. What a lousy time to have such a big mouth.
Randall slammed the tank into the clown’s gaping, bloody mouth, then pounded it hard with his fist to get it in a couple more inches. The clown clawed at it and stumbled back against the shelf, knocking over a bunch of medical supplies, including an inhaler.
The clown didn’t exactly inflate—not like a beach ball or anything—but his stomach definitely expanded as if he’d been gobbling down a really big meal, really fast. Randall grabbed his chainsaw from the floor and knew he should get back to Jenny as soon as possible, but he couldn’t look away from what was happening.
Is he really going to…?
Benny the Clown popped.
He stood there for a moment, the inside of his torso carved out all the way to his backbone, and then fell. His final gift of laughter to the world was a short but intense blast of flatulence. It might have been natural, or it might have been him landing on a whoopee cushion. Randall didn’t much care, though dying with a fart sound was a pretty ironical way for a clown to go.
Perhaps once he had been a good clown. A noble clown. But he’d stolen Randall’s chainsaw, and had to die.
My saw!
Randall clenched it tight, close to weeping with relief.
Finally. He had it back.
The motor sounded kind of weird. He wondered what kind of fuel they’d put in it. This baby only ever got premium.
He returned to pediatrics. Jenny had left the closet, and she threw her arms around him and squeezed tight.
“Randall! Oh, thank God! I knew you’d come back!”
“You know you can count on me, babe. Always and forever.”
“Always and forever,” Jenny repeated. And damn if she wasn’t looking at him like she hadn’t in a long time. Like she used to. Bright and happy and lovey-dovey.
Randall felt a bunch of emotions at once. Pride, that he was able to come through for her. Love, that had never faded. And hope.
Hope that they might actually have a future together.
Then Jenny asked, “Where’s the little girl?” and Randall’s spirits sank.
Lie. Tell her that Tina got out safely. You lowered her out a window or tossed her out to some firemen with a trampoline. They took her away in an ambulance. She’ll be fine.
Randall lowered his eyes. The plaster in his left eye started to hurt again. “She didn’t make it.”
Jenny put her hand over her mouth, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“But we’re going to save the rest of the kids. I’ve got my saw back. I’m going to cut through these motherfu—” He caught himself. “—motherhuggers all the way to the front door of this place. I’ll lead the way. We’ll all squish together close. You follow behind the kids. We’ll keep moving, I’ll clear our path,
and we’ll be okay, I promise.”
“I believe you,” Jenny said. And Randall thought she actually meant it.
He smiled.
“What’s that between your teeth?” Jenny asked.
“Part of the clown. He tasted funny.”
Jenny
JENNY had never been so happy to see Randall. She had so much she wanted to say to him. But her training took precedent over her emotions, and she immediately went into nurse mode.
DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror) Page 23