by Thomas Key
When I awoke next, the room was dark, and if I had to guess, I would say it was early AM. I shifted in my hospital bed, and glanced about the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary. As I closed my eyes though, my mind replayed what I saw and I opened them again. I looked back at the large mirror in the room. There was ambient light coming from the other side. What in the actual fuck, I thought as I scrutinized it further. As I squinted hard, I could see something. The outline of a person on the other side. Instantly, I realized it. This was no normal hospital room, it was an observation room, and some fucker was watching me. That, more than anything got my blood boiling. I am sure as shit not cute when I sleep. Truth be told, Rachel on more than one occasion, had just simply pushed me off of the cot back at base because I was either snoring or drooling or making some unexplainable facial expression in my sleep. After the third time of waking up on the hard floor, I realized how the hell I had made it to the ground. She found a way to more than make it up to me. Holy hell did I miss my Rachel, I thought as my thoughts though quickly went away from that happy memory train and back to my original tracks. Someone was watching me snore and drool all over myself and didn’t have the damn common courtesy to introduce themselves. I knew the doors were locked, and that this was a secure facility. The keypad on the door spoke to that idea. Sydney’s ‘take over the world’ line was also a bit over the top. I’ve seen enough action movies to know that all of this stank of bad guys. Evil doers, enemies of good, whatever you’d like to call them. Bad guys is great in its simplicity though. Although a bit sexist. I had no doubt there were bad girls here too. Were they bad girls or bad bad girls. If you know what I mean. Holy shit, wrong train again, I thought as I shook my head to derail that one. The light seemed to turn off from the other side and my only guess was that whoever had been inside had left. This was my chance.
I jumped from the bed and headed for the door. It was, of course, locked. I knew it would be but hey, can you blame a guy for trying? I played with the keypad for a while, making no progress. I was by no means a double secret agent and had no idea what I was doing. Eventually, I headed back to bed. I lay in the bed, staring into the mirror as if it would somehow make me feel better. It didn’t. Morning finally arrived, or whatever time was morning to these people anyway. Sydney entered, holding a plate of food. I smiled at her, and she smiled at me. As she placed the tray next to my bed, I grabbed her arm, probably too forcibly. The look on her very attractive face instantly changed from carefree to fearful. “Listen to me. I know what's going on.” Her eyebrows furrowed in questioning. “This place. It's an observation room. People are watching me. Not good people either,” I said, trying to get the point across. It worked. The dawning of realization crossed her face. “I need to get out of here and get back to my friends.” She shook her head. “There is no getting out of here,” she whispered back. “There is for me,” I said. “No, I mean there is no way. There are guards in the hall, cameras, and we are underground. There is no way out,” she said. “Help me,” I whispered. She looked away. “We can help each other get out of here,” I said, trying to get her on board. She looked back at me, her eyes glistening with what appeared to be tears. “I can’t. They’ll kill both of us if they catch us.” “I can protect you. I’m a soldier,” I told her. She thought for a long silent moment, neither of us moving. “Okay,” she whispered. I let out the breath that I had apparently been holding in. “Thank you,” I told her, letting go of her arm. She nodded. “I have to get back to work. I’ll be back,” she said, leaving the room in a flurry of motion, leaving the food tray behind. I ate hungrily, knowing that soon, I would hopefully need every ounce of energy available to make it out of here in one piece. The game was afoot apparently, and I just had to figure out when and how to strike. Time for this action movie hero to breakout and kick some ass, I thought to myself. Until then, it was time to rest up.
