Felt like so much longer. Like days had elapsed.
The only lights in operation were those over the doorways, and this left long, deep shadows in the spaces between.
Already, he was breathing so fast he had to stop and lean against a wall and close his eyes, slow everything down until the lightheadedness receded.
He went on, down the long, empty hallway, until he came to the waiting area at the end.
Only the thought of Stacie and the blood she needed bolstered him enough to peer around the corner.
Empty.
Dark.
Absolutely quiet.
The rubber soles of his shoes were deafening on the recently-buffed linoleum, so he took them off, abandoned them, and continued on in sockfeet.
End of the hallway, take a right, go to the end of that hall, take a left, on your next right, four doors down, you’ll see a door leading to a stairwell.
He was coming up on the end of this corridor, and he stopped two feet from it.
Listening.
No sound but the lights humming over a doorway just ahead.
He peeked around. There was movement at the far end, two hundred feet away…something dragging itself across the floor.
Adam stepped out into the new corridor, jogging in his socks.
Four doors down, you’ll see a door leading to a stairwell.
He passed the first two doors, perfectly quiet save for the swish of his socks sliding—
Wait.
He slid to a stop.
Footsteps. That’s what he heard. A pack of them pounding the floor, and he’d just started moving again when the first…demon, no other word for it…came tearing around the corner at the far end of the corridor, followed by a dozen others, and they all began to scream and hiss when they saw him, Adam running now, door number three up ahead, then flashing past, door number four still twenty feet in the distance, and it occurred to him that he was actually running toward these things as they momentarily disappeared into a long black shadow.
He torqued his feet to the side like he was making a full stop on skis and skidded just past the door.
The demons close now, getting louder.
He pulled open the door and bolted through, slamming it shut behind him.
Harsh, blue fluorescent light flickered overhead.
Spun around and looked at the door, praying for a lock, but there was none.
He raced down the steps, taking them three and four at a time, hands sliding down the rails, his footfalls clanging on the metal steps.
Go all the way down…
He made it down four flights of stairs, to the ground level, before the door to the stairwell burst open above him, the noise of numerous taloned claws filling this cinderblocked-column with scraping metal and the echoing clang of those demons taking entire flights in a single jump.
The stairs ran out and Adam tore through the door leading into the basement floor…
…into pure and total darkness. No emergency lights, no exit lights, nothing.
When you come out, go left, right, left, and then right again, all the way to the end of the last corridor. You’ll see the sign for the lab. The refrigerators are in back. Grab at least five units of O-positive.
He could still hear those things rushing down the stairwell, and he hurried along for several steps in the dark, expecting at any moment for the basement doors to bang open.
And he kept expecting…
And kept waiting…
A minute passed.
Then two.
He stopped moving.
He could still hear them, but the sounds of their snarling and hissing were fading away.
They’d all run into the hospital lobby.
Thirty seconds later, the silence was back, humming again inside his head.
His legs trembled, and he slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor. Unshouldered his backpack, hands shaking so badly he could barely unzip it.
He pulled out his Kindle. He’d been reading through the Book of Acts on it, and he couldn’t help but smile at the bible verse on the screen as he turned on the small light that was clipped to the top of the device.
Your word is a lamp unto my feet. A light unto my path.
Oasis
NONE of this was fair! Her Mommy always gave her everything she wanted when she wanted it how she wanted it and as many times as she wanted it and now all these stupid big people like that nurse—
Ooooo. Red candy. She’d missed a drop that was now congealing around the blades of the scissors still sticking out of her chest.
—who wouldn’t let her have any red candy, and you weren’t supposed to run with scissors much less throw them at people!
She crouched under the operating table. Strange how there was no light in the room, and yet she could see everything so perfectly in shades of gray and green.
There was red candy at the other end of this corridor. She was sure of it. The smell was better than cookies baking in the oven.
It called to her.
And in that moment, something occurred to the thing that used to be a little girl, something she’d heard her Mommy tell her Daddy a thousand times before Daddy went to live in Texas.
If you want something, you have to go out and get it. Stop asking people for things. Start taking them. It’s called initiative.
Maybe that’s what she needed.
More initiative.
Quit asking for red candy like a goooooood little girl.
Start taking it.
She had big sharp teeth and razor claws.
