CODE Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology

by Brown, Eric S. ; Besser, Rebecca; Wraight, Anastasia; Rosamilia, Armand; Ibarra, Bowie V. ; Christie, Peggy; Mahan, Jeremy L. ; Sinclair, Pembroke; Snow, Rebecca

  1:25 A.M.

  Panicked phone calls had been pouring in to the nurses' station for the last few minutes. People on every floor reported the same thing, infected attacking and killing everyone in their way. Doctor West and the other staff pushed desks, chairs and equipment in front of the stairwell doors in an attempt to barricade it. One of the infected reached its hand through the narrow opening of the closing door just as Doctor West was pushing a desk up against it. He managed to shove it back into the stairwell and secure the door before more arrived. The infected pounded on the stairwell door, trying to get in. There were dozens of them, moaning and pounding against the door. Doctor West turned to Susan and the two other nurses from the ER, "I have to go outside and try to get help."

  “They’ll shoot you on sight!” Susan protested.

  “What choice do we have? We’ve got to do something.”

  The nurses hesitated for a moment and Susan gave Doctor West a silent nod.

  "Ok, follow me, move!"

  They ran to the lobby. The spotlights shining in from outside were blinding.

  "Get behind the security desk." Doctor West panted as he ran for the front door. The doors didn't move when he came near. They were locked. He pounded on the glass in terror and frustration, “Chuck’s got the damn keys!”

  He picked up one of the hard wooden chairs from the lobby and slammed it into the glass; it cracked, but didn't break. He slammed the chair into it again and again making a little more progress with each blow, small pieces of the chair splintering away each time. On the sixth try, the glass gave way and came free from the frame. He used the chair to push the glass out, dropped it and ran outside waving his arms frantically.

  "Stop where you are and return to the building, this is your only warning. Repeat. Stop where you are and return to the building," the voice boomed through a loudspeaker.

  Doctor West continued to run; he waved franticly in the air, "Wait! Help us! Help us, damn you, something is loose in there and…" The chatter of automatic weapons fire filled the air, blood, tissue and bone erupted from Doctor West. He fell to the ground, dead before he landed.

  Susan held her hands over her ears and screamed. She screamed so loud and so long that her throat seemed to catch fire. The other two nurses with her did the same. In a moment of silence, Susan heard the barricade in front of the stairwell give way, the sound of running feet filled the hallway leading to the lobby. They had broken through. Susan grabbed the hands of the other two nurses and ran to the restroom; she dragged them in with her. They slammed the door. Susan locked it and prayed it would hold. She pushed the two others into a stall and followed them. She locked it. They were all sobbing and gulping air. Susan deliberately slowed her breathing. “Quiet,” she said firmly. “If they don’t hear us, they may forget we’re here.” The pounding continued on the door. She heard shrieks, moans, and growls as the infected swarmed into the lobby. Suddenly the pounding stopped, even though the moaning was just as loud. It was getting softer by the moment.

  1:37 A.M.

  The infected closest to the ER door ran through it and into the parking lot. Others followed closely. As they ran, the soldiers opened fire, hundreds of bullets ripped through the infected, tearing them to shreds. Pieces of them flew through the air, hitting the building and sidewalk like confetti at a parade. The gunfire continued and infected were ripped apart. Then, as quickly as it started, the gunfire stopped. Dozens of bodies lay on the ground, covered with bullet holes, other injuries and blood. Two soldiers with canisters that looked like fire extinguishers moved in and sprayed the entire area.

  Epilogue

  2:30 A.M.

  The sound of sporadic gunfire echoed through the hospital as the soldiers conducted clean and sweep operations for any remaining infected. The team of doctors from the CDC arrived and were debriefing and examining the nurses. Susan sat in the lobby, waiting for her turn.

  A large man sat down in front of Susan, he wore the same black protective clothing as the other soldiers. "We're going to need you to answer a few questions about tonight. After our doctors finish, please report back to me. My name is Colonel Ortiz. My men will know where to find me." Without waiting for a response, he went back outside.

  As she sat for a moment, breathing deeply after her encounter she felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She heard the sobs of a child and saw a small boy huddled in the corner under a green army blanket. She wiped away the tear with the back of her hand and went to sit beside him. Susan put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Hello, my name is Susan. What’s yours?”

  2:33 A.M.

  The soldiers of second platoon cleared out the fourth floor. They checked each room for infected. Most of the stragglers had already been put down, but their orders were to sweep and clear the entire hospital.

  The platoon sergeant led his men down the corridor past the isolation rooms. They checked each room before securing the door and moving to the next. They turned the corner and saw a body lying in the hallway outside a door marked "Maintenance". The sergeant ordered two squad members to check the body out. One soldier kept his weapon trained on the body as the other used his foot to turn it over. The solider closest to the body retched and vomit splattered the inside of the mask, covering the lenses The body had been torn open, entrails splattered onto the floor, there were bite marks all over the body and its head had been crushed. "Get another body bag over here. Extreme caution with this one, he's not exactly in good shape," the sergeant ordered. Two more members of his team came and dragged the body away from the door. The sergeant heard a thump from inside the closet, he held up his hand, signaling his men to be quiet. He motioned for two of his men to take positions on opposite sides of the door. Once they were in place, he held up three fingers counting down. Once the count hit zero, the men threw the door open as the rest took aim. A man in a white lab coat was sprawled on the floor. His name badge read 'Dr. S. Zimmerman M.D.', the man was soaked with the blood that had poured under the door, and his face sported three long, deep scratches. His eyes, nose, and ears were bleeding. The sergeant raised his weapon and covered the Doctor. "Medic, give me a sit rep, now."

