Dead State Box Set [0-5]

by Shupert, Derek

  I near the right side of the nurse’s station where the walkway through to the offices are. I pause at the opening. My hand rests on the countertop as I sweep the area.

  “Ms. Jones. Are you ok?” I ask again.

  Silence.

  Damnit.

  Steel shelving units against the wall on my right, protrude out into the walkway, which blocks my view of the offices beyond. I lean to my left against the counter’s edge and crane my neck for a better look. I still can’t see clearly past the rack of shelves.

  I glance back to the double doors, then over to where Cindy is. She’s quiet as a church mouse. Not a single peep or murmur carries from her room.

  One more sweep of the immediate area finds it to be free and clear of anything that would have caused such a clatter. It had to have been from around here, though, since it was close enough for us to hear it clearly.

  This would be so much easier if I knew exactly where Ms. Jones was going. Which office had the radio inside of it? I can check these few rooms right here and see. I’ll still be close enough to hear Cindy if she needs me. I’ve rationalized long enough. I need to find Ms. Jones to make sure she’s all right, and to ensure she has that radio. Most important, I need to make sure that she hasn’t been attacked by a chaser.

  Slow and steady, I move through the opening. I tilt the flashlight down at an angle to the left, and hone the beam at the space behind the counter. Empty.

  The room to my right has its door ajar. I step closer. My hand presses flat against the exterior as I push it inward. The hinges barely squeak, but it sounds like a loud horn going off. I grab the edge and stop. I think there’s enough room for me to thread my body through.

  The light washes over the far wall to my right as my head slips in through the opening. I look quickly for any signs of Ms. Jones, but find nothing more than an open room that’s a disorganized mess. Loose papers carpet the floor. I don’t spend any more time looking. I step away from the room and close the door behind me.

  On the other side of the shelving unit is another room. I narrow my gaze and try to peer through the stocked shelves of medical supplies. All I can see is the dark, brown wood grain of a door. Nothing more.

  My teeth grind and fingers ball into a fist, then release. If Ms. Jones isn’t in this next room, then I’m cutting loose and getting back to Cindy. I can’t stray too far.

  A subtle noise catches my ear from behind. It sounds like footsteps. I spin about anxiously and train the flashlight at the source. My body accidently bumps into the mobile shelving unit. It clatters against the wall, making a god-awful ruckus.

  I cringe as I feverishly search for the source of the footsteps. I’m halfway expecting to find Cindy standing there, but I spot no one.

  Did I really hear footsteps? Are my nerves getting the better of me?

  A groaning sound looms in the air close by, followed by the door behind me slamming shut. I gasp. I hold my breath in fright, and turn back toward the office.

  My heart pounds so hard that I feel like it’s going to burst through my chest. Rapid, shallow breaths escape my trembling lips. I know I heard that. That has to be where Ms. Jones is, and not the chaser that might be loose on this floor.

  My fingers tighten over the flashlight. I gather what courage I have and move toward the office.

  I step closer, stopping just shy of the door. I reach for the silver handle. My fingers wrap around its steel surface. I lean forward, and tilt my head to the right. I press my ear to the exterior of the door and listen.

  Low and silent, I speak as softly as I can with the hopes that she’ll hear me.

  “Ms. Jones, are you in there?” Another groan sounds, followed by some mumbled speech I can’t make out. It’s faint. That doesn’t sound like a chaser. It has to be her in there. “Hold tight. I’m coming in.”

  I push down on the handle, and press my body to the door. I push forward, but the door doesn’t budge. Not much, anyway. I try again. It moves a scant inch, but it feels as though something is keeping it from opening from the inside. I plant my feet and push as hard as I can. It moves open wide enough for me to peer inside the office.

  A beam of light shines out from the ether of blackness within the disheveled office.

  I position my light inside the opening and look about. A cluttered mess greets my gaze. I tilt the beam toward the floor and discover a head full of hair.

  “Ms. Jones. Are you all right? What happened?”

  Another groan lingers in the air as the head twitches and moves. I’m waiting for her to respond with actual words and sentences instead of muttered groans like the chasers.

  “James.” Ms. Jones grumbles in discomfort. She slowly moves away from the door, allowing me to open it farther. My free hand grips the edge of the door and pushes it open a bit more. I crane my neck, and peer around the door to the floor.

  Flat on her butt with her back resting against a row of gray four-drawer filing cabinets that span the wall, she sits in a daze.

  The flashlight is on the floor to her left, pointing in the direction of the door. Her face is contorted in pain. Her right arm reaches up as her fingers probe the gash across her forehead.

  I move in.

  The flashlight sweeps the office from left to right. I find no signs of chasers or anything else for that matter that would hint at any danger. I’m lost as to what went down in here.

  I kneel down next to her and stare at the open wound on her head. Blood runs down her porcelain flesh.

  “That’s a pretty nasty gash you have there,” I say.

