The Unfavorable

by Samantha Ridenour

  Chapter 1

  The absolute darkness surrounding me slowly fades. Shadows are pulling back, and clearing the cobwebs clouding my every attempt at coherent thought.

  What have you gotten yourself into now, Renny Vilsaint?

  After chastising myself, it takes me several seconds before I realize my eyes are closed, and how that is more than likely the reason everything is black. The amount of effort it takes to open them takes almost all of my energy – I almost pass back out with the attempt. My eyelids flutter a few times before I’m able to keep them open.

  My vision is blurry at first, but quickly adjusts to the dim light peeping in from a window to my right within the small room. There’s a steady beep… beep… beep… to my left, but I can’t quite turn my head yet to see what it is. I can see in front of me, though.

  The bed I’m lying on barely fits between the narrow walls, the foot of it right up against the one in front of me. Even the right side of the bed is pushed right against a wall.

  Having no idea where I am, my heart begins to race right along with the sounds coming to my left.

  Beep, beep, beep…

  A heart monitor. My panic falls in step with the only noise in the room, almost like with the beat to a rave song. The anxiety gives me the energy I need to sit up in the hospital bed, throw off three thick blankets, and rip off the cords coming from the monitor and attached to my chest. In an instant, the loud and quick BEEP BEEP BEEP suddenly changes to a high-pitched, constant tone. Flat line.

  The irritating tone does nothing to relieve my anxiety. It seems to get louder the longer it sounds. Panic increasing, I sit up further, legs hanging over the left side of the bed, and yank on the machine - hard.

  It flies toward the opposite wall, the plug rips right out of the socket and whips me across my left calf before following the monitor. Glass and machinery shatter and clink against the tile flooring below it, and silence ensues. The pain radiating in my leg I can handle, now that I can hear myself think.

  With the beeping subdued, the only noise is a low humming coming from outside my room. My breathing remains erratic, but I stay seated in a vain attempt to stay calm and figure out where I am. There are cabinets against the wall that is now in front of me with a small, wheeled stool underneath it.

  I'm in some sort of clinic. Assuming I'm still in Waverly, Wisconsin. Which does me no good since it has three different clinics across the city.

  I've been out from underneath the covers for less than a minute and I'm starting to feel a chill.

  Is it still spring or is it fall?

  I can't be sure. There is no way to tell how long I've been in this room, let alone how long I've been unconscious. The last memory I can remember is a spring day eating lunch with friends. If something happened, then why have I woken up in a clinic rather than a hospital room?

  Nothing about this is right.

  Why hasn't someone checked on me with the heart monitor unplugged? Where is my husband? He would never leave my side if he knew that I wasn't well.

  Working to steady my breathing, I lower my feet to the tile. My breath remaining erratic, I can’t stop the panic from making my body shake. The floor is freezing - the instant my right big toe touches it, I pull away with a soft hiss. Definitely Fall. Winter isn't far away with how brisk the tiling is.

  I grab the top blanket from the bed, untangle it from the other two, fold it a couple times, and drop it onto the floor. Taking another comforter, I wrap it around myself as I slide down the bed. Landing carefully on the soft blanket, I shuffle towards the broken monitor. A very short hallway extending to the left behind the machine has two doors - one about two feet ahead of me, and the other in the wall to my left.

  Seeing that there's a way out of here - without breaking the window - eases the tension in my limbs and slows my heartbeat. With a sigh, I shuffle back to the cabinets and begin to rifle through them.

  Thankfully I'm in a pair of pink and purple flannel pajamas, but that's not going to help me if I want to go outside this building. I need something warmer without being forced to drag this comforter everywhere. One after another, I open the drawers looking for anything to help but find nothing. Every single one is empty.

  “Shit…” I mumble, slamming the last cabinet door shut. My voice is gravelly and low, I almost don't recognize it. It's almost painful to speak from disuse.

  How long have I been out? Where the hell is Hazen?

