Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  “Something’s not right,” Mark whispered. “Something strange is going on, and I’m fixing to go down stairs and find out what.”

  For fear of getting stuck, it was best decided not to use the stairs in the lobby or even go onto the elevator due to the power being on reserve and running off of a generator. Down at the end of the long, dim first hall towards the back cut through, the emergency stairwell would be more than sufficient. At the end of the hall, the yellow sheath attached to a magnetic door alarm was removed. The alarm began to beep as the magnet became detached. The door slowly began to close behind him as he headed down the first flight of stairs to the second floor. The stairwell was dark, with the usually bright lights barely giving off anything of use. The further down, the darker it got. Having reached the back entrance of East Wing 2, through the window, the unit appeared dimly lit. From within the dark stairwell, not much could be seen except for the back cut through wall and a large generic palm tree painting occupying it.

  Upon opening the door, uneasiness was in the air. Everything seemed strange. What’s going on? Mark asked aloud. Mark unlatched the alarm and stepped out into the back corridor—fastening it back quickly to stop it from sounding. Almost immediately, from around the corner—a huge, heavyset woman foaming at the mouth appeared from nowhere—jumping angrily. The woman was sickly, vicious, and obese; she had been resting against the wall to support her weight.

  “Rrrah! Rrrah!” she roared from behind a hideous expression on her sickly, bloated face.

  The resident heftily rushed over—angrily pouncing by Mark’s surprise. A lot had been learned from watching countless horror movies; there was no doubt what was happening. Over the years, enough zombie flicks had opened his eyes to such an attack. Rounding the corner with nowhere to go—terror approached. The confrontation was imminent. With danger all around, more and more snarling former patients appeared: some creeping slowly down the long hall, salivating, while even more figures could be seen off in the distance stirring next to the nurses’ station. Mark stiffened his back to brace for impact. The heavyset zombie grabbed on to his scrubs and begun to try to force its way on top—swiping and clawing as it opened its mouth wide to take a bite. With little to no time to waste, Mark used the zombies own momentum against it as he stepped out of the way—causing it to slam hard into the side wall and onto the floor.

  Stepping around the fallen zombie, each possible direction seemed to be crowded. At least ten more monster-like zombies were now on their way down the dim hall, appearing ever so ominous. Mark quickly took a left from which he’d came, through the small cut through, attempting to get back to the stairwell, but to his dismay, a small gathering of zombies now occupied the area. All paths were now blocked; the only option left was to fight. Mark stopped briefly before proceeding to storm through the group of hideous creatures that were now extending their vicious hands and dead-set on grabbing him. Gaining a little speed, Mark decided to just barrel through the undead creatures standing in his way.

  Mark began to run swiftly as one grabbed his arm and another viciously latched on to his collar. He forced his way past—not even slowing down as he ducked his head and jerked his arm away forcefully before passing through. With the zombies turning slowly, following him down the next dimly lit hall, more and more grotesque zombies began to appear. Mark knew what was best, he needed not even look back; he had little doubt in his mind that zombies now gave chase. There was no doubt that they were going to be right there on his heels. Thinking quickly, while trying not to panic, it was figured behind any and all of the closed doors a killer zombie could lurk. Given very few options, and as a group of slow-moving undead began to surround him, Mark quickly unlatched the nearest door. In a hurry, he quickly attempted to unfasten the door latch. As the latch wiggled, panic made the process more difficult than it should have been. With time running out, as snarling zombies approached, Mark hadn’t a clue how close they were to pouncing. Finally, after a wiggle, the latch slid open—allowing him to hurry on into the shower room. Once inside, he quickly began to look around for objects to bar the door. A heavy mechanical lift was nearby, a device sometimes used to lift patients onto stretchers.

