“So, you’ve just been sitting in here and what? Waiting for the whole thing to blow over?”
No one answered.
He stared at them, hoping he would miraculously be blessed with the ability to read minds so he could figure out what they were thinking. He vowed to keep Jenny safe, but he didn’t know why he was forced to help them, too. Weren’t they capable of taking care of themselves? Dillon mumbled under his breath and grabbed a chair. He pried off the cover to the vent and glanced inside. All he could see was darkness. He asked for a flashlight and shone it as far as the beam would go.
“It looks stable enough. I’m willing to risk it.”
A thumping resounded at the door. They all looked at the monitor and noticed Mr. James and the others from the waiting room had finally made it to the door.
“I’m not waiting around here to see if they make it in. We go one at a time. Jenny, you’re first.”
She backed away from him. “No. I can’t. What if there are others in the garage?”
Dillon took a deep breath. His patience was wearing more than thin, but he had to keep his anger in check. Someone had to get them out.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go first. Jenny, you come behind me.” He grabbed a radio off the top of the file cabinet. “I’ll let you know when I’m over there.” He turned to the security guard. “Give me your gun. Just in case.”
The security guard shook his head. “We don’t have weapons.”
Dillon set his jaw. He fought back the urge to punch the three men in the face. How could they be so passive? Didn’t they realize the direness of the situation they were in? Didn’t they realize how close they were to dying? He mentally forced himself to calm down. He reminded himself that without them, he wouldn’t know how to get out of the hospital. Their inability to act was actually saving he and Jenny’s lives, and he had to be thankful for that. Thankful, but not happy.
Without saying another word, he climbed into the vent. He crawled slowly. The metal popped and bent underneath his weight, but he was sure it would hold. He could hear the creatures beneath him, hissing and pounding on the door. The pounding seemed to weaken. He imagined the creatures below him, growing more and more curious with every pop and creak of the metal. He could see them moving from the door, their heads cocked to the side as they shambled around the room, looking for the source of the sound. They stopped beneath the vent, their heads tilted upward, their glazed eyes staring at nothing. They extended their arms and opened their mouths, waiting for something to fall into their throats, like newly hatched baby birds.
Dillon wiped the sweat off his forehead and felt it drip down his back. He desperately wanted to hurry, but he didn’t want to risk falling through. He could see the cover at the other end. Almost there. The metal gave way to a cement block, and Dillon plopped onto it. He took a deep breath, taking a moment to relish his accomplishment and collect what was left of his wits.
After a few minutes, he turned and stared through the slats. He could see three black vans, one had its back doors open. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He couldn’t see anything moving, so he positioned himself so his feet were against the cover. He kicked several times before it clattered onto the floor. He stared into the garage for a long time. Still, nothing moved, so he made his way to the floor. The door was to his right, and the sun streamed into the garage. He wanted so badly to make a run for it, bask in the rays and pretend like the day hadn’t happened, but he had to get Jenny out. He grabbed the radio.
“I’m through and it’s safe. C’mon over.”
After 20 minutes, the group assembled in the garage. The security guard grabbed a set of keys for the van, and they piled in. Dillon was thankful the security guard decided to drive. The pain was creeping back into his stomach, accompanied by a sense of dread. He sat in the passenger seat, while Jenny sat on the floor behind him. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her face stained with tears, and she stared blankly at the floor. The other two braced themselves on the opposite side of the vehicle.
Dillon stared out the window as they pulled away from the hospital. Smoke rose from a top floor window, and bodies littered the sidewalk in front of the emergency room. A few zombies jerked and struggled away from the building. Dillon chewed on his thumbnail. He couldn’t help but think of the irony that he was leaving the hospital in the coroner’s van, and he wondered what the dispatcher would say if he called her now.
He reached behind his seat and took Jenny’s hand. He fulfilled his promise of getting her out of the hospital, but he wasn’t sure he could keep her safe outside. The only thing he knew for certain was that they were going to be together.
