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Karri Kadin


1. Day 1

2. Day 2

3. Day 3

4. Day 4

5. Day 5

6. Day 6

7. Day 7

Also by Karri Kadin

About the Author

Copyright © 2021 by Wicked Tales Press, LLC

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2020

ISBN 978-1-7349399-1-0

Wicked Tales Press, LLC

PO Box 503

Newalla, Oklahoma 74857

If you would like to be alerted about my future books please join my mailing list!


Cover design by Enchanted Ink

Editing by Angela Watts


Proofread by Shona Mclaren

Veronica leaned against the stained, peeling laminate counter in the break room, spooning peach yogurt into her mouth. As she scraped the edges of the container for the last bite, she noticed the name scribbled in Sharpie on the side. Marla. Marla worked in the lab on day shift and always brought whipped cream fruit concoctions to the potlucks and called them salads. Veronica had a list a mile long of coworkers she wasn’t fond of, but Marla was definitely towards the top of that list. Veronica tossed the empty container in the trash as she walked out into the narrow hospital hall.

She began the short walk back to the little closet the hospital called her office. She had her hand on the handle when Jones appeared and jogged toward her. He was on Veronica’s tolerable list. Wrinkles creased his forehead and his wide eyes glossed with fear.

“Veronica! We need you in the ER. We actually have one. One of those virus victims! It’s bad.” He turned on his heels and hurried back toward the ER before Veronica could even ask what medications to bring. She shoved her office door open and grabbed her respiratory therapy cart and pulled on her power air-purifying respirator before following him. Her hammering heart sent an almost deafening pulse to her ears.

She had prepared for this. The respiratory therapy cart was crammed full with everything she could think of to treat someone suffering from the N87 virus. She’d kept up on the research and spoke to colleagues from larger cities who had treated N87 victims. None of the information she gathered was good. The virus was fatal 100% of the time. Treatment was simply comfort measures. But maybe this time, for this patient, it would be different.

She sprinted to the six bed ER and didn’t have to ask where they needed her. Police surrounded bay three, holding down a man on the hospital bed as staff tried to attach his restraints. Veronica could hear his wet, raspy breath from across the room. His face was covered in black lines like a spider web and as she came to his side, she realized they were his veins. He definitely had the virus. She hooked a face mask up to her nebulizer and filled it with the cocktail of meds the research said would help the most. The nurses had him secured to the bed, but he still fought against his bindings. Blood dripped from his eyes.

“Mr. Kelpner, we need you to be still so we can help you feel better. Veronica here is going to put a face mask on you. It will help you breathe a bit easier,” Jones said.

The patient thrashed on the bed, completely oblivious to Jones’ request. The old bed creaked under the strain. He shook his head from side to side and when she went to slip the face mask on, his gaze focused on her. His eyes were like a feral cat’s, fearless and dark with hate. He lunged toward her and as he did, the bed rail furthest away from her came loose. He swung his arm in her direction and brought the railing with him, knocking a few nurses and a police officer to the floor with it. She jumped back just in time as the railing hit the ground in front of her.

“¡Chingada madre!” Veronica screamed.

The patient lurched from the bed. His body jerked violently as his other arm—still attached to the bed—halted him in midair. He crumbled to the floor in a heap. Veronica scurried back, dropping the face mask as she went. His eyes darted up and locked on her again. A low growl escaped his lips and white foam bubbles overflowed from his mouth. He rushed forward, pulling the bed with him and crashed into her, trapping her beneath him and pinning them both beneath the ancient hospital bed.

“Fucking help me!” Veronica screamed.

She threw her arms up to cover her face and felt his teeth break the flesh on her palm. Warm blood flowed down her arm and shocks of pain rolled through her. An animalistic scream filled the air and at first Veronica thought it was the feral man on top of her. But when white foam and her own blood dripped from the patient’s mouth onto her open lips, she realized the scream was her own.

The man gnawed at her hand and tears streamed down Veronica's face. She writhed beneath him, kneeing him in the groin repeatedly, but none of it fazed him. He kept chewing on her flesh. The world around her brightened, and she realized the hospital bed was no longer over her. She felt her colleagues pull on the man trying to get him off her, but he held on like a spider to its web. His teeth now aimed at them, giving her tortured hand a rest. Blood ran down her arm, soaking the sleeve of her scrub top. Jones grabbed the man by the hair and yanked him back hard as a police officer and two nurses pulled on Mr. Kelpner’s torso. He fell backward, releasing Veronica from his embrace. She scurried back, sliding across the floor, leaving a trail of blood from her open wound.

Jones took one step toward her, then

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