An Ordinary Call Led Us to a House of Carnage, and Now I’m On the Run | Part 1
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I stood in a fast food restaurant parking lot, staring at the cigarette in my left hand. I could hear my partner, Todd, finishing up his meal of about a dozen soft tacos in the cab of the ambulance. The night air was cool compared to the warmth of the day. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. The faint sound of voices came from the fast food drive-through as food was exchanged for money. An occasional car passed on the road.

I held up a Zippo lighter in my right hand, the lid still closed. The lighter had a shell that made it look like the Necronomicon from the Evil Dead movies. After struggling to quit smoking for over a year, I had stumbled across the lighter on Etsy and bought it right away. Now, every time I opened the lighter, it was like opening the Necronomicon. I was unleashing evil into the world, or more specifically,

I was releasing evil into my lungs with every puff of a cancer stick. Still, the draw was strong. I wanted to insert the filter between my lips, release the evil from the Necronomicon, and breathe that evil in, filling my lungs with it. I wanted to, but I wouldn't let myself. Not this time, not anymore. "I don't know why you just don't throw them away," Todd said, crumpling up his trash and burping.

"You wouldn't be tempted if you just threw the cigarettes away." "Why don't you just bring your own lunch like I do?" I asked, still staring at the cigarette. "You wouldn't be tempted to eat all that junk if you brought your own lunch." "I like this junk," Todd said defensively. "It tastes good, yeah? Well, so does smoking," I said. "And fast food is probably just as bad for you." "Yeah, well, we all gotta die someday," Todd said.

We had a variation of this same conversation at least once a month. We'd been working together for so long, it seemed as if we were just cycling through the same old conversations again and again because we had nothing new to talk about. But that was fine with me. I liked Todd and we made a good team. I wouldn't want another partner. No way. As Todd got out, trekking across the parking lot to throw his trash away,

I slipped the cigarette between my lips, lit the lighter, touched the flame to the tobacco, and inhaled the evil. Shame flooded my mind like blood into clean water, but the sensation of the smoke in my lungs dampened the emotion momentarily. I inhaled again greedily, stuffing the Necronomicon back into my pants pocket. Then the radio squawked to life in the cab, and I heard dispatch say our unit number. We had a call. Shit.

I inhaled, tossed the cigarette down, stomped on it, and whistled for Todd. He tossed his garbage into the trash can and hurried back as I jumped into the cab. I was still exhaling a little smoke as he hit the gas, and we headed for the call. The house was in a neighborhood halfway between rural and urban. The nearest neighbors were a good hundred yards away in either direction, and the house itself was bordered by both a fence and a line of privacy trees.

Todd guided the ambulance down the driveway, which was a narrow strip of asphalt. The lawn flanking the driveway was well cared for, and the two-story house glowed against the night. Scanning for signs of trouble, I saw none. Todd had shut the siren off, but the flashing lights painted the night as we approached. I expected someone to come out of the house to greet us,

But the well-lit front door remained shut as we came to a stop behind an SUV and a truck parked in the driveway against a closed garage door. Dispatch hadn't had a ton of information to give, so we didn't really know what we'd need. It was even possible that the call had been a prank, but when the 911 operator who'd taken the call couldn't reach anyone when calling back, we'd been summoned to investigate. The operator said he didn't even hear any talking when the call came through.

Only screams that were cut off by strange noises. The operator said these strange noises sounded like wet, splattering sounds. We'd been nearby, a lucky coincidence, and it had only taken us a few minutes to get here. Todd and I grabbed our bags and hustled toward the front door. Just as we got to the porch, the portable radio on my hip came to life.

Todd and I paused, listening to dispatch telling us to wait until backup arrived to go inside. We shared a look, and I already knew that Todd would be going in with or without me, so I didn't give it a second thought. I moved onto the porch with my partner. "Hello?" I called after knocking. "EMS, anyone there?" There was a thump from the second floor. It sounded like someone tripping and falling, but after that, there was nothing but silence.

"Try the door," Todd said. I did as he suggested and found that the door was unlocked. I swung it open and called in again. "Hello?" There was no answer. Lights lit the entryway, allowing us to see inside. There was a hallway leading off the entryway, with a staircase side-on to the front door about halfway down the hall. We stepped inside. It had a cozy, lived-in feel. There was a shoe rack next to a plush rug,

Above that, there was a rack for hanging coats and jackets. Todd sniffed. "You smell that?" "Yeah," I said, throat thickening. It was the smell of freshly spilled blood. There was a set of double doors on the right, beyond the entryway. I approached it and knocked. "Hello? EMS?" Nothing. I reached down and opened one of the doors, glancing inside.

