Draculas

JENNY had never been so happy to see Randall. She had so much she wanted to say to him. But her training took precedent over her emotions, and she immediately went into nurse mode.

"We need to wash out your mouth," Je

"I said motherhugger, not motherfu--"

"Now, Randall! The infection is bloodborne. We don't know..."

Her voice caught in her throat. She needed something antiseptic. Hydrogen peroxide, or something that could kill germs.

"Gargle with gas," she said, pointing at his saw.

Randall stared at her as if she were nuts, but he uncapped the tank on his saw and lifted it to his mouth. When he titled it back, his eyes bugged out.

"Kids, stay by me," she told the boys. "Now swish it around, Randall. Keep it in there as long as you can stand it."

Randall's cheeks bulged side to side. Je

"Mmmm-mmm-bbmbmb," Randall said.

"Yeah, you can spit."

He turned his head, ejecting a stream of pink liquid.

"Rubbing alcohol," he said, after clearing his throat. "What kind of person would put rubbing alcohol in a man's chainsaw?" He quickly looked down at Je

"For ninety-seven days," Je

Randall's face brightened. "You mean, like a date?"

"I promised the boys here I'd take them to Camp Kookyfoot, and that you'd come with us. But I was thinking of someplace more immediate."

"Like where?"

Je

"Your place?"

Je

"Je

Je

Randall hacked spit once more over his shoulder, wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, and planted one on Je

When they both came up for air, Je

"Everybody stay close," he told the four boys. "I don't have any fancy hand grenades, but none of those boogeymen are going to get past my saw, okay?"

The boys all nodded, their eyes wide and terrified.

"Everyone put your hands on the waist of the person next to you. We're not going to lose anybody. I'll take the lead, and Je

Je

An explosion rocked the hallway.

"Get behind me," Randall said, stepping in front of Je

Moorecook

MORTIMER spat out the last of his fangs, watching it drop onto the tile floor. He tore at the remnants of his underwear, and his naked, gore-slicked body doubled-over.

His distended belly--laden with blood only moments before--began to flatten. He screamed as his spine twisted, the vertebrae cracking like exploding popcorn.

Water. He needed water, and a place to hide while his body continued to change into its new form.

As the long muscle fibers in his legs broke down and realigned themselves, Mortimer half- ran/half-stumbled through the hallway, coming upon a door that read LAUNDRY. He threw himself inside, rolling across the floor, crying out as every nerve in his body seemed to catch on fire.

But this wasn't the pain of death.

It was the pain of rebirth.

Even as he writhed, Mortimer could feel his brand new teeth growing in.

Clay

HE was puffing by the time he reached the third floor landing. He knew he didn't exercise as much as he should, but was he this out of shape? Or was it plain old fear stealing his wind and making his heart pound like this? Because with each flight he was realizing more and more what a stupid stunt this was. Should have listened to Sha

But he couldn't back off now, couldn't return to that parking lot with his tail between his legs. What would his daddy say? Well, he'd say what he always said: A Theel don't back down, not from no one, not from nothin'--'specially from a commie.

Well, these things weren't commies. They were worse. They were a disease. They had to be wiped out and--

A hiss and a silhouetted shape diving at him from the next flight.

Clay had the MM-1 held at ready. All he had to do was pull the trigger. Which he did. The kick was a helluva lot more than the nearly recoilless AA-12. A good thing, because it lifted the barrel. Instead of a center-of-mass hit, the double ought tore a hole in the dracula's upper chest, flinging it back and taking a good chunk of its spine out through the exit wound.

It sprawled on the steps, gnashing its teeth, unable to move its legs and only enough nerve supply to its arms to twitch its talons. A head shot would finish it off, but Clay needed to conserve ammo.

Most of all, he had to save one round for himself, in case he got bit. No way he was ending up like these folks.

He left the dracula behind and continued up.

On the fourth-floor landing he peeked through the little window and saw...nothing. Absolutely nothing. Black as the inside of a coffin.

Shit. He hadn't thought to bring a light. His Maglite was back in his cruiser in the sheriff's parking lot. Wait...