government—and its close association with big business—operated than most Americans.
“It’s an emergency, Calgleef, you have their numbers… make the call!”
Moya pushed the button to end the call. He’d had enough of these phone calls. He wasn’t good with telecommunications, hated using them; he was an “in-person” man.
He walked over to the small fridge in his room and got another bottle of cold water when his cell rang again. He picked it up, looked at the number shown on the display and tossed it on the bed. It was the CDC woman at the hospital, Delaney. He wasn’t interested in her histrionics either.
He slid open the glass door to the balcony, sat down on the stool and drank his water. He thought of making plans to get out of the US while his health was still good. If this was the full-fledged Baltic flu, it wouldn’t take long for the US to close down outbound flights and he’d be stuck here—another thing he knew about the US government.
“No… life with your own peace of mind and a semblance of sanity is worth more than all the money there is—and that’s a fact!” He toasted the air and took a mouthful of regular tap water sold as mountain spring water. Like everything else, just another scam. Swishing the water around in his mouth, he asked himself why, at this late a stage in his life, he had become a whore and sold out his ideals.
Not finding an answer, he stood and walked to the balcony and looked down to the parked cars below.
“Fuck it!” He tossed the bottle and watched it explode on a silver Buick. He was becoming less and less interested in this project the more it went on.
Six
A s Tilford reached out to open the door to the consultation room, he hesitated. The grip of fear had a hold on his lungs and squeezed the air from him.
“Are you all right, Isaac?”
“Yeah, I just lost my breath for a sec—”
He opened the door to the consultation room and was confronted by a ghastly sight that caused him to lose more than just his breath. The coffee and doughnuts he’d had less than half an hour ago gushed from the pit of his stomach, up his throat and spurted out of his mouth like a broken fire hydrant.
“Oh my God!” Delaney staggered back against the frame of the door.
Before them, on the floor of the consultation room the naked woman with the blood-filled eyes sat astride the midriff of the nurse. Blood was smeared all over her mouth, ran down her chin to her neck and smeared around her tits—which Tilford found no longer enticing. The nurse lay crumpled on her back, a large chunk of skin torn from her neck. When Tilford entered, the blood-eyed woman was smearing the blood of the nurse all over her bare breasts. It was obvious by the blood around her mouth she had also dined on the nectar of life.
Ms. Enticing Tits snarled, like a wild animal caught in a cage; she didn’t like having her meal interrupted. She raised both her hands, fingers curled in angry claws. One of the locked doors to the observation/isolation room to the side was ajar. Whether the nurse opened it for some unexplained reason or her attacker did, no one knew nor cared at this stage. Grace Delaney now believed the calls she’d heard at the nurses’ station—of patients drinking the blood of their victims.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Delaney yelled. “COME ON, DOCTOR!” She grabbed Tilford’s arm, who was bent over and retching, and pulled him back through the door, slamming it shut behind. She knew that wouldn’t stop the blood-drinking fiend, but she might return to her feasting instead of following.
They heard muffled cries for help coming from some of the other consultation rooms as Delaney and Tilford ran back toward the nurses’ station.
“Intensive care, intensive care,” Beth Sanders screeched at Delaney when she arrived, “attacks have broken out in IC.”
“Gimme a phone,” Delaney said to the nurse. She had to tell Calgleef of the situation. Surely he
“It’s an emergency, Calgleef, you have their numbers… make the call!”
Moya pushed the button to end the call. He’d had enough of these phone calls. He wasn’t good with telecommunications, hated using them; he was an “in-person” man.
He walked over to the small fridge in his room and got another bottle of cold water when his cell rang again. He picked it up, looked at the number shown on the display and tossed it on the bed. It was the CDC woman at the hospital, Delaney. He wasn’t interested in her histrionics either.
He slid open the glass door to the balcony, sat down on the stool and drank his water. He thought of making plans to get out of the US while his health was still good. If this was the full-fledged Baltic flu, it wouldn’t take long for the US to close down outbound flights and he’d be stuck here—another thing he knew about the US government.
“No… life with your own peace of mind and a semblance of sanity is worth more than all the money there is—and that’s a fact!” He toasted the air and took a mouthful of regular tap water sold as mountain spring water. Like everything else, just another scam. Swishing the water around in his mouth, he asked himself why, at this late a stage in his life, he had become a whore and sold out his ideals.
Not finding an answer, he stood and walked to the balcony and looked down to the parked cars below.
“Fuck it!” He tossed the bottle and watched it explode on a silver Buick. He was becoming less and less interested in this project the more it went on.
Six
A s Tilford reached out to open the door to the consultation room, he hesitated. The grip of fear had a hold on his lungs and squeezed the air from him.
“Are you all right, Isaac?”
“Yeah, I just lost my breath for a sec—”
He opened the door to the consultation room and was confronted by a ghastly sight that caused him to lose more than just his breath. The coffee and doughnuts he’d had less than half an hour ago gushed from the pit of his stomach, up his throat and spurted out of his mouth like a broken fire hydrant.
“Oh my God!” Delaney staggered back against the frame of the door.
Before them, on the floor of the consultation room the naked woman with the blood-filled eyes sat astride the midriff of the nurse. Blood was smeared all over her mouth, ran down her chin to her neck and smeared around her tits—which Tilford found no longer enticing. The nurse lay crumpled on her back, a large chunk of skin torn from her neck. When Tilford entered, the blood-eyed woman was smearing the blood of the nurse all over her bare breasts. It was obvious by the blood around her mouth she had also dined on the nectar of life.
Ms. Enticing Tits snarled, like a wild animal caught in a cage; she didn’t like having her meal interrupted. She raised both her hands, fingers curled in angry claws. One of the locked doors to the observation/isolation room to the side was ajar. Whether the nurse opened it for some unexplained reason or her attacker did, no one knew nor cared at this stage. Grace Delaney now believed the calls she’d heard at the nurses’ station—of patients drinking the blood of their victims.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Delaney yelled. “COME ON, DOCTOR!” She grabbed Tilford’s arm, who was bent over and retching, and pulled him back through the door, slamming it shut behind. She knew that wouldn’t stop the blood-drinking fiend, but she might return to her feasting instead of following.
They heard muffled cries for help coming from some of the other consultation rooms as Delaney and Tilford ran back toward the nurses’ station.
“Intensive care, intensive care,” Beth Sanders screeched at Delaney when she arrived, “attacks have broken out in IC.”
“Gimme a phone,” Delaney said to the nurse. She had to tell Calgleef of the situation. Surely he
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