It was a slaughterhouse. My stomach convulsed at the sight in the living room. I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. The entire room was splashed with blood. Walls, ceiling, furniture, bookcase, and even the flat-screen television on the wall. Body parts littered the floor. Entrails and organs were draped across the two couches and the love seat like macabre decorations in a scare house.

The people were in so many parts, it was impossible to tell how many there had been. "Goddamn!" Todd said, pushing past me to step into the room. With his instincts taking over, he started toward what was left of the most intact body, which wasn't much. Then he stopped. He looked down to see that he was standing in blood. The stuff was still dripping from the furniture. He had gloves on, we both did, but we would be coated in the stuff in a second.

But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that there was nothing we could do for any of these people, and we both knew it. Todd was a paramedic, and I was an EMT, which meant Todd had done more schooling and could use more advanced medical techniques than me. But even with his schooling and experience, there was nothing he could do for these people. A droplet of blood dripped from the ceiling, hitting Todd in the head.

He looked up to see what had happened, just as another droplet fell. "Oh fuck," he said, bringing one gloved hand to his face as he doubled over. "It's in my eye! Come on," I said, grabbing him and pulling him out of the room. I brought him over to the stairs and sat him down, setting my radio aside to get it out of the way as I worked. Then I pulled a bottle of eye wash and a couple of tissues from my bag.

I gave him the tissues to hold under his eye and quickly washed the blood out. "Fucking blood on the ceiling!" he said. "Goddamn! How does that even happen? I mean, those people look like they exploded!" There was another thump from upstairs, very similar to the first one we heard while outside. Both of us froze and looked up the stairs. "Hello?" Todd called. "We should get the hell out of here until the police show up," I said.

"What about the person that called 911?" Todd asked. "Maybe that's them upstairs. And maybe it's the person who killed all those people in that room." "How? I've never seen any weapon that can do something like that, and not leave some evidence. That room was untouched, except for the blood and guts and body parts. There was no explosion there. And it certainly wasn't a knife or a gun. Just because we don't know what caused it, doesn't mean we should hang around." I said. Todd wiped his cheek and looked up at me.

I knew I wouldn't win this argument. Todd was like that. He'd been in trouble several times for going into a scene after we'd been told to wait for the police to show up. And while he'd also put my life in danger on those occasions, he never forced me to get out of the ambulance. He always said, "You can stay here if you want. This is my thing. I'm going in." Now that tendency was on full display, I sighed. "Let's go see."

But as soon as we started up the stairs, I heard tires screeching from outside. The police had arrived, at least, that's what I thought at first. Todd and I came back down the stairs and stood facing the still open front door. Footsteps came pounding up to the door and a man wearing a baby blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up appeared, stepping inside. He had a gun in one hand. I quickly scanned for a badge but didn't see one. He wasn't wearing a jacket either.

He looked like he worked in an office building, as an accountant or something. Behind him came another man dressed similarly, also holding a gun. The first man spotted us immediately. "Don't move," he said, drifting toward the living room doors. "Who are you?" I asked. The first guy ignored me as the second one stepped through the front door. They both paused next to the living room, looking at the bloody mess inside. Then they looked at us.

"My name is Agent Donovan," the second guy said. Coming toward us with his gun still out, but pointed down. "This is Agent Winslow." Donovan looked to be in his early 30s, with dark hair buzzed close to the scalp. Winslow was maybe 10 years older. His longer hair parted at the side, showing signs of gray creeping into the brown. "Can we see some ID?" Todd asked. He was still holding the tissues I'd given him when washing out his eye.

"You get hurt?" Donovan asked, gesturing at the tissues, which were pink from the eye wash and blood. "Nope," Todd said. "How about that ID?" That thump came again from upstairs. Donovan and Winslow both looked that way. "Who else is in the house?" Donovan asked. "We haven't been up there yet," I said. "We were about to go see if anyone else was hurt when you showed up. We thought you were the police."

"Those people aren't hurt," Winslow said, moving towards us at the stairs. "They're in fucking pieces. Stay here, don't go anywhere," Donovan said. Then both he and his partner moved up the stairs. When they were out of earshot, Todd turned to me. "Have you ever seen any feds that look like that?" "Sure, on TV." "My point exactly. Feds in real life wear ill-fitting suits and thick ties, not business casual office wear. Maybe they're undercover or something."

