Re-Animator (20 page)

Slit Wrist was wearing a confused look as she felt her caved-in-skull, while Shotgun Blast turned just in time to catch the bottom of the metal fire extinguisher in the undamaged side of his face. Propelled by a spray of dark red blood, he rocketed backward, Megan leering at him as he fell.

“Go to hell, you miserable bastards!”

Cain scrambled to his feet, his vision blurred and head throbbing.

“Home run,” he said as he steadied himself on Megan’s shoulder.

“Hurry. I smashed another one on the way in, but there are three on West.”

Cain followed her out and saw that Cracked Rib had joined the fray and was fishing through the medical kit. Cain noticed the severed head then, still alive and glaring down.

“Incredible,” he said through his pain, and grabbed the fire extinguisher. He sprayed a jet of foam across the room, and the head dropped backward into the sink. The body ran to get it. Cain threw the fire extinguisher at his shoulders and sent him sprawling. Almost immediately, he regretted it, however, as the remaining zombies came at them.

West pushed his head from beneath Malpractice’s knee.

“Dan—the drill!”

Snapping his fingers once, Cain dove toward the instrument table. The laser drill was still spitting its filament of fire, and Cain grabbed it. Fumbling with the keypad on the side, he punched the beam to full power and, turning it on One-Arm, he set his clothes afire. The zombie stared aghast, then slapped at the fire as his dry skin went up like kindling. Cain pivoted to take an attack from John Doe, who had left West. As luck would have it, that was the moment one of the creatures decided to punch the fuse box through the wall. The beam died, and the lights went out.

“Shit!”

Cain swore again as one of the male zombies—in the dark, he couldn’t be sure which—pressed forward and grabbed him. Megan ran up behind the creature, pounding him, but he knocked her back without even turning. Cain could smell its breath, unspeakably rank, as it tried to bite him. Remembering what had happened to Lenny Wengler—and also to Dean Halsey’s fingers when he first attacked John Doe—Cain didn’t try to push his face back but, instead, struck down with his elbow, clubbing the zombie over and over in the ear. The creature retreated, and Cain squirmed away, scooping up Megan. They stumbled through the morgue to the autopsy room.

Lit with two emergency lights and the fire of the burning zombie, the room was growing thick with smoke. Somewhere to the left, plumes of white suffused the darker haze as one of the zombies gleefully spilled jar after jar of acid on itself and on the countertop. Near the overturned operating table, two of the zombies were tearing at the corpse of a third.

Cain squinted through the stinging smoke. “Herbert!”

There was coughing on the right, by the sink, and they felt their way over. West lay bruised and bloodied, draped over his bag. Behind him, Hill’s body was still spasming; they heard a grotesque slurping sound from within it.

Cain refused even to try and imagine what was making the noise as he helped West to his feet.

“Come on, pal, let’s go.”

The young scientist rose unsteadily and grabbed the bag, following the others toward the door. Suddenly, the slurping became a roar, and West reached for his throat.

Cain peered back through the smoke and felt his stomach buckle.

“Christ!
Christ!”

Like a monstrous snake, a length of intestine had uncoiled from the surgeon’s belly and grabbed West’s throat. The overdose hadn’t killed Hill but had given every inch of him its own hellish life.

Cain stretched around and reached for the young man, but West was jerked backward, toward Hill’s body. The intestine reeled West in, wrapping tightly around his torso and legs and lifting him from the floor.

“Caaaaaain!”

“Herbert, hold on!”

Cain looked frantically for something to use against Hill. Finding nothing, he attacked with his feet. However, he was driven back by the body’s reserves. The stomach sprayed acid while the other organs began exploding violently, one after the other, keeping Cain back with blinding waves of gore.

West waved him back. “My . . . notes!” he gurgled weakly. “Get them . . . out!”

Cain looked around and was about to pick up the bag when Megan began screaming. Cain spun and saw what was left of her father standing beside her, its head at its feet and staring up at her. The mouth moved.

“Meeeeeaaaaggggggaaaannnn . . .”

“No—no—
nooooo!”

