Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

  “It’s a dumb idea,” Terry said, coughing, shaking his head.

  Richard stared at him in disbelief.

  “What?”

  “Your plan,” Terry continued, “doesn’t make sense. It’s a stupid unnecessary risk based off your assumption of a situation you know nothing about. Does that spell it out clearly enough for you?”

  Richard felt his body tense up. His grip tightened on the IV pole and his knuckles turned white.

  “He’s my brother,” Richard said with forced composure.

  “I can understand why you want to rescue him, but I think… I think that the best thing to do is to find a safe area of the hospital and wait for help,” Terry said. “They’ll send somebody in here to get this situated… I mean, they have too!”

  “HE’S MY BROTHER!” Richard yelled, ignoring everything Terry just said.

  “I get that!” Terry shouted, coughing. “I just don’t think that the best thing to do is to try to go outside in the middle of this killing spree! We don’t even know how bad it is outside… If you want me to stick around, I will, but only if we wait for help. I will not go on some stupid quest to break someone out of prison!”

  “He… He’s my brother…” Richard stammered, stepping towards Terry.

  “Yeah, well, I have family, too,” Terry interrupted. “And until we can figure out just what in the hell is going on, I don’t think we should go anywhere. We’re injured, unarmed, and untrained. Your plan is–”

  “Fuck you,” Richard spat, glaring at Terry.

  Terry scoffed.

  “Well fuck you, too, you crazy son of a bitch,” Terry shot back. “You can go out there and get killed for all you want, but I’m staying here until help arrives.”

  “You’re a fucking coward,” Richard said. “He’s my brother.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck him too,” Terry said before erupting into a chain of coughs. He sat on his gurney and glared defiantly at Richard.

  Richard tried to speak, but his mind clouded as his anger overpowered him. The IV pole grew heavy in his clinched hands and brought his thoughts back into focus.

  He looked at the IV pole with confusion. The pole was coated with clumps of hair, flesh, and blood.

  His eyes trailed down in horror at Terry’s corpse. It was slumped against the wall and its head was beaten to an unrecognizable pulp.

  Richard dropped the IV pole at his feet and stepped back, mouth agape.

  The laughter from the hallway escalated.

  “No…” Richard whispered to himself. “Fuck!”

  My, my! You did it again! It serves that little shit right!

  “No! I didn’t do this– I didn’t do this! I’m no killer!”

  Well, he sure didn’t bash his own skull in.

  “YOU DID IT! I didn’t do it!”

  Andy tittered.

  Who are you trying to kid? We both know what you are.

  Richard stared at Terry’s accusing corpse and felt his stomach churn.

  “Just… just stop talking!” Richard shouted.

  Well then hurry too Butner and get my body out of that prison! Without my body, I am trapped in here.

  “I told you I will!” Richard hissed as he picked up the bloody IV pole and stepped out into the hallway. “Just don’t make me hurt anybody else, Andy, please!”

  Then hurry up and rescue me.

  The hallway was quiet with the exception of the woman’s laughter echoing down from the far end. Bloody splotches peppered the walls. Infected banged against the door of their barricaded rooms. By the time the staff started to barricade rooms, it was too late; for every door that was barricaded, three more were wide-open.

  Two gunshots echoed from down the hall and made Richard flinch.

  At the far end of the hall, a lanky woman in blood-stained scrubs walked out of one of the open patient rooms. Her face was flush, splattered with droplets of blood, and glistened with fever sweat. In her hand she held a pistol, barrel smoking. She turned and looked at Richard, grinning in her feverish delirium.

  Richard froze and anticipated the nurse to run after him. He gripped the IV pole defensively in front of him.

  The nurse simply stared at him vacantly.

  “Help… please,” Richard uttered faintly.

  “I’ll be there in a minute to treat you,” the woman slurred. “You’ll have to wait your turn. I’m doing my rounds. There are so many sick people on this floor… so many sick people…”

  Maniacal laughter echoed from the open room across from her.

