DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror) Read online

  “Like hell you—”

  And then he saw one of the guards start back into the hospital.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get Ernie’s head. I ain’t leaving his head out there!”

  Lanz wanted to scream not to leave him and that Ernie didn’t care about the location of his goddamn head at this point, but bit it back. He was the captain of this ship and he had to hold it together, despite the fact that this corner of the world had gone insane.

  Shanna

  SHANNA turned away as she saw the prissy doctor poised over Mortimer’s exposed chest, smearing a clear gel on the defibrillator paddles. She’d spent the last two months studying some of history’s worst atrocities. In fact she’d often perused accounts of mass impalings while eating lunch—no problem.

  But this? Uh-uh.

  She headed into the hospital proper. She’d been here once before, when they’d thought Mortimer had OD’d, and remembered a snack bar in the lobby. A cup of coffee would hit the spot, especially after that Scotch. She wasn’t used to hard liquor.

  The short middle-age man with “Ernie” embroidered into his shirt hung by the coffee kiosk at the end of the snack bar.

  “Latté?” he said as she approached.

  “Just a regular coffee, please. Black.”

  She glanced around the nearly deserted lobby. By this time the day’s surgeries were done, the second shift was ensconced, the doctors had left for their offices, the kitchen was readying to serve dinner, the day visitors were gone and the night visitors weren’t home from work yet.

  Quiet. Like a morgue.

  She grimaced. Probably not the best analogy for a hospital.

  She paid Ernie for the coffee and pulled out her cell. She had to call Clay to make sure he’d received the message that she and Jenny needed a ride back to Mortimer’s for their cars.

  And then what?

  Clay was expecting her to spend the weekend with him in Denver. She didn’t see how she could do that without losing her mind. Another gun show. When not at the show, however…her pelvis tingled with warmth that coursed up through her abdomen and settled in her nipples. The non-show activities would almost be worth it.

  Almost.

  The sex…she’d miss the sex. They were so good in bed. But the parade of gun shows and all the machismo…she’d had her fill. She had to call a halt.

  She checked her phone’s display: no bars. Then she saw the sign: No Cell Phones!

  Did they really need that exclamation point?

  She glanced back along the lengthy hallway to the ER, then toward the lobby entrance. That looked closer. She pushed through the heavy glass doors to the outside, found a bench, and sat. She tried a sip of her coffee and winced as bitterness stabbed her tongue. Yuck. When had this been made? This morning?

  She’d have to have a word with Ernie. But right now…

  She stared at the cell display. Still no bars. But tucked in the corner of the room was a pay phone.

  So call.

  And say what? How could she tell that big cuddly guy that it wasn’t working? That she needed more than the best sex she’d ever had in her life. She needed a life of the mind as well. He was extremely bright, but his focus was so narrow. Guns and action films and his job—he loved being a deputy sheriff, so much that a lot of other stuff in his life was pushed to the side.

  She knew what would happen when she told him. He’d promise to change. Spend less time at work. Take her ballroom dancing.

  At least she assumed that would happen. This was all new to her. What if he just said, “Okay. See you around.”

  She almost wished he would. It would shake her to know she’d been that wrong about him, but at least she wouldn’t be hurting his feelings.

  God, I’m such a coward.

  Do it, Shanna.

  She found some change in the bottom of her purse and plunked it into the payphone. Four rings and then his voicemail came on. Oh, no. She gritted her teeth and listened once again as Clint Eastwood said, “Go ahead…make my day. BEEEEP!”

  She definitely had to break this off.

  “Clay, it’s Shanna. Don’t know if you got my last message but Jenny Bolton and I had to rush Mortimer to the hospital. Our cars are still at his place. Could you swing by the hospital and give us a lift back?” She bit her lip. “And Clay…about this weekend…” No. She couldn’t. She owed him a face-to-face explanation. “Talk to you later.”

  She hung up the receiver and thought about that. Face-to-face. How could she look into Clay’s warm brown eyes and tell him it was over?

  A woman came out of the lobby and lit up a cigarette. The smoke drifted Shanna’s way. She thought about asking her to move downwind but decided to move herself instead. Shanna dumped her coffee and returned to the lobby. Ernie smiled at her as she passed. She wanted to tell him to brew some fresh coffee but decided against it. She wasn’t looking for conversation. She needed a quiet place to think, to rehearse what she was going to say to Clay.

  She checked the time. She’d give the ER staff another ten minutes to deal with Mortimer, then she’d return. Poor guy. Such a kind man. He’d been so good to her. Why on Earth had he jabbed himself with those fangs?

  As she passed the elevator she saw a plaque: CHAPEL 2ND FLOOR.

  Not a bad idea. She wasn’t religious, but it would be quiet and no one would be smoking.

  She hit the UP button and a pair of doors slid open immediately. She rode one stop and was stepping out onto the second floor when three sharp reports echoed faintly through the elevator shaft from somewhere in the hospital. She froze. They seemed to come from below. They almost sounded like…

  No…couldn’t be.

