Read Online Blood Trilogy (Book 2): Draw Blood by Jason Bovberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Bovberg
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it! We need it!”
Joel swears loudly, swinging his weapon up, and Kevin leaps at the thing that’s scrabbling across the floor.
“Kevin!” shouts Bonnie.
Michael, against all sound judgment, rushes forward to help the large man, pressing the cloth into whatever gap he can find, trying to secure flailing limbs and use his weight to collapse the body onto the floor. The corpse is all elbows and knees beneath him, battering him, and squawking at him in horrid barks. Michael gets within a foot of the thing’s peeled-wide eyes, sees immense anger or fear there, and he arches away from it as it attempts to thrust its head at him like a stinger.
At that moment, Michael understands that the thing knows it can inflict harm with whatever is inside it. There’s an intelligence behind that awful face.
And something else.
Michael freezes for an instant as the thing glares at him, screeches at him. The eyes, those terrible eyes—they burn into him. He stares into them, glimpses something behind them—
“Daddy!” Rachel screams.
Her voice knocks him from his momentary paralysis, and then Kevin’s weight finally brings the thing to the floor. Michael uses all his strength to help him pin the body down, his skin protected by hospital cloth.
“We got it! We got it! Do it!” Kevin is yelling.
But Rachel is already pressing into the gap, expertly wielding her fat syringe. She thrusts it forward, toward the bulging carotid artery at the strained neck. But the thing thrashes its head toward Rachel and the tip of the needle accidentally plunges deep into its cheek, beneath the enraged eye. Rachel flinches more than the corpse does.
She cries out, repulsed, and yanks the syringe from the flesh. “You’ve got to secure the head! Use the blankets.”
Bonnie dives into the fray and blinds the thing with the sheets from the bed, leaving the neck free. Rachel inserts the needle and begins to push the O-negative blood into the vein.
The reaction is instantaneous. The body goes rigid, and the wild flailing energy becomes more of a nervous thrum beneath Michael’s hands.
“Okay!” Rachel calls. “Done!”
The survivors scramble backward as one, leaving the corpse straining and vibrating on the floor. It’s coughing and sputtering, and in the weak light, the red glow inside the head is sparking and strobing.
“What in the hell?” Michael gasps, backing into the wall next to the door. He sees that Rachel has emptied only about a quarter of the large syringe into the corpse’s neck.
The corpse is no longer paying them any attention; instead, it is consumed by what is happening inside itself. The glow finally pops out, audibly—sounding like an electric crack—and the body slumps to the floor, lifeless.
Blood is still pumping weakly from the wrist stump.
“We need to get a tourniquet on that,” Rachel says, pointing. “He won’t be any use to us if he bleeds out.”
Behind Michael comes the sound of tearing fabric. Kevin is ripping a thin length of cloth from a blue bedsheet.
“I don’t think he can hurt you now,” she says. “Go ahead.”
Kevin visibly swallows, staring at the bald man. After a moment of trembling indecision, he quickly wraps the stump with the cloth and yanks it tight, tying a messy knot while avoiding the blood still flowing from the devastated wrist.
“I think he’s lost a lot of blood, can you give him the rest of the syringe?”
“I doubt this is how a transfusion works, but what the hell, right?” Rachel reinserts the syringe and gives it steady pressure, emptying the contents.
“Check for a pulse!” Bonnie calls from behind them.
Kevin shoves his finger beneath the man’s jaw. He concentrates, searching.
“I don’t—wait!” The big man tentatively touches the man’s chest, then dives in full force, beginning a frantic series of chest compressions, counting audibly with the effort. Sweat is standing out on his head in big droplets, some of them raining down on the
Joel swears loudly, swinging his weapon up, and Kevin leaps at the thing that’s scrabbling across the floor.
“Kevin!” shouts Bonnie.
Michael, against all sound judgment, rushes forward to help the large man, pressing the cloth into whatever gap he can find, trying to secure flailing limbs and use his weight to collapse the body onto the floor. The corpse is all elbows and knees beneath him, battering him, and squawking at him in horrid barks. Michael gets within a foot of the thing’s peeled-wide eyes, sees immense anger or fear there, and he arches away from it as it attempts to thrust its head at him like a stinger.
At that moment, Michael understands that the thing knows it can inflict harm with whatever is inside it. There’s an intelligence behind that awful face.
And something else.
Michael freezes for an instant as the thing glares at him, screeches at him. The eyes, those terrible eyes—they burn into him. He stares into them, glimpses something behind them—
“Daddy!” Rachel screams.
Her voice knocks him from his momentary paralysis, and then Kevin’s weight finally brings the thing to the floor. Michael uses all his strength to help him pin the body down, his skin protected by hospital cloth.
“We got it! We got it! Do it!” Kevin is yelling.
But Rachel is already pressing into the gap, expertly wielding her fat syringe. She thrusts it forward, toward the bulging carotid artery at the strained neck. But the thing thrashes its head toward Rachel and the tip of the needle accidentally plunges deep into its cheek, beneath the enraged eye. Rachel flinches more than the corpse does.
She cries out, repulsed, and yanks the syringe from the flesh. “You’ve got to secure the head! Use the blankets.”
Bonnie dives into the fray and blinds the thing with the sheets from the bed, leaving the neck free. Rachel inserts the needle and begins to push the O-negative blood into the vein.
The reaction is instantaneous. The body goes rigid, and the wild flailing energy becomes more of a nervous thrum beneath Michael’s hands.
“Okay!” Rachel calls. “Done!”
The survivors scramble backward as one, leaving the corpse straining and vibrating on the floor. It’s coughing and sputtering, and in the weak light, the red glow inside the head is sparking and strobing.
“What in the hell?” Michael gasps, backing into the wall next to the door. He sees that Rachel has emptied only about a quarter of the large syringe into the corpse’s neck.
The corpse is no longer paying them any attention; instead, it is consumed by what is happening inside itself. The glow finally pops out, audibly—sounding like an electric crack—and the body slumps to the floor, lifeless.
Blood is still pumping weakly from the wrist stump.
“We need to get a tourniquet on that,” Rachel says, pointing. “He won’t be any use to us if he bleeds out.”
Behind Michael comes the sound of tearing fabric. Kevin is ripping a thin length of cloth from a blue bedsheet.
“I don’t think he can hurt you now,” she says. “Go ahead.”
Kevin visibly swallows, staring at the bald man. After a moment of trembling indecision, he quickly wraps the stump with the cloth and yanks it tight, tying a messy knot while avoiding the blood still flowing from the devastated wrist.
“I think he’s lost a lot of blood, can you give him the rest of the syringe?”
“I doubt this is how a transfusion works, but what the hell, right?” Rachel reinserts the syringe and gives it steady pressure, emptying the contents.
“Check for a pulse!” Bonnie calls from behind them.
Kevin shoves his finger beneath the man’s jaw. He concentrates, searching.
“I don’t—wait!” The big man tentatively touches the man’s chest, then dives in full force, beginning a frantic series of chest compressions, counting audibly with the effort. Sweat is standing out on his head in big droplets, some of them raining down on the
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