by Luke Duffy
He reached his hand around his back, using his large body to shield his mother’s view. He knew that she could not see anything, but he felt urged to keep his actions concealed from her. His heart pounded and his hands shook as he unsheathed the long thin blade from his waist belt. He leaned in close to her again, trembling throughout his whole body as he placed his arm behind her neck and gently pulled her close to him so that his cheek rested against hers.
With his other hand, he brought the knife across the bed and paused, the tip of the cold steel just centimetres from her head.
“I’m sorry, mum,” he whimpered as the tears began to cascade. “I love you, mum, and I’m so sorry, but this will bring you peace.”
He pushed the blade deep.
As gently as he could, but with great speed to prevent her from feeling anything, the knife was thrust into her ear canal. It was over in less than a second as the sharp point sliced through and scrambled that portion of her brain.
A faint gasp escaped from her throat and Bull felt her final breath brush against his face as he withdrew the long shaft, throwing it with disgust into the corner of the room where it clattered against the wall and dropped to the floor.
The rhythmic beeps of the ECG machine suddenly stopped and emitted a high-pitched squeal, as the monitor showed a flat-line, indicating that her heart had ceased.
He kept a tight grip on her, holding her close and not wanting to let go. He was overwhelmed with grief. He sobbed and rocked gently as her limp body, feeling more delicate than ever, was pressed to him in their final embrace.
He had never felt this kind of pain. It was stronger and more debilitating than anything he had known. He struggled to form his thoughts, even breathe, and his once strong and powerful body, suddenly felt weak and feeble.
He had killed many people during his life, some deserving, some not, but he had never felt anything towards it. He had lost many friends and truly suffered their loss and mourned them, but he had never had to be the one to take the life of someone that he loved.
The feeling of guilt and loss was so powerful that he was afraid to stand upright, fearing that his legs would collapse from under him and he would never be able to get up again.
For a long while, as the screams continued throughout the hospital and the moans of the dead grew in volume and number, he remained huddling his mother, stroking her hair and kissing her still warm cheek. He whispered to her endlessly as he cradled her in his arms, rocking back and forth while his tears soaked into her hair and the bed sheets.
Finally, he gently lay her down, resting her head against the pillow, where she would remain for eternity, still clutching the lilies in her hands.
His heart pounded and his knees shook as the tears continued to break through their barriers, but he knew that he could not stay there any longer. He stepped away from the bed and gritted his teeth, swallowing hard, and with it, the pain that was threatening to overwhelm him and leave him trapped in the hospital. Wiping his eyes, he forced himself to gather his strength and regain his composure.
He said goodbye to Eileen Crawford, the mother he had only known briefly but had loved a lifetime, and gave her a final kiss on the forehead before turning towards the door.
He needed to leave before it was too late.
The hospital was clearly overrun. It sounded like a riot had broken out within the wards and from what he could hear, the living were rapidly losing the battle. He stepped over to the corner and picked up the knife. Unable to look at the blood stained blade, he wiped it against a towel and gripped it in his left hand with the blade running upwards along his forearm.
With his other hand, he reached down through his jacket and pulled out the Browning pistol he had tucked into the front of his jeans. He checked the chamber and released the safety catch then, ensured that the three extra magazines were still secure in his pocket.
He stared at the handle of the door. Hell was beyond the thick wooden barrier, and he needed to be ready to take it on. He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders in a circular motion. At the same time, he shook his arms and legs, limbering himself up and increasing the blood flow to his limbs.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth.
His mind was clear and his pain had been converted into anger and a burning hatred that he would unleash upon anyone who stood in his way.
“Let’s get this done.”
He glanced back at his mother one last time. She still looked at peace, embracing the vibrant lilies.
Bull smiled sadly, and then reached for the handle.
The corridor was empty. Sounds of panic and terror still echoed through the wards, but the immediate vicinity was clear from the infected. The place appeared like a tornado had ripped through the building. Tables, chairs, and equipment lay strewn and overturned in every direction he looked.
Slowly, avoiding making any sound, he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving his mother in the room and protected from view.
Holding the pistol at waist level, with his elbow tucked in, he began to edge his way along the hallway. The strip lighting above him flickered, causing the long passageway to disappear before him, and then reappear a moment later. With each power short, he expected to see a horde of the infected in the corridor ahead of him.
He continued forward, his brow soaked with sweat and his palms moist as he kept a tight hold on the knife and pistol. His eyes darted in every direction, scrutinising every corner and shadow, checking that they were clear before passing them and moving further on.
A lingering scream reverberated from an adjacent corridor. It was the voice of a woman. She continued to cry out for a long while, the sound of her pain and fear evident in the howls she emitted. As her shrieks faded, deathly silence filled the void left behind.
The hospital was overrun. Anyone that could get out had already done so, deserting the frail and wounded, the vulnerable and defenceless, and choosing to save themselves as their survival instincts took control and forced them to flee. Now, the infected roamed the corridors, feasting on the sick and dying that had been left behind.
Bull was alone and surrounded.
At each junction in the long hallway, he paused, pressing himself close to the wall and carefully checking in all directions along the intersections before quickly crossing. He had another two junctions to navigate and at least four flights of stairs, and then he would be at the main reception area, through the large glass doors, and out into the open. It was a long way and he doubted that he could remain unseen the whole time.
Ahead of him, the floor of the corridor was awash with blood. A large puddle of bright crimson stretched from one wall to the next, turning black in the moments when the lighting failed. A long smear of the precious red liquid stretched along the hall and then veered off into a room on the right.
Bull paused and glanced back the way he had come, wondering whether it would be worth turning around and finding an alternative route. He did not know the hospital, and it would be easy for him to become lost within the rabbit’s warren of wards and twisting corridors. If the power finally failed completely, he would never find his way back. He was three storeys above ground level, so the option of going out through a window was not viable.
“Stick to the proven route,” he whispered to himself, dismissing the voice from the other side of his consciousness that urged him to turn back.
At the pool of blood, he stopped again and pressed his back to the wall. Carefully, he took a long stride to his left, straddling the puddle and trying hard to avoid getting any of it on his feet. With wet shoes, he could slip or at the very least, make noise as he walked and in the otherwise silent hallways. The sound would carry and attract the unwanted attention of every infected in the area.
He kept the smear of blood to his right as he advanced, keeping his pistol aimed to his front and the dark open doorway where the blood trail led into. There was no light or sound coming from the room and Bull squinted, fi
ghting to see past the frame and distinguish any sign of movement in the gloom beyond. It was impossible to see, especially from the angle and distance. Instead, he decided to rely on his ears, hoping that they would warn him of any danger long before it became an immediate threat.
He was just a few metres away from the door now, moving extremely slow, placing each step with deliberation, holding his breath and keeping his eyes locked on the entrance to the dark room. The Browning pistol remained tucked in close to his body, with the muzzle pointed at the threshold.
Bull drew level with the ominous black rectangle set into the wall of the corridor. The darkness inside was complete, giving no indication of what lay beyond the doorframe. It loomed at him like a cavernous maw, wanting to swallow him up. As he passed, he imagined a hundred ravenous eyes watching him from the shadows, but nothing stirred from within.
He breathed again, as he left the doorway behind him and continued along the corridor. He was approaching the final junction before the stairway. The lights flicked out again, but this time, they did not come back on.
Shit.
Further along, he could see the shafts of light that penetrated the large glass panes of the tall stairwell. They illuminated the final section of the corridor with the sun’s rays, giving the impression that everything was okay in that small section of the hospital as it was protected by the brightness, but the light did not penetrate far, and for a long stretch, Bull could see nothing but the inky blackness.
Unable to see, he carried on forward, sensing his way and keeping his right shoulder in contact with the wall. After a few more paces, the wall disappeared and he immediately realised that he had reached and stepped past the final intersection.
A noise came from his left. It was a scrape, like the sound of something being dragged along a rough surface. In that instant, the lights suddenly flooded the hallway with an intensity that almost blinded him.
The powerful glow from the ceiling lights, though they dazzled him, did not prevent him from seeing what had caused the noise he had heard.
The corridor was packed with the infected. They were crammed in, spanning from one wall to the next, and they were all facing in his direction. As the light had returned, the living man had been bathed in a brilliant whiteness, making it impossible for them not to see him.
The crowd instantly swarmed towards him as he turned to sprint towards the stairs. He was no longer attempting to remain undetected, using stealth to make his way to safety. Now, he was running for his life, hearing the moans and cries of the reanimated corpses as they chased after him along the corridor.
“Fuck,” he hissed to himself as his heavy feet pounded against the smooth floor beneath him, echoing through the building like a jack-hammer.
“Fuck.”
Halfway to the stairwell, the lights went out again, leaving him sprinting through the pitch-black and towards the light at the end of the corridor, with the sound of the horde of infected close on his heels.
Suddenly, he burst out from the shadows and into the brilliance of the stairwell, bathed in sunlight. Without slowing his pace, he reached out for the wooden bannister and pivoted himself around and on to the top rung of the first flight. He bounded down the steps, taking four of them at a time and quickly reached the U-turn for the next flight. Again, he swung his body around without losing any momentum, and more importantly, his footing.
Higher up to his right, his pursuers had reached the stairs and pounded down the steps after him. Many of them, in their haste, lost their balance and tumbled down the hard steps. The sound of their bones snapping and shattering could be heard over the din they made as they continued to howl, the sight of the fleeing man driving them to fever pitch.
Directly above him, as he continued down the next flight, Bull caught sight of the landing and the bars and bannister running out from the wall of the corridor he had run along, leading on to the first flight. More of the infected were coming from that direction.