The young woman started laughing madly. Snatching up the medical kit, Cain led her away. Her laugh became a sob and then a cough as she choked on the smoke. Cain handed her a handkerchief and held his own breath. Behind them, they could hear the crack of bones as the intestines tightened; around them, zombies still moved blindly about, smashing the room and each other.

Megan gagged, stumbled.

“I can’t . . . can’t move.”

“Don’t give up now—”

“Dan . . . everything spinning!”

He picked her up.
“Hold your breath,
we’re almost there!”

Cain wiped his eyes as he fought through the burning waves of smoke. He kept his gaze on the dim light of the hallway and, fighting unconsciousness himself, hunched over and all but fell toward the corridor. When they reached it, he lay Megan gasping on Mace’s desk and dropped beside her. Noticing Hill’s smashed head on the floor, he pulled her to him, making sure Megan couldn’t see it.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said into her ear. “We’re safe now.”

Somewhere in the distance a fire alarm sounded, joining the din of the zombies and the crackle of flames. Yet through the cacophony, Cain heard a faint, plaintive cry, a voice high and pained but clearly that of Herbert West: “Gruber, I join you . . . I join you!”

It was followed by a scream and then silence.

The silence, Cain reflected, of permanent death.

CHAPTER

13

C
ain opened his eyes. It seemed as if hours had passed, though he knew only seconds had gone by. His mouth was dry, and he struggled to swallow down the flat, smoky taste that filled it.

The shadow crept slowly along the table. Cain saw it, and, his muscles aching, he turned over slowly.

“Mace?”

He looked up at features that were not those of Mace. Burn victim.

Reacting rather than thinking, Cain pulled Megan to the floor just as the zombie dumped two beakers of acid on the desk. He shielded Megan as they fell, droplets searing his back and neck. Cain shrieked with pain. Following the sound of his cries, the surviving zombies staggered from the autopsy room.

Roused by the pain, Cain jumped up and threw a block at Burn Victim. The surprised zombie fell back, and Cain helped Megan to her feet.

They ran for the elevator, Cain barely ducking in time as one of the zombies picked up Mace’s wooden chair and hurled it down the hallway. He lost his footing on some of Hill’s blood and fell. Megan helped him up, then slapped the elevator button, the two pacing frantically as the digital numbers clicked off above it. The initial sting of the acid had worn off on Cain’s back, and now it burned horribly; he asked Megan to tear open the holes it had burned in his shirt, to keep the fabric from rubbing.

The zombies paused to smash Mace’s desk and rip the telephone from the wall before continuing on. It didn’t comfort Cain to know that they meant him no malice, that they were simply destructive by nature. He picked up a leg of the shattered chair, swatted it threateningly against his open palm.

“Wish this thing had a nail in it,” he said.

“Why, would that stop them?”

He shook his head. “I just want to rip those sons of bitches apart.”

Megan watched the indicator while Cain watched the zombies.

“It’s here!”

The door slid open, and the couple jumped in, pushed the button for the main floor. Cain flung the chair leg at the zombies to dissuade them from approaching; the panel began to close and was nearly shut when a section of the desk came flying back in response to the chair leg. It wedged between the door and the return panel, the former opening obediently.

“Fuck me!” Cain roared and jumped behind the desk. He pushed; as the wood slid out, he failed to see Burn Victim reach for him, the zombie having hauled her scabbed body beside the carriage. She grabbed him by the hair and, using her own momentum, threw Cain down the corridor. Then she stepped into the elevator.

The door began to close again and the zombie began strangling Megan. Cain swore, but a powerful pair of hands grabbed him and flung him even further back. The remaining zombies turned on Cain, cornering him in the opposite end of the corridor. Thick smoke poured from the autopsy room and obscured the elevator, blocking all but Megan’s smothered screams. He called to her, was prepared to run into the approaching creatures when he remembered the axe.

Cain saw it hanging on his side of the autopsy room, just behind one of the approaching creatures. With a roar which actually startled the creature, he heaved himself forward and, spinning the zombie aside, grabbed the axe without breaking his stride. He raced to the elevator, where the leg of Burn Victim herself was preventing the door from closing, and it was the first limb to go. Cain lopped it off at the knee and jumped in. The door finally shut behind him.

Falling to one knee, the zombie pulled Megan with her, her hands still locked around the young woman’s neck.

