Survive the Night (16 page)

LIGHTS FLASH BEHIND MY CLOSED LIDS. THEN THEY
flash off again.

I feel myself grow lighter and fight against it. It's like swimming. I try to push myself farther, into the deep, fathomless ocean of sleep. My friends are down there. I see their faces in the darkness. Shana is just inches away from me, her bright pink lips parted in a little-kid grin.

“You look deranged,” she says. But the current pulls me up. The light grows brighter, and pain seeps in through my arms and legs. It stabs at me like knives. Shana's face disappears.

I open my eyes. It's dark. Blue lights flash from a machine to my left, and an IV stands at my right. Plastic cords connect to my wrists. A velvety night sky stretches beyond the hospital window, and in the distance, I can see the dusky glow of city lights.

Someone's shouting.

I blink, listening. The shouting cuts off, abruptly.

Then: “Female victim. Seventeen years old.”

They must be talking about me. Sleep tugs at me. I don't fight it. Everything's so much easier when I'm asleep. My eyelids flutter.

An ER tech pauses in front of my room, his hands resting on a stretcher. Suddenly I'm wide awake. A sheet covers the body, but a bare leg wearing a muddy black boot dangles over the side of the stretcher, along with a single pink-tipped lock of hair.

“Shana,” I whisper. I try to push myself out of bed, but my arms wobble beneath my weight, and I crash back against my pillows. Darkness flickers at the corners of my eyes, and before I can move, the morphine pulls me under.

• • •

My eyes twitch open hours later, still heavy with sleep. Something woke me. I lie curled on my side, listening for a sound. The machines beep. A car honks on the street outside. A nurse in the hall says something about going for coffee.

My eyelids grow heavier. I'm about to drift off again when movement flickers at the edge of my vision. My eyes shoot open and I sit up in bed, the mattress creaking beneath my weight.

Someone stands in the hall outside my room, a shadow hovering near the doorway.

“Mom?” My voice cracks. It feels raw and unused. Whoever's watching me doesn't move. I curl my fingers around the scratchy hospital sheets and scoot back against the headboard. My heart thuds against my chest. The shadow shifts.

“Shana?” I say.

Shana drifts forward, dazed. A film of sweat coats her skin, and her hair frames her face in limp, tangled clumps. She wears a hospital gown just like mine. But hers is several sizes too big and the neck droops over her shoulder, revealing deep red gouges on her neck and chest.

“Oh my God.” I push back my blankets and climb out of bed. The drugs make me slow and clumsy. The room spins, and I have to lean against the wall for a second to regain my balance. The dizziness subsides and I yank the IV out of my hand, then stumble across the room and grab the door to keep myself steady. Pins and needles race up my injured leg. Gritting my teeth together, I take the last few steps toward Shana and throw my arms around her neck.

“You're alive,” I whisper. Tears spring to my eyes. Shana feels small beneath my arms, her bones thin and fragile. I hold her tighter, but she doesn't hug me back. Her hands hang next to her sides, limp.

“Shana?” I loosen my grip slightly, but then Shana jerks her arms around me. Her fingers crawl to the back of my head and press into my scalp. Chipped nails dig into my head.

“What are you doing?” I squirm, but she tightens her grip. Her nails claw at my skin. “Wait, you're hurting me.”

I start to pull away, but then I see something jutting out of Shana's back, and I hesitate. The object looks sharp and long as a steak knife, but curved in a subtle arc. I raise a trembling finger as it sinks deeper into Shana's body.

Nerves prickle over my arms and the back of my neck. I push her off me and she stumbles back a few feet, giggling.

“No,” I say. She's trying to be funny. This is one of her stupid jokes. The muscle in my leg twitches, telling me to run. I edge backward. “Shana, what the hell is going on?”

The light hits her face, and dread washes over me. Skin droops from her cheeks and jaw. Her mouth stretches. This smile is different from Shana's giddy, little-kid grin. There's no joy in it. It widens, all jagged teeth and bleeding gums. Her normally brown eyes burn icy blue. Just like Aya's had.

“Shana,” I whisper. The scratch Aya left across my face flares, like a warning. This
thing
couldn't possibly be the real Shana. Shana's dead. The creature from the subway took her body, just like it took Aya's body, and Lawrence's body.

