“Long day,” one of the men said as he watched the first truck back up to the loading dock.
“Sure was,” another replied, “but we got a lot done. I think everybody’s going to be happy to see all the supplies we picked up today.”
“Of course, we’ve still got to unload all those supplies.”
“Why’d you have to remind me?”
One of the men knocked on the door and requested some assistance with unloading the trucks. Before long, most of the available residents were helping to bring in the supplies. The trucks were full of furniture, clothing, food, and other items that the residents of St. Mary’s might find useful.
Marian was thrilled when she saw the large number of books for the library, though the children weren’t quite so happy when a portion of the load turned out to be schoolbooks.
“We’re going to go get more if you have room,” one of the bikers told her. “A couple buildings are on fire, just a block over from the library, so I don’t know if it’ll be standing in another day or two. We think we’d better get what we can now.”
“Just be careful,” she said. “The books aren’t worth dying over.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We have this down.”
~*~
Inside Chuck’s room, Bull had fallen asleep. Chuck had been growing weaker by the moment as fever began to rage through his body. He had tried to convince himself that he was just sick from being trapped in the wreckage of the damp, cold building, but deep down he knew better. He had scrapes and scratches all over his body, and when the dead man had grappled with him, he’d left a slimy substance on Chuck’s hands and ankle. Worse yet, the corpse had oozed something all over Chuck’s face. Odds were good that the virus, or whatever it was, had found its way into his body through at least one of his open wounds. He’d done his best to wipe the slimy substance from his flesh on the way to the hospital, terrified that his rescuers would kill him on the spot if they knew the truth. Fortunately, the idiots had believed him when he’d said that he hadn’t had any contact with the dead. He trusted the doctors not to do anything stupid, but he was worried about the bikers. He knew their type, and they’d probably kill him rather than try to help him. He was tempted to talk to the doctor, though he wasn’t sure there was anything that could be done if he was infected. It’s what he’d heard on the TV before the signal had been cut off, but that had been days earlier. Maybe they’d figured out a way to treat it in the meantime.
Chuck faded in and out of consciousness, alternating between chills and fever. He wiped sweat from his face once more as his temperature rose. Minutes later, the chills came back, causing him to shake as he wrapped his blankets tightly around himself.
Maybe I should call for the doctor, he told himself, reaching out for the bell.
He looked over at the sleeping biker, and he just knew if he rang the bell, the biker would wake, and he’d walk over to see what the problem was. The doctor wouldn’t even have time to get there before the biker finished Chuck off.
He moved his hand away from the button and closed his eyes again, drifting off into unconsciousness.
~*^*~
~21~
St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing
“Where’s the other guard?” Dr. Martinez asked, coming to a stop at the nurses’ station.
“Inside the room,” Moose said. “He’s watching the inside of it, and I’m watching the outside.”
Dr. Martinez looked puzzled but said nothing more about it.
“Would you mind calling Jack on the radio to see if he can send someone up with a few gallons of water?” he asked. “We had some stockpiled, but we’ve used it all.”
The building had electric pumps to bring water to the higher floors, which had been an ongoing problem since the power had been going out. Moose had been the one to haul water to the higher floors on more than occasion.
“Sure, Doc,” he said. He made the call as Dr. Martinez left to go back down the hall. Everybody was busy unloading the trucks, but Moose was told that someone would be up with water as soon as possible. When he put the radio away, Marla reluctantly said, “I should do my rounds.”
“Maybe I can go with you, as long as I can still see the room I’m guarding.”
“That would be great,” Marla said, giving him a smile.
Moose walked with her to a patient room, though he stayed outside so he could technically say he was still guarding the door he’d been assigned to watch.
The patient in the first bed was covered with a sheet.
Marla uncovered him and saw that the man’s eyes were open, and his mouth was twisted into a grimace of pain. One hand clutched his gown tightly over his heart, but he wasn’t moving.
“Does he do that often?” Moose asked, glancing inside the room.
“Only when he’s dead,” Marla replied. “I guess I don’t need to take care of him, after all.”
She walked over to the patient in the next bed and said, “This one won’t be around much longer, either. We’re running out of oxygen in the tanks.”
The man was awake, and his eyes grew big at the news.
“Huh?” he asked, the word muffled because of the oxygen mask.
“Oh, nothing,” Marla smiled.
Moose’s eyes followed Marla around the room, though now and then he glanced at the dead patient.
“What’s going to happen to the dead guy?” he finally asked. “I mean, do you think he’ll turn into one of those . . . things? Is someone going to take him to the morgue?”
“I don’t know,” Marla said, frowning at the corpse as the other patient began to hyperventilate. “I guess I’d better call for a guard. Oh, wait. You’re a guard! You can take care of him.”
She looked at Moose expectantly.
Moose looked at the corpse again and then at its nervous roommate.
“Maybe if I wait, I could take them both at the same time,” he suggested. “You know, kill two birds in a bush or something like that.”
