Death Clause

By John Andrew Karr

Surgeon Victor Galloway kept death at bay in the operating room -- now death has claimed him. Resurrected against his will and forced to sign a Death Clause, he must fight for his family and his soul.

Victor Galloway is a prominent surgeon and family man. When he suffers a heart attack, he claws his way to the phone and dials 911. Close to death and strapped to a gurney, he's offered an unholy deal by Tobias, H.E.L.L.s CEO: Use his surgical skills to harvest the living to feed the undead in exchange for immortality. Whether by chance or divine intervention, Victor is different from the others. He is a monster with a conscience, a force for good ensnared by evil, and the only one willing to stand against Tobias and his burgeoning nest of zombies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Andrew Karr
• Release date: Jan 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005047511

John Andrew Karr

Seeking out the strange and spectacular, John Andrew Karr is a writer, IT worker and family guy residing near the southern coast of North Carolina.

Book preview

Chapter One

Victor Galloway suddenly froze, his back bent and aching, the blade of the garden hoe arrested in mid-strike.

There it was again...damned thing.

He stared at the hard-pack as sweat streaked down the sides of his face and dripped from his jaw to hit the ground in muffled splats. It wasn’t really painful...just irritating. He couldn’t let a twinge in his chest hold him back. Maybe it would go away after a short break.

Victor straightened. Immediately the ache in his lower back faded. Setting the blade flat on the ground, he leaned on the long shaft of the hoe and kneaded his thick pectoral muscle with the fingertips of his right hand. He took a deep breath, as deep as the twinge would allow, and looked around.

The world was flooded with sunshine, the kind that melts winter’s icy clutches and sends the Old Man scurrying away. The branches of oak, pine and maple swayed in the warm breeze as if worshiping the fiery orb on high. Budding leaves and stalwart pine needles danced, fluttered and rubbed against one another to produce the whispery notes to one of nature’s eternal symphonies. It was a performance Victor had longed for as he endured the bleak days and frigid nights.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and let the sun’s rays soak into his face. Oh, yeah...

The only thing that kept him from losing himself completely in the moment was the peculiar tugging in his chest.

He opened his eyes.

It was stronger now.

Well, he was subject to occasional muscle spasms in his back, so why not in his chest? This one could be even deeper than he’d thought, its source coming perhaps from the intercostals, the muscle wall between his ribs.

After ten years as an orthopedic surgeon, he knew what the body was capable of, and he also knew the possible consequences of working the soil for the first time after a long winter’s layoff.

Victor hoped the Bengay was handy. He’d need it when he was done. His nose wrinkled in anticipation of the sharp stench of the stuff. He took off the work gloves and tugged a red handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans, wiped his sweating face and the top of his head, then stuffed the cloth into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt.

He pulled the gloves back on and ground his work boots about an inch deep into the freshly turned soil. Bracing his legs, he chopped down with the hoe. The nicked blade bit into the earth with a hearty chunk. He repeated the movement several times. Pain lessened as Victor concentrated on the task at hand. Sweat trickled down the channels of his back as he lifted and chopped, lifted and chopped. The steel blade bit through the packed earth, rigid and tough after months of frost and rain, ice and snow. Victor’s shadow followed him as he worked.

Sparrows and cardinals and mocking birds chirped and whistled as he conquered more of the black earth. He knew with each stroke that the soil would loosen and breathe, providing aeration to the seedlings that would sprout a few weeks after today’s planting. The sun felt great on his back. In a steady rhythm now, he worked harder. The discomfort he’d felt earlier was still there, but he didn’t have time for it now. He kept chopping.

Dad-dy! Hey, Dad-dy!

The hoe halted at the apex of its rise. Victor looked over his shoulder to see his three-year-old standing a dozen feet away with a wide smile on his rounded face. Walt’s outline was hazy, but even without his glasses Victor could make out Walt’s tee shirt, blue jeans and worn sneakers.

Hey, buddy! Victor said, smiling.

But Victor’s smile faded when he noticed the small footprints that marred the freshly manicured rows he’d created just minutes earlier.

Walt stamped down on top of the rows. He had his arms held out in exasperation. "Daddy, I’ve been trying to talk to you! Mommy...Mommy and me are..."

Breathing hard, Victor straightened and squeezed the hoe in his hands. He frowned at the mashed rows. "Son! Didn’t I tell you to walk between the rows?"

A quizzical look overcame Walt’s face. He put his small hand to the side of his head. His blond hair glinted like gold in the sunshine. He turned and surveyed the damage behind him. It’s okay, Daddy.

No, it’s not okay. Victor took a deep breath and cocked his head. Odd, the irritating pain had returned...and this time it came armed with a lance. He made a fist and massaged his left pec, but couldn’t rub deep enough to ease the pain.

Victor winced.

Walt’s chin quivered as he stared up at Victor’s face. His wide eyes glistened. But Daddy, I didn’t mean to...

Now I’ve got to straighten them all back up, Walt.

Daddy, the boy said, tears streaming down his face. He walked toward Victor, arms outstretched. I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry!

Victor blinked. Asked himself why was he berating Walt for stepping in some dirt. He knelt and held out his arms. Walt, it’s okay.

Walt’s small arms folded around Victor’s neck. I’m sorry.

It’s okay, son. Sorry I yelled. You didn’t do anything wrong. Daddy’s just got a little pain in his chest right now. You didn’t do anything bad.

Victor winced again. The pain was getting stronger. He wasn’t able to rub it away. It had to be coming from the intercostals—the muscles between his ribs—which were tougher to reach.

The tears shut off though the boy’s cheeks still glistened. Walt blinked and sniffed.

Victor looked into his son’s glassy eyes. I was just cranky, buddy.

You were?

Victor squeezed him tight and patted his back. That’s right. Daddy the Crank Monster. Sorry about that.

That’s okay. Sometimes... Walt’s blue eyes grew wide as he looked up at the sky for help in forming his sentence. ...sometimes I get cranky, too.

Victor had to chuckle, though the pain in his chest restricted his exuberance. Yeah?

Walt nodded. Yeah, sometimes.

Got it worked out, Doc? a woman called from the back deck.

Victor could see Lenora’s blurred form on the deck, her long, dark hair shining in the sun. Black jeans, white collared shirt, some kind of ankle boots he couldn’t quite make out. A shame his eyesight deteriorated over distance, but even so he was grateful he could discern the swell of her breasts beneath the shirt.

He pictured what his vision couldn’t relay. Her deep green eyes glowed with intelligence and warmth, but could suddenly sparkle like gemstones when her streak of mischievousness came out to play. She had high cheekbones and expressive lips and she grew more alluring with each passing year of their marriage. Sunlight glittered off the golden hoops dangling from her ears and drew Victor like a beacon.

Holding Walt’s small hand, Victor deliberately mashed a few rows of the garden. Walt giggled as they walked down the hill and approached the deck.

Guys would stare at her, he knew from experience.

We’re all right now, Victor told her, picking up Walt and wincing at the resulting pain. He almost dropped his boy. Damn!

Victor, what’s wrong?

Must’ve pulled a pec or something.

Is it serious? I don’t like it being in your chest...

Just a muscle spasm, maybe a slight muscle tear. Nothing big. It figures though, first day out in the garden with the hoe and all.

But you lift weights. You’ve got plenty of muscle there. Maybe we should get you checked out.

No, no. Look. Lifting weights is one thing, but it’s been months since I’ve used the hoe. It’s harder than you might think. Another stab of pain. He fought to keep it from showing on his face. He didn’t want to scare Lenora needlessly. You know how it is. Body’s in an unaccustomed position, pulling the muscle fibers in a different way. Just not used to it, that’s all.

She eyed him. Maybe you’re right, she said warily. But you know doctors are terrible patients by definition. You guys hate not being in the driver’s seat.

Victor smiled and waved her off. Just go to the store, you. He patted Walt’s shoulders. Going to get some new shoes, Sport?

Ummm, yeah! Because...because these shoes... Walt pointed to them with his small index finger. These shoes are too small! And it’s not good for my feet to be in small shoes, right, Daddy?

That’s right, son, Victor said. Now, you take care of Mommy and make sure she doesn’t spend too much money, okay?

Walt nodded as he walked up the deck’s three stairs. That’s right. We have to keep Mommy from spending too much money, don’t we?

Absolutely. He grinned and looked at his wife.

She pursed her lips and cocked one eyebrow. Oh, isn’t this just beautiful? You boys sticking together is really sweet. And I mean that—not! When am I going to have a little girl to even the odds around here, I wonder?

He leaned on the hoe. Just a little while longer. I’m not done practicing yet. Have to get the practice sessions down before stepping back into the batter’s box, you know.

Uh huh. She wasn’t falling for one bit of it. Maybe you-know-who will take an n-a-p later. There’s your practice time, big boy. Her eyes gleamed.

Victor laughed, but not nearly as hard as he would have without the irritation in his chest.

When Walt reached Lenora on the deck, she put her hands on his small shoulders and said to Victor, You’re sure you’re all right?

They looked at him with concern. For an instant he felt time slow as he took in the sight of his wife and son standing together. What else was there for him but them? He had a rewarding job as a surgeon, but he realized a long time ago he couldn’t live for his job. No, he had to live for the right reasons, and there they were, standing right in front of him.

Sure, I’m all right, he said with a smile. Are you all right?

Don’t throw it back at me, Doc. We’ll see you in a couple of hours.

He nodded and brought out the handkerchief to wipe more sweat off the top of his head. Okay. I’ll tone it down a bit.

Good idea! Now don’t get too tired. You’re looking good with your sleeves rolled up and those muscles bulging through your shirt. Get a shower later and maybe we’ll get lucky. She looked at him coyly from the corners of her eyes. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.

Deal, babe! he said, his manhood suddenly stirring. He found it amazing that the human body can be stimulated by the mere insinuation of sex.

Bye! See you soon, Walt said, raising his hand and giving a big wave.

Bye, buddy. Remember, make sure Mommy doesn’t spend too much money. If you watch her close enough, she just might have enough left over to buy us some gummy dinosaurs!

Lenora rolled her eyes. Oh, please.

Walt’s face lit up. Right! I’ll eat the tricer-tops and T-Rex. Do you...do you want a steg-a-saurus?

You know it, buddy.

Okay. Walt looked up. Let’s go, Mommy. But you can’t spend too much money, right? If you do we can’t get gummy dinosaurs!

We won’t spend too much, honey, I promise. Lenora shook her head and smiled at Victor. Bye, stud.

Bye, beautiful.

He waited as they disappeared into the house. A minute later he heard the Jeep Cherokee backing down the long driveway. They were on their way to the mall, just a few miles down the George Washington Parkway. The scenic parkway was the fastest way through historic Mt. Vernon, Virginia and D.C., but Victor rarely ventured into the city. He preferred hanging around the house on his days off, especially when the weather cooperated and he could get some outdoor time.

He took a deep breath. He felt better now. The pain in his pec or intercostal or wherever-the-hell had subsided. He’d known it would, regardless of what Lenora had said about doctors being crappy patients.

He remembered how Lenora and Walt had looked on the deck.

Strange...it was as if they’d been no more than phantoms. Victor blinked. A shiver raced down his back and a strange sensation ran down each arm simultaneously.

Victor dismissed it as a mere chill. The work would warm him in no time.

He took a step toward his garden. A hand grenade exploded in his chest.

Agony ripped through him like a live thing, tearing and clawing.

He tried to scream.

He had no air to scream with.

A constricted moan wormed its way through his stretched lips.

Then the world collapsed upon him.

His body seized up—every muscle constricted at the same time.

His knees buckled.

