Twelve

Angie snapped her phone shut. She felt like crying.

Freeda put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure they're fine.”

They were both sitting on the nurse's desk, facing the doors. Corpses groaned and clawed at each of the three glass planes.

“Dead, huh?” said Freeda, staring at them.

“Yeah,” said Angie.

“So Jimmy was dead the whole time?”

Angie nodded and bit her thumb.

“Damn.”

Angie dropped her hand. “Yeah.”

“Dammit,” said Park, walking in from the empty hallway. “Moe looks awful. We have to get out of here.”

Mr. Paulson chuckled from his wheelchair. “And take him where, numbnuts, the hospital?”

“We know how to kill them,” said Park, nodding at the corpses clawing at the glass. “Why can't we just make a run for it?”

Kristen shook her head and adjusted the oxygen tube on Mr. Paulson's face. “We couldn't move Dad that quickly.”

“Or your friend,” said Freeda.

“Then we need guns,” said Park.

“Yeah,” said Mr. Paulson. “A wrecking ball and a fucking helicopter would be nice too.”

“Now, Dad,” said Kristen. “They're just trying to help.” She stroked his head.

“Get your fucking over-lotioned hands off of me,” Mr. Paulson grumbled, twisting his head away. “Point is, we don't have any guns.”

“I've got guns in my truck,” said Park.

Sam, who'd been sulking against a wall, stepped toward Park. “Great. The truck in the parking lot? If we could get to the parking lot, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“No,” said Park. “We all couldn't make it, but one or two of us might. Get some guns back here, then we can use them to clear a path for the others.”

Sam shook his head. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah,” said Angie, “but it's better than nothing.”

“How would we even get to the parking lot?” said Sam. “The hallways are full of those things.”

“Watch,” said Park. He fished his lighter out of his pocket and stepped over to the door. He flicked it on and held the flame to the glass. The corpses on the other side backed away from the flame. “Noticed this in the parking lot. These things don't like fire."

Sam looked at the lighter, then at Angie. "You said you think we just have to damage the brain, right? I bet fire would kill these fuckers, too. Cook their brains."

Park nodded. "Maybe we can rig up some torches or something to hold them back.”

Angie pushed herself off the desk and walked over. “You'd just set off the sprinklers and end up wet and eaten. And besides, there's another way out.”

She walked over to a utility closet and opened it. Inside were a mop bucket, some gloves and a chain to turn the light on. She grabbed the chain and pulled. Park walked up behind her.

“Ok,” said Angie. She looked up and found a leather strap hanging from the ceiling of the closet. She pulled and a wooden ladder unfolded downward. She stepped back to let it connect to the floor.

“And where's that go?” said Park.

“The roof,” said Angie. “To allow work crews quick access to the lights up there. And not only that. There's another, metal ladder attached to the side of the building for the same purpose. And it goes right down to the parking lot.”

“Well fuck-a-doo,” said Park, looking at the ladder and nodding. He stepped back into the room. “Okay. Looks like we're taking the roof.”

Angie walked over to Park. “I'll come with you.”

Sam laughed. “No offense, but you'll need someone tougher than...”

“Hey, funny story,” said Park. “Remember about fifteen minutes ago when she pounded one's head in while you shit your pants?”

Mr. Paulson laughed. “I love that story.”

Sam went red. “Listen, I don't trust this prick to come back even if he does get to his damn truck.”

“We don't have time for this,” said Angie. “I have no idea if my kids are in trouble or not. We have to get out of here!”

Sam turned on her. “And what's stopping you from bolting home the second you get outside?”

Park made a growling noise. “Listen, dickburger, my friend's in that room back there...”

“Well, my wife's here!” said Sam. “So I guess we'll both be coming back.”

Angie opened her mouth, then looked at Freeda. Freeda was looking at the floor, her hands clenched together.

She stepped over to Freeda. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” said Freeda, looking up at her. “Just make sure you get back quick.”

Angie looked at Freeda, then over at Park and Sam.

“Hey,” she said. “Let Sam go with you. I'll stay. Your friend will need Freeda and me to look after him. Maybe the two of us will add up to a real nurse.”

Sam shot her a look.

“Whatever,” said Park. “Let me go check in with Moe, then me and dick-face'll make a run for it.”

Eleven

Maylee heard the phone ringing from the kitchen and did her best to ignore it.

“The phone's ringing,” said Dalton. He was sitting on the toilet tank with his feet on the seat.

“Thanks for letting us know,” said Maylee, sitting on the sink and twirling her bat one way and then the other. “Why don't you open the door and answer it?”

The phone rang a few more times then stopped. Moaning and scratching came from the door. Brooke was standing with her back to the door, rubbing her temples.

“Just keep quiet, you two,” she said. “All we need to do is wait for the cops.”

“The cops you can't call?” said Maylee.

Brooke flashed her a look. “They have to be coming. What's happening outside is too big. Someone had to have called. They're coming.”

“Not necessarily,” said Dalton, staring at the door. “What if this is happening all over town?”

A realization flashed through Maylee. “Oh shit,” she said. She hopped off the sink to stand. “That's right! Mom could be in trouble. We have to get out of here.”

