Zombie Dust: An Extreme Horror Novel Read online

  The nurse nodded and scurried from the room, looking relieved at being able to abandon the blood pressure cuff she had struggled to get around John Doe's arm. Even with nylon straps and velcro securing his arms, legs and torso to the gurney, he was thrashing sufficiently to defeat the possibility of most medical treatment.

  The blood pressure cuff fell onto the floor. No one bothered to pick it up.

  "Another fine use of tax dollars," Dr. Kent muttered under his breath. "People like that should just be euthanized."

  "You can say that again," Officer Fitzpatrick agreed.

  "I'll be back in twenty minutes after the Ativan takes effect. If he hasn't calmed down by then, feel free to shoot him between the eyes. I'm sure no one would ever miss him."

  Dr. Kent hung the patient's chart at the foot of the gurney and left the exam area without another word.

  The police officers looked at each other. "He wasn't serious, Murphy," Officer Fitzpatrick said to his partner. "You can take your hand off your weapon."

  "I know," Murphy replied. His hands were shaking. "I know."

  The nurse returned with a syringe containing the prescribed Ativan. "Could one of you hold his arm for me?" she asked. "I'm afraid he'll yank his arm and break the needle the way he's acting."

  Officer Fitzpatrick rolled his eyes. "You do it, Murphy. I've got a wife and kids at home."

  "No, you don't," Murphy replied. "You're just being a jerk." He took a deep breath. "Someone has to be a man. I guess it will have to be me."

  He leaned over the patient and grabbed his right arm at the elbow and the armpit. "Hurry," he said. "I should have put on a pair of latex gloves first. This guy is riper than ripe."

  "Don't be such a baby," Officer Fitzgerald said.

  Officer Murphy glared at the nurse. "Hurry," he said again. "Or you're on your own."

  The nurse took three quick steps toward the patient and swung the syringe in a hurried, unprofessional movement toward the John Doe's shoulder. At the very same moment, the patient let out an ungodly howl and jerked his head toward the hand holding the syringe.

  The unexpected distraction caused the nurse to jump, and she pressed the needle into Officer Murphy's hand and instinctively pushed the plunger in one fell swoop.

  Murphy sank to the cold, tiled floor. "Did you just inject me?" he asked in disbelief.

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the nurse kept repeating. "He moved, and he shrieked into my ear. I couldn't help it." She looked down at the police officer who was still sitting on the floor. "It's only Ativan. It doesn't work that fast. You can stand."

  "Needles," Officer Murphy gasped. "I'm terrified of needles." He held up his hand. The syringe was still stuck into his flesh. One good look at the needle piercing his skin and he passed out cold.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Officer Fitzpatrick said. "Do something."

  "I'll go get the doctor," the nurse said. She pulled the needle from the unconscious officer's hand and put it in the red plastic bin mounted to the wall.

  "Bring more Ativan," Officer Fitzpatrick said. He watched the nurse exit into the hallway. "I think I'm going to need some myself."

  The agitated patient lurched on the gurney, straining every muscle against the straps that kept him in a supine position. He kicked his legs and yanked his arms into the air, but the nylon and velcro held.

  Growling, he strained toward the police officer and snapped his teeth together. Even without words, his meaning was clear. He wanted to take a bite out of someone's flesh.

  The sole conscious police officer nervously touched the pepper spray attached to his belt. He thought it might come in handy before the night was through, either that or his gun. "Murphy, wake up." He nudged his partner with the toe of his boot. "Aw, bloody hell."

  Officer Murphy moaned from his position on the floor. His eyelids fluttered, showing the whites of his eyes before shuttering them again.

  "That's it. Come back to us, Murphy. Don't be a pussy your whole life."

  "Who are you calling a pussy?" Officer Murphy rubbed his eyes and sat up. "I feel like I'm stoned. Did that bitch really just shoot me up with a muscle relaxer?"

  Using the metal rails of the patient's gurney, he pulled himself to a standing position. "I'd better sit down," he said. "The room is spinning."

