by TW Brown
The soldier considered Cliff’s words for a moment and then looked around like he expected somebody would suddenly burst onto the scene and catch him doing something he shouldn’t. He lowered his weapon.
“You aren’t a doctor.” That was a statement, not a question. “You a medic or something?”
Cliff glanced down and realized that he had taken off his jacket at some point. His light blue shirt and dark pants lacked any sort of patch. He’d been meaning to put them on his new shirts, but he’d been in a hurry when he left earlier this morning and had grabbed what was clean without realizing that he was technically out of uniform.
“I’m a paramedic from Liberty,” Cliff said. “My partner and I had just transported a girl. She coded on the trip and then sat up. She got a bite out of my partner before we could restrain her. They took both of them as soon as we arrived.”
“Then you won’t ever see them again,” the soldier said flatly. “Nobody has come out of quarantine in any of the locations that I have been in contact with over the past few days.”
“Past few days?” Cliff shouted and then continued in a volume closer to normal after getting a grip on himself. “You mean this has been going on for a while and nobody is hearing anything about it? How the hell is that possible?”
“Since Kentucky, the orders have been for us to move fast and leave nothing behind. The plan is to make a statement when we get this under control.”
“I don’t think that is going to happen.”
“You have no idea,” the soldier said with a sadness that seemed like it was more of a thought that was mistakenly revealed out loud.
“It’s that bad?” Cliff gasped.
“Worse…way worse. Word just came in few days ago that we have lost all contact with Japan.”
“You mean like our embassy?”
“No.” The soldier looked Cliff in the eyes and his lips pressed tight as if the words themselves were painful. “I mean the entire country.”
“That’s not possible.”
Cliff had always been quick to dismiss conspiracy theory nuts. He’d actually started boycotting The History Channel when it started showing a series of UFO and ghost hunting programs. Maybe a channel like SyFy could get away with that sort of thing, but when he turned on The History Channel, he wanted…well…he wanted history. Real history.
“Oh, the façade doesn’t have much longer before it shatters. You can only put your finger in so many holes before the dam gives way and the waters crash through. Rumor has it that a Special Forces team has been dispatched to Ohio to get the president’s daughter.”
Cliff realized that he had staggered back and ended up sitting in one of the chairs against the wall for people to use as they waited for prescriptions. His head popped up and he looked to the right, past the dead body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood that almost looked black on the dark blue tile. The sign on the wall with the arrow almost grew before his eyes. If this was everything that he believed it could become, then…
“Are you going to shoot me?” Cliff got up and took a step towards the soldier.
The man seemed to consider it, and then he slung his rifle over his shoulder. “You got any ideas?”
“For starters, we need to get away from this hospital. I give it less than an hour before it becomes a place of nightmares.”
“A bit dramatic, don’tcha think?”
“Considering what is happening and how exponentially fast it will grow? Nope. I think I am about as cool and calm as I can be.”
“Okay, so how do you think you are going to get out of here?” The soldier walked to the big floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the large parking lot below. “Looks to me like the place is pretty well secured.”
“The tents!” Cliff finally blurted after thinking it over. He glanced over at the body on the floor. “If we put your friend there on a gurney and wheel him to the quarantine tents. You can be like my escort. Once we get there, I am sure we can slip out and duck into the woods.”
“You’re dreaming, pal. The tents are where the security is the highest.”
Cliff considered that statement. He looked outside as well and saw all the trucks that were parked around the outer edges of the parking lot. There had to be at least two hundred soldiers jogging back and forth or setting up what they probably considered a secure perimeter.
After a moment, an idea came. It was a terrible idea. It would be risky, but it was also perhaps his best chance to get out of this place alive. He wasn’t sure that the soldier would go along with it, but Cliff was a realist. The movies might always offer some sort of way to sneak out, or perhaps the guy playing his part might be a master of martial arts and be able to karate chop his way out of this place. Clifton Martin was none of those things. And he couldn’t outrun a bullet. He had no choice but to share his plan and hope that this soldier would come along. It was the only way he saw that would offer him even the slightest chance of seeing his wife Sophie and their son Lawrence again.
As he laid out his idea, Cliff saw reluctance and skepticism slowly turn to hope and enthusiasm. It was going to be risky, and the easiest part would be the first part. After that, it was going to be a roll of the dice.
“I never even asked your name,” the soldier finally said as the two men opened the door to a small custodial store room full of cleaning supplies.
“Clifton Martin, but my friends call me Cliff, so I guess you can too,” he tried to joke. The soldier considered the statement for a moment and then gave a shrug. “And you, how about your name.”
“George Hoyle.” The soldier glanced down at the insignia on his collar and then sighed. “Just got my promotion to sergeant, but I doubt that will be worth a damn in a few days.”
“Under the circumstances, you may be more valuable than you believe.”
“Says the guy with medical training,” George snorted.
“If this goes as bad as it’s looking, you better believe that order and everything that has held us together will decay and crumble. A man who knows how to think with a tactical mind is going to be pretty valuable if we have to start defending ourselves from raiders, looters…and worse.”
“You make it sound like we’re gonna end up living out some sorta Road Warriors scenario,” George chuckled as he settled down on the floor with his back against the inward opening door.
“Actually, I think it will be worse than any movie could hope to portray. Hollywood had to worry about offending people and putting butts in the seats. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to the news, but there are some sick bastards out there.” Cliff couldn’t help but shudder.
“I got news for ya, pal,” George said with a grimace as he closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the screams that were now starting to grow in frequency and intensity. “They’ve always been out there. We just hear about them more because somebody decided that more folks would stay tuned in to the news if they knew a terrible story was coming up after a commercial break.”
Cliff winced as another scream tore from somebody’s throat as they begged for anybody to help. He reached over and switched off the light. Sitting down, he wondered if maybe he wasn’t much better than some of those horrible people. Sure, he wasn’t out there victimizing others, but he wasn’t lifting a finger to help those who so obviously needed it.
***
“…here at World Wide News have just been given the following statement from the White House.”
The person behind the desk had the haggard look of a man who’d been up for several hours and not seen a razor in a day or two. His button-up shirt was open at the collar and the tie had been pulled loose. He leaned forward as if he might be having trouble seeing the teleprompter.
“A state of martial law has been called for by the president and is now being approved by Congress. State officials will be given instructions as soon as the vote, which is expected to be approved with almost no opposition, is complete. Until then, residents are
now urged to remain home unless you or a loved one has been injured by a person showing the most commonly reported signs of infection which we will keep up on the right hand side of the screen for reference. You are to bring them to the nearest local emergency room or mobile military medical unit. Several such locations have been set up and your local stations should have a list of these places. Do not attempt to care for the injured person by yourself. The later stages of infection are the most dangerous. This is the time when the person infected may lash out or attack friends and loved ones. It is also when the chance for infection is apparently greatest. The president still intends to address the nation this evening and give a statement on actions being taken and how best to avoid becoming infected.”
The newsman sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. A look of fear crossed his face as he glanced to one side for just a moment.
“Fine, I’m reading it, just relax,” he muttered and then sat up straight again, doing his best to look professional, but the camera had zoomed in tight and a bead of sweat could be seen trickling down from his left temple.
“Due to such a high volume of calls, networks across the country have overloaded, and as you may have noticed, there is almost no cell or landline service. You are asked to refrain from using these services while repairs are being made and service is being restored.
“If you are in need of help, or if a member of your family has possibly been exposed to this infection and you are unable to reach one of the emergency shelters or medical centers, you are asked to hang a sheet in your front window. That will alert the patrols in your area of your need for assistance and they will render aid as soon as possible.
“Additionally, due to the high volume of individuals affected by this outbreak, area power companies are operating with skeleton crews in many cases, so you are asked to minimize your power consumption. These measures are temporary, but your cooperation will help as civil leaders strive to get things back to normal as soon as possible.”
The reporter once again looked off camera. He leaned over as if trying to hear something and then pushed back from the desk and walked off camera leaving a wall of monitors behind him that normally played a variety of field clips, but now were strangely blank except for the test pattern. There was a pause as the cable news network’s logo filled the screen and then the message was repeated where it would run on a loop for the next hour.
7
Cliff
Cliff’s head jerked back as he came awake with a start. It banged against the wall with a dull thud and he winced, his hand coming up to rub the spot.
“Welcome back,” a voice whispered in the darkness.
It took him a minute to catch himself up, but slowly it all came back to Clifton Martin. He recalled the girl that had died in transit and then sat up and bit his partner Terry Gibbs, the apparent military takeover of the hospital and how Terry had been sent to a quarantine area, his decision to try and help in the chaotic emergency room and the much-too-late realization that it was an exercise in futility. Then he’d met Sergeant George Hoyle; a soldier who had not taken much convincing to abandon his post as the sounds of screams began to echo through the hospital.
That felt as if it had been so long ago. At one point, he remembered hearing screams coming from what sounded like right outside the door of the janitor’s closet where they had hidden. He forced down the pangs of guilt over simply hiding out as the zombies overwhelmed the people in the hospital. But then he reminded himself that it was freaking zombies for crying out loud. He knew how this story was going to end and had decided to try and give himself a chance at getting back to his wife and son.
“You snore, by the way,” George Hoyle quipped. “I had to reach over and plug your nose twice. I was afraid you would bring those things down on us.”
“What time is it?” Cliff asked, his voice a bit scratchy. He needed water.
A tiny glow that seemed incredibly bright in the relative darkness flashed for a moment as George checked the watch on his wrist. “Almost eighteen hundred hours.”