  I thrust my left hand to the leftover blanket on the bed and yank it against my chest to cover my front. Clinging to it as if it's my last and only life line. I want to stomp out of here, but there's no way my feet could handle the glass from the heart monitor without causing damage to myself.

  Keeping a blanket against me, one around my shoulders and the other beneath my feet, I dig my fingers into the one I'm holding while focusing on calming myself. I need to have a clear head if I'm going to figure out what the hell is going on here.

  Shuffling the blanket beneath me, I hold my breath walking toward the exit. There is no way to get around the monitor, though. I sit back on the bed and crawl to the foot of it. Leaning over the side, I push the monitor so it falls to the floor with a clang and more glass from the screen breaks off from the machine.

  I lower my feet and use them to kick the heart monitor underneath the bed. It knocks against the bars of the bedstead. Using my feet to maneuver the monitor, I push it so the side is up against the metal. It’s still poking out from beneath the bed, but there’s enough room for me to weasel my way into the narrow hallway.

  Not wanting my feet to freeze, I toss the floor blanket into the hallway before following. I grab hold of the frame at the foot of the bed with my right hand, place my right foot on the side bars, and stretch the rest of my body over the machine to the tile floor on the other side.

  I have to push myself off the bed to fully pass the monitor, aiming as close to the left wall as possible without slamming into it. Clearing the machine, as well as the wall, I land the leap but with a slight hiccup in my plan. I land one-footed just before the blanket, the heel of my left foot finding a particularly jagged piece of glass. It embeds itself into my foot, blood slowly pooling below me.

  The chunk of glass piercing my skin causes me to howl in pain. I hop once on the balls of my foot, catching more glass before falling to my knees on the blanket. It slides a couple inches from the inertia of my fall. The comforter around my shoulders shrouds me while the one I had been holding flies toward the door.

  “Fuck!” I bellow, laying my head on the blanket. The one that I threw it at the door before attempting the jump. I wince from the pulsing coming from my heel.

  I pound my right fist against the tile, but it does nothing to relieve the pain shooting from beneath my foot and up my leg. The dull ache from my knees hitting the floor is barely registering. My hand gropes the door to my left, using my fingers to climb up it, searching for the knob. I'm hoping it's some kind of closet that still has some first aid supplies inside.

  My hand ascends almost a foot and a half before it reaches a horizontal knob jutting out from the door. I yank the handle down and pull the door towards me. It swings open easily. So much so, that it launches at me and slams against my shoulder.

  I’m so angry at this point that all I can do is hiss at the new waves of pain washing down my arm. No words are able to pass my clenched jaw.

  Why the fuck is this hallway so small? Even if I had backed up all the way against the wall, I still would have been hit by the door…

  Keeping the blanket beneath me, I use my tender knees to scoot into the new room. It doesn’t hurt as much as my shoulder and foot. Winded and growling, I raise my gaze with hope to see what awaits me. At this point, anything to help me will be an improvement. However, I can feel the pigment drain from my face looking into the room.

  A small bathroom lies in front of me. The bareness of the counter and shower is disconcerting. The sink is encased by a short cabinet that is no w
ider than a foot and no taller than two. A mirror is bolted to the wall above it. A standing shower encompasses the wall opposite me, with a toilet scrunched against the left wall, opposite the sink.

  I attempt to gulp down some of my panic, but it catches in the back of my throat.

  My dry and scratchy throat from disuse – right…

  Scrambling, my knees smack against the chilled tile, the comforter kicked against the wall behind me. It’s forgotten in my desperation to saturate the desert that has formed in place of my esophagus. I grab hold of the counter as best I can and pull myself up.

  My right foot on the floor, I use every fiber in me to pull and lift myself up to the sink in the middle of the countertop. My first attempt fails. The muscles in my calf strain against my weight, giving out after only seconds.

  The smack of my knees hitting the floor take with I the last of my fight. Arms hanging limply from the counter, my breathing is heavy from the exertion. I let my arms fall to the floor with a soft thump. I lean forward so my stomach is laying on my thighs.

