BANG. BANG.
Janine stood facing the refrigerated nine-drawer cabinet, and she could see the metal vibrating.
The body in there was still alive.
Winslow rushed to it, fingers locking around the stainless steel handle.
Then she paused.
The woman was in there. The mother, who had her entire intestinal tract torn out. The orderlies had used a snow shovel to scoop her insides back into her body cavity.
How could she still be alive? There was no way.
The banging had stopped, and Winslow wondered if she'd somehow imagined the noise. Fear and stress could make the mind play tricks. After what she'd seen in the ER, Winslow might even be exhibiting symptoms of shock. Or post-traumatic stress disorder. Auditory hallucinations weren't unheard of.
BANG!
The loudest yet, the handle vibrating so hard it stung her palm.
And it was accompanied by a scream. The loudest, rawest, most agonizing scream Winslow had ever heard.
My god! How can that poor woman still be alive?
Heart thumping, throat dry, Winslow tugged hard on the handle, putting her entire hundred and ten pounds behind it, the drawer sliding out with a metallic ring.
Yes, the poor woman was alive, her eyes wide, the pupils dilated. Her guts were strewn all over her body, and her head thrashed back and forth in unbearable pain.
No...not pain. It wasn't pain at all.
The woman's head shook because she was trying to chew her way through her own intestines.
She held a loop in both of her hands--her twisted, clawed hands--and her mouth tore at the tough, stretchy tissue of her transverse colon, which was still attached to the gaping hole in her abdomen.
The woman screamed again, her wide eyes locking onto Winslow's.
Then she spat out her digestive tract and reached her horrible hands out for the nurse, her hideous, fang-filled mouth yawing open to an impossible size.
Winslow reacted instantly. She pushed the handle, leaning into it, her rubber soled nurse's shoes squeaking against the polished tile floors as the drawer slid closed.
The mother creature rolled onto her chest, sliding off the drawer on a pool of her own blood, slipping out and plopping, face-first, onto the ground just as the door slammed shut.
Winslow backpedaled, tripping over her feet. The mother creature shrieked at her, scrambling across the floor, closing the distance between them. Janine opened her mouth to yell for help--the orderlies might still be near. But her throat had locked in fear, and she could only manage a soft squeak.
Crabwalking backward, Winslow felt and saw one of those claws grasp her shoe. Its grip was a vice, and its pointed finger bones dug into the thin flesh of Janine's ankle. She kicked out with her other leg, trying to break free, her rubber soles bouncing harmlessly off the creature's hand. Then it began to pull, its jaws snapping so hard and fast it almost sounded like a tap dancer.
Against her every impulse to pull away, Janine Winslow leaned
forward
instead, pawing at the Velcro straps on her shoe, ripping them free, then yanking her foot out of the mother-creature's grasp and crawling into the corner of the room by the desk.
Catching her breath, filling her lungs, Nurse Winslow let loose with the loudest scream of her life.
"HEEELP!!!!"
The mother creature had Winslow's shoe in its mouth, chewing the leather and rubber to shreds. Its wide nostrils flared, and it began to scurry toward Winslow once again.
Ten feet away.
"HELP ME!"
Five feet away.
"JESUS CHRIST HELP!"
Two feet away, its wicked claws reaching out, Winslow curled up fetal in the corner, her knees tucked into her chest.
Then the creature jerked to a stop and hissed. It writhed for a moment, its whole body shaking, but it didn't come any closer.
Winslow saw why.
Its intestines. They're caught in the drawer.
They stretched out the length of the morgue, a slimy, bloody rope keeping the creature away like a dog on a leash.
"Ms. Winslow? Holy fuck!"
Ralph. At
Janine stood facing the refrigerated nine-drawer cabinet, and she could see the metal vibrating.
The body in there was still alive.
Winslow rushed to it, fingers locking around the stainless steel handle.
Then she paused.
The woman was in there. The mother, who had her entire intestinal tract torn out. The orderlies had used a snow shovel to scoop her insides back into her body cavity.
How could she still be alive? There was no way.
The banging had stopped, and Winslow wondered if she'd somehow imagined the noise. Fear and stress could make the mind play tricks. After what she'd seen in the ER, Winslow might even be exhibiting symptoms of shock. Or post-traumatic stress disorder. Auditory hallucinations weren't unheard of.
BANG!
The loudest yet, the handle vibrating so hard it stung her palm.
And it was accompanied by a scream. The loudest, rawest, most agonizing scream Winslow had ever heard.
My god! How can that poor woman still be alive?
Heart thumping, throat dry, Winslow tugged hard on the handle, putting her entire hundred and ten pounds behind it, the drawer sliding out with a metallic ring.
Yes, the poor woman was alive, her eyes wide, the pupils dilated. Her guts were strewn all over her body, and her head thrashed back and forth in unbearable pain.
No...not pain. It wasn't pain at all.
The woman's head shook because she was trying to chew her way through her own intestines.
She held a loop in both of her hands--her twisted, clawed hands--and her mouth tore at the tough, stretchy tissue of her transverse colon, which was still attached to the gaping hole in her abdomen.
The woman screamed again, her wide eyes locking onto Winslow's.
Then she spat out her digestive tract and reached her horrible hands out for the nurse, her hideous, fang-filled mouth yawing open to an impossible size.
Winslow reacted instantly. She pushed the handle, leaning into it, her rubber soled nurse's shoes squeaking against the polished tile floors as the drawer slid closed.
The mother creature rolled onto her chest, sliding off the drawer on a pool of her own blood, slipping out and plopping, face-first, onto the ground just as the door slammed shut.
Winslow backpedaled, tripping over her feet. The mother creature shrieked at her, scrambling across the floor, closing the distance between them. Janine opened her mouth to yell for help--the orderlies might still be near. But her throat had locked in fear, and she could only manage a soft squeak.
Crabwalking backward, Winslow felt and saw one of those claws grasp her shoe. Its grip was a vice, and its pointed finger bones dug into the thin flesh of Janine's ankle. She kicked out with her other leg, trying to break free, her rubber soles bouncing harmlessly off the creature's hand. Then it began to pull, its jaws snapping so hard and fast it almost sounded like a tap dancer.
Against her every impulse to pull away, Janine Winslow leaned
forward
instead, pawing at the Velcro straps on her shoe, ripping them free, then yanking her foot out of the mother-creature's grasp and crawling into the corner of the room by the desk.
Catching her breath, filling her lungs, Nurse Winslow let loose with the loudest scream of her life.
"HEEELP!!!!"
The mother creature had Winslow's shoe in its mouth, chewing the leather and rubber to shreds. Its wide nostrils flared, and it began to scurry toward Winslow once again.
Ten feet away.
"HELP ME!"
Five feet away.
"JESUS CHRIST HELP!"
Two feet away, its wicked claws reaching out, Winslow curled up fetal in the corner, her knees tucked into her chest.
Then the creature jerked to a stop and hissed. It writhed for a moment, its whole body shaking, but it didn't come any closer.
Winslow saw why.
Its intestines. They're caught in the drawer.
They stretched out the length of the morgue, a slimy, bloody rope keeping the creature away like a dog on a leash.
"Ms. Winslow? Holy fuck!"
Ralph. At
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