“Let her
go!”

Cain brought the blade down hard on Burn Victim’s shoulder, cleanly severing her arm. The zombie made no outcry. She simply rose on one leg and turned on Cain, grabbing his throat while the amputated limb still choked Megan. Her mouth hung open, showing blackened teeth where the lips and gums had burned away; she snapped at Cain as he clawed at her with one hand. Her seared flesh came away easily, and he exposed half her jawbone and skull in a mad effort to get to her brain and stop her.

Black circles swam before his eyes, but Cain was aware of Megan falling silent and slumping against the wall. With a burst of strength, he took the axe in both hands and swung it at Burn Victim’s head. Though he was pinned in the corner, Cain had put enough force into the blow to dig deeply. The zombie backed away, and Cain swung again. This time the head came off. It fell, still alive, but the shock had caused its arms to go slack. Before it could react, Cain swung the axe again, splitting the head lengthwise. Both halves fell away.

Its arm and body undirected, Burn Victim was no longer a threat. Cain pushed her aside and knelt beside Megan, felt her neck. Placing his hands on her chest, he began pressing down.

“Come on, Meg, breathe!
Breathe!”

The elevator door slid open. From the corner of his eye he could see firefighters rushing into the lobby. There would be questions, and he had no time for them. Scooping Megan up in his arms, he punched the basement button. He stumbled over the medical kit on his way out, picked it up, and hurried toward the emergency room. The door shut behind him, carrying Burn Victim away.

Patients and hospital personnel alike looked up as Cain rushed by. He ignored them and also the firefighters as they hurried past him to the stairwell. He felt a flash of guilt for not warning them about the zombies, but Megan needed him more. And what would he tell them?

Several of the nurses and orderlies recognized Megan as Cain hurried past, and they dropped what they were doing to come along. The noisy queue snaked toward the room, and Dr. Harrod emerged to see what this latest commotion was about. When she saw who it was, she swore violently.

“Cain, what happened?”

“She’s got nothing—
nothing!”

“Take her into number three!”

The group hit the cubicle and split like jet fighters, each one peeling away to his post.

One nurse pressed a mask to Megan’s face. “Air on.”

Another pulled away Megan’s blouse, while a third pushed the small, round sensors on her chest. A fourth switched on the monitor over the bed.

Cain dropped the medical kit and swung toward the defibrillator. Dr. Harrod was already there, and he snatched the paddles from her. She didn’t protest. Doctors were not supposed to be emotionally involved with their patients, but it might be the edge they needed to bring her back. Looking at the flat, green line on the monitor, she knew it would take some kind of a miracle to save Megan.

“Hurry!” Cain snapped, thrusting the paddles at intern Judie Reynolds. The young woman squeezed gel onto them and backed away. “Okay, everybody off!”

The nurse on the air bag stepped back, and Cain pressed the paddles to Megan’s chest. He shot her, and her body jumped.

“Nothing!” said the nurse on the monitor.

“Putting back air.”

“Pupils dilated,” said a third. “No response.”

Cain handed the paddles to Reynolds and began massaging Megan’s heart.

“Please, Meg, do something . . . anything.”

Megan’s head lolled from side to side, her face colorless, lips nearly so. Her eyes were open, and her fingers hung limply over the side of the table.

“Meg . . .”

Harrod laid a hand on the young man’s shoulders. “Cain . . . Cain . . .”

He ignored her. She was a quitter, he wasn’t.
More time.
Megan just needed more time. He continued pressing.

Harrod looked up, nodded to the nurses. The air bag was withdrawn, the sensors removed.

“No!” Cain blurted. “She needs them. Just a few more seconds—”

“Cain, we’ve lost her,” Harrod said softly. “There’s nothing more you can do.”

The young man stopped pressing. He stood over her, arms locked, hands on her chest, head bowed. He was overwhelmed with guilt as he considered all the things he could have done to make this turn out differently. If they’d only taken the stairs. If he’d taken off the zombie’s head first. If he hadn’t lingered just that extra moment to collect West’s medical kit in the autopsy room.

If.

Cain stepped back from the body.

“I’m sorry,” Harrod said. She motioned the others out the door. “We’ll use the other rooms . . . you can have a few minutes.”