by Jeff Rovin
The dean started away.
“Daddy—look at me!”
He stopped again, and Hill, impatient, ordered Cracked Rib to put his hand over her mouth. The zombie did so. Halsey stared at his daughter’s struggles.
Hill had to bellow to be heard over West’s screams.
“Halll-ssseeey . . . !”
Cain sensed his indecision. “Dean Halsey, help her! It’s Megan, your daughter—your baby!”
Halsey snorted, studied her.
“Silence . . . him!” Hill yelled. John Doe reached around to shut Cain’s mouth. As he did so, the young man wrenched his arm free, simultaneously stomping hard on the cadaver’s foot and pushing back. The foot tore away, and John Doe fell helplessly to the ground. Cracked Rib, headless, did not see Cain’s fist coming; he punched the zombie in the side, sending it flying toward Hill. Shotgun Blast released Megan and turned on Cain. The young man grabbed Megan’s arm and yanked her back.
“Get behind me!”
Much to Cain’s surprise, Halsey suddenly joined Shotgun Blast in the attack.
“Wait, Dan, he thinks you’re hurting me! Daddy, I’m all right! Get Dr. Hill!”
Halsey paid her no attention, grabbing Cain around the throat while Shotgun Blast locked an elbow around his forehead. The right side of his face missing, Shotgun Blast had to keep his head twisted awkwardly around to watch as he worked to crack Cain’s skull like a nutshell. Jumping at him, Megan put both hands to his face and pushed; the neck snapped, his head falling limply behind him. Stunned, he turned on Megan.
“Dan!”
Desperate, Cain drove his knee into Halsey’s stomach. His grip weakened momentarily, long enough for Cain to tear his hands away. Diving to the side, he threw his arms around Shotgun Blast, trying to pull him away from Megan.
“Hill, damn you, he’ll kill her!”
“Then I . . . will give her . . . life!”
Halsey regrouped, began pulling at Cain.
“Daddy, not him—this one!”
To help the dean, Cain decided to let go and back away; as soon as he did so, Halsey began tearing at the back of the zombie who was molesting his daughter.
Across the room, Hill watched the tide of battle with mounting displeasure. Sending his body into the morgue with the serum, he shook with elation as it returned with reinforcements. Though he had not had time to lobotomize them, he believed the zombies would join in whatever activity involved their fellows; he was right. The four newcomers, newly dead and not as pasty-pale as the others, fanned out through the room, a petite Slit Wrist girl and brawny One-Armed man hastening to hold West down, while a tall, skinny corpse and a bald operating room victim lurched toward the lovers.
Cain watched the proceedings with mounting horror. As soon as Halsey had succeeded in freeing his daughter, Cain pulled her behind a stainless-steel table which he used to keep the others at bay.
“Daddy, get Dr. Hill!” Megan yelled. “Get the head!”
With a growl, Halsey charged through the room, heaving tables left and right. His attack was met by Hill’s body, the two locking arms, each pushing hard to bring the other to his knees.
“Killlll . . .” Hill screeched. “Killll . . . killll them all!”
Obediently, One-Arm released his hold on West’s arm and went for his throat; Slit Wrist did likewise. His hands free, West scooped up the laser drill which was hanging beside the table. He shone it into the male zombie’s eye, driving him back, then turned on the girl, blinding her in the near eye. She too retreated, and West rolled off the table.
Hill raged, “Nooo! You . . . must . . . stop him!”
Instead of obeying, Slit Wrist and One-Arm stormed around the room, lashing out blindly. They tore at shelves and cabinets, smashing mindlessly until, spotting the other zombies gathered around Megan and Cain, they hastened to join them.
Megan swatted fiercely in every direction. “Daddy, help us!”
Halsey turned, blood oozing from his lower jaw, which he’d lost in the battle with Hill. Hill’s body seized the moment to latch onto him by the shoulders. He flung him to one side, but Halsey grabbed Hill as he fell away, and the two of them went crashing through the double doors into the hallway. They spilled over Mace’s desk, smashing the phone onto the floor and knocking over the large fluorescent lamp. It sparked and died. Watching from a dark corner, where he’d gone to try and spot the reagent, West was actually glad to see something die and stay dead.