  The medic rushed into the closet and inserted a small probe into the man's ear. It beeped and turned bright red after several seconds.

  "Infected. Stage three."

  "Get a gurney over here," the sergeant ordered. "Get this man strapped down and get him outta here. The Colonel wants a subject. Looks like this poor bastard just volunteered."

  Mommy and Daddy

  By Bowie V. Ibarra

  “Mommy, am I going to die?”

  “No, mi’jo. You’re going to be alright.”

  The little boy was close to tears. Fear laced every word.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Jerry. I’m sure.”

  It was a lie and she knew it. The fact was she didn’t know the answer at all. But she wasn’t going to tell that her only son, her baby.

  When she saw the beginning of the epidemic just a day ago, she never imagined it would be at her door in south Texas the very next day. The 24-hour news cycle always made things seem unreal and theatrical. The saturation of news almost made real news seem irrelevant. In fact, if a celebrity wasn’t involved, it didn’t seem like something important.

  However, her son being bit by the family dog was real. It was relevant, very relevant. The so-called “Biter Syndrome” (as Matt Lauer and the news media had christened the medical crisis just that morning on The Today Show) was an epidemic sweeping the nation. It was affecting not only humans, but pets as well, who became “Biters” just like their human counterparts.

  Early news reports had claimed cats, dogs, even gerbils and birds, were now being affected. When the family dachshund, Emily McFartface, bit Jerry at dinner the night before, it wasn’t long before Jerry developed symptoms of Biter Syndrome. Once that happened, there was no question mama bear was going to take baby bear to the doctor.

  “Is Emily McFartfac
e going to be okay?” asked Jerry. “Are we going to take him to the vet?” He was gazing at his bandaged arm. Blood had soaked through the white gauze.

  “You’re stepdad might have put her down already.”

  “He’s my dad, mom,” groaned Jerry. “Why did he put him down?”

  “Because she was sick, baby.”

  “Don’t we have medicina for him?”

  “Her, baby,” clarified his mom. “And no. Unfortunately, we didn’t have any medicina for the dog.”

  “Awwww,” groaned Jerry as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. The gate where she collected a ticket for parking was open, so she went ahead and drove in. It was crowded, and clearly a busy day at the hospital. She was hoping it was not so busy at the pediatric section of the hospital.

  As she picked her way through the crowd with Jerry in tow, his small hand holding hers, she couldn’t help but notice there was a strong military presence. They wore patches on their arms clearly labeled CDC.

  It was one of those people clad in fatigues who signed them in to the hospital at a desk set up near the entrance. Mama Bear was lucky to find a chair in a waiting room, and she put her little boy on her lap. He snuggled close to her. She could feel his fever rising.

  “I’m so hot,” he whispered.

  “It’s going to be okay, baby. They’re going to help you.”

  “Is dad coming?”

  She wanted to correct him again. It hurt her to hear him call her 2nd husband that. Instead, she said, “I hope so.”

  Time passed slowly, but the line for check-in grew surprisingly fast. Mama Bear smiled. They had been fortunate to beat the rush.

  Someone turned up the volume of the TV that was in the waiting room. It was set on the news channel. The report caught her attention.

  “… has spread exponentially. Hospitals across the country and world have been affected and congested for hours today with no end in sight. People affected with, or in most cases, suspected of being affected by Biter Syndrome are lining the halls of hospitals. Fever, delusions, and dementia have been reported, but those symptoms have not been confirmed as linked to the Syndrome. The US government has ceased all flights. The panic is making the president consider lobbying congress, the members that have not returned to their congressional districts, to put the country in a state of emergency. The ….”

  Someone then stood up and changed the channel. The lady clicked through the stations before finding a rerun of “Dancing with the Stars.”

  “Thank you,” came a chorus of relieved voices. It was as if the news was producing some kind of agony in them. The lack of facts, or just general ignorance, made the channel-change provide relief.

  Mama Bear was appalled and was going to say something when a muffled voice called a familiar name.

  “Geraldo Prado?”

  “Here,” she called out amid the mass of people. Hope tapped her heart.

  A military figure approached, wearing a mask over her nose and mouth. The figure motioned for them to approach. Mama Bear lifted her baby on her shoulder and walked to the soldier, smiling.

  “Is this Geraldo Prado?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Your name?”

  “Tracy Prado.”

  Tracy was suddenly nudged out of the way by a skinny woman. The woman started shouting in the soldiers face.

  “Hey, I was here before her!”

  Tracy looked at the lady, who was just another agitated Mama Bear trying to make it happen for her charge. She was holding a sick child about Jerry’s age in her arms.

  “I want her spot,” demanded the lady.

