by Owen Baillie
A bunch of cars were parked ahead, so she pulled alongside the curb out the front of a fish and chip shop, only a handful of stores away from the pharmacy. She turned off the engine, and the car shuddered to a halt. She settled herself momentarily, filling her lungs in slow, deep breaths, grimacing at the pain in her chest.
Counting herself down, Kumiko pushed the door open and swung her legs out. She peered back along the street and saw in the distance the people who had been milling at the edge of the road were running in her direction. Don’t panic. Others had appeared from side streets. Above, she saw an unusual number of dark clouds had pushed in from the south. She hurried along the pavement towards the purple and green sign, hoping to be out of there before the people or the rain arrived.
She passed a beauty parlor, a fishing tackle store, and another pizza shop before reaching the pharmacy. Every shop had a CLOSED sign displayed behind their doors, and her hope of finding the pharmacy open had disappeared when she arrived at the wide sliding glass entrance.
Whilst the doorframe itself was pulled into the closed position, somebody had smashed the glass to open it. There was no closed sign. She peered in through the hole to check for people inside. The store was dark and there didn’t appear to be anybody working. She glanced along the street. The group was getting closer, and there were other people coming from all directions.
She was breaking the law if she entered, but if she didn’t get medication for her asthma, she’d be in serious trouble. Since leaving the hospital, her breathing had worsened.
She took hold of the handle and pulled, half expecting, even though the glass had been broken, for the thing to be locked. It slid across with a crackle and pop as the frame crunched glass in the door track. It became jammed halfway across, but was wide enough for her to enter.
She stepped through the opening, cooler air washing over her, and saw immediately that the shop had been ransacked. Merchandise was spread across the floor: shampoo, vitamins, hair dye, and countless other pharmacy items. The smells were strong; perfume, orange, and a medical fragrance stung her nostrils. She picked her way over the mess, scanning the rubble in the silence.
The prescription counter sat at the back of the shop, and as she reached it, a man leapt out from behind the counter, holding a weapon. He was small, Indian, and wore a long white coat.
Kumiko put up a hand to fend him off. “Wait!” She scuttled backwards out of reach, but he scooted after her. She turned and headed for the door, but then turned back and found him ready to attack again. She’d come too far to leave now.
This time he recognized the expression on her face. He halted the broom halfway towards her. He was blowing air from the effort, his face lined with a scowl. He had large round eyes, the whites contrasted against his dark skin. “What do you want?” he said with an accent.
Kumiko put a hand out as she gathered her breath. She motioned that breathing was difficult. Finally, she said, “Inhaler. I’m asthmatic. There’s nowhere else to go.”
A look of understanding and then compassion passed over the man’s face. He sighed. “I have some out back. What’s your name?” Kumiko told him. “I’m Jagdish.”
“Sorry about breaking in. The hospital is out of medicine, and I wouldn’t have made it anywhere else.”
“You’ve been to the hospital?”
She nodded. “It’s full. They’re not taking any more patients.”
“My wife is sick. I came down here to get some stronger drugs. When I arrived, I found two teenage boys stealing stock. They broke the glass.” He looked beyond to the front of the store. “What’s the world coming to?” They reached the back of the pharmacy where a series of shelves, like giant bookcases, stood at right angles to the prescription counter. Jagdish pushed a low barrier and let Kumiko in behind the counter.
“I’m not a religious man, but it’s as though all of those doomsday predictions we’ve heard over the years are coming true.” He disappeared into one of the rows and came back a moment later with an inhaler and handed it to her.
Kumiko took it, managing a thin smile. “I have some money.”
Jagdish waved her off. “I have a bad feeling there isn’t going to be much need for that soon.”
She gave the device a shake, pressed the button three times to purge the air, and then placed it between her lips. She pressed again and this time sucked the medicine deep into her lungs. After five more, she placed the inhaler in her pocket.
“Better?”
