She ran down the hallway, patting the wall next to each room as she searched for the right number plate. When she found it, she pulled open the closet inside and reached in, feeling around for the bat. Her fingers knocked into the long slender wood and wrapped around it. She pulled it out of the closet and came back into the hallway.
The killer, who had been standing at the end of the corridor near the stairwell last she checked, was now gone. There was a rustling sound off in the distance coming from around the corner near the nurses' station that she couldn't see from where she was standing.
Sarah crept forward, her fingers white from gripping the bat so tightly. She knew he was hiding around the corner, and she suddenly regained some of her lost confidence, knowing that she would have a reach advantage on him and that even he wouldn't be able to stand up to the bone-cracking blows of the bat. She would just have to maintain her distance and keep swinging.
The nurses' station almost came into sight for her as the rustling continued. Her brow furrowed, trying to figure out what it was, and then it went quiet.
Footsteps came from around the corner and the killer stepped in front of her. He held the other can of primer spray that she stuffed into the backpack, and in his other hand he held the extra road flare. The cap was already pulled off and he stood still for a moment, staring at her. His demented smile returned.
Sarah stopped, raising the bat a little and getting into a good stance. Her eyes were wide and she was scared, trying to figure out what he was doing.
The killer tucked the can of primer spray under his arm and lifted the road flare's cap into the air. He swung it down and struck the tip of the flare. It burst into brilliant light as the fire burned tall on the tip and hissed at her.
Sarah backed up, confused and scared. When she saw him hold the flare out toward her and bring the can of primer spray up behind it, she understood.
The killer pressed down the actuator on the can and pressurized paint primer sprayed out of the nozzle in a fine mist. It ignited on the intense fire coming out of the road flare and turned into a wave of flame launching toward her.
Sarah turned and ran. She held onto the bat and fled down the hallway as fast as she could. Her ankle immediately barked at her and prevented her from going as quickly as normal, turning her escape into something that looked more akin to a track and field triple jumper.
He took off after her, giving a quick spray into the road flare and turning it into two feet of flame throwing.
The pain in Sarah's leg was intense, but her adrenaline took care of most of it. Her ankle simply felt gimped more than it hurt, like if she stepped on it the wrong way it would snap completely in half. She passed the hallway leading down to the chapel and she continued for the stairwell at the far end of the hospital. The killer's laughter echoed behind her as she heard bursts of flame whooshing through the air. The claps of his footfalls gained on her, and she pumped her arms and legs for all they were worth.
The door came at last and she almost knocked it off its hinges as she twisted the handle and barreled through. The stairs led down on the left or up on the right. Without even thinking, she took the stairs up to the fourth and final floor, holding onto the railing with her free hand and pumping her legs up the steps as fast as she could. Her brain was shrouded in fog and she couldn't think clearly. She tried to remember what she had set up before the killer came, knowing that there was some reason to lead him through the fourth floor, but she couldn't think of it.
Sarah heard the killer open the door below her when she reached the top, and she wasted no time getting through the door to the fourth floor and continuing to run. She racked her brain, trying to remember what was up here, but she became so frightened of him and his makeshift flamethrower that all she wanted to do was get away.
The door was wrenched open behind her and the killer came after her. He didn't yell, he didn't scream; he only laughed.
Sarah made it halfway down the corridor before his footsteps were right on her heels. She was out of breath, and tears and snot ran down her face. She was terrified, and she knew that this had been a mistake. She suddenly felt like a small child, wanting to be comforted by her mommy. But she had no mommy. She had no one at all, and her fate was up to her.
The killer shot more flame out at her, and now it was almost touching her neck.
She made an impulsive decision and stopped, in the same moment spinning around and swinging the bat at him, knowing that she couldn't outrun him.
He stopped and stepped back just in time for the bat to miss his face as his arms jerked back and the next burst of fire shot up to the ceiling, the flame sliding along the tiles before running out of energy and waning down to nothing.
Sarah stepped toward him, swinging the bat back and forth with all her strength. One swing struck the killer in the side of the arm as he moved forward toward her, making him stagger into the wall. She took the opportunity and moved in, trying to crack his skull.
But before she could strike, he pressed the actuator on the can and a wave of flame erupted through her swings and at her face.
Sarah shrieked as she pulled her head away. She stumbled backward, successfully dodging the burst of fire, but the killer kept it going, and the baseball bat soon ignited.
The flame coated the thick tip of the bat as it molded around the shape and licked up toward the ceiling like a torch.
Sarah continued to swing it at him, the fiery club swooshing through the air. She focused on trying to hit him, but now the fire and the heat emitting from the bat warped his figure behind it, skewing her depth perception. She didn't notice the fire spreading down to the handle of the bat until the intense heat bit her hands and she let it go in surprise. It clanged on the floor and rolled off to the side of the hallway, engulfed in flames.
The killer shot more fire at her, and this time it hit her square in the chest. The flame lit her coat and slowly crawled across to the rest of her.
Sarah screamed and staggered backward, turning and trying to run away.
The killer stayed on her, spraying more flame onto her back.