Brooke sighed. “Maylee, please. You saw those people.”

“I'll knock 'em in the head,” said Maylee, brandishing her bat.

“There's too many,” said Brooke.

“They aren't people, either,” said Dalton.

“Don't say that,” said Brooke. “They're people. There's just something wrong with them. They're sick or something.”

“No,” said Dalton. “This is worse than sick. That guy with no eyes?”

Maylee lowered the bat, thinking. “Yeah. And the arm that ripped off with no blood.”

They all fell silent and listened to the groaning outside the door. Brooke looked like she was thinking. “That old lady. The one that attacked me outside. Her skin felt like a dead person's.”

Dalton wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing touching dead people?”

“Shhh,” said Maylee, her mind turning. “Wait...are you thinking those things are dead?”

Brooke shook her head. “No, that's crazy.”

“It was crazy already,” said Maylee. “Them being dead would just be more crazy to add to the crazy pile.”

“Big pile,” said Dalton.

“Huge,” said Maylee.

“Will you two please keep quiet,” said Brooke. “I'm trying to think.”

Hell you are, thought Maylee. You're just trying to look like you're thinking. We're on our own here.

The phone rang again.

“Dammit,” said Maylee. “That might be Mom. She might be in trouble.”

“We're in trouble, Maylee!” snapped Brooke. “We're trapped in your bathroom with a crazed mob outside the door. Just back off for a second, ok?”

Maylee fumed but shrugged. She took a step back and leaned against the sink.

Brooke frowned and rubbed her arms. “And why the hell is it so cold in here?”

“Heat's broken in the bathroom,” said Dalton, buttoning up his over-shirt.

“Mom's been on the landlord to fix it,” said Maylee. “But he's a lazy dick.”

“Wait...” said Dalton. He hopped off the toilet tank and walked to the bathtub. A large fuzzy mat was in front of it. Dalton knelt down and pulled the mat away, revealing a large rusted grate.

“What's that?” said Brooke.

“Heating grate,” said Dalton.

“So what's your point?” said Brooke.

“I think I could squeeze through.”

Maylee rolled her eyes. “And what, crawl around in the ducts? You're a little dork, but you're not that little.”

“No,” said Dalton. “The duct's loose, remember? That's what Mom's been on the landlord about.”

Maylee thought about that.

“And the basement is unfinished,” said Dalton. “I've been down there when Mom was complaining. The duct is just barely hanging on.”

Maylee frowned. Brooke shook her head.

“Dammit,” said Dalton. “Look.”

Dalton tugged at the grate. It was loose but didn't come free.

“Give me a toothbrush or something,” he said.

“You ain't touching my toothbrush.”

“Then give me mine, geez!”

Maylee shrugged and pulled Dalton's toothbrush from a cup next to the faucet. She handed it to him.

Dalton wedged the toothbrush in one of the slots on the grate. He pulled on it, then again. On the third time the grate popped free.

Brooke raised her eyebrows.

“See,” said Maylee to her. “Lazy dick.”

“Now, watch,” said Dalton. He put one leg into the hole and slammed his foot down. The ductwork creaked and groaned.

He grinned and did it again. A louder, longer creak came.

“Crap,” he said, then slammed his foot down a third time. His leg slipped further down the hole and a loud clatter came from below the bathroom.

“Shit,” said Brooke, rushing over and pulling Dalton up by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Dalton, wriggling away.

Brooke knelt and looked down the hole. “What's down there?”

“The basement,” said Maylee, leaning over next to her. “And he's right. If he just kicked the duct off, that hole goes straight down to it.”

“Right,” said Brooke. “I'll go down.”

“What?” laughed Dalton. “You can't fit.”

“I'm the adult,” said Brooke. “I'll take the risk.”

“You're not an adult,” said Maylee.

“I'm the closest thing we've got!” yelled Brooke.

“You won't fit!” yelled Dalton.

“Neither will you,” said Maylee. “I'm skinnier than you are.”

“You have boobs.”

Maylee flashed red. “You little freakin' perv!”

They all stopped yelling. The groans from outside the door had been steadily getting louder.

Brooke listened, then looked at Dalton and Maylee. “We have to be quiet. They can hear us in here and there's no reason to make them any crazier.”

“You...won't...fit,” whispered Dalton.

Brooke looked at the hole, then at Dalton, then at Maylee. Then back at Dalton. “Shit. This is insane. If you got down there, could you get outside?”

Dalton nodded. “The door locks from the inside. I can get out and into the backyard.”

Brooke sighed. “Fine. You get as far away as you can and get an adult.”

“No,” whispered Dalton, looking shocked. “I'm getting the phone so we can call Mom.”

The phone rang again. Maylee sighed and leaned toward Brooke. “We can distract those things. Make noise so he can get the phone then get back to the basement.”

Brooke looked at Maylee and swallowed. She's scared, Maylee realized.

The phone stopped ringing.    

Ten

For nearly half an hour, they all just sat and stared. Behind the three shut glass doors, people moaned and ran their hands along the glass. Angie moved her gaze from one door to another as she leaned against the nurse's desk.

