Basement Dwellers

by Holly Copella

  She knew why he was dragging her along and decided to call him on it. “Come on, Sheriff, you just don’t want to be the one looking through the morgue freezers,” she remarked while heading for the prep room door.

  Hill followed her toward the door. “Hey, this whole undead scene--it’s all yours,” he announced. “I arrest people. You play with dead things.”

  Lexx suddenly stopped before the door, turned abruptly, and glared at him. Her look alarmed him enough to cause him to take a quick step back. She sneered with irritation, turned, and left the prep room.

  Hill frowned and muttered softly, “I’m going to pay for that comment.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was early evening. The lab in the hospital’s basement was bland and void of personality. It was obviously one of the less visited places within the hospital. The moderately sterile environment contained an exam table, a chair with one arm used to draw blood from patients, and a counter containing equipment used for checking blood work results. An older computer set on the counter alongside a microscope. Newman sat on the exam table while the hospital’s phlebotomist, Frank, drew a blood sample from Newman’s arm. Newman coughed several times and cleared his throat. He was unusually pale and sweating. The man in the lab coat remained focused on his work and didn’t comment on Newman’s condition. Gunther and a well-dressed, serious looking man in his late forties, Warren, entered the lab. Warren waited by the door while Gunther approached Newman on the exam table. He wasted little time checking the orderly’s eyes with a penlight.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Sharp,” Newman said in a slightly raspy voice.

  “What happened, Newman?” Gunther asked.

  “I thought I was just catching something, but then I remembered what happened with Dr. Kirby,” he announced and again cleared his throat. It was obvious talking was difficult. “Something had leaked from her lab coat pocket. I’m not sure what it was, but I started with a sore throat right after that. I didn’t think about it at the time, but she may have taken one of your viles.”

  Gunther considered his comment then nodded. “Yes, I’d recovered the broken vile in the E.R., but that wouldn’t make you sick,” he explained while placing his hands in his lab coat pockets. “I created those serums to improve life. They help heal cells and tissue, particularly in the brain. That’s why they’re used on the patients with brain damage.”

  “Then why do all the patients keep dying?” Newman asked with concern.

  “Those patients would have died without my injections,” he explained and removed his cell phone that vibrated in his hand. He appeared disinterested in the caller and looked back at Newman. “If anything, the serum prolonged their lives. Once I find the right combination, it’ll save lives.”

  Frank peered through the microscope from the nearby desk then looked at Gunther with an odd look of concern. “Take a look at his throat culture, Dr. Sharp.”

  Gunther approached Frank at the counter, set his cell phone down, and looked through the microscope. He hesitated with an expression of surprise then looked again.

  “It can be transferred from saliva as well as blood contact,” Frank informed him.

  Gunther straightened and looked at him. “But you’re sure it’s not airborne?” he questioned then seemed less anxious. “That’s a relief.”

  “Well, it’s not airborne now,” Frank remarked. ‘It started out as a liquid then turned to gas, so initially it was airborne, but now it can only be spread by direct contact.”

  “Am I going to be okay?” Newman asked them from across the room and appeared concerned.

  Gunther turned toward Newman on the exam table and showed little reaction. “It appears as if the serum is producing your flu like symptoms,” he replied simply. “Thankfully, it’s easily treatable, but anyone who came into contact with the vile when it broke will need to be treated or the flu will spread like wildfire.” Gunther studied Newman, tilted his head, and appeared curious. “Who else was in the stairwell?”

  “I didn’t exactly stick around to see,” Newman explained while again clearing his throat, “but I’m pretty sure it was that EMT guy and Rose from ICU.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Gunther replied. “I met them in the E.R. What about Alpert?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Gunther smiled reassuringly and gently patted Newman on the shoulder. “You just take it easy while I take care of that treatment for you.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Gunther walked away from the exam table and approached the lab door where Warren waited. He gave him a nod then passed him for the door. Warren removed a gun with a silencer from his shoulder holster and shot Newman in the chest. Gunther left the room without stopping or looking back. Newman fell back onto the exam table with a thud. Frank casually looked from the dead man on the table to Warren, who replaced his gun to the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

  “I suppose I have to dispose of that,” Frank announced without emotion.

  Warren raised a skeptical brow. “Unless you’d prefer to administer treatment to the nurse and EMT.”

  “No, I have this,” Frank announced with a dreary sigh while standing and approached the body on the exam table. “They’re all yours. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your fun. I’ll just need to get a stretcher from the morgue.”

  Frank casually covered Newman’s body with a sheet and left the room with Warren. Gunther’s cell phone left on the counter vibrated across the surface from an incoming call. A few minutes later, Frank returned to the lab with a stretcher and pushed it alongside the exam table with the sheet-covered body on it. He grunted while awkwardly attempting to transfer the body by himself. Once he moved Newman’s body onto the stretcher, he noticed bright red blood had soaked through the sheet. Frank cursed softly and placed another sheet over the blood to conceal it. What he really needed was a body bag. There were usually old body bags next to the incinerator waiting to be burned. The incinerator room was at the other end of the hall near maintenance. It would be risky moving the body on the stretcher with blood soaking through for possible onlookers to notice. Although, at this time of evening, there wouldn’t be anyone in the basement to notice. A quick trip to the incinerator room, and Newman’s body would be disposed quickly and quietly. Gunther’s cell phone again vibrated on the counter. Frank noticed the phone, approached, and picked it up.

