Left Behind: The Suburban Dead

by T. A. Sorsby

  ‘You hear me? Don’t shoot, okay?’ I called out again.

  They hissed.

  It brought the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end, a cold flush washing down my back, an utterly primal, base reaction. Whatever made that noise, it wasn’t human - but it sure as hell wasn’t a zombie either.

  I stood up, bringing the shotgun with me - the safety was on, I wouldn’t use it unless I needed to, but facing some new threat, I might. As I rose, I saw Neville and Anita had done the same, guns in hand, they must have figured we were dealing with people too, and gotten their firearms ready. We were all wrong.

  They had been soldiers, these two, wearing green fatigues stained dark with blood around their throats, but sporting no other injuries. I thought there was something familiar about these two, but I couldn’t place my finger on it until I heard it.

  Upon seeing us, they threw back their heads, exposing gore-slick throats and bloodstained chins, and unleashed an unearthly, animal screech, carrying down corridors and hallways in the silent hospital.

  We had met these before. In the forecourt outside Smith Casey’s auto-shop, a zombie that walked like the living. It too had a single injury to the throat, no other wounds like the rest of the zeds we’d encountered - put that with the scream that draws in the horde, and we were in trouble.

  ‘Some shuffle, some run,’ I spat, propping up the shotgun again, drawing my bayonet with the satisfying whisper of steel on steel, ‘these bastards walk like people.’

  ‘And then ring the dinner bell for their buddies.’ Neville added, readying his bat. ‘How do we play -’

  We weren’t prepared for what came next.

  The one in the forecourt had caught me off guard like that too, a burst of speed unlike anything your Average Joe human could do - maybe an athlete, a sprinter, but not me. They rushed forwards before we had a chance to spread out into a fighting position, but rather than reaching over the desk or going around for the entrances like regular zeds would, these fuckers jumped. Jumped.

  With a blood-curdling screech, they launched themselves over the chest-high wall, a leap more feline than human, crashing in amongst my friends, one sending Neville sprawling, dazed, the other landing on Morgan’s back, knees first, as it struggled to reach Anita. My friends cried out in shock or pain, letting out curses and fearful, panicked cries.

  All except Lucile - she answered their cry with her own, roaring as she brought her bat down in an overhead swing on the one that’d landed on Morgan, the one closest to her and Damian. The aluminium of her bat dented at the impact, but a sickening crack left us in no doubt that she’d hit the skull.

  She let out a brief grunt of satisfaction at what she’d thought was a killing blow - but she was premature. The force of that impact - enough to dent a metal bat - would have dropped a zed for good. We knew that. But whatever this… thing was, it didn’t seem to care about the fatal blow.

  It was forced back off of Morgan, staying low but stumbling as it tripped over Neville’s legs, the enclosed space working against it. Despite the blow to the head, it was still snarling, now guttural and rough, as opposed to the dry screech of the dinner bell.

  The other soldier took a glance over its shoulder, from where it was pressed down on Neville’s chest, its pale, bloodless hands struggling with Neville’s as they fought. Upon seeing the other one fall, rather than continuing the fight it dropped its attack, and scrambled for Lucile, boots digging into Damian’s gut and Neville’s crotch as it used them as stepping stones to claw out at her, managing to grab the front of her shirt.

  I was too far away to help her, but the downed creature was near the entrance, and getting quite ably to its feet, no sluggish shambler even with the cracked skull.

  From behind, I plunged my bayonet down into the back of its head, where the neck meets the brain stem - or so I guessed, biology was never my strong subject, but the spine connects all brain function to the rest of the body - if that was gone, I figured it wouldn’t matter how tough its skull was.

  Like a puppet with its strings cut, the ghoulish horror succumbed to gravity, falling on the spot. My bayonet had become lodged in the spine, and rather than fight to free it, I fought to free Lucile.

  After it got her shirt, it must have yanked her closer, but she’d lost balance and came falling into the same heap everyone else was in - her hand flew out for support, but landed on Laurel’s rifle, sending the weapon skittering away and offering no help in her fall, hitting the floor cheek-first.

