There was a word for this, for the thing that looked so much like Dunlap. He tried to grasp the word with his thoughts, but it ran away from him, and no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t get the word to stand still.
Dunlap’s eyes flew open, the eyelids almost audible, like an old flag on a windy day. The eyes glared at Hall, and he stared into them. They were yellow and red--burning like the sunrise--and full of nothing but hunger, more hunger than Shaw’s body could stomp down. Hall tried to look away, but those eyes bored into him, holding him fast. He could only back against the wall again and stare into them, letting his own breath escape so he could draw in more.
A frightened moan pushed past his own lips. Hall tried to grab the word again, but now all of his thoughts felt greased. They writhed inside his brain, and he couldn’t focus on any of them. Only one of them stood up and shouted over the others, one thought that demanded to be heard.
He’ll eat you next. Shaw won’t last forever, and your ass is next on the menu.
Shaw finally crumpled in Dunlap’s grasp. The monstrous guard stooped over his kill, refusing to let go, and his eyes left Hall’s. Hall suddenly felt the power of his terror jolt from his heart and mind into his legs and arms. Before he even realized it, he broke into a run, bounding over Dunlap and Shaw and charging out of his cell. His bare feet pounded against the cold concrete floor, and he didn’t care about anything else but that sensation because it meant he was running. Escaping. He didn’t care about the cold spot that had reappeared in his side, and he didn’t give a shit what the guards would do to him when they saw him burst into Unit B, bloody and screaming. Other than feet and pavement, he didn’t care about a single fucking thing.
But then Hall heard a hissing screech behind him, and he knew Dunlap was finished with Shaw and coming after him. It was the most terrible, horrifying sound he had ever heard, and he knew he had to reach people, make sure they could see Dunlap for themselves. The others had to know. Maybe they could save him. Maybe they could save themselves. As he ran, he started searching for that word again.
***
Maggot heard the wet, slapping sound of Tree’s supper hitting the floor, followed by the angry hiss of the thing at his feet. He opened his eyes and saw Tree leaning over, wiping at his chin, not caring about anything else, and then there was a flurry of movement.
Maggot turned and saw the killing thing.
Its face was almost familiar; one he might have seen before. Though caked with dirt and blood and something that smelled like feces, it wore the same prison grays he normally wore. Its features had twisted into something inhuman, and as it spread its lips in an evil sneer, Maggot saw teeth that were sharp and gleaming and much too large.
It darted around his bed, moving toward Tree, and Maggot heard Tree let out a long wail of terror. The other patients woke up at once, and their screams of surprise startled the killing thing. It whirled on them, and their cries reached notes of horror. In the next instant, it charged them, and all Maggot could think was that the killing thing would be back for him, that he had to get free of his binds unless he wanted to die in the next few moments.
The creature was almost on top of the closest patient when the caged office door flew open and the nurse hurried into the room. “What the hell is--” she managed to demand before she saw what was going on and a cry of her own filled the infirmary. It was higher, more frightened than the rest, and it was all the killing thing needed to hear. The monster leapt at her, and her scream crescendoed even as Maggot heard the teeth close around the white flesh of her throat.
He saw Tree scramble out of his bed, watching the killing thing with wide eyes. “Help me!” he yelled at the giant, but Tree was not paying attention.
The other prisoners were out of bed and rushing toward the far set of doors, the doors through which the killing thing had entered.
“Please!”
The word appeared to cut through Tree’s senses. He turned to Maggot and started working on the binds, trying to dig his fingers under the straps.
A series of slurping and sucking sounds reached Maggot’s ears. He had never heard anything so grotesque. He could not see past Tree’s bulk, but he could imagine what the sounds meant. The nurse’s screams had quieted to a groan. Time was running out. They would have to escape soon, or the killing thing would finish with the nurse and come for them.
“Hurry!”
“I’m tryin’, you fuckin’ freak!”