  I’m going to die in here…

  With my forearms laying on the floor and my fingers intertwined, I pray to anything left in this world for help. Begging to any and all gods that this isn’t the end for me. If he’s alive, I want to see my husband, Hazen, one more time before I’m worm food.

  Depending on whether worms survived whatever is keeping a human from coming to help me…

  Taking a different tactic, I lean my left elbow on top of the toilet seat. Even though my energy is slim to none, I’m able to pull myself right against it. I take a deep breath and try lifting myself onto the seat.

  Slowly, I raise my body high enough to get my right foot back underneath me and flat on the floor. My calf muscles twitch from the strain, threatening to have me collapse again. I’m not ready to visit the floor again, though.

  Grunting like a new mother giving birth to twins, both of my hands are on the seat while I struggle, trembling and trying to sit down. All the adrenaline I had before is gone. I’m almost ready to give up when I’m finally able to slide my butt onto the God forsaken toilet.

  I lean my left shoulder against the wall above the toilet to keep from falling. I’m a bit wobbly. Catching my breath, the sink is easily within arms reach from here. Right elbow leaning on the counter, my left hand stretches to the knob and pull it towards me.

  It doesn’t matter if the water is hot or cold, I don’t care, I just need something to dry my throat. My hand hesitates on the freezing metal handle, my heart caught in my neck.

  What happens if there’s no water?

  There’s really no question, though. I have to try.

  Gathering my wits, I pull the handle and close my eyes. I can’t look. The plumbing squeals and gurgles, not sure if it wants to work. After a few seconds of indecision, water rushes from the faucet, into the sink, and down the drain.

  I just about have an orgasm. Relief floods my body and it feels better than sex. And that’s saying something.

  Leaning over the countertop now, I gulp up mouthfuls of chilled liquid while the rest slides down my face and into the piping below. I’m not even a little lady-like. One swallow after another, the desert becomes and oasis.

  When I stop, steam is rising and fogging the mirror from how hot the water is now. I pull away, letting the glorious water continue to run.

  “Hello,” I call to my reflection, turning the water off. Who knows how long I’m going to be stuck here, and the water supply may be limited.

  Speaking doesn’t hurt my throat anymore, thankfully. A huge smile shines from my cheeks. Finally, a silver lining on this very strange cloud. My gaze remains on my features, examining them. I want to know if I’ve had plastic surgery or something. I’ll look for scars later to make sure I have all my organs still.

  The back of my long, mahogany hair is a matted rat’s nest from laying down. My face is paler than usual, most likely from the lack of direct sunlight. My high cheekbones are rosy from the steam, but there is life in my light green eyes. I love them because they look orange from specks of chestnut scattered throughout the irises.

  Nothing has changed, thankfully. Even my nose is still slim along the bridge and rounded at the tip. A relieved sigh escapes my lips. Until I remember I may be missing an organ or two. I watch my eyes widen in terror before looking at my stomach.

  Lifting my flannel shirt with my left hand, I graze my right along my belly looking for abnormalities. Nothing out of the ordinary yet.

  With renewed energy from the water, I stand, lean against the countertop, and pull my shirt higher. I twist my midriff from right to left. No random marks or scars to indicate an unwanted surgery.

  In fact, there are no blemishes at all. No moles or freckles, and the birthmark that looked like Texas above my left hip is gone. I rub at the spot, but it doesn’t come back.

  What the hell…

  Squinting as I glare at my reflection, I’m completely dumbfounded. I have no clue what would cause a loss of blemishes like this. Hazen would know, but he’s the smart one out of the both of us. And he’s not here…

  I can ignore the lack of freckles for the moment. Missing my husband is too much to think about right now – not knowing what happened to him. Being alone in a clinic when its cold is sort of creepy. Freaking out about where he is will just make it worse.

