The First

Chapter 3

"Code blue, O.R., room three. Code blue, O.R., room three," a woman's voice blared through the hospital PA system.

Michael leapt out of the waiting room chair and jogged down the hall toward the O.R. If the code had anything to do with Stella, hell-fire itself couldn't cause the devastation he'd rain on the hospital and its staff.

"Shit." He jumped into a nearby room as several hospital workers rushed past him.

Screams filled the hall. He followed the group. The closer he came to the operating room, the louder the screams became. When he turned the corner, he jumped out of the way of several people who back-peddled out of the operating room and ran past him back down the hall.

A woman crashed through the double doors. Her eyes and face should've been bright with smiles and news of his first child's birth. The baby should've been swaddled in a warm blanket, yelping her initial breaths of air, pressed snug against Stella's bare chest. Instead, the woman's face looked like it had been through a cheese grater. She rammed into him and the two toppled to the ground.

Strands of flesh dangled against his forehead. Her blood ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. She scrambled to her feet stomping on his nuts and stomach as she raced away.

He grasped his crotch and took deep gulps of air.

The operating room doors swung back and forth. Blood spatter, coupled with the two windows above, gave the effect of an abstract portrait he'd seen in some magazine Stella showed him. Lights behind the doors flickered. The screams within died down.

Another person burst halfway through the double doors. Michael recognized her as the doctor he'd spoken to earlier. She tripped and landed face first on the cool linoleum. She lifted her head, outstretched one arm and gurgled, "H ... h ... elp!"

Michael's eyes widened and his stomach raced into his throat.

Her body jerked back like someone snatched her by the feet and pulled. A wet grunt escaped as the doors crushed under her arms. With every yank of her body, the pressure increased. Her eyes bulged. The grunts and wheezes from her collapsed lungs slowed. Blood vessels burst within her eyes, staining them red.

Michael choked back vomit and dove for the woman. As he slid through a puddle of something vile on the floor, he grasped the left wrist of the doctor. With a quick spin, he maneuvered himself into a seated position. His left foot slammed against the door jamb. It felt as if the veins in his neck would pop as he strained against whoever had her from behind.

A Herculean orderly half-crushed Michael's ribs. They pulled together. The pressure of the pull from behind had anchored the doctor between the double doors.

Inhuman sounds escaped her pursed lips. The assailant behind the doors let go. Her head drooped and bounced on the tiled floor. Blood soaked hair flipped over her face and slid across the floor as the men dragged her from the doorway.

Michael sat against a wall and panted.

The orderly backed away from the doctor. "Oh, my fucking God."

At a quick glance, she seemed asleep with her arms behind. His gaze settled on a gaping hole in her back. Not being a medical professional he couldn't be absolutely sure what protruded from the wound, but if he had to guess, he'd say ... her spine. His heart slammed against his ribs. His stomach lurched, he heaved and vomit slapped the linoleum to the left of the woman's dead body.

The doors rocked back and forth in eerie cadence.

A survivor whimpered in the dark.

Quick electronic chirps inside the operating room smeared into a long tone of death. The whine of the machine sent chills up and down Michael's spine. He heard a faint crunch and the whimpering behind the door stopped. Stella.

"What the hell was that, Holmes?" The beanpole orderly towered over him.

Michael couldn't find words. He shook his head and clambered to his feet.

"Move away from the door!" a voice commanded from behind.

Michael whipped around.

A large police officer approached. Several hospital security guards surrounded him with their guns drawn.

"Are you hurt?" One of the security guards knelt next to Michael and the perplexed orderly.

"I ... I don't think ..." Michael lunged for the door.

The security guard tackled him from behind and pulled him back.

"Stella!" He wriggled against the man's tight grip. "My wife's in there!"

"Give us a minute to assess the situation." The man could've been a pro linebacker for the Seahawks.

Michael struggled under the powerful hands. "Get the fuck off me." Lord, please let her be alive.

Several more security guards and police officers showed up and proceeded to the operating room.

"Watch out!" someone yelled.

A muffled voice quivered from inside the operating room. "Where'd it go?"

Deep-voiced screams pierced Michael's ears.

Cracks of gunfire set off flashes of light in the windows, snapping through every room and corridor in the hospital.

Linebacker stumbled through the operating room door. His left arm dangled mid-forearm. The white tips of both bones had burst through his skin. Streams of blood ran down his face from a large gash on his forehead. Blood pooled around his feet as he stood wide-eyed.

Small legs clung to the man's neck. Infant hands with razor-sharp claws gouged at his face from behind. One reached around and plucked his left eye from its socket. The officer grunted and stumbled to his knees in front of Michael. He slumped forward and cracked his head on the floor.

Red eyes appeared over the man's head. The little ruby circles pierced deep into Michael's heart. He realized what had killed the man. She, his firstborn (named Savannah after his great-grandmother) leapt from the officer's back. Michael didn't have time to scream.

Savannah's jaw clasped around his throat; her knife-edged teeth shredded the flesh and crushed his windpipe. Michael gasped for air as the world around him darkened. He fell to the ground. His eyes fixated on the rocking doors, through which he saw Stella's left arm. It dangled from the operating table. Blood dripped into a dark puddle beneath.

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