But it did not matter; Tree could not work his thick fingers into the straps in order to loosen them. Hearing the nurse die behind him, Maggot felt desperation build within him. A new scream began to boil in his stomach, but then Tree grabbed the strap in both hands and jerked at it. Maggot heard the sharp sound of tearing fabric, and Tree pulled again. The strap tore in two.
“Get your other hand free!” he shouted.
Maggot couldn’t believe the strap was gone. He wanted to stare at the shredded ends forever to examine them and make sense of Tree’s strength, but he did not have time to waste. Reaching across his body, he dug his fingers into the knots securing his other hand. Tree yanked at a strap down by his feet, but he couldn’t tell which until his right leg could suddenly move freely again. As Tree freed his other leg, Maggot released the final knot, and then he was on his feet before he even realized it.
“C’mon!” Tree called, but Maggot could only stare at the killing thing that was now rising to its full height over the dead nurse. Its face was smeared with bright red, no doubt from the nurse’s ruined throat. The blood ran down its neck and soaked into its filth-smeared grays. Its eyes burned into him, searching all the way into his heart and rooting around for the secret things hidden within that pumping muscle. Maggot felt his skin go cold and wet with terror. This was what had killed Dr. Wilson, had killed Aldo and Chale and the guard. This was the killing thing that would tear him apart and eat the secrets in his chest.
Maggot’s lips began to tremble. Tears rolled down his dirty face, and as the monster began to move, to close in on him, a scream erupted from his throat like the screech of a teakettle.
The killing thing broke into a loping run. Maggot wanted to flee, wanted to do anything other than stand there waiting to be slaughtered, but he could only scream, could only watch as the thing drew closer with each step. The monster’s rot stink and the metallic scent of blood mixed with the dirt and shit floated on in its breath, creeping into Maggot’s nose. For some reason, his mind drifted away, and he thought of the creature’s cold hands and how they had felt on his ankles, how they would feel as they closed around his throat.
The killing thing was almost on him, jaws opening and snapping shut, fingers reaching, but then Tree was suddenly in its path, cocking back a fist and sending it flying at the monster’s head. Knuckles collided with jaw, and Maggot heard something that sounded like a gunshot as the killing thing staggered. He saw Tree shake his hand, grunting at the pain that must be throbbing there, and then he saw the monster turn toward the big man, anger flashing in its fire-like eyes. It leapt on top of Tree, but the big man was fast and caught the monstrous head in his hands, holding the razor-like teeth at bay.
The killing thing bellowed its rage, spraying Tree’s face with blood as if it were spittle. Tree turned away, his face twisting with disgust, but the giant’s arms refused to yield, not even as the beast’s claws ripped at the skin there, sending lines of fresh blood running toward the ground.
“Get th’fuck offa me,” Tree said through grit teeth. The creature answered with a surge forward, jaws snapping shut inches from the man’s throat. Tree shoved back, giving himself a preciously small amount of space.
Maggot could only watch. He had forgotten he possessed arms or legs he could use to escape. Only the battle playing out in front of him remained fresh in his mind.
A low growl bubbled up from deep within Tree’s throat. As Maggot watched, the big man’s face tightened into an angry sneer. The muscles of his bleeding arms flexed, and
his grip tightened around the killing thing’s head. Slowly, the growl grew louder, more vicious. The monster snarled with anger. Its eyes widened in something Maggot thought might be shock, but he could not be sure. All he knew was that Tree was very angry, that the growl in his throat was now a roar that filled the entire infirmary.
The killing thing let out another shriek, and at the same time Tree’s roar became a raging warcry. The big man twisted his arms suddenly, violently, and Maggot heard a loud crack! from the monster’s neck. The creature’s howl silenced abruptly. Its body went limp and fell to the floor, guided by Tree’s bleeding arms.
Maggot smiled.