  Just as pounding could be heard from outside—the machine was sturdily wedged in the corner against the door—barring the undead monsters from forcing their way in. Mark was almost in shock, taking many short breaths to regain his composure. At first the shower room appeared empty. Looking around in the dimness for a way out, it seemed utterly impossible, but under the current circumstances, worth a try. The beating of the door was relentless, helping cloud Mark’s better judgment. As he looked around the shower for anything that could be used to defend himself, before looking behind one of the curtains to see what might be of use—from behind the curtain a crutch quickly hit him on his shoulder.

  Mark quickly grabbed the crutch, stopping the attack before he could be hit again. “Stop! Stop! I’m not infected.”

  “Sorry! I’m Jessica,” she explained. “I was bitten. Nurse Judy saved me from the attack and locked me in here.”

  “So, you’ve been bitten,” Mark said as the sound of clawing and scratching from the outer door became louder.

  Mark realized that Jessica was infected. He felt the need to help her, but to also be aware of the danger she poses. “I’m sorry!” Mark said as he got a clean towel to help clean and bandage her wound.

  Mark, having ripped the towel in two, took some hand sanitizer and poured it all over the towel, using it to clean the wound the best he could.

  “Maybe there’s a way out...we can try. The others escaped,” Mark said, wrapping the clean half towel around the wound before discarding the dirty one.

  Jessica cringed in pain as the alcohol from the sanitizer began to sting. “Well, I’m not going back out into that hall. You’ll have to send some help back for me. They’re nearly thirty of those monsters. I don’t really think it’s a good idea for you to go either.”

  “I have to go… I’ve got to get back up to the 3rd floor to warn the others. I just came here looking for Nancy. The phones have been down.”

  “If you get out, bring help.”

  Mark could tell she was in pain. “Don’t worry! I’m going to go find the others and get you out of here,” he said. “Even though the phones aren’t working, I heard the sounds of sirens nearby. They were working a fire on up the road I believe. It was only about thirty-minutes ago that me and Becky heard the sounds and could visibly see smoke collecting outside the facility from a few blocks up near the gas station. If I can get back to the stairway—I could warn the others and have you some help back soon,” Mark said, searching around the closet of the room for a weapon.

  Judging by his options, his only real option was to go out swinging. Mark, having found a metal crutch then a steel shower curtain—discarded the crutch before deciding that the heavy metal curtain rod would be the most useful.

  Near the door, the loud sound of scratching and clawing continued. Knowing at least ten zombies were out in the hall didn’t help. Mark felt as soon as he opened the door a horde of killer zombies were going to rush in and attack—endangering not just his life—but Jessica’s. Perhaps a distraction would work; maybe it could provide a way to get the zombies to move back up front and away from the back hall.

  Without doing something he might end up regretting, Mark looked around for an idea.

  “What are you hunting for?” Jessica asked.

  “It’s too risky out the door… I can still hear them clawing. I’m searching for a way to distract them,” Mark said quickly.

  With limited options, he took his steel rod and started bashing the lightly yellow colored shower tiles out of the wall—smashing them into tiny bits of dust and big rocky chunks. The metal rod stung his hand and vibrated with each impact as more and more tile began to shatter, falling to the ground revealing large water pipes lined with thick gray bricks. From behind the pipes—there was an expanse of darkness that seemed t
o go far beyond the wall—possibly leading to the next room or a dead-end. Pulling the remaining tiles out by hand, helped to formulate more of a plan of escape.

  With his hands scuffed and scratched up from breaking tiles, the water pipes were the only problem. He definitely didn’t want to break one open, getting any of the possibly infected water on him. Curious as to what was in the narrow space behind the pipes, Mark pulled out his truck Keys and used the miniature keychain flashlight attached to look off into the darkness. The light ended near a long path that seemed to branch in two different directions. Without even having to look, it was assumed that the path to the left could only lead to a dead-end, figuring that the other path possibly ended at a storage room or even a way out. Looking around at the busted tiles and narrow opening, he began to act. From the looks of it, there was the definite possibility of being able to climb up over the pipes, even being able to maneuver back behind slightly to see where they lead.

  Remaining perfectly still, atop a portable toilet seat in front of the opening, the toilet sat nearly touching against the pipes, securely against part of the adjoined wall to keep from sliding out from under.