The fire reached her shoulders and burned the exposed skin on her neck and her chin. The shock of what was happening to her caused her to trip and she hit the ground and tried to crawl away as the flames spread.
The killer followed, aiming his flamethrower down at her legs and igniting them.
Her clothes and helmet started to feel like ovens as the fire burned her. She rolled around on the floor frantically trying to put it out as she waved her arms in front of her face in a panic.
The killer tried to cover her with more fire, filling in the spots that weren't yet engulfed in the soothing glows of orange and yellow, but when he pressed the actuator on the can again, nothing came out. He pulled the can away from the road flare and pointed it up in the air, pressing the actuator and confirming that it was empty. He dropped it on the floor and looked at the road flare for a moment before tossing it away too. He looked behind him and saw the baseball bat still covered in fire sitting at the edge of the hallway. His smile widened and he walked toward it.
Sarah writhed and rolled on the spot. The smell of burnt fabric filled her nose and made her lightheaded. She continued to wave her arms around, banging them against her shoulders and every other part she could reach. She looked down at the rest of her body as she rolled and saw that she was making progress. She finally just had a small patch of flame near the bottom of one pant leg, and she lay on her back scissoring her leg up and down onto the floor to extinguish it.
The killer walked out of a room in front of her, carrying a blanket. He tossed it over the bat and patted it down, snuffing out the fire. He yanked it off and the bat lay blackened and smoking underneath.
As he bent down to pick it up, Sarah realized that he wasn't done with her yet. She turned and got up, completely out of breath but forcing herself to go on. She ran slower than she could before, but she made her way along the rest of the floor hea
ding for the stairwell as the killer picked up the bat and followed.
She reached the door and opened it, throwing a glance over her shoulder. He approached in a steady march, holding the smoldering bat by his side, taking his time. Sarah turned her attention back to the stairs and went to run down them.
She finally remembered the trap she had laid on the fourth floor as her foot slipped on the puddle of windshield washer fluid and she tumbled down the stairs. Her body slammed against the hard edges of the steps on her way down, but thankfully the books wrapped around her body cushioned the blows and protected her bones from breaking. She crashed hard on the landing, falling on the dense patch of thumbtacks that she scattered across the floor. They stabbed into the books all over her body and once again she was protected by the assorted literature. But her hands weren't.
When she fell, Sarah instinctively held her hands out in front of her to cushion the fall, and dozens of thumbtacks stabbed into her palms, fingers and wrists. It took a moment for the pain to set in, and when it came to her, she howled in agony. It felt like a thousand tiny fiery-hot pokers jabbing into her. The pain made her hands shake violently as she saw the faintly visible glints of the thumbtacks stuck in her hands.
Footsteps echoed behind her, muffled at first, then the door opened and the killer stepped into the stairwell above her.
Sarah cried as she looked over her shoulder at him, then she crawled forward, trying to get away from him despite the pain. The pain intensified times a thousand when she pushed her hands against the floor, but she needed to in order to get to her feet. She felt like her body was going to shut down due to the trauma, but she stumbled down the stairs away from him.
The killer slowly followed, watching his footing on the fluid and sidestepping the thumbtacks. He stalked her as she passed by the third floor and continued down to the second.
Sarah reached out for the handle and blubbered in pain as she twisted it, using her last bit of strength to slowly open the door to the second floor.
A crippling blow struck her in the back over her right shoulder blade and she spilled forward into the hallway. She landed on her stomach and tried to crawl away, too weak to fight and too weak to run.
The killer stepped through the door behind her and swung the bat on her leg, hitting her in the side of the calf.
The consuming wave of dull pain numbed her leg as it shot out straight and spasmed. Sarah's tears dripped onto the floor and her mouth hung open, squeaks and whines the only things coming out.
The killer let her crawl away a few feet before he hit her again. The next blow struck her in the small of the back and he watched her squirm.
Sarah futilely tried to escape from him, heading for the open door of a blood lab up ahead, but he stayed right behind her, raining down blows all over her body. Sharp pain was traded for numbness and numbness was traded for sharp pain.
He continued to laugh softly as he lowered the bat and crouched over her. He ran his hand over her butt, trying to squeeze it through the stiff layer of books. His hand slid down along her leg, then came back up and wedged itself into her crotch. He wiped his fingers hard against her and brought them up to his nose, sniffing them. Then he rolled her over onto her back and tried to fondled her breasts under the thick paper.
Sarah tried not to look at him as she used her one good foot to push herself toward the blood lab behind her.
The killer stood up and extended the bat in front of her face with both hands as if he were lining up a shot in golf. He swung carefully and twisted his hips to follow through.
The tip of the baseball bat caught her helmet just under the rim above her eyes and the chinstrap popped off as the helmet was ripped off her head and bounced into a wall.
He lowered himself over top of her as she whimpered, and he sniffed the pretty blond hair that he loved so much. He opened his mouth and licked her neck up to her chin.
Sarah was repulsed, but she tried to ignore him and get to the blood lab.