  “Yeah, Doc,” he announced into the phone without waiting for a greeting. “You left your phone here. I’ll leave it on the counter for you.”

  Frank set the phone down and turned toward the stretcher. Newman stood behind him with a glossed over look in his eyes and blood soaking the entire front of his shirt. Frank appeared horrified to see the dead man standing only a foot away from him. Before Frank could even gasp, Newman lunged for him and bit him on the neck. Frank thrashed and screamed while Newman pulled a large chunk of flesh from his neck. As Newman pulled back with the flesh in his teeth, Frank collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding neck, and gasped while dragging himself toward the door in a futile attempt to escape. Newman pounced on top of him and sank his teeth into his flailing arm. Frank weakly screamed as Newman tore flesh from his arm through the lab coat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The elegant casket room within the funeral home had a variety of caskets on display varying in style and price to accommodate nearly every budget and taste. Some were plain and reasonably priced while others cost more than a brand new car. They were the Cadillac of caskets, as Carson liked to call them. Despite the purpose of the room, it was dressed with tapestries and curtains creating a soothing, relaxed atmosphere to simulate an eternal rest. Rolan and Carson pushed a covered stretcher into the room from the outer double doors beyond the driveway and toward the old, gate-style elevator. Rolan pressed the elevator button and turned to face Carson.

  “I think I showed excellent restraint with Nathan,” Rolan announced proudly.

  “Yeah?” Carson scoffed w
hile holding back his annoyance. “Well, part of me wished you’d taken his head off. One of us should have.”

  Both had their backs to the elevator as it was heard creeping up the shaft from the basement. It was old and made a terrible squeaking sound the last few years. It was long overdue for replacement, but Lexx loved it so much, they just kept repairing it time and time again.

  “I’ll take his head off next time,” Rolan replied simply. “I promise.”

  The elevator stopped on their floor. Neither appeared enthusiastic enough to turn toward it. Their current conversation had them down. The door opened to reveal Tracy standing naked beyond the gate, although neither man turned to see her. Despite her gray complexion, numerous contusion, and abrasions, she was still quite beautiful. Carson opened the gate with his back to it and the dead woman.

  His look was stern while staring at Rolan. “Her spirit won’t rest until he’s dealt with,” Carson stated firmly. “She’s going to have her revenge, I assure you.”

  Tracy stumbled out of the elevator on a severely broken ankle with her bone protruding from the torn incision. The crunch of bone alerted Rolan. He turned his head, saw her, and cried out with horror, frozen where he stood. Carson quickly turned, surprised by Rolan’s look, saw Tracy directly behind him, and screamed in response. Tracy reached for Carson with her broken arm. Carson jumped backwards to avoid her hand and struck the stretcher. Tracy lunged forward, grabbed his head, and attempted to bite his neck as both crashed to the floor. Carson screamed and thrashed beneath Tracy while attempting to keep her from biting him. She snarled and snapped at his throat as he held her back.

  “Get her off! Get her off!”

  Rolan leaped past the stretcher and grabbed Tracy’s arm. Her broken arm gave and the bone protruded through the skin. Rolan screamed with horror.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rolan cried out.

  Tracy turned her head and snapped her teeth at Rolan’s hand clutching her arm. He released her arm and again screamed in terror.

  “Do something!” Carson yelled while struggling against the woman on top of him.

  Her attention again focused on tearing Carson’s flesh from his body. She came at him with more vigor. He struggled to keep her from biting his face. Rolan stared at Tracy on top of Carson with horror in his eyes.

  “I don’t want to hurt her!”

  “She’s dead!” Carson suddenly cried out in panic. “Hurt her! Hurt her!”

  Rolan grabbed Tracy around the waist from behind and hoisted her off Carson. He held her in the air while she growled and thrashed wildly against him. Several broken ribs now protruded from her side. Rolan cried out to the crunching of her ribs beneath his arms. Carson jumped to his feet.

  “What do I do with her?” Rolan cried out.

  “The casket!”

  Rolan tossed her into the nearby, expensive casket. She landed inside the satin interior with a dull thud.

  “Are you crazy? Not that one!” Carson cried out.

  Tracy attempted to pull herself from the casket. Both men screamed. Without even thinking, Carson slammed the lid as she attempted to get out and caught her fingers. Two of her fingers broke off and fell to the floor with a creepy thud. Rolan screamed and leaped away from the severed fingers. Tracy pounded against the casket lid and nearly opened it. Both men jumped on the casket to keep it closed and panted heavily. She continued to thump from inside.

  “What the fuck was that?” Carson exploded while staring at Rolan with his eyes bulging out of his head.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Roland cried out. “She’s your girlfriend!”

  “We need to find Lexx,” Carson gasped while subconsciously running his fingers through his hair. “She’ll know what to do. Let’s lock this casket, so she can’t get out.”

