I didn’t know which surprised me more: that the frightened police officers mistook my psychokinetic attack as something one of my patients had done, or that I managed to get Director Hobwell to see things my way. Our emergency videophone call was certainly one of the strangest in my career, but, in the end—after far too much yelling—I managed to get my way. It helped—both in the moral sense, and in the legal sense—that I was on record as having tried to get Hobwell to de-sedate Room 268’s transformees and that bad things would happen if he didn’t. The I-told-you-so factor swiftly won our argument in my favor. Had Director Hobwell’s superiors found out about it, he’d have been sacked without delay.

Or worse: made to work alongside the rest of us.

It was the kind of situation Heggy would have called a SNAFU, and it had played almost exactly like I feared. Twenty-four hours spent in an unconscious state had inflamed the transformees’ hunger to a boiling point that not even state-of-the-art drugs could contain. The only reason Kurt, Letty, and the newcomers hadn’t also risen and joined the macabre feast was because they’d eaten before they’d gotten put under yesterday evening. There was little doubt in my mind that they, too, would have eventually awoken, feral with hunger, had I not roused them with injections of the quixalin I still had on hand.

It never ceased to amaze me how sturdy those darn phials were.

As for the police? That was why Hobwell had called me in the first place. Apparently, someone had called the police directly, and the special contingent assigned to West Elpeck Medical had been able to respond almost instantly. But not quickly enough to keep two nurses from meeting their deaths.

I couldn’t help but blame myself. If I hadn’t been so helpless and miserable, maybe I would have been on site earlier. Maybe Kevin and Isabel wouldn’t have died. All the more reason I owed it to them, to my patients, and to everyone else to make sure that I struck a deal with Hobwell that actually made a difference. Fortunately, the I-told-you-so factor was on my side, and I used the leverage it gave me without any hesitation.

In its final form, the deal I’d struck with Hobwell and his enigmatic superiors at DAISHU was simple: transformees were to be sedated if and only if they were displaying violent behavioral tendencies. But, even then, the sedated transformees would have to be roused from their drug-induced stupor every six hours in order to be fed. It fell to me to break the news to Harold that, no, we couldn’t just stick tubes down their expletive throats and pump their stomachs full with nutrient slush. As I’d seen during Merritt’s surgery and its unspeakable aftermath, the transformees’ changing digestive systems would dissolve and digest the parts of the food tube inside their throats, leaving the slush to spill uselessly onto their unconscious faces.

In exchange for this absolutely necessary concession, it was agreed that, from here on out, sequestration areas like Room 268 would be kept in darkpox quarantine mode. For once, Harold and I were in wholehearted agreement. Not only had many other Ward begun doing the same—much to Harold’s dismay—but, in walling off Room 268, we were making everyone safer, inside and out. Yes, I had a sinking feeling that our psychokinetic powers might become strong enough to rip through even reinforced steel, but I decided to keep that worry under wraps. I was 95% sure bringing that up would get the military involved, and—given the insanity already on our plate—adding the military to the mix would only make things worse.

With that taken care of, all that remained was doing the job I’d been given: helping my patients.

I wanted to say that I had no trouble keeping my distance from Kevin and Isabel’s corpses, that I wouldn’t suffer Merritt’s fate. But pride was a sin, and I didn’t want any more guilt on my shoulders. As much as it horrified me to acknowledge, I had to fight to keep myself from joining my patients in eating what was left of the dead nurses’ bodies. The smell had tempted me throughout my call with Director Hobwell, wafting through the shattered panes of the inner pair of double doors, making my stomach growl and water. Try as I might, I couldn’t completely suppress the influence the scent had on me, to the point that Harold even stopped to ask me why I kept looking over my shoulder at the room behind me.

My response?

“I’m just worried, that’s all.”

It was the truth, but not the whole truth. I wondered how long it would be before the weight of the guilt and inner turmoil hanging from my neck like a millstone finally broke me. Until then, it looked like I was going to keep second-guessing myself, worrying whether I was acting out of true concern for my patients, as opposed to a sinful, selfish desire to keep myself from being bagged, tagged, and stowed away like one of my patients.

I suppose it was a small blessing, then, that nurses’ bodies didn’t last long. In the initial chaos, Werumed-san had gotten the lion’s share. The rest was more or less evenly split between Lopé, Bethany, and Nathan—Mr. Nathan Smirny being one of the newer arrivals. He was a stocky, black-haired man, with a strong jaw dusted by stubble.

By the time I’d finished talking to Director Hobwell and finally started working with the patients in Room 268, the only remaining evidence of the nurses’ corpses were a handful of small streaks of dried blood on the floor and some of the bed frames. Unfortunately, those streaks were quickly disappearing into Werumed-san’s mouth. The mascot sucked them up off the bloodied surfaces, greedy and leech-like.