  Laurel grabbed the back of the soldier’s fatigues and pulled, but she was as ill-prepared as anyone else, having fallen onto her arse as everyone tumbled from the creature’s first pounce. Without a good grip, her fingers slid free, letting the soldier snake its neck down for a final bite to the side of Lucile’s neck.

  Sadly for the soldier, it wasn’t to be.

  A growl of challenge erupted from Morgan’s throat, something I’d never heard even in her most fierce hockey matches. She plunged her spear into the soldier’s side, catching it under the armpit, a soft spot. She too was laid half on her back, propped up on one elbow, her other arm fully extended. It was an awkward position to strike from, but it seemed to work. From what we’d seen of the other zeds, they wouldn’t have been put off their lunch like that, but this thing was.

  It snapped its head to her, its newest enemy, and let out another rough, dry screech - this close, I could see its bared teeth, and was hit by a wave of unclean, stinking air, its breath carrying the smell of rancid meat.

  Rather than press the attack however…it twisted the other way, letting the spear pull free of its flesh with an irritated tug of its body, crawling fast on hands and feet like some ungainly spider. It loped off down the right-side corridor, towards what had been the miniature Paediatrics area.

  Then it stopped where the corridor turned off, and spun around to face us again, letting a burbling hiss through its teeth once more. I watched as it straightened itself out, its movements jerking and tense – I was sure I could hear bones cracking back into position as it rose again to full height. I felt its eyes on me, and met its gaze right back, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, my people on the ground before me, my weapon buried in the other one’s neck.

  I broke eye contact first, looking down to see Morgan getting to her feet, her short spear held across her body, tip pointing towards the soldier-zed. She snarled, a wordless defiant sound, taking a step closer, over Lucile, jabbing her spear forwards like some tribal warrior.

  The thing took one last look at her, cocked its head, and walked off down the corridor, smooth as you like.

  *

  Forty Two

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Neville groaned, getting back to his feet. There were clear, bloody bootprints on the front of his winter coat, where the soldier had straddled his chest, doubtless the bruises beneath would match.

  ‘Son of a bitch…’ Lucile breathed, an involuntary tear in one eye as she picked herself up off the floor, rubbing at her jaw. ‘What the shit? That just happened right?’

  ‘Everyone okay? Nobody bitten?’ I asked, looking over my shoulder, keeping my eyes open for the horde that’d surely come to investigate that screaming.

  ‘We need to move,’ the new Morgan said, looking over her shoulder as she read my mind, her long braid whipping about, ‘sooner rather than later.’

  Damian, leaning on a desk this time, got back on his feet under his own steam. His head hung forwards slightly, his brow soaked with sweat and his eyes looking increasingly sunken.

  ‘It put a fuckin foot in my stitches,’ he grimaced, ‘think it ripped. I go with de girl, we need to move.’

  ‘Further in, or bail?’ I asked.

  Anita answered for the rest of the team. ‘We press on, go loud if we see another one of those…’

  ‘Ghouls.’ Morgan called it, with a certainty that was hard to argue with, even if she was probably pinching it from a video game or trashy fantasy novel. You te
ach a girl to shoot and suddenly she goes full commando.

  ‘Fuck it, it’s as good as anything.’ I nodded, pointing a finger down the left-side corridor. ‘But that’s the way to the Trauma Centre. Closest to the rest of the hospital. We’ve got to move quick if we want a chance of dodging the horde.’

  Damian sat down in a wheeled office chair, and cast a quick, slightly embarrassed look at Anita. ‘It be quicker than walking,’ he shrugged, the motion making him twinge. We formed our marching order again, and made quick progress down the corridor towards the Trauma Centre, rolling Damian along.

  The first thing we passed were the diagnostic rooms, half a dozen individual little spaces lining a broad corridor scattered with flipped gurneys and pools of blood. They were equipped with various bits of medical apparatus, from a simple office setup with handheld instruments and computers, to treadmills and modern x-ray machines, little more than a table with an arm-mounted scanner.