It felt like his rib cage had been blasted apart and now there was a five hundred pound stone there, forcing him down. He fought to stay upright. Fought against the searing pain that shot into every nerve in his chest. The pressure, the terrible pressure, squeezed him with a life of its own, as if he’d been seized by a giant. The pressure and pain...so much pain...were too much for him. His legs caved. Suddenly he was looking up at perfect white clouds drifting through a perfect azure sky on what had been a perfect day.

He cursed himself for an idiot.

That irritating twinge was no muscle spasm—it was a warning sign. Heart attacks don’t strike like lightning out of a clear blue sky. They come with at least one warning, no matter how briefly that sign might last. Any first year medical student would have recognized the pain in his chest as a symptom right away. He’d ignored it.

Fool.

Now the pain punished him for his bad judgment.

At some point, the pain ebbed and he realized he was on his back on the ground. For some reason the jolt of impact with the ground had helped him breathe, and he could suck a little air into his lungs.

Shallow, shallow breathing. This was serious. He didn’t have much time. He still clutched the hoe. He had a grip so tight upon it he could see every bone through the top of his hand.

The pain tore through his chest like white-hot bullets from an AK-47.

There were worse places to die...

The thought shocked him. He envisioned Lenora and Walt on the deck, standing as they had only minutes earlier. It was too soon. Walt would never remember his father. He hadn’t loved Lenora long enough... A hundred years wouldn’t be enough.

He had to fight.

Fuck the pain!

He might still make it if he could reach a phone.

Had Lenora brought the mobile phone to the deck as she normally did when she left the house? She usually put it there in case she needed to call him while she was out and he was in the backyard playing with Walt or lost in his gardening.

Time was running out.

He threw his weight to one side. Monumental undertaking. Agony battered him like a typhoon slamming a Chinese junk. He gasped. Tears flowed, blurring his vision even more. Finally he made it over to his stomach. He raised his head and peered at the deck.

There!

Third stair leading to the deck. White handset.

Precious dial buttons in the middle.

Thank God for Lenora!

Fifteen feet was a mile. He crawled, gasping for breath, moaning. Used the hoe like a pickaxe on an icy slope—stuck the blade into the turf and hauled himself toward the deck. The odor of freshly cut grass mixed with the fear exuding from his body. Sweat and drool dripped to the lawn.

Crawl or die.

After an eternity, he reached the stair.

His hands shook violently. His fingers were bent like hooked claws. Three tiny jabs rewarded him with a dial tone. One emergency button with 911 programmed into it. Somehow he got it on the first try.

He might live after all.

911 Emergency Services. What is the nature of your emergency?

Mentally he cheered. He knew that even if he couldn’t speak, they’d track the source of his call. His voice came out in a strained gasp. Victor...Galloway! Four-ten Langford. Heart attack! He moaned as a new wave of pain crashed into him. Hurry! He dropped the phone and collapsed, his fingernails clawing the wood of the deck.

Eons passed.

Finally he heard a buzz in his ear.

Mister Galloway? Mister Galloway? Can you hear me? We’re sending the EMT right now. Two minutes and they’ll be there. Hold on, Mister Galloway! Hold on! Can you talk to me, Victor? Can you talk to me?

No.

But he wanted her to keep that sweet voice coming.

More eons passed.

At some point he realized the pain was beating him.

He was dying.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the narrowing sky. Forms moved silently into his line of sight. Forms of men. Next thing he knew he was lifted onto a gurney and wheeled into the front yard. One man talked down at him from above while the other had his back to him.

Is your family here, Doctor Galloway?

White jump suits.

Paramedics!

They knew he was a doctor. Must’ve checked some records somewhere.

Is your family here? the one guy had asked. Victor pictured his wife and son. A hole bored through his already agonized heart.

Minute shake of his head. No. His family wasn’t here.

He wished to God they were... He was so scared.

The paramedic with his back toward Victor turned. He and the other guy exchanged glances. They smiled. A strange light, or depth, shone in their eyes.

Their smiles widened into raptor grins.