Broken
Jeremy L. Mahan
Sam decided walking to the corner store for a pack of cigarettes and a newspaper would be a great idea. It was a bright, sunny summer morning, so why not? He called to Lacey, his beautiful wife, as he was leaving, “Babe, I’m walking to the store. I’ll be back in a bit. Need anything?”
“No thank you, honey. See you in a bit,” she replied from the kitchen.
Sam walked out the front door and felt the sun shining down on his skin. After a moment, he started down the brick walkway that led to the sidewalk, were he turned right. It was a beautiful June morning, and it was going to be a scorcher today. Maybe later, he’d swing by the butcher to get some nice fat, juicy steaks to throw on the grill. And a six-pack of that new microbrew he and Lacey liked so much. But for now, Sam was only interested in smokes and a newspaper.
As Sam reached the next block, he saw his neighbor, Pete, sitting on his front step. Pete didn’t seem to be sitting so much as he was leaning. He looked incredibly pale, and his eyes had a glassy quality to them, as well. Sam turned up Pete’s sidewalk, calling to him as he approached.
“Pete, you doing okay, man? You don’t look so hot,” Sam said.
Pete made a short, guttural sound as he struggled to pull himself up off the step. The sound unsettled Sam, almost making him back up a step. Instead, he decided to try to help his neighbor.
“Here, let me help you up, buddy,” Sam said, reaching a friendly hand towards Pete.
As Sam held his hand out, Pete suddenly lunged for it, grabbing his arm and pulling it towards his open, slobbering mouth. Pete’s eyes rolled up, showing just the whites, and his face was drained to a washed-out greenish color. A layer of sweat had broken over his skin, giving him a slick sheen. He made a sharp grunting sound that reminded Sam of a dog’s bark.
Sam stumbled backward, tripping over an uneven part of the sidewalk. He went down on his back, yanking his arm free of Pete’s grip, saving himself from having a bite taken out of him. Because to Sam, it looked like Pete was trying to do just that; take a bite out of him.
Sam scrambled to his feet, keeping an eye on Pete, who had also fallen over. He stumbled clumsily away from Pete, not quite able to grasp what was happening. He began to talk to Pete, speaking calmly, even though he was right on the verge of panic.
“Pete, what are you doing, man? What the hell has gotten into you?”
Pete’s only reply was another dog-like bark. He was up again in a flash. He lunged at Sam, swiping at his face. Sam backpedaled, arms pin-wheeling, eyes wide, with an ‘Oh crap!’ look plastered across his face. Pete was right in front of him now, arms flailing, grabbing for Sam. Sam stumbled into the street. He vaguely remembered stepping down from the curb. He was batting Pete’s hands away as well as trying to keep his balance. He heard the car engine, but it never really registered in his head. It was background noise, white static in the chaos of his thoughts. Then he heard the horn and turned his head to the right as he grabbed Pete’s flailing hands.
Sam’s eyes went wide as he saw the car, mere feet away and not slowing down. But time seemed to slow down for Sam. He noticed that one of the headlights was burned out, though he couldn’t understand why the headlights were even on, it being such a bright morning. He noticed the driver of the car, looking into the man’s
face. He looked pale, his eyes barely open. The same sweaty sheen that covered Pete covered this man, as well.
Sam felt the car hit him, and his right leg snap. Then he was flying through the air. He landed hard on his left side, breaking his arm. His head pounded into the pavement and he blacked out.
He awoke briefly in the back of an ambulance. He couldn’t quite grasp what had happened. And he was in a lot of pain. He was going to pass out, he could tell, but he thought there was something he needed to tell the EMT. Something about Pete. But he couldn’t seem to remember.
* * *
Sam awoke with a start. He had just had the most vivid nightmare. It was something about his neighbor, Pete, and a car accident. He turned his head to look at the alarm clock when pain enveloped his entire body. He fought against it, but it was overwhelmed him, pushing him back into unconsciousness.
He came to several minutes later, his body still on fire, most of the pain emanating from his right leg and left arm. But his chest was also singing out bloody hell, and his head felt as if it were full of crushed glass, grinding against his skull, making him believe it would burst at any moment. When it didn’t, he slowly looked around the room.
He was in a hospital bed, in a room smelling of antiseptic, the lights in the room set low. The beeping of the monitors connected to his body was the only sound, aside from his labored breathing. He saw an IV in his right arm, taped below the crook of his elbow. He also noticed the hospital ID bracelet hanging around his wrist. He looked at it. The admission date said Saturday, June 17th. He looked around the room for a clock, seeing one hanging on the wall.
It was 4:37, and he knew from the light radiating from outside his hospital room window that it was afternoon. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He had shaved Friday morning, and the stubble on his face wasn’t more than a days’ worth, so he guessed it was still Saturday.
He saw a small pitcher of water on the over-bed table and grasped it weakly with his right hand. Slipping from his grasp, the pitcher soaked Sam with its contents, landing beside him on the bed. His body warned him against moving too much, sending fresh spikes of pain through him. He gritted his teeth against the pain, breathing slowly, trying to fight the gray that seemed to be crowding his vision.
When he looked at the clock again, it was 6:12. He had lost the battle with the pain, sliding back into unconsciousness for almost two hours. He was still damp from the water and the pitcher still lay where it landed. He took his time now, moving slowly, breathing through the pain. He looked around his bed for the nurse call button, spying it nestled between the mattress and the bedrail. He gently reached for it, mildly pleased that his vision didn’t begin to gray out again. When he had the remote in his hand, he looked for the button that would call a nurse. It seemed odd to Sam that nobody had come to check on him.
As a matter of fact, it seemed odd that he didn’t hear the usual sounds associated with hospitals. No hushed conversations in the hallway, no carts wheeling by, no nurses or doctors to be seen in the limited view his open door afforded him. He pressed the call button, and almost instantly heard a quiet beeping coming from the hallway, not too far away. He must be right next to the nurse’s station.
Then he heard another sound coming from the hallway, near the nurse’s station. It was an odd sound, and Sam couldn’t quiet grasp what the noise was. It sounded like breathing, but it had a harsh growl underneath it. Sam remembered hearing Pete make a sound like that, as Pete was trying to take a bite out of him. That was just before…
It all came back to Sam in a flash. Walking to the store, he had seen Pete, who hadn’t looked well. He remembered Pete making that growling sound, remembered being attacked. He could recall with absolute clarity everything that happened, the car striking him, sending him flying. He remembered seeing Pete fly through the air, recalled how Pete’s head had practically exploded, sending gore and brain matter spilling across the asphalt.
As the sound drew closer, a cold sweat broke out all over Sam’s body. He froze as panic rose inside him. He lay as still as he could, looking out the door of his room into the hallway. He saw a shadow begin to creep towards him. Then he saw a bloody hand grab the doorframe. It was followed shortly after by a face. The face was pale with a greenish hue, and blood covered its chin, dripping on the scrubs it wore.
As this pale creature entered the room completely, Sam eyes bulged out of their sockets. It was a man, or at a very recent time, had been a man. But it wasn’t a man now, it was something else. Sam saw the ‘mans’ insides hanging down from a gaping hole in its stomach. Its intestines hung down around its ankles, threatening to trip its clumsy feet. One of its ankles was bent at an awkward angle. Sam couldn’t imagine walking on an ankle that looked like that, but this thing lurching towards him didn’t seem to notice at all.
Sam lay there frozen, unable to move the slightest of muscles or make the smallest of sounds. He saw the creature’s mouth working, chewing, grinding. He saw a piece of meat fall from the things mouth, landing with a wet plop on the floor at its feet. It sent shivers through Sam’s entire being, yet he remained motionless, fear coursing through him. Sam’s paralysis finally broke when he saw the creature’s eyes. Sam watched as the things eyes rolled up to the whites, making a final lurching movement towards him. Just like Pete had done right before he had attacked Sam.
