End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  Peter gave Rob a thumbs up. “I have to go with Rob. We’re much safer driving than on foot. Don’t you think?”

  “As long as no one tries to ambush us and steal the truck,” Mila answered.

  It was settled. They pushed on past the bridge bypass and closer to Nyack.

  “Looks like they evacuated the town,” Rob said, looking around at the vacant, desolate homes surrounding them.

  They entered a residential area, where grass and weeds sprouted in every direction from thickly overgrown lawns. The arched rooftops of the Victorian-style homes were covered in leaves, twigs, and branches from the shedding trees.

  Trash was spread sporadically across the road with large bags, ripped open and rummaged through, blowing in the wind. They passed a crooked sign that said: Speed Limit 30. Power lines seemed reduced to simple eyesores in the suburban ghost town they had just entered. They passed long wooden fences, a mobile home retirement community, and more well-to-do homes, each looking more vacant than the next.

  “Maybe they’re all dead,” Rob said.

  “Who?” Mila asked.

  He looked at her. “Maybe we’re all that’s left.”

  “Don’t say that. My parents and yours. Our friends and family. They’re still out there. Somewhere.”

  Peter stared outside, keenly examining each home. “Why don’t we search for supplies now? Seems an ideal spot.”

  “Hospital first,” Rob said. “We’ll hit this area on our way back.”

  Mila trailed her finger down the map to the hospital icon. “Five more miles, I think,” she said. “Just stay on 9 West past Sixth Avenue.”

  “I know how to get there from here,” Rob said. He looked over as she folded the map and stuck it in her jeans.

  “OK, then,” Mila said. “Show us the way, hotshot.”

  “Am I witnessing a fight?” Peter asked.

  Rob and Mila laughed. A few more miles down the road, they came upon a series of two-story buildings, complexes, and parking lots filled with vehicles of all kinds and covered in leaves. The unkempt grass was no different from what they had seen earlier—sprouting several feet high on both sides.

  Rob slowed as they neared a small green welcome sign with the word “Tartarus” spray-painted over it.

  Peter squinted and tried to sound it out. “Tar-tar-rus? What does that mean?”

  No one had an answer. Peter looked around nervously.

  “What’s that?” Rob asked. There looked to be a group of people in the distance ahead.

  “It’s people,” Mila said, astonished.

  “Shit! I just saw someone looking out the window of that apartment complex,” Peter said pointing. “Oh! There’s another.”

  Peter turned and looked ahead. “More people! Shit. We should have ditched the truck at the bridge. Now what are we going to do?”

  “Everyone just stay calm,” Rob said. “Keep you pistols at the ready.”

  Upon closer examination, they could see a group of men, ten in all, doing lawn maintenance with manual push mowers—the single strangest thing seen on their journey yet. Rob maintained a steady speed as heads began to turn their way.

  “What are they doing?” Peter asked. He turned and knocked on the back window, alerting Carlos and Brad. “Hey! We got company.”

  Carlos swung his head around and stared through the glass as Brad followed.

  “Cutting grass? Why?” Mila asked in abject wonder.

  “Welcome to Nyack,” Peter said with a nervous laugh.

  There was something stranger than just the fact that they were cutting grass. The men looked dirty and malnourished, as if someone had gathered a group of vagrants together and put them to work. Their tattered clothes and dispirited gaze didn’t provide any comfort.

  Rob’s eyes darted around, looking for anyone else. Three men with rifles emerged from a yard across from the lawn crew, taking a keen interest in the truck’s approach. Rob floored the truck without warning. The engine roared. Mila and Peter flew back. Carlos and Brad tumbled over and hit the floor.

  “Hey!” Mila said.

  “Stay down!” Rob shouted.

  The truck raced past the armed men before they could block their path. Rob wouldn’t have thought twice about running them down. Their faces went by in blurry confusion as the truck sped past, leaving them behind, shouting and running in the distance. Ahead, Rob could see a carefully placed barricade a half-mile away, with cars pushed into every lane, blocking every conceivable spot, so that there was no way to go around it or through it.