  "You're a lightweight." Officer Fitzpatrick was thrilled to have his partner back even if he was a little unsteady on his feet. "You need to toughen up."

  "Sorry. I don't drink, smoke or do drugs. So I'm a bit more sensitive to the effects of some dumb nurse shooting me up with narcotics."

  "Ativan isn't a narcotic. It's a tranquilizer. Benzodiazepine."

  The nurse had returned with a fresh syringe and was standing at the edge of the examination area as if afraid to come any closer. "It was an accident, and I'm sorry. Maybe if you had held onto him just a little bit more tightly, we wouldn't have had a problem."

  "You don't sound sorry," Officer Murphy said. "You sound like you think it's my fault."

  "It doesn't matter whose fault it was," the nurse began.

  "Your fault," Officer Murphy said. "This was definitely your fault. Don't you have to go to nursing school or something to become a nurse?"

  "Just hold him for me, or I won't be responsible for what happens next."

  This time, both officers held onto the man's upper body while the nurse administered two milligrams of Ativan directly into the muscle of his upper arm. "Thank God that's done," she said, pulling the needle from the John Doe's flesh.

  The patient twisted his body at the same moment. Despite the limited range of movement permitted by the nylon straps, he managed to bump into the nurse's hand at precisely the right angle to send the dirty needle plunging into the fleshy webbing between her thumb and forefinger.

  "Son of a bitch," the nurse said. "I thought you were holding him." She pulled the needle from her hand and placed it into the red plastic bin provided for that purpose. "What if he has AIDS?"

  "You're a nurse. You must deal with needlesticks all the time," Officer Fitzpatrick said.

  She glared at him, but she didn't answer. "Do you realize how many blood tests I'll have to have now?"

  "Lady, you can file that under I don't give a fuck," Officer Murphy said. "By my count, that's the second time you missed the target tonight, and we've only just met."

  Dr. Kent arrived and saw that the patient was still thrashing about. If anything, he looked more agitated than ever. "Isn't the Ativan working yet, Sandra?" he asked.

  "There was an incident," she replied.

  "Several incidents," Officer Murphy added. "She injected the first syringe of Ativan into my hand instead of the patient. When she finally came back with the second syringe, she shot him up with it."

  He pointed a thumb at the wild-eyed homeless man. "Then she stabbed herself with the dirty needle."

  The doctor looked at her. "Is that what happened, Sandra?"

  She nodded her head, looking miserable.

  "I trust you've already washed the wound thoroughly and reported the incident to human resources."

  She shook her head and lowered her eyes, afraid to meet Dr. Kent's gaze.

  "You'll need to be tested immediately for HIV, hepatitis B and hepatitis C. Go wash your hands and take care of the puncture wound, and then contact human resources. They'll walk you through the process. It's probably too late to talk to anyone. Leave a message, and someone will get back to you."

  Sandra nodded her head.

  "Also, you might want to sign up for a refresher course on how to give injections, and what to do if you're accidentally exposed and probably just on nursing in general. You're excused for the rest of your shift. Go get your shit together."

  Sandra left without another word.

  "I'm sorry about that," Dr. Kent said. He wasn't sorry. He was annoyed, irritated and feeling terribly inconvenienced, but he wasn't sorry. There was nothing for him to be sorry about.

  He'd done nothing wrong, but p
eople seemed to love apologies for some reason he couldn't quite fathom. So he dispensed them as needed like they were antibiotics or pain relievers. "I apologize on behalf of my colleague."

  Ha! Colleague. The nurses were so far beneath him that it wasn't even funny, but people liked to believe in the illusion that the hospital staff worked as one big, happy team.

  "Here's the good news. If you were allergic to Ativan, you'd be in anaphylactic shock by now. I predict you'll be just fine after it wears off in perhaps twelve hours. Until then, you'll probably feel a bit mellower than usual, maybe even a little sleepy. I wouldn't recommend driving or operating heavy equipment. Is there any way that another officer could relieve you from your duties for the rest of your shift?"

  Officer Murphy shook his head. "No."