He approached the bedridden man, who was now trying to sit up.
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but how are you feeling? I mean, you think you might last a while?”
“I-I . . .” The patient began to speak through his mask, but Marla interrupted.
“Just ring the bell if your roommate starts to, you know, get up or something.”
She turned to Moose, “Let’s just finish our rounds and come back later. Maybe he’ll finally decide what he’s going to do by then.”
As Marla and Moose turned to leave, the patient forced himself to his feet, his face ashen. He grabbed at his chest with hands that looked more like claws. Moments later, he plunged face down onto the bed, stone cold dead.
“I knew it,” Marla said. “I didn’t think he’d make it much longer.”
“Well, that was convenient,” Moose said with a bit of surprise in his voice. He picked up the body and piled it atop the other. Looking toward the floor, he stepped on a lever at each wheel on the bed and started to roll it out of the room. It was bulky and he had a little trouble getting it around the second bed.
Marla watched as he struggled to get it out into the hallway, where he hesitated.
“Should I wait for more, or just come back after I take care of these?”
“You might as well get rid of those,” Marla said, “just in case they turn into zombies.”
“Oh, wait,” he said, “I’m supposed to be guarding the other room. I’d better stay.”
He glanced down at the bed with the two bodies on it, not sure what to do with them in the meantime. Finally, he rolled them to the door he was supposed to be watching, pushing a gurney out of the way to make room.
“They should be fine here until Hawk comes back,” Moose told Marla.
They both looked up when Dr. Martinez walked around the corner and came to a dead stop.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, hurrying over to look at the two bodies.
“Well, thes
e patients both died,” Marla explained, “so I was going to have Moose take them to the morgue, but he’s on guard duty.”
“You don’t send a body to the morgue until one of the doctors examines it, Marla,” Dr. Martinez said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve told you this so many times.”
He checked for vital signs and finally stepped back with a sigh. “It must have been his heart. It’s been touch-and-go with him for the last two days.”
He debated a moment then said, “Moose, why don’t you just go ahead and take them to the morgue. As far as we know, they don’t reanimate unless they’ve been infected, but I’m not comfortable with having them here, either. Did anybody bring water up yet?”
“No. They’re unloading the truck, so it could be a while.”
“Could you grab a couple gallons while you’re downstairs? We really need it. One of us will watch the door until you get back, but hurry.”
“I will,” Moose said, before rolling the bed to the elevator. He stood at the door for a full two minutes before he remembered that the power was off. Sighing, he flung one of the bodies over his shoulder and started down the stairs.
Another bell began to ring, and Dr. Martinez turned to Marla.
“Watch the door, and come get me if anything happens,” he said before hurrying down the hall.
~*~
When Chuck opened his eyes again, he had changed. His head turned slowly toward the door where voices could be heard from the hallway. He forced his stiff body into a standing position, a quiet moan escaping his lips. As he shuffled toward the door, the IV stand began to roll along behind him, one wheel squeaking each time it made a revolution. Though momentarily distracted by the noise, Chuck’s attention was soon caught by the sound of Bull’s snoring. Slowly, he turned toward the back wall where the big biker was asleep in the chair. The dead man lurched forward, dragging his bare feet across the tiled floor. The neck of the big biker was exposed, and Chuck’s hunger surged. Overtaken by his need, he leaned over and bit down hard, tearing into the flesh of Bull’s throat with a growl.
Bull woke with a start, trying to shove his attacker away, though his injured arms were of little use. The pain was immediate, yet it took him a moment to realize that the warm liquid he felt seeping into his clothing was blood, spurting from the open wound in his neck. He opened his mouth to call for help, but all that came out was a wet gurgle.
Chuck’s blood-covered face moved in closer again, and Bull pushed back with his unrestrained arm, ignoring the pain. He knew he had to get to his sidearm, but to do it, he’d have to let go of the ghoul that he was managing to hold back. The biker continued to struggle as his vision began to go gray, and once Bull was too weak to fight back, Chuck settled down to feast on him.
~*~
Marla looked up, thinking she had heard something in the room that was being guarded. She stepped closer, reaching a hand out for the doorknob but stopped when Debbie and Hawk came down the stairs.
“Hey, where are Bull and Moose?” Hawk asked, noticing that the door was unguarded.
“Bull’s inside the room, and Dr. Martinez sent Moose to take a couple of bodies down to the morgue.”
“A couple of bodies?” Debbie asked. “I was only gone for half an hour, Marla. What happened?”
Marla shrugged and said, “One was dead when I went into the room, and the other one died a few minutes later. Just one of those things, I guess.”
“I’ll stick around until Moose gets back,” Hawk said.
Debbie smiled at him and said, “Good. The time goes faster when you’re here.”
“I was just going to check on the patient,” Marla said.
