He wasn’t.

Dr. Slattery gasped.

Mr. Wieland heard the small sound and his head jerked up, eyes darting toward the part in the curtains. His roved over the curtains, not lingering for even a moment on the narrow part. Those eyes were completely empty.

His mouth, however, was full.

Red bubbled on his lips and ran in lines down his cheeks and over his chin and splashed on the ivy pattern of the Wolverton Hospital patient gowns. Mr. Wieland’s mouth worked and worked, and even across the twelve feet that separated them, Dr. Slattery could hear the sucking, smacking sounds as his teeth chewed on what he had taken from old Mona Greene.

Dr. Slattery should have backed quietly away. She should have cleared the area and called security. She should have called the police. She did none of those things. Instead, Gail Slattery did the one thing that she should not have done.

She screamed.

Mr. Wieland’s eyes snapped back toward her and now he did see the narrow part. And the eye that looked through it. His lips curled back from his teeth and he dropped the remains of the sticklike arm he’d held.

With a howl of insatiable hunger, a hunger not at all satisfied by all that he had consumed, Mr. Wieland rushed around the bed straight toward Dr. Slattery. She screamed and screamed. She screamed as long as she could. As long as she was able.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

MAGIC MARTI IN THE MORNING

WNOW RADIO, MARYLAND

“This is Magic Marti at the mike with new tidbits for travelers. Well, it’s official, campers … the cow manure has hit the fan. We got a major storm clamped down over the region. Airports and bus terminals are shut down. Schools are closed and all nonessential activities have been canceled all across our listening area. And there’s still some police activity on Doll Factory Road in Stebbins. And we have unconfirmed reports of an incident at Wolverton Hospital on the Stebbins-Bordentown border. No details yet except that state police are on the scene. And … one more thing, kids. I know that big storms are kind of fun in a haunted house, roller-coaster ride sort of way, but this is serious business. Folks are out there dealing with this. Police, fire, and rescue units are going to be pushed to the limit, so please … no more of the crank calls about monsters eating people. Aunt Marti likes a good prank as much as the next gal, but c’mon guys … now’s not the time. ”

CHAPTER SIXTY

THE FOREST

STEBBINS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

Hartnup moved through the woods a dozen yards from the road, paralleling Doll Factory, heading toward Mason Street. He had no control over where his body went, just as he had no idea where it was going. There were more like him in the woods. Some close enough to see, others merely gray shapes in the rain. Some headed in the same direction, drawn by some force beyond Hartnup’s perception; others walked across his path, going north or south or east, drawn by other needs, other calls.

The body around him moved stiffly, and he could still feel it. The hoped-for rigor mortis was upon him now, slowing him, making his limbs move like stilts … but they kept moving. It hurt, too. No human before could ever appreciate the terrible, ceaseless pain of rigor. He knew the science and that was no comfort. The pain was going to get worse and worse. It was a process that starts as soon as respiration ceases. Muscles begin an inevitable and irreversible contraction. It was worse than a charley horse, worse than stomach cramps. It was everywhere at once and each jarring step sent nerve flashes through the dying muscles.

Hartnup’s world was pain. He tried screaming to endure it, but there was no way to escape this hell. All he could do was experience it.

This is hell, he thought, I’ve died and now I’m in hell.

His body moved like a badly managed puppet, and there, beneath the pain, was something far worse. Something that burst through the cracks of agony in each contracting muscle.

Hunger.

That hunger was so big that Hartnup could not grasp its dimensions. It was the god of this thing.

The hunger was all.

And all was hunger.

The dead body in which he floated staggered on, heading down a slope, away from the road, heading into the farmland. To where the food was.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

MASON STREET NEAR DOLL FACTORY ROAD

Dez woke up in the backseat of the state police cruiser. She was alone, JT was nowhere to be seen. Her hands were cuffed and her head hurt like she’d been kicked by a horse. She had been slumped over as far as the seat belt would allow, now she straightened, and just that little bit of movement sent a wave of nausea sloshing through her head and guts.

“What the hell happened?” she growled.

Tags: Jonathan Maberry Dead of Night Horror
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