Several days had passed and Sydney had visited only one more time since our initial encounter that day. I was going stir crazy staying in this small stupid ass room. Even the toilet was in clear view of the mirror. I made sure to give them quite a show as I took several craps, making sure to assault their eyes and their ears to the best of my ability. When Sydney finally came back, she had somehow managed to get a hold of a loaded pistol. Entering quietly, she picked up the chart clipboard and read over it. She reached over me to check the IV bag to my left. The weapon was tucked into her waistband, and as she reached over me, with her breasts right up against my face, I felt it and pulled it out, handle first and slid it under my blanket. Granted, I almost missed the damn thing as my head was almost pressed air tight right against those magnificent boobies. Any man can attest that when boobies are in your face, the whole world seems to fade away. She blushed and quickly moved away, leaving the room without another word. A grin crept over her face as she left the room. I checked the pistol under the sheets of the bed, making sure prying eyes would not be able to see. If someone had been watching, they probably thought that I was jerking off or something after that whole event. Fine by me, no man would enter during private alone time. Ladies may not be so inclined, but it’s man code to stay far far away until private time is concluded. I waited, and waited some more. Eventually, the door opened, just before lights out that day. She entered quietly, just as the light shut off. “The guards are having a shift change meeting, this is the best that I could do,” she whispered. I had already been up, doing pushups in the corner of the room. Quite a feat with the stupid IV still in my arm. My robe was open and she took full advantage of that fact. I stood up as quickly as I could, covering what could now not be unseen. I dressed as quickly as I could, with her back turned to me as I did. In retrospect, even with her back to me, the mirror in the room made it easy to see everything that I was doing. “We should go,” I told her, pulling the needle from my arm and covering it with a small bandage. She nodded. She placed her keycard against the reader and it clicked open. The hall was empty, with dimmed lights along the top and a clean hospital feel to it. It even had that weird sanitized smell. The ceramic tile was cold to the touch of my bare feet. I held the pistol in front of me and made my way out of the room, with her in tow. I looked to her questioningly. “Which way?” I asked. She pointed to the left. “This way.” I again took the lead, and as we came to another intersection, a guard stood, obviously not paying any attention. “Is there any way around?” I asked her. “No, the other way is a dead end,” she said. “Wonderful,” I whispered. “Stay here,” I said, holding the pistol behind me as I stumbled forward. The guard took notice and went rigid, his hand going to his own weapon. “Wuba luba dub dub!” I said out loud, almost at a shout. The look of confusion that crossed his face would have been absolutely hilarious, had I not been trying to save my own life. To be honest, I was scared shitless. I stumbled again, almost falling. The man ran forward, his hand pistol free. As he made it to me, I punched him square in the chin with my empty hand. I would love to say that he flew back from my almighty powerful hit. Instead, he took two steps back and looked at me with a mix of confusion and anger. I rushed forward and punched him a second and third time until finally, the shit went down. I pulled his pistol from his holster and handed it to my companion. “Let’s go,” I told her. We entered a stairwell and spotted two more guards making their way down to our level. “I guess the meeting is over,” she whispered. “Do you think?” I whispered back, a bit perturbed. The look that she shot me would have melted me had I been paying any damn attention. I shot twice, and the two men hit the ground. The sound of the gunshots was loud in the stairs. “Time to run!” I told her as we took the stairs upwards. It was maybe a whole thirty seconds before I could hear what sounded like a hundred footsteps coming in from behind us. It was probably closer to a dozen men but sound is funny in confined spaces. You never really know what you're up against when sound is all that you have to go off of. We made it up two floors before another guard came across us. This one had apparently been waiting for us and he caug
ht me a bit off guard. As we rounded a corner, he tackled me. It was a great tackle; I would give him that. We wrestled on the ground for a moment before I was able to get a good grip and I pushed him off of me, kicking him in the groin. Poor guy, I thought as I took in gasps of air. I had noticed two things while I tried to suck in oxygen. One was, there was no alarm. An escaped prisoner should have been an all hands-on deck event. Secondly, Sydney had not helped me at all, not even raising a finger, let alone her pistol. What the hell? I asked myself as I stood and dusted myself off. The guy on the ground had no weapon, and we left him behind, his cries of anguish receding behind us. We made it up two more flights until we came to a door marked ‘exit’. Yes! This was it! I thought as I moved to the door. I could see a wide-open room with light at the end. It was definitely the way out. Footsteps could still be heard downstairs and the sounds of angry men was growing louder by the second. I pushed the door open and walked into the very spacious room. It felt and smelt like an aircraft hangar. There were crates and equipment piled up in different sections and a man standing directly in my path. I approached him, with my weapon at the ready. “Hello, Mr. Barnes,” the man said. “Hi guy,” I said, keeping my eyes trained on him. “How does it feel to have freedom almost in your grasp?” he asked. As I came closer, it was apparent that this was a military man. A General apparently. “It feels dandy, truth be told,” I said. He smiled. “I just wanted you to get a taste of that before the real fun begins,” he said. I stopped my advance. It took my mind just a moment longer to process what he had said than it should have. “Sorry, say what now?” His smile grew. “You are about to undergo a grueling set of tests and frankly, it's always better to remove the ideas of escaping early on so that you’re more pliable during the process. “The hell I am,” I said, standing up straighter. “Yes, the hell you are. In fact, you’ll be helping us out greatly. You are subject #1 in an ongoing test to see the effects of continuous infection for an immune.” My eyebrows shot up. “Immune?” I asked, the other questions and statements in my mind quickly vacating to make room for this new information. “Indeed. Apparently, you are one of the lucky few who have bonded with the infection in a way that defies our knowledge. You turned, but only for a very short time period. In fact, by the time that you arrived here for study, you were back to normal. It was fascinating,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement at the possibilities. “Well, I really do appreciate the getting me back on my feet and all of that but I hate needles and I don’t play well with others, so I think it’s time I call it a day and head on out of here,” I said, as I stepped forward again, hoping to get by the uniformed man.
A door to my right opened with a loud clang and eight men entered, holding batons. I grinned, and turned to train my pistol on them. Without a second's hesitation, I fired half a magazine into the group. A funny thing happened though. It didn’t do anything at all. The men all stood there, smirking back at me as if I was on some kind of prank show. I looked down at the gun in my hands. Smoke was coming from the barrel and it had definitely fired. “You’ve been using blanks, I’m afraid,” the man said. I pulled the pistol around for good measure and fired a round his way. The action did, in fact, catch him off guard, and he took a step back, recoiling slightly. I stood there, puzzled. The gun was given to me by Sydney. I turned to her. She stood, with both hands in her pockets, watching everything unfold like it was a damned dinner show. “Really?” I asked her. She shrugged. “You’re not the first mildly attractive guy that has tried to get out of here. There’s not much point to hurt my career for a nobody like you,” she said. To be honest, I was a bit taken aback. “Mildly attractive? I think I’m drop dead gorgeous, thank you very much,” I said, a bit appalled at her choice of words. “Besides, your hair looks stupid,” I said, the feeling of betrayal growing inside of me. In retrospect, I could have gone with something more meaningful and less childish but at that point, my mind was drawing a blank. She punched me right in the stomach and I let out a weird, wheezing noise as I hit the ground. The men closed the distance and formed around me, and I began to receive one of the worst beatings that I ever had the pleasure of receiving. I think it was actually top two. The whole while, the General guy and Sydney stood, watching every hit with those hard, plastic batons. Finally, after a good long whopping, I passed out.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke up feeling like absolute shit. It was as if every inch of me had been spanked repeatedly with a metal paddle that was designed to tenderize meat. So much so that as I laid there with my eyes open. I felt that I was unable to move. This was not the first time that I’ve felt like this to be sure. The helicopter crash, then the Humvee crash. This was the first massive beating that I had ever had though. I decided while enjoying the pain and lying there, that this beating took first place after all. Poor Brenda and her friends in 3rd grade. They’d no doubt be saddened to hear someone out beat those playground thugs. I hated fights my entire life and I had always been one of those people that tried to avoid conflict whenever possible. Sure, sometimes, it made an argument much more difficult here and there, but I was always a lover and not a fighter if you know what I mean. While I laid there, I surveyed my surroundings. I was back in my observation room. Interesting choice, I thought. I would have not put myself back into the same room. One thing was plainly different though. I couldn’t move. I thought it had just been from the shooting pain of probably a couple of dozen bruises and cuts, but as I looked at myself in the room’s large mirror, I saw the straps along my chest, wrists and feet. Kinky, I thought, sighing to myself as I closed my eyes once again. The best thing for my injuries, I knew, was rest. I obliged, falling fast back into sleep. It was who knows how long before I was violently pulled from my dreams. I felt a throbbing in my arm as I woke up and looked down. There, to my consternation, was something that was not there previously. It was another I.V. The needle was protruding from my arm and it was connected to a tube that led to a machine to my left. It was drawing blood, not providing me with lifesaving liquids. Not a drop of blood, mind you, a lot of blood. The wave of nausea hit me hard as I watched it drain. I can cut through a dozen infected, watching their blood and guts spill all over the floor and I can handle that with no problem. This though, was something I had a hard time stomaching. I was bleeding my own blood, and it was gross. A memory sparked into my mind and try as I might, I could not stop the inevitable flashback.
Before the zombapoc, when my then wife and I had conceived our first and only child, I was not able to deal with that blood either. The first time we had seen a midwife and they had to draw blood, I almost passed out. “Are you alright?” the nurse had asked, glancing over my way. Apparently, I had turned two shades whiter than normal. “Yeah,” I somewhat blurted out, trying to keep my eyes on anything except what was going on directly in front of me. “Honey?” my wife had asked, with a hint of concern in her voice. “You two just do you, I’m good. This picture is fascinating, that’s all,” I said, staring at a photo with instructions on good hygiene habits and what infections they help avoid. It really was not fascinating at all, but it seemed to work to get their prying eyes off of my face. It wasn’t until the car ride home that the wife asked me about it again. “So what happened today?” she asked. “Whatever do you mean?” I asked back, already knowing where the conversation was heading. “You looked like you saw a ghost,” she replied. “I’m just not good with blood,” I said back. She looked at me. “I’ve literally seen you wrap someone’s bloody hand after they cut themselves with a knife.” She was referring to a family get together that had happened a year earlier. One of my uncles was attempting to show off his cutting skills when he ended up slicing his hand from wrist to finger. I put pressure on it, and wrapped it and proceeded to drive him to the ER. She was right though, that did not bother me at all. “I guess this is different,” I told her. “Why?” “Well, because I love you and seeing someone I love’s blood just made me sick,” I said. “Aww you love me?” she said, mocking me
a little. “Yes babe, so let’s just move past this okay? I can build a house but not see your blood, so let’s call it even.” She laughed. “Alright honey, just remember that we have appointments all the way up until after the baby is born. You might have to get used to it.” “Nah, I’ll just bring a book next time.” She again laughed, and so had I, looking into her beautiful eyes as we headed home that day. That had been one of the last times that we had had a decent conversation, before our marriage had burst into flames and I was left dealing with the ashes.