  With a steel rod in hand, he stopped. “I may be back through here in just a minute… I might also find us a way out, together. I could even get stuck—but the one thing I do know is someone will be back for you soon,” Mark said as he began to climb through the narrow opening.

  Mark pulled out his flashlight and shined it downward, using it to guide his way into the darkness. Once over the pipes and having maneuvered through the inner working of the shower area, he lowered himself down with just barely enough room to fit into the narrow space.

  “Please come back for me!” Mark heard echoing from within the confined space. The path was narrow, forcing him to almost have to walk sideways. The twin brick walls at his front and back began to chafe a little. Every small step meant being bombarded by thick cob-webs. Behind his flashlight, the end was in sight. Before the end however, dust having laid dormant for many years—hidden behind the buildings foundations since its first construction had kicked up, and once it had been exposed to fresh air. After a few small awkward steps—he made it to the end of the short path before shining his light around the corner to his left: a dead-end. He then contorted, bringing his back foot around with him as he followed the light narrowly. The path continued on. From shinning the light down the next path it was evident that it led further on down a ways, but how far? Mark could tell, however, it too would lead to an eventual dead-end. A feeling of hopelessness began to takeover. The thought of turning around and going back had crossed his mind, climbing back however could pose a problem. It also might not be an option. Surrounded by narrow walls to his front and back, he went on down near the section of wall assumed nearest the units storage room. Once almost to the dead-end, small amounts of light from inside the room could be seen shining through. The tiny openings were just excess space around the storage room’s sink plumbing; however, it also exposed the part of the wall where cabinetry had been bolted in.

  Mark knew that he wasn’t going to be chipping his way through the brick area around the sink or busting through the cabinetry like he had done with the tile. Mark coughed, beginning to feel like his lungs were about to start seizing up due to the heavy black dust that was being inhaled. As he continued to cough, spitting up thick green mucus, it was decided to try pushing on the wall to see if any of the bricks could be dislodged. With both of his feet against the wall, he climbed up with his back all the way flat against the brick foundation to his backside. With all of his strength, he be began forcefully pushing at the level of the rooms cabinetry.

  The wall actually began to wobble with his muscle’s beginning to strain a little. Mark continued to add pressure—pushing on the wall harder as he straightened his legs. His muscles began to burn, all the while fighting the urge to cough and just give up. Without quitting, the tiny spaces of light became larger.

  After a moment, the sound of the old foundation beginning to crack under the constant pressure could be heard. Then after only a minute—the right side of the brick wall began to topple over—causing him to fall hard to the ground. With very little room to brace for a fall, the impact with the floor had taken a toll. Fighting the pain, Mark worked his way back up to his feet with his shoulder now badly bruised.

  Once back to his feet, he began pulling the bricks from the collapsed side of the wall, realizing that the steel reinforced bolts from the room’s installed cabinetry on the other side had had been enough to weaken it. Mark continued to work at it, putting all of his weight into the area of bricks. Through painstaking effort, they finally started to crack and break further. Mark could see through the top of the room, having pushed so hard that the plaster roof began to crumble as the bricks now leaned slightly forward.

  With minimal space at the top, Mark threw his thick metal rod over into the next room. He now had an opening and began to climb over the leaning wall of bricks and on into the next room. Mark, having worked the unit before, knew his way around. Although he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard the commotion, he looked down into the storage room, finding that it was still unoccupied. As a precaution, a large metal shelf was hurriedly scooted over in front of the door due to it not having any kind of locking mechanism.

  With all of that behind him, and with a moment to rest, it was now time to treat some of his now ailing wounds: all of his various cuts from the shards of tile, all of the scrapes he now had to endure from all of the cement bricks he’d just climbed over, also the pain from his bruised shoulder to go along with continuing to cough up dust. Mark rubbed disinfectant all over his cuts and scrapes before bandaging them up. Mark listened at the bottom of the door, trying not to touch the grated metal shelving he had slid over in front to create a barrier: from what he could tell, the surrounding doorway was quiet. It had been almost an hour since he’d left the third floor. He knew that if he didn’t hurry the others might come looking, at that point they’d be walking into a blood bath.