  The elevator doors pincered against her and retreated. Puzzled and curious, she stepped back into the cab and punched the LOBBY button. On the way down she heard two more reports, much closer now, and immediately wished she’d stayed on the second floor. Because she knew that sound—knew it all too well from all the shows she’d been to where dealers and collectors demonstrated their wares.

  Gunshots.

  Somebody was shooting up the lobby.

  Her heart began to thud as she hammered her palm against the button bank, pushing them all, any floor, she didn’t care, just not the lobby. Wasn’t there a way to stop these things? No sooner had the thought cleared than she saw the red STOP button. But as she reached for it the doors slid open.

  Ernie looked up at her from the floor just outside the doors.

  No, not Ernie. Just his head.

  She screamed and began banging on the floor buttons again. She caught a flash of movement beyond Ernie’s head. Someone racing for the elevator.

  No—something. It was shaped like a man and dressed like a man, though its shirt was in tatters. But there the resemblance stopped. Splattered head to toe with blood and its face…a horror of bloody jutting fangs and black eyes.

  And it was charging her!

  Shanna screamed again. As the elevator doors began to slide toward each other, she pressed her palms against them and tried to speed their progress. Through the narrowing opening she saw the fanged monster with its arms extended, its taloned hands scoring the air as it raced toward her.

  The doors…just a few more inches…an inch…

  Steel met steel just as a heavy weight slammed against the other side. The cab began to rise.

  Shanna sobbed with relief and slumped to the floor.

  That thing…its wild, insane teeth resembled the skull Mortimer received earlier…the teeth that had pierced Mortimer’s throat.

  And despite all the blood, Shanna had recognized the gold belt buckle on its pants.

  She sobbed again, this time in disbelief.

  “Mortimer?”

  Lanz

  “HER name’s Oasis,” the new LPN said from the head of the gurney.

  Her nametag read Rodriguez and she was all dark eyes and mocha skin and black hair. Not bad looking if you went for the Hispanic
thing. Lanz preferred blondes.

  He shook his head. Oasis…was that who her mother was listening to when she conceived her? He brushed the question away and tried to focus on the girl’s arm.

  Not an easy thing. But at least the ER was secured. The guard had returned Ernie’s head to his body, Winslow was escorting the orderlies and the four new corpses down to the cooler, and two gun-toting uniforms were ready for trouble.

  Okay. Now to Oasis. The kid was sedated with a little diazepam but strapped down anyway. She had five tears in her forearm where she’d been bitten. The EMT stood by to help restrain her if she started struggling.

  Lanz held out his hand. “Lido.”

  Rodriguez placed a syringe of local anesthetic on his palm. He was about to begin injecting when the EMT backed away.

  “Ooh, man.”

  Lanz glanced up at him. He wore a strange look.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.”

  “No, man.” His voice was slurred. “I stick ’em in people alla time. I just feel like shit alla sudden.”

  He rubbed a hand across his face and Lanz noticed that one of his fingers was red and swollen to twice its size. Hadn’t he said he’d been bitten by Moorecook? Cellulitis already?

  “Sit down before you fall down.”

  Christ, was the EMT going to wind up a patient too? What else could go wrong?

  He turned back to the kid. She began squirming as he injected the local—burned like hell for a few seconds going in, then the area went numb. He heard a hiss off to his right and glanced over to where the EMT slumped in a chair with his head lolling back. His mouth hung open and he was breathing funny.

  Lanz had heard that sound before…just a little while ago—

  Suddenly the EMT choked and bent forward. He hacked and spit. Not mucous.

  Teeth.

  He looked up at Lanz, his eyes tortured…and red. “Doc, I feel like sh—aaagh”

  A claw exploded from his infected fingertip, and then his other fingers followed.

  Just like with Moorecook.

  And then huge fangs extruded from his jaws, ripping through his cheeks and lips.

  Just like Moorecook.

  Oh, Christ, was it contagious?

  Another hiss, closer. He looked down at the girl. Her red-rimmed ebony eyes were wide open, and she was spitting teeth, but rows at a time, the braces linking them like bloody little fence posts.

  Lanz backed away. Both bitten, both changing. It was contagious.

  Oasis ripped her clawed hands free of the restraints as fangs ripped through her face. The EMT was up now, approaching the gurney as Oasis sat up. Both had their eyes fixed on Lanz and Rodriguez. The LPN was backing away too. She bumped into Lanz. Instinctively he grabbed her and shoved her toward the gurney. She screamed horribly when the claws pulled her forward and fangs tore her flesh. As blood sprayed, Lanz turned and ran.

  Out of the treatment room, into the ER proper. Ignore the terrified, questioning faces. Find a place to hide. A door—SUPPLIES. The handle won’t turn. Locked. Of course. But he has a key. He fumbles it free, unlocks the steel door, ducks inside, closes and locks it behind him.

  Safe! OhgoodChrist, safe!