  “Lady, you are not next,” said the CDC rep. “Her name is next on the list.”

  “Where’s my name?” the lady asked, trying to pull the clipboard into her view.

  “C’mon, lady,” said Tracy. “Don’t pull this shit now. I got a kid, too.”

  Before the agitated lady could respond, the CDC lady just shoved the woman aside, saying, “Get over there and sit down or we will kick you out.”

  “This is bullshit,” the lady shouted before standing down and returning to her seat.

  Tracy just grinned, turning to follow the CDC person. But she did throw the middle finger in the general direction of the lady, who returned the bird in kind.

  Into the next hallway, there was another masked CDC soldier, who asked Tracy to put Jerry on a gurney that was lined against the hallway with a dozen others. Tracy couldn’t help but notice some of the patients on those gurneys were gagged.

  “Mommy, what’s in their mouth?”

  “They’re sick, baby,” said Tracy, trying to distract Jerry.

  Tracy was handed a facemask and asked to wait. She looked back and could see the other Mama Bear yelling at her from a distance. She put on the mask as Jerry spoke.

  “Is dad coming?”

  Stepdad, she thought. “I think so, baby.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, Jerry?”

  “Your mask makes you look scary.”

  It was an innocent statement. His face was filled with fear, and it hurt Tracy. It almost made her cry.

  She might have started crying, but then a CDC person arrived.

  “What’s the situation?” the masked female CDC person asked.

  “Bit by a dog,” said Tracy, trying to be concise.

  The CDC lady took Jerry’s temperature and blood pressure. She documented it before taking the bandage off to look at the bite amid the shuffling people of the crowded hallway.

  The wound had turned a dark green, making the CDC official’s eyes bulge. She replaced the bandage with a new one.

  “We’re going to get you some help, my friend,” said the CDC lady. Jerry could feel her smile under the mask.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, relieved. Surely they would make the pain go away.

  The CDC lady pulled Tracy aside and whispered. “I need you to be strong and listen to me. Your son is very sick. I don’t know how much longer he has.”

  Now the CDC lady was lying. After seeing the wound, she knew he didn’t have long. Tracy didn’t want to do anything else but believe there was hope.

  “Is it Biter Syndrome?” asked Tracy.

  “We just don’t know at this point. We’ll be right back to draw blood. When we return, we will… we will have to gag him.”

  “Okay,” groaned Tracy. “Okay.”

  It was the last thing she expected to hear. She tried to keep herself together, fighting back tears, tears that had been fighting to fall. Staying in control, she returned to Jerry.

  “Mommy.”

  “Yes, Jerry.”

  “I love you.”

  It was a punch to the gut. She whimpered, fighting the emotional pain as much as she could. “I love you, too, baby boy.”

  “I’m not a baby,” he said back. His breath stressed, struggling to get out of his mouth. “I’m six.”

  Her iPhone tinkled, signaling a text.

  “Is that daddy?”

  She pulled the phone from her purse. Unlocking the screen, she saw the text was, indeed, from his stepfather.

  “It’s him, baby boy,” she said, smiling under the mask. “It’s him.”

  Smiling, she read the text:

  Where the hell are you bitch

  She frowned, closing the text screen.

  “Oh, great,” whispered Jerry, smiling. “I’m so glad daddy is on his way.”

  Tracy sent a text to the stepfather with their location. “I’m glad he’s on the way, too, baby boy,” she said, hiding her despair with all the skill of a world-class poker player. “I’m glad, too.”

  “Mommy,” said Jerry.

  “What, mi’jo?”

  “I hurt,” he whispered.

  Tracy knelt down beside the gurney, moving to her son’s level. People trying to maneuver through the crowded hallway made faces of annoyance at her. But she ignored them while still trying to make room for them.

  “What hurts, baby boy?
”

  “Mom,” groaned Jerry. “I’m not a baby.”

  “Oh, mi’jo,” said Tracy, fighting back tears. “You’re always going to be my baby.”

  “Oh, mom,” he groaned.

  “What hurts?”

  “My arms. My legs. My body. It hurts.”

  “Oh, baby,” said Tracy, letting a set of tears roll down each cheek. “We’re going to find you some help, mi’jo.”

  An intense heartache was torturing her heart with fear, with helplessness. They were both at the mercy of the malady. Whatever it was, it was violating her maternal need to help her baby.

  She knew, in her heart, her son’s condition was dire. She could see it in Jerry’s eyes. She saw it in the eyes of the masked lady from the CDC. It was the most horrible feeling she had ever felt in her life. It was as if a vise was placed on her heart, slowly cranking it tight, crushing it.

  “Mommy,” said Jerry.

  “Yes, son?”

  “I want to be a doctor when I grow up.”

  “Really,” said Tracy, hoping the conversation would help ease both their pain. “Why is that?”

  “Because they help people and little kids. And animals.”

  “Well, a pediatrician helps little kids,” said Tracy. “But a veterinarian helps animals. Not a pediatrician.”

  “Eggs are like Fruit Loops, too.”

  Tracy’s heart skipped a beat. Jerry was losing his mind. Dementia: a late symptom of Biter Syndrome.