Sam reached out with his good right arm, groping for something to use as a weapon. His hand came upon the IV stand. He grabbed it and swung at the creature as quickly as he could. The pole made contact with the creature’s head, making it stagger back a step. But it didn’t fall down. It simply came forward again, arms stretched toward Sam, mouth working, making that barking growl.
Sam swung again, this time striking the thing’s head with one of the arms of the IV stand, piercing it. Sam tried to pry the pole from the creature, which sent a shiver through it. It sagged slowly to the floor, twisting the pole from Sam’s hand as it did. The pain ran rampant, sending him into unconsciousness again.
* * *
When Sam regained consciousness, it was 10:30. Darkness had settled outside, leaving only the dim lighting in his room to see by. He looked at the corpse on the floor, the IV pole still lodged in its head. Sam couldn’t believe this was happening. But he was beginning to understand that he was alone here. There were no nurses or doctors left to tend to him.
Sam decided he needed to formulate some kind of plan to make himself safe from whatever those things were. He wasn’t sure if any more of those creatures lurked in the hallways, but he had the feeling that where there was one, there were bound to be more. He needed to find his clothes, crutches, some painkillers and probably some antibiotics. He needed to find food, realizing that he was starving. But most of all, he needed to get home to Lacey. He needed to know she was safe, that she was okay.
He lay still for a moment, listening. The only sound coming from the hall was the beeping at the nurse’s station. It was his call for help and it would never be answered. He would just have to help himself.
Bracing himself against the pain, Sam slowly sat up in his bed. His head began to swim, but he took slow, deep breaths until his vision cleared. The pain in his head intensified, but soon began to taper off. He sat there for about five minutes, waiting for his body to stop its protest. Next, he pulled the IV from his arm. Then he reached towards his right leg, the one resting in a cast from his foot all the way to his mid-thigh. He pulled the blanket and sheet from it, and carefully lifted his leg with his good arm, twisting a little at a time, until he was able to gently set his foot on the floor. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but he remained awake. He was making slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
When Sam had both feet on the floor, he slowly stood up from the bed, holding the bedrail for support. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him. When it passed, he continued on. He had gotten out of bed on the side opposite from where the creature lay. He slowly hopped aroun
d the bed, keeping as much weight off his broken leg as possible. But he was weak from hunger and clumsy, bumping the bad leg several times in the process, sending waves of dizzying pain shooting through his body. He kept breathing and gritting his teeth, fighting against the pain, but then he lost his balance, toppling to the floor on top of the creature.
Sam screamed, pain tearing through his leg, his vision graying around the edges again. He fought against blacking out, realizing that he truly needed to get help. He had barely made ten steps when he had fallen. But he had fallen next to the IV pole. He used his good hand to pull the pole from the dead things head. He cleaned as much of the blood and gore from it as he could, the sheet he used turning crimson. He then set the pole on the floor, and used the bed to help him stand. When he was up, and the pain was manageable, he grasped the pole to use as a crutch.
He struggled to get to the door of his room, and when he finally made it, he leaned up against the doorframe, standing on his good leg, breathing heavily from the exertion. Sweat was pouring from his body, and he was beginning to shiver. He looked at the clock and saw that it was now almost 11:15. It had taken him almost 45 minutes to make it this far. He needed help and he needed it soon.
He looked around the door frame, taking in a horrific scene. His brain didn’t seem to process what his eyes were seeing. It took his mind several long moments before understanding set in. And even then, his mind railed against it, disgusted and horrified by what assaulted his senses.
There were several dead bodies lying around the nurse’s station. Most of them wore scrubs, but one had the remains of a police uniform on and another was wearing what was left of a set of work coveralls. All of the bodies had been torn and shredded into ragged and almost unrecognizable shapes, and gnawed limbs were strewn about carelessly. The entire floor was covered in what seemed to be gallons of blood. The body of the police officer lay in two pieces; his torso leaned against the wall, his legs several feet away, blood and bits of entrails spilling between the two halves. Sam retched, but was able to keep from vomiting.
CODE Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology Page 8