The killer worked his way up her face, licking her cheek and then shifting his head and lowering his mouth onto hers. His tongue squirmed around like a thick slug as it rolled over her lips. Sarah freaked out and waved her arms in the air, trying to grab his head and push him off and only being met with the pain from the thumbtacks stabbing into her. He ignored her protests as he held the sides of her head almost gingerly, the blood from the gaping wound in his hand where she shot him dripping out and staining her hair with crimson highlights. His tongue had a mind of its own and tried to force its way into her mouth, but she rebuked him, keeping her lips tightly sealed.
At last, he pulled away from her and stood up. He had a look of mild disappointment on his face, and then he smiled. His mouth was widened more than ever before, hideous and monstrous. He picked up the bat and held the tip just over her nose. He raised it above his head and swung it down.
Sarah had reached the doorway to the blood lab and she pulled on the frame with both hands, sliding her body into the darkness as the bat missed her face and struck her in the ribs instead, glancing off and bouncing against the floor.
The killer paused in front of the doorway as her legs disappeared into the dark room. He heard her cough and sputter as she crawled away.
The moonlight coming in the window behind him highlighted the corner of a large table sitting in the room, but not much beyond that.
The killer walked forward into the darkness, moving very slowly and swirling the bat around loosely in his hands.
Sarah's ribs were killing her, and she thought they were broken. Her uncovered head bumped into the table, and she crawled around, trying to remember exactly where she put it. She moved around to the opposite side as the killer followed behind her. Her hand ran along the floor next to the table, waiting to feel something touch her. And in the next moment, her hand bumped into something sharp, and she was certain it wasn't a thumbtack. She picked it up and continued to crawl back around the table to the front of the room where she came in as the killer slowly sauntered behind her in the darkness.
When she reached the front of the table by the door, she rolled onto her back and pulled the cap off the road flare. She felt the rough striker pad on it with her thumb and scratched it against the top of the flare. The brilliant light gobbled up the darkness in the room and cast everything in a red glow.
The killer stood in front of her, raising the bat now that he could see her again.
Sarah pulled herself toward the door until her torso was in the hallway. She threw her concoction at the killer's feet and lifted her legs up in the air, rolling them outside of the doorframe and slamming the door shut.
The last thing she saw before the door closed was the killer staring down at the item she had made: the other can of pressurized primer with the other road flare taped against it, along with a couple dozen three-inch nails, their heads all taped flat against the can and their sharp tips pointing straight out in all directions.
The can exploded on the other side of the door and a few nails drove through the wood and stuck out on Sarah's side by half an inch.
She crawled away from the door until her back was against the far wall, and she rested there, watching and recuperating from all of her injuries.
The next seconds counted by with agonizing slowness, and finally the door to the blood lab was thrown open.
Small pockets of flame coated the interior of the room, lighting it in a dim glow, and nails were embedded in the table, the walls, and the ceiling.
The killer stumbled out into the hallway. His body was covered in nails, with one of them stabbed into the side of his neck, and another one punctured through his cheek and into his mouth. He opened his lips and reached his fingers inside, feeling the nail. Two more nails had been driven through his hand between the knuckles of his first two fingers, and he looked all around his body, slowly touching his fingers to each piece of shrapnel in him. And for the first time he seemed like he was genuinely hurt.
Sarah watched
him walk right past her as he headed for the stairwell. He didn't even look at her as he did, and his legs started to wobble on the way. One of them gave out and he fell onto one knee before pushing himself back up. A trail of blood followed him in little drips and drops as he went, and it looked like he might have passed out at any moment.
Sarah watched him in awe, in complete disbelief that he was retreating.
He disappeared into the stairwell as the door slammed behind him. Sarah could hear him stumbling and falling down the stairs, then getting up and staggering away.
His footsteps faded completely and Sarah lowered her head onto the floor, closing her eyes.
19
RETREAT
The ceiling of the hospital stretched out in her view and her eyes mindlessly traced the length of it back and forth. The hallway was empty and silent. There was a sereneness to her surroundings that was completely alien to the brutal fight that had taken place just a few minutes before, and one that gave the illusion that it hadn't taken place at all. But when Sarah rolled onto her side at last and assessed the damage, the blanket of calmness suddenly evaporated and every last painful feeling, every last pungent smell, and every last miserable sight acted as if they had never left.
Sarah tried to move her body, avoiding the areas where the killer had bludgeoned her with the baseball bat. She ached, but she didn't think anything had been broken—miraculously.
The stench of burnt materials wafted through the air, and the worst of it was the charred chemical fumes coming out of her winter coat. She stood up and removed it, feeling the pain run through the length of her arms right to her fingertips. She dropped the coat on the floor and staggered forward, glancing into the destroyed blood lab. Small fires continued to burn, but they were isolated to nonflammable materials and seemed like they were starting to peter out.
The weight of the books taped to her pulled her down, and her legs were already too tired and shaky to support her own weight let alone the excess. It took Sarah a long time, but she pulled off each row of books in long lines of tape. She removed them from her arms and from her legs under her jeans, running her fingers over the knife gouges in some of them, marveling at how they had actually saved her life.
Zombie Apocalypse Series (Book 3): Ashes in the Mouth Page 17