She just needed to be a little bit smarter, a little bit braver, and a whole lot meaner.
Clay
THEY made it down to the ground floor without meeting any draculas. Despite the fact that it was Randall’s term, Clay’s brain had latched onto it for the monsters—a perfect fit. The door carried the usual emergency-exit/alarm/blah-blah-blah warning. Well, son, if this wasn’t an emergency, he didn’t know what the fuck was.
Sure enough, bells started ringing as soon as he pushed it open.
He and Shanna stepped out onto a walk on the north side of the main building. No dracula-filled lobby or ER to blast through. Dumb-ass. He should have remembered that the corner stairwell opened directly to the outside.
Free. Safe.
Shanna leaned against him and started to cry. To tell the truth, Clay felt his own throat tightening. He took a deep breath and swallowed a sob of relief.
Shanna was safe. The ER parking lot was just around the corner.
“Let’s find my truck and get you the hell out of here.”
They turned that corner and walked into a circus.
The first thing he saw were three empty state police cars, stopped with their doors open and lights flashing. Parked a short distance away, a white van emblazoned with KDGO with a dish on its roof. A guy with a camera on his shoulder was shooting a woman speaking into a mike.
How the hell—?
Then he realized what had happened. Crime reporters always monitor the police frequencies. They must have heard the sheriff call the staties for help at the hospital. Whatever they said must have sounded newsworthy because they’d sent a video team.
Wup-wup-wup overhead: A KREZ helicopter flew by.
Must have sounded real newsworthy.
He spotted an emergency rig on the far side of the state units. Two EMTs were pulling an empty stretcher from the back of their rig. Why?
Then he saw the six bloody lumps scattered before the ER entrance.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?” Shanna said.
He pointed to the TV truck. “Wait over there.”
He rushed over to the bodies and reached them the same time as the EMTs.
“Stay back!” he yelled.
They froze. Normally they would have ignored him—they had their duty to the injured—but people tend to listen to a bloody man carrying a semi-auto shotgun.
“Th
ey need help,” one of the EMTs said, a stocky Hispanic woman.
“They’re dead.”
She pointed. “No. Some of them are moving.”
Clay turned and checked them out. All state cops, all bloodied. Two of them were torn up something fierce and sprawled like rag dolls, but the other four were still breathing and twitching.
“Okay, they’re gonna be dead.”
“You a doctor?”
“No.”
“Then how can you say they’re going to die?”
“I’m not just saying it, I’m guaranteeing it.”
“Listen, we need to get them—”
Clay wriggled his badge holder from his back pocket and flashed his tin. “Deputy Sheriff Clayton Theel. Who called you in?”
The male half of the team pointed skyward at the copter. “The KREZ pilot saw the bodies and radioed it in.”
He pointed to their idling rig. “I’m ordering you to withdraw.”
They glanced at each other, then complied. He turned and saw the reporter and her cameraman approaching.
A good-looking brunette. Clay had seen her on the tube, but usually looking more composed. “I’m Carmen Ro—”
“Yeah, I know. I want your guy here to keep his camera trained on these cops.”
“Why aren’t you letting the EMTs help them?”
“Because in a few minutes, we’re the ones who’re gonna need help.”
“I don’t under—”
One of the staties coughed and lifted his head. He spat half a dozen teeth. Another rolled over, also spitting teeth.
“Here we go.” Clay looked at the cameraman, a young white guy with fuzzy, dirty-blond dreads. “You filming this?”
“It’s not film,” he said with the hint of a sneer. “It’s digital.”
“Whatever. What’s your name, son?”
The sneer vanished. “Um, Tony.”
Clay didn’t have that many years on him, but asking a guy his name and calling him “son’ often took the starch out of them.
“Well, listen, Um-Tony, since you can’t film these guys, your job right now is to digital them.”
Carmen said, “We can’t broadcast victims injured like this, especially police.”
“Well, fine, but it is being recorded somewhere, right?”
Tony nodded.
“No matter what happens,” he told him, “you keep digitaling or whatevering. Got that?”
Another nod.
Clay knew people would think he was crazy if he told them what was going on inside Blessed Crucifixion. So he was going to show them.
A picture was worth a thousand words, right? This video would be worth millions of them.
When the first fangs began ripping through lips and cheeks, Clay heard Carmen cry, “Oh my God!” and the cameraman say, “Holy fucking shit!”