Todd shook his head. "I don't like this. It stinks. Why would he dodge my question about his ID?" I was about to answer when gunshots came from upstairs. We both jumped at the sounds. "Christ!" Todd said. "Let's wait outside." "Fine with me," I said, looking over my shoulder, suddenly afraid we'd be shot in the back by some lurking psycho. We took our bags and headed toward the front door.

"Hey!" Donovan called out as we reached the front door. I turned and saw him coming down the stairs. "I said stay put! We were just going to wait outside until we got the all clear." I said. "It's fine," he replied. "You're not in any danger. Just follow me back here. We're going to have some questions for you guys. You're not going to check the rest of the house first?" Donovan moved to the end of the hallway and disappeared. He was back a few moments later. "There!" He snapped.

"All clear. Happy?" Todd and I glanced at each other. He was right. Something didn't smell right, and it wasn't just all the blood and entrails in the living room. Still, we both moved down the hallway toward the back of the house, gestured on by Donovan. As we came next to the stairwell, I glanced up to see Winslow halfway up it, staring down at us as we passed. He still had his gun out, for that matter. So did Donovan.

Once we passed the stairs, I could hear Winslow coming down behind us. "So, how about that ID?" Todd asked as we turned into the kitchen dining room area. "Sure thing," Donovan said. "As soon as you take a seat, I'll show you my badge and ID." I glanced over my shoulder to see Winslow step into the kitchen, his gun still drawn. "That'll sure make me feel better," Todd said. "Won't it make you feel better, Danny?" As soon as I'd seen Winslow on the stairs like that,

I had a bad feeling deep in my bowels. And as soon as Todd called me Danny, I knew he felt it too. We were in deep shit. Todd and I have been working together for long enough to have developed a code. When dealing with erratic patients, mentally ill people with violent tendencies, or anyone who might pose a threat to our safety, we had a way of telling each other to be on edge. And we did it by calling each other names different from our own.

I'd call Todd Larry, and he'd call me Danny. This worked because we only had our last names embroidered on our uniform shirts. Most of the time, this was a way to tell each other to tackle and subdue a frenzied patient, or for one of us to alert the other that we could be in danger. This time, I wasn't sure what Todd was planning, just that he was going to do something, and I'd better be ready.

So as we approached the dining room table at the far side of the kitchen, Todd and I were walking side by side, each of us carrying a jump bag. Donovan was slightly behind us, following along. Winslow was a few steps behind Donovan,

We were still apace from the table when Todd whipped around, yelling for me to run as he slammed his jump bag into Donovan's face. Thinking that Todd would follow close behind, I booked it out of the dining room, dropping my jump bag as I went toward the only other door in the place, the one toward the living room. But even as I made the move to go, I glanced over to see Winslow raising his gun toward me. Todd jumped toward the man, getting in the way as he reached out to grab Winslow's hand.

The gun fired, blood splattered my face and I felt something punch into my arm. Then I was in the living room, realizing with sickening horror that the blood on my face belonged to Todd. He'd been shot in the chest and a chunk of his back had blown out with the bullet. I lunged over the blood splattered couch, nearly slipping on a pool of drying blood as I stepped off the large area rug and onto the hardwood floor.

A gunshot sounded behind me as I came to the double doors, one of which was still open. I ducked instinctively, hearing the bullet thunk into the wall beside the doorway. Then several more gunshots sounded from the kitchen. I winced, thinking that those bullets were going into Todd. I turned left and made it through the front door, legs and heart pumping as I ran toward the rig. We always kept the keys inside when on calls, so there was no risk of losing them.

As I approached the rig, more gunshots sounded from behind me. A bullet punched into the windshield. Another hit the front right tire. The ambulance sank down with a hiss of escaping air. Still, it was my best bet for escape. I rounded to the driver's side and opened the door as the windshield exploded with the impact of rapid-fire bullets. As I ducked down to avoid getting shot in the head, I saw both Donovan and Winslow moving in unison, firing their pistols.

I couldn't take the ambulance. Not now. Panic flushed my veins and got my legs moving. I ran toward the edge of the yard, keeping the ambulance between me and the two shooters. I burst through the line of privacy trees, hitting a low wooden post and rail fence. Flipping over, I landed in the neighbor's yard on my back. The firing had stopped for now, but I knew it wasn't safe. I scrambled to my feet and ran across the yard, heading diagonally toward the road.