I shuddered—and for more than one reason. But Kevin and Isabel weren’t the only victims here.

Valentine…

Valentine was the name of the patient who had charged at Werumed-san, trying to save Kevin. He was a boy, only a few years older than Jules. Was being the operative word.

The power wave-front I’d launched at the police officers? They’d thought Valentine had done it, so they’d shot him full of bullets, charging him the ultimate price. The boy’s body lay on the floor, hidden beneath the plain white bed sheet I’d pulled from one of the cabinets to cover it. The gunfire had reduced his torso and waist to a sloppy pâté of shredded organs and shattered bone. I could have put in a request for a body disposal team right on the spot, but I held off on doing so. I didn’t want to risk anyone else entering 268 until all of my patients were satiated.

For whatever reason, the transformees showed no interest in consuming his corpse.

I guess that means that other transformees are not on the menu?

Oh hell. Oh fudging hell!

There would be plenty of time to grieve later. Plenty of time to beat myself up for my failures. I made sure to keep myself from hyperphantasizing another gateway to Hell.

I rolled out my shoulders, rubbing the joints with my hands. I had work to do.

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I figured my first priority was to convince the awoken transformees that their beds—sheets, pillows, frames, and all—ought to be used to slake their hunger.

Unfortunately, they stared at me like I was nuts.

“What? Would you rather eat people?” I’d asked, dismayed. I even apologized after I said it.

Don’t blame the patient for the disease.

They sat on their respective beds, disturbed beyond belief. Bethany sat against the headboard with her arms wrapped around her tucked-in knees. Nathan sat at the edge of his bed, feet pressed firmly on the varnished wood floor. Their gowns stained with Isabel’s blood. The nurse’s blood coagulated as it slowly trickled down their chins.

“Doctor,” Nathan muttered. He stared at me with a burning intensity. “What the fuck just happened?”

Bethany wept, rocking back and forth. “We… I…” She covered her face with her hands, as if to make herself disappear. Then she looked at me and laughed. Her bulging eyes glistened with madness. “I got shot.” She pointed at the two holes in her gown. “But look, there’s no blood.” She put her hand on her stomach. “The wounds are gone now. Sealed up from within.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not human anymore. I’m a fucking monster.”

Nathan rose up. His body language indicated anger, but his eyes spoke of hunger.

He smacked his lips.

“You’re Dr. Howle, right?”

I nodded.

Nathan pointed at Lopé. “The kid says you knew what was happening to us. That we’re turning into something other than human.” He glared at me. “I think you’re keeping secrets from us.” He looked around the room. “All you medical types are keeping secrets. This whole thing’s probably a DAISHU experiment gone wrong. I mean,” he pointed at Kurt, who was still sedated, “look at that guy—he’s a blue lizard monster!”

“No,” Lopé muttered, “not a lizard. A demon.”

Bethany wailed. “We’re… we’re turning into demons?”

I took a deep breath.

“You’re not turning into demons,” I said, hoping I was right, “you’re becoming wyrms—wyrms with a Y, not an O.”

As if the spelling mattered…

I nearly slapped myself, but then settled for lowering my head in dismay.

Nathan was indignant. “W-Wyrms?!”

“Serpentine dragons,” I explained. “Big ones. No legs.”

“Sounds like demons to me!” Bethany wept.

“You’re not turning into demons!” I snapped.

“We just ate people, Doctor!” Nathan replied. “Sounds like demons to me. Why else would I feel so damn hungry?”

“The reason you’re so hungry is because you weren’t fed while you were sedated,” I said. “The more you eat, the more you’ll change.” All three of them stared at me. Though Bethany and Lopé had heard me say this before, their recent experience gave my words a whole new level of meaning.

“If you had been fed, then, perhaps…” but my voice trailed off.

Bethany’s head vibrated. “Please, God, I’ve had enough of this bullshit. Just shoot me full of bullets like the kid and get it over with.” Saliva seeped out of the corners of her mouth.

“You can eat your beds,” I said. “Sheets, pillows, blankets. You can eat metal, and probably even dirt, too. There’s no reason you have to—”

“—I’m not gonna eat no stinkin’ dirt!” Nathan shook his fist at me.

“I’m just trying to help!” I said.

Bethany glared. “How can you help? You’re not us. You’re not going through this. You don’t know what it’s like!” She pressed the base of her palms onto her forehead. “By the Angel, I’m turning into a demon!”

And she cried.

I tried to console her, but she pushed me away. I couldn’t blame her for that. I might have done the same, had our positions been reversed.

Neither Bethany nor Nathan seemed to want my support.