  She turned towards the room and lurched inside, coughing steadily. She shut the door behind her and locked it.

  “Wait… Miss! MISS!” Richard screamed. He sprinted down the hall, gripping the IV pole tightly.

  Suddenly, an elderly man wearing a patient gown stumbled out of one of the open rooms a few feet in front of him.

  Richard stopped, gasped, and gripped the pole tightly.

  The elderly man turned his head towards Richard, shrieked loudly, and charged towards him.

  Richard drove the IV pole through the man’s chest. The tip of the pole pierced through the man’s back and splattered the drywall behind him with coagulated blood.

  Richard rammed the pole into the wall, impaling the man against the sheetrock.

  The elderly man continued to snarl and swipe at Richard with his bloodied hands, seemingly unmindful of the sixty-inch rod rammed through the center of his chest.

  Richard slid the pole out of the snarling corpse and quickly drove its blood-streaked tip through the man’s right eye.

  The end of the pole erupted out the back of the old man’s head and sprayed the ceiling tiles with blood, hair, and bits of grey matter.

  Richard pulled the pole out of the man’s eye, hardly cringing.

  The old man sunk down against the wall and sprawled out on the floor at Richard’s feet.

  Just like old times, isn’t it, Richie? It’s easy for you… but then again, you’ve had a lot of practice.

  “Shut up, Andy! Just…” Richard backed away, turned, and ran towards the door the nurse entered.

  The plaque on the door labeled the room as the recovery ward. Below the plaque a piece of paper adorned with the CDC logo read in permanent marker: Symptom-free Patient Holding Area.

  There was a gunshot inside the room.

  Richard tried to turn the knob, but the door was locked. He bashed against it repeatedly with his shoulder until the lock gave and the door flung open.

  Multiple gurneys were lined-up on both sides of the room and each had a patient handcuffed to the arm rails. Most of the patients had already succumbed to the virus and were thrashing around violently in their gurneys, snarling. Some, however, hadn’t turned and simply lay in their beds, looking confused and disoriented. The ones who hadn’t turned were soaked with sweat and their skin flush with fever. A man in one of the center gurneys was laughing uncontrollably while two others rambled to the ceiling in their feverish delirium.

  The nurse holding the pistol swayed along the aisle between the two rows of gurneys. The handcuffed infected thrashed violently as she walked past and tried to lunge towards her.

  “Nurse?” Richard asked from the doorway.

  She ignored him and kept swaggering down the aisle. She stopped in front of a young man who hadn’t turned yet. He was soaked with cold sweat. He erupted in a chain of rattling coughs and weakly turned his head towards her, confused–

  She casually pointed the pistol at the man and pulled the trigger.

  Richard flinched.

  The laughing man in the center gurney burst out in a peal of hysterics.

  The nurse doubled-over in a coughing fit and then swayed down the aisle, ignoring the thrashing handcuffed patients who had already turned.

  “Carol…? Did you find Jake? I can’t find Jake,” one of the cuffed patients murmured, full of fever, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

  The nurse stopped, pointed the pistol at the man, and fired
.

  Richard flinched again.

  She walked leisurely to the laughing man’s gurney and pointed the pistol between the man’s eyes.

  The man stared cross-eyed down the gun barrel and burst out laughing, his face soaked by fever sweat.

  She pulled the trigger and blew the man’s brains all over his pillow.

  The nurse lowered her weapon and twitched.

  “Marissa? What was that? Is that you, baby?” a man muttered from the back. “I hurt… I hurt all over–baby–I–”

  “What… what in the hell are you doing?” Richard asked, clutching the IV pole.

  The shackled infected thrashed violently in their beds at the sound of his voice.

  “I thought… I told you… to wait in your room. I am doing my rounds,” the nurse said. She turned towards Richard and smirked. Her forehead was moist with sweat and blood dribbled out of both nostrils. She half-heartedly aimed the pistol at Richard and fired, swaying.

  The round flew high and whistled over his head.