Without looking at them, he said, “Back up, but keep rolling.”
He removed his eyes from the newbie draculas only long enough to check the AA-12’s magazine. Only a dozen shells left. Very little slack. Had to make every shot count. No wastage. He raised it to his shoulder and waited.
Didn’t take long.
The first statie—fully-fanged now, with all ten talons extended—pushed itself to its feet, looked around, then charged the nearest fresh blood—Clay. Much as he disliked state cops, he’d never imagined shooting one. Well, okay, maybe once or twice. The uniform caused Clay to hesitate just a second, then he emptied two twelve-gauge shells at the new dracula when it was two feet from the muzzle. The proximity concentrated the cone of the #4 shot and literally dissolved his head into a spray of blood-and-brain Slurpee.
Behind Clay, Carmen screamed long and loud while something went splat! on the pavement. A quick glance back showed Tony losing lunch.
“Keep filming or you’re next!”
The guy straightened and his camera wobbled as he raised it to his pasty face. “It’s not—”
“Yeah, I know. It’s digital. Just do it.”
He turned back in time to see the second statie dracula leaping through the air—but not at Clay. It landed on its headless fellow and began tearing into it with loud grunts and greedy slurping noises. Clay stepped closer and aimed at the top of its lowered head. Two more twelve-gauge blasts pulverized the brain inside and popped one of its eyes from the socket. Clay took out the next two just as they were starting the change. One blast each did the trick for them. The remaining pair were still down and gave no sign that they were going to change.
Carmen had lost all her reportorial cool. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Wh-wh-wh-what just happened here?”
“The same thing that’s been happening all over Blessed Crucifixion.” He pointed to Shanna, approaching with tentative steps. “I don’t think anyone can explain, but this woman here can background you some. You’ll have to catch up to her later, though. Right now, she’s on her way home.”
“In what?” the cameraman said. “Check out the tires, man.”
Clay did just that, and found every tire in sight flat.
“Oh, Christ.”
He hurried over to his Suburban and saw that it hadn’t been spared. Four brand-new Goodyear Wrangler SilentArmor tires, ripped to shit.
He kicked at one of them until his leg got tired, then turned and saw Shanna walking his way. Carmen stood back by the truck on her cell phone. He calmed himself and then looked at the hospital. He was going to have to go back in. He didn’t want to, but…
“It’s okay,” she said. “Carmen said I could stay with them.”
“I want you gone.”
“But I can’t go. And help is on the way.”
“What? Another TV crew?”
“No. The news director at the station saw what Tony was recording. He’s calling the state police, the National Guard, even the governor. I told Carmen to tell him to call the CDC too. This has got to be contained.”
Okay, maybe Shanna would be okay. Another look at the hospital. But what about him?
This could be their last time together—ever. He might not make it back from his next trip inside. Had to do this now. Might not ever get another chance.
He dug into his pocket as he turned back to Shanna.
“I want to give you something.”
She shook her head. “I told you: I can’t do it. I can’t shoot anyone.”
“Not a gun.” He held out the ring box. “This.”
Looking confused, she took it and opened it—and gasped when she saw the sparkler.
He didn’t want to die with the ring in his pocket. If it came to that, better she had it, to remember him by.
Shanna
“OH, Clay. Ohmygod!”
It was beautiful, but it was so wrong!
His words filtered through the cotton that had suddenly filled her brainpan.
“I was going to ask you to marry me this weekend—you know, when we were in Denver.”
What? What?
“Get married? This weekend?”
Has he lost it?
He laughed. “No-no. Ask you this weekend—do the whole down-on-one-knee thing. We’ll get married later.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Clay, I—”
“But it doesn’t look like we’re going to Denver, and I won’t get to take a knee here and ask you to marry me, because I know this is a moment every girl dreams about all her life and I want it to be special for you. But I want you to have the ring now. We can talk about getting married later.”
…because I know this is a moment every girl dreams about all her life…
What planet was he from?
God, she was going to break it off with him and there wasn’t going to be any Denver this weekend. How was she going to tell him that she could not accept this ring?
“Clay, I can’t—”
“You can take it. I really, really want you to have it.”
She shook her head and sobbed as she stared at the ring. “Clay…really…”
DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror) Page 20
