'Now you've done it,' the zombie slurred. The creature's lips fell to the floor, exposing rotten, ulcerating gums and a gray tongue.
'Give me back my baby, you son of a bitch!'
The other straps broke as Frankie rolled off the table and struck her head on the floor. The creature rushed her, brandishing the hypodermic needle like it was a dagger. Frankie sprang to her feet, keeping the table between them.
'This isn't really happening,' she spat. 'You're not real! My baby was already dead. It died back in Baltimore.'
'Yes, it did. And now you're all alone. Poor Frankie. Frankie the junkie. Frankie the whore. All alone. Still dying for a fix, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not. Dying for it. Dying alone in a dead world.'
She sprinted for the door. The zombie ran after her. As it lurched into the hall, Frankie shoved a gurney into it. The zombie fell backward onto the delivery room's linoleum floor. Frankie ran down the hall, darting from one twisting corridor to another.
Finally, she stopped to catch her breath. Shivering, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. The hospital was cold, and she could see her breath under the fluorescent lights. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings. The hallway was silent except for her footsteps.
She stopped in front of a set of double doors and ran her fingers over a sign hanging on the wall.
Maternity Ward
She'd been here before.
'Just a dream. This is just another fucking dream. Any minute now, the preacher's gonna wake me up.'
The doors swung open. She stepped through and sniffed the air. Something had spoiled inside.
'Come on, Martin. Wake my ass up!'
She looked through a glass observation window. Dozens of little white bassinets were lined up in neat, orderly rows. Each crib was occupied.
Tiny fists pumped the air, and tufts of downy hair peeked over several of the rims.
'I've seen this before,' she said aloud. 'Where's mine? Show me my baby.'
As if in answer, a pair of mottled, pale, blue-veined arms gripped the side of a bassinette. Her baby pulled itself upright. Standing on diminutive legs, it climbed down to the floor and scampered over to its nearest neighbor. The zombie infant wriggled into the bassinette and fell upon the other newborn.
The other babies began to scream.
Frankie could hear the chewing sounds, even over the cries of the other babies, even through the thick glass partition.
Even over her screams.
'Just a dream ... Just a dream ...'
The feasting grew louder, and her baby began to speak in a language Frankie had never heard before.
'Enga keeriost mathos du abapan rentare ...'
'Somebody wake me up. Wake me up!'
The baby clambered out of the bassinette and crawled toward the window.
It began to chant. 'Ob ... Ob ... Ob ...'
'Martin?' Frankie backed away from the glass. 'Jim? Somebody help me!'
The baby drew nearer. Frankie shut her eyes. Her baby's voice changed again. 'Mommy?' It sounded like Danny. From behind her, Martin said,
'Frankie, wake up.'
Pain. Then-darkness and more pain.
'Daddy?'
A voice. Small and afraid. Disembodied.
'D-Daddy? Dad?'
Urgent. Louder.
'Dad. The monster people are coming! Get up!'
Panic. The voice was Danny's.
'Daddy! Please, Daddy, you've got to wake up. Please?'
It all came rushing back to him-the rescue, the pursuit, the motorcycle crashing in front of them on purpose, and then-nothing.
Jim opened his eyes and saw red. There was no sign of Danny, or any of their companions. In fact, there was no sign of anything. He couldn't see. It was as if a scarlet curtain had been drawn over the world.
'Daddy, what's wrong?'
'I-I'm blind ...'
A guard shack-the kind used at parking garages. He remembered that.
'They're here. Come on!'
