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

Almost no light remained.

He negotiated several desks, work stations and tables boasting microscopes and centrifuges, until he came to a tall refrigerator in the back, still humming off some battery power.

He pulled open the doors and knelt down, letting the weak light fall upon the trays of blood bags, labeled by type.

A+…A-…B+…B-…AB+…AB-…O+

O-positive, yes!

He slid out of his backpack and ripped open the main pouch.

Loaded in six units of chilled O-positive.

He zipped up, stood up, started out of the lab, then stopped.

Hmm.

Ravenous as these things were, maybe it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to stock up on a little more blood.

No.

A lot more blood.

He transferred the units of O-positive into a smaller pocket, started loading the main pouch with as many blood bags as it would hold, and when he finally zipped the backpack and hoisted it onto his shoulder, it sagged with the weight of thirty units.

Adam started running, made it out of the laboratory and halfway through reception, when his Kindle light finally faded to black.

He froze, waited a moment, thinking his eyes would adjust, that he would be able to see something , but it never happened.

His first instinct was primal, animal panic, a sense of the walls both closing in and spinning until he’d completely lost his bearing.

No. You haven’t lost your bearing. You can’t see, but the doorway is straight ahead. Take it in ten step increments. You can do this. You have to do this.

He left his Kindle on the floor and moved forward with his arms outstretched until they touched the glass inset of the door. Fumbled for the handle, found it, pulled the door open.

When you come out, go left, right, left, and then right again, all the way to the end of the last corridor.

So reverse that.

He stepped out into the corridor, turned left, wandering down the hall with one hand outstretched, the other trailing along the wall. Seemed to take forever to reach the end of it, but his hand finally touched the intersecting wall.

One down, three to go.

He prayed as he walked in the darkness, prayed Stacie would hold on just a little longer, prayed for the safety of his new daughter, prayed for his own—

He stopped.

A noise echoed through one of the corridors behind him—a snarling-hissing, soft at first but getting louder, and then the click of footsteps—no, not footsteps, talonsteps—became prevalent.

These weren’t rats, and there were more than one.

A legion of them.

The fear paralyzed him, his first instinct to run, that sightless disorientation setting back in, his heart racing as they drew closer.

Think, think, think.

He slid out of the backpack.

Clickclickclickclickclickclick…

Felt around for the main pouch’s zipper in the dark, ripped it open, pulled out one of the cold blood bags.

Clickclickclickclickclickclick…

Still couldn’t see a thing, but he heard the sound of talons sliding across the linoleum, those demons skidding as they rounded the corner, wondered how they could still see.

The things that had murdered the nurse up on the third floor had obsessively licked up every drop of blood. This was either going to work, or he was going to die horribly in about ten seconds.

His fingers struggled to tear the pack, but the plastic was too thick, and then he remembered.

Dug the scalpel out of his pocket, and the moment he drew the blade across the top of the plastic bag, those demons started screaming.

Adam shouldered the backpack and came to his feet, backpedaling, holding the blood bag by the top.

Please God let this work. So my wife can live, so I can be a father.

He slung the bag into the darkness, heard it hit thirty feet down with a splatter, and as he turned and sprinted through pure darkness, the shrieking of the demons filled the basement of the hospital, their screams resonating inside his head, and he knew that even if he survived this night, never in his life would he forget that sound.

He crashed so hard into the next wall, he felt his shoulder pop, but he didn’t stop to think about the pain, just righted himself and kept running, gasping so hard for breath he could no longer hear what, if anything, pursued him, and then he crashed into another wall, felt certain he’d bruised or fractured his arm, but all he could think was, This is it. The door to the stairwell, to Stacie, is on this corridor , and he jogged now, running his hand along the wall, trying every door he came to.

Dark.

Dark.

Locked.

Dark.

Locked.

Breathing normally again, finally, but he could hear something coming now, the horrific clicking of the talons just around the corner, one corridor back.

Clickclickclickclickclickclick…

He picked up speed, and ten feet later, came to the next door, which he pulled.

It swung open.

His eyes burned in the flood of light and he rushed into the stairwell and up the steps as the door closed after him.

He got up two flights, then fell to his knees and ripped open the pack again, pulled out four blood bags, zipped up, went on.

By the time he’d reached the second floor landing, he heard the door to the basement bust open beneath him, glanced down, saw one of those demons leap up to the first landing in one bound—a three hundred pound man in a janitor’s uniform who had no business moving at that speed.

Adam reached the penultimate landing as a door leading to the ground floor opened and a stream of demons rushed in and up the steps.

He pounded up the last ten steps and grabbed the first blood bag, cut a rip in the top, and threw it down to the second floor landing.

It struck the metal flooring and blood exploded everywhere, streaking the walls, the steps, demons screaming, a half dozen diving instantly to the floor and trying to lick up what hadn’t seeped through the metal grate, but another half-dozen still coming.

Adam pulled open the door and ran out into the third floor corridor, slicing into another blood bag as he skidded to a stop at the next junction.

He spun around just in time to see the stairwell door fly open, watched at least thirty of those demons fighting their way into the corridor.

Adam slid the blood bag toward them across the floor like an air-hockey disc, blood jetting out across the linoleum, and he was running again, full on sprint, tearing through light and shadow, and as he reached the next junction, he glanced back, still saw a dozen of those monsters chasing him.

He didn’t stop in time to take his next turn under control and slammed into the wall again.

Saw the double doors to the maternity ward a hundred and fifty feet straight ahead, and this made him run faster than he’d ever run in his life.

They were closing on him.

He could hear the talons clicking, and when he dared another glance back, four of those demons had rounded the corner and were moving toward him at a dead run.

Adam made an incision in the final blood bag and hurled it over his shoulder like a grenade, heard the screams and the screeches when it splattered on the floor.

The doors were straight ahead, and he collided with them.

Locked!

Adam pounded on them.

“I’ve got the blood!” he screamed. “Let me in!”

He grabbed the handles and tugged violently on the doors, but the locks held.

Fifty feet down, two of the monsters fought over the empty bag, one slurped the blood off the linoleum, and another had taken notice, again, of Adam.

Adam beat harder against the doors and through the tiny window, saw someone moving toward him past the nurses’ station.