Will To Live

by C. M. Wright

  Finally, Dustin convinces John to put me down.

  Good thing too, considering I was this close to vomiting all over the man.

  He sets me down fast enough that I stumble back, but Dustin catches me before I can slam into the wall, or fall and bust my ass.

  With Dustin in front of me for protection, I peek around him to see the odd man. John is so excited, he can barely speak – coherently, anyway. I have no idea what the man is rambling on about.

  I whisper in the direction of Dustin's ear, “Dustin, what the hell is he talking about? And, more importantly, is this dude safe? What's his deal?”

  Dustin turns slightly toward me, but keeps his eyes on John, not that I blame him.

  “We found him during one of our trips to get more building materials. He was inside a hardware store, up in the rafters covered in bird feces. After we finally convinced him to come down, he told us that he had escaped from a mental institute in St. Thomas. To protect everyone here, I convinced them it would be a good idea to go by the hospital and get his records, to see exactly what we would be facing if we allowed him to come back with us. Basically, he's harmless. He had a total breakdown at his job, where he was incredibly unhappy for years, and one day came in dressed like this. He was convinced there were zombies, and he was the zombie exterminator.”

  “No, I'm not! I'm the...ZOMBIE ZAPPER!” John loudly dramatizes his super hero name.

  “Excuse me,” Dustin says with a grin. “The Zombie Zapper. His boss called 911 to come and pick him up, and he'd been there until the world went even crazier than he is. But, really, he's harmless.”

  “Not to zombies, I'm not. I slice 'em, I dice 'em, I make the world safer. Do you sleep well at night?” Well, not really.

  “Of course you do! You're welcome,” John exclaims, then bows before us.

  Oh, dear lord.

  John stalks around the room, posing in every super hero move he can think of. While he's distracted, Dustin finishes telling me John's story.

  “He's never actually killed anyone...or anything. When the zombies did show up, he hid. And that most likely saved his life. The hospital was overrun with infected staff and other residents when we got there. We have no idea how he survived, or even escaped. And, as you can see, asking him for answers did us no good. According to him, he killed them all.”

  “You mean he zapped them all,” I correct him.

  Dustin chuckles, “Yeah. Since he's been here, of course he's heard a hell of a lot about you. He has basically decided that you are the ultimate super hero – thanks in part, I'm sure, to greatly exaggerated stories. I am begging you, for the sake of his mental health, to go along with it.”

  “Uh, what exactly does that mean?”

  “Just listen to him talk about how great and superior you two are. Nothing more.”

  “Guess I can do that. Or at least, avoid him as much as possible.”

  I can't see how that could be too hard. Especially if I limit my time here at the medical building.

  Dustin laughs, a laugh which sends a chill up my spine. “Yeah, you try that. Let me know how it works out for ya.”

  I give him a questioning look, but he ignores it and says no more. Already knowing it's useless, and a waste of time and energy to try to get an explanation if he's not willing to give it, I let it go.

  “Okay, so now that you've told me all about John, tell me about your pretty receptionist.”

  I stare in amusement, and a little shock, when Dustin turns bright red.

  “Her name is Terry, and she's amazing.” His voice trails off as he just stares across the room at Terry, his obvious love for her clear for anyone to see.

  Amused, I watch him and wait for him to continue. After several moments of waiting, I finally clear my throat. When he snaps his head around to me, I nod at her and say, “And?”

  He clears his own throat, embarrassed to be caught in his little love trance. “She was a survivor we picked up when looking for you. We found her fighting for her life in the midst of a small group of zombies. We saved her, she came with us, and is settling in quite well here. I needed someone to help me out on the office-end of things, and she volunteered.”

  He stops as if that's the end of the story.

  Not happening, fool!

  “And now you two are...?”

  I have got to have more information!

  Dustin sighs, “Unfortunately, that's it.”

  “You've got to be kidding me! Have you told her how you feel?”

  As if she couldn't tell!

  “No! And keep your voice down. It's just not the right time.”