“Motherfuck,” Tree groaned as he stared at the body. He climbed to his feet and rubbed at the slashes that decorated his arms, but he never took his eyes from the monster at his feet. His breath came in shallow, frightened breaths. “What the fuck is that thing?”
“Thank you,” Maggot whispered. He was safe now. The giant had saved him.
“Yo, we need to get the fuck outta here.”
Maggot nodded. He would follow wherever the man led. Tree could keep him safe. He knew that now.
“Where do we go?” he asked.
“We gotta find a guard, man. We gotta tell ‘em what’s goin’ down.”
“Okay.”
“C’mon.”
He turned to follow Tree, to find a guard and start waking up from this nightmare, when something ice-cold and slick wrapped around his ankle. Terror erupted from his throat as a scream, and he knew what he would see even before he looked down.
The killing thing had him.
***
Hall ran as fast as he could and prayed he was going the right way. He had never seen most of Burnham’s guts, and he could barely remember what little he had viewed before landing in solitary. Now, with only the dimmest of lights illuminating the corridors, everything looked the same, and none of it led any damn place. Corridors of drab concrete twisted back and forth on each other, unmarked by signs, doors, or windows. He could only run like all of hell was after him and hope he didn’t slam face-first into a dead end. If something like that happened, he wouldn’t get the chance to retrace his steps and try again.
“Where the fuck?” he gasped between exhausted breaths. “Gotta be somebody...” the rest of the sentence disappeared in a huff of hot air, and he kept charging through Burnham’s hallways.
A hungry snarl and the savage pounding of feet against the floor kept him moving. He had no idea how far behind Dunlap--or what used to be Dunlap--was, and he sure as hell didn’t care. When it came to the monster that had ripped Shaw open, any distance was too close. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Shaw’s murder made Dunlap his homie or some shit. The thing wanted more blood, plain and simple, and his just happened to be available.
Stumbling, he glanced behind him and saw a trail of the stuff. Red, fat drops dotted the floor. He wasn’t surprised. The hand he kept pressed to his wound was hot and slick with blood, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense considering just how goddamn cold the knife-wound felt. Maybe it had something to do with why he felt dizzy every time he turned a corner.
Fuck you, Shaw. Your cracka ass got me good.
Shaw’s own death should have been a comfort, but it wasn’t. It didn’t even come close to cracking the sheer terror he felt as he raced along the cavernous hallways. All he could think of was survival, even as he knew the hole in his side might just be the thing that killed him.
He charged around a corner, the world tilting oddly beneath him and the air growing thick as old syrup, and saw a single door at the end of the short hall. What was supposed to be a cry of joy instead escaped his mouth as a groan of pain. As he threw open the door and dove through, the angry footsteps closed in, maybe just around the corner.
It was a staircase of echoing steel that climbed both up and down. He studied it for less than an instant before rushing down. Down had to lead to the ground floor, had to lead to something close to safety, right? But wasn’t solitary on the ground floor? Or was it on the second floor? The thoughts tumbled away like water as his footfalls on the stairs sent jarring slashes of pain from his wound. Breath exploded from his lungs with each step, and it was all he could do to stay upright as he worked his way down the steps.
Hall had just reached the first landing when the door above him burst open and Dunlap rushed into the stairwell. His hungry cry echoed through the stairwell, a terrible sound. Hall glanced up and met those burning eyes again, and then Dunlap was airborne, leaping down the steps at him, hands hooked into claws, jaw dropping open and lips peeling back to expose those awful, blood-streaked teeth.
Hall dashed out of the way and the creature crashed into the concrete wall. He didn’t wait to see how fast the thing got back to its feet; he figured it would be pretty fucking quick. Instead, he ran down the stairs as fast as he could, and when he saw the sign that read GROUND FLOOR he knocked the door open and ran like Kobe making a fast break.