  However, I know where I am now. Three’s only one clinic in town that has individual bathrooms – Saint Richard’s Family Medicine and Children’s Hospital, on the south side of town. About two miles away from the university – Waverly University – which has the largest generator within a 50-mile radius. If there are any survivors, they will be holed up there.

  It’s good news, but there’s bad along with it. I have to walk there. In the cold. With no shoes or winter clothing at all. And no idea how I will even make it there without freezing.

  There may not be anything helpful in this room, but I can still hear a low hum outside the room. Hopefully someone left an item of clothing for me to borrow. Hell, someone had to, at least, check on the generator and refuel it, if not review on my vitals.

  I’m clean, though. So, someone has definitely been taking care of me…

  A shudder runs down my spine. This place is creepy enough without the thought of someone undressing, sponge bathing, and redressing me. The thought just makes it all the more terrifying. Another chill sends a shiver through me. I’m not sure how this situation could get any worse.

  With a sigh, I test my legs. A bit wobbly, but I’m able to stand without assistance. In my excitement, I forgot about my injury, though. I definitely try to use the injured foot. The one with shards of glass still imbedded in it.

  Not only do renewed waves of pain claw up my calf, but I almost become reacquainted with the floor again. Blood has pooled underneath me. I slip on it and hang onto the sink for dear life. Thankfully, I stay standing, but I feel like an idiot for my lapse in judgement.

  Lowering my butt back onto the toilet, I let out a frustrated huff. I glare at my reflection again before leaning over and lay my stomach on my knees. There’s a cabinet under the sink, but I can’t think clearly. My forehead lays on the edge of the counter, the cold ceramic soothes a bit of my anger.

  I’m beginning to get annoyed with all the cold, but the frigidity actually works to relax my limbs. I have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in this room but not knowing is the worst part of it. Taking deep breaths, I let the cold wash over me. There’s a better way to do this than fumbling around and hurting myself more.

  You can do this, Renny… You have all the time in the world right now…

  Sitting up straight, I move my legs to the left enough to open the right door first. I want full access for this search. Then, I tiptoe my feet back to the right, so I have just enough room to open the left door, too. The anticipation is killing me.

  The air around me stiffens with my anxiety. I peek inside, my hands still on the cupboard doors. Most of th
e space is filled by plumbing, but that isn’t all I find. Tucked into the back, right corner, behind a conveniently placed pipe, is a small first aid kit.

  My forehead collides with the counter as I dive for the supplies. Although I’m sure a thud of some kind sounds from the impact, but all I hear is high-pitched ringing. I blink several times to get rid of the spots clouding my vision, too, before they begin to fade.

  The world spins around me as I try to right myself. My motor skills are shot while I wait for the dizziness to pass. Head in my hands, I watch the spots disappear and reappear slowly until they finally decrease in number some more and go away completely.

  Regaining what little composure I have left, I’m more careful during this attempt. It’s extremely awkward, but I lower my torso as much as possible, so I can fit my head into the cabinet. My arms are too short for me to grab the kit otherwise.

  Stretching as far as my body will allow, I hold my breath waiting to touch something solid. Almost there, I risk falling face first into the cabinet the further forward I reach. My fingers wrap around the plastic handle and yank it toward me. The kit bounces and clatters against the piping. My breath is released from my lungs when my head meets the counter again before I’m able to sit up.

  “God damnit!” I yell, a guttural, primal growl tearing from my throat and bouncing off the walls.

  In my fury, I throw the supplies into the shower. The kit explodes upon impact with the tiling, and its contents ricochet from wall to wall, scattering like frightened mice into the corners of the washroom. I’m not an angry person but I’m not clumsy either. These bumps and bruises are not at all normal for me.

  Why has no one come to help me?!

  No matter what it is that has made me alone, I know the human race survives. I would not be here struggling if there aren’t others outside this place somewhere.

  Clinging to the fact, I force my anger away. Continuing like this will get me no where and I have to get out of here. I’ve already spent too long inside this room. I’m not going to stay alive without help, either.