by Shana Festa
We filed through the opening to meet the oncoming threats and the Guard fanned out in a defensive line, wielding various melee weapons. I may have been angry at Jake, but that didn't mean I wasn't worried about him getting hurt, or worse. I kept my attention focused on the escalating situation but couldn't help keeping Jake in my periphery.
Tom and I stayed behind the line of men. There was no need for us to join the fray, since there was only a handful of undead. Before we left the truck, the cop had slid a pair of black leather gloves on. In one hand, he held tight to the short leather leash attached to Boss' collar. In the other, he snapped open a collapsible riot baton.
With the zombies neutralized, we huddled around a map of the facility. One of the men barked orders and assigned groups to different units. I held my breath as he went down the list, relieved when I was sure we wouldn't be venturing to the peds or neonatal areas. I didn't wish that experience on anyone. I'd seen toddlers and infants turned, and it was damaging enough to make the highlight reel of my worst nightmares.
The gruff man shoved a piece of paper and a canvas bag into my hands. "The nurse and cop will accompany Garnett, Forbes, and Wilson to advanced surgery on the second floor." Then he addressed me personally. "If you don't find everything on the list, you are to move south to ortho."
I looked around the group of men, all chomping at the bit to get moving. My eyes settled on Jake, who looked back at me with a mix of fear, anger, and worry. His lips pulled back into a small, tentative smile and we held each other's gaze for an extra second.
"We don't leave until we get it all. Saddle up boys, this one's gonna be a bumpy ride." The lead man's command set off a chorus of whoops from the group and smaller units began peeling off in their assigned directions.
I read through the list of medications, more than a little disturbed at the content. Rapid and long acting insulin topped the list, followed by some pretty hardcore additions. Phenobarbital, Propofol, and Vecuronium stood out as I read. What the hell did Mack need with anesthesia, paralytics, and drugs that induced coma?
Tom introduced me to the three men, and we moved down a hallway toward the stairs. Various doors lined the hall, some thankfully closed, while others loomed open. The guardsman Tom introduced as Wilson took the lead, and with the help of Forbes, they cleared ahead, closing doors before motioning for us to move up to them.
Boss' nails clicked on the hard floor as we advanced. The lead team had closed a door on the left and were advancing to another opening on the right when the canine growled. We all froze, and Tom quieted the dog, who now strained against his leash to be let loose on whatever lurked beyond the door.
Of course, we should have expected this next room to be where the party took place. Debris was everywhere, and the area was a mess of bloody footprints with no discernible pattern. This doorway, however, looked like the room had vomited blood into the hall.
Nothing shambled out to greet us, which only meant we needed to make the first move. I couldn't see into the room from where I stood, but when Wilson advanced enough to look in, the color drained from his face for just a moment before revulsion turned it a sickly shade of green.
I didn't realize I was chewing on the inside of my cheek until I tasted the coppery blood in my mouth and felt the sharp sting of pain. The dog vibrated with tension beside me, waiting for Tom's command to attack.
Wilson darted into the room and pulled the door shut with a loud bang. I whimpered at the sudden sound and felt Boss press his body against my leg. Instinctively, I reached down to touch his fur and felt the tension leave both of us. Wilson's color returned to normal once the abomination was concealed by the closed door. I refused to look through the small window as we moved beyond the blood-splattered area.
We leaned in close to one another in front of the metal door to the stairwell.
"There's no telling what it's like in there," reported Forbes. "Wilson will open the door and I'll take a quick look in. Tom, how close does something need to be for Boss to sense it?"
"If there's anything on the first few landings he'll let us know," replied the cop.
"No time better than the present, Wilson." Forbes readied himself for the door to open, opting to raise his firearm rather than the baton. I held my breath and brought BB up, clutching the steel rod to my chest.
The door opened and Wilson jumped out of the way to allow Forbes a clear path. Weapon held firm, the scout looked down at the calm dog, and stepped into the stairwell. Time seemed to stand still until he came into view again.