  Ms. Jones removes her fingers from the wound and holds them up in front of her. The ends are coated in blood.

  “I’m such a damn klutz,” she angrily snarls. “I think I have two left feet at times.”

  I eye the torn flesh. “Did you fall?”

  She nods. “I was leaving the room, and my foot caught one of the legs of the chair over there by the desk. I fell forward and hit my head on the end of it. The flashlight flew from my hand. Dazed me pretty good.”

  I twist in the direction of the desk. The lone guest chair is flipped over on its back. I shift to the left a hair more and find a small trace of blood on the edge.

  “Are you able to stand up?”

  Ms. Jones raises her arm up to me. “Yeah. I think so. My pride is more hurt than anything.”

  I stand up and take her hand. I gently assist her off the ground and back to her feet. She leans against the filing cabinets, taking a minute to gather herself.

  “Did you find the radio?” I inquire. I don’t see it on her person.

  “Yeah. It’s probably on the floor somewhere. I dropped it as well.”

  I train the flashlight to the ground just as a blood curdling scream catches my ear. I spin toward the partially open door. A wave of panic crashes into me.

  Oh no. Cindy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Another scream fills my ears.

  I bolt out of the office.

  I collide with the corner of the shelving unit next to the office, which sends it rolling away from the wall and into the walkway.

  I lose my balance and fall into the textured wall to my right. The rigid surface scraps along the side of my face, but I don’t care. All I can think of is Cindy. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have left her alone like that, regardless of how far away I was.

  “Cindy!” I yell out. “I’m coming!”

  “James!” she cries out.

  I push away from the wall and try to maneuver around the steel cart. It’s at an angle, blocking my path. If anything has happened to Cindy, I can’t, won’t, be able to live with it.

  Adrenaline surges through my veins like a raging river of boiling testosterone. My fingers wrap around the steel bar running vertically along the side of the mobile shelf. I violently yank it toward me, and shove the shelf out of my way.

  The wheel catches and tips over. It slams into the cabinets to my right, creating a god-awful crescendo that echoes through
out the space. Medical supplies dump from the shelves and clatter on the tops of the counters and the floor. I fumble my way past the toppled over cart as I struggle to train the light across the hall.

  A portion of the plastic curtain that surrounds Cindy’s space has been torn free. It hangs by a handful of wires from the ceiling.

  “James!” She continues to scream my name.

  “Cindy!” I round the nurse’s station in a mad dash, cutting the corner by mere inches.

  The light is unsteady in my grasp. Each step I take, the beam wildly bounces over the far wall and medical equipment. I spot the edge of her bed, and that’s when my heart plummets into a deep, dark ravine of despair.

  “No!” I yell.

  I come to skidding halt.

  My eyes widen at the sight of a woman in scrubs who is on her hands and knees, straddling Cindy on the bed.

  Cindy pants and cries as the woman hovers above her meager body. Cindy peers to her left around the woman’s skinny frame. The light washes over her flush cheeks, moist with tears.

  “Hey! Get the hell away from my sister!” I demand with a hoarse growl.

  The woman’s head twitches, and shifts to the right. She looks back over her shoulder in my direction. Her face is filled with anger. Her teeth gnash, and she pants hard and deeply. She has a chunk of flesh missing from the right portion of her neck.

  I charge the bed. The nurse quickly spins about. I have no weapons on me except for the flashlight. Guess it’ll have to work. I raise my arm in the air and pull it back over my shoulder. I growl through clenched teeth.

  She lunges from the bed like a crazed animal. Her boney body slams into mine and knocks me hard to the linoleum floor. I slide backward, prone on my back, into the hall with her straddling my waist.

  We tussle and fight on the floor. Her teeth chomp up and down as her crazed eyes peer into mine. I don’t bother trying to reason with her. There’s no point. She’s already been consumed by the virus, and there is no going back.

  She leans down and tries to bite my chest. I grab just under her jaw and hold her back. She growls and grunts, pushing down with all of her might. My arm shakes, then bend. The chasers are strong and formidable, which makes tussling with them that much more dangerous.

  The nurse presses down relentlessly as I struggle to hold her at bay. From the wild look in her eyes and the chomping of her teeth, she shows no signs of giving up, but neither am I. Wielding the flashlight, I strike her across the right side of her skull. The dull thud of the barrel sends her head snapping to the left violently.

  A trickle of blood runs out from the now open gash on her forehead. It races down the side of her face. Droplets of blood drip from the end of her chin and splash against my coat.

  I swing the flashlight once more. She grabs my arm. Her head fixes front and center with mine. She pins my arm to the floor with the weight of her body, and growls wildly.

  The beam of light is pointed in the opposite direction, so all I can see is the silhouette of her long hair dangling in front of her face like spider legs.

  Cindy’s still on the bed, crying and screaming for me. Her frantic words are lost on my ears and play as background noise to the nurse who has me mounted. I have to get out of this situation alive. That’s all there is to it.

  More intense growls escape from the nