Silence filled the room. The moans had stopped. The room door was open. His right boot had thick coagulated red gunk over it. Charlie sat writhing his back. He grabbed the wrench at his side. His eyes adjusted to the light. He had an overwhelming urge to slap the wall. He cracked his neck.
‘Shit,’ Charlie mumbled. He pushed himself up against the wall. His feet aching. He leant against the wall. The wrench was blood-stained.
‘Harry,’ he whispered.’ ‘Are you there? Sheila are you there?’ He licked his lips.
He recalled the plan to help the doctor, maybe they had gone to find him. He was overdue a check-up. He remembered that chicken bastard Peter, Peter skidded off. Either to main street or worse, the motel. If Peter had sense, he would vanish out of town.
Charlie feared going back to the motel, and what the others would think of him. Trying to clean the mess to cover his mistake. The mess here would distract them. Knocking up a hooker was seriously frowned upon in the club.
The door creaked. Charlie was still, beads of sweat trickled down his neck. He looked around the door and saw the dismembered corpse. Trails of guts plateaued across the floor. Charlie saw the trainers, there was no other way to tell it was a man.
The hallway was clear and breezy. Further down the hallway echoed groans of nonhuman origin. The elevator was opposite, the disembowelled corpse blocking the floor.
Charlie walked into the corridor scanning the area, holding the wrench to his chest.
Something glistened as he stepped over the body.
He bent down, covering his mouth from the throat grinding smell. Green pus emanated from the exposed black lungs. There was an identification card poking out from the guts. Charlie pinched it with his finger and thumb. Sliding the badge from the green goo and wiping it on his jeans before putting it in his jean pocket. It read: janitor. It may help him get through a locked door when the time called for it.
Moans rumbled louder and Charlie stood and thumbed the elevator, it opened immediately, and Charlie stepped in and wiped his forehead. He pushed the fifth floor, where he had seen the injured doctor on the computer monitor. Charlie held the wrench up across his chest ready to defend himself when the elevator doors opened.
He crossed his chest, praying it was clear.
The elevator door opened. Charlie felt the icy cool Antarctic air blow across his face. It was empty. Charlie stepped into the corridor and shuffled along the wall.
Further down, two doors caught his eye. There were people talking somewhere.
The door on his left read J. McCormack, the door on his right read doctor’s office.
McCormack could be one of the dead now. Charlie walked to the doctor’s office door.
Screams pierced through the wind. Charlie turned to the left, at the end of the corridor was a smashed window. A bed had been wheeled next to it. The bed was covered in blood. An IV drip on the floor on its side. Charlie turned his attention back to the door.
He pushed the door to a quiet dark office. He jumped as the door slammed behind him. Light came through a small open window at the back. Charlie still could not see.
From the darkness an elderly man darted, lunging a pocketknife at Charlie. Charlie dived out the way. The man wore spectacles and a woolly jumper, the name tag was still attached to the collar. The old man tried to hook the knife in Charlie. The knife skimmed over Charlie’s jacket. Charlie lifted the wrench and hit him on the head and then jabbed the wrench into his stomach.
Charlie heard a crack. The old man fell backwards into the doctor’s desk knocking the laptop off and the screen smashed. He dropped the knife and it clinked on the floor. Charlie bent down to pick the knife up and pocketed it in his leather jacket.
‘Stop,’ the old man pleaded with a dry throat. His glasses had fallen off when Charlie hit him over the head. Charlie turned and bent down to pick the glasses up. The old man pushed Charlie.
‘Stop,’ Charlie shouted. ‘I’m leaving,’ Charlie muttered and began to walk to the door.
‘Wait,’ the old man cried. Charlie stopped and turned around; he could not see the old man’s face in the dark office.
‘What do you want from me?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m waiting for the doctor,’ the man said. ‘Where is he?’ He was confused or unaware of the situation. Charlie was wide eyed. Blood trickled from the old man’s hairless crown down to his ear.
Maybe the wrench disorientated the old man. He could be bleeding internally. A slow death meaning eventual prison for Charlie.
Charlie needed to take him to the injured doctor. Whatever was happening in the hospital was unexplainable, but would the authorities see this as justified, Charlie doubted it. Charlie did not want to go to prison over this. The police knew him and his band of merry bikers very well.