And now it's come for me.

The creature's blue eyes darken into twin black pools. Something appears from deep within Shana's throat. It pulses and writhes against the roof of her mouth. It pushes on her teeth.

A tentacle uncurls over Shana's cracked lips. It lashes at me, gray scales flashing under the dim hospital lights, and cuts, whiplike, into my cheek. The tentacle crashes into the wall behind me, and the plaster crumbles under its weight.

Terror grips my chest and I run for the door, but Shana darts into my path and pushes me back into the room. I lose my balance and slam into the tile. Pain shoots through my hips.

The tentacle loops around my ankle. Tiny, jagged claws flare out from the scales and cut into my flesh. I scream and kick, but the tentacle constricts and the claws dig into my leg like a grappling hook. I push myself to my hands and knees and start to crawl, but the tentacle yanks my legs out from under me. My forehead smacks into the floor and darkness blossoms in front of my eyes. My head feels thick and dizzy.

I can't move. A shadow falls over me. I can practically picture the tentacle hovering above my head, its claws about to dig into the soft flesh around my neck. I groan and try to roll over, but pain washes over me in waves. A tear forms in the corner of my eye.

This is it
. I'm going to die.

Voices sound in the hall just outside my door, but they fade before I can call out for help. Shana's bare feet pad across the floor.

Then, silence.

I roll onto my back. Something flickers at the corner of my eye, and I flinch and throw my arms around my face again, expecting Shana to lunge. But nothing happens.

I lower my arms, trembling. The doorway where Shana had stood is empty. I push myself to my knees, eyes darting around the small hospital room. Did she run away? Or is she still here? Hiding?

The blue machine beeps in the corner. My IV stands next to the bed, cords dangling to the floor. The curtain rustles.

My heart thuds in my ears. I rise to my feet. Pain flutters through my bad knee, making me cringe. The door to the hall is just past the window. If Shana's behind the curtain, I'll never make it.

The curtain moves again. I grit my teeth and creep across the room. The tile chills my bare feet, and my fingers shake. Goose bumps raise the hair on my arms and neck.

I reach forward, grab the curtain, and yank it back—revealing nothing but an open window. A cool breeze drifts into the room, rustling the curtain.

The fear drains from my body. I exhale and peer outside, half expecting to spot Shana racing across the street below. But the glass just reflects my hospital room back at me. I see the blue heart monitor, my abandoned IV, and the rumpled sheets on my bed. I lean closer.

A figure huddles beneath my bed, watching me with hungry eyes.

Terror washes over me. I scream and whirl around as a tentacle whips out from under the bed and slams into my chest. It knocks the air from my lungs, and suddenly I'm sliding across the floor. I crash into the metal hospital cart, and the cart topples. Glass shatters, and medical supplies rain down on me. I throw my hands over my face.

Shana skitters out from under the bed on all fours. She moves like an insect, her arms and legs jerky and disjointed. I try to stand, but Shana crawls on top of me, pinning me down with her legs. She leans closer, her face inches from my own. Her mouth slackens and droops open with the weight of the writhing tentacle.

The tentacle curls around my neck, pinching my skin. I gasp for air and dig my hands into the scaly mass. I try to pull it away, but the tentacle is solid muscle. It tightens around my neck until my head grows light. Shana grabs my wrists and slams them against the ground.

I kick and push against her arms, but Shana's too strong. She doesn't even seem to notice me struggling beneath her. I inhale, and a tiny bit of oxygen trickles into my lungs. Then the tentacle constricts, crushing my throat.

“
Let . . . go . . .
” I gasp. Darkness blurs the edges of my eyesight.

Shana cocks her head, considering me. It's a strange, reptilian gesture. Another tentacle oozes from her mouth and slithers toward my arm, coiling around my wrist. Dizziness overwhelms me. I open and close my mouth.

Shana unhinges her jaw, and another tentacle slips past her lips and hits my chest with a hard, wet thud. It feels like an oily rope. I cringe as it gropes along my skin and tightens around my throat. My head pounds. The room starts to go black.