  Lanz slumped to the floor and leaned with his back against some shelving. Gradually he controlled his breathing, felt his heart slow.

  He got a grip. He had control.

  Okay. Assess the problem.

  Some sort of contagious agent—viral, chemical, whatever—had invaded the hospital. Moorecook seemed to be patient zero, at least in Blessed Crucifixion. The two who’d changed had been bitten by him, which was a good indicator it was blood or saliva borne.

  He quickly checked himself for cuts or scratches. None. Good. He was infection free. He had a steel door between him and the contaminated. He—

  Something in his mouth. He spit it out.

  A tooth.

  No!

  Randall

  AS Randall marched down the corridor, it occurred to him that limping out to his truck to retrieve a chainsaw in order to cut up a feral beast that gobbled intestines was exactly the kind of “acting without thinking” behavior that had caused so many problems in his marriage. Well, that and the drinking.

  He was in no shape to be walking around like this—he was, after all, hospitalized with a severe leg injury. He didn’t actually need his chainsaw—it was a hospital, so they probably had giant bone saws or other tools for dismemberment that were closer than the parking lot. Not to mention that by the time he actually limped out there, got his chainsaw, and limped all the way back, somebody else probably would have already dealt with the dracula creature issue. And hospital security was probably not inclined to let a gown-wearing, stitched-up lumberjack enter the facility with a chainsaw, even in a time of crisis.

  But when Randall got set on an idea, he saw it through. No matter what. He wasn’t going to turn around and sheepishly say, “Ummmm, changed my mind.” Jenny had little enough respect for him as it was. Whatever respect he’d earned before their marriage he’d pissed away during it. He’d let the booze turn him into someone he’d never choose to be, someone he never wanted to be again.

  But when Randall Bolton started something, he finished it, whether it was building a treehouse for the son that he hoped to have someday or sitting through an entire wedding for somebody he didn’t know because he’d gone to the wrong church.

  And if he did manage to protect his ex-wife with his chainsaw, maybe he’d regain some of his dignity. He loved his chainsaw. Loved being a lumberjack, even if other people liked to sing that cross-dressing song by those British assholes. Loved the sound of falling trees smashing to the ground. Loved the outdoors. Even loved the word “lumberjack,” despite the fact that a couple of his buddies insisted on being called “arborists.”

  But the day before yesterday, he’d been humiliated. Oh, sure, he could see where it would be funny to the other lumberjacks—he would’ve been laughing his ass off if it happened to somebody else—but his face burned red just thinking about it. He knew people thought he’d fallen off the wagon, but he hadn’t touched a drop in almost a hundred days. And you know, it used to be a struggle—that whole one-day-at-a-time thing—but now it felt good to be sober.

  The accident wasn’t his fault. Really. He hadn’t done anything stupid or careless. He’d been happily chainsawing away, and as the tree started to wobble a squirrel was dislodged from the branches, landing on his hard hat and then scampering down his back. He hadn’t shrieked like a girl or anything, but anybody would yelp if a goddamn squirrel dropped on their head from thirty feet. Randall flinched, twisted around, and his chainsaw blade hit the back of his leg.

  He couldn’t hear his buddies laughing over the chainsaw motor, but oh, they were in hysterics. Blood was gushing from his shredded flesh and they were having themselves a great big ol’ guffaw. Again, he would’ve laughed too…but still, fuck those guys.

  He refused to let them drive him to the hospital. He’d drive there his goddamn self. He only needed one good leg to drive, so those giggling bastards could burn in hell for all he cared.

  Of course, he’d started to get dizzy as he drove, and realized that because of his stubbornness he was bleeding all over his own truck instead of somebody else’s. But he didn’t pull over. He drove all the way to the hospital (while Jack and Frank drove behind him, presumably to make sure he didn’t pass out at the wheel) and checked himself in.

  Randall desperately wanted to make peace with his chainsaw.

  Putting it through the head of a dracula would do just fine.

  He picked up his pace as he walked out of that big room where they made you wait. A nurse covered in blood was having a panic attack while a doctor shook her. Randall didn’t like seeing that kind of shit—you didn’t put your hand on a woman like that even if she was freaking out—but he had to focus. Ignore the chaos. Think only of Jenny and his chainsaw.

  He exited the hospital, half-expecting so
mebody to say “Hey! That gown is hospital property!” He’d grabbed his shoes on his way out of his room and put them on during the elevator ride down, but hadn’t taken the time to grab his pants. He wished he had them. His chainsaw-the-monster redemption would be a lot better if his ass wasn’t hanging out.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t parked close. By the time he’d driven to the hospital, woozy from blood loss, he’d misjudged the distance to the building by over a hundred yards. He had a vague recollection of Jack and Frank helping him get into the ER, but couldn’t for the life of him remember where he’d left his Dodge. The lot was full, and apparently every other driver in the county owned a red pick-up. He weaved through the rows, wishing he had one of those little clicky-things he could press to make his horn honk.