Halsey and Hill climbed to their feet and, running together, fought back toward the autopsy room. Sauntering back to his desk, the copy of Boudoir rolled in his fist, Mace stopped and gaped.
“What the fu—?”
Tearing his eyes from Dean Halsey and the headless body, Mace didn’t try to understand what he thought he saw. He simply ran for the pay phone down the hall, looking as he never had in the NFL.
Inside, as the ring of zombies closed in on them, Megan decided that their only chance lay in stopping Hill. Crouching below the table, she snuck to the side and broke for the instrument table. Cain lunged after her.
“Meg, no!”
Cain was caught about the waist and neck by a pair of zombies. He saw a third zombie bolt after Megan with incredible speed.
“Meg—look out!”
Burn Victim snared her by the hair, and, seeing this, Halsey pushed Hill’s body away and stormed over.
Megan fought her revulsion. She stretched her hands before her, toward the dissecting pan, and Halsey looked over. “No, Daddy, forget me! Him!”
At that moment, watching his former colleague, Hill was both disgusted and pleased. Pleased because he’d been right about the location and power of the soul. He hadn’t touched the dean’s cerebral cortex, and Megan had obviously reached it. She’d stimulated fond memories deeply buried in Halsey’s soul, and, responding, it had performed a miracle, nothing less than a cerebral bypass.
However, Hill’s pleasure was extremely short-lived. That same soul obviously held not-so-fond memories of him as well, perhaps of the surgery. He could see hatred flood Halsey’s being, hatred which paralyzed the surgeon, made him unable to rouse his body to action. With a wrathful cry, Halsey sprung at the defenseless head.
“Allllan . . . nooo!”
Halsey grabbed Hill by his ears and banged the head repeatedly against his own forehead. Throughout the room, the first batch of zombies stopped, stood, wavered. Herding creatures, the other four did likewise.
“Allllan . . . put . . . me . . . down!”
Halsey did—hard. He dropped the head to the tile floor and then retrieved it by its hair. Dazed, Hill was unable to summon his wits to call for his body. He tried desperately to spark activity in Cracked Rib’s head, somehow transfer his mind to it, but he was too confused. His body nauseous from what was happening to the head, Hill spit up blood. Two of the zombies did likewise.
Cain rushed to Megan’s side.
“It’s incredible. He’s tied to them, and they’re all feeling it!”
They watched in stunned silence as Megan’s father put the head between his palms and began to press. His fingers dug into the eyes; there was no pain, only a cry of frustration as the eyes finally popped and blood poured down the cheeks.
“Heeeelp . . . meee!”
Hill’s cry jerked his body to animation; it felt its way forward, but not in time to save the head. Halsey cracked the skull, and, when he heard it give, he stretched both hands behind him and heaved it into the hallway. The pulped mass exploded and coated the wall with fine pieces of brain, bone, and flesh.
Mindless, Hill’s body finally reached Halsey, colliding with incredible force. Halsey fell against the instrument table while, around him, the equally mindless zombies converged.
Cain clutched Megan’s hand. “Come on—”
“No.” She resisted. “We’ve got to help Daddy!”
“Megan, he’s dead!”
“Not all of him!”
She started toward him, and West scoot
ed over, blocking her way. There was a pair of hypodermics in one hand, a vial in the other. The laser hole in his head was blue and hideous, his face bruised and dirty. But he was alert as ever, his manner coolly efficient.
“Daniel’s right, Miss Halsey, there’s nothing more you can do. I’ll help him.”
“You’ve done enough!”
“Hardly. There is work to be done.”
“More killing, you mean.”
Cain said, “Herbert, I know you’re disappointed, but, for God’s sake, leave this mess for the authorities.”
“Look, I told you I have a theory,” West said as he filled the hypodermics. “It’s the same thing that happened to Gruber.”
“Overdose?” Cain asked, his interest piqued.
“Correct. Depending on how much he gave them, the others will wear off. But not Hill. I must know if it works.”
