Konrath, J.A. - DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror)

That bitch nurse, Jenny, had said she was headed to the pediatric ward.

Lanz would enjoy tearing her sanctimonious throat out.

He’d enjoy it quite a bit.

Grammy Ann

SHE’D fought a long and valiant battle against the diabetes, but it had finally claimed her right foot, the infection spreading into her blood, sepsis hours from killing her before the amputation.

Now she rested peacefully in a morphine slumber.

Fresh, clean blood flowing into her body and dreaming of a picnic she’d had just last summer up at Vallecito Lake, her two sons with her, and their children, the apples of her eye—six-year-old Benjamin, and eight-year-old Vicki playing by the shore. Grandchildren. Was there anything better? They were like your kids, but without the hassles. A perfect relationship, a dynamic where everybody won.

A crack ran through her dream like a fracture through glass, and she could feel herself tumbling out of it, the phantom pain in her right foot spoiling the memory.

She opened her eyes, but she must have still been sleeping because what she saw made about as much sense as a nightmare.

A little girl who looked to be the same age as her precious Vicki was standing at her bedside with her back turned, sucking down the chilled contents of the blood bag through the needle that had been attached to her left forearm.

It was an image that simply didn’t compute, and because of this, she was certain she was dreaming, but God, it felt so real, especially the pain in her right foot, or rather, where her right foot had been. Maybe if she tried to speak, to engage the little girl, it would shatter the illusion of the dream and she would wake.

“Excuse me. Little girl?”

The little girl didn’t answer or even move. Grammy Ann eyed the blood bag, watching the level of the dark liquid quickly lowering.

“Little girl?”

Then there was only a sucking noise, like slurping down the dregs of a cup of soda.

“Little girl?”

The girl let go of the clear, plastic tube and turned around.

Grammy Ann recoiled, the beeping of the heart monitor accelerating.

Oh God, that face!

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Those black eyes, the shredded cheeks, the long, terrible teeth, shellacked with blood.

She reached for the NURSE CALL, her thumb punching the button over and over.

It happened so fast, the movement was catlike—the little girl leapt off the floor and came down on Grammy Ann’s chest, blood running down her chin.

Her head tilted, and her lips moved, an awful noise coming out of them that sounded like a question in some demonic language.

Grammy Ann screamed, “Nurse!”

Oasis

“CAN I have your red candy?” Oasis asked, and she asked nicely, like the nicest she’d ever asked for anything, but the old woman only screamed.

She would have been gentle, or tried at least, but the screaming hurt her ears, and so she lunged into the woman’s neck, and the screaming got louder, the woman pulling her hair now, and she was strong.

It wasn’t fair!

The old woman jerked Oasis’s head back before she could dig in, and hit her in the cheek.

Oasis roared and swiped one of her talons at the woman’s face, but it missed and sliced across her neck instead, and suddenly—

Red candy everywhere!

—and the old woman still flailing and thrashing but the smell and taste of the red candy drew Oasis in and she was at the woman’s neck again, biting, tearing, sucking, the blows still coming, but slower and softer, and the screams dissipating, and then the old woman lay still, and Oasis didn’t have to struggle anymore.

Instead, she just curled up beside the old woman, whose arm was around Oasis, and, come to think of it, it reminded her of her Grandma Betsy, and it was just like those times when she stayed at Grandma’s house and Grandma would read a book to her before bedtime, except instead of cozying up with a book, it was cozying up with that delicious red candy running out of Grandma’s neck, right down into Oasis’s throat in a steady stream, and she lay with the old woman in her bed for five minutes, until the last of her candy was gone.

Stacie

ADAM walked into the room and locked the door after him.

He sat down on the bed, offered her a shard of ice.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Gigantic,” she said.

“Stop it, you’ve never been more beautiful.”

The water felt so good sliding down her throat, despite the micron-size portion.

“You just locked the door,” she said. “What’s that about?”

“Just hospital procedure when there’s a disturbance. Nurse Herrick came back. Do you need anything else?”

“I’m all right for now.”

Stacie thought he seemed distracted, and she was about to ask him what was wrong, but he was already up again, heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“ I’m thirsty now.” He smiled, but there was anxiety in his eyes. She’d seen this before—his strong face. Hiding pain with a smile. God forbid anyone ever think a minister could have a hard day, a sleepless night.

“They had some apple juice in the Fridge,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Adam

ADAM came up behind Nurse Herrick at the entrance to the maternity ward. The double doors were closed, and she was kneeling, fighting to slide a lock into the floor.

He stepped up to one of the small, square windows at eye level and stared down the corridor on the other side of the door.

Empty.

Nothing moving.

Linoleum floor shining dully under the ceiling panels of fluorescent light.

“Please don’t mention this to my wife.”

“You haven’t told her anything ?”

“Just that there was a disturbance and we’re on a mandatory lockdown. Have you informed the other patients on the wing?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. I told them there was an outbreak in the ER, and we all have to stay put until help arrives.”

“How many in this wing at the moment?”

“I have a single mother who’s alone in her room.”

“So it’s only the four of us?”

“Yes.”

Adam pushed the deadbolts up into the ceiling and glanced once more out the window before turning to Nurse Herrick.

“Can you deliver our baby?” he asked. “If the time comes and there’s no doctor?”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes, crying again. “I’m sorry.” Her hands had begun to shake.

“What exactly did you see down there, Carla?”

“I can’t…”

“Do you want me to pray with you?”

She nodded, and Adam took her hands in his, had just opened his mouth when a scream came rushing up the corridor beyond the doors.

It didn’t sound human.

Felt like someone had run a cold finger down Adam’s spine and he took an involuntary step back.

“What’s out there, Carla?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can these doors stop it?”

“I don’t know.”

A thunderous succession of gunshots splintered the silence several floors below.

Adam stepped toward the window in the door.

The view through the single square foot of glass was of a long corridor that extended for a hundred and fifty feet to a sitting area.

One of the fluorescent lights halfway down had begun to flicker.

A figure appeared at the far end, turned the corner, and sprinted up the corridor toward the double doors—a woman in black scrubs and white tennis shoes, her curly brown hair pulled back in a scrunchie.

Adam could hear her crying and gasping, and she’d covered twenty strides when three others ripped around the corner in pursuit, chasing her, fast and low to the ground like pit bulls.