Draculas (12 page)

"Okay, Clay," the sheriff said. "I know it's your weekend off, so it's okay if you started drinking early, but--"

"Sheriff, I just blew three heads off. And they were not--I repeat,
not
human heads. The ER looks like a slaughterhouse and Lanz is nowhere in sight."

"Not even a nurse around?"

"Not a live one."

"Where's hospital security?"

"Dead."

He decided not to mention that he was the cause of their passing.

A long silence on the other end, then, "You're not shittin' me? You better not be shittin' me, Clay."

"I'm telling you I've never seen anything like it in my life. I think you need the National Guard, or staties at the very least."

"No staties."

Clay clenched his teeth. This was no time to get territorial. Something was going on. He was sure that nurse hadn't shown up for work looking like that. He'd seen enough vampire and zombie movies to know that if you get bit you turn into one. That seemed to be what was happening here. And that meant more monsters were running loose inside--with Shanna.

Shit, what if she got herself bit?

"Sheriff, just send help, okay?"

"I'll free up somebody--"

"
Somebody?
" he shouted. "We don't need
somebody
, we need a fucking platoon--a full company. The people in that hospital are in deep shit, sheriff. You send in the troops. You send in the fucking cavalry!"

"Okay, okay. I'll call in the staties. But this better be worth it. I'm trusting you, Clay. Meanwhile, you'll stay?"

"Not a problem."

"I love when you say that. Just hang around outside until--"

"That will be a problem, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Shanna's inside."

"Oh, shit. Just wait where you are and--"

"I'm going back in."

"Wait--"

"Bye, sir."

He ended the call and slipped the duffel bag's strap onto his shoulder.

The bag weighed a freaking ton. Clay could feel his collarbone bending under its weight as he walked toward the ER. Well, why not? It held just about everything he'd been working on since last year's show--all his new pieces and the ones he'd been modifying. They'd been on their way to the Denver convention where he'd planned to show them off and demo a few. Now it looked like he was going to have to put some of them to use.

He had to admit he was excited about this. No, scratch that--he was ecstatic. He had murderous, blood-thirsty monsters to fight. He could throw anything he wanted at them and it was all good. If only Shanna were back home and out of harm's way, this would be perfect. This had a gun show beat to shit.

He had an old friend and a new piece out and ready. His lovely lady, Alice, the nickel-plated Taurus Raging Bull .454 Casull revolver he'd owned for years, was loaded with Cor-Bon 300-grain JSP flat heads. The .454 Casull could take down a cape buffalo. These babies had a muzzle speed of 1800 feet per second and kicked like the devil himself. He stashed Alice in his belt.

In hand was the newbie, an AA-12 automatic shotgun. Its drum was loaded with thirty-two three-and-a-half inch twelve-gauge shells loaded with #2 titanium alloy shot. He could shoot one round at a time or hold down the trigger and fire at a rate of 300 per minute. A true street sweeper.

It might have to become an ER sweeper.

He stopped inside the doors and looked around. Everything seemed quiet and still--no, wait...

The patient on the stretcher, an elderly, gray-haired woman, was writhing under the safety straps, hissing and spitting teeth. Shit, where were the two EMTs who'd been dead on the floor a few minutes ago?

Suddenly the patient sat up, ripping through the straps. Clay watched, fascinated, as those unreal teeth shredded her wrinkled lips. He hesitated. A little old lady...someone's granma. But as the teeth sprouted further and talons popped out of her fingertips, he realized this lady would eat her grandchildren without a second thought.

Holding the AA-12 chest high with the stock clamped under his arm, he let fly a round. The number-two shot took off most of her face and slammed her back on the stretcher.

"That's what I'm talkin' about!"

But then she began to rise again.

"Crap!"

His second shot knocked her flat again and left only her lower jaw hanging, swinging from one hinge. This time she was down to stay.

"Sorry, granma"--and he truly was--"but you weren't granma anymore."

His ears were ringing from the loud reports. He always wore ear protectors on the range and had a set in the duffel, but didn't dare wear them now. He needed to hear these things coming. The racket must have attracted attention. A bloody blond guy in a softball uniform was stumbling toward him with only half the usual complement of talons because he had only half a left arm.