Suddenly, with a sickening slap, a body landed on the steps in front of him. It was quickly followed by another, then another as the infected hurled themselves over the railing and dropped through the air for ten metres before smashing into the concrete steps. With the impacts, some of them almost exploded as their heads were split open and ribcages were crushed. Blood spattered the walls while the stomach-churning thumps continued as the bodies stubbornly fell from the floor above.
Bull side stepped a number of mangled corpses as they hit and continued to roll downwards, never slowing his pace and relying on his fast reactions to traverse the bloodied organic hazards that rained down around him.
At the next turn, he skidded to a halt. The stairs below him were filled with hundreds of mutilated figures, headed upwards towards him. He needed to think fast and with a quick glance to his rear, he saw the infected closing on him from the flight above.
He had no choice but to turn into one of the corridors running off from the stairwell. He did not have time to consider which direction to turn, so he sprinted into the nearest passageway. As with the floors above, this one was also in darkness, confirming that the power grid for the hospital had failed, and more than likely, would not return.
The deeper he went, the less he could see, but the sounds from behind him kept him moving forward. Fear of the unknown, was less terrifying than what he knew was following him.
His feet slipped in something wet, which he assumed was blood, and he barely managed to remain upright as he twisted and pivoted to keep his balance. His shoulder crashed into something he could not see. It was soft and cold and gave way against his weight. It released a grunt with the impact and Bull sensed it slip through the viscous liquid and fall to the floor with a thud and a splat.
Shit, he thought as he ploughed forward, they’re in front of me.
More bodies crashed into him and were sent flying in all directions, as the heavily built Bull charged and smashed his way through. He felt their hands blindly grasping at him, fighting for grip as he slipped away from them and continued to force his way forward.
He was running blind, hoping for the best, but he could feel that the crowd in front of him was getting thicker. He raised his pistol and fired ahead of him. For an instant, as the crack of the bullet boomed through the building, rattling windows and causing his ears to ring, the flash of the muzzle momentarily illuminated his surroundings like the flash from a camera. Bull saw the mass of gaunt and pale faces around him, imprinted on his retina like a haunting memory. Beyond them, he glimpsed the silhouettes of many more.
The way ahead was blocked.
Without hesitation, he stepped to his right and shoulder barged the door he had subconsciously seen in the split second flash of light from his gun. The lock snapped instantly as his immense weight and strength was slammed against it, forcing it to fly open and crash against the interior wall with a resounding clang.
Bull jumped inside and saw daylight.
The room was being dimly lit from a number of small frosted windows set into the wall where it met the high ceiling. Below each of them, was a cubicle. He was in the hospital’s public toilets and the windows were far too small for him even to contemplate squeezing his bulk through.
The sound of the crowd spilling in through the door behind him confirmed to him that he could not turn back either. He was trapped and could not see any other doors or windows in the murky room.
More bodies stumbled in and Bull desperately searched around him for a place to hide. He eyed the end cubicle and moved towards it, knowing that he would not be able to remain undetected for long, but he had no choice. He did not have enough ammunition to fight his way out, or even thin the crowd that filled the corridor outside.
The infected were piling up behind him, tripping over one another and getting themselves wedged in the doorframe as they fought to get inside, allowing Bull the chance to consider his next move. They clambered and dragged themselves into the room, crawling over one another and towards the la
rge meal that they sought.
As he headed towards the end cubicle, Bull looked up and saw the network of large pipes that ran the length of the room, suspended on brackets from the ceiling. Realising that he now had a better option than barricading himself into a flimsy plywood box with a feeble lock to hold back the ravenous creatures, he vaulted himself up on to one of the sinks, silently preying that the pipes were strong enough to hold his weight.
He heard a metallic clatter and looked down to see that the knife had slipped from his waistband and landed on the tiled floor, skidding out of his reach. Already, the bodies of the infected were clambering towards him. They were too close, and the knife would need to stay where it had fallen.
Under his bulk, the sink struggled to remain seated to the wall and threatened to collapse underneath him. Before it was torn away from its fixtures, Bull reached up and gripped on to the thickest of the conduits, allowing it to take his weight for a split-second before hauling himself upward and to safety.
He threw his legs up and sprawled himself along the length of pipes, facing down into the room below him. Just a metre beneath him, the infected packed themselves into the room, snarling and swiping at the air in a vain attempt to reach their prey.
Bull exhaled and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
He tucked the pistol back into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his pocket for his phone. He watched in horror and helplessness as the signal bars in the top right hand corner of the screen dwindled, then disappeared.
“Bollocks…”
15
Everybody had been called in at short notice and told to be ready for a new task. One by one, the men had arrived separately, having dropped whatever they were doing, and rushed back to the bunker. No information had been given to them on what the job was, only that they were to prepare for a conventional style operation as normal soldiers. There was no need for their covert abilities this time, and whatever it was they were going to be doing, they would be doing it loud.