"Areyou ok?" he asked almost robotically.
Theold man merely lumbered towards him, trailing bits of intestine.
"Canyou hear me?" he asked, quite sure he already knew the answer to hisquestion. There was no response, and this time the man was closer. A hypothesiswas forming in the gray matter of his brain, but it was too crazy to even admitto himself. The man had been dead, of that he was sure. The victim had not beenbleeding when he had come in... that's a sure sign of death, especially withthe sort of wounds that he had. On top of that, his brief contact with the manrevealed that his skin was cool to the touch. Despite all of these facts, Jimcouldn't bring himself to believe the logical conclusion... the old manstumbling towards him was literally a walking dead man.
AsJim's mind began doing loops in his own cranium, the man was upon him. His wiryarms grasped him and tried to pull him closer. They struggled, and Family Jimcame to the surface. He wanted to go home. He wanted this nightmare to end, andthen it did. Jim's ankle became entangled in the old man's intestines, and hestumbled to the ground, hitting the side of his head against his own desk.
Hewas unconscious by the time he hit the floor, which saved him a lot of pain.
***
Slim had worked security at the hospital for decades, buttonight was the craziest night that they had ever had. Security guards werebeing called from all over the hospital to deal with different issues. Patientswere attacking people all over the hospital. It was times like this that he washappy that he had drawn morgue desk duty over some of the more intensivesecurity gigs.
The sight of the bodies being wheeled in body bags, undersheets, and sometimes in pieces had disturbed him at first, but he had gottenused to it. The basement of the hospital had a certain routine to it, a routinethat allowed one to forget that he was essentially guarding dead bodies fromthe living and making sure no freaks got into the morgue and fiddled aroundwith the dead. The only time he ever had any real trouble was when some familymember demanded that they be let into the morgue.
That's why he was taken by surprise when Jim Jenks, a manhe had known for decades stumbled up behind him and took a bite out of hisneck. As his blood sprayed across his own security desk, Slim put his hand tohis neck in disbelief. When he pulled his hand away, there was more blood andmore spraying. He shoved Jim Jenks to the ground, and then saw another person downthe hallway... a naked old man... with his guts hanging out.
Slim reached for his radio to try and call for help, buthe fell to his knees. His brain was not receiving the amount of blood that hewas used to... which is what tends to happen when someone takes a bite out yourcarotid artery. The radio was heavy in his hands, and he managed to press thebutton, but he couldn't figure out what to say.
His vision became spotty, and when Jim Jenks put hishands on him again, he didn't even think to fight. He was gone by the time theold man reached him. But he would be back.
Chapter 28: A Message to You Rudy
The sounds in the hallway had stopped fifteen minutesago. When they stopped, Rudy hung up the phone; he had waited long enough. Hehad made sure all of the lights were off in his apartment, and now he crouchedon the stained carpet, straining his ears for any sign that his nightmare wasover. His heartbeat was all he heard.
Then his phone rang. The Super Mario Brothers' theme songshocked him into clumsiness, and he bobbled his phone several times before hecould slide his finger across the screen to answer it. By then, the banging onhis doorway had begun.\
"Hello?" he answered.
"Sir, did you call the police?" was the reply.
"Yes! God, yes! You need to help me. There aremaniacs trying to break into my apartment!"
The dispatcher's reply was cool and calm, "Sir, canyou tell me your address?"
Rudy rattled off the address as he crept up the hallwayto his front door.
"What is your name?"
"My name is Rudy Lincoln. You guys need to get herenow. I don't know how long this door is going to last." Rudy leanedforward and looked out the peephole. His British neighbor and the man with themessed up jaw were both banging on his doorway. It rattled in the jamb.
"Rudy, I need you to hold on," the dispatchersaid in a voice that was meant to be soothing. "The police are on theirway, but it's going to be a while. I need you to find something, anything, tobarricade the door with."
Rudy was taken aback by the dispatcher's response."Barricade the door? What am I? A fucking carpenter? How the hell am Isupposed to barricade the door?"
The dispatcher took no notice of the growing panic inRudy's voice. "Do you have something you can put in front of the door? Apiece of furniture, a dresser, anything to slow them down. I need you to holdon, Rudy."
Rudy backed away from the door, and looked around hisliving room. He wasn't much of a furniture person. The only thing that wouldeven be remotely helpful would be his La-Z-Boy. "I have a chair," heannounced proudly to the dispatcher.
"That's good, Rudy. Can you block the door off withthe chair?"
"I think so." Rudy put the phone down and thendragged his chair across his apartment and down the hallway that led to his door.Once it was in place, he grabbed his phone and plopped down in the chair togive it some added weight.
"I did it," he