  Footprints milled here and there; the shuffling, scuffed prints of zeds, and the clearer bootprints of the police or mercenaries - or perhaps the Ghouls. They seemed capable enough of imitating the way people walked, but these prints looked older, the blood all dried up. Had to be days ago.

  Handprints were also spread across the white walls, particularly around the doorways and windows of each room, as if people had taken shelter within and the zeds had tried to gain entry. In one doorway, they must have found success, as the door hung off its hinges. I didn’t look within, but my imagination treated me to images of a frantic struggle, followed by a swarm of hungry mouths.

  We moved down the corridor in silence, save for the gentle rolling of Damian’s wheels, Anita negotiating her way through the fallen gurneys – we couldn’t put Damian on one, too filthy to risk near an open wound.

  ‘How much further do you think? Might be worth finding a clean set of wheels.’ Anita asked.

  Bang.

  I spun around, the noise coming from behind me. I saw a flash of movement at the end of the corridor, forty or so yards away. I couldn’t be sure, but I had a hunch that Ghoul was following us…or maybe stalking was the right word. I swallowed down a tense lump in my throat.

  I heard the banging noise again and stepped forward, awaiting another move from the Ghoul, but it wasn’t from our entourage. It was coming from one of the diagnostic rooms. The curtains had been drawn, but I could see the outline of a fist beating down on the glass, and heard a muffled moan from within.

  ‘Let’s keep moving,’ Anita urged us, forgetting about the gurney.

  ‘Keep your eyes open everyone,’ I warned them, ‘at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, I think we’re being followed.’

  ‘That thing is hunting us?’ Morgan asked, tightening her grip on her spear.

  ‘I don’t know what it’s doing. Sure as hell not behaving like I’ve come to expect these things to. We’ve seen ones that can run – my guess is they were the marathon runners back when the world was sane. Those two Ghouls, they were both in uniform. Maybe there’s something to that.’

  We left that corridor with an eye over our shoulder, just as more fists started to beat on the glass in the rooms around us, a rising moan coming from each room. I swallowed my fear once more, and kept the rear guard as we headed for the trauma centre.

  We followed the signs down a couple corridors and twisting turns, navigating what surely made sense on the building plan, but to us rats in the maze, it seemed hopelessly complicated. We caught no more sight of the Ghoul, but that could have been due to its caution rather than our vigilance. I did not like the sound of a thinking zed.

  Eventually we arrived in Trauma’s little reception area, much like the last, only smaller. A handful of seats over by the windows overlooked grounds at the rear of the hospital. My eyes glanced over a coffee table scattered with old magazines, but fixed on the machine nearby, a sudden urge for a strong, hot coffee making my mouth water. We’d passed no place untouched by the infection, but it seemed quieter here than elsewhere.

  ‘Trauma closed pretty early,’ Anita muttered, ‘there was an outbreak here, one or two infected, nobody got hurt but the ward was quarantined after that. Well. Would have been. CDC didn’t have a chance to put up any curtains before they were run out.’

  ‘So, not expecting company?’ Neville asked.

  ‘Shit, I didn’t expect zeds to walk like folk and stalk like cats,’ Lucile grunted, ‘I’m expecting all hell to break loose any minute.’

  ‘She’s right,’ I piped in, from the back, ‘keep your guard up. Surgery’s just up ahead, I think.’

  ‘We can read signs too…’ Morgan pointed, up on the wall.

  Stare down one undead horror and you start to take liberties. She was growing more confident, no doubt about that. Without a word, she took a nurse’s badge from the desk, the kind with a magnetic strip for opening restricted areas. Good thinking.

  I eyed up the coffee machine once again, and considered suggesting a break to everyone. Nerves were surely fraying, if my own were anything to go by - but I shook that idea off. Firstly, we didn’t need the caffeine jitters right now, and secondly, I didn’t bring any money.

  Down a hallway from the Trauma waiting area, around a corner, and we were there, a set of lime green double-doors in a staff-only corridor, pleasantly devoid of any blood or gore. Morgan used the nurse’s laminate to buzz the doors unlocked, then our spear-carriers nudged the doors wide, Neville and Lucile heading in after them, bats raised.

  ‘Clear,’ Neville announced.

