He pushed open the door to the stairwell and took his first step up.
So far, so good.
His second step was less good.
He bashed his jaw on the edge of the step as he fell forward. He lay there for a moment, hurting and trying to work up the energy to try again.
Had he lost consciousness?
Nah.
No, wait, yes he had, because now a clawed hand was wrapped around his ankle.
He twisted to see what it was. Holy shit. The legless dracula, covered in blood and with at least one visible internal organ, was still after him. He hadn't squished it enough.
Randall yanked his foot out of its grasp, kicked it in the head, and then began to crawl up the stairs. He could hear it crawling after him. This had to be a hallucination. No way could he actually be in this situation. This was absolutely batshit insane!
Move! Move! Move!
His leg wasn't cooperating at all, and the dracula, pulling itself from step to step just using its arms, kept pace with him all the way up to the first landing. Then it grabbed his foot again.
I'm losing a race with somebody who doesn't have any goddamn legs!
The dracula snarled, opened its mouth wide, and bit at Randall's foot just as he pulled it free. With those jaws, Randall had no doubt that the creature could take off his entire foot. Maybe not in one bite, but two or three would do the trick for sure.
Can't get bit. Don't wanna turn into one of those things!
Randall scooted backward, his butt squeaking against the floor (squeaking just like that damned clown) until his back struck the wall. The dracula, several ropes of bloody drool dangling from its fangs, crawled after him.
Fuck it. He needed to make this problem go away.
Not giving a shit how bad it hurt, Randall forced himself to stand, grabbed the dracula under the shoulders, then heaved it. It bounced on the stairs twice before it hit bottom, where it lay with its neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
Still trying to come after him.
Jesus Christ. He'd just thrown a cripple down a flight of stairs. Dracula or not, Randall was pretty sure that hellfire awaited him in the afterlife.
And now he most definitely gave a shit about how bad it hurt to stand up. Wincing the entire time, Randall made his way up the second half of the stairway, wondering if any hidden cameras would see him should he decide to curl up and cry for a few days.
Finally he made it to the third floor. He stepped out into the hallway, expecting to see something that continued his streak of bad luck. Maybe two, three thousand of those things, all charging him, desperate to avenge their legless brother.
Aw, for God's sake...
Randall couldn't honestly say that he'd rather have had two or three thousand draculas waiting for him, but, c'mon, Clay Theel? Really? The dickhead who'd thought that his gun and badge gave him the right to stick his nose into Randall's business?
Clay was with a frightened-looking woman. Neither had seen him yet. Randall took a deep breath. He couldn't let that guy see him looking weak. Had to act casual. Maintain his dignity. Nothing he could do about the blood and the ass-exposing hospital gown, but he certainly wasn't going to let Clay know that he was mourning his failure to save a five-year-old girl.
He steeled himself, tried to think of something sarcastic to say, then walked forward.
Clay
"ALL right. Let's get you out of here."
He put his hand on the knob but used the slit window to give the lobby another look-see before stepping out.
"Aw, hell."
"What?" Shanna said, trying for a peek.
While they were talking, half a dozen monsters had gathered in the lobby. If Clay had only himself to worry about, he might have charged out and given it a go. But with Shanna along...no way.
He put his lips to her ear. "Let's go back up to the second floor and see if we can find another stairway that doesn't open on the lobby."
He let Shanna lead the way up and covered their six, keeping his shotgun trained on the door in case one of those things decided to check out the stairwell.
But when she reached the second-floor landing, she said, "We've got a problem."
Clay reached her side and peeked through the slit and saw what she meant: at least three monsters prowling the hall. One was dressed like a clown, but all its teeth were gone--shattered. Clowns looked weird enough in full light, but in this shadowy half-light, this bugger was about the most terrifying thing Clay had ever seen.
He could feel his temper rising. He sort of prided himself on being able to stay cool in any situation, but he was getting pissed.
"Are we the only people in this goddamn place who haven't turned?"
Shanna shuddered. "What an awful thought."
"Okay. The third floor. If it's the same up there, I'm just gonna have to step out and do some population control."
But the third-floor looked empty. Clay stepped out, shotgun ready. All clear. He spotted an EXIT sign glowing in the shadows at the end of the hall. He motioned Shanna out of the stairwell and pointed.
"We'll try that one," he said, keeping his voice low. No telling what was about and he didn't want to attract any attention.
She nodded and gripped the strap of his duffel. They hadn't taken two steps when a loud voice froze them.
"Well, well. If it ain't Deputy Dawg!"