She breathed deeply. “Yes, thank you.” And it was. Already she could feel her air passages opening, but she would need more soon.
The crash of heavy objects sounded from the street. They both glanced up. Jagdish moved quickly past Kumiko towards the front of the store. Kumiko started after him, then stopped. Jagdish hung by the window, peering out at the world. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Kumiko read fear in his face—the harsh, furrowed brow and then wide, disbelieving eyes.
He waved at her to move away. “Get back. Quickly. Hide.”
Fear shot through her. She glanced around, searching for a place to hide. She ran back behind the counter as Jagdish stumbled away from the front of the store. She was about to duck behind it when a dark shape approached the window and smashed right through. Glass crashed around them. A man stumbled through the broken door, arms outstretched for Jagdish, who backed up with a squeal, tripped over a fallen merchandising display for L’Oreal, and landed on his behind. The man—who Kumiko now identified as one of the infected—lurched forward and fell onto Jagdish.
Jagdish kept squealing, “Runnnnnn!”
Running was her first instinct, but she couldn’t leave Jagdish. She scanned the area for a weapon.
The attacker hunched over Jagdish with his hands around the Indian man’s throat. He made a growling sound, like an angry dog and saliva sprayed from his lips. Jagdish tried to kick and push his way free, but his efforts glanced off the infected man’s strong arms. Kumiko spotted a bunch of umbrellas in the corner and yanked one out of a tub.
“Get off him,” she snarled as she ran forward and smacked the long, pink object across the infected man’s broad shoulders. The umbrella made a cracking noise, threatening to break. The man didn’t flinch. She took aim higher and whacked it over his skull. He let go briefly, providing Jagdish the opportunity to escape. He crawled out of reach as the man turned to Kumiko, his face red and savage.
She backed away, swinging the umbrella again, but more as a threat than an attack. She couldn’t get around him for the front door, and he was pushing her back towards the prescription counter.
“Rear door,” Jagdish yelled.
Kumiko tossed the umbrella at the man and ran. He hissed at her as she raced past the prescription medicine stores and beyond to a small alcove. The bathroom sign hung over one door, while a short passageway led beyond to another door.
Kumiko sprinted down the dim hallway and yanked on the handle, but it was locked. She turned the knob left, then right, pulling on the main handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
She turned, expecting the infected man to be waiting for her but the passageway was empty. Beyond, in the pharmacy, groans and shouts continued.
She was afraid to return. Could she hide out in the toilet and wait for the thing to leave? Yes, but if he found her, there would be nowhere to go. And if she waited, it would surely end in trouble. She saw no option but to go through the front.
She walked back to the prescription counter and saw the thing was on its knees, making sounds like a person eating a sloppy breakfast. At first, she couldn’t see Jagdish, but then she realized the infected man was eating him. She dry-retched twice, feeling the slim contents of her stomach rise. Don’t throw up, she told herself. It would alert him to her presence and he might come for her.
Could she make it past him? Objects lay scattered over the floor. Two of the racks used to hold products formed a narrow passage down the right side of the room, away from the infected man. Kumiko tho
ught if she ran between them, she might make it.
She came around the prescription counter and squatted at the end with a hand on the bench, watching him feed. Poor Jagdish. His head was turned to the side, his blank eyes staring at the wall. Another loud noise sounded from the street. The infected man stopped, withdrew from Jagdish’s stomach, and looked through the front window as more chaotic sounds drifted in. Kumiko waited for her moment.
The man turned back to Jagdish.
Run.
She leapt away from the counter for the narrow gap. By the time she passed him, he was only just aware of her escape attempt. Her feet danced along the floorboards, over full bottles of shampoo, between a pair of signs for heart disease. She dared think I’ve made it. He might chase her down the street, but she thought she’d outrun him.
But as she reached the last fifteen feet of cluttered walkway, another infected man appeared in the doorway, his bloodshot, blazing eyes staring directly at her.
She pulled up as though reaching the edge of a cliff. He swiped a large, dirty paw at her. Kumiko danced backwards just out of reach, the man behind her forgotten. The new arrival stared up at her, lips drawn back, revealing a mouthful of carnage. He’s been eating too.
Her back foot struck debris and she fell onto her butt. The man took another step toward her. She kicked out and struck his hand, knocking it away.
The other man growled. Kumiko leapt to her feet only to find herself stuck between them, a short distance on either side. She was about to make a run for it when a third person appeared in the doorway.
The overweight man wore a pale blue hat, dark blue jeans, and a light-colored T-shirt. Tufts of dark orange hair stuck out from under the cap and his face sported a light ginger beard. His eyes were clear. Fright covered the man’s face, but he rushed in before the second infected could react, and shoved him sideways, into a pile of sanitary items.
Blue Jeans held out his hand. Kumiko reached out and took it.
8
Juliet ran towards the main waiting room. She heard a number of high-pitched female voices screaming. They didn’t sound like cries of hurt or anger, but fright. She’d heard those screams before as a little girl when she was caught up in a bank robbery and one of the men had opened fire. The sounds were like that, people shrieking as bullets mercilessly cut down bodies, leaving memories she would never forget.
She rounded the hallway past the rooms where Deirdre and Tara were taking blood and instructed them to follow, then sprinted on, the tiredness she’d felt earlier swallowed by adrenaline. Was it to do with that voice on the other end of the line from the main hospital, or the missing body from the examination room? There had been news reports of such things, people dying and then waking back up, but she had refused to recognize them for their absurdity. But now … her skin chilled. Don’t be so dramatic. It was probably just people arguing over who was next again. She only hoped it was that. A deep gnawing worry told her it was much worse.
She turned down another corridor, and several new screams from different voices were added to the chorus. Names were called, shouted amongst the terror—and it was terror, not anger or frustration—of that, she was sure now. She distinctly heard the sounds of furniture scraping over the floor—being shoved out of the way. A cold dread crept up her back and suddenly she didn’t want to be racing towards the waiting room. In fact, she didn’t want to be at work today at all. She was ill herself, and shouldn’t have even been on duty. Any other day, she would have stayed home and curled up in bed.
As she turned the final corner, a small section of the waiting room at the end of the corridor came into view. People were out of their seats, bunched against the right wall. Their wide eyes were drawn to whatever it was they had fled, and she read the fear on the taut faces of the closest ones, many with their hands drawn to open mouths or hands clutching hair.
She stopped at the edge of the emergency room and took in the scene. It was utter chaos. She smelt the coppery scent of blood. On the far side of the room, the entrance door had been opened and people were pushing their way out—people who had, moments ago, been too ill to move with any haste. It was creating a bottleneck; too many bodies for the narrow exit. She wanted to scream at them to stop, that they weren’t getting anywhere and some elderly person or kid would get crushed, but the screaming and shouting was deafening, and she understood people in a frenzy had no capability to listen. As she drew her eyes away from the entrance, she spotted a man behaving oddly at the back of the group. It took her a moment to realize the impossible notion that he was attacking people from behind—biting their arms and back. It struck her then, like being jabbed by a pin, when she spotted the unique colored green T-shirt. It was the dead man she had covered with the sheet in the examination room. The entirety of what she was witnessing didn’t make sense. Rage took over.
“Leave them alone!” she screamed, but even to herself, the voice sounded muted and ineffective. Nobody stopped. Nobody looked at her. Nobody was helping. People were too busy trying to get out of their own personal hell.
Now, knowing what was happening, the adrenaline kicked in. She couldn’t stop all the chaos, but she could help those in need, and she raced to the nearest person, an elderly man near the edge of the crowd who had fallen on the floor. Juliet crouched, took him by the arm, and helped him onto his feet. He thanked her, and she guided him to the fringes, furthest away from the mayhem. The rest of the crowd had parted from the other side of the room, where a second man was behaving similarly to the man at the door. He staggered about, groping for those close to him, blood smeared over his face and hands. Nearby, a woman lay over another figure, her head buried deep in the body’s chest cavity, which had been ripped apart and spread about like discarded streamers.
