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

Okay. This was his ship and he was captain. He pointed to the orderlies, then to the mom and the clown.

“Get gurneys ready to move those two to the morgue.”

“But they ain’t been pronounced,” one said. Ralph? Benjamin? He never could tell them apart.

“They will be in a minute.” To the LPN: “Get the little girl’s wound cleaned up and ready for suturing.” To the EMT: “Help her.”

“Hey, I don’t work here.”

“Then get lost.”

The EMT held up a finger, showing a puncture that had already stopped bleeding. “But the old guy bit me. I need a tetanus. And penicillin. And hepatitis. And rabies. Did you see that goddamn guy? Fucking give me every shot you got!”

“You’ve got a forty-eight-hour window to get boosters. Make yourself useful or get lost.” He turned to Winslow. “Call security and get everyone down here, then call the sheriff. I need to speak to him.”

He wanted armed guards here in case Moorecook returned. He’d have them kick Jenny Bolton out too.

He stalked over to the clown. Glazing eyes stared out of his white-face makeup. His throat was a gaping, red ruin. His costume was soaked but Lanz could still read Benny the Clown Says “Let’s Have Fun!” on the big button.

Not a lot of fun going on here.

He closed Benny’s eyes and motioned to the orderly. “To the cooler.”

He heard the little girl start to scream and saw the EMT and the LPN dragging her to the treatment room. Her kicks and screams grew more frantic the farther she was moved away from her mother.

Sorry, kid, but that wound needs closing.

He looked down at the mother: as dead as Benny.

He still wore the latex gloves he’d donned at the start of Moorecook’s code blue. Ignoring the fecal smell from the torn intestines, he parted the loops. The abdominal cavity was filled with blood.

“Good lord,” said a woman’s voice. “Did he get the aorta? How could he bite that deep?”

He looked up at Jenny Bolton. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

“My patient is still here.”

“Your patient is a goddamn monster.”

“What happened to him?”

“You tell me.”

“I have no idea.”

“Then you’re of no use to me. You’re a GOOMER.”

Even though the acronym referred to annoying, unwanted patients—Get Out Of My Emergency Room—he figured she’d catch his meaning.

“I’m waiting for my husband— ex -husband.”

“Then wait outside. I—”

The doors flew back and Lanz almost screamed, fearing Moorecook’s return. But he managed to bite it back when he saw the two fat softball players stagger into the ER. Both were blood soaked. The bearded one was limping as he half-carried the younger blond guy.

“Oh, God!” Jenny said.

Then Lanz saw why: The blond guy’s left arm was missing at the elbow. He was squeezing the stump, trying to stanch the hemorrhage.

“He bit his arm off, doc!” the bearded one said. “That animal bit his fucking arm off! And he bit me in the ass!”

As the pair struggled past, Lanz saw that the man’s ample right buttock was missing a sizable chunk—mostly fat, but a little of the gluteus was exposed.

Lanz looked around to find Bolton staring at him. “Still want me to wait outside?”

He was about to tell her exactly what she could do when Winslow called from the nurse’s station.

“Doctor Lanz! Sheriff’s on the phone!”

Shit!

If he turned down an offer of skilled help, fired employee or not, and anyone died, some lawyer would have his ass.

Lanz pointed to the ball players. “Take care of that arm.”

He stripped off his bloody gloves and took the phone from Winslow.

“Sheriff, we’ve got one hell of a problem here.”

“Well, doc, I’ve got one hell of a problem myself. Let’s compare. You first.”

Bet you mine is bigger than yours? Was that how they were going to play this? Fine. He’d lay it on with a trowel. Christ, he hated these hicks.

“We’ve suffered what can only be described as a terrorist attack. I’ve got two dead and three wounded, one of whom has lost an arm. The terrorist is still loose in the hospital wreaking God knows what kind of havoc. I need a SWAT team here.”

The sheriff put on an aw-shucks tone. “Now, doc, I’m sure it ain’t that bad, and you know we ain’t got no SWAT team—”

“Then call in the fucking National Guard! This is no joke!”

“Well, even if I did call in the Guard, no way they could get to you. One of Joe Loveland’s cows wandered onto the tracks and got hit by the four-seventeen freight.”

“Who cares whose cow it was! It’s a fucking cow! I’ve got dead and wounded people here, and maybe more on the way!”

“Now hold on. You’re not letting me finish. The collision occurred in such a matter of fashion that the train jumped the tracks and came to a stop flat on its side across the highway.”

The collision occurred in such a matter of fashion …who talked like that?

“Sheriff—”

“Thank the Lord, nobody got hurt, it being a freight train and all, but let me tell you, we’ve got one hell of a mess out here.”

“Just send me some deputies, goddamn it!”

“Well, that’s just it. Dave Howard’s off on vacation to Navajo Lake and Clay Theel’s got the weekend off and he’s on his way to a gun show in Denver. You got security there at BC. I know those boys. They’re good. Turn ’em loose and they’ll keep the lid on till we can get somebody over. Gotta go.”

“But—”

The line clicked dead.

You got security there …was he kidding? Blessed Crucifixion security was some good old boys who got off on wearing uniforms and carrying guns. They might, just might, have the cojones to eject Jenny Bolton, but they weren’t going to handle the Moorecook thing.

Okay…stabilize these people, get them admitted, then get the hell out of here. First, the softballers.

He turned to Winslow. “What orthopedist and general surgeon are on tap?”

She checked the call list. “Manetti and Schwartz.”

“Get them. Tell Manetti we’ve got a traumatic amputation for him and a major avulsion laceration for Schwartz.”

He walked over to the softballers. Jenny had stabilized the amputee. Bleeding had stopped but the guy was as white as his uniform used to be and looking shocky.

“Want me to start an IV?” she said, nodding to the amputee as she cleaned the butt wound on the other softballer, prone on a gurney.

He wanted her out of here but needed the help.

“D-five in NS. Open it up. Type and cross-match him.” He was going to need a transfusion. “I’ll be sewing up the kid.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t do one goddamn thing without checking with me first. Understood?”

“Loud and clear,” she said with a defiant look. Then it crumbled. “What if Mortimer comes back?”

His worst fear, but he hid it. “We’ll handle it.”

“Oh, like before? Hiding behind the nurse’s station?”

He was about to tear her a new one when three rapid gunshots sounded from somewhere in the hospital. A pause, then two more.

“Oh, God,” Jenny whispered.

And then the doors burst open and two burly security guards backed in, each dragging two bloody bodies.

“What the fuck is going on?” one of the guards screamed, wide eyes showing white all around. “There’s some kind of creature going crazy in the lobby. We walked in and it was behind the snack bar. It ripped Ernie’s head off!”

Sure enough, one of the corpses had been decapitated.

The other guard said, “I shot that fucker five times—I know I had at least three killshots—but they hardly even slowed him!”