  Richard ran back out into the hall and slammed the broken door shut behind him just as she fired again. The round splintered through the wooden door and narrowly missed his left thigh.

  He ran towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

  The wooden door flung open behind him and the nurse hobbled after him, laughing in-between wet-sounding coughs. She pointed the pistol at his back.

  A bloodied woman wearing a hospital gown flew out of one of the open patient rooms, screaming. She leapt at the nurse.

  The nurse’s pistol skittered across the ground as the infected patient tackled her down to the ground and tore into her neck with her teeth. Blood shot out of the nurse’s torn jugular in spurts.

  Richard reached the elevator and mashed the down button repeatedly with a trembling hand, but nothing happened.

  He panicked and turned towards the stairwell door. A bloody palm-smear ran down the center of the door.

  Down the hall, the female patient rose back to her feet, soaked with fresh blood.

  The nurse slowly stood up behind her, eyes clouded, gaping neck wound glistening.

  Both women stared at Richard for a brief second and bolted down the hall towards him.

  He swung open the stairwell door and the stench of smoke and defecation struck him immediately. Just as the two infected women neared the door, he slammed it shut in their face and slid the IV pole in-between the door lever and the doorframe to prevent the door from opening.

  The pounding against the door was ferocious.

  Richard slowly backed away from the door, breathing heavy. Slowly, he turned towards the stairs.

  The lighting situation inside the stairwell was dismal. Emergency lights were mounted on each floor landing and barely lit the dark stairwell.

  A few floors above him, frantic footsteps suddenly started descending the metallic stairs in an awkward gait.

  Richard ran down the first flight of stairs.

  The perusing footsteps above him descended faster, closing in fast.

  Richard’s chest burned as he descended flight after flight.

  Below, multiple footsteps started ascending the staircase just as quickly as the footsteps descended from above. He was getting cornered.

  Richard stopped on the fifth floor landing and ran to the stairwell door. A paper sign stapled on the door read:

  Symptomatic Isolation Floor

  Use Extreme Caution. Firearms Must Be Carried At All Times. Non-armed Staff Must Be Escorted!

  Richard opened the door and was immediately inundated by black smoke. The smoke hung thick in the room and fire alarms chirped loudly. Overhead, only a few flickering fluorescent lights remained lit. A circular desk dominated the center of the room and was surrounded by rows of bolted-down chairs. Corpses were stacked like cordwood underneath red bio-hazard tarps and lay strewn between the rows of chairs. A man was huddled in the corner of the room, moaning in pain.

  At the circular desk, a nurse laid face-down on the desk with her arms dangling over the front of the desk. Next to her arms, a white blood-smeared telephone receiver swayed side-to-side. Silver lettering on the front of the desk read:

  WILLIAM B. DUKE CARDIAC INTENSIVE CARE WING

  Richard heard the stairwell horde approaching behind him. He ran into the waiting room and quickly slammed the stairwell door shut behind him.

  He threw a panicked glance around the waiting room for movement, but fortunately none of the tarp-covered corpses moved. All he could hear was a man moaning somewhere near the corner of the smoke-filled lobby.

  Infected pounded against the stairwell door.

  Richard reached down and grabbed a nightstick off of a dead police officer and slid it in-between the door lever and the doorframe.

  The door lever rattled, but would not turn

  He backed away from the door, uneasy.

  This is great. How do you plan on getting out of here exactly?

  (I’m working on it.)

  Well work a little harder, Richie.

  (Just shut up and let me think, Andy!)

  Richard frowned, turned, and scanned the room. His gaze fell on the double-doors at the opposite end of the room.

  This is a bad idea, Richie. You’re fucking up.

  “If you know a better idea, I’d love to hear it. Besides, you’re not really real,” he muttered to himself, but he was beginning to doubt himself when he could hear Andy’s voice so clearly. He carefully made his way through the sea of sprawled out corpses that littered the room. Many of the corpses had rolled out from underneath the red tarps and lay stiff on the floor. Many of the corpses were police officers. He tried not to look down at them as he walked.

  Stop, idiot.