  “Dustin, seriously? With the way the world is now, exactly when is the right time? Don't wait too long, Lord knows, we may not have many second chances.”

  “I know, I know.” Dustin sighs again and turns away from Terry. He wraps a huge hand around my arm and pulls me toward a door, the same door whose “life” almost ended in some very horrific ways. I give a quick wave of goodbye to Terry just before we disappear through the door, and find myself in a long well-lit hallway. The generator makes a huge difference after being in the house, with it's only source of light being sunlight that shines through the windows, and candles.

  The hallway stretches on, doors lining each side. A door at the end of the hall seems to be our destination as Dustin ignores all the other rooms and rushes past. I steal quick glances inside the open rooms as we speed by. They're all exam rooms, all nice and neat.

  He stops outside the last door, then dramatically opens it wide. Inside, is a beautiful office with a gorgeous desk, and floor to ceiling shelves loaded with every medical book that could have ever been written...or so it seems. Upon closer inspection, I find several fiction books crammed in, as well. Famous authors like Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and John Saul are squeezed between authors I hadn't heard of like: Kristin Secorsky, Joshua Guess, M. L. Stephens, and – oh my god! – another copy of the book I had long ago taken from the house Jake found me in, Days Gone Bad by Eric R. Asher!

  I know where I'm gonna be visiting every chance I get.

  Suddenly, an image of my super-hero fan, John, pops in my head and I mentally groan.

  I wonder if I can get Dustin to deliver the books to me.

  “Well?” Dustin asks, his arms spread wide as he shows off the room with pride. “What do you think?”

  “I think it's freaking amazing, Dustin! But I do have one question, why in the world would you want your office to be on ground level? Aren't you afraid of losing it all if the zombies get in here?”

  Dustin's grin slips, and I feel bad for a minute for being the reason behind it.

  It's a valid question, though, isn't it?

  “Son of a bitch. Never really thought of that,” he says so quietly, I barely hear him. I feel my eyebrows shoot up when it dawns on me...he just said a bad word! Dustin never swears.

  The next thing I know, Dustin is racing back down the hall to the reception area. I hear him shout orders to Terry to get some men to move his office upstairs to a specific room. I also hear the confusion and hesitation in Terry's voice as she repeats his order, but agrees to get right on it. Dustin returns to the room, his excitement now faded, but only until he remembers he hasn't shown me the upstairs yet. Again taking my arm, he leads me to the door to the right of his current, but soon former, office. When it opens, stairs appear before us and we start climbing up.

  “Hey, Dustin? How do you get the patients to the second floor who are unable to climb the stairs?”

  “I get a few men to help me carry them. It's a pain in the ass, but it's all we've got.”

  Me being me, my mind starts trying to find a better solution than what they've been able to come up with. But too soon, we arrive on the top floor, so I store it away for later as Dustin starts showing off the hospital's in-patient floor.

  Directly across from the stairway, the patient rooms begin. To the left, which sits over Dustin's office downstairs, is a fairly decent
-sized lab with an impressive assortment of equipment. We don't stay long, which I appreciate, considering I know nothing about medical shit.

  Dustin introduces me to several patients that are being housed right now. The first, is a sweet older man who had had a heart attack not long after arriving at my sister's place. He seems and looks to be doing well, and Dustin confirms that he's just about ready to leave the hospital.

  The next room belongs to a small ten year old little girl. Her long, blond hair is a mess of tangles, and the poor thing is clearly terrified.

  Dustin asks her how she's doing, and she gives him a weak and uncertain “okay”. He then gently, and patiently, asks her a series of questions, which she responds to, though just barely. After we leave the room, and Dustin closes the door, I ask him what happened to her.

