“It’s okay, Tina,” Randall said. “It’s dead.”
Actually, it wasn’t, the ghastly thing was still writhing around under the wheels, but Randall turned away so the little girl couldn’t see the mess.
Now, what to do? Try to get back to pediatrics? Get Tina to safety and then try to get back to pediatrics? Why hadn’t Jenny said anything else on the intercom? Should he try to find an intercom himself and talk back to her? Should he start searching corpses for cell phones?
Something dropped onto the back of his neck and slipped down his hospital gown.
Then something else. Small, like a pebble.
Or a tooth.
More teeth dropped against the back of Randall’s neck, followed by some warm blood. He couldn’t see Tina, but from the wet sounds of shredding flesh he could picture exactly what was happening to her.
When the hell had she been infected?
All he really wanted to do right now was howl in frustration. Scream and scream and scream and make the whole cruel world go away.
Instead, he speed-limped backward toward the nearest wall and bashed himself into it.
Crunch.
Tina snarled as he smashed her between him and the wall a second time.
Crunch.
She was a tiny little girl, a sick little girl, a helpless little girl, and so the third time he struck the wall she stopped moving. Her hands slipped away from his neck and she dropped onto the floor.
Her skull, and the entire top half of her body, crushed.
He’d done that to a five-year-old girl. A little girl he was supposed to save.
He bellowed. There may have been words in there. He wasn’t sure.
Randall didn’t want to focus. Didn’t want to stay in the moment. Didn’t want to know what was happening to him.
He’d lost Tina. Probably lost Jenny. Hell, he’d even lost his goddamn chainsaw. Why shouldn’t he just march his ass right over to the largest crowd of draculas he could find and offer them his throat? He could rip out a chunk himself, help them out. “Eat up, boys and girls! You might as well get a decent meal out of me—it’s the only value I’m going to contribute to the world today!”
Nobody was going to miss Randall Bolton.
Well, the other lumberjacks might. If he was dead, it would be harder for them to have another hearty laugh at his expense. “Haw, haw, haw. That dumbass Randall couldn’t even save a little girl. Can you believe it? Big guy like that and he can’t even protect an asthmatic five-year-old. Waste of skin and bones. Can’t even hold a chainsaw right.”
No.
Screw that.
He didn’t know that Jenny was dead. Even if her message was interrupted by a dracula, she was strong. She could handle herself. Probably had a six-foot-tall pile of dead draculas in the room with her. And if there was any chance that she was still alive, even a tiny sliver of a fraction of a percentage of a chance, then Randall was going to find her.
He could still hear the legless dracula struggling behind him.
Randall ignored it. He shoved the image of Tina’s corpse out of his mind, then left the Rehabilitation Therapy area. He didn’t care how many of those creatures stood in his way, he was going to get through them—a thousand of them if he had to—until he found his way back to pediatrics and the woman he so desperately…
Randall stopped for a second. Looked to the right and then to the left.
Fuck.
Which way had he come from?
Despite what many people said about him, Randall was not an idiot. But when you were losing blood from popped stitches and carrying a kid on your back and wandering around in barely existent lighting with monsters all around you, it was easy to lose your sense of direction.
All of that for nothing. Jesus. He should’ve just let Tina run off and get eaten by draculas. At least then he’d still be with Jenny, there to protect her from whatever interrupted her intercom message.
Or, he would’ve been there to helplessly bumble around while those things tore his wife apart. That was probably more likely. God, he was pathetic.
No, wait—he wasn’t lost at all. There was a stairwell right next to the swinging door to the rehabilitation area. He hadn’t passed one of those. Good, good. He was back on track. Ha! Those bastards could kill a little girl, but they couldn’t get him lost!
Actually, you killed the little—
Shut up.
He started to turn around, but maybe the stairs were the way to go. Instead of backtracking where he knew there were draculas, he should find a different route back to pediatrics. Up the stairs, across the hall, down the stairs, and get back just in time to put his fist through a dracula’s stomach. Good plan. Solid.
Going up a flight of stairs was gonna hurt.
So what? More pain? Quite honestly, he could barely even feel his injured leg. So long as it remained attached to his body and didn’t collapse like an accordion, he could deal with it.
Accordion music sucked.
He pushed open the door to the stairwell and took his first step up.
So far, so good.
His second step was less good.
He bashed his jaw on the edge of the step as he fell forward. He lay there for a moment, hurting and trying to work up the energy to try again.
Had he lost consciousness?
Nah.
No, wait, yes he had, because now a clawed hand was wrapped around his ankle.
He twisted to see what it was. Holy shit. The legless dracula, covered in blood and with at least one visible internal organ, was still after him. He hadn’t squished it enough.
Randall yanked his foot out of its grasp, kicked it in the head, and then began to crawl up the stairs. He could hear it crawling after him. This had to be a hallucination. No way could he actually be in this situation. This was absolutely batshit insane!
Move! Move! Move!
His leg wasn’t cooperating at all, and the dracula, pulling itself from step to step just using its arms, kept pace with him all the way up to the first landing. Then it grabbed his foot again.
I’m losing a race with somebody who doesn’t have any goddamn legs!
The dracula snarled, opened its mouth wide, and bit at Randall’s foot just as he pulled it free. With those jaws, Randall had no doubt that the creature could take off his entire foot. Maybe not in one bite, but two or three would do the trick for sure.
Can’t get bit. Don’t wanna turn into one of those things!
Randall scooted backward, his butt squeaking against the floor (squeaking just like that damned clown) until his back struck the wall. The dracula, several ropes of bloody drool dangling from its fangs, crawled after him.
Fuck it. He needed to make this problem go away.
Not giving a shit how bad it hurt, Randall forced himself to stand, grabbed the dracula under the shoulders, then heaved it. It bounced on the stairs twice before it hit bottom, where it lay with its neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
Still trying to come after him.
Jesus Christ. He’d just thrown a cripple down a flight of stairs. Dracula or not, Randall was pretty sure that hellfire awaited him in the afterlife.
And now he most definitely gave a shit about how bad it hurt to stand up. Wincing the entire time, Randall made his way up the second half of the stairway, wondering if any hidden cameras would see him should he decide to curl up and cry for a few days.
Finally he made it to the third floor. He stepped out into the hallway, expecting to see something that continued his streak of bad luck. Maybe two, three thousand of those things, all charging him, desperate to avenge their legless brother.