As he whirled, Clay's finger tightened on the trigger, ready to fire. When he recognized that asshole Randall Bolton stepping out of the shadows ten feet away, he almost fired anyway.
"Stay right there, Bolton."
"Or what? You'll shoot?"
Clay took in Randall's bloodstained face and hospital gown and didn't like what he saw. He looked almost crazed.
"Absolutely. You've been infected. How long ago?"
"I'm not infected."
"You got blood all over you."
"Well, shit, you've got blood on you too! Everybody in this goddamn place has blood all over them! You want me to hire some guy in a white coat to scrape this stuff off me and put it under a microscope? This blood ain't mine!"
"Why should I believe that?"
"Do you see any dracula wounds on me?"
"Maybe on your leg. Looks like that one took a lot of stitches." Clay, of course, couldn't even see Randall's leg wound from the front, but he'd certainly heard about it.
Randall's eyes narrowed. "You think that's funny?"
"Hilarious. Whole department knows about Randall Bolton damn near cutting off his own ass. Drunk again?"
He couldn't remember how many times Jenny had called the department to come and subdue her drunken husband. He had no respect for bums like Randall Bolton.
Randall's face reddened. At least Clay assumed it did, beneath all of the blood. "Takes a small man to bring up something petty like that when we're in so much shit. I been dry ninety-seven days now."
Clay snorted a laugh. "Believe that when I see it."
Randall took a step toward him. "You're seeing it right now, you dumb fuck. I'm standing right here."
"Stay where you are!" Clay raised the shotgun to his shoulder. "You might turn any second now."
Randall stopped and shook his head. "You know better'n that, Theel. We've got monsters everywhere in this place, but you don't want to deal with that, you just want to wave your gun at me like a schoolyard bully. You think you're hot shit, but without your badge and your big bad gun, you're just a coward."
Clay's temper had already been frayed when he'd stepped out into the hall. Now it snapped.
"That so? Okay. My badge is off." He shrugged off his duffel bag and handed Shanna his shotgun and Alice. "And now my big bad guns are gone."
Shanna stared at him with eyes so wide he could see white all around. "What are you doing?"
"Shanna, meet Jenny's ex-husband."
"Never mind him. Are you insane?"
"No, just gonna see who's a coward."
"Clayton Theel, you stop this macho
bullshit right now!"
"Sure, honey. Right after I stop his bullshit."
He stepped away from Shanna and faced Randall, raising his right hand and doing the Bruce Lee come-hither thing with his fingers.
Randall stared at him. "Did you get that from a kung fu movie? Are you Chinese now?"
"Are you two kidding?" Shanna said, her voice rising and getting all screechy. "We're in the middle of a slaughterhouse!"
"If Theel wants me to knock him on his ass in front of his girlfriend, I guess the draculas can wait a little while," Randall said.
Clay started circling. "Is that what you call them? Not bad for a dumbass."
Suddenly Shanna was between them as they circled each other. "Stop this! Stop this now!"
Clay looked past her at Randall. "I saw one of your draculas downstairs in a clown suit."
"Benny?"
"Oh, you're friends with a clown? Figures. Birds of a feather, and all that. Well, when I finish kicking your ass, I'm going down there and kicking his ass, then I'm gonna dress you in his clown suit."
"Well, shit, looks like bad circumstances bring out our perverted sides, huh? Should I act like a little choir boy when you dress me up? As for that clown, I greased that rat-fuck son of a bitch but good."
Something familiar about that line, but Clay couldn't place it.
"I don't believe this!" Shanna cried. "You're trash talking when we should be getting out of here!"
Clay remembered the clown's broken teeth. "You the one who messed up his teeth?"
"Yeah. Think I may take up dentistry on the side during the slow lumber months."
Clay was impressed--not about the threat but about the number he'd done on that clown. Wouldn't ever admit that to Randall, of course.
"Well, there's plenty more where he came from."
Randall grinned. "That's because we got draculas coming outta the walls. They're coming outta the goddamn walls."
Clay stopped circling and stared at him. "Aliens?"
"Hell yes Aliens! Beat the shit out of the original."
"I know. I loved that movie."
Randall stopped and puffed his chest. "Seen it eighty-three times."
"Wait-wait-wait!" Shanna said, staring at Randall. "You were quoting some movie?"
"He sure was, honey. You saw it. Aliens, remember? With Newt, the little girl who--"
"You mean there's two of you?"
Clay wasn't following. He looked at Randall. "I guess there's hope for you yet."
Shanna looked ready to cry. "Can we get out of here, please?"