  “We have to find a detour to the hospital,” he said as they neared an endless sea of automobiles—like a junkyard for newer cars. Their placement was clearly strategic. They had been put there for a reason. Mila looked around and pointed to the next street coming up on the right.

  “Take a right on Highmount!”

  Rob slammed on the brakes, nearly sending her into the metal dashboard along with Peter. The tires squealed as he jerked the truck in a hard right and floored it down Highmount Avenue. Nothing looked to be blocking their path. Just more strangely vacant buildings, vandalized homes, and leaf-covered cars.

  “Take a left on Front Street,” Mila said pointing to the approaching intersection.

  Rob made a left, and they found themselves on a clear road, with the hospital in view. Peter took a deep breath, still in a state of shock.

  “Nearly gave me a heart attack there, Rob,” he said. “Don’t make my wife a widow. She’ll kill ya.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Rob said, gradually increasing their speed.

  They could hear Carlos and Brad tumbling around in back, trying to get upright again.

  “Sorry,” Mila said, knocking on the window. Both of them held their heads in pain and looked more than a little angry.

  The Nyack hospital was in range: a large, five-story brick building with several smaller buildings arrayed around it. Parked vehicles lined the road on both sides, and the main circular lot was full as well.

  The trees surrounding the parking lot were shedding their brown autumn leaves, leaving skeletal, curvy branches, silhouetted against the sky. The hospital building seemed intact, with no activity outside and no one around.

  The windows were dark, and it wasn’t clear if there were people inside, but with so many buildings, floors, and rooms, Rob believed there had to be someone in there. He turned at a sign reading “Nyack Hospital: Main Entrance” and then past another sign that said, “Main Hospital” ahead.

  “Best find a spot out of sight from the road,” he said. “They’ve seen our truck now. They know we’re here.”

  The truck chugged along as they circled around to the rear of the emergency room. Rob looked at the fuel gauge. They were low, nearly on empty. The earlier excitement had taken his mind off thinking of a plan for getting back.

  They had brought two empty five-gallon cans and a hose just in case. He only hoped that the fuel in the vehicles around them was still worth a damn—having sat dormant for weeks.

  He stopped and backed in, within inches of a rear entrance to the emergency room. He joggled the shifter on the steering wheel to Park and switched off the ignition.

  “OK,” Rob said. “Is everyone ready for this?”

  Both Carlos and Brad hopped out of the back.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Peter said. “What’s the plan?”

  The rusted truck door squeaked as Rob opened it. “Mila will lead the way.” His feet touched the pavement as he took Mila’s hand, helping her out. “You good with that?”

  “That’s why I came,” she responded, retying her ponytail.

  “What happened back there?” Carlos asked.

  Brad held his head. “Tossed us around like a couple of rag dolls,” he added.

  “I’m sorry,” Rob said. “Some men zeroed in on us. They were armed.”

  “And how about those guys cutting the lawn. What’s with that?” Peter asked.

  The group assembled
at the rear of the truck as Rob scanned the area. “I don’t know. But we have to assume they’ll be looking for us soon.”

  “Where the hell is everyone?” Brad asked. “We’re in the freaking Twilight Zone here.”

  Mila looked at the hospital building, feeling a welter of emotions. She hadn’t been to work since the EMP strike, and it felt good to be back, but in a weird way.

  She saw two ambulances parked on the side of the building, unattended. The quiet, ostensibly empty building had a somber aspect. She thought about her friends and coworkers, her patients.

  “This is the plan,” Rob said, handing empty tote bags to Peter and Mila. “Mila, Peter, and I will search the hospital for supplies. Carlos and Brad, we’re low on gas. I need you to fill up the truck. Twenty gallons should do the trick.”

  Carlos stepped forward, angered. “You want us to suck gas out of these cars now?”

  “Just do what he says, Carlos,” Mila said and stepped between them.