  "Then I would suggest proceeding with extreme caution. You're not going to break any land speed records with that drug in your system. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  Chapter Three

  Father Matthew carried Audrey through the underground tunnel that ran between the church basement and the basement of the rectory. He held her over one broad shoulder with her head hanging down behind him and her legs hanging in front of him.

  His hands were planted firmly on her buttocks, but he couldn't think about that right now.

  He was a priest; he shouldn't be thinking about that at all. That didn't stop him from filing the feeling of her flesh beneath his hands in his memory for later use. After all, beneath the cloth, he was still just a man, even if he tried not to admit it.

  Carrying her was effortless. Just because he'd joined the priesthood didn't mean he'd stopped working out.

  Father Matthew had bulging biceps and six-pack abs beneath the all-black ensemble that he wore. His breathing was steady and even. He didn't even break a sweat under the burden of his human load.

  When he reached the end of the tunnel, which was really more like a sunken hallway that was well lit by small windows set high into its walls, he adjusted his grip on the back of Audrey's legs and easily carried her up a short flight of stairs into his home.

  "You didn't have to carry me," she said as he set her down. It was the first time she’d spoken since he'd lifted her into his arms and draped her over one shoulder like he was a fireman rescuing her from a burning building.

  She didn't know whether it was the feeling of his body so close to hers that made her head spin, or if it was the blood rushing to her head from being carried in that disgraceful position. "I could have walked."

  "It was the best way. You don't want to spend any more time limping around on that injured leg than you have to."

  He looked her up and down and thought she actually looked better than when he'd first seen her. "The bedroom is this way," he said, gesturing to a closed door. "Do you want to walk, or should I carry you?"

  Audrey's eyebrows shot up. "Bedroom?"

  Priest or not, he was still a stranger, and she had been through enough already this weekend without falling victim to some sort of misunderstanding, or worse, with a handsome padre. Besides, she didn't think her soul had room for another sin.

  "I left the air conditioner on full blast in the bedroom, and I have some clean clothes that you can change into." He shrugged. "I'm a priest remember. You can trust me."

  "I can walk." Audrey obediently followed him into the bedroom, trying to disguise her limp. The room was tastefully decorated in shades of beige and brown. There was an enormous wooden crucifix mounted on the wall above a king size bed.

  She sat on a corner of the mattress without being asked. The cool air from the humming wall unit was comforting on her overheated skin.

  Father Matthew opened the closet and rummaged around inside a box on the floor. "I should have something you can wear," he said.

  When he turned around, he was holding a pink cotton nightgown and a pair of pink underwear. "This should be comfortable enough for you to sleep in." He looked at the wall clock. It wasn't even noon. "Or you could lie down on the sofa and watch television until night, if you want. Either way, I think you should rest."

  Audrey eyed the clothes he held in his hands. "Why would a priest have a pink nightgown and underwear in his closet?" she asked. Her throat was dry. Her skin itched. "Seems weird." She was more curious than suspicious.

  He met her gaze. "It's like I told you. I was a man before I was a priest. When I packed up my apartment before I entered the seminary, everything went into boxes including the things my ex-girlfriends left behind. I probably have some other things that would fit you. I'll try to find them later."

  He tilted his head. "If you're thinking I should probably have thrown them out, you're probably right. We all have our failings. This is one of mine."

  Audrey nodded. "I'm not judging you. That would be wildly inappropriate. Wouldn't it? This will be fine for now." She looked down at her feet. "Should I take a shower?"

  "I think that's a good idea. You don't want to get the bandage wet though. Maybe you could wash up in the sink for now. Give your skin a chance to heal before exposing it to the air again."

  He wasn't sure whether that was good advice. Human bite wounds weren't exactly his specialty. "If things don't improve, you should really reconsider going to the emergency room. Have a real doctor check things out."

  Audrey rose unsteadily to her feet. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked.

  "Right this way." Father Matthew led her to a bathroom adjoining the bedroom. "Do you need help?"

  Audrey shook her head. She lurched toward the bathroom and only kept herself from falling by grabbing at the priest as she moved past him. "Maybe I could use a little help," she admitted. Her skin was dry and hot where the priest touched her.