“Call the cops again,” said Sam.

“They're not answering,” said Angie. “But surely they know. The whole hospital is under attack. Surely they know.”

“What about your kids?” said Freeda beside her.

“No answer at home. They're probably out getting pizza or something. Brooke said they might. I just hope they don't see this on the news and freak out.”

Kristen was leaning on the handles of Mr. Paulson's wheelchair. “I bet the cops are outside right now.”

“They're dead,” said Park, standing just inside the doorway leading to the empty hall. Moe was in the first patient room, resting. Freeda patted Angie on the shoulder, then walked down the hall to tend to Moe.

“How in the hell would you know whether the cops are dead?” said Sam.

“Not the cops,” said Park. He took a step into the room and nodded at the glass doors. “Those fuckers. I think they're dead.”

Mr. Paulson let out something between a laugh and a snort. “Listen, son. I know I may look dead, but I'm actually not. Know how you can tell, dumb shit? I'm fucking moving.”

Sam chuckled.

“You can shut up too, shit bag,” said Mr. Paulson. “You wouldn't know shit if it came out of your ass and slid down your leg.”

Sam glared at Mr. Paulson. Kristen shook her head at Sam, then stroked her father's head.

“Now, Dad, don't get excited.”

Park ignored all this and stepped closer to the doors. “Some of these fuckers are hurt. Too hurt to be walking.”

Angie looked. Park had a point. A ridiculous point, but still a point.

“My god,” said Kristen. Angie looked over to see her staring at the doors. Angie followed her gaze to a teenage girl standing outside one of the doors. The girl was wearing a torn and dirty dress and her lips looked glued together.

“I know her,” said Kristen. “I mean, I knew of her. She was killed in a car accident. I saw the burial notice in the paper.”

Angie saw Sam look and frown. He said nothing.

Park looked at Sam and Mr. Paulson. “You think she got better? Maybe she should have told the mortician before he glued her mouth shut.”

“That must not be her,” said Sam.

“It's her,” said Kristen.

“For shit's sake,” said Mr. Paulson. “If she's walking, she's not dead. I can't walk and I'm not fucking dead.”

Park snorted and looked at Angie. “You got one of those stethoscope things?”

Angie opened a drawer in the nurse's desk. “There's one in here. Why?”

“Here's why,” said Park. He walked to the glass door and pulled open the locks.

“Hey!” said Angie.

“Hold your shit, this'll be quick.” Park pulled the door open, yanked the teen girl inside and shut the door before any of the others could get in.

“Catch,” said Park, pushing the girl at Sam.

“What the hell is the matter with you!” yelled Angie.

Sam took a step back but caught the girl by the shoulders. “You crazy fuck!”

The girl moaned through her glued lips.

Park locked the door and turned.

The girl's lips separated, thick black blood and dried glue falling from her mouth. She groaned at Sam.

“Shit!” said Sam.

“Here,” said Park. He grabbed the girl's shoulder from behind and kicked her legs. Sam let her go and the girl fell backward to the floor. Park held her down by her shoulders, kneeling behind her.

The girl hissed and bit at Park. “Shit,” he said, avoiding her mouth and struggling to keep her down. “She's stronger than I would have thought.”

“Get her the hell out of here!” said Angie.

“One second,” said Park. He looked at Sam, who was staring down at him and the girl. “Hold her fucking legs, genius!”

Sam flashed red. “Fuck you, asshole.”

“Unless you want her to get up and eat your fucking dad or whoever the fuck that is in the chair, hold her fucking legs.”

“You're out of your goddamned mind,” said Sam, getting down on his knees and taking hold of the girl's kicking legs.

Angie was stunned at the stupidity she was witnessing. “What the hell is the point of all this supposed to be?”

Park smirked at her. “Proving a point. Get the stethoscope.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Are you shitting me? That's what you risked opening the door for?”

“Just get it.”

Angie sighed and took the stethoscope out of the nurse's desk. She walked over to where Park and Sam where holding the girl down.

Angie knelt and looked down at the girl. Seeing her up close made Angie feel cold. The girl's skin was gray and pasty. Her eyes were clouded and vacant. And she looked familiar.

From an obituary in the newspaper.

Angie put the stethoscope in her ears and leaned over the girl.

The girl hissed and snapped her teeth at Angie as she put the stethoscope to the girl's chest and listened.

She listened longer than she needed to.

Finally, she sighed and sat back, removing the stethoscope.

“And?” said Park.

“No heartbeat,” said Angie. “Nothing. And except for when she makes noise, it doesn't even sound like she's breathing.”

“My god,” said Kristen.

The room was quiet for a few moments, save the hissing and moaning of the girl.

“Ok,” said Sam. “She's dead. Great. The whole world's gone fucking crazy and I'm holding a corpse down to keep it from eating me.”

“Yep,” said Park.

“Ok, genius,” said Sam. “You let her in. She's dead. How in the holy fuck do we kill her again?”

“I know,” said Angie. She stood and strode back to the nurse's station. She pulled the fire extinguisher from the wall and stepped back over. She slammed the extinguisher down on the girl's head.

