by Dyrk Ashton
Billy smirks. “Flowing locks are way out of style, shithead. Like fur coats.” He points two fingers at his own two eyes. “Still got these, too.” His expression becomes oddly reminiscent. “Nobody believes those old stories, anyway.”
* * *
Watching the monitors upstairs, Fi and Zeke are dumbfounded.
Fi squints to make sure what she’s seeing is real. “Billy?”
* * *
Wepwawet begins to take the steps up. Billy reaches into the V-neck of his scrubs, clenches the pendant of his necklace and jerks it from its cord. He blows into his fist and the pendant begins to grow, sprouting a handle as it increases in size.
Wepwawet halts, his smile fading at what he sees in Billy’s hand—a single-bladed battle axe of gleaming copper.
Billy’s face is severe. “This ain’t no jawbone of an ass either, bitch.”
* * *
Zeke’s mouth works in silent incredulity. “Wha... what?”
Fi’s normally bouncing brain lays there like a lump, stunned into submission. Peter frets violently, rattling his chair.
* * *
Billy looses a battle cry and launches himself down the stairs. Wepwawet barely escapes the sweep of the axe, which shears through the metal railing with a shower of sparks and explodes cinder blocks to powder.
* * *
Wepwawet comes crashing through the door to the waiting room, gaining the immediate attention of everyone in the room.
Billy steps in through the dusty air, eyes tinged red, the cords of his neck and muscles of his arms tensed for combat.
Dr. Williams, still held by Kleron, blinks at the imposing figure. “Billy?”
Kleron smirks. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Billy’s been wondering how they found Peter, why they’ve come, and now, how they knew Billy would be here—but none of that matters anymore. “I’m here now, Kleron.”
“Why don’t you save us all a lot of trouble. Take me to him and I’ll let the parvuli live.”
Billy brandishes his weapon. “How ‘bout you get the hell out and I won’t have to put this up your ass.”
“The Axe of Perun. I doubt even I would enjoy that. Somewhat surprising, I thought it destroyed ages ago.””
Billy smirks. “Nope.”
“But it’s not really an ‘Oh no! Run for your lives!’ kind of surprise, is it?” Kleron remarks. “More like, ‘Would you look at that, isn’t it interesting?’”
“Come take a closer look, then.”
Kleron appears to be disappointed. He addresses his band of marauders. “Take him alive, if you can.”
“Never happen,” says Billy.
“Either way. Your choice.”
Billy tightens his grip on the haft of the axe. “Yeah, it is.” Kleron shrugs and backs away, dragging Dr. Williams with him. Billy moves to follow but Wepwawet and the others close in to block his path. Meanwhile, Surma circles to his flank.
Kleron raises his voice over the snarling of his troops. “You never saw the Holocausts, child! There’s no hope for you here!”
Billy braces for the assault. “There’s always hope.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, boy! You couldn’t be more wrong!”
At the far side of the room, a pale young man runs in from the hall to the lobby stairs, shrieking something indecipherable. He stumbles into the back of the group, jostling them against each other.
Derek grabs him to shake him out of his hysterics—then sees that he’s bleeding profusely from the stump where one of his hands has been torn off. The man points back through the door, then squeals and shoves himself away. Derek and those nearby press back as well when they see what’s stalking up the landing.
* * *
“Fi, is that your dog?!”
There on the screen, bloodied jaws twisted in a ferocious snarl, sandy hair on his back bristling, is definitely—
“Mol?” Fi tries to process what she’s seeing. “What’s he doing here?”
Zeke scans the view of the lobby. Half a dozen pale and bearded men, posted to guard the front door, lie in pools of blood with their throats ripped out.
* * *
Billy can’t see what’s causing the commotion at the far door, but before he can take advantage of the distraction, Wepwawet advances on him. The nearest pale and bearded men follow his lead.
On the other side of the room, Mol attacks.
* * *
This can’t be real! Beads of sweat glisten on Zeke’s forehead. Can it?
Fi’s fingernails go to her mouth. She used to chew her nails, a habit she thought she broke years ago at her Uncle Edgar’s behest. Somehow, subconsciously, she resists the temptation.