"Clear," he whispered.
* * *
Something rustled on the stairs above us, and Boss chuffed once but didn't growl or tense. We took Tom's word on faith and ascended the stairs quietly. The path to the second floor was blissfully empty, and the men went through the same procedure upon opening the door. Much to my relief, nothing waited on the other side except stark white walls and flooring.
Closing the door behind us, Garnett, the third man not yet heard from, whistled softly.
"This place looks pristine," he observed. "Think we'll get lucky and it'll be clear?"
"From your lips to God's ears," I muttered under my breath.
The surgical center was for staff and unconscious patients so there was no need to decorate it with cheesy paintings or soothing paint colors. The simplicity was refreshing.
"Pharmacy is up there on the left," I said, finding our location on the wall map. "It should have everything we need. The only thing we may need to find elsewhere is the insulin."
Lady luck was with us today, and the Gods had looked upon us favorably. Everything on the list was stocked and I did my little happy dance. Like an eager trick-or-treater, I filled the canvas tote with necessities, and threw in the entire stock of Motrin for good measure.
Back in the stairwell, we were just as happy to find that the owner of the rustling we'd heard the first time hadn't rolled out the welcome mat for us. We stood at the door to the main floor while Garnett pressed his ear to the cold metal and listened for any unwanted company on the other side.
"Sounds clear," he said at the same time Boss stiffened and growled.
We all turned, poised to attack, and found nothing behind us.
"What is it, boy?" whispered Tom.
The dog growled at the stairs again.
"I think your dog is cracking under the pressure, man," quipped Wilson. He walked to the open area before the first step and waved his arms. "Nothing's there, Boss."
And our luck ran out.
Like a suicide jumper, a body fell from above, landing on Wilson and knocking him to the floor. I screamed, and the sound echoed in the enclosed space. Moans from above answered my startled cry, but they were barely audible above Wilson's screams of pain and terror.
"Get it off!" he shrieked.
Garnett and Forbes rushed into the fray, one pulling the zombie off Wilson by its legs while the other bashed its head in with a metal pipe. We all backed away from Wilson, who looked down at his chest in horror. The zombie had bitten through his shirt, exposing his pectoral muscle. Blood flowed freely from the wound.
"Oh, fuck!" he cried in panic.
The moans of undead were closer and louder, and if we didn't get moving soon we'd have company.
"Come on," shouted Garnett. His eyes were wild with panic and darted around at the slightest movement.
Without thinking, he pulled open the door and left us there, running straight instead of left, back the way we came.
I jogged a few steps and yelled to him. "Garnett, Stop! You're going the wrong way!"
Tom struggled to hold the dog back from sprinting up the stairs while grabbing the back pocket of my pants.
"Stop," he urged, his voice husky from physical exertion. "He's running toward the emergency room. If he opens that door, the floodgates will open."
Forbes supported Wilson and helped him out of the stairwell, managing to get the door secured before the first zombie reached us.
"Oh, shit!" he cried. "Go! Go! Go!"
Garnett had reached the double doors without pausing and slammed them open with his shoulder without stopping. The last thing I saw before being shoved from behind to move was a crowd of undead in various states of dress and decay swarm him to the floor. His screams echoed in the hall and a mob of undead spilled into the hall and began their pursuit of the rest of us.
We ran back the way we came in, straight through the door to the main lobby of the hospital. A small group that had been left behind to keep the lobby clear turned weapons on us as we crashed through the door, looking alarmed at our chaotic entrance and bloodied clothes.
"Get outside!" bellowed Forbes, and the men followed the order without question.
Once through, one of the men jammed a rock into the revolving door, effectively sealing the exit from the zombies that began gathering at the windows. They pushed and shoved their way to the forefront, each trying to get at the meal beyond the glass.
"Where's Garnett?" asked the one who had passed out group assignments.
"That fucking idiot opened Pandora's box and unleashed Hell," panted Forbes.
Wilson slumped against a truck door, breathing heavily and wincing from pain.