“Jesus!” said Sam, letting go and sitting back.

The girl gurgled and moaned, moving more slowly now. Angie heaved the extinguisher back up and brought it down again. The girl's head collapsed, brain and black blood shooting out to one side.

“Jesus!” repeated Sam, jumping up and backing away.

The girl's hands fell to either side. She was still.

Park let go of the girl and raised his eyebrows. “How'd you know that?”

“Rick,” said Angie, standing and dropping the extinguisher.

“What?”

“At the dispatch desk. His...head was crushed by the ambulance. He's the only one who didn't get back up.”

Park nodded and stood. “Well, okay. Hopefully the cops bring lots of fire extinguishers.”

Mr. Paulson snorted. “Those dick-sniffers. What passes for cops around here probably got eaten in the parking lot half an hour ago.”

“They have guns,” said Angie. “I bet just shooting the brain would kill these things.”

“This is crazy,” said Sam, pacing and continually glancing down at the dark slick of blood and brain on the floor. “In-fucking-sane. Where in the hell are they all even coming from?”

Park shrugged. “This one was buried, right? Isn't there a graveyard right by the hospital?”

Angie nodded.

Mr. Paulson laughed. “Sure as shit there is. Always thought the peckers here got a little something if they let patients die and gave the mortician some business.”

Angie felt cold. “Oh shit.”

“What?” said Park.

“There's graveyards all over this town.”

Park shrugged again. “Lots of old people. Lots of dying.”

“What if this is happening all over town?” said Angie, pulling out her cell phone. “Oh shit. I have to call home.”

She dialed and waited.

Nine

“We got problems,” said the jackass in the hunting jacket. His hurt friend - was his name Moe? - was pale and sweating behind him.

Angie nodded. “Yeah. I just knocked someone's head off with a fire extinguisher. I'm going to get the cops.”

Behind her, Freeda made a worried noise. “The head's still moving.”

Angie sighed. “Don't look at it, Freeda.”

“That doesn't stop it moving.”

“Stops you talking about it.”

Moe swayed back and forth slightly. “Park, I feel bad...”

The jackass - apparently named Park - frowned at Angie and Freeda. “I give such a shit about everything you're saying, I really do. But you ain't getting out that way.”

He pushed the doors to the waiting room open. Looking past him, Angie could see a few patients struggling with a crowd that was slowly pushing its way into the waiting room. One member of the crowd - a teenager with a religious t-shirt - bit into the face of a patient - an elderly woman with a walker. The woman screamed as blood shot out onto the teenager's face.

Angie heard movement behind her. She turned to see someone slowly coming through the hole the ambulance had made.

It was an overweight man, half in the room and half out. He blinked at the floor as he tried over and over again to pull himself into the room. He reached into the room with one hand. The other arm was hidden outside, behind the edge of the hole.

“Sir?” Angie started to say.

The man groaned and lurched the rest of the way into the room. He had no other arm. He had a stump, fresh and bloody.

Movement came from the floor. Angie looked down. Dr. Gordon was getting up. He straightened and his wet guts spilled out onto the floor. He took a step toward Angie and the others, his foot clumsily squishing on a loop of his own intestines.

Angie opened her mouth to react, then noise came from the ambulance. Max and Pete crawled out of the open back doors. Wet cords dangled from Max's open throat, bouncing limply against his gore-soaked chest as he staggered. Pete groaned. The flap of skin that had been Pete's face flapped slowly with each step he took. Thick dark blood ran down his neck and shoulders.

Angie bit her lip. “Is that happening?”

“Yeah,” said Freeda.

“Shit,” said Angie.

“We need to go,” said Park. Moaning grew from the waiting room.

Angie nodded. “There's two other side exits. Follow me.”

They ran.

Angie led them down the hall to the nurse's station at the center of the hospital. It consisted of a long desk with two computers and three chairs, abandoned and empty.

Park entered last, helping Moe along with him. “Which way?” he said.

“One second,” said Angie. She moved to the door they had just come through. It was solid glass with locks at the top and bottom. She closed the door and locked it.

“These doors are reinforced glass,” she said. “This way they can't follow us or get to the patient rooms.”

“I'm so glad I know that,” said Park, adjusting Moe's weight on his arm. “Which fucking way?”

Angie turned, taking in the three other hallways that went off from the nurse's station. She chose one.

“Here,” she said, pushing past Freeda and heading down the hall. The others followed.

They rushed past several patient rooms. Patients sat up in their beds, looking confused and worried.

“Is something wrong?” said one, an older woman with several IVs.

“Everything's fine,” yelled Angie as she ran by. “Everyone just stay calm. And whatever you do, don't open the locked door at the nurse's station.”

Park snorted. Angie cast a glare back at him.

“As soon as we get out of here,” she said, “we'll call the cops to come rescue the patients.”

“Yeah,” said Park. “I'll get right on that.”

They were halfway to the exit door when a group of crazies burst in.

“Shit!” yelled Angie, stopping.

“Where the fuck are they all coming from?” said Park.

Screams came from all directions. From the patient rooms. Crashing glass echoed through the hallway.

