Surreal doesn't even begin to describe it. A hospital cut off from the world by a thick, lethal mist, overrun by satanist hospital staff, regurgitated animals, exploding pine trees, people who keep healing and can't be hurt (unless they go out into the mist), resurrected bodies and a boy with an apple tree growing from him. See what I mean?
The movement which he'd seen as preparatory was actually the coup de grace, the death slice. The little baby's throat was neatly cut and a fine red mist of blood began to rise around Sir Reginald's fingers.
Steele was more distressed than ever in his life before. This was the collapse of his moral universe. 'You fuckers!' he screamed. 'You evil fucking fuckers.'