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

Carla whispered, “Oh God, that’s Pam from Radiology.”

Three seconds, and they were upon her, bringing her down in a violent tackle under that flickering light, the woman screaming, pleading for them to stop.

“We have to help her,” Adam said, reaching up to retract the top lock.

The nurse grabbed his arm.

“There’s nothing we can do.”

And they stood watching through the windows as two of the creatures held Pam from radiology down while a third swiped a bone-white talon through her jugular.

A stream of dark blood rushed out across the floor and they screeched and descended upon it, lapping it up off the linoleum with a ravenous intensity as their prey’s twitches became more sluggish.

“Dear God in heaven,” Adam said.

The creatures fastidiously sucked up every drop of blood, their long, black tongues digging into the crevices between linoleum tiles.

They had human hair and human clothes, but there the similarity ended, their faces literally exploding with prehistorically savage teeth and their hands deformed into talon-like claws.

The blood was gone, like someone had spit-shined the linoleum to a high-gloss sheen, and then one of the creatures looked up, down the length of the corridor toward the maternity wing.

Adam grabbed Carla’s arm, pulled her down.

Too late—footsteps already on the way, claws clicking across the floor.

Adam and Carla plastered themselves against the door as something bumped against the other side.

Adam craned his neck and looked up, saw a nightmare face peering through the window.

He whispered under his breath, The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not—

Something crashed into the door, set the bolts rattling in their housings.

Five seconds elapsed.

Adam’s heart slamming in his chest.

It came again—twice as hard, enough force to jar them both onto the floor.

Adam reached into his shirt, came suddenly to his feet, knees like jelly, but he spun around, despite the fear, and held up a small gold cross his father had given him on the day he’d graduated from seminary.

The monster running toward the door pulled up short two inches from the glass.

Its head tilted to the side—a fleeting moment of curiosity as its breath fogged the bloodied window.

Adam pressed the cross against the glass and spoke with as much authority as he could muster, “By the power of Jesus Christ—”

The talon that punched through came within a half-second of driving into Adam’s eye socket, but he parried out of the way, the thing screaming now, trying to climb through the square foot opening, jagged glass slicing into its head, but the moment the blood began to flow, the creature was sucked back out of the window.

The two others ripped it apart amid a chorus of screams, took less than a minute for them to fully exsanguinate the creature.

When they’d finished, they crouched motionless for a moment, as if briefly at peace with the glut of blood filling their stomachs.

One of them turned and looked at Adam and Carla. It stood, then ambled over, stopping ten feet away. It wore a knee-length, floral-print dress, its blond hair still pinned up with silver barrettes.

Adam realized its black eyes weren’t looking at them. They were studying the doors, the locking mechanisms.

At length, it turned away from them, cried out to its companion, and the two monsters loped back down the corridor.

Adam looked over at Carla when they had disappeared around the corner at the far end.

“We have to barricade this door.”

He turned to head back toward the nurses’ station, but stopped in his tracks.

Stacie stood twenty feet away in her hospital gown, hands cupped around her enormous belly, a look of pure horror on her face.

Clay

“SHERIFF, Lanz wasn’t kidding. There’s a bunch of monsters in the hospital.”

He stood by the open rear of his Suburban with his cell pressed against his ear. He’d thought a few moments before making the call. Decided not to say that formerly normal people were turning into those monsters. First he had to get the sheriff on board with the simple existence of the monsters.

“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?