Momentarily forgotten, Peter becomes increasingly agitated.
* * *
The reception waiting room is a tempest of flailing bodies and blood. Billy thrashes pale and bearded men with axe and fist while fending off Surma and Wepwawet, who are much quicker and stronger than the others, but more cautious and cunning.
Mol wreaks havoc at the other side of the throng, dragging men down with savage fury, slashing throats and limbs. They dive on him but he snaps and spins, throwing them off, a whirling dervish of claws and fangs.
Billy keeps his back to the wall, lunging out when he can. The pale and bearded men leave not a scratch on him. Neither Wepwawet nor Surma holds a knife or other weapon of any kind, yet they inflict nasty cuts on his forehead, arms and thigh.
Surma retreats from a brutal swipe of Billy’s axe, clutching a gash in his shoulder. Bearded men jump in to take his place. Surma glances at the ruckus on the other side of the room, then shoots a look at Kleron, who stands in the far corner holding Dr. Williams, an expression of cynical amusement on his face. Surma grumbles and forces his way through the melee.
Wepwawet howls, a fresh groove cut across his chest. Billy pushes forward and his attackers back away.
Surma knocks two bearded men out of the way with his one arm. Mol doesn’t hesitate to spring straight at his face. Surma sidesteps swiftly, clutches Mol by the scruff of the neck in full lunge, then spins and flings him out the door. Mol hits the far wall of the landing with tremendous force and drops, stunned. “Now!” Surma roars. Derek leads a half dozen bearded and pale men to pounce on Mol en masse.
* * *
“Oh my God!” Fi cries out. “Mol!”
Zeke simply can’t believe what he’s seeing.
* * *
Full-automatic gunfire thunders through the waiting room. Pale and bearded men shudder and yowl, red blooms sprouting across their bodies.
Billy shouts, “Lisa! No!!!”
But she keeps firing from where she stands in the doorway, screaming her rage and terror.
A lightning sprint and Wepwawet strikes. Lisa flies across the room, slams into the wall and flops to her back. Her chest is a gaping hole, ribs sheared, lungs and heart splashed on walls and floor.
Billy roars in anguish, raising his axe for vengeance. An aberrant blur of darkness appears out of nowhere right in front of him. Blood streaks the ceiling.
* * *
Zeke and Fi both jerk away from the screen as crimson droplets spatter the camera.
Fi screams, “Billy!”
* * *
Billy gapes, “Fuck... me...”
The copper axe drops from his hand. It pings to the floor, shrunken back to a necklace pendant.
Kleron whispers in Billy’s ear. “No. Hope.”
Billy gurgles and falls, his entrails spilling on the floor.
* * *
Fi’s hands tremble at her face. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Zeke’s shock is suddenly superseded by his will to survive—and save Fi. The fight-or-flight response. In this case, definitely flight. He takes her by the arm. “Fi, we’ve gotta go!”
Peter is shaking so hard that the wheelchair sounds like it might fall apart in his grip, his face showing signs of some terrible internal struggle.
>
Zeke grabs the chair, spins him away from the monitors. “Fi, come on!”
But her eyes are glued to the screen.
Kleron backs away from Billy. Wepwawet stands over him, roaring in triumph, and snatches up Billy’s body.
Billy manages to lift his eyes to the security camera. He clearly mouths, “Run.”
Kleron follows his gaze.
Wepwawet bites down on Billy’s neck and inexplicably severs his head from his body in one savage rip.
Fi and Zeke both gasp in horror and disbelief.
Billy’s head clunks to the floor and the surviving pale men and bearded men cheer so loudly the speakers crackle—but Fi and Zeke can hear it resounding through the building as well.
Kleron steps to the camera and looks up into it.
To Fi, it’s like he’s looking right at her. He smiles.
Zeke grabs her by the arm again. “Fi! Let’s go!”
* * *
Derek hustles back into reception, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve. Several of the others follow, covered in wounds, their clothing torn to shreds. One of them has an ear missing and another lost a large chunk of his face.
