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Urist slept fitfully, that female's face haunting his dreams. Her mouth would move, then it would twist and deform, splitting her chest, growing massive fangs. Her hair would fall out, and her beard died as she solidified into bone. Then she would bound toward him, jaws snapping.
Several times he awoke, looking around, sure that a vampire or spawn had prowled into the room while he'd been sleeping. He realized, that even if they had, and even if he woke up before they got to him, he was still firmly ensconced in the traction bench, completely immobolized except for his head and body, and even they could only move fractionally.
The final time he woke up, Melbil was in the room, carrying a new barrel of rum. "Just got it from the brewer, freshly tapped this morning. Figured you'd want a little sip to wet your throat." Melbil had a big smile on his face as he lugged the barrel over, and recovered the two mugs from under the bench. As they drank, Melbil continued his garrulous commentaries on the day, "I heard they got a few ideas who the vampire is. The old countermeasures work just as well these days, not that many vampires been seen since the war. The mayor and militia commander figured it's someone from the last wave, most of them had no family brought with. We're getting closer to getting that little rat bastard."
Urist was silent, thinking of his dreams, of what that dwarf had been trying to say before she had died. If only he'd had more practice reading lips, he would already know. Finally he said, "No more victims?"
"Vampires only feed about once a month they say, so no, not for at least a week or two. Plus with all the attention and everyone assigned to the dormitories, there ain't no way he could grab someone unawares. Not with the guard patrolling constantly." Melbil spoke confidently, sipping more from his mug, gently giving Urist a sip as well. "But he'll slip up, soon enough."
Little warning bells were tingling in Urist's beard. He replayed the conversation in his head, going over what Melbil had said. He didn't let it show, but he was almost sure Melbil knew who it was.
What could that mean for Melbil? Was his only real friend a vampire? Or possibly a cultist, under the hypnotic sway of a vampire?
They finished the last of the barrel, and the door to the hospital creaked open. Minkot glided in silently, ever silent. Urist saw him, and the warning bells turned into full fledged klaxons. "Melbil, look out!"
Minkot swung his sword through where Melbil had been seated, but Melbil was already rolling forwards, down the length of the bench, skittering around a table. Minkot bared his teeth, his fangs, and kept after Melbil. The two circled and skirmished through the crowded room, as Urist desperately cast about for a weapon. On the table next to this bench was a surgical knife, just out of reach of his trapped limbs.
He eyed the tactical situation. Melbil was armored, but unarmed. Minkot was both armored and armed, not to mention his undead strength and speed, and was quickly gaining him the upper hand in the fight. Urist was immobilized, unarmed, and completely helpless in his current position. He gritted his teeth, wincing as his jaw muscles and cracked teeth protested, and strained against the straps for the knife.
Melbil had picked up a length of cloth, and as Minkot stabbed at him, he wrapped it around the crosspiece of the sword, twisting and yanking the entangled weapon up and away. Minkot snarled and let Melbil force his weapon away, closing on the unarmed dwarf as it did, and bit at Melbil's throat. As they struggled, Melbil's cheek came into line with the fangs, and Minkot latched on, shaking his head like a rabid dog with a rabbit.
Urist heard the fasteners for the strap giving, and redoubled his efforts. As it snapped, his hand in its clumsy cast closed around the knife. He slashed off the other straps swiftly as Minkot ripped the flesh of the cheek off Melbil's face, blood gushing from the wound. Urist twisted his body, coming to rest with his feet on the floor. He stood, his whole body shrieking in pain at him, and took two unsteady steps. He lost his balance, but as he fell, he brought the knife down hard, into Minkot's lower spine.
Minkot roared, not in pain, but anger, as his legs gave out. The two combatants fell atop Urist, but this time Melbil had the upper hand. He headbutted Minkot in the face, bouncing the vampire's skull off the stone, then leapt up, twisting the cloth, and by extension, Minkot's arm, around. He forced the vampire onto his side, off Urist, and kept twisting the arm around until the muscles and tendons in the shoulder broke. As the limp hand dropped the sword, Melbil snatched it from the air, and plunged it into Minkot's chest, pinning him to the floor. Minkot struggled against it, fighting to stand, but Melbil gave him no chance. As the vampire lay pinned, he stepped around Urist, and began stomping on Minkot's head.
Soon, the vampire was truly dead, his brains spilling out onto the hospital floor. The Chief Medical Dwarf came into the room, and seeing the carnage, his uprooted patient, and the hideous wound on Melbil's face, screamed for help. Within minutes, a squad of dwarves burst into the room, fully armed and armored. They surrounded the two dwarves and the corpse, with confused but grim expressions on their faces. Urist gasped out, "Minkot... Minkot was a vampire."
Melbil nodded, and started to speak, but Urist continued, "And Melbil knew. He knew before the attack that Minkot was a bloodsucker."
