Clay

CLAY descended cautiously through the stairwell, Glock out and ready, but nothing leaped out of the shadows. The dracula population appeared to have been reduced to endangered-species level. No loss. This was one species that cried out for extinction.

He was passing the pediatrics floor when he remembered Randall saying he'd had to leave Alice behind. Well, pediatrics was where he'd have left her.

Clay stopped and considered the risk-benefit ratio. What if he allowed himself five minutes to search for Alice? Taurus Raging Bulls didn't come cheap, but even if someone simply gave him another, it wouldn't be Alice. He'd grown attached to Alice.

He checked his watch and marked the time. Really. Five minutes--not a second more. What could it hurt?

He eased through the door and made his way down the hall, thinking how anybody watching him would think he was out of his mind. Well, some people thought that anyway, especially when they learned he'd named his Taurus. But every so often you came across a weapon special enough for a name. Look at Davy Crockett. Hadn't he named his trusty flintlock Betsy? There you go. Nuff said.

Near the nursing station Clay found a door that looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to it. Randall? Through another doorway he saw that clown dracula flat on its back, very dead. And there on the floor, amid fallen plaster and a string of guts that looked like they'd been tied into shapes...

"Alice!"