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

Squeak, squeak, squeak…

Shanna

THINK!

Shanna paced the perimeter of the chapel—the Catholic chapel. Blessed Crucifixion had two. One non-denom and, since the hospital was run by nuns, the other Catholic. Very Catholic. This one ran slightly longer than wide with about a dozen folding chairs set up in three rows. Crucifixes, stained glass windows—fake, illuminated with fluorescents behind them—and even the Stations of the Cross. The whole enchilada.

Shanna wasn’t Catholic, wasn’t much of anything as far as religion went, but for the first time in her life she was taking comfort in depictions of some poor man suffering horrific torture.

Maybe it was because of seeing Mortimer down in the lobby—or rather, what he’d become. She’d barely escaped with her life. But she couldn’t get the image of his face out of her mind.

He looked just like the “Dracula skull” that he’d jabbed into his throat.

And the Dracula part had driven her to seek the company of crucifixes.

Irrational? Absolutely. Comforting? Absolutely.

She slowed her speeding, panicked thoughts and forced her brain into analytical mode. Take it in order:

1) Mortimer had received the “Dracula skull.”

2) Mortimer had stabbed himself—deliberately, it seemed—with the skull’s fangs.

3) He had been brought to the hospital.

4) Shortly thereafter she’d seen a blood-soaked man in Mortimer’s pants and belt but with a head identical to the Dracula skull.

5) Ernie’s head had been removed from his body.

The only conclusion she could draw from what she knew was that Mortimer had changed into some sort of murderous creature and that the blood all over him was Ernie’s.

Huh?

Come on, Shanna. That’s horror-movie stuff.

Obviously it wasn’t the only possible scenario—she could be the mark in one of those hidden-camera spoof shows, but somehow she didn’t see Blessed Crucifixion going along with that.

No, as bizarre and way out and insane as it seemed, that was the only scenario that fit all the facts.

Something supernatural was going on, something to do with vampires, or something like vampires. Maybe the creature that had started all the vampire stories, the wellspring of the legends, had returned. She didn’t know what, or how, or why. And if a vampire was out there, she wanted to be in here, amid crosses and crucifixes and stations of the cross.

Did the police know?

Probably on their way. She’d heard shooting, lots of it, so hospital security must have gotten involved. Probably all over now.

The ER would know. She’d left Jenny there. Maybe she could find a phone and call down. There—one on the wall. She lifted the receiver and pressed the “O” button. After four rings a message came on, telling her that all lines were busy and to please hold. Okay, she’d—

“Shanna? Shanna Davies?”

She dropped the phone and spun. The voice came from the ceiling. She looked at the big crucifix at the far end of the room. Had Jesus just called her name?

“Shanna, if you’re in the hospital and can hear this, please call extension two-seven-nine-four.” It came from the speaker in the ceiling—the hospital paging system. “Shanna Davies call extension two-seven-nine-four.”

Clay’s voice! She never thought she’d ever be this glad to hear that voice. The police were here.

She cut the call to the switchboard and punched in 2794.

“Shanna?”

“Oh, Clay, where are you?”

“The ER. Where are you?”

“The chapel on the second floor. I’m coming down—”

“No-no-no-no! Stay right where you are. I’ll come to you. Stay put. Whatever you do, stay out of the hallways.”

Her gut clenched. Stay put?

“What are you saying? What’s going on?”

“All hell’s broken loose, babe. Monsters everywhere.”

Monsters…more than one?

“What do you—?”

“They’ve got two chapels, as I recall. Which are you in?”

“The Catholic.”

“The doors—do they have loop handles, the kind you could stick something through?”

She looked. One on each.

“Yes.”

“Find something—anything—to stick through them till I get there. Don’t let anyone in but me, and I do mean anyone . Got that?”

“You’re scaring me, Clay.”

“Good. Scared’s a good thing to be right now, considering what’s roaming the halls. You sit tight. I’m on my way.”

Shaken, she hung up.

…considering what’s roaming the halls…monsters everywhere…

That didn’t sound good, not good at all. But it dovetailed with the vampire thing…they created more of themselves. But didn’t you have to die and get buried and rise from the grave to become one? Didn’t it take—?

She heard the elevator open. Clay?

No. No way he could make it from the ER yet.

Don’t let anyone in but me, and I do mean anyone .

She was going to take that to heart—her own picked up its tempo as she looked around. Something to stick through the handles…

Her gaze settled on the crucifix. No, too big. Never get Jesus’s knees through those handles. But the slim cross in the side alcove ran about six feet along the upright.

Perfect.

She hurried over to it and yanked on it, expecting resistance. But it was hung on a nail like a plaque. It came loose and toppled toward her. She tried to hold it up but it over balanced her and she fell backward into the folding chairs with a terrible racket.

No way anyone—or any thing —in the hall hadn’t heard that.

The cross had landed atop her. She pushed it off, jumped to her feet, and lugged it toward the doors. This wasn’t some plaster casting, this thing was solid wood, and not light. She’d chosen an academic field to avoid exercise. Now she wished—

She froze for a second. A sound outside…like a hiss? Panic lent her strength, lunging her forward to shove the long end of the upright through the loops of both handles.

“Did it!” she whispered.

Then something hissed and hit the other side of the doors.

Shanna couldn’t help it. She screamed.

And instantly wished she hadn’t because it seemed to incite the thing outside. It slammed its full weight against the doors, moving them inward an inch or so, but the cross held and kept them closed. This seemed to infuriate the thing. It threw itself against the barrier, and she could hear claws gouging the outer surface.

Mortimer…trying to get in?

She backed away from the ferocity of the attack as the thing repeatedly hurled itself against the doors.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Didn’t it feel pain? Didn’t it get tired?

And where was Clay?

As the assault continued she noticed a faint diagonal line begin to stretch across the cross’s upright between the door handles. A crack? Oh, no!

She stepped closer. Yes! The wood was breaking under the relentless onslaught. She pressed her own weight against the doors to take the stress off the cross but was knocked back as the thing outside rammed them with shocking force.

She had an awful thought. When Clay did arrive, what could he do? He’d be powerless against that raging thing outside. No, wait. What was she thinking? This was Clay she was worried about. He’d have a gun—Clay always had a gun. But would a gun work against these things?

Meanwhile, she had to fend for herself. She needed to slide the upright farther through the handles so the cracked part was no longer between them. She got a grip on the crosspiece just as the thing rammed the doors with a particularly vicious blow.