  †

  Gunther entered the hospital lab, heading straight for the counter containing his cell phone. His eyes strayed to the large amount of blood on the floor just before the counter. He stared with horror at a large streak of blood that traveled across the once white, sterile floor.

  “What the hell--?”

  Gunther nervously followed the blood trail with his eyes and looked past the open door. Frank was lying in a bloody heap in the corner of the room with his insides hollowed out and scattered organs on the floor surrounding him, apparently the parts Newman didn’t like. Gunther gasped and quickly attempted to make sense of what he saw. He heard a gurgle alongside him. He slowly turned his head toward the door. Newman, who had been behind the door, now stood before him with Frank’s blood seeping from his mouth, down his chin, and down the front of his clothing. Gunther cried out as Newman lunged for him. He attempted to push the dead man away from him. Newman bit his forearm while snarling savagely. Gunther pulled his arm back before he could tear out a chunk of flesh, but he had sustained a large, bleeding bite wound. Gunther clutched his bleeding arm, bolted from the room, and slammed the door behind him. Newman crashed into the door and pawed at it in vein with bloodstained hands for a few minutes. He looked back at Frank’s body in the corner, lost interest in the door, and returned to the dead man in the corner. Newman sank his teeth into Frank’s arm, pulling a large chunk of flesh from it, and chewed it savagely.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Warren sat on one of the benches smoking a cigarette just outside the emergency room door. He watched Evan and Monica as they refilled their emergency supplies within the ambulance across the parking lot. They had just returned from grabbing a bite to eat for dinner and appeared to be having a heated conversation. Actually, it seemed as if Monica was having a heated conversation while Evan did most of the listening.

  “Can you believe the nerve of my brother?” Monica ranted to Evan, who was a little less enthusiastic with his work than usual. “I mean, who the hell asks someone to do something so twisted as a ‘favor’?”

  Monica seemed to move twice as fast at refilling supplies as her partner and practically did laps around him. Evan obviously wasn’t feeling good and seemed to have little energy. It was hard to keep up with Monica most times as it was. Monica continued her rant and appeared unaware of Evan’s listless condition.

  “I tell you, I wish I’d been born an only child,” she scoffed while tossing things from the bag and adding other items. “Maybe it’s just me. Eight years in the Army and two tours in Iraq have a way of toughening a woman, I suppose.”

  “Let’s not forget that little limo excursion from hell last year,” Evan managed to tease.

  She cast a glare at him. “Believe me,” Monica muttered, “I’ve been trying to forget. How that man became a federal agent is beyond me.”

  Evan suddenly straightened and stared at his partner with surprise by her comment. “Seriously?” he demanded. “Four days in the backwoods of ‘Deliverance’ and a failed romance is all you have to complain about?”

  She eyed him sharply. “Which part of two tours in Iraq were unclear, Evan?” Monica waved him off. “Four days in that dead village was like a field trip compared with all those months I’d spent in Iraq.”

  Evan leaned against the back of the ambulance, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and watched Monica continue to work. “Did your brother at least tell you why he needed you to do something so--” Evan hesitated and searched for a word.

  “Icky?” she filled in the blank while raising a brow.

  “Yeah, we’ll go with icky.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” she snapped with a look of annoyance on her face. “He’s secretive as usual.” She frowned and shook her head. “God, he needs to get laid.”

  “You said he was with that girl at the funeral home,” Evan remarked.

  “Snow White?” Monica snorted a laugh and appeared humored. “I’m sure he’ll die of old age long before he gets any from that one.” She routed through the large emergency bag and looked disgusted. “We’re nearly out of everything,” she announced and finally looked at him. She stared at him as he sat on the tailgate an
d folded her arms across her chest with annoyance. “Please, by all means, rest. I’ll carry your ass.”

  “I can’t help it,” Evan remarked while leaning his head against the ambulance doorframe. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You need to stop getting your freak on with Rose in the linen closet,” Monica retorted. “You know you’re completely worthless after getting your rocks off.”

  Evan managed a humored grin in response.

  Monica shook her head at his amusement to her comment. “You either have zero stamina, or you’re doing some seriously kinky shit in that closet.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased.

  She considered the comment only a moment. “Honestly, I would,” Monica replied simply, “but if you disappointed me, I’d probably bitch slap you. I don’t think our friendship can survive bad sex.”

  Evan chuckled.

  “I’ll get those supplies,” she announced then walked away from him and toward the emergency room doors.

  As Monica approached, Warren crushed his cigarette and walked past her in the direction of the ambulance. Evan remained seated just inside the back doors of the ambulance and rested his head against the side with his eyes closed. Warren removed his gloved hand from his pocket to reveal a syringe containing murky liquid. He kept it carefully hidden and glanced around the surrounding area for any onlookers. He was only a few feet from the resting paramedic when his cell phone rang. Warren suddenly stopped and reached into his pocket, but it was too late to silence his phone. Evan opened his eyes and looked at Warren. He had already returned the syringe to his pocket. Warren removed his cell phone and exchanged nods with Evan. He quickly turned and hurried away from the ambulance while placing the cell phone to his ear.