(5)
“Val! I heard shots,” Mike said. “Listen.”
“Crow!”
They crowded as close to the door as the barricade would allow, Mike and Val pressing against Jonatha and Newton, with Weinstock behind them. Huddled together they could each feel the trembles rippling through each other.
“I think I heard two guns at the same time,” Val said.
Mike closed his eyes, trying to focus on his hearing even though his ears rang from the shots Val had fired through the door. The crawly sensation was constant now and he knew that there were many of them out there. Then the sensation spiked up like someone jabbed a hot electric wire in the back of his neck; he stiffened.
“Mike,” Weinstock said behind him, “what is it?”
“I feel—”
His eyes flew wide and he tried to spin around, but Weinstock was pressing forward too hard. A warning was rising to Mike’s lips and then suddenly Weinstock was whipped backward away from him. White hands seemed to appear out of nowhere and they snatched Weinstock, tearing at his skin.
“NO!” Mike screamed, bringing up his shotgun, but there was no clear shot; Jonatha and Newton seemed to turn in slow motion, but Val lunged forward, grabbing Weinstock’s hand as he fought against the four vampires that had him. A fifth was climbing through the empty window frame—a boy the same age and size as Mike—his friend Brandon.
Val fired two shots and one of the vampires went down, but the others were moving backward so fast and Weinstock was flailing too much. Mike leapt forward and grabbed the doctor by the hand.
“Help me!” Weinstock and Mike screamed it at the same moment. A vampire clamped his hands around Weinstock’s throat and Val fired again; the round clipped Weinstock’s shoulder, but it also caught the vampire in the throat. Weinstock shrieked in pain and suddenly there was blood on his throat and chest.
They were at the window now. Jonatha and Newton beat at them with their fists, Val hammered with the butt of her pistol. She leaned over Weinstock as the whole crowd of them, human and inhuman, hung teetering on the windowsill. She jammed her pistol into a white face and fired, jammed it into a belly and fired. Mike dropped his gun in order to use both hands. Weinstock kept screaming and screaming.
Val shot at Brandon and he fell backward, either hit or falling from loss of balance. He plunged into the darkness.
And then it was over. Two vampires lay dead on the floor. Two others, dead for sure, had been blasted out the window. Mike held Weinstock’s hand, and Jonatha and Newton had handfuls of the doctor’s pajamas. They clung to him, pulling him back from the abyss.
“Saul!” Val said, casting around for something to use as a bandage for his bleeding throat. “He’s hurt—Newt, Jonatha, help me get him to the bed. Mike, watch the window.”
Mike snatched up his weapon and went back to the window, but the assault was over. Two bodies lay on the ground four stories below, but there was no sign of anyone else. He looked up and sideways, just to be sure, but nothing. His friend Brandon’s body was not among the dead and Mike thought he could hear Brandon’s laughter on the wind.
“Christ, he’s bleeding bad,” Newton said. Jonatha started tearing off pieces of sheet for Val, but as soon as she pressed them against Weinstock’s throat they became soaked with blood.
“I think they got the artery,” Val said. Her face was spattered with blood. “How do I stop it? Saul! How do I stop it?”
Panic was in Weinstock’s eyes and he kept trying to speak, but every time he opened his mouth all that came out was blood.
“Saul…what do I do?” she begged. The wad of torn sheeting was soaked; blood ran down her wrist. “Oh, God, Saul…please…help me, please!”
The panic in his eyes was fading now, flowing out of him as the blood flowed. He tried to speak, tried to say something, and Val bent close, listening with all her strength for some clue, some magic trick of medicine that he could give her.
All he said was, “Rachel.”
His eyes stared at Val and maybe in that last moment he was seeing the face of his wife, and maybe the faces of his children; he did not see Val’s face, or the faces of the others who clustered around him, each face shocked as white as the faces of the monsters who had done this. Saul Weinstock stared through them and through the walls and through the night with a fixity of vision so intense and so pure that he might have looked on the face of God.
“No, no, no, no!” Val pleaded, fumbling under the bandages for some trace of a pulse, finding none, finding nothing. Weinstock’s body seemed to relax back, the tension and fear of everything that was happening leaving him. Val bent over him, hugging him to her chest, crying so hard that it shook the whole bed.
Then she threw her head back and screamed.
Chapter 44
(1)
“Put the guns down and put your hands above your heads.”
Crow and LaMastra both had their shotguns aimed at Tow-Truck Eddie. Everyone else in that part of the wing was either dead or dying.
“Put them down!”
“Not going to happen, Eddie,” Crow said.
“Stand down, Officer,” growled LaMastra. “We’re all on the same team here.”
Oswald’s blue eyes cut back and forth between them. His face was florid, his eyes bright. One sleeve of his shirt was torn and there were long scratches carved into the sculpted muscles of his arms. “Crow…I don’t know who’s who or what’s what right now. I just know that everyone in this town has gone crazy. People I know—people I go to church with—have been killing each other!” He took a step forward—half threatening, half pleading. “I saw the organist from my church, Cubby Sanders, a man I’ve known since I was five years old, I saw him bite the throat out of the reporter from Fox News. He killed him and…” He made a sick sound and swallowed several times. “He killed him and drank his blood.” A tear broke from his left eye and rolled slowly down toward his chin. “I don’t understand.”
Crow lowered his shotgun, then reached out and pushed LaMastra’s barrel down.
“Look, Eddie…I don’t how to begin explaining this to you, but there are monsters in Pine Deep. Vampires.”
Eddie lowered his gun, too. “Vampires. God save our souls…”
“Who else is with you?” asked LaMastra. “Where’s Chief Bernhardt? How many men can we count on?”
The big man shook his head. “They’re all dead. Except…except those that are with them. I saw Shirley O’Keefe trying to kill a child, a little boy. I…shot her. In the chest.”
“She didn’t die, did she?” Crow asked, stepping closer.
“No. I had to shoot her again and again. The evil in her was so strong that she didn’t want to die.”
“How many of them are there?” asked LaMastra, looking up and down the hall. “Do you know that, Officer? How many of these things are we facing?”
Eddie straightened. “The gates of Hell have opened and the host of Satan walks the earth.”
“Oh brother,” LaMastra said softly.
“How many, Eddie,” Crow insisted.
“Thousands,” Eddie said dully. “There are thousands of them.” Then his eyes brightened. “But I know who is behind this. If we can find him…and kill him, then Hell will recall its armies.”
Crow looked at LaMastra, who shrugged. “Yeah, we know, too, and if you want to kill that evil son of a bitch, then we’re all on the same team here.”