‘I am the doctor, follow me and keep quiet,’ Charlie said. ‘Other patients are sleeping.’ The old man stared at Charlie blankly. It was uncomfortable not knowing names. ‘What’s your name?’ Charlie asked. The man gazed at the floor before looking at Charlie. The wrinkles heavily formed under his eyes.
‘Jack Stenton,’ the old man Jack replied. ‘I want to speak to a nurse or doctor. I have been waiting for over two hours.’ Jack coughed harshly.
‘I am the doctor, follow me.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ Jack said. ‘You’re trying to send me back to the motorhomes, aren’t you? Where is the doctor? You are trying to take me somewhere I don’t want to go.’
Charlie huffed and lifted the wrench above a petrified Jack. Charlie lobbed Jack over the head again and Jack fell unconscious. Charlie turned and opened the door back into the empty corridor.
He turned left to enter the other doctor office.
Dark shapes danced off the walls at the far end of the corridor. Then the corpses shambled from a room into the corridor, unaware of Charlie’s presence. Charlie pushed his way into the McCormack office. The refreshing breeze began to waft the stench of the corpses into the hallway.
Charlie shut the door carefully behind him, not to alert the beasts. He was met with a smack in the face and collapsed.
‘Charlie,’ Harry said aiding Charlie back to his feet. Charlie responded and punched Harry’s in the stomach. Harry grabbed his stomach wheezing. Sheila stepped to Charlie, ending the altercation by slapping Charlie in the face. Charlie felt blood ooze from his nose and wiped it on his jacket.
‘Bitch,’ Charlie grunted. Charlie was unaware of the situation and raised his hand to slap Sheila but dropped his hand. ‘Lucky this time,’ Charlie added.
The man in the hospital gown crept forward. Jamie pushed himself back against the wall, his leg leaving a trail of blood as he slid across the floor. The unstable man walked to Charlie who looked unimpressed. Instinctually Charlie threw a fist at the gowned man, but he dodged the fist.
‘Trying to attack Shane?’ Shane, the deranged patient shouted.
Shane walked backwards towards the desk. Charlie watched in awe. Shane pulled open a draw and pulled out a blue stapler and then pressed it against his left cheek.
‘Don’t do it Shane,’ Jamie pleaded, trying to push himself to his feet using the wall but sliding down in pain.
Charlie held the bloodied wrench up hoping to deter Shane. Shane ignored him letting out a shriek as he stapled his cheek. The stapler clicked a few times and blood dripped down onto Shane’s mouth and gown.
Shane gritted his teeth and tossed the stapler to the floor and it broke. Shane screamed out like a wailing woman.
Harry stumbled forward as the door pushed against his back. The corridor was filled with shuffling and hands began to reach around the wooden door.
‘Shit,’ Harry said. ‘There here!’ Sheila and Harry jumped to the door, pushing against it as bloody fingers wrapped around the frame.
‘Dammit lock it,’ Charlie yelled. Charlie turned, Harry was weak and couldn’t do this. He pushed the door like you would push a lawnmower.
Shane walked to the injured doctor
and put the knife to his throat. Shane’s veins rippled and bulged as he grasped Jamie around the neck.
‘Don’t Shane,’ Harry yelled. ‘Don’t do it.’ Harry was ignorant and moved from the door.
Harry walked towards Shane holding his hands up like an idiot.
‘Put it down, we’re all dead now,’ Harry said. Shane grinned and waved the knife around in front of the Jamie’s face.
‘We’re all dead because of you,’ Shane screeched. The creatures outside groaned and clawed to get in. Charlie saw the tiny fingers of a child reach round. It was disturbing.
‘Harry fucking get back here,’ Sheila shouted.
Charlie left Sheila alone to hold the door. She pressed her back pressed against the door.
Charlie shunted Harry to the left out of the way and walked to the desk and picked up the desk phone. Shane jumped up and lunged at Charlie and they both went for each other.