  “We found her running away from a large horde of the undead a few weeks ago. Came damn close to running her over with our truck. We haven't gotten a lot of answers from her, but from what we've been able to piece together, is that she had been trapped in her house with both of her parents and two of her older siblings, who had been zombies for several weeks. She had stayed upstairs, living on snack foods and soda that she had stored and waiting for an upcoming weekend sleepover with friends, before the world turned to shit. When the food and drinks ran out, she stayed for a few more days, until hunger forced her out her window, where she then shimmied down a drain pipe and took off running for her life. We found her soon after. She was pretty dehydrated and hungry, of course, and in shock. She's too timid and scared for us to do much with her appearance right now.

  “I tried, the other nurses tried, and even Terry tried. She would inevitably start screaming and attacking anyone that dared to attempt to wash her, or brush her hair. At this point, I'm not sure what to do. She needs someone to talk to, someone better trained in child-psychology than I am. And she really needs a reason to keep living.”

  “You mean, she wants to die? I doubt it. If you're right about that, then why would she have done all that she's done to survive up until now?”

  “I don't know. I hate to say I give up on anyone, and I'm not saying that now,” he rushes to clarify. “But, this just might be the one that I have no choice. I can't devote any more time on her than I already do every day. Others need me too.”

  Dustin's pain is clear, and I feel sorry for him, because I know how important his patients are to him. This one is definitely no exception. But he's right. Too many other people need him right now. Being the only doctor, other than Joel, who's much too busy working exclusively on the zombie aspect of things – Dustin can't afford to do more than treat, and move on to the next patient.

  We continue down the hall, and pass my mom and sister, Rose, as they leave the next room. We talk a few minutes, until their nursing duties pull them away.

  Dustin opens the door that they had just come out of, and when I step in the doorway, I gasp in surprise...and delight!

  Rushing toward the man wearing a hospital gown, and sitting in the chair near the window, I grin as he opens his arms wide to receive me.

  “Ernie! I wondered what happened to you. You look great!” I tell him as he pulls me in for a hug.

  “I feel great. Dr. Deitz has done a magnificent job patching this old man up. How are you, sugar?”

  “I'm great! Wonderful, actually. Being back with my family, well...you know.”

  “I do, and I'm happy for you.” He smiles and pats my hand as I sit in the chair beside him.

  “Where's Bert?” I ask him.

  The bathroom door swings open and I hear, “Who you talking to, old man?” before the lady in question walks out, and a grin lights up her face when she sees me. I rush to her, and wrap my arms around her.

  “Bert!” I exclaim, delighted to reconnect with these two people that have come to mean so much to me in such a short time.

  “So? Do you like it here?” I ask them both as Bert and I move to the chairs closest to Ernie.

  “I love it here. I've already been given a job cooking! Your grandmother came to meet and greet us, and we got to talking. Well, one thing led to another, and now I have something useful I can do to pay you and your family back for letting us stay here.”

  I laugh and say to her, “Bert, you know you're welcome to stay here even if you sit on your butt all day. You and Ernie saved my life, more than once.”

  “I know, dear,” Bert says as she pats my cheek, “but I would hate just sitting around, doing nothing. And my arm doesn't hurt all that much, so I might as well be doing something to help.”

  I smile and nod to show I that I understand, then I turn to Ernie, “What about you, Ernie? Do you think you'll be happy here?”

  “I think I'll be a heck of a lot happier once I'm out of this damn hospital, and not being being poked and prodded all the damn time. Can't even get a good nights sleep, what with being woke up all the damn time, asking me if I'm in pain. Hell, no! I was sleeping for god's sake.” Ernie seems to just remember that Dustin is in the room, and blushes a deep red, before mumbling, “No offense, Doctor.”

  Dustin chuckles and says, “No offense taken, Mr. Hopkins. I believe I'd feel the same way you do, if I had a bullet hole in me. And I know exactly what you mean about being woke up once you get into a good, deep sleep. For me, it seems that's when most people want to get hurt or sick. They just can't wait 'til morning. But I'll see what I can do about the nurses waking you up, Mr. Hopkins.”

