tables, a toy chest, and various dry erase boards and easels for watercolors and crayon masterpieces. Running along the far wall was a room-length window, decorated brightly with finger paint. A crudely-drawn bird caught Jenny’s eye, its oversized head reminding her of one of the creatures.
When she first became a nurse, pediatrics was her favorite ward. Children, even sick children, had a wonderful innocence about them. They were optimists, even when they were scared and facing death sentences. Though she and Randall had tried, Jenny hadn’t become pregnant. If she had, divorcing him would have been so much harder.
She cast a glance at her ex, and saw he was barricading the door they’d entered through, piling chairs and tables against it. Randall…he really seemed to be back to the old Randall. It was almost too much to hope for.
His leg was still bleeding, and Jenny knew she’d have to re-stitch his wound. But first things first. When doing triage, it was important to assess who needed immediate care. She turned her attention back to the sobbing families.
Three of the kids—two boys and a little girl—were sitting with their backs to the window, holding hands. No blood on them, though the boy on the right was bald from chemo. One pre-teen was with an older woman— probably Grandma. They clutched each other tightly, and Jenny wasn’t sure who was consoling whom. Another little boy clung to his mom, whose slack, pale expression was an obvious indicator of shock. The last boy, the eldest of them, knelt next to a man, prostrate on the floor, who was bleeding from a neck injury.
Jenny set the bloody hatchet on a table next to some coloring books and hurried to them. The blood pooling around the man was significant. The boy—no more than fifteen—was holding a towel to the man’s neck. Before looking at the injury, Jenny checked his radial pulse. The man’s skin was cool, sweaty. His face lacked color. Tachycardia—his heart was beating wildly—accompanied by rapid breathing.
Hypovolemia. Stage three or four.
This man was bleeding to death.
“Help my Dad. Please help him.”
“Can you hear me, sir?”
Glassy eyes. No response.
The man needed a transfusion, but the hospital’s blood bank was in the basement, and even if she made a run for it, and survived the dracula gauntlet, there was no guarantee the man would still be alive by the time she got back.
Jenny hurried to a closet in the corner of the room, the door decorated with crayon pictures. Inside were supplies. No blood, but a saline IV that would help restore some blood volume, oxygen, noradrenaline…
Her finger attacked the keypad over the lock, punching in the four digit code by memory.
A red light came on, and an unpleasant raspberry buzz indicating she’d gotten it wrong.
She tried it again, slower this time.
Another raspberry. They had changed the code. Son of a—
“Lady, can you help me find my mommy?”
Jenny stared down at the little girl tugging on her uniform. Then she cast a frantic glance around for Randall, who was barricading the second entrance.
“Randall! I need to get this door open!”
His head cocked up at the sound of her voice, and after tossing another chair onto the pile he limped over, pulling a screwdriver off of his tool belt.
“Dad! DAD!”
Jenny stared back at the bleeding man, but even at that distance she could see his chest was no longer moving.
“Got it!” Randall had jammed his screwdriver into the door jamb and popped the lock.
But it was too late. Even if Jenny tried CPR, the man had lost too much blood, and his wound was still open.
She walked to the teen, put a hand on his shoulder, and then he hugged her legs, squeezing them hard as he cried.
“Ah, shit,” Randall said, noticing the dead man.
Jenny tousled the boy’s hair, then motioned for her husband to come over.
“You need to clear a path to one of the doors, so we can drag this man out of here, before he turns into…”
Her voice trailed off, but Randall got the point, limping back to the barricade he’d made. Jenny helped the boy to his feet.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Peter. Peter Bernacky.”
“Peter, my name is Jenny. I’m very sorry about your dad. We’re going to put him in another part of the hospital.”
“He’s…dead…”
“I know he’s dead. But I need you to be strong for me. See those little kids sitting by the window? They’re really scared right now. Can you help me try to calm them down?”
Peter nodded, and Jenny took his hand and led him to the two boys huddling together, crying hysterically. Peter knelt next to them, his face a mask of tears, and dragged over a toy fire truck. Jenny watched as he tried to engage the younger children, and had to turn away because she felt her own tears coming.
“Please help me find my mommy. One of the monsters took her away.” The little girl was tugging on her uniform.
“I’ll help in a second, sweetie. But first I need to help Randall. I’ll just be a second.”
Her husband had pushed aside the pile of chairs, returning access to the door. Checking to make sure Peter wasn’t watching, she wrapped her hands around his father’s collar and began to drag him toward the exit. He was a man of average size, but the blood loss not only made him lighter, but functioned as a lubricant. She managed to get him three quarters of the way there by herself, and then Randall joined her.
They tugged the dead man into the hall, outside the picture window.
“We can’t leave him here,” Jenny said. “Peter can still see him.”
“We’ll take him around the corner. He won’t be able to—”
“Mommy!”
The little girl sprinted past, beelining down the hall.
Jenny automatically sprang up to run after her, but her husband’s strong arm wrapped around her waist, holding her back.
“I’ve got to get her, Randall.”
“I’ll get her. You’re staying here.”
“Randall…”
Randall shoved her back into the room, then limped off after the child.
“Randall!” she called out after he rounded the corner. “Be careful! I…”
She almost said
Staring down the hallway, she wondered if she should have just said it.
Wondered if she’d ever get another chance.
It was such a familiar sound. Jenny could swear she’d heard it before. Just a little while ago.
Then Jenny remembered.
Benny the Clown’s shoes.
She took a fearful look behind her and saw him standing at the other end of the hallway. Just standing there, watching her, his clown outfit drenched in gore. The dracula teeth had broken through his lips and cheeks. But,