The room flickers in and out of focus. The realization hits me: Shana is going to kill me. This
monster
is going to kill me. I'm going to die if I don't do something. I move my arms and jerk my head forward, smacking Shana on the forehead. Pain oozes through my skull, but she just blinks, surprised, then shifts her body forward so she can hold my head down with both hands.

She crouches over my good leg, pinning it to the floor. I grit my teeth together and shift my bad leg out from under her. Pain throbs beneath my kneecap. Nausea rises in my throat. I choke it back and drive my ruined knee into Shana's chest.

Shana flies off me. Her tentacles uncurl from my arms and neck, and whip back toward her mouth. Pain like fire burns through my leg. I push myself to my feet. The ache makes my head throb. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shana moving toward me with that same jerky, disjointed crawl. I hobble for the door. The nurses' station is just down the hall. If I can get out of this room and shout for them, I might be able to save myself. Pain shoots up my leg with every step I take, but I bite my lip and push myself through it. The hospital door yawns open. Just three more steps. Two more.

“Help!” I gasp. “Someone, please!”

A tentacle shoots out of Shana's mouth and wraps around my ankle. An agonized scream rips from my throat. I leap for the door, but the tentacle pulls me down. My cheek slams against the tile and, for a second, all I see is black. I groan, and try to push myself back to my feet. The room swims around me.

Shana crawls toward me. She's twisted her arms around so that her hands face the wrong way and her elbows jut out to the sides. Her bones stick out at bizarre angles, pulling her skin taut. Empty eye sockets stare out from opposite sides of her head, and her mouth widens, taking up her entire face. Sweaty pink hair falls over her forehead and sticks to her cheeks.

I try to move my leg, but everything below my waist has gone numb. I grope along the ground for something to help me pull myself up, and my fingers find the cool metal bars of the hospital bed. I grab hold and pull. My muscles burn, but I'm not strong enough to stand. My legs flop beneath me—dead weight.

Shana closes in on me. I grope along the ground for a weapon, and my fingers find a long rubber cord.

The emergency call button.

I yank on the cord, and the button clatters to the ground. Shana leaps for me, but I grab hold of the button before she lands on my chest. She digs into my shoulders with both hands and shoves me to the floor.

My head smacks against the tile. Drool drips from Shana's lips and plops onto my cheek. I press the emergency button, but it's too late.

Shana lowers her face.
This can't be the end
, I think, and then I wrap the cord around the monster's throat. I pull tight, tighter.

Spit bubbles around Shana's mouth. I stare at her neck so I don't have to look at her face. I pull the cord tighter. Her skin goes pale. My hands start to shake. Shana moves her hands from my shoulders and gropes at the cord.

A strand of pink hair falls to Shana's neck, dislodging something inside me. The color's called Cotton Candy. I helped her pick it out.

It'll make you look innocent
, I told her. She cackled, and shoved the dye into her pocket without paying for it.

I could
never
look innocent
, she shot back.

A sob builds in my throat. I choke it down and pull the cord tighter, tighter.
This isn't Shana
, I tell myself.
Shana's already dead.

The monster tries to tug the cord away, but it digs into her and she can't get a good grip. She scratches at her neck, uselessly, leaving deep red scratches on her skin. The muscles in my arms burn with pain. I don't have much strength left. Shana gasps, her fingers still clawing at the cord. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to watch the life fade from her face.

Shana collapses on my chest. The tentacles slither back into her mouth—slowly at first, then fast, like a tape measure snapping back in place. I drop the cord and fall back onto the floor, panting. Tears spill down my cheeks.

The floor beneath me trembles. I stiffen, but it's just footsteps. They thud closer, and then a nurse appears at my doorway.

“Is everything all right in . . . Oh
God
!”

The nurse screams. I try to open my mouth. I want to tell her that it's okay. The monster is dead. It's finally over. But the nurse starts yelling and then another nurse races into the room with a stretcher.

They lift me off the floor and onto the stretcher. They're talking to me, asking me questions. But it's like someone put the world on mute. Their mouths open and close without making a sound.

Let me go
, I think. I try to move my legs, but nothing happens. Panic builds in my chest. I try to lift my foot and then wiggle a toe. My legs stay still.