“The windows!” said Freeda.

“Oh god, no!” yelled Angie.

“We gotta move,” yelled Park, already rushing Moe back the way they had come.

“We have to save the patients!” said Angie.

“There's too many of those crazies,” said Freeda. “We have to run!”

Angie looked at Freeda. Behind Freeda, Park was fighting off a crazy. Blood ran from the crazy into the patient room it had come from. Patients were screaming. Crazies were coming up the hall from behind.

Angie swallowed. “Shit. Let's go.”

She and Freeda ran up the hall. Angie stopped halfway to Park and stared into a patient room. The older lady with multiple IVs was splayed across her bed, head facing the door. Her head hung back over the edge of the mattress, empty eyes staring at Angie. A toddler was atop her. He had the woman's gown lifted up and was chewing on one of her breasts. He tore free a hunk of skin, fat and blood. He chewed and looked at Angie.

“Angie!” came Freeda's voice from up the hall.

Angie turned to look. Freeda was struggling to pull a crazy from Park. The crazy was snapping its teeth inches away from Park's cheek. A second crazy was coming up behind Moe.

Angie ran to help. She reached Moe first and pulled him away from the crazy's reach. Moe was covered in sweat.

Moe blinked slowly, looking very confused.

“Sir?” said Angie, feeling his head. It was very hot. “Are you alright?”

“Shit!” yelled Park. Angie turned to look. The crazy, a bodybuilder with huge muscles and a hole where his nose had been, was close to biting into Park's neck. Freeda was holding the bodybuilder back, pulling on his arm so hard she was leaning backward. It didn't look like she could hold him much longer.

Angie grabbed Park and pulled the other way.

“Goddamit, this fucker's strong!” said Park.

And he was. The crazy inched closer. Soon his teeth would find skin.

“For fuck's sake,” came Moe's thick, slightly slurred voice. Moe reached down and grabbed one of the crazy's legs. He pulled and the crazy toppled over, letting go of Park.

They all looked at the crazy for a second, watching it writhe and groan. It was struggling to get up.

“Why didn't we think of that?” said Freeda.

Groans came from all around. The screams of the patients were fading.

“We gotta get,” said Park.

“Yeah,” said Angie. “Come on.”

They ran back toward the nurse's station, Angie willing herself not to look in the patient rooms. We'll call the cops, she told herself. We'll call the cops and they'll rescue the rest of the patients.

They reached the nurse's station. Angie turned and shut the glass door to block the way they had come.

“Those nut jobs can come right through glass!” said Park.

“I told you,” said Angie as she locked the top and bottom of the door. “These are reinforced glass. They're stronger than the windows.”

Moe threw up on the floor.

“Fuck!” yelled Park.

“I'm okay,” said Moe, swaying and wiping his mouth.

“Fuck you are,” said Park.

“Come on,” said Angie. “This way.”

Angie leading the way, they rushed down another hallway. Heading for another exit door at the end of it. Patients looked at them as they passed.

“If anyone has a phone,” yelled Angie, “call the cops! Stay in your rooms and don't open the nurse's station...”

Crazies burst in the door at the end of the hall.

Angie skidded to a halt. “No!”

Glass crashed all up and down the hallway. Patients shrieked.

“No!” Angie screamed.

“They're surrounding the hospital!” yelled Freeda.

“Everyone out of your rooms!” yelled Angie. But she knew from the screams it was too late.

She looked back toward the nurse's station. Park was pulling Moe that way as fast as he could. Freeda was staring at Angie.

“Come on!” said Freeda. “We have to go!”

“The patients...” Angie started, weakly.

“It's too late,” said Freeda.

Then a little boy burst from a patient room. He shrieked and sobbed but looked unhurt. He nearly collided with Angie.

“Whoa, hey,” said Angie, trying to sound soothing despite the chaos around. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked at him. She did her best to ignore the approaching crazies behind him. “Are you okay?”

“My mom!” yelled the boy. “They're eating!”

“Who...” Angie started, then Freeda screamed behind her.

Angie let go of the boy and turned. A crazy had snuck up behind Freeda. He looked like a truck driver, complete with mutton chops. One of his eyes dangled from its optic nerve, bouncing off his cheek as he struggled with Freeda.

“Freeda!” yelled Angie, moving to help. Then the little boy screamed. Angie turned to see a woman wearing a hospital gown closing her hands around the boy's head.

“Mom, no!” yelled the boy.

“Oh god!” yelled Angie, reaching for the boy. Freeda screamed and Angie turned back. The trucker's teeth had almost found skin.

Angie looked at the boy, then back at Freeda.

Back at the boy.

Then she ran to help Freeda. Her chest was tight as she grabbed the trucker's hand and bent his middle finger back. She pulled until the finger let out a harsh 'pop' and gave no more resistance. The trucker didn't respond.

Angie and Freeda struggled with the trucker. Somewhere behind them, the boy was shrieking. Oh god, oh Jesus, I'm sorry, Angie thought. She grabbed another of the trucker's fingers and broke it backward. The trucker's face showed no reaction, but his grip was now loose enough for Freeda to wriggle free.