“You think it’s safe for us to try and make our way out of here?” Cliff pushed himself up to his feet and stretched as much as he was able in the confined space.
“I haven’t heard any screams or shooting in a few hours,” George yawned as he made it to his feet as well. “There were a couple of them things pawing at our door a while ago, but they eventually went away. Which brings me to a point, you don’t just go to sleep. You freaking die. I swear to God, a bomb could have gone off outside the door and I doubt that you would have budged.”
“Remind me to tell you about the time I apparently slept through my mom and dad kicking in the front door because they were locked out and I slept through their banging on it, ringing the bell, yelling until they were hoarse.”
“How big was your house?” George said with a chuckle.
“Not that big, but I was asleep on the living room floor about eight or so feet from the door, so it could have been a mansion, that doesn’t really affect the outcome.”
“More good information to have,” George whispered as he opened the door just enough to let in a sliver of light. After he paused and was apparently happy that there was nothing that posed an immediate threat, he opened the door the rest of the way to reveal a lobby that now looked more like the killing floor of a slaughter house than a hospital waiting area.
There had been an unpleasant odor that, up to this point, Cliff had tried to dismiss as being perhaps something that one or both of them had gotten splattered with or stepped in from earlier, but when a wave of it rolled in through the open door causing both men to gag and cover their mouths and noses, he knew better. He’d been around his fair share of dead bodies. Heck, he’d even been on the scene of a lady that had apparently died and remained undiscovered for a few days until a friend made the awful discovery. None of that was anything like this. He could not recall anything in his life that could even remotely compare…except maybe the hint of it that he got when he was driving the ambulance to the hospital and his partner had called out that the girl in the back that coded was trying to sit up.
“Holy…” George’s words died in his throat as two figures stumbled in from the hallway to their left. Both were wearing army uniforms.
“That is the way I came from. The ER is that way. Maybe we could—” Cliff’s suggestion was cut off as three more came in from the right.
This group looked like one doctor and two patients. His eyes could not tear away from the doctor who looked as if perhaps he’d been leaning down close to one of the undead when it lunged and caught him. His entire nose was gone, leaving a hideous hole and a face that was a mask of blackening blood.
“Well, I didn’t figure we’d get out of here easy,” George finally said as he unslung his rifle and brought it up to his shoulder.
Cliff saw the action and reached over, slapping the weapon down. “You want to tell the world we are here?”
“They’re dead,” George snapped, jerking away angrily.
“Yeah, but if anybody managed to survive and is still in the area, they will hear us.” Cliff paused and looked over at first the twosome, then the trio. “They’re slow and uncoordinated. I don’t think we want to head back towards the emergency room because that is where the biggest concentration of people was from what I saw. If we can move around behind the information desk and lure those three in a bit, we should be able to scoot out the other side and make it to the hallway with no problems.”
George gave a shrug. “Fine, we can try, but what do you suggest we use as a weapon if we actually do have to take down any of these things?”
Cliff reached into the custodian’s closet and pulled out a pair of push-brooms. He handed one to George who stepped back like he was being offered a venomous snake.
“What the hell do you want me to do with that?” the man exclaimed.
Cliff snapped his handle in two pieces over his knee after quickly unscrewing the head from
the four foot long wooden shaft. He walked up to the closest zombie and drove the broken tip into its eye socket and jerked back as the thing crumpled to the floor in a heap.
Not waiting for the soldier, he moved to the pair that were relatively close together and repeated the gesture on each in quick succession. By the time he’d dropped all three, George was at his side.
“I don’t understand how this is getting out of control so fast,” Cliff remarked as the pair started down the long hallway, being careful at every intersection and open doorway. “These things are slow and pretty easy to take down.”
They rounded a corner and he felt that last comment die on his tightening throat. Up ahead was a long, brightly lit hall that ended in another open waiting room of some sort. Wandering around in that room had to be at least forty of the walking dead; mixed in amongst them were several children between the ages of as young as three or four up to their early teens.
“The pediatric ward,” Cliff groaned. “Maybe we should turn back and try the other way.”
“I thought that you said the ER was a nightmare and likely with the heaviest possible population,” George reminded.
Cliff could not force himself to move forward. He suddenly understood how this had perhaps grown so out of control in such a short span. The thought of driving his makeshift weapon into the face of some child was just not fathomable.
“Don’t you go and check out on me now,” George hissed, giving Cliff an elbow in the ribs for good measure. “What’s on the other side of that area?”
Cliff thought about it for a moment. He brightened slightly. “There is another hallway, a nurse’s lounge, and then the cafeteria which has doors opening to outside.”
“Then that is where we need to go.” The soldier looked at him and scowled. “Look, Cliff, them ain’t real kids…not anymore they ain’t. They are monsters just like the big versions.” When it was clear that Cliff was still unsure, he added, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll take down any of the little ones who get close. You just take down the adults. Clear?”