Took two head shots to stop him.

And then a second softball player--bearded with a black eye--lurched around the corner and charged him. He took three rounds.

Toughest damn sonsabitches to kill. He had only 25 shells left in the AA-12's drum and it was taking two or three shots each to put these monsters down. He hoped there weren't too many more. He'd brought a shitload of ammo, but not an endless supply.

But what a weapon. He was firing major shot with barely any recoil.

He scoured the ER--all the treatment areas and the wide-open supply room. All clear. He could move on. But how was he going to locate Shanna? He checked his cell and got no service. The in-house lines were useless if he didn't know what extension she was near.

He moved toward the doors to the hospital proper but stopped just before he pushed through. Anything could be waiting on the other side--a whole army of monsters.

He placed his duffel on the nurse's station counter, then stepped back toward the entrance where he grabbed granma's stretcher. He got behind it and started pushing it toward the door. Hard to get traction in the congealing blood all over the floor but he wheeled through it and had built up decent speed when he rammed it through the double doors.

All hell broke loose.

Half a dozen monsters leaped onto the stretcher, tearing at its occupant in a wild, hissing frenzy that lasted all of maybe twenty seconds. They soon realized she was dead and looked around for a new victim.

Clay was already backpedaling when they spotted him. They charged and bunched up at the doorway on either side of the stretcher, elbowing and clawing at each other to be first through. This slowed them--not much, but enough to let Clay put some distance between him and them. He set his feet and raised the AA-12 to his shoulder. He sighted down the barrel, pulled the trigger, and kept it pulled.

The AA-12 went to full auto then, firing five rounds a second. He sprayed back and forth, two quick passes, left and right at first, and then more deliberate, aiming for the heads, watching them explode. The drum emptied quickly, but during those five seconds he shredded those monsters, all six of them. They went down and stayed down, leaving the doors, the walls, the ceiling, the stretcher dripping blood and brains.

He'd done it. Wiped them out. All of them.

Well, all except one. A guy in a torn-up bloody suit with the back of his head gone was trying to crawl toward him.

Clay watched him and couldn't resist: "I know what you're thinking. 'Did he fire thirty-two shots or only thirty-one?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself.' "

He was reaching for the Taurus when two more of the damn things appeared in the doorway and charged him.

"Shit!"

Not trusting a hurried shot with the kind of kick a Casull delivered, Clay turned and ran for the supply room. Slipped and almost went down as he tried to grab his duffel from the counter. Missed the handle but kept on going. They were right on his tail. He could hear their hissing, could almost feel their talons slashing the air at the nape of his neck.

How many of these things were there? Had the whole hospital turned? Weren't there any humans left?

What about Shanna?

He ducked into the supply room and whipped the door closed behind him. Almost closed. One of the things managed to shove its hand through. The door caught its wrist. Clay heard bones crunch as he threw his weight against the door. More weight hit from the other side, pushing it open a few more inches.

Needed a wedge, or something to block it. A metal shelf behind him. He grabbed it and pulled it toward him. He ducked aside as it crashed against the door, sending bandages and bottles of disinfectant smashing to the floor--but not before the thing shoved its arm and shoulder through.

Clay stayed out of reach of the slashing talons as the thing gnashed its awful teeth and hissed. It wore a jacket with the emblem of the ambulance outside. One of the formerly dead EMTs. He saw a second one right behind it, trying to push its pal through the opening. That gave him in idea.

He pulled out Alice. Only half a dozen rounds in the Raging Bull, but they were .454 Casulls. He aimed between the eyes of the lead monster and squeezed off a round. The report was like a punch in this small room, and the kick damn near sprained his wrist, but when he looked, the doorway was empty. Cautiously, he peeked through and saw both monsters on the ground, both with holes through their foreheads and enormous exit wounds.

"A two-fer! Awriiight, Alice!"

He wished someone was around for a high five, or at least a knuckle bump. So he settled for kissing Alice.

"There's my good girl. You're the best."

Then he noticed the first one twitching.