  Upon checking out the room, medical supplies and first aid equipment seemed as though they might be of some use later.

  Mark then began loading up supplies: he took a plastic bag and began gathering first-aid equipment, bottles of antiseptics as well as bandages and anything of use. Although it was a sad time in his life, there was no doubt in his mind that starting from this point forward he would have to do all that he could to survive. Mark slid the shelf over to the side—readying his metal rod as he carried his sack full of first-aid equipment. Nervously, with a flip of the light switch, the already dim lights were turned off. With one push of the metal handle—the door was forcefully slammed open. Mark took off running out through the breezeway, with not a single zombie in sight. Quickly rounding the corner, only a single zombie stood. Mark continued to swiftly run towards the undead beast, whom had its back turned. As he ran towards the beast, he stuck out his long metal rod and pushed the zombie head first into the wall.

  Although he wasn’t sure if any of the creatures were behind him, it was decided not to waste any time in finding out. Approaching the end of the hall and almost to the nurses’ station, a group of zombies spotted him. Mark ran as fast as he could—praying that there wasn’t going to be anymore zombies around the next turn. Near the nurses’ station, not all zombies had given chase. Some seemed uninterested. One vicious, hungry group of zombies continued their approach, rushing aggressively towards and reaching out at any live pray. Mark reared back and forcefully hit the zombie with full impact with use of his non-injured shoulder—sending it flying to the floor. The day had turned into a living nightmare as he looked back only briefly, noticing that he’d just knocked down old man Jones whom had been bed ridden for the last few years.

  As he passed the employee break room a zombie dived out—grabbing angrily at his legs. Mark swiftly jumped over the zombie and continued running down the hall into another group of zombies knocking one another over in an attempt
to grab.

  Continuing to run at full speed— a baseball slide on the slick hardwood floor propelled him on past the staggering group of zombies whom were left in utter confusion. Mark then quickly came up to one knee and took back off again in almost the same motion—running swiftly around the next corner towards the stairwell door to the third floor. With the alarm beginning to sound loudly before entering the stairwell—the door was slammed securely shut behind him.

  Through the dark stairwell Mark ran—skipping two steps at a time in fear for his life. As he arrived to the back entrance of the unit, he peeked in through the tiny rectangular sliver of glass, making sure that there was no immediate danger.

  The back corridor was apparently empty as the overhead lights were badly flickering on and off. To the left, around the corner down the hall, Mark was immediately spotted by a half-eaten Mr. Broom, still buckled down in his power chair. The zombie guided the power chair in an amazing straight line at full speed and right at it’s pray. As Mark stood motionless, frozen with fear, looking towards the end of the hall, barely recognizable at the far end one of his fellow nurse assistants could be seen standing at the nurses’ station leaned over, appearing despondent over the tall surrounding desk.

  Mark wasn’t sure who all might be infected, but could tell that if Mr. Broom was roaming the halls as a zombie then no one should be hanging out. As the zombie neared, Mark took off running. The zombie gave chase—grinding the power chair hard against the wall as it accidently ripped off one of its arms in pursuit. Mark ran back through the cut through and rounded the next corner over to the next hall. Once there—five zombies came charging, one of which was Sherry, a coworker. As the clicking of the gears of the power chair started to approach, the thought of turning back around and taking his chances with Mr. Broom had occurred.

  In desperation, with Mr. Broom now barreling around the corner at full speed towards him, dangers could now be seen coming from every direction. In relief, Mark grabbed the only door handle that was available—stepping into the first door to his left that led into a tiny employee restroom. Once inside he closed the door tightly behind him—immediately checking to see if it was locked once secured. He stood there for a second before hearing a loud thump as Mr. Broom’s power chair smashed against the door at full speed.