Shane held the knife up and Charlie held his wrench to his side and the desk phone in the air. Charlie swung the plastic phone and Shane went to grab it before Charlie surprised Shane by walloping his testicles with the wrench. Shane sliced through the air with the knife simultaneously, successfully slashing Charlie at the throat. Charlie rag dolled to the floor, dropping the wrench which made a metallic ding, the phone went flying across the back of the room.
Charlie clasped desperately at his spurting neck veins, if it was an artery, he didn’t have long.
‘Shit, Charlie,’ Harry said. Jumping to Charlie’s side.
‘Pressure to the wound,’ Jamie shouted. ‘Do it now.’ Shane paced to Jamie and punched him in the face.
‘Keep it quiet, your next,’ Shane snarled.
Charlie panted and tried to talk. Blood spluttered on his leather jacket. Harry couldn’t comprehend it.
Everything was blurred and Charlie struggled to grip his throat.
***
Charlie’s neck spurted through his unconscious fingers onto Harry’s shirt, squirting onto his face.
Sheila continued to struggle to keep the door shut, she managed to hold them off. Sheila had her back to the door and her eyes were closed as she panted through her nose, and out through her mouth.
‘I can’t stop the bleeding,’ Harry said, feeling too responsible for Charlie after he offered to help look for James.
Harry’s fingers slipped as blood pooled over his hands.
‘Doc,’ Harry called. ‘Pass me something.’ The doctor tried to move but Shane booted his back. The doctor curled up into a foetal ball, shielding himself. Shane walked to Harry and held the knife to his throat.
‘Let go,’ Shane said. Harry’s pulse quickened. Shane pressed the bloody blade to Harry’s throat. Any moment Shane could cut through and he would never see his family again. Harry had to let go of Charlie’s neck, the blood was coagulating but not quick enough to stop the bleeding. Charlie would have to understand, even if Harry had to make it up to him in the next life.
‘Fine,’ he replied, and a tear ran down his cheek. Shane kept the blade to Harry’s neck as he stood up. Behind, Harry saw the doctor crawling through his own blood towards them.
‘I have to find my son, please let me go.’ Harry wept now; the tears streamed down his face.
Blood had encapsulated the floor around Charlie’s body. The beasts would want it, Sheila had almost closed the door.
Harry peered down at his blood-soaked trousers. Shane’s blade digging into his throat.
Shane lowered the knife to his side. Jamie’s face appeared behind Shane, he held the broken laptop in his hands and lifted it above Shane’s unaware head. Harry stepped back and Jamie smashed the laptop over Shane’s head and Shane dropped unconscious. Jamie booted Shane in the back a few times before commenting in an unfamiliar language, maybe Latin.
‘Damn,’ Sheila said. Harry turned to look. Her eyes now black from fatigue.
What had just happened to Harry was surreal and even more the reason to figure out what the fuck was happening.
Charlie appeared lifeless. Harry assisted Jamie to Charlie’s body.
Jamie checked the pulse and began applying pressure to Charlie’s neck and pointed to the desk. Harry quickly walked over to the desk and opened the drawers. The bottom draw had a packet of cigarettes and a cloth. Harry pulled out the cloth.
‘Here.’ Harry tossed it to Jamie who pushed it to Charlie’s wound. Harry reached back in the draw and picked up the packet of cigs and pocketed them. Smoking was the least of his worries now. When things didn’t work out, he used to have the occasional cigar. Sheila knew his little secret and would probably kill him for this packet.
Sheila wreathed against the door and was struggling to hold it.
Harry ran around the desk and round Jamie and Charlie and jumped at the door. Harry pushed as hard as he could.
‘What’s his name again?’ Jamie enquired as he held his ear to Charlie’s nose.
‘It’s Charlie. Doc we have bigger problems. Those things out there are dangerous. Can you be quicker?’ said Harry. Sheila and he had just about shut the door and Sheila clicked the lock on.
‘The bleeding is stable, but he might have lost to much blood to make it, if we had access to an IV drip and some blood, I could save him, otherwise he will go into coma and die if he hasn’t already.’
They had just escaped from bloody blood storage room too, what a fucking nightmare. Harry tensed.
‘We just came from the blood room, I’m not going back,’ Sheila said. Jamie shook his head.
