Carver Pike - Scalp

“That shit will kill you,” Riley informed him.

“At least I’ll die a happy man.”

“Are you ever a happy man?”

This made Milton laugh. Finally, a bit of sarcasm from the rookie. There was hope for Riley yet.

Riley had his back to the front door and floor to ceiling window. The blinds were open, and Milton saw something in the parking lot that he found quite strange. A group of people was walking toward them, coming out of the surrounding forest. He peered out into the brightly lit parking lot and watched as they emerged from the tree line and headed straight toward their door.

“What in the hell is that?” Milton asked aloud.

“What?” Riley replied, finally setting the last remaining coffee cup and the bag of wraps onto the counter.

Milton couldn’t answer him because he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He leaned over the counter and stared through the glass. Riley turned around to see what Milton was staring at. His hand went to his gun, but he didn’t pull the pistol. He only rested his palm against it and nervously said, “Wha… what is that?”

If this were a major city accustomed to large groups of protestors, this might not have seemed so odd, but it was rare anyone visited the police station, yet alone flocked to it in a group this size.

“Lock the door,” Milton said.

He would have done it himself, but he was on the other side of the counter and it would take too long to get to the door. He wasn’t even sure why he said it. Was this a threat of some kind? He wasn’t sure, but his instincts told him this wasn’t good.

“Lock the door?” Riley asked, turning toward Milton, surprised by the request.

The people outside were getting closer and closer, and Milton didn’t like the way they all walked with their arms hanging down, their backs slightly hunched, and their heads tilted forward. They looked dirty and ugly and… Milton stopped his judgment of them long enough to realize he recognized a few of them.

That was Jeb. He knew that ugly face anywhere. He’d been called to Lumberjacks Lounge a few times because Jeb had gotten ornery after too many beers. That was Annie, his wife, too. Milton also recognized nasty ol’ Saucy and Del who both lived up at Cloud 9.

The park ranger warned you something was going on out there. You didn’t listen.

“Lock the fuckin’ door!” Milton yelled.

Riley finally snapped into action and ran toward the door, but it was too late. The crowd had picked up its pace. Men, women, and—

Are those kids? Is that Jeb Jr. and his sister?

Riley reached the door as Jeb Jr. ran at it full speed, like a fullback on a football field, and bashed the door inward. The officer was caught off guard and slammed against the wall behind him. Riley slid down that way, a smear of blood following him from the brute force that had knocked him against the concrete wall. As he slid, he reached for his gun, but it was too late. The first two people through the door dove at him and the rookie screamed.

Milton couldn’t react quickly enough. The mob was already inside. He pulled his gun, and he fired at the first one he saw. The bullet struck Del in the forehead and the guy went down with only a red polka dot as proof he’d been hit. Blood didn’t fly the way it should have.

Each of the monstrous figures entering the police station wore a crown of blood. It was dry and caked to their foreheads and faces, but it was definitely blood.

Milton turned and fired at the next one, shooting Annie in the face. The woman went down.

The crowd seemed to come at him all at once. Two of them reached for him and flipped over the desk and onto the floor. He pulled the trigger and caught one of them in the back of the head, but the other stood up quickly, and as he turned to shoot that one, the people on the other side of the counter reached for him, grabbed hold of his shoulders and arms, and pulled him backward.

He still had room. He reached back and shot someone, but then he felt it. The miniature buzz saws digging into his scalp. His eyes went wide, his hand shook, and he dropped his gun. The last thing he saw as his eyes blurred was Sheriff Morris stepping out of the bathroom with his mouth open in mid-yell, because they were climbing over the counter, and they’d be on him in seconds.

Two miles down the road and an hour later, nurse Mallory Mills was outside on her break, smoking a cigarette. She had to do it quickly because any second now, Dr. Baelish would be calling for her and if he smelled the smoke on her – or God forbid actually walked out here and caught her red handed – she would receive the tongue lashing of the century. The truth was, she hated the taste of these things, but they calmed her down, and with her two kids both on a trip with their deadbeat father, her ex-husband, out to Myrtle Beach, she was stressed the hell out. It did give her some time alone with Dr. Baelish though.

She preferred calling him that in bed too. Of course, outside the hospital, she didn’t have to, but she had enough responsibilities in her life already. When it came to sex, she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted the good doctor to give her orders. Her favorite was when he treated her like a surgery patient. How he made her lie down on the mattress, naked, while he slid his scalpel carefully over her flesh and told her how he would need to open up each piece of her to fix her.

He would never harm her. She knew that, but she liked the thought that he had all the power.

Bad habits weren’t acceptable, and she knew he would throw a fit if he found out she’d gone back to smoking. She hadn’t actually gone back to it. It was more like a temporary coping mechanism. Rodney had offered her one last night on break. He was the EMT on night duty. When he wasn’t riding around aimlessly in the ambulance, wasting gas, he was usually at the hospital… wasting time. He wasn’t bad looking either, and Mallory thought if she weren’t with the doctor, she might like to try him out. At least with him, she wouldn’t have to kick this habit.

She looked at the lit end of the cigarette, and blew on it, watching the embers fire up for a second before she crushed it out and threw it into the ashtray next to the door.

Sniffing her hands, she winced and whispered, “Fuck.”

Out of her pocket, she pulled a small bottle of cinnamon sugar scented hand sanitizer. She hoped it would mask the smell. She’d used it last night and he didn’t seem to notice the smoky aroma left behind by the cancer sticks. Her breath was another matter. She pulled a small bottle of mouthwash from her other pocket, poured a little into her mouth, swished it around, spit it out, and then popped in some strawberry gum.

Mallory was about to walk back into the hospital when she heard what sounded like dragging coming from the parking lot. She wheeled around to see someone walking with a limp, kind of dragging his foot forward, scraping it against the pavement. The side entrance of the hospital was an odd place for a patient to be entering. This was where most of the staff took their breaks. It wasn’t a main entrance.

“Excuse me,” she said, wondering if she should walk away. She wasn’t security and she had no responsibility to keep people from entering this way. When the man didn’t answer, she said, “I think you want to go in the other way. This entrance is for staff only.”

An overhead parking lot lamp shone down on him, and Mallory saw it was a cop. She noticed the uniform and was pretty sure it was the new guy. He was a cutie. Riley was his name. She was pretty sure of it.