Aw, not again. He wasn't going to get up, was he?

No. The twitching stopped and it lay still.

He spotted the phone at the nursing station and had an idea. But first...

He grabbed his duffel from the counter, locked himself in the supply room, and began to reload the AA-12's drum.

"EVERYONE!" Jenny said. "I need everyone's attention! I want all of us to move away from the window, to the other side of the playroom. Now."

The hallway--just beyond the room-length finger-painted window--was filled with draculas.

Freakin' filled.

They'd run up en masse after sounds of firecrackers came from the lower floors. Jenny guessed it hadn't been fireworks, but rather gunshots. These monsters seemed to have been retreating, but stopped when they'd caught sight of the children through the window.

At least eight of them. Maybe ten. Clawing at the glass, pressing against it, knocking on it. Some smeared blood and bits of gore across the surface, while others fell into line to lick the blood up with spongy, misshapen tongues and thick, ropey strands of saliva. Saliva right out of that movie Randall loved to watch over and over again.
Aliens,
with Sigourney Weaver.

"You kinda look like Sigourney Weaver," he'd told her, every time he played that VHS tape. "Cept you got better boobs."

As the children gathered around her, Jenny wondered where Randall was. She hoped he was okay. She also hoped that once he found the little girl, he wouldn't try to bring her back here. Too many of those things out there. Even her husband, whom Jenny thought was damn near indestructible, wouldn't stand a chance.

"Will they break the glass?" Peter asked.

"No," Jenny answered firmly.

But that's what she feared, and why she ordered everyone away. The glass was thick--a necessity in the children's ward--and would be tough to crack bare-handed. These creatures were strong, but so far the glass had resisted their pushing and pounding.

If they did get in, Jenny needed a weapon. Preferably one like Sigourney had in that film. Keeping her eyes on the window, she walked over to the old woman, the one who'd thrown up. The stains on her dentures and fingers were telltale signs of a smoker.

"I need your lighter," Jenny told her.

The woman didn't answer. She just stared, wide-eyed, at the window. The draculas continued to knock and pound at the glass. Some bit at it, their teeth leaving scratches with the sound of nails across a chalkboard.

The boy holding the old woman's hand nudged her. "Grandma, the nurse lady needs your lighter."

The old woman stared at the child like she had just now realized he was there. Then, without a word, she handed her purse to Jenny. Jenny dug around until she found it; a cheap, plastic disposable brand. She flicked it once, and the flame came on big and bright.

She heard a
CRUNCH
, followed by squeals of fright from the children. Jenny stared at the window and saw that one of the monsters had picked up an office chair and was bashing it against the glass. Jenny didn't even need to read the dracula's nametag on its lab coat to know who it was. She recognized the hair.

Dr. Lanz.

After the second hit, the window spiderwebbed, but stayed intact. It had a plastic safety coating, similar to the one used on car windshields, so children throwing toys wouldn't get showered with shards.

Lanz tried twice more, but the glass held. His eyes met Jenny's, and his toothy mouth yawed open, a hiss escaping the crosshatched fangs. He tossed the chair aside and scurried off, probably to look for something bigger to throw at the window.

Moving quickly, Jenny went into the supply closet Randall had gotten open. She immediately zeroed in on a portable oxygen tank. It was the large MM size, brushed aluminum with a painted green top, almost the size of a scuba tank. A good start, but she needed more. Contrary to popular belief, pure oxygen wasn't flammable.

Luckily, the hospital had something that was very flammable. And it was stored in the same closet as the oxygen.

Jenny walked past the medical supplies to the extra stock for the coffee machine at the nurse's station. She bypassed the packages of regular and decaf, the filters, and the sugar, and took down a full box of non-dairy creamer. Twelve bottles, 15 oz. of powder per bottle. Enough to set a whole building on fire.

Finally, she found some rubber tubing, a large cannula, and a bottle of rubber cement.

Working quickly, Jenny removed the caps from all twelve creamer bottles. A plastic seal covered the opening, keeping the product fresh. She applied a big dollop of rubber cement to the top of each, and set the box next to the doorway.