  Richard stopped walking.

  “What is it now?!” he growled.

  Don’t you think it would be a good idea to take a weapon?

  Richard glanced down at of the dead police officers. As usual, his brother’s voice was right, real or imagined. He reached down and pulled the officer’s pistol out of the holster and loaded his pockets with the extra ammo clips off of the officer’s duty belt. He stood and walked towards the double-doors, pointing the gun in front of him.

  Another fighter jet passed overhead and shook the room violently. Suspended ceiling tiles shook loose and fine granules of dust fluttered down above Richard. He coughed and struggled to catch his breath amidst the plumes of dust. After the jet passed and the room stopped shaking, the emergency lights dimmed and the fire alarms silenced.

  The immediate silence was unsettling.

  Richard stood motionless in the pitch-black room, skin prickled with gooseflesh.

  “Bring the Buick in for the night,” a man muttered from the corner of the room. “Bring it in before the frost collects… Nancy.”

  The man groaned in fevered anguish and started crying.

  Richard tried to drown the lunatic’s voice out. He gripped the pistol with both hands and blindly shuffled in the dark towards the direction he remembered seeing the double-doors. His feet nudged against corpse after corpse as he blindly navigated his way across the room.

  “The door should be close,” Richard whispered to himself in the dark.

  “Nancy? Is that you? Did you move the Buick? You need to bring it in before the frost collects! Do you hear me? Nancy?”

  Richard’s path was blocked by something large. He crouched down and blindly searched the cold floor tiles with his fingertips. His fingers brushed across a bloated cold ankle, a sticky wet puddle, spent shell casings, and a handful of cold wet bandages. Gooseflesh ran up his arm but he forced himself to keep searching. His fingers ran across ashy dry lips, plastic, and then brushed over a cold oily nose–

  Richard recoiled immediately. He knew what was blocking his path; a stack of corpses. He tried to maneuver around the pile of corpses and tripped. He landed against an obese corpse spread-out on top of the pile. His elbow struck the corpse’s abdomen and caused the corpse to expunge
a pungent burst of rotten air out his gapping mouth.

  The smell almost made him vomit.

  He managed to maneuver around the pile and his hands brushed against the double doors. A faint orange glow shimmered out from underneath the door. He heard something rustle on the other side of the doors and the sound of rattling chains.

  “Fuck,” Richard said, barely above a whisper.

  “Nancy?”

  “Shut UP!” Richard screamed.

  “Nancy? Is that you? Did you move the Buick?”

  “Shut the fuck up! Nancy is not here!”

  “Did she move the Buick? Frost is coming.”

  The man started crying and broke off into a spasm of coughing.

  Slowly, Richard pushed one of the swinging doors open and choked on the thick smoke and the stench of burning flesh. He doubled-over and coughed violently.

  A pile of corpses burnt in the center of the room and inundated the room with thick black smoke. The flickering flames lit the room in an orange glow and revealed multiple overturned hospital beds against the wall and bullet-riddled medical monitoring equipment. The few beds that was still upright had patients on them with their arms handcuffed above their heads against the bed’s metal headboard. Each patient had been executed by a single gunshot to the head. Their heads hung limp with their chin against their chest.

  Corpses inside white hazmat suits lay strewn all throughout the room amongst countless spent brass shells. One of the white-suits way sprawled on his belly at Richard’s feet near the double doors.

  Richard rolled the corpse over with his foot and read ‘CDC’ on the white-suit’s chest in bold blue lettering. The protective suit had large tares near the neck and its plastic faceshield was shattered. The face visible through the shattered faceshield was badly disfigured from multiple gunshots. He rolled the white-suit back onto its belly.

  Richard pulled a dirtied handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his nose with it using one hand while gripping the 9mm pistol with his other hand. Slowly, he ventured into the room. Each step he took sent brass bullet casings skittering across the floor.

  As he walked deeper into the room, closer towards the human bonfire burning in the center, he discovered the source of the rattling noise in the far corner of the room and froze.