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

But it was.

And she couldn’t curl up into the fetal position and cry and wish things weren’t the way they were. She had something more important than herself to protect.

“I’m going back to my room now,” she said.

“We’re going to barricade the doors,” Adam said. “I’ll come be with you when we’re done.”

As Stacie started back toward her room, she felt the first rumblings of a new contraction coming on.

Adam

THEY pulled the dressers out of two private rooms and pushed them up against the double doors. Nurse Herrick grabbed several sheets of paper from the printer and stapled them over the square windows.

“There’s no other way in here?” Adam asked. “No stairwell? No—?”

“Just the windows, but we’re three stories up.”

“Do you keep any firearms in this wing?”

She shook her head.

“No weapons or—”

“Nothing. We deliver babies here, Pastor. We bring life into the world.”

“How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”

“I suppose we could check the operating room.”

Scalpels.

Retractors.

Scissors.

Forceps.

Clamps.

It was something, but not much.

“Where are the saws and the drills?” Adam asked, staring at the cold, steel operating table.

“First floor, orthopedics. That’s where all the fun is.”

Adam lifted a small scalpel, tried to imagine defending himself, his wife, his unborn child, from one of those monsters.

“How’ the single-mom-to-be doing?”

“Scared.”

He slipped the scalpel into the side pocket of his jeans.

“Shanna? Shanna Davies?” A twangy, male voice boomed over the hospital paging system. “Shanna, if you’re in the hospital and can hear this, please call extension two-seven-nine-four. Shanna Davies call extension two-seven-nine-four.”

A soft, female voice inside Room 12 said, “Come in.”

Adam smiled and opened the door, left it open as he walked over to the bed where a young woman—nineteen, maybe twenty—sat propped up against a mountain of pillows.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stopping at the foot of the bed.

She didn’t have to answer. Her face said it all—terrified.

“Are we going to die?” she asked.

He didn’t know how to answer that, so instead he gestured to a chair.

She nodded.

He pulled it over to the side of the bed.

“My wife’s two doors down.”

The girl smiled. “What are you having?”

“We haven’t found out yet. We’re going to let it be a surprise.”

“I’m having a boy.”

“How wonderful. Do you have a name picked out?”

“Tristan. What about you?”

“We’re thinking Matthew if it’s a boy, Daniella if it’s a girl.”

“That’s pretty.”

“I’m Adam, by the way.” He offered his hand and she took it.

“Brittany.”

“You’re here alone?”

She nodded. “My baby’s father…he left six months ago. My parents didn’t want me to keep it, said if I did they wouldn’t be involved. I didn’t think they’d actually keep their word on that, but…” She gave a wry smile and he caught a whiff of the sass Brittany sported underneath the present fear. “…here I am, alone.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“Oh, because God’s with me?”

“I believe He’s with all of us.”

“Even those people who are getting slaughtered out there?”

“All of us. Brittany, would you like me to pray with you?”

“No thanks. How old are you?”

He laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re the youngest-looking pastor I ever saw.”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Do you like being a pastor?”

“Sometimes I love it. Sometimes…it sucks.”

Nurse Herrick appeared in the doorway. “Pastor, could you come with me?”

“What’s wrong?”

She smiled. “Nothing. Just that your wife is getting ready to have a baby.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

As he came to his feet, the lights went out.

Randall

TINA screamed when it happened, but the complete darkness lasted only a second. Then a backup generator or something turned on, and dim lights came on in the hallway, though not the office. Of course the hospital would have backup power, and of course it would be funneled to things like breathing machines and not to somebody’s number-crunching office.

Squeak…squeak…squeak…

Right outside the door.

The sound of squeaking was not typically something that chilled Randall’s bones, particularly in a situation that had involved lots of screaming and wet splattering sounds, but there was something oddly unnerving about this squeak.

Something menacing.

He looked through the tiny window in the door. A clown stood outside, staring in at him. Just staring. He had a fright wig, a big red nose, and, yes, a lower half of his face that was shredded and bloody and laden with fangs.

A clown dracula. Wonderful.

Randall hated clowns.

He was not, he had hastened to point out in the past, scared of clowns. Grease-painted weirdos with shiny red noses did not fill him with terror. He simply hated clowns. He’d never seen a funny one. Never seen one that was anything more than an annoying, obnoxious freak.

“Is somebody out there?” Tina asked, her voice trembling.

Randall shook his head. “Nah. Just a clown.”

Even in the mostly dark room, Randall could see Tina’s eyes widen. “A clown?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about him. He’s like Ronald McDonald.” A Ronald McDonald who will devour your face like a Big Mac and large fries…

Tina put her hand over her mouth, as if trying not to throw up. Then she looked as if she were going to hyperventilate.

“I’m not gonna let the clown hurt you,” Randall promised. “No way. I didn’t let the other monster get you, so there’s no way in the world a stupid rotten clown is gonna do anything to you. Okay?”

The little girl didn’t seem convinced. She struggled for breath—deep, wheezing gasps that sounded a lot worse than just a kid getting spooked by a clown. Did she have asthma?

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you…do you need an inhaler?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Do you have one?”

She shook her head and pointed to the door. He assumed she meant that she left it in pediatrics. Son of a bitch. A sick kid in a hospital—who’d’ve thunk it?

“What can I do to help?” Randall asked.

He had no idea what you did for people having an asthma attack except giving them a honk off their inhaler. There weren’t a lot of asthmatic lumberjacks out there.

She couldn’t answer. Tina didn’t seem to be suffocating—at least some air was getting in—but this was definitely serious.

Randall glanced back at the door. That goddamn clown was still staring in at them. Why was he doing that? Why wasn’t he clawing at the wood and snarling like a wild animal? Weren’t these things supposed to be all feral and stuff?

Randall wasn’t scared of clowns, he swore he wasn’t, but this was becoming creepy.

“Fuck off!” he told the clown.

Shit. He shouldn’t have said “fuck” in front of the little girl.

The clown just stood there. Randall couldn’t tell for sure if he was grinning— all of the creatures kind of looked like they were grinning—but he had a sadistic glint in his eyes.

“Okay, Tina, I’m gonna get you to your inhaler,” Randall said. “I’m gonna take you on a piggyback ride, okay?”

“How do…” Tina gasped for breath, a long, pained gasp that tore at Randall’s heart. “…we get out?”