Cain reached for one of the hypodermics. “Give me one. I’ll—”
“You’ll do nothing,” West interjected, “unless one of the others interferes. In that case, there’s a fire axe in the hallway. Use it to take off its head.”
Their eyes met, and there was a flash of mutual respect; Cain for West’s dedication, West for the way Cain had adopted his own cause. Cain wished him well.
“See you outside,” West replied, rising.
Megan resisted as Cain started for the door. “No—my father!”
“Megan—”
“You saw, there’s still something there!”
He hesitated, watching as Hill and the others tried to bring Halsey down. Before Cain could react, the corpses surprised him by showing a semblance of unity. Savage hands locked themselves around the dean’s arms and head and tore them off, hurling them away like Olympic hammers. Watching, Megan mewled and fell limp; Cain caught her and started toward the door, his eyes on West.
Pushing up his glasses, West wondered if Hill had been able to organize the attack through Cracked Rib’s head. It was a fascinating notion, but he didn’t have the time to consider it just then; using the distraction of Halsey’s demise, he circled the mad group. When he was directly behind Hill, he ran at his back and punched the needles in hard, just below the clotted neck. The headless body jerked upright, so fast that West couldn’t hold the needles; they remained in the neck, bobbing like antennae, as the body whirled on its attacker.
West easily ducked the groping hands and watched Hill. He hadn’t gotten to empty the hypodermics, but that would probably have been overkill. Already the body was beginning to quake.
“Good riddance, you son of a bitch!”
Cain stopped. “Herbert, come on!”
West didn’t come, but went deeper into the room, looking under the tables.
“I won’t leave without my notes! I can’t continue without them.”
“Continue! Are you crazy?”
West didn’t answer, and Cain was distracted by Hill’s body, which was now quivering wildly. Unable to keep its footing, it fell against a cabinet and slipped to a sitting position, every inch of it alive and undulating in waves beneath the robe.
Leaderless now, the other creatures resumed their rampage, tearing blindly at the tables, fixtures, and each other—the first group of zombies against the second in what Cain could only conclude was a sick clannish rivalry.
West paid the corpses no attention. Spotting the medical bag peeking from beneath a discarded body bag, he picked his way over. Cain watched with alarm as Shotgun Blast crouched, froglike, on the other side of the up-ended operating table.
“Herbert, look out!”
West spun, but not in time. The creature leaped and landed square on his back, sending him sprawling. It immediately began banging West’s head on the floor.
Laying Megan down in the doorway, Cain bolted back into the room. He threw his shoulder into the zombie and bowled it over, the two of them tumbling into the morgue. Shaking his head vigorously, West continued toward the medical bag.
“Be right there!” West shouted as Cain grappled with the powerful Shotgun Wound. He grabbed the kit. “We’ll OD them all!”
Through clenched teeth, Cain yelled, “Hurry!”
Reaching into the bag, West suddenly realized he didn’t have a hypodermic; swearing, he made for Hill’s still-convulsing form. Avoiding the monsters to the left and right, he didn’t hear Malpractice stalk up from behind; the zombie took him by the shoulders and heaved him across the floor, West landing hard against the iron legs of the sink. Before he could collect his splayed wits, Malpractice and the hobbled John Doe had crossed the room and were upon him.
Cain saw what had happened but was unable to tear himself away from Shotgun Blast. The brute had backed him to the wall and, his knee to Cain’s chest, kept him pinned to the wall while he raked at his face. Though the youth was able to tear away chunks of the dead man’s fingers, the bones and sinew held firm. Blood trickled from the deep gashes along Cain’s cheeks and nose.
With a common foe to fight, Slit Wrist came over to help Shotgun Blast. Falling to her knees, she began biting Cain’s thighs, and together they brought him down. Cain’s head struck the wall as he fell, and he knew in that instant that he was going to die. Dazed, he shut his eyes and tried to marshal his senses for the attack; instead of feeling teeth and nails on his throat, however, he heard a hollow “bong” and looked up.
Slit Wrist was wearing a confused look as she felt her caved-in-skull, while Shotgun Blast turned just in time to catch the bottom of the metal fire extinguisher in the undamaged side of his face. Propelled by a spray of dark red blood, he rocketed backward, Megan leering at him as he fell.