We’re going to take care of you, Doctor Galloway. We need more surgeons like you. They’re prepping for you back at the hospital right now.

Victor didn’t understand. He squinted. Vision was now tunnel-like, and even that came and went. He read the black lettering stitched into the back of the first paramedic’s jumpsuit.

Holy Evangelical Lady of the Lake.

The closest hospital. It towered high on the cliff banks of the Potomac River in Mt. Vernon, just a few miles from here, past George Washington’s house.

They shoved the gurney into the ambulance and a white metal roof blotted out the sky. The guy who’d spoken before rode with Victor. Doubtless the other was in the driver’s seat.

The ambulance’s engine fired up.

Shallow, ragged breaths. It killed to inhale. Why hadn’t they put an oxygen mask on him?

The guy looked down at Victor, a syringe held up near his ear.

For some reason the idiot had a smile on his face.

Gonna take care of you, Doc, he said. You’re having a heart attack, all right, but your heart seems to have recovered a bit and it’s pumping away pretty good, all things considered. The beat’s irregular, but I’d say you’d have had a fifty-fifty chance of pulling through...if we hadn’t answered the call. His smile spread into a face-splitting grin. Now that you’re with us, we’ll just have to disrupt the old ticker a bit more. You know, give it a jolt so it seizes up like a fist in your chest. Like I said, we need people like you.

The leering paramedic squeezed a little fluid out of the syringe. The droplets, one after the other, formed a silvery arc through the air then disappeared.

Victor bucked and strained against the straps that pinned him to the gurney. He couldn’t get out, couldn’t get away. He couldn’t move.

Just relax, Doc. You’ll like it on our side. After this, you’ll never have to die again.

Like a sliver of ice, the needle entered his chest...and kept going.

Chapter Two

Ray told himself to take it easy.

He tried to loosen his jaw as he navigated the maze that was the Patient Admitting Department. He knew almost every business had cubicles. They were a necessary part of the workplace. They provide personal space, like a...

Jail cell?

Touché.

He had to remind himself that at the moment there were three alternatives to life in a cubicle: a Sugar Mama, a winning lottery ticket and the street.

When he was feeling low, he sometimes toyed with the idea of accepting one of the drinks the aging socialites occasionally sent to him in the downtown bars. So far he’d always sent the drinks back with a polite refusal. It wasn’t that the women were unattractive. Some were downright sizzling. But their glittering ring fingers raised a barrier he wasn’t willing to scale. Besides, he already had a boss in his professional life. He didn’t need one in his personal life as well. The easy money? Though no wimp, he had about as much of winning the Virginia Lottery as he did knocking out a heavyweight champ.

That left the street.

While readily accessible from his Old Town Alexandria apartment, the street was hardly an option. He had several binders full of photos of homeless men and women haunting the street corners and underpasses of D.C. and northern Virginia. Each desolate face was proof the street found you—you didn’t find it. Once it dug in its claws, it was almost impossible to break free.

So, until he could make ends meet as a photographer, it looked like he’d have to set his distaste aside and remain a citizen of Cubecity.

The clerks and analysts inside the cubes in Patient Admitting turned and stared at him as he passed by—every single one of them. Usually a few would look you over, but not everybody. Hadn’t they ever seen a new employee in this hospital before? Above him came a deluge of glaring fluorescent light, which he enjoyed about as much as he did the sight of a cluster of cubicles.

Fluorescent light rapes the world of color.

His stomach knotted as he spied the office at the end of the aisle. He made his gaze wander as he walked toward it, but the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.

It appeared like standard stuff...so why did this place feel so freaky?

All too soon he found himself at his destination. He paused, took a deep breath, held it for a ten count, then slowly let it out. He took another step and rapped on the doorframe. This was the only true office in the entire department. It wasn’t hard to figure out who was in charge around here.

After receiving no response, he knocked again and leaned forward to peer inside.

As if stirring from a daydream, the woman behind the desk slowly looked up.

