by Dyrk Ashton
Fi can’t resist turning back to the monitors. She reaches a trembling finger to the screen, raises the volume on two opposite views of the combined reception area and waiting room.
Bob is seen struggling to shove the heavy metal brace into brackets on either side of the door to the landing above the lobby. It finally slides into place and he leans on it in relief.
BANG!!! The door flies inward, flattening him. Dr. Williams drops her clipboard and her files. Sarah screams.
* * *
On the far side of the hospital, the nurse in running shoes bursts into the alley. She stops, breathing the fresh air, looking to the sky. The clouds are getting darker and it looks like rain.
She checks her phone for a signal, but has none. She runs to the front of the building and sees two white vans and a school bus parked along the street to the right. One looks like a news van, with a satellite dish and extendable microwave antennae on top. There are two men next to it--and one of them is a policeman, in helmet and sunglasses, leaning on his motorcycle.
The nurse sprints toward them. As she approaches, she hears them arguing, but in a language she doesn’t recognize. It sounds a little like French but also like German. “Officer!” she shouts.
The other man wears blue overalls with a telecommunication worker’s tool belt at his waist. He leers at her, blowing smoke from his cigarette. The embroidered patch on his overalls says Luc. He has a beard but no mustache.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” the policeman asks.
“There are men, inside!” She points at the building. “We’re being attacked!”
“I know,” the policeman replies with a smile--a smile that flashes translucent white teeth and needle-sharp fangs.
The nurse screams, but the sliding door of the van whips open, a hand claps over her mouth and she’s dragged inside. The door slams shut, followed by sounds of a struggle, then silence.
The policeman grins at his bearded companion. “It was nice of them to send lunch, eh?”
* * *
Sarah cowers below the reception counter as Surma and Wepwawet enter the room. Kleron steps in between them and goes straight to Dr. Williams. Derek and Tod enter as well, followed by the reinforcements from the lobby, who disperse themselves throughout the waiting room. Max, Hedwig and Curt are nowhere to be seen.
Kleron comes very close to Dr. Williams, who’s trembling but stands her ground. He stares into her eyes. “Where is he?”
* * *
“Who are they?” Zeke asks, his voice unsteady.
Fi doesn’t know what to think, let alone say. “I don’t know,” she answers, the words barely audible from her dry mouth. “They said they’re Peter’s family.”
“Really?”
She looks down at Peter, his gaze locked on the monitor, mouth hanging open, lips quivering. If only she could ask him. She places her hand on his cap. “Yeah... I need to get him to the shelter.” Still, she doesn’t move, other than to look with trepidation back to the monitors.
* * *
In reception, Dr. Williams gulps. “What do you want? Who are you?” She starts to back away but Kleron grabs her by the hair and pulls her to him.
His face is only an inch from hers, his mouth slack, their breath mingling. He tilts her head back and slowly moves his face down her neck, his lips brushing her skin, then reaches with his other hand and tears open her lab coat. Her blouse and bra come with it, leaving one breast exposed. He continues moving his face down. She takes a shaky breath, goose-bumps rising on her bared flesh.
Kleron moves back up to the other side of her face. “You stink of him,” he breathes.
Dr. Williams stutters, trying to speak.
“Tell me,” he hisses. “Where is this person you call Peter?”
* * *
Fi and Zeke watch in fright and fascination.
There’s movement on another monitor--a view of Joe, Lisa, and Billy cautiously descending the steps to the waiting room door, the one on this side of the room.
On the views of reception, Wepwawet whips his head to the door, listening. He flashes past Kleron and Dr. Williams without a word.
Fi and Zeke jump at the sound of both Joe and Lisa opening fire from their positions on the stairs.
* * *
The weapons don’t even slow Wepwawet down. He bounds up the steps, grabs Joe by the face, splatters his head against the wall and chucks his body over the railing. He reaches for Lisa--but Billy snatches her out of the way and front-kicks Wepwawet in the chest. Wepwawet soars back down the stairs to smash into the wall, cracking concrete with his back.
Billy shoves Lisa behind him and gives her the baton. “Get back upstairs.”
“But--”
“Now, Lisa.” Billy’s eyes flash red, actually flash. She backs up the steps.
Wepwawet pauses, observing Billy clearly for the first time. A wicked smile creeps over his face. His voice is gruff and deep. “You’ve cut your hair.”
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 n
ever 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.