Melbil went still, his whole body tensing. He turned, leveling a predator's gaze on Urist. "Why did you have to say that, my old friend? Now I have to kill EVERYONE." He yanked the sword out of Melbil, and slashed faster than anything Urist had ever seen, the blade gently creasing across two soldier's throats. A stab followed, right through the militia captain's chest. Before the dwarves even reacted, three were dead or dying, and Melbil was already cutting up a forth. They bellowed as one and charged at him, blades and spears swinging, but Melbil was too fast, too strong, and far too experienced. He redirected a spear with a gentle parry, and the spear lanced through another charging dwarf's belly, both dwarves stopped in sheer horror at what had happened as Melbil twisted about, cutting off a sword hand as it descended. He was a furious storm of death, butchering the few remaining dwarves of the squad.
Drenched in blood, his chest wasn't heaving, he seemed as if he hadn't ever exerted himself. He turned to Urist. In the doorway, the Chief Medical Dwarf gasped. Melbil dashed across the room, and stabbed the doctor through the neck, pinning him to the wall. Urist rolled over and pulled the surgical knife out of Minkot. Melbil sauntered over casually, wiping the sword on the piece of cloth he'd used against Minkot.
"Oh, my dear friend, how I wish you'd kept that to yourself. Now I have to kill you too." Melbil said it cheerfully, and reached down, grabbing Urist by the front of his shirt, lifting him bodily into the air. "Poor Urist. You'll never get to see your fami-" Melbil gurgled as Urist slashed his throat, surprise blooming in his eyes. The knife lashed out again, taking one of the eyes, driving through the face and into the brain.
The two dwarves fell to the ground, blood and gore everywhere. Urist was gasping for breath, gasping in pain and horror. He shouted hoarsely for help, and faded into the welcoming darkness as shock set in.

 
Urist woke up in agony. His teeth and jaw muscles burned like fire. His arm was swelling up inside his armor, causing even more pain. And his forehead. Gods, this is what humans meant by 'a hangover'. He was on a stretcher, carried by two other soldiers, Melbil, one of his few friends, and Minkot, a swordsdwarf recruit from the last migrant wave. They were nearly running, careening through the halls, Melbil roaring for civilians to clear the way. They passed through the great dining hall, then past the food preparation chambers, through the workshop levels, into the noble hall. Past the first two rooms, and into the hospital.
Urist could only think, 'Not the hospital. Please not the hospital. Let me die peacefully instead.'
They set him down on the first table. The hospital was empty of patients, only two doctors lounged about counting thread and cloth strips. The Chief Medical Dwarf came into the hospital right after the stretcher did, a small leather-bound book in his hand. He looked at Urist, muttering to himself the whole time.
"Hmmm... Broken arm, probably compound fracture, maybe a shatter... Lacerated forehead, probable skull damage... Let's take a looksie..." He poked the soldier in the forehead gently, and Urist screamed. "Almost assuredly self inflicted... Broken hand... Sprained wrist and ankles... Probable muscle strain or tendon damage from martial overexertion..." He smiled at Urist, then frowned suddenly, "Teeth?"
Urist bared his teeth, the gesture making his whole head re-ignite in agony.
"Um-HM! As I thought, three cracked teeth, jaw muscles overexerted. Liquid diet for five days. Doctors." The CMD looked up, and gestured at the two lounging doctor. They insolently ambled over, disinterested in the drama before them. "I want you to put a compress on his forehead, set his arm and finger bones, cast them up, and then put him in a traction bench when you're all finished with that for secondary treatment." They nodded, and went back to the cabinet of cloth. They began pulling out various implements to complete the operations assigned.
Melbil nodded at Minkot, "Go on, you should go get a drink. Bring back one for poor Urist here, one of the best. He deserves it. Six Spawn, laddie! That's a new record." Minkot nodded silently, and scampered off. Melbil turned to Urist, his crowded teeth showing in a wide smile. "They'll have you all fixed up right soon, boy-o! They been practicing on them capture goblins."
Urist could only nod without confidence.

Several agonizing hours later, he lay in the traction bench, with a cast on his left arm, right hand, a compress on his forehead, and two splints on each leg, 'For good measure' the CMD has assured him. Melbil was letting Urist sip from a mug of Sewer Brew, every so often giving him some water too. Minkot had returned for only a few minutes to leave the barrel and a couple mugs before vanishing into the corridor. Melbil was keeping up a rambling recollection of the battle with the magma crabs that had got the squad sent to the forges while Urist fought off the spawn.
"-And you know what Cap'n did then? Well, I tell you he kicked the blighter right in its face, sending it skidding back into the magma, and pulling the lever, sealing it back in the sea! And he turned to Obur and said-"
A stretcher came into the room, followed by the CMD. A trail of blood followed, spattering the floor. On the stretcher was a fat female dwarf, gushing blood from her throat. The Chief Medical Dwarf was pressing a shirt to her neck, and trying to prepare a compress with his other hand. The two bearers set the stretcher on the table, and dashed to the cabinet, pulling out thread and a needle. The CMD finally finished the compress, and the two dwarves dashed back over to him. He lifted the shirt, and they rapidly began sewing the vicious wound shut. As she lay dying, her head turned to face Urist, and she mouthed something at him as her eyes grew glassy.
Just as the two dwarves finished and the doctor slapped the compress on, she let out a death rattle, and fell limp.
Melbil's face was grimly set, and he said one, horrible word. "Vampire."