“Go to hell, you miserable bastards!”
Cain scrambled to his feet, his vision blurred and head throbbing.
“Home run,” he said as he steadied himself on Megan’s shoulder.
“Hurry. I smashed another one on the way in, but there are three on West.”
Cain followed her out and saw that Cracked Rib had joined the fray and was fishing through the medical kit. Cain noticed the severed head then, still alive and glaring down.
“Incredible,” he said through his pain, and grabbed the fire extinguisher. He sprayed a jet of foam across the room, and the head dropped backward into the sink. The body ran to get it. Cain threw the fire extinguisher at his shoulders and sent him sprawling. Almost immediately, he regretted it, however, as the remaining zombies came at them.
West pushed his head from beneath Malpractice’s knee.
“Dan—the drill!”
Snapping his fingers once, Cain dove toward the instrument table. The laser drill was still spitting its filament of fire, and Cain grabbed it. Fumbling with the keypad on the side, he punched the beam to full power and, turning it on One-Arm, he set his clothes afire. The zombie stared aghast, then slapped at the fire as his dry skin went up like kindling. Cain pivoted to take an attack from John Doe, who had left West. As luck would have it, that was the moment one of the creatures decided to punch the fuse box through the wall. The beam died, and the lights went out.
“Shit!”
Cain swore again as one of the male zombies—in the dark, he couldn’t be sure which—pressed forward and grabbed him. Megan ran up behind the creature, pounding him, but he knocked her back without even turning. Cain could smell its breath, unspeakably rank, as it tried to bite him. Remembering what had happened to Lenny Wengler—and also to Dean Halsey’s fingers when he first attacked John Doe—Cain didn’t try to push his face back but, instead, struck down with his elbow, clubbing the zombie over and over in the ear. The creature retreated, and Cain squirmed away, scooping up Megan. They stumbled through the morgue to the autopsy room.
Lit with two emergency lights and the fire of the burning zombie, the room was growing thick with smoke. Somewhere to the left, plumes of white suffused the darker haze as one of the zombies gleefully spilled jar after jar of acid on itself and on the countertop. Near the overturned operating table, two of the zombies were tearing
at the corpse of a third.
Cain squinted through the stinging smoke. “Herbert!”
There was coughing on the right, by the sink, and they felt their way over. West lay bruised and bloodied, draped over his bag. Behind him, Hill’s body was still spasming; they heard a grotesque slurping sound from within it.
Cain refused even to try and imagine what was making the noise as he helped West to his feet.
“Come on, pal, let’s go.”
The young scientist rose unsteadily and grabbed the bag, following the others toward the door. Suddenly, the slurping became a roar, and West reached for his throat.
Cain peered back through the smoke and felt his stomach buckle.
“Christ! Christ!”
Like a monstrous snake, a length of intestine had uncoiled from the surgeon’s belly and grabbed West’s throat. The overdose hadn’t killed Hill but had given every inch of him its own hellish life.
Cain stretched around and reached for the young man, but West was jerked backward, toward Hill’s body. The intestine reeled West in, wrapping tightly around his torso and legs and lifting him from the floor.
“Caaaaaain!”
“Herbert, hold on!”
Cain looked frantically for something to use against Hill. Finding nothing, he attacked with his feet. However, he was driven back by the body’s reserves. The stomach sprayed acid while the other organs began exploding violently, one after the other, keeping Cain back with blinding waves of gore.
West waved him back. “My . . . notes!” he gurgled weakly. “Get them . . . out!”
Cain looked around and was about to pick up the bag when Megan began screaming. Cain spun and saw what was left of her father standing beside her, its head at its feet and staring up at her. The mouth moved.
“Meeeeeaaaaggggggaaaannnn . . .”
“No—no—nooooo!”
The young woman started laughing madly. Snatching up the medical kit, Cain led her away. Her laugh became a sob and then a cough as she choked on the smoke. Cain handed her a handkerchief and held his own breath. Behind them, they could hear the crack of bones as the intestines tightened; around them, zombies still moved blindly about, smashing the room and each other.