“You okay?” said Angie, still holding the trucker's hand.

“Yep,” said Freeda, putting a foot on the trucker's side and shoving. The trucker toppled over and Angie let go.

Angie turned. The boy was gone.

“The boy...” she started.

“We have to go,” said Freeda, putting a hand on her shoulder from behind. The crazies approaching from the exit door were close now.

Angie swallowed, nodded, and turned to run back up the hall. Freeda followed.

Further up the hall, Park and Moe stood with a man who looked familiar. Park was yelling something. Angie blinked and recognized the man. Sam Shuab.

Angie and Freeda reached the arguing men.

“Listen, shithead,” Park was saying. “I don't give a shit about you or how the fuck you're getting out of here. Now let me and my friend pass!”

Sam noticed Angie. “You! How the fuck do we get out of here?”

Park took advantage of Sam's distraction and pushed past him, pulling Moe with him.

“Sir,” Angie started, “We gotta...”

“Thanks for all the help, kitten shit!” came Mr. Paulson's voice from Angie's side. She looked and saw him sitting in a wheelchair pushed by Kristen. Mr. Paulson's oxygen tank was strapped to the back of the wheelchair. Behind them, Mr. Paulson's room was in chaos. A crazy was stuck halfway in the window, impaled on a large piece of broken glass but still moving. Other crazies were trying to get in the window but were blocked by the impaled one.

Sam turned to Mr. Paulson. “For shit's sake, I'm trying to figure out the way out of here.”

“Anj...” came Freeda's worried voice from behind Angie. The crazies behind them sounded very close.

“Follow me,” said Angie, pushing past Sam. “I'll explain.”

“Who the fuck died and left you in charge?” said Sam.

“Everyone.”

She didn't look behind her, rushing to the nurse's station and assuming everyone was following her. She was right. She waited while everyone filed inside, then locked the door. She hoped no one could see her hands shaking.

She turned. Park was heading down the one remaining hall.

“That way,” said Freeda, motioning the others down it.

“Freeda, wait...” Angie started.

“What the fuck!” came Park's voice from the hallway. The others disappeared down it.

Angie sighed and followed.

The others were standing, staring at the empty hall. And at the lack of a door at the end.

“There's no door!” yelled Park.

“This hall's on a hill,” said Angie. “We only use it when the other rooms are full.”

“The windows!” yelled Freeda, racing into one of the empty patient rooms.

“How the prick am I gonna get out a window?” yelled Mr. Paulson from his wheelchair.

Freeda came back out, shaking her head. “Those people. They're all along the walls down below. They just can't get to the windows.”

Sam spun around, face deep red, and stomped to Angie. And balled up his large hand and punched her in the face.

“Bitch! You trapped us!”

“Hey!” yelled Park, letting go of Moe and running up. He punched Sam across the jaw. “The fuck's your problem?”

Sam stepped back, sputtering. “Fuck your mother's asshole, trailer trash. You know who I am?”

“I do,” said Park, then punched him again. “That's for the shitty truck.”

Angie's nose smarted. She felt blood coming. Freeda ran over to her.

“Shit, are you okay?”

Angie started to nod when Moe swayed and fell over backward.

“Moe!” yelled Park, rushing to him.

Muffled screams came from the nurse's station. Angie wiped her bloody nose and ran to see.

Behind the glass door, the little boy was lying on the floor.

“Shit!” said Angie, then went to unlock the door. She stopped, hand on the lock, when she saw the crazies behind the boy.

“Help!” the boy pleaded.

The boy's mother, eyes empty and cold, fell on the boy and bit into the back of his head. He shrieked and blood sprayed onto the glass.

“Oh god,” came Freeda's voice behind her.

Angie slid to her knees. The boy grasped weakly at the glass. Angie put her hand to his, no longer caring if anyone saw her shake and cry.

Eight

Brooke sighed as she clicked the TV remote. Why couldn't she just find something mindless the three of them could watch, just to pass the time?

The doorbell rang.

Dalton sat up on the couch. “Pizza!”

“Stay put,” said Brooke, standing and setting the remote down. “I'll get it.”

She walked to the front door and opened it. A teenage boy stood there, holding a pizza box. His hat said Pizza Plaza.

“Hey,” said Brooke, unzipping her purse.

“Hi,” said the boy, looking up and down the street. “There something going on around here tonight?”

“Hmmm?” said Brooke, half-listening as she rooted around for cash.

“Got a lot of weirdos wandering around tonight,” said the boy, looking back at her.

“Who knows,” said Brooke, finding a twenty and looking back up at the boy. “Got too much on my mind tonight, watching these two.”

“Yeah.” The boy tried a little laugh. “Anyway, $18.50.”

And an old woman came up and bit the boy's neck. He gasped in surprise. Blood shot out of his throat and onto Brooke's shirt. Huge drops of it fell on the pizza box.

Brooke screamed and slammed the door.

Shock gave way to guilt and she opened the door to help.

“What's going on?” said Dalton behind her.