"Jesus, man." One of the men bent down beside Wilson and inspected his chest.
The injured man clutched at his shirt, twisting it in his clenched fists.
"Just do it," he cried out. "I don't want to end up their guinea pig. Don't let them do it." He coughed and bloody sputum ran down his chin.
The kneeling man looked up at their leader, who nodded to him, and without a word, the guardsman put his pistol to Wilson's temple and pulled the trigger.
I stumbled back, causing Boss to yelp when I stepped on his paw.
"What did he mean?" I asked the men. "A guinea pig for who?"
Forbes answered quickly. "Nothing. The infection must have already been making him delirious."
The leader fixed me in his gaze. "Mind your business, nurse," he snarled. "Did you get your job done?"
I was too frightened to speak and responded with a timid nod.
Jake stepped forward. "Come on, Tate. Don't talk to her like that."
"Pack it up. We're done here," Tate ordered, ignoring Jake's pathetic attempt to come to my defense.
Epilogue: I See You
The drive back to Asylum was mercifully uneventful. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep so I didn't have to make conversation with Tom. Not that I didn't want to talk to him specifically, I just wasn't in the mood.
I handed him the bag of meds. "Can you see that Mack gets this please? I just want to shower and go lay down."
"No problem."
I went straight to my bedroom and undressed. Back in autopilot mode, I stood under the water, not caring that it wasn't warm yet when I stepped into the tub. Thinking about Wilson's last words, I wondered if there was anything to it or if he really had been suffering from delirium.
How long I let the water spill over me was anyone's guess, but when I retreated to my tiny bedroom, I curled up in the pajamas Michele had given me on arrival and fell asleep with the door open. I woke to the sound of Daphne's whine. The room was dark, and I fumbled for the light.
With the closet lit up, I looked out into the bigger room. Meg and Jah were asleep in their beds. Jake had heeded my advice and found somewhere else to sleep. I'd slept through dinner and had no idea what time it was.
Meg stirred. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything's okay," I whispered. "Daphne has to tinkle. Go back to sleep."
She sat up, rubbing her eyes with her shirt. "I'll come with."
In the dark, four flights of stairs is a treacherous journey. Especially with an impatient dog. Meg held the banister, I held onto Meg, and Daphne squirmed in my arms.
The chill in the air set my teeth to shattering as soon as we stepped onto the patio. My bare feet registered the icy bricks beneath them, and I hopped from one foot to the other.
"Holy crap! Why didn't I wear shoes?" I hissed.
Meg was doing the same hopping dance and rubbed fervently at her exposed arms.
"Oh, my God. Let the damn dog pee already. I'm turning into a Meg-cicle!"
I walked over to the edge of the patio and bent down to set Daphne on the grass but stopped when a set of headlights illuminated the moonless night. Still crouched, I hugged the dog to me for warmth and watched as the lights grew brighter and approached the mansion.
Meg stepped up behind me. "Who is it?" she asked, like I knew any more than she did. Her question brought to mind a decade of watching movies with her, and it made me smile. It never failed; we would sit down to watch a new movie and throughout the entire thing she would lean over and ask me questions like, what is that for or why are they doing that? The first few times I would reply that I didn't know. Sometimes I would even give my best guess, but I would always reach my limit of questions around the halfway point and say Meg, I don't know any more than you do. What am I, psychic?
"It's a van," she whispered. "White."
I stifled a chuckle and the urge to thank her for being Captain Obvious. "I know that van," I said. "It was one of the vehicles they took to the hospital today."
My brow furrowed. Why would they be out this late? They say ignorance is bliss. If only Daphne had woke me up fifteen minutes earlier. Some events can shake a person right down to their very core, and this was one of them.
Had the van pulled up to the mansion just two feet to the left, it would have caught us in its headlights like frozen deer. We got lucky, because if they knew we bore witness to their delivery, our existence would have been snuffed out.
The doors opened, and four members of the Guard exited the vehicle and congregated by the hood. Someone, I couldn't tell who because of our location, opened the side door that led to the basement and I heard muffled voices.