Juliet edged her way closer. The push and shove of the large crowd enveloped her. People didn’t know which way to go. Some had fallen and were crawling for escape. Others were using whatever cover they could find—people, chairs, sofas. Juliet slipped on the bloody tiles, but regained her balance. Others were slipping on it too. A taller man with grey hair and stubbly cheeks lost his footing. He reached out and grabbed her arm, almost pulling her down. Juliet managed to stay upright, and he was able to do the same. He nodded thanks, his cheeks taut, his eyes exaggerated with fear.
Commotion from the entrance drew people’s attention. Those closer began to scream louder. Juliet shoved her way through until only a couple of people were in front of her, but they were pushing back, trying to avoid involvement. The dead man she had covered with the sheet lay over his victim. He had gotten his bony hands around her neck and dragged her to the ground and nobody had done anything to stop him. Breathing hard, Juliet pushed to the front, and suddenly she was out of the crowd, on her own and exposed. Her vision fell on the woman lying beneath the attacker. Glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, and Juliet spotted a dark, nasty wound on the woman’s neck. Where was Larry, the goddamn security guard? The green T-shirt man peered up at her from his feast with blazing hunger in his eyes. Cold terror ran up her spine. Then the victim—a young, dark-haired woman—turned her head, and Juliet groaned. She was still alive.
Juliet spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall and ran for it. She unclasped it and lifted the thing off its support hook then swung around and pointed it at the man. But when she pressed the lever, nothing happened. Her finger pumped it again, and then she realized the pin was still in. She yanked it out, tossed it aside, and squeezed.
A jet of white foam shot out and struck the man in the face, causing his head to snap back. Juliet moved closer, firing it into his eyes. He writhed backwards and landed on the floor, clawing at his face.
Two men brandishing makeshift weapons ran out from the crowd and began hitting the attacker. One appeared to be a biker, with a shaved head and a long grey beard. He swung a chair over his head and brought it down on the man’s skull. Juliet turned away as the crowd shifted again and she was once more caught up in the mix. Other peopl
e were attacking the second man near the entrance. People had begun to fight back, and she felt a flicker of hope. She wondered absently if anybody had called the police.
Sweat soaked through her uniform at the lower part of her back and under her arms. She stood in the center of the room amongst the terrified, injured, and dead, taking it all in with detached horror. It was far worse than she had first realized. More had succumbed to the attacks besides the brunette woman. Some were still moving, others only staring with their flat, lifeless eyes. The dead lay slumped and twisted over each other, chunks of flesh from their arms and necks, stomachs and cheeks. One had his skull cracked open. It was akin to a slaughterhouse—blood covered the floor in wild splashes, pooling in sections like rain puddles, and the two attackers now lay motionless.
Whilst many of the patients had fled out the front entrance, dozens remained in various states of disarray. Where were Deidre and Tara? Bianca and Frank? They had to clear the room and attend to those who needed it. She spotted the biker helping people up off the floor. Juliet pushed people aside and leapt clear of the main group, then turned back to them and pointed towards the corridor from where she had originally come. The examination and consultation rooms were full of dead bodies, but she had no choice other than to get these people clear of the carnage.
“That way!” she yelled. “Everybody head that way!” One or two people met her gaze. She shoved them towards the corridor. “I’m a nurse. Move that way!”
When they finally responded, urgency swept over them like a mist. Again, Juliet was pushed aside, bumped out of the way in their rush to get clear of the war zone.
She spotted Bianca amidst the crowd. Juliet stuck out a hand, which Bianca took, and pulled her aside. “Are you okay?” Bianca nodded, sobbing. Her hair was matted with sweat. Juliet put an arm around her, all prior thoughts forgotten.