Cold seeped from the hole in his side, and he stumbled. Feet tangling, he fell to the hard floor. His eyes began to droop shut, and he thought that maybe it would be better to just stay here, to close his eyes and rest. He could spare a second, maybe. Why not? Might be asleep before Dunlap caught up to him. Probably wouldn’t feel a thing. He took in a slow breath, letting his muscles relax, and it all felt so good. Sure, he could stay like this until somebody found him. He’d escaped solitary and made it this far; let somebody else come the rest of the way.
The sound of a door slamming open dragged him back to reality. He scrambled first to his hands and knees before jumping to his feet. As the pain in his side surged back to life, he let out a cry and broke into a sprint. How far had he been from the stairway? How far ahead of that thing was he? Dammit, he couldn’t remember.
He reached the end of the hallway. It turned both left and right, and he chose left for no reason in particular. Now, he had to place a hand on the wall just to keep upright. The entire world kept pitching back and forth underneath his feet. He wanted to trip and stumble, wanted to fall, but the approaching sound of the monster that looked like Dunlap kept him going.
Hall approached another bend in the corner and followed it. A metal sign hung on the wall. He tried to read it, but his vision had gone blurry. Squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again, he managed to make out a large letter B. The letter almost brought a smile to his face, would have if the pain in his body wasn’t so great. He continued down the corridor as fast as his weakening legs could manage.
And he ran into a wall of bars.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn’t remembered the gates that seal off each unit from the rest of the prison. Safety lay beyond those bats, but if he couldn’t reach it, then none of this mattered one goddamn bit.
He grabbed the bars, pressed his face between them.
“Help!”
The word seemed to echo forever. He looked behind him, expecting to see Dunlap reaching out to grab him with those awful claws, but only saw his own blood where it had pattered on the floor. There was a lot of it, more than he thought should be possible. Had it all come out of him? Was that why he felt so cold?
“What the fuck?”
He screamed at the voice, turned around to find a young C.O. staring back at him, his eyes wide with confusion and a deep touch of fear. The guy was probably new.
“Who the hell are--”
The guard appeared to notice the blood then. He stepped back, taking in the scene. “Jesus Christ. Are you okay?”
“You gotta help me!” Hall pleaded. He tried to pull himself through the bars. “Something’s after me, man!”
“Where are you supposed to be?”
Shouts echoed from behind the guard, inmates waking up and wanting to know what the fuck was happening.
“Let me the fuck in! It’s coming!”
And then he heard it behind him, that low snarl. He didn’t need to turn around, because he saw the young guard look past hi
m, and he saw the kid’s eyes grow even wider.
“Oh, Jesus,” the guard muttered.
“C’mon!”
And then he heard the monster break into a run behind him. At the same time, the guard broke from his terrified stupor and punched a button on the wall. There was a loud buzz, and then the barred door slid open.
Hall tumbled through. Shoving the guard aside with one bloody hand, he staggered past and shambled to the center of the open floor. He saw another guard running for him. This one had a nightstick out and ready, about to be used on the bleeding brother who’d dared wander out of his cell instead of dying. Figured.
He heard shouts and calls from every direction. Angry, excited, scared. It all blended together, swirling with the sound of blood pulsing through his head. The guard was almost on him, nightstick cocked back and ready to strike, when he heard a scream cut through the rest of the noise. The sheer pain and terror in that cry told him the young guard hadn’t gotten the gate shut in time. The thing that looked a whole lot like Dunlap was in here with them. He wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot.
The second guard seemed to forget him, then. Instead, the hack ran to help his friend. Hall looked back to the gate and saw the kid was already on the ground, the monster wrapping around him like it had Shaw.
As he watched the second guard race to save the kid, he searched for the word again. The yells from all around him didn’t help, but his thoughts had finally seemed to slow. Everything had calmed down. His head felt heavy, and he knew he was swaying on his feet.
Finally, the word appeared in his mind. It shined like it was made out of neon. Hall took in a final breath and screamed it as loud as he could.
“Vampire!”
He collapsed to the floor.
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