Wanted: Undead or Alive

The Night Shift

I hesitated. Should I press the panic button? Call 911? And then what? Report a crying baby?

A little voice in my head told me to arm myself. The heaviest thing in sight was the big glass award the hotel had been given for having the highest cleanliness rating in the district in 1997. Management had changed hands since then, but they kept the award. I snatched it up, tiptoed around the desk, and peeked down the hall just in time to see the huge man slam his bulk against the door of room one-twenty-six. He staggered back.

I was impressed. I'd always figured the electronic locks were pathetically flimsy, giving only the illusion of security, but apparently, they were stronger than I'd given them credit for.

He drew a gun from the holster on his hip and pointed it at the door.

That was too much. "You can't—"

His head snapped in my direction just as the door to one-twenty-six flew open and Trench Coat flew out. Literally flew. Fleshless skeleton feet dangled six or eight inches above the ground. His gloved hands smacked into the bounty hunter's chest and the big man crashed into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Not-Randy turned toward me and tipped his head back. I saw his face then, though I wished to God I hadn't. The skeletal mouth opened and let out a wailing infant cry before he came at me. Like a hawk, swooping down on some cowering mammal in a field, he descended.

With an instinct I never knew I had, I hefted the glass award and swung it backhand with a grunt that would make any tennis pro proud. Two of the skeleton's teeth popped clean out of the sockets and fell to the carpet.

I'm not sure how I got there, but next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees, only inches away from the incisor and molar I'd dislocated. My stomach rolled.

Feet pounded in my direction.

A baby screamed. There was another crash behind me, and I looked up in time to see the truck driver from room one-fourteen step into the hall. Cartoonish pictures of colorful tacos dotted his underwear.

I rearranged my quivering limbs until I was sitting on my butt. From that position, I had a good view of Not-Randy holding the bounty hunter down. A bony left hand clutched the agent's throat. The skeleton's right hand grabbed his shoulder.

The agent screamed.

It was much louder and infinitely more horrible than the baby wails.

I didn't know the guy. Maybe he had it coming, what was happening to him, but I was in charge of the hotel at night and, damn it, this was bad for business. Not that I cared all that much about the business, but if they closed down I lost my job.

Zero chance the trucker would stay here again. He'd be at the Holiday Inn next time, for sure.

Using the nearest door handle as a brace, I pulled myself up to stand on my watery legs. It didn't seem like I was going to puke, so I went ahead and retrieved the glass award which, miraculously, hadn't even been chipped, and inched toward the fighting men.

Or whatever they were.

Lining up like Babe Ruth at home plate, I took a swing and connected.

The skull, complete with cowboy hat, sailed down the hallway and rolled to a stop in front of a display of tourism brochures.

Visit Magical Cavern! Family Fun Center! Rides, Rides, Rides!

The skeleton's body didn't entirely give up, but without its head, it appeared fairly disoriented. After wrestling his way out from under the smelly remains, the bounty hunter clamped a pair of golden handcuffs around the exposed carpal bones. The thing collapsed like... well, like a bag of bones, and the victor stood to retrieve the skull. Blood soaked the front of his shirt. A massive tear in the fabric revealed a grisly wound where the skin had been ripped away.