“No. I’ll do it,” Debbie told her. “I’ve got to change his IV bag, but the patient in 527 needs his incision checked for infection. He’ll need a new bandage, too. Can you handle that?”
Marla started to protest, but Debbie added, “I’ll check on this patient then take care of the catheters and the colostomy bags.”
“Oh,” Marla said, making a face. “Sure, I’ll go change the bandage.”
“And check for infection,” Debbie reminded her. “If it’s red and puffy, tell me.”
She started to open Chuck’s door, but Hawk said, “Let me check it, first.”
“It’s okay, Hawk. Bull’s already in there,” Debbie reminded him, opening the door.
She stepped inside the room, closing the door quietly behind her. There was a little light coming through the window, but it took her a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkened room. The first thing she noticed was that the patient was not in his bed. Her eyes darted toward the restroom. The door was open, but it was possible that he’d left it that way to allow in what little light was in the room.
“Chuck?” she whispered, stepping over to the restroom.
Her attention was caught by movement near the window. She was able to make out a human form silhouetted against the dim light that was seeping through the blinds.
As she stepped closer, she could see that it was the patient, and he seemed to be bent over, grasping Bull who was sitting in a chair near the window. It appeared to Debbie that the man had stumbled against the chair on his way back from the restroom. She could see the long legs of the biker sticking out, and she assumed he’d accidentally tripped Chuck. Hurrying over, she touched the patient on the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
When he straightened his body and turned his head, the sight that met Debbie’s eyes paralyzed her. Chuck had a handful of intestines, which he tossed away when he saw the nurse. He came at Debbie before she could make herself move. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, but it didn’t stop Chuck from taking a bite of flesh from her face as she tried to turn away.
~*^*~
~22~
St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing
The door flew open, and Hawk raced in, the lantern light from the hallway illuminating the scene for him. He immediately pulled Debbie away from her attacker and rushed her out of the room, realizing that there was nothing he could do for Bull. He pulled the door closed behind him then turned to help Debbie.
“Oh, my God,” he said, when he saw her face.
“Betadine,” she said, touching the ragged wound on her cheek with a shaking hand. “I need Betadine!”
“Where?”
Without answering, she turned and ran for a patient room, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
Hawk grabbed the radio and yelled into it that there was an emergency on the fifth floor. He hurried to catch up with Debbie, reaching the room just as she pulled a plastic bottle out of a drawer and shoved it at him.
“Pour it on!” she told him, leaning her head over the sink. “Hurry!”
“How much?” he asked.
“All of it,” she said, her voice quavering. “Soak it.”
Hawk poured the brown fluid over the wound on Debbie’s face as she gritted her teeth against the pain.
“Hawk,” Dumbo’s voice came over the radio, “I couldn’t understand your message. What’s going on?”
Ignoring the radio for the moment, Hawk kept pouring the solution over Debbie’s cheek, watching as the brown liquid mixed with her blood and ran down into the sink.
When he told her that the bottle was empty, she said, “I need a pressure bandage.”
Following her instructions, he found the gauze and placed a large amount of it against her cheek.
“Hold that,” he said while he grabbed the roll of adhesive tape from the drawer.
~*~
The door to Chuck’s room, which had not latched completely, slowly opened a crack. Moments later, dead fingers reached through the gap, finally managing to get the door open. The dead thing that used to be Chuck stepped out into the hall, still dragging the IV. Behind him, Bull’s eyes sprang open. Within in a minute, he also found the open door.
The two newly risen corpses stood and looked around as though not sure which way to go. When Marla’s voice wa
s suddenly heard down the hall, Chuck’s milky white eyes swiveled that way. He immediately turned toward the sound, with Bull shuffling behind him.
~*~
Hawk tried to tape the gauze on Debbie’s face, but the woman was crying, and the adhesive wouldn’t stick to the wet surface. He dried her tears and tried the tape again. Once he got it to stick, he told Debbie, “I need to go take care of those guys before someone walks into that room.”
“Please don’t leave me,” she begged, her tears soaking the bandage on her cheek.
“Okay, you’re right,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He grabbed the radio. “Just let me call Dumbo back.”
He called and explained what had happened, giving Dumbo the number of the room where he’d left Chuck and Bull.
Dumbo promised to come up and take care of it and let the others know.
Once Hawk was done with the call, he helped Debbie over to the bed so that she could lie down. He leaned over to kiss her forehead then stood beside her, taking her hand.
“I’m going to die,” she sobbed, reality finally hitting her. “I’m going to die.”
Hawk wasn’t sure what to say. She was probably right, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d never felt so helpless before.
“Maybe not, Debbie,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “Look, maybe that brown stuff we put on your face will kill the disease, like you said. Maybe we got it in time.”
He knew that the odds were against her. Not a single person who had been bitten had survived, as far as they knew, but he wasn’t going to take away the only thing she had left — hope.
Dead, But Not For Long (Book 2): Pestilence and Promise Page 18