Katie was unaware of any of it. She knelt next to thebody of her son, holding his hand and rocking back and forth while calling hisname.
She didn't even notice as the old man called the policeand received a busy signal every time. She had no idea how long he had beentrying, as her grief seemed to impair all sense of time. In the night, therewas an explosion, and for a second, Katie thought the world was ending, and shewouldn't have to bear being without her son any longer. There were no trumpets,no plagues. Hell, pigs didn't even fly. But she knew she would never have to bewithout her son again, because he had sat up on the couch and was blinking hiseyes.
Chapter 17: From Worse to Worser
"Get that man secured!" Joan shouted as she randown the hallway to where she had left the sick old lady and her worriedhusband. Clara didn't know why, but she followed along. There wasn't much shecould do for Courtney now, as the two security guards had him on the ground andwere securing his hands and feet with zip ties
A group of doctors and patients had gathered around thecurtained off room where the screams had came from. Some had their hands overtheir faces. Other simply stared in awe. Joan had enough of the gawking. Whyweren't any of these people acting? With a strong hand, she yanked back thecurtain, and there she was, the sweet, sick old lady chewing on her husband'scorpse... scratch that, he wasn't a corpse just yet.
His head lifted slightly and he locked eyes with Joan, asif to say, "Why did you leave me?" The thing that would stick withher wouldn't be the sights, though they were horrific; the thing that reallystuck in her memory was the noise of the dying husband's intestines as the oldlady's hands pulled them out of his abdomen through a ragged tear that seemedno bigger than a quarter. The wet, slopping sounds, amid the silence of theonlookers, were only broken by the oddly tranquil, pained sighs of the husband,as he stared at Joan, curious and accepting.
When the woman took a bite out of the intestines, as ifthey were some sort of jerky stick, Clara, and a few others, couldn't help butlose their lunch. The smell of fecal matter assaulted the group as the man'sintestines were torn open amid the sound of retching and bile splatteringacross the floor. Joan felt sorry for the janitors tonight.
The retching did have another effect. The old ladyfinally stopped eating her husband, and focused her eyes on the group. When sheshoved her husband's now dead corpse off of the bed and stood up, the crowdbacked up as if they were in a movie theater watching a horror movie and it hadjust turned real. They couldn't tear their eyes away, but only because theydidn't believe it was actually happening.
The old lady's hospital gown was smothered in red, and asshe stumbled toward the group, Joan became instantly aware that whateverhappened next would likely be laid at her feet.
"Officers!" she yelled. "We've got anothersituation over here. The same as that guy I think."
The two security guards ran down the hall, the one withthe bite on his arm moved noticeably slower and he was looking a little greenaround the gills. She supposed she probably looked the same after witnessingthe old lady's lunch. She felt bad that she didn't even remember her name."I hope you brought more zip ties."
The old lady lunged at them, and the security guardseasily tackled her to the ground while avoiding her biting. The crowddispersed, some hastening for the exit to the E.R., others mollified and returningback to their own personal world as if everything were under control; horrible,but under control.
"What is wrong with her?" Clara asked.
Joan looked at her, folded her arms, and said, "Idon't know."
Just then, a group of paramedics burst through theswinging doors of the E.R. A patient fought for her life on the gurney theywere wheeling. "Make way!"
Clara and Joan saw the tell-tale mark of teeth around theragged wounds on the woman's face.
"This is not good," Joan said to no one inparticular.
Chapter 18: Pop-Tarts and Paint Thinner, theBreakfast of Champions
Mort'selbow seriously hurt, but not as much as his forehead. When his head finallystopped swimming, he crawled out of the window, eternally thankful that thecops hadn't seen fit to cuff his hands behind him. Just as with most things inhis life, his landing wasn't graceful. Amid broken shards of safety glass andwet pavement, he slapped into the ground.
Whenhe got to his feet, he saw an old man help the lady that had run from the house.One of those things appeared to be chasing her. He couldn't blame her for nothelping him; he had seldom asked for help and the results had always been thesame.
Mortpulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and looked at the squad car. Thecreatures inside were still focused on him, and he had had enough of it. Heambled into the recently abandoned house, limping on his bad knee. It lookedfine except for the fact that the front door had been left ajar.
Itwas a nice home, simple in its decoration. Nothing stood out, just plainfurniture that you could find at any large department store and a couple ofpictures. The blood stains on the stairs were the only real original touch.There wasn't much to see, so he headed back to the kitchen to find what he needed.
Mortstepped over the raw steak on the ground and opened up the cupboard under thesink. Just as he expected, he found a delightful array of cleaners, but it wasthe metal can of paint thinner that drew his attention. He pulled it out andstuck it under his arm. As he stood up, he noticed a box of Pop Tarts sittingon the edge of the counter.
"Idon't mind if I do," he said