  “That would be appreciated, Doc.” Ernie nods once and smiles at his doctor, then turns back to me. “It's really not that bad. I miss my farm, though. I miss my cows, but I think I'll adjust. I did happen to notice there's very little livestock here. We need to work on getting more. People still need to eat, you know. I'd like to try and get mine moved down here. And–”

  “Ernie! Right now, you just need to worry about resting and getting better. And you will be doing what the doctor tells you to do, you old coot,” Bert scolds her husband.

  Ernie scowls at her, then huffs out a breath of frustration. Dustin quickly defuses the situation with humor, before it turns into an all out war between the couple, by telling them about something John had done. They all have a good laugh, though I have to admit, I was lost. Something about John, a spatula, the hospital cook, and the cook's misfortune of looking too much like a zombie one early morning.

  I finally say my goodbyes, promising to visit again later.

  After closing Ernie's door, Dustin stops me from going any further into the hall by placing his hand around my wrist.

  “Canada, have you seen your dad yet? Rex?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. He looks great, Dustin. Better than he has in years. Why is that?” I ask with suspicion.

  The door to the stairway down the hall opens, and the sound of voices echo down to us, just after a panicked look comes over Dustin's face. The clank and clatter of the doctor's items being moved from one floor to the other creates a bad atmosphere for any private conversation.

  And after the reactions I've been getting concerning my dad, if I can't find out in private, I'll damn sure find out in public when I go on a frikken rampage through the property.

  “Got an empty room? You will tell me what the hell is going on with my own dad, Dustin.” I grab his hand and pull him toward the door he reluctantly indicates. After yanking him inside, I slam the door, then turn on him. Crossing my arms, I raise a brow, and wait.

  “Why couldn't her own family have told her this shit?” he mumbles, then parks his ass on the examining table and motions for me to take a seat on the chair across from it. Instead, I lean back against the door, just to be defiant, until I get the answers no one seems to want to tell me.

  “Okay. So your dad had heart problems, which you know– Damn it, Canada! I don't want to be the one to tell you this. Let me go get the rest of your family, and we–”

  “No! Right now. I'm not waiting one more freaking second. Just tell me, Dustin.”

&nbs
p; Dustin looks around desperately, and I almost lose it when I see him mentally judge if he can safely make it to the ground if he were to try jumping from a window that is much too small for his big frame. Finally, his body sags in defeat, and he begins to talk.

  “Alright, fine. You win. Your dad was given one of the shots we had for Greg. I–”

  “What! Are you guys fucking nuts! You don't even know anything about that shit yet. What the hell were you thinking!”

  “Canada, wait! Let me finish first.”

  I cross my arms again, slam my backside back against the door, and force myself to calm down – or at least – to stay silent, so he can dig himself into a much deeper hole.

  “No one knew. I swear! He did it on his own. He came in, grabbed a syringe, and gave it to himself. I wasn't even in the building. He said he had lost his Nitro pills and didn't want to burden anyone, since we were already crowded with patients, and at that time, we were. But you know I would have taken care of him had he told me. You do know that, right?”

  I nod slowly, my anger fading toward him since I now believe he really had nothing to do with it. But the fear rises.

  “He finally confessed when I discovered that one of the vials was missing a dose, and Greg insisted he hadn't touched it. Yes, I should have kept it locked away, that's something I will take the blame for. But I would never have given him that shit without testing it for a hell of a long time. We have no idea what it does, besides keeping people from turning into a zombie once they've been bit. In Greg's case, we couldn't figure out exactly why he was taking the shot. We never heard of any bite, so we thought maybe it had just been given to him to cure the cancer. If that were the case, this drug would have been much more valuable than we first thought. Turns out, after talking with Greg one afternoon, the cancer didn't have a damn thing to do with his need for the shot – at least, not that we know of. The chemo most likely was the only reason he won his fight with cancer, not the shot. Though really, we don't know for sure that the shot didn't help in some way. Will his cancer come back? Possibly. If it doesn't, we–”

  Dustin stops when clear my throat, raise one brow, and give him the evil eye with the other.