As I crossed the road and ran into another yard, I tasted blood. I was sweating, and Todd's blood was running down my face, some of it getting into my mouth. I also noted a throbbing pain in my upper right arm, where something hit me just after Todd had been shot. I wasn't sure if it was the bullet or a piece of my friend's bone that was inside my body. None of it mattered right now. I ran past the house, thankful they didn't have a fence around the backyard.

I raced into the woods, trying to picture how much woodland there was before I'd run into more civilization. I ducked around trees and nearly tripped over branches in the dim moonlight that filtered through the canopy. After several minutes of this, I had to stop to catch my breath. Hunkering down behind a long dead fallen tree, I turned and faced the way I'd come, looking for any sign of the two men. After a few moments, I saw them coming through the trees.

I knew I couldn't run any longer, at least not with any speed. My chest heaved and my legs shook with fear and fatigue. Hiding was my only chance. It was clear from the way Donovan and Winslow were creeping through the woods that they hadn't seen my hiding spot yet. "You guys just had to go in, didn't you?" Donovan called. "It wasn't even five minutes after the call went out, was it? We could have avoided this whole thing if you'd just listened to dispatch when they said to wait."

"You brought this on yourselves!" I said nothing and tried to get my breathing under control. "Listen!" Donovan yelled. "I saw your name tag. I know your last name is Winthrop. It won't be hard to find your address and your family, but we can avoid all that nastiness if you just come on out." They scanned the woods as I peeked over the tree trunk, my head half hidden by branches. The joke was on them. I didn't have any family in the area and barely any friends.

I was a loner, a shut-in when I wasn't working. Todd and his family were my only friends. His wife Gina was like the sister I never had. And his two grade school aged sons were like my nephews. But now Gina was a widow, and both Roy and Wayne had lost their father. The memory of a fist-sized hole blasting out of Todd's back played in my head on repeat as Donovan and Winslow got closer.

When they were about 20 yards away, Winslow moved close to his partner and said, "We don't have time for this shit. We have to get back there and finish the last one off. If it gets away, we're fucked." "What about him?" Donovan said. "He could be infected." "Could be, yeah. But we've got a couple of hours before anything happens. We go back, take care of the last one at the house, burn the place down, and then we go find this asshole's family. Once we have his wife or dad or whatever, he'll come forward."

For a moment, it looked like Donovan was going to agree. A glimmer of hope broke through the clouds of my confusion and fear. Then the younger man spoke. "No, he's here somewhere. He's close. You go back, take care of the house and then call me. If I haven't found him by the time you're done, we'll go after his family." The clouds closed again, plunging my mind into darkness. "Yeah, alright," Winslow said. "Be careful." He turned and left.

leaving the dark haired man behind. Donovan started forward, gun held in front of him with both hands. I had no idea how many bullets he had left. They'd fired a lot at me while I was escaping, but I couldn't depend on him running out of bullets. For all I knew, he'd already loaded a new magazine or clip or whatever it was called. I had to do something. I was finally catching my breath, but he was too close now. As soon as I started running, he could shoot me in the back, but I had to do something.

I couldn't just die out here in these woods. I thought about throwing a rock over in the woods to distract him, but I doubted it would work. That kind of thing only worked in movies, and even then, it always made me groan with disbelief. A bolt of sickening pain engulfed my right arm. The injured one. Unable to help myself, I cried out, "Got you now, motherfucker," Donovan said.

I barely registered it. My arm felt like it was being torn from my body. And as I looked down, I found that was exactly what was happening. My skin stretched at my elbow as my forearm separated from my upper arm, as though tugged slowly by some invisible force. I cried out again, unable to take my eyes off it. The stretching skin started splitting in places. But instead of looking like normal skin being torn, it looked like warm wax, stringy and dripping.

Finally, the forearm fully separated, and I watched it scurry off into the woods, my fingers propelling it like a spider's legs. The stringy skin wax sealed over my nub, like it already had time to heal. Donovan stepped up on the other side of the fallen tree, smiling and pointing his gun at me. Dragging my gaze away from what was left of my arm, I looked up into the man's face, and I watched his smile falter when he saw that half my right arm was gone.

"That's impossible," he said with fear in his voice. "It hasn't even been an hour." I had nothing to say. It was as if my mind had gone blank. Donovan's face transformed once again, this time shifting from fear to determination. He aimed the pistol at my head and fired.