‘This man will die otherwise, I need to get my leg sorted, otherwise I’d go’ It became a bitter decision, Harry decided regrettably. Sheila would have to be patient.
‘Sheila, we have to help. You wanted to help the doctor, so we need to help Charlie, the truth is, without him I could be staring at the roof of a coffin,’ Harry said.
Sheila better be onboard because otherwise he wouldn’t give her a lift anywhere again. Choosing to take her to the city had landed him here. At least if he stayed with Molly and James, he wouldn’t be looking for them.
‘I’ve made up my mind Harry,’ Sheila said. ‘Be thankful I haven’t left you here, I could be at my interview if it wasn’t for this shit.’ Harry now noticed the smell of sweat from Sheila’s underarms. That ever so special friendship had hit another speed bump. It hurt Harry, it was if Sheila had forgotten he left his family to help her and that his family weren’t where they said they were.
‘Sheila come on. We need to work together.’
‘Yes, I’ll wait here,’ Sheila huffed. ‘You go and save the day and come fucking back.’ Harry hated Sheila when she was like this.
‘Go Harry. This man doesn’t have long. I think at a guess less than ten minutes before he either bleeds out or goes into a coma,’ Jamie said. Sheila shook her head.
‘How do we know his blood type? This is not worth the effort, if he lives that is fate. If he dies that is fate. Let fate take its fucking course for once,’ Sheila shouted.
‘She’s right what blood type?’ Harry said scratching his head.
Shane groaned and they all froze, then Shane went silent again.
‘It won’t be long until Shane wakes up either. I’m too pressed to be cautious, get O type blood, it’s the only one that doesn’t contain the A and B antigens.’ Jamie crawled back to his desk. Retrieving a small click torch from the bottom draw and another cloth. ‘Damn, the only time I need a cigarette and they’ve gone.’ Jamie crawled back to Charlie.
Harry felt the pack of cigs in his pocket. The felt squashed but hopefully smokable. Harry walked and picked up Charlie’s wrench. It was heavy and rough to the touch like sandpaper.
‘I’ll push through, they’ll follow me, then try and push that desk against the door.’ A lump rose in Harry’s throat. His grip on the bloodied wrench loosened as he held it in his sweaty hands.
‘Good luck,’ Sheila said. Harry held the door handle and hesitated. Perhaps Sheila was right, let fate take its course.
Her voice made him weak at the knees. It was never intentional.
Harry turned the handle. ‘I’ll be back, don’t worry.’
CHAPTER 9
The Return To The Blood Room
Harry grasped wrench in his sweaty palms like a baseball player.
Outside the corpses had splashed blood over the office door while trying to get in. They reached out for Harry’s neck and he swung the cold steel wrench into the gormless crowd of nurses and patients and visitors. Harry shunted them backwards further into the hallway, giving him enough space to run. The creatures were vicious. Children clawed viciously at his tired legs. Harry lunged forward knocking the children to the floor.
Harry kicked the door shut. Green veined arms grabbed at him. He was overwhelmed and underprepared. This was a bad idea. Harry choked at the stench of the green pus pouring from the patients’ mouths. It stunk as if he had walked into a gas cloud of sewage and gas.
Harry swung the wrench knocking two nurses over, their aprons coveted in pus. The kids had begun to pull on his torso. They were heavy, a deadweight. He was being pulled to the floor and had to escape. The beasts tried to bite him on his thighs, his trousers shielding him.
Harry panicked; his brain zapped into overdrive as he was pulled to the floor struggling for breath. Harry shunted the little kids – regrettably, he had no choice - in their blood smudged faces. A skull cracked; the others gargled. His forearms burnt as they ran out of juice.
Behind in the office he could hear the desk scraping along the floor, banging against the door. Harry slid on his stomach to escape.
He crawled through the crowd, far enough that he could jump up. Harry glanced to the elevator, only a fool would wait. He ran for the staircase, but instinct said look back.
An elderly man stood confused with a cut on his head. He stood holding the doctor office door open, the room he hadn’t checked. Harry’s instinct changed; he should run for it. The dead were coming for him. The man whispered inaudibly; his free hand tremored. Harry’s heart telling him to help.
Beach Town: Apocalypse Page 6