  We piled in behind him, and it was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Even though we were still in the hospital, still in the midst of this horror show, this place had an air of calm about it; completely removed from any of the stains of the building’s recent history, it was just a normal day in here. Well, aside from us trespassers.

  The theatre was split into two rooms; the operating table and medical equipment being divided off by a windowed wall and glass doors with a disabled-access style button at an easy height for opening with one’s rear. To our left sat a huge sink, deep enough to wash your whole arm in, with half a dozen taps.

  Every surface was pristine clean, kept from the wandering zombies and those weird Ghouls by the electronic lock. Rather than the glaring, bright lights of the corridors, the operating theatre was dimly lit, with an adjustable spotlight over the operating table in the centre of the room, currently turned off. It took me a moment to realise it, but soft, classical strings were playing gently through speakers in the ceiling. That might be why this place seemed so relaxing.

  I closed my mouth before anybody could see me standing agape. Suddenly, a sliding sound spun be back to face the doors. Morgan had stuck her hockey-spear through the handles, making an improvised bar – though surely the lock would still be engaged.

  Anita let out a deep breath. ‘You know I’m not a doctor right?’

  ‘You got to do your best to pretend,’ Damian smiled at her, ‘and I do my best not to die, yeah?’

  ‘You’re not going to die,’ Lucile said quietly, moving to hug him, albeit gingerly, ‘you hear me?’

  He nodded, flashing her a toothy smile.

  ‘Lucile, you should have more experience with this type of injury. Shake off your nerves and help me.’ Anita said, ‘Laurel, you don’t mind the sight of blood? You can swab.’

  ‘Aye aye,’ Laurel nodded, face set grim despite her casual response.

  ‘Anything I can do?’ I asked. Neville stood next to me, volunteering as well.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be any antibiotics in here,’ she said, opening stainless steel drawers and cupboards, ‘just surgical equipment, monitors, antiseptics…got everything I need. Apart from what we came here for…’ she added with a sigh.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ Neville asked her, moving closer and lowering his voice.

  ‘Not good, but there’s worse off. I’ll make it.’ She replied, ‘Find me antibiotics. Anything with a name ending in cyc
line or cillin - I’m stretching my training as far as I can here. Half a dozen IV bags and a dozen boxes of pills should be more than enough for both of us. Just have to hope we get lucky and respond to them, no bad reactions.’

  ‘Bad reaction?’ Damian asked, listening in. He sat on the surgical table with Lucile’s help, who then eased him onto his back.

  ‘Vomiting, diarrhoea, fever. Don’t worry about it, most people respond just fine.’ Anita assured him, but I detected a note of strain in her voice. She wasn’t doing too well herself.

  ‘Anything else we can do? Does he need blood?’ Neville asked her.

  ‘If you know how to administer a blood pack, be my guest, Nev.’ She frowned, coming over too harsh, ‘He could do with it, sure, but I’m out of my depth here as it is…’

  ‘Real comforting there…’ muttered Laurel, as she wheeled over a trolley loaded with suture equipment. ‘I know you need a compatible type - Type O being the best cross-match donor, and blood packs have to be refrigerated, but warmed up before transfusing. Beyond that, I can’t say if there’s a danger of giving him too much or too quickly, and if he’s got a rare blood disorder then all this barber-surgery will be useless.’

  ‘Cyclines and cillins it is then,’ Neville nodded, ‘I can think of a few.’

  He returned to Morgan and myself, by the scrub area doors. Laurel, Lucile and Anita began scrubbing their arms, jackets off, sleeves rolled up. Morgan would help them into one of the nearby surgical aprons afterwards. “All the gear and no idea”, as the saying goes.

  ‘Know where this supposed storage room is then? Reckon it’ll have all we need?’ Neville asked me.

  ‘Pharmacy in the main building will have the pill-form antibiotics. I’ve collected prescriptions from there before, not on a main thoroughfare so should be less zombies, in theory. As for the IV stuff, makes sense it’d be near surgery, have it close to hand. The room I was thinking of is isn’t far.’

  ‘Too much to hope the pills would be in there too?’ Morgan asked.