"Yeah, okay." Now that he was closer, he noticed Randall didn't look in exactly top form, anyway. "We'll settle this some other time."
"Count on it."
"You really dry?"
"Bone. Day one hundred coming up."
If true, he deserved at the very least a pat on the back.
"Well, good for you. Seriously."
Clay picked up Alice and the shotgun from where Shanna had laid them and shouldered the duffel. As he took Shanna's hand and started for the end of the hall, he noticed Randall wasn't following. He stopped.
"You coming?"
He shook his head. "Jenny's down in pediatrics somewhere."
"Somewhere?"
"She was with a bunch of kids. I think she's hiding them."
Jenny...Clay had always liked Jenny, but Shanna was his number-one priority. And Randall looked kind of all in. He might need a little edge if he was going to bring Jenny out.
"Can you shoot?"
Randall smiled. "Not as good as I chainsaw, but I can pull a trigger."
Clay hesitated, then walked back to him.
"Here." He didn't believe he was doing this, but he handed him Alice. "Four rounds left. She kicks like a mule. Make sure nobody you care about is behind whoever you shoot--or even in the next room."
Randall looked from the Taurus, to Clay, to the Taurus again. "You sure?"
"Take good care of her. Don't make me regret this."
He took one last look at Alice, then turned and walked away, wondering if Randall had enough left in him to get Jenny out on his own. Maybe not.
"Be back ASAP to help you find Jenny," Clay called over his shoulder.
"You don't have to do that," Randall said.
"Yeah, I do."
Benny the Clown
BENNY the Clown was sad again.
He hurt.
His teeth were gone.
Half of his tongue was also gone, and it made new blood while he licked up what was on his clown suit. His whole mouth was leaking faster than he could lap up the new blood. The taste had made him happy before, and he still wanted MORE MORE MORE but now he hurt too much to be anything more than sad.
He realized that one of his siblings was gnawing on his leg. This made Benny the Clown even sadder.
It was an old woman. Very old. He could kill her.
Benny the Clown killed her.
He drank her blood.
He was happier now.
But it didn't last. He hurt again.
He hurt so bad that he wanted to rip his face off.
He tried, just a little, but it didn't make him feel better.
Not at all.
Benny the Clown got up and walked down the hallway, looking around for something to make him happy. The screaming didn't make him happy. The sobbing didn't make him happy.
Nothing made him happy.
Except...
He looked at the thing on the floor. He seemed to remember something like it. One of his friends used to juggle them. Or was it his mentor? If he remembered correctly, somebody got badly hurt juggling them, and the other clowns had been sad, even though it was kind of funny.
He picked up the chainsaw and began to lick the blood off the blade.
Nurse Herrick
CARLA relocked the double doors and pushed the dressers back into place.
What a night.
The outbreak.
The doctors gone.
A woman dying on her watch.
Another young woman, by herself, that patient already at seven centimeters.
Could things get any worse?
There was a part of her, growing stronger by the minute, that just wanted to hole up in a supply closet and wait for help to come.
But she couldn't do that. She had patients depending on her.
A sudden scream erupted from one of the private rooms.
She ran down the hall, the noise getting louder.
Room 12.
Brittany.
Maybe she was finally fully effaced and ready to push?
Carla opened the door. "How we doing, Brit--"
What the hell?
Brittany was pinned to the bed on her back by a little girl.
"Hey!" Carla shouted.
The little girl turned and looked at her and...hissed through a mouthful of hideous canines, her face a bloody wreck.
Carla backpedaled involuntarily out of the room as the little monster hopped off of Brittany and crawled in her direction on all fours, coming faster and faster, talons clicking on the linoleum.
"Lock yourself in, Brittany!" Carla screamed as the girl rose up on two feet and sprinted toward her.
The door to Room 12 slammed shut and Carla heard the deadbolt turn as the little monster leapt at her, talons pointing toward her like a full set of knives.
Hiss-screaming.
Carla lunged out of the way as the girl crashed into the nurses' station.
The Murray's baby daughter was screaming at the far end of the corridor, and Carla scrambled back onto her feet and hauled ass toward Stacie's room as the girl-monster climbed out of the nurses' station and came after her.
There was a delivery cart against the wall, and she opened the top drawer and grabbed the first thing she touched, a pair of episiotomy scissors--"bajango scissors" she called them on better days. She closed the scissors, took them by the end, turned, and threw them toward the little girl, knowing,
even as the blades left her hand spinning end over end and catching glimmers of that weak, blue light, that stuff like this only worked in bad movies.
Draculas Page 18