The boy was now being dragged down the street by two old ladies. The first one chewed on his neck as he struggled weakly. The second old lady grabbed one of his arms and brought his hand to her mouth. She bit into the top and tore off a huge flap of skin, exposing bone and muscle. The boy tried to scream and gargled in his own blood.

“Oh shit,” said Brooke, staring.

“Oooh,” said Maylee from across the room. “Big girl gets to cuss.”

“Shut the fuck up, Maylee,” said Brooke, shutting the door and locking it. She stepped away from the door, fishing into her purse for her cell phone. She had to call the cops.

“Nice,” said Maylee, getting up and stomping to the door. “Don't tell me what to do, bitch.”

She opened the door and screamed.

A man in a muddy suit grabbed her and pulled her out the door.

“Maylee!” yelled Dalton, racing outside.

“Damn it!” yelled Brooke, following.

Outside, Maylee was struggling with the man. He was trying to bite her but Maylee was barely holding him off. Two teenagers were approaching. One had half his face missing.

Dalton grabbed one of Maylee's shoulders. Brooke grabbed the other. The man pulled Maylee toward him. The teenagers drew near.

Maylee screamed and kicked the man in the face. He fell back and let go.

Dalton and Brooke pulled Maylee inside as the teenagers grabbed for them. Dalton shut the door and locked it.

“What the fuck!” shrieked Maylee.    

“Don't open the door!” said Brooke.

“No shit, really?” said Maylee, pacing. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don't know,” said Brooke, looking for her phone again.

Dalton was looking out the large front window. “They're eating the pizza guy.”

“You mean the pizza,” said Maylee.

“No,” said Brooke, “he means the pizza guy.”

Maylee went to the window and looked. “Oh shit.”

“The cops aren't answering,” said Brooke, holding her cell phone to her ear. “Why the hell aren't they answering?”

Maylee and Dalton turned to look at Brooke. Maylee walked over. “Let me try.”

“I know how to dial, Maylee,” said Brooke.

The window crashed in. Four arms grabbed Dalton and pulled him outside.

“Fuck!” yelled Maylee, running and jumping out the window.

“Damn it!” yelled Brooke. “I'm in charge here! Stay inside!”

She ran to the window. Maylee was pulling Dalton away from the two teenagers. Brooke climbed out to help. One of the old ladies, face covered in the pizza boy's blood, grabbed her.

The smell from the woman was awful. Her skin was clammy and cold. Brooke's grandfather had died two years ago. Brooke had touched him in the coffin. His skin then felt like the old woman's now. The woman hissed at her and leaned in to bite.

Maylee's foot slammed into the woman's head. The old woman fell over and Brooke scrambled away.

“Hitting them in the head seems to help,” said Maylee.

“Back in the house,” said Brooke. The old woman was getting up. The teenagers were closing in. The man with the muddy suit was coming up from one side.

She helped Dalton back in the window. Maylee climbed in and Brooke followed. The group of crazy attackers was approaching the window.

“We need to block the window,” said Maylee.

“Here,” said Brooke. “Help me.” She grabbed hold of the couch and pushed it toward the window. Maylee and Dalton joined her. The three of them tipped the couch up onto its side, against the window. The crazies outside pushed at it.

The three of them stepped back and looked at the couch. “That's not gonna hold long,” said Dalton.

The couch started falling forward. Brooke caught it. Maylee and Dalton each grabbed a side. Arms reached past the couch and grabbed at them. One of the arms was missing most of its flesh.

“This isn't working!” yelled Maylee.

“Shit!” said Brooke. “Run!”

They ran away from the couch, across the living room and into the hall. The couch thumped to the floor behind them.

“Get to the back door!” said Brooke.

“Wow, no shit?” said Maylee.

“Not now, Maylee!” yelled Brooke.

They ran into the kitchen. They stopped, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

A man in an old-fashioned suit was there, stumbling toward them. His skin was dry and taut against his skull. Thin white hair barely hung from his scalp.

Brooke blinked.

His eyes were gone.

He groaned at them.

Dalton screamed from behind Brooke. The back door that led out from the kitchen slammed open. A large woman missing an arm staggered in.

“Come on!” yelled Maylee from behind Brooke. “We can get out my bedroom window!”

Brooke shook her head clear.

“Yeah,” she said. The three of them ran from the kitchen.

They made it to Maylee's bedroom. Maylee climbed onto the bed and knelt by her window. She undid the lock and pushed the window up.

“Come on!” she said, looking back at Brooke and Dalton.

A withered hand reached inside and grabbed Maylee's hair.

“Maylee!” Dalton screamed and rushed to the bed. Brooke followed.

Dalton grabbed the arm and tugged. Brooke grabbed the arm and tried to push it out the window.

Maylee frantically tugged at the fingers in her hair. Brooke changed tactics and tried to help. She did her best to pull the fingers from Maylee's hair. Maylee grunted and squirmed. Brooke could hear panic in her voice.

Dalton yelled and leaned backward, pulling at the arm as hard as he could. With a sloppy tearing noise a huge sheet of skin came free of the arm. He screamed and dropped the skin.

The arm showed no reaction. It pulled Maylee toward the window.

Brooke let go and stood on the bed. She grabbed the window and slammed it down on the arm.

