Draculas

Randall turned a corner. The emergency lighting in the corridor wasn't nearly bright enough to give him a full view of what was happening, but he could see blood all over the floor, and two draculas on their hands and knees, greedily slurping it up.

Two draculas. He had four bullets. If Clay's advice about making sure that loved ones weren't behind what you wanted to kill was correct, then Randall could line up his shot carefully and take them both out with a single bullet.

Then again, they seemed really distracted by the blood. And there was a lot of it.

Maybe he could just walk on by. Save a bullet for when he desperately needed it...or at least for when Je

He kept the gun extended in front of him and picked up his pace as much as he could. The draculas continued slurping up the blood. Hard to believe that Randall was so concerned with the blow to his own dignity when these things--human beings who probably would've had a good chuckle at his injury just hours ago--writhed on the floor like animals. Disgusting. Pathetic.

He quickly stepped past them. They didn't look up from their meal.

How much blood did they need? If you tightened the muscles in your arm just right, you could get a mosquito stuck as it was sucking your blood, and the little bastard could keep drinking and drinking until it popped. He'd love to see one of these draculas pop.

Wow, he'd done it. Walked right by the distracted draculas.

If not for the absolute shitstorm of misery he'd gone through tonight, he'd almost think that the rest of this was going to be easy.

Okay, his mind had more or less returned to where it needed to be to get himself back to Je

He continued down the dark hallway, still ready with the gun.

More blood on the floor. Better not slip on it.

There was some sort of commotion behind a closed door. Randall didn't open it. He kept moving forward.

He tried to focus on the layout of the hospital. He was a floor above pediatrics, but distance-wise, he hadn't really gone that far. If there was another stairwell close by (or an elevator, if by any chance they were still working, which they probably weren't) he'd be in good shape.

A dracula burst through a swinging door, less than ten feet in front of him. He had a pasty complexion and too much gel in his hair. The dracula saw Randall and immediately charged, arms outstretched.

For a split second Randall considered conserving his bullets, but the stupidity level of being ripped apart while holding a handgun was more than he was willing to commit to, so he pulled the trigger. The top half of the dracula's head virtually exploded. The creature kept ru

Clay Theel was a man who knew his guns. And that kick felt good.

Randall continued down the hallway, his confidence further boosted. He moved quickly, probably fucking up his numb leg beyond repair, but for right now he didn't care. There were a lot of shadows, lots of places where something with claws could hide and jump out at him. Though Randall couldn't pretend that he wasn't scared, nothing was going to stop him.

Another dracula stepped into view at the end of the hallway. Looked like a teenage girl. She wore a hospital gown, had long blond hair, and much less blood on her than most of the other creatures he'd encountered. Randall imagined that she was rather adorable in her previous life. Not so much now.

She rushed him. He aimed for a spot right between her eyes and pulled the trigger.

His aim wasn't spot-on, but he got her in the neck. It burst in all directions, her head flopped backward, and she tumbled to the floor just like the other one.

Half of his bullets gone. Damn. Randall needed to pick up the pace.

He reached the end of the hallway. Left or right? Both looked equally spooky. He was pretty sure pediatrics was to the right, so hopefully there'd be a staircase close...

He laughed out loud. There was. Right there. Finally some good luck.

Randall opened the door to the stairwell carefully, half-expecting dozens of draculas to tumble out and make him look dumb for having believed that he was having some good luck. But the stairwell seemed clear.

He sat and scooted down the stairs on his butt. It wasn't comfortable or dignified, but it got the job done.

When he reached the bottom, he heard some screams.

And a sound that was...familiar. Couldn't be, though.

As he pulled open the door at the bottom of the steps, the noise became much louder. Thought he had to be imagining this, because it sounded a hell of a lot like a chainsaw.

He stepped into the hallway. Definitely a chainsaw. How in the world...?

Randall walked down the hallway. Yes! This looked familiar! Now he knew exactly where he was! He was getting closer and closer to the sound of the chainsaw, and hoped that it was being put to good use on one or more of those monsters.

There it was. Pediatrics.

He pushed through the door, and the first thing he saw was that goddamn, motherfucking, toothless, unfu

His chainsaw!

This was blasphemy! Fucking blasphemy! You could dunk a cross in a pool of urine while environmentalists burned the American flag and Randall would not have been more outraged than he was at the sight of Be

Heroes in the movies that Randall so dearly loved said cool things before they blew away the bad guy. But that would mean a few extra seconds of the clown holding his chainsaw, and that was unacceptable. Randall pointed Clay's gun at the clown, who stood in front of a closet or something, and pulled the trigger.

Missed completely.

Shit!

Be

What the hell was he trying to do? Juggle?

Somebody inside the closet screamed. Even over the roar of the chainsaw motor, Randall recognized it.

Je

Alive.

Randall was not going to miss a second time. That shiny red nose was just begging to have a bullet rip through it. He stepped forward, focusing on the spot with every bit of concentration he could summon, narrowing the distance between them. He'd fire into that clown's head from just out of chainsaw range. His brains could make shadow puppets as they scattered against the wall.

He continued walking forward.

Focus...focus...focus...

His foot came down on something slippery and wet.

His legs flew out underneath him and he landed on his ass.

The gun went off, blowing apart a chunk of the ceiling. He winced as a large piece of plaster struck his eye. Dignity, gone.

With his other eye, he saw what he'd slipped on: a tied-together string of guts. What the hell...?

The clown tossed the chainsaw from one hand to the other again, then pointed the blade at Randall and took a big squeaky step forward.

Randall realized that he might very well be about to die, and he was going to die pissed.

He threw Clay's gun at Be

Missed.

He needed something else to throw.

There wasn't much in the way of dracula-killing equipment left in his utility belt, but he yanked out a tape measure as he scooted away from the chainsaw-wielding clown. His left eye kept blinking by itself--the falling plaster had really gotten in there.

The large, bloody hole that comprised most of Be