As for Lopé, he didn’t seem to need it. The boy watched me with curiosity, blood smeared around his mouth like marinara gone wrong. Meanwhile, the others averted their eyes.

I couldn’t shake the belief out of them. They really thought they were turning into demons.

Bethany’s words stung. And the fact that I was too much of a coward to tell here why she was wrong stung even more. She needed the support of someone who wasn’t a closeted basket case like me; someone who was strong enough to be open with them. They all needed that. So, instead of trying to persuade them on my own, I opted for an assistant. Picking a fresh syringe from the cabinet, I loaded it up with a dose of quixalin and administered it to Kurt. In the interim, I got an old fashioned rolling stool in one of the cabinets. I unfolded it and sat myself down. I felt a lot more stable on it than I did on my own two legs. I rolled the stool up to Kurt’s bedside with perfect timing: he awoke with a start. For a moment, the wild hunger flashed in his eyes, much to everyone’s relief, he managed to suppress the urge with a shake of his head and lengthy neck. Kurt reached up to scratch his head, only for his budding claws to scrape the scales on his neck, beneath his jaw.

“What did I miss?” He looked down at me and blinked.

I sighed. “Nothing good. But enough of that; I’ll tell you later if you really want to know.” I pointed at the hungry transformees. “Right now, I need you to help me convince them to eat their bed sheets.”

Kurt grabbed the blanket off his bed with one hand. “Hey!” he yelled, turning to the other transformees.

He certainly got their attention. All of us flinched at his loud, thickly resonant voice. The noise shook the nearby shutters on the windows. The sound was inhuman, like two or three voices speaking simultaneously, except at different pitches. You couldn’t have asked for a better way to get people’s attention.

Bending his neck down, Kurt took a big bite out of the corner of the blanket. “Deeeeelicious,” he said, drolly. He rubbed his hand in circles on his belly, but then stopped as something ripped open.

Kurt cursed softly. “Shit…” He glanced down to see his claws had torn ribbons in his gown. Then, twisting his neck at an angle, he bobbed his head down, cut off a strap of the cloth and plopped it in his mouth.

“Hmm,” he said. He chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, and then swallowed and nodded. “Not bad.”

Much to my relief, the wayward transformees followed Kurt’s example and went to work eating their blankets and pillows. Their first bites were hesitant; the rest were very much not. Tension in my spine and tail dissipated. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it.

I pushed my foot off the floor to roll the stool over to Kurt’s bedside. He sat down beside me, his tail splayed out behind him atop the bedsheets. His tail crossed the width of the bed and drooped over the other side, with more than enough length for the tip to reach the floor. He had to curve his neck like a swan’s to bring his face level with mine.

I nodded graciously. “Thanks for the save.”

Lowering his head, Kurt crossed his claws in his lap, careful not to cut more of the fabric. “I was just trying to make myself useful, and,” he looked up, “before you sedated me, you’d said you needed my help.”

“That I will,” I said.

Kurt’s words got a smile out of me, which surprised me; I didn’t realize I had any left to give. It was nice to be reminded otherwise.

Flexing my neck—which, I swear, had gotten a little longer—I sighed and brought Kurt up to date. I gave as quick of an explanation as I could of what had happened while he’d been out—that the transformees’ hunger had ripped them out of sedation, and about the two nurses who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and—

“—Slit me,” Kurt cursed, shaking his head. He wept.

The horror of his noseless face had lessened somewhat by the way his mouth and naked sinuses had bulged outward slightly, in a short but definite muzzle. Green ooze curdled around his nasal slits as he sniffled, and then he sighed, and loudly enough for me to hear the layers vibrate in his voice—a rich, woody sound.

I finished with the recap, detailing the fallout of Isabel and Kevin’s deaths, and explained the details of the arrangement I had ironed out with Director Hobwell and his superiors for dealing with transformees.

I spun around on my seat and surveyed the room. There were still a couple transformees I needed to wake and bring out of their hunger crazes before their appetites got the better of them. On the plus side, the reluctant bed-eaters seemed to have finished their meals. They’d eaten their sheets and blankets, but, with only a couple of exceptions—most of all, Lopé—they’d only nibbled on their mattresses. Lopé, meanwhile, had chowed down on about a fifth of his mattress. His changes had advanced while he’d been eating. He yelped in soft surprise when he realized his body had grown a foot and a half, bringing him to the height of an adult, only his new growth was all torso. He yelped again as he realized his hospital gown was too short for his body and failed to cover his waist. Bethany stared at the boy as he panicked at his nakedness and searched for a pillow to cover himself up with, only to realize he’d eaten all his pillows.

“What’re you freaking out about?” she said, dryly. “You’ve got nothing left to cover.”

It was true. All he had was a dark red tail that stuck out like a spade between his legs.

I sighed.