Ray had to fight to keep from staring. No life force shone within her ebony eyes. Shark-like, they were neither kind nor cruel. They lingered in the direction of his own, but Ray got the distinct feeling the woman looked through him, not at him.

She smiled, displaying a full set of bright, white teeth. The smile was wide, but looked forced. Gradually her eyes seemed to focus on his.

Can I help you? she asked, her voice just enthusiastic enough to not be monotone. The sound of it didn’t come close to matching the breadth of her smile.

Ray resigned himself to spending the next hour with a nutcase. A good-looking nutcase, but a nutcase, nonetheless.

He cleared his throat, managed a half-smile he was sure appeared as forced as her own. I’m Ray Brennan. We’re scheduled for a two o’clock today?

Ray Brennan? I have you on my schedule, but it’s not two o’clock yet, is it? She looked at the clock with a deliberate movement of her head instead of a quick glance. Slowly her mouth formed an O. For some reason her reaction didn’t look natural, as if it were an imitation of the genuine expression. My goodness, it is two o’clock. I completely missed lunch. No wonder I’m feeling like a slug.

She stood mechanically and took two steps around the desk. The false smile returned to her lips as she held out her hand. I’m so sorry, Raymond... I’m Lisa Jordan.

Ray gripped her hand lightly. Nice to meet you, Lisa. Call me Ray. Her hand was cool, almost cold. Must have been the air conditioning. She had a good figure, but her skin felt kind of...spongy.

How long have you been with us, Ray? she asked, motioning for him to sit in the guest chair while she took two methodical strides around the desk and returned to her chair. She sat with her back perfectly straight, her forearms on the arms of the chair. Her hands met at the center point of her body and her long fingers slowly interlaced with one another like the closing fronds of a Venus Flytrap over a hapless insect. She sat perfectly still, a mannequin in a storefront window.

From what Ray could tell, she didn’t need to blink. Amazing. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and whistle. Instead he said, I’ve been here about four weeks now. You’re the last person on my orientation tour.

Best for last, she said.

Of course, he returned. He found himself staring into those unblinking eyes. There was something weird about them. Something that made his insides quiver.

Well, let me tell you a little about Patient Admitting, since I’m the director and have been for fifteen years. What we do is—

A knock on the door interrupted what promised to be a snoozer soliloquy. Again she turned her head instead of moving her eyes. Yes, Jerry?

Ray glanced over his shoulder to see a tall man standing there. The ambulance is coming in, Jerry said. You wanted to know whenever we receive a new inductee...uh, arrival.

She looked down at her watch as if verifying the arrival time. Then she licked her lips with a broad tongue that appeared...well, faded. Pale, even.

Ray shifted in his seat. He figured some red meat would do wonders for that ghostly visage.

Yes, yes, Lisa said to Jerry. Thank you. Is it Doctor Galloway?

Yes.

She nodded and dismissed Jerry with a small wave of her hand.

He disappeared.

Let’s go to the Emergency Admitting wing, Raymond. I’ll show you how our staff admits an emergency room patient. She stood and walked stiffly out of the room, not pausing to see if Ray followed.

Ray did, but with trepidation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be around when they brought in a patient with a serious condition. He wasn’t really a people person; that’s why he worked with computers. Just him and the machine most of the time.

With Lisa leading the way through the maze of cubicles, they eventually reached one of the hospital’s main hallways. At the end stood the emergency entrance. As they approached, the glass doors slid apart with a whisking sound.

A white ambulance with blue, orange and red trim and red lettering was parked outside beneath the protective overhang. Blue and red lights flashed silently from the roof. Two paramedics dressed in white uniforms hurried from the ambulance, one from around the driver’s side and the other from the back.

A metal gurney suddenly appeared. The men grasped the top rails and pulled, and long rods with wheels at the bottom unfolded. Ray’s gaze snapped to the man held prisoner in the gurney.

Straps criss-crossed his body. One ran across his forehead. His wrists and ankles were held fast by wide leather cuffs. Perhaps in his late thirties, he was a solid man, balding, with a grimace of pure