  He guided her the remaining distance to the bathroom. "Don't worry. I've seen it all before." He laughed nervously. It had been a while.

  The priest put the drain plug in the bathroom sink and ran hot water into the basin. He added a dollop of lavender body wash and grabbed a washcloth from a neatly folded pile on the counter.

  Without asking, he soaked the washcloth in the fragrant, soapy water, wrung it out and washed Audrey's face from her forehead to her neck. He gently washed the sweat and tears from her eyelids. "Your forehead is so hot," he said.

  Audrey didn't answer. She stood with her eyes closed as the priest washed her arms and shoulders. With her eyes still closed, she lifted her arms so he could wash her armpits.

  "I think it would be easier if you got undressed," Father Matthew whispered. He pulled her sweat-soaked blouse up over her head and tossed it onto the bathroom floor.

  She wasn't wearing a bra.

  "Let's just get your skirt and panties off, too." The priest pulled the two garments down at the same time. "Take off your shoes," he whispered.

  Audrey complied, stepping out of her shoes. She stood there naked and compliant as the priest washed her entire body with the washcloth. The scent of lavender hung in the air.

  "Does that feel better?" he asked, trying to avert his eyes and failing.

  "Yes."

  Father Matthew leaned down with the pink underwear in his hands. "Hold onto me for support," he said. "Lift your foot and put it in the leg hole.

  Audrey did as she was told, leaning heavily onto the young priest. She raised her foot just high enough for him to slide the opening of the underwear into place, all too aware of the relative positions of their bodies, particularly the part of her anatomy closest to his face; she could feel his breath on her skin.

  "The other foot," he said, forcing himself to keep his tone conversational and polite. With tremendous effort, he kept his breathing steady and even. He inhaled softly, deeply, and felt his pulse quicken at the scent of her.

  Audrey shifted her weight onto the other foot, and he slid the underwear up her legs until the pink garment was in place. She lifted her arms straight into the air like a child, and he pulled the pink nightgown over her head. It was a nearly perfect fit, albeit slightly shor
t and tight.

  "Do you want to take a nap, or do you want to lie on the sofa and watch television?" the priest asked. "If you want to take the bed, I'll be more than happy to sleep on the couch tonight."

  Audrey yawned. "I didn't sleep last night, but I think I'll lie on the couch and watch some television." She yawned again. "I don't want to fall asleep."

  "Okay." Father Matthew guided her into the small living room and helped her get comfortable on the sofa. He fluffed up a throw pillow and put it under her head. "I'll bring you some aspirin."

  He turned on the television set and placed the remote control on the sofa by her hand. "Here's the remote. I don't have cable, but you can probably catch up on your soap operas or court shows."

  Audrey smiled weakly. "Thanks." She didn't bother changing the channel. "You're so nice."

  Less than a minute later, Father Matthew helped her take two aspirin and drink a glass of water. "You were probably dehydrated," he said. "I wish I had a thermometer to take your temperature."

  "I'm feeling much better now," Audrey lied. "Maybe I can go home tonight. I don't want to be a bother."

  "That's not such a great idea. We'll talk about it when the time comes. Will you be okay by yourself while I go take a shower?" He could feel her sweat on his skin.

  "Of course. I don't want to be any trouble. Just pretend I'm not even here." Audrey closed her eyes. "I'll be as quiet as a church mouse."

  Father Matthew watched as she closed her eyes, and then he went back through the bedroom into the bathroom to take a shower. He disrobed, dropping his clothes into a pile on the floor. After letting the water run for a few minutes, he stepped beneath the spray.

  By the time he scrubbed himself clean, toweled off his body and slipped into a pair of running shorts, Audrey was sound asleep. He picked up the remote and sat on a recliner. Careful so as not to wake Audrey, turned up the volume just enough to hear the television.

  Pictures of broken and bloody bodies filled the screen as a pretty reporter read from a teleprompter about a recent riot at a shopping mall. "Some people are comparing the incident to a zombie apocalypse," the reporter said.