“It’s gone,” Derek reports, sucking air. “Badly injured, I think, but it escaped.”
Kleron’s eyes narrow. “Unfortunate, but not critical.” He nods toward the reception booth. “Check the monitors, see if you can spy the old man.”
Derek vaults over the counter. There’s a squeak, then rustling sounds. He sees Sarah, balled up underneath with her hands over her face. He whistles and snaps his fingers. Henri and Didier, who are recovering from their beating by Billy and already healing from the gunshot wounds inflicted by Lisa, rush to the counter, sniff, then jump over, one after the other. Sarah shrieks.
* * *
Zeke pushes Peter’s wheelchair fast down the third floor hall.
Fi jogs along beside them, traumatized. “Billy...”
“And Mol.” Zeke adds, still doubting his own sight.
“And Mol...”
They pass rooms on either side where patients and staff are hiding. Through a window in one of the doors, Fi sees an orderly duck as they go by.
“What about all these people?” Fi asks, regaining some semblance of her wits. “Shouldn’t we—”
“You heard them, Fi, they’re after Peter.”
“I know, but...”
“I understand how you feel,” says Zeke, trying to sound confident and reasonable, “but we can’t get them all to the shelter. And what could we possibly do against those... whatever they are?”
Fi takes a breath, “You’re right.” She steps ahead and hits the elevator call button. “You know where the shelter is?”
“No, actually—”
“Basement, past the pool.”
The one time Fi has been inside the shelter was during a tornado drill over the summer. It was originally designed as a bomb shelter, incorporated into the plan of the building when it was built back in the 1950s when Americans lived in fear of a Soviet nuclear strike. Seems like such a ridiculous thing to worry about now. But then again, so does an attack on a hospital by monstrous men with supernatural strength looking for a half-catatonic old man.
The elevator dings.
“Let me take him.” Fi tries to shove Zeke out of the way as the elevator doors open.
“Fi, I can—”
But she’s adamant. “Zeke!”
“Alright!” He steps away, allowing her to wheel Peter in. “Alright.”
Just as the elevator closes, the door from the stairwell slams top-down into the hall at the farther end, Max riding it to the floor. Hedwig and Curt rush in behind him. Max hurries along the hall but stops at the elevator, sniffs the air. Then he’s off like a shot, heading for the recreation room, the pale blond men hot on his trail.
* * *
“Shit.” In the reception booth, Derek tries to make sense of the many security screens. He catches movement. “There!” He touches that section of the screen, enlarging it. It’s just Max, Hedwig and Curt entering the empty rec room. “Wait,” he retracts, “it isn’t them.”
“Keep looking,” Kleron says calmly. “He’s here somewhere.”
Derek continues searching the monitors. What he doesn’t notice are two blank sections at the bottom of one of them where white graphics over static read, Aquatic Center.
Kleron shoves Dr. Williams down over Billy’s corpse. She struggles, whimpering. Her knees slip in the slick bodily fluids and one of her hands goes into his spilled intestines. He pushes her face to only inches from the lifeless eyes of Billy’s severed head.
“Now will you speak?”
Tears fill her eyes. Her voice is no more than a whisper. “Never.”
Kleron lifts her face and studies it closely. “You love him.”
She sobs, “Yes!”
“A senile old man, worthless and weak.” He sighs. “Misguided creatures. Always placing your faith in the wrong hands.” He looks to the fur-coated twins. “Will they never learn?”
Surma sneers, baring shining white teeth.
“It’s in their nature to resist,” says Wepwawet. “Just like the rest of us.”
“Very well, then.” Kleron drags Dr. Williams through the door next to the reception booth and pulls it shut. After a few moments there’s a blood-curdling scream.
* * *
The elevator opens in the basement. Muggy air descends on Fi, Peter and Zeke as they exit.
“There,” Fi points out.
The main lights are off, the room now lit only by spotlights in the rafters, but Zeke can see the familiar tri-part yellow and black shelter symbol marking massive metal doors at the far end of the room, beyond the length of the pool. He wonders if they’ll be safe in there, if the doors will hold, at least long enough for help to arrive.