  Carlos shook his head and laughed, appearing to calm down. “Damn … I’d hate to get on your bad side, señorita.”

  Rob held his hand up, asking them to tone it down. “I’m asking you both because you’ll need to operate as a team. One person gets the gas, while the other keeps watch.”

  “Got it,” Brad said.

  “We should be gone no longer than five minutes,” Rob said. He stepped back and examined the building looming silently before them. “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “The pharmacy is on the other side of the emergency room,” Mila said. “That’s the quickest way.”

  Carlos and Brad pulled the gas cans and hose from the back of the truck. “Try to pick us up a breath mint if you can,” Carlos said.

  “Will do,” Rob said. He turned to enter the building but stopped short and instead opened the truck door.

  “Forget something?” Mila asked.

  “Sure did,” he answered, digging under the seat. He emerged with a thick black crowbar in hand and his box of ChemLights. “Now I’m ready.” He turned to Carlos and Brad. “Five to ten minutes, tops.”

  “Good luck,” Carlos said.

  They walked off toward the entrance and stopped at the automatic glass door. It was shut and wouldn’t budge. Rob slid the crowbar into the slit in the doors and jerked it to the side, trying to pry them open.

  Peter stepped forward and pushed one door to the side with all his might. It looked as if there was just enough space to squeeze through.

  Rob’s temples throbbed as sweat formed on his forehead. “Mila, go ahead and squeeze in here.”

  Peter’s shaking arms held the gap, and she slipped in. “Now you, Peter …” Rob said while pushing against the crowbar. Peter let go and quickly squeezed in. The door was about to close again. Rob pushed inside just as the doors retracted and slammed shut.

  Moratorium

  They walked into a darkened lobby, where the air was stale and the chairs, reception desks, and halls vacant—like everything they’d seen so far.

  Mila seemed transfixed by the surreal quality of it all. She’d never seen the place so empty or so free of the hyperactivity usually present in the emergency room. The halls were littered with papers along with empty gurneys, knocked-over trashcans, and blue hospital scrubs lying on the tile floor.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  Rob put his hand on her shoulder. “Looks like your coworkers left this place some time ago. Anyone still here is not someone we want to come across.”

  “This isn’t right,” she said, frazzled. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Rob took both her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. “Of course it doesn’t. But we need to push on.”

  Peter paced the waiting area impatiently. He didn’t look any more comfortable than when they’d first asked him to go.

  Mila snapped out of her daze and moved down the first cluttered hallway to their right. “This way,” she said, as they followed.

  “Watch out back,” Rob said to Peter, “and stay alert for sounds or movements.”

  An empty hospital was creepy enough in the daytime, but with the sun rapidly fading, the already-dim hall was growing creepier by the minute. They passed vacant doctors’ offices, and testing rooms with expensive equipment now dormant.

  “Pharmacy is on the second floor,” Mila said. With her light sneakers she moved across the tile like air, as Rob and Peter, both wearing hiking boots, clomped behind. They passed some restrooms, and Peter couldn’t resist trying the water fountain. He stopped and pushed the bar. Not a drop came out.

  “Damn …” he said.

  Mila pushed the door leading to the stairs as Rob and Peter followed.

  “Where do you think everyone went?” Peter asked. His voice echoed up the stairwell.

  “Home,” Rob said. “I imagine they did everything they could. Then they realized that assistance was never going to come.”

  Mila couldn’t help but feel a knot in her stomach. As if sensing her shame, Rob touched her shoulder. “There’s nothing you could have done, either. Remember, family first. Always.”

  “I know,” she said. “But this is where I work. These people are my family too, and it’s killing me to see the place like this.”

  They reached the second floor as Rob urged her to step aside. He carefully pushed the door open and peeked out—more empty halls. “Coast looks clear. Have your weapons at the ready.”

  Nervous, Peter fumbled with his pistol and almost dropped it.

  Mila continued in a hushed voice. “What about your shop? Our house?”

  “Focus,” Rob said. “Please. We’ll check everything soon enough.”