Dr. Chen stepped into the lit area and spoke to the group of men. We weren't close enough to hear what was said, but upon hearing his words, the Guardsmen moved as a group to the side door of the van and slid it open.
"What are they doing?" Meg asked, the sound of her voice making me stiffen.
"Shh!"' I demanded, as loud as I dared. Daphne wriggled in my arms, reminding me she wanted to get down. I hugged her tighter and pressed my lips below her ear, soothing her with the vibration of my soft cooing against her fur.
Two of the men disappeared into the blackness of the van and reappeared, backing out slowly with metal rods held firmly in two-hand grips. My knees burned from the prolonged crouching position, but I ignored the pain, not wanting to catch their attention with any movement.
A hand shot out of the open door followed by an arm, a leg, and finally the pallid face of a snarling zombie. I felt Meg's grip as her fingers squeezed my right arm hard enough to make me wince. The zombie stumbled out of the van and fell to the grass on its knees. Two more rods became visible from behind and the wranglers in front dragged it forward, tilting its neck at an awkward angle.
The men kept their faces down, intently focused on the zombie, making it impossible to identify them. The remaining men exited the van, and with a concerted effort, lifted the zombie to its feet while it swiped erratically in the direction of the closest living flesh. The lead team began backing toward the basement door, guided by Dr. Chen. The headlights disappeared as they passed and blinked in and out as a new form cut through the high beams.
The first of the two men securing the poles at the zombies back stepped into the light, and I recognized Forbes instantly. My heart sank. I'd trusted this man with my life only hours ago, and here he was taking part in something deplorable. The light blinked out again as he passed through it and when it came back on, the last of the men became visible.
Meg and I both gasped loudly upon seeing Jake's face illuminated by the headlights. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, and willed my eyes to stop playing tricks on me. I could blink a thousand times, though, and it would still be
Jake. Meg's hands flew to her face and she pressed them over her lips and tried to stifle a strangled cry as she shook her head in denial.
Jake looked in our direction at hearing Meg's hushed cry. His eyes scanned the darkness around us and stopped when his gaze locked with mine. I'd seen him, and he'd seen me see him. I saw his eyes widen in surprise upon recognition, but he looked away when Forbes spoke and disappeared through the side door. Like the final nail in a coffin, the metal door slammed shut behind them, leaving Meg and I alone kneeling on the patio.
The breath hitched in my throat and hazy black spots clouded my vision, creating comet trails each time I blinked. I fell back onto my ass, too stunned to register the pain in my coccyx.
Daphne wiggled free from my grasp and relieved herself quickly on the grass before returning to my arms. She shivered or maybe it was me. I don't know. Perhaps it was all three of us, huddled together for support.
"Why?" Meg murmured over and over from beside me. Her body shook with sobs.
I raised a hand above my face, absently staring at my ghostly digits in the light provided by the van. I touched my fingers to my cheek. Dry. I wasn't crying. Why wasn't I crying? My thoughts were muddled.
The haze began to lift like a fog. Somewhere, deep inside, a plan started to form, and I felt my resolve harden. What really went on in the basement and how was Jake involved? Sooner or later, I'd get to the bottom of it. My eyes narrowed with determination.
"And I'll put a stop to it," I hissed into the night.
About the Author
Shana Festa grew up in the small town of Northborough Massachusetts. As an impressionable tike, she shared in her father's love for Horror, and spent most of her childhood hiding under the blankets worrying what nightmarish creature lurked in her closet. She grew up on a healthy diet of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Return of the Living Dead, American Werewolf in London, Child’s Play and Poltergeist.
Her writing career was born from her long-time addiction to terrifying tales. Under her alter ego, The Bookie Monster, Shana reviews horror and paranormal books, with an emphasis on zombie fiction. Her altruistic beliefs fuse seamlessly with The Bookie Monster's mission to provide readers with honest reviews and to provide authors with a platform to promote their labors of love.