Peter jerks so hard in his wheelchair that Fi stops short—then she and Zeke see why.
There’s something up in the corner near the shelter doors, climbing down a heavy drain pipe. It reaches the floor and steps into a patch of light. Spiky black hair, long black fur coat, the spitting image of the two fur-coated men they saw on the monitors upstairs—only this one is even bigger. He removes his sunglasses and glares at them with searing red eyes. A low growl crosses the expanse between them, rumbling like distant thunder.
Peter shakes violently, his chair clattering in his grip.
The man starts toward them. Fi backs up fast, pulling Peter with her. Zeke frantically hits buttons in the elevator.
“Stop!” the man roars in a voice that shakes the room.
The elevator begins to close.
The man rounds the corner of the pool. To Fi and Zeke’s amazement he drops to all fours and bounds forward. Now he’s coming very fast.
“STOP!!!” he roars again. Pool water ripples at the sound.
The elevator shuts. Like everything else in this refurbished building, it’s of the latest design and begins to rise immediately. And, luckily, these new elevators are fast. It just clears the floor when—BAM!!! The elevator shakes, followed by sounds of rending metal and vicious snarls from below. Fi grips the handles of the wheelchair to keep from falling and Zeke catches himself against the wall. They look at each other in astonishment.
* * *
The big red-eyed man glowers up at the receding elevator. He backs out of the shaft and looks to a point high on the wall. A security camera dangles there, mangled and broken. He gazes back up the elevator shaft, and begins to climb.
* * *
Kleron re-enters the waiting room from the hall to the offices, irritated and perplexed.
“Did you rape it?” Surma asks.
“You brutes and your raping,” Kleron replies with scorn. “When will you realize, an effective seduction is the true measure of prowess.”
“Trueface, then?” Wepwawet queries.
Kleron nods contemplatively. “Usually works. They’ll tell me anything.” The brothers shift posit
ion to look into the hall. Tod, who has survived the brawl with Billy, leans around them to see as well.
Dr. William’s sits on the floor against the wall, stiff and motionless, hands to her frozen face, fingers crooked, mouth agape, eyes wide. She’s been literally scared to death.
Kleron shakes his head. “Not this time.” He stalks to the counter. From below come the sounds of Henri and Didier’s grisly feeding on Sarah. “Anything?” he asks Derek.
“No!” Derek snarks. He catches himself, eyes darting to Kleron. “I mean... not yet, Master.”
Kleron offers a smile that quickly fades, then speaks to Surma and Wepwawet. “Search the building. Question all until he is found. Kill anyone you like.”
* * *
Fi and Zeke burst out of the elevator with Peter into the fifth floor hallway. They halt, looking both ways, then catch each other’s gaze.
At the same time, Zeke asks, “Where do we go?” and Fi says, “What do we do?”
Fi thinks for a moment. “We’ve got to get to an exit. The stairs, maybe?”
“I can carry him,” Zeke offers.
“We can carry him.”
* * *
“There!” Derek taps a section of the monitor. It expands, showing Fi, Peter and Zeke. “Fifth floor hallway. An old guy in a wheelchair, some dude, and a girl.”
“What color is her hair?” Kleron asks.
“She’s a redhead, looks like.”
“That’s them,” he confirms to Surma and Wepwawet.
Surma barks. Not ‘barks an order,’ but barks, loud and commanding. Henri and Didier bound back over the counter, covered in fresh blood. Derek vaults after them. Surma waves to the door where Billy entered and they and the remaining pale and bearded men rush through.
* * *
Fi pushes Peter toward the end of the hall but the wheelchair comes to a jarring halt, causing her to bang into it from behind. “What the...?”
“What’s wrong?” Zeke asks.
Fi sees what the problem is. Peter has hold of the wheels. She hurries to the front. His whole body is shaking, brow furrowed, eyes blinking in fits.
Fi crouches, putting her hands on his. “Peter! We have to go!” He snatches her hands. She tries to pull away, but he’s too strong. “Peter, please!”