  She led the way, left and down the hall, where a strange odor hit them.

  “This is the ICU,” she said. “Pharmacy is at the end.”

  Rob glanced at a sign that listed the different departments. An arrow next to Pharmacy pointed in their current direction. That she knew her way around was to be expected after five years of working there. The odor grew more potent the closer they got to the double doors at the end of the lengthy, darkened hall. Something wasn’t right. The stench became more overpowering and gag-inducing as they passed each vacant patient room.

  Peter covered his mouth and nose with his shirt. “What is that smell?”

  Mila cupped her mouth and stopped dead in her tracks. To her right was an open patient room, and it was clear enough where the noxious odor was coming from. A decomposed body sat upright in bed. Long, stringy gray hair ran from the top of its leathery head, hanging over sunken black holes.

  Mila gasped as Rob jolted back. Peter looked in and fell to his knees, dry-heaving. “Oh God!” he kept saying between retches. “Close the door already!”

  Rob leaned in to close the door, but Mila stopped him. She walked slowly into the room, holding her mouth. The withered corpse on the bed was still wearing a hospital robe. Mila glanced at a clipboard resting on a wheeled table. Her name was Florence Gardner, and she was seventy-five years old.

  Mila walked closer to the bed as dust particles drifted down in the remaining rays of light seeping in through the window. Florence had decomposed beyond recognition, but she was at rest. Mila pulled a pair of latex gloves from a wall dispenser and put them on. She gently pulled the covers over the woman, up to the top of her head.

  “Mila, come on!” Rob said in a hushed but forceful tone.

  She patted the top of the sheets over Florence’s head. After a moment of silence she turned, removed the gloves and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  They continued down the hall, holding their mouths to block the odors. Perhaps there were others, just like Florence, who never had a chance of being moved out of the hospital in time. Rob checked each room on the right as Mila checked the left. He was on alert for trouble, while she checked the beds for patients. Peter kept his focus behind them, looking for anyone who might be following.

  They came to a pair of double doors, marked “Pharmacy,” and
stopped. Rob placed his hand on the door and hesitated. He peeked through the glass slits on both doors only to see a darkened lobby and a barren counter sitting in the corner of the room. He turned to the others.

  “The coast looks clear, but we need to be quick. Mila, get what you need. Peter and I will keep watch.”

  Mila nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “It would be a miracle if anything was left,” Peter said. “Looters probably raided the place weeks ago.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but let’s hold out for the best,” Rob said.

  He pushed open the doors, and the scene before them unfolded as something far worse than simple looting. It looked like the aftermath of a violent assault. Walls, riddled with bullets. Chairs blasted into pieces. Empty shelves covered the ground. Dried blood smeared on the floor and walls, but not a body in sight.

  “I feel like we’re walking through a crime scene,” Peter said nervously as they advanced to the pharmacy counter.

  “Just stay alert,” Rob said. “Whatever happened here is over.”

  Mila led the way and couldn’t help being distracted by the remnants of violence in their path. A firefight in a hospital? It was incomprehensible. She had known that venturing back to her hospital would be difficult, but could never have imagined what she was seeing. She pushed on and hurried to the counter. The door had already been blasted off its hinges. It lay on the ground filled with bullet holes, spread out in clusters.

  “Wait,” Rob said. “Let me clear the room first.”

  Mila held up her pistol. “I can do it.” There were rows of shelves aligned from the front of the room to the back. At first glance, she could see that most of them had been pillaged and cleared and were now caked with dust. It was too dark to see what remained. She stepped over the door and gasped. A pair of legs was sticking out from the bottom of the fourth shelving unit down.

  “What is it?” Rob asked, running her way. He pulled a ChemLight from his pocket, snapped it and held it up in the darkened stock room as it glowed yellow.

  “A body,” Mila said, pointing. The familiar odor of death wafted toward them. Rob urged Mila back and walked past the shelves with his gun drawn and ChemLight held high. He turned and saw the body of a man lying on his back, motionless.