The arm didn't flinch.

“Shit,” she said, pulling the window back up.

The arm pulled Maylee closer to the window. Maylee screamed.

Brooke slammed the window down again. It bounced off the arm, snapping back up a few inches.

The arm kept pulling Maylee steadily toward the window. Maylee kicked at the bed, dragging dirt across the sheets.

“Goddamn it!” yelled Brooke, pulling the window up.

“Look out!” screamed Maylee, her head drawing near to the windowsill.

Brooke screamed and slammed the window down as hard as she could. It hit the arm on the wrist, inches away from Maylee's head.

The wrist snapped and the hand tore free. Maylee scrambled up and off the bed. She screamed with disgust as she pulled the hand out of her hair and dropped it.

“What the fuck!” she shrieked.

“There's no blood,” said Dalton.

Brooke and Maylee looked at the severed hand on the floor. There was no blood anywhere.

“What the fuck!” Maylee repeated. “Why the fuck isn't there any blood?”

Groans came from the living room and kitchen.

“Shit,” said Brooke. “We need to get to a room they can't get in.”

“The bathroom,” said Dalton. “There's no windows.”

Brooke nodded. “Hurry.”

She led them to the hallway. A crash came from the living room and they stopped to look. Three crazies were climbing over the fallen couch. A fourth was stepping onto the TV, which had apparently just fallen.

Groaning came from Brooke's side. Cold hands grabbed her and Dalton screamed. The eyeless man from the kitchen had her.

Brooke screamed and tried to push the man away. He clacked his rotten teeth together, inches away from biting her.

“Let her go!” yelled Dalton, kicking the man in the side.

Maylee ran back into her bedroom.

“Maylee!” yelled Brooke, struggling with the man. “We have to stay together!”

The four crazies in the living room were getting closer.

“Let her go!” Dalton repeated, kicking the man again.

Maylee ran back into the hallway, holding an aluminum baseball bat. Screeching, she brought the bat down on the man's head. The man's skull caved, crumpling his forehead into a frown. The man let go.

“See!” yelled Maylee. “The head!”

Brooke pushed the man back into the kitchen. She briefly noticed the woman missing an arm - the one who'd followed the man into the kitchen - was gone.

“Into the bathroom,” she said. “Hurry!”

They rushed further down the hallway, then banked left in the bathroom. Brooke turned, let Maylee and Dalton past her, and shut the door. Brooke's sweating hands fumbled as she pushed the handle in and turned it, locking the door.

Maylee sat back against the sink, clutching the bat. Dried skin caked the top of it. Dalton leaned against the toilet.

For a second they all stared at each other, panting.

Then the shower curtain collapsed at them. It draped Brooke, knocking her to the floor. Brooke felt the weight of a person atop her, writhing against the curtain that separated them. Groaning breath hit where the curtain stretched against Brooke's cheek. The breath smelled foul but had no heat. It was cold.

Brooke screamed and pushed up. A hand grabbed at her and teeth ground against the curtain.

Brooke heard Dalton and Maylee screaming. The person atop her shook as something repeatedly struck them. Maylee's bat, Brook realized.

“Where the hell did she come from?” yelled Maylee.

“I recognize her from the kitchen!” yelled Dalton. “She must have wandered to the bathroom while we were in your bedroom.”

“Get her off of me!” shrieked Brooke.

Brooke heard Maylee and Dalton scrambling to grab hold of the woman. A few seconds later, her weight shifted upward.

Brooke scrambled out from under the curtain. Her attacker, the large woman missing an arm, was struggling in Dalton's and Maylee's grip. She bit at all three of them, missing but coming close.

“Open the door!” yelled Maylee.

“Are you crazy?” said Brooke, panting. “They're out there...”

“We can't keep her in here!” yelled Maylee.

Brooke swallowed. Maylee was right.

Brooke turned, braced herself, and unlocked the door.

She opened it. The eyeless man stood there, reaching for them. Other crazies reached around the door frame.

“Duck!” yelled Maylee.

Brooke did.

Maylee and Dalton shoved the lady forward. She stumbled, tripped over Brooke and fell out the door. She knocked the eyeless man over and they both fell into the hallway.

Brooke stood and slammed the door. She locked it as fast as her shaking hands would allow.

“Shit,” said Maylee.

“Is everyone okay?” said Brooke. She turned to put her back to the door. Groaning and scratching came from the other side.

Dalton and Maylee nodded.

Brooke nodded in reply and slid down to sit on the floor. She put one foot against the side of the toilet, bracing the door with her body.

“What do we do now?” said Dalton.

“Now,” said Brooke, fishing around in her pockets. “We call the cops again.”

Dalton nodded. Brooke felt in her pockets more frantically, panic growing. “My phone.”

“What?” said Maylee.

Brooke sighed and put her forehead in her palms. “My cell phone. I must have dropped it in the living room.”

Maylee and Dalton stared at her.

Dalton swallowed. “And the house phone is in the kitchen.”

Brooke nodded and sighed, looking around the windowless room.

“Shit.”

And groaning and scratching came from behind the one and only door.