Three

The emergency room was full. It was unusually busy for a Thursday night. But it wasn't just that. There was something unsettled in the atmosphere, something swirling in the air that Angie couldn't place.

“Wow,” said Freeda next to her, looking around. “Things are bat-crap tonight.”

And they were. Injured people were everywhere. A man with scratches on his face and a quickly bandaged leg. A woman in a torn and dirty dress, holding a cloth to deep red gashes on her arm. A young boy standing as his parents showed Nurse Paula gouges on his shoulder.

Paula looked over and nodded at Freeda. “Hey,” she called, “come give me a hand.”

Freeda turned to Angie. “Duty screams,” she said, then rushed to the boy.

Angie stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. There was definitely something wrong. The tone was off. The patients didn't look annoyed or embarrassed, the way most mildly injured people looked in the emergency room. They looked confused. And afraid.

That's it, thought Angie. They look afraid.

Call home.

“Hey, Anj,” came a voice behind her.

She turned and saw Rick sitting at his dispatch desk. An old CB radio sat on the desk, waiting for the ambulance to call. Angie's eyes moved from the radio back to Rick. He was middle-aged, round and pleasant. Angie liked him. “What a night, huh?”

“No kidding.” Angie nodded. “I hear we got a gunshot victim coming in.”

“Yeah, someone tried to stick up Ed's. Can you believe it?” He looked around and rubbed his bristly goatee in a conspiratorial way, then leaned forward. “You know, that robber was not the only person to leave Ed's on a stretcher tonight. Only the coroner took the other one.”

Angie's back went taut. The feeling returned. Something sneaking up. She stayed outwardly calm and leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.

Rick nodded. “Old Timmins.”

“Oh god,” said Angie. She'd seen Timmins here and there her whole life. He was a drunk, but a pleasant enough one. “Heart attack?”

“More like a stroke. He started biting people. Hard. As in drawing blood. By the time the cops and the ambulance showed up, he'd bit both Ed and some guy who tried to help. Even tried to bite a cop. Cop ended up shooting him.”

“My god,” said Angie.

Angie heard a stern cough from behind her. Rick made an “oops” face and quickly started looking busy. Angie turned to see Nurse Ruby.

“There's no time for chit-chat,” Ruby said. “Please go straighten up the waiting room, Angela. We've had an unusual amount of traffic tonight.”

No kidding, Angie thought. “Yes, ma'am.” She gave a little parting smile to Rick and headed for the waiting room.

* * *

“I'm dying,” said Dalton, clutching his stomach as he lay on the couch.

“You're not dying,” said Brooke. She sat in Mom's chair with the TV remote in her hand. She hit the up button again and again, flipping through channels.

Maylee sat on the edge of another chair, across the room. “Can I have your stuff?”

Dalton said nothing, watching TV channels flash by. He slid his hand inside his open over-shirt and rested his palm on the t-shirt underneath.

“Hey, ass turtle!” said Maylee.

“What?” said Dalton, looking over.

“Can I have your stuff, since you're dying?”

Dalton shook his head and rubbed his stomach. The TV flipped past a news report, something about masses of people holding up traffic in a big city. “No, you'd better not. My things may be contaminated.”

Maylee rolled her eyes. “I thought you were starving to death.”

Dalton nodded. “I am starving, yes. But it may be a coincidence. I may be both starving and have a highly contagious disease.”

Brooke chuckled as she clicked the remote. “You use lots of big words for a little brother.”

Dalton beamed. “Mom says I'm smart.”

“Sure,” said Maylee. “To your face. To me, she says you're an ass turtle.”

Dalton sat up and scowled at Maylee. “No she doesn't!”

Maylee held up her hands and sat back. “Hey, don't blame the messenger.”

“I blame your ugly face,” said Dalton. He stood, ignoring Maylee's quickly-flashed middle finger.

He frowned. “Is the pizza ever coming?”

The TV flipped past another news report, something about slow-moving mobs and random killings.

“Maybe food will save me.” Dalton grabbed his stomach and made a big show of stumbling to the front window.

The usual view of their street greeted him outside. No car with a pizza sign.

He sighed and put his forehead on the glass. It felt cold. He gazed at a lit window in a house across the street. The light snapped out, sending an odd chill through Dalton. It was like the window had died.

A figure shuffled into view. It stumbled in from Dalton's right, headed to the left.

Dalton gasped and pulled away. The curtain fell back into place.

“What?” said Maylee from across the room. “The pizza?”

“No,” said Dalton. He pushed the curtain over and squinted outside.

It was a man, stumbling slowly across the lawn. He looked like a man staggering just before falling down, only he never fell. He just kept taking one slow, herky-jerky step after another.

There was something wrong in the man's walk. No, Dalton thought. There was something wrong in the fact that the man was walking at all. Something said he shouldn't be walking. Shouldn't be doing anything.

The man jerked out from under a tree and into the moonlight, giving Dalton a clearer view. The man's head leaned all the way back, bouncing limply as he moved. His eyes were wide open, staring solidly at the moon.

Or at nothing.

“Dalton?” said Maylee, suddenly right behind him and breathing on his neck.

He jerked. “Crap, Maylee! Don't do that!” He turned to glare at her.

“What's your problem?” Maylee said, leaning to one side to look past him and out the window. “What's got you screeching like a little girl?”

“Nothing,” said Dalton, embarrassed now. He turned back to gesture out the window. “There's just some weird guy on the lawn.”

“Where? Oh, there he is.” Maylee fell quiet as they both watched the man continue his deeply wrong walk across the lawn. A few seconds later, Dalton realized they were both holding their breath.

Then Brooke was behind them both. “For heaven's sake,” she said. Both Dalton and Maylee jerked. Dalton heard Maylee gasp.

“It's just a drunk or something,” said Brooke. “Go sit back down. The pizza should be here soon.”

“Yeah,” said Maylee, not sounding very convinced.

Dalton nodded and moved away from the window. He was blushing. He'd acted like a scared little kid. Don't be such a baby, he thought as he sat back down on the couch. Look at Brooke, she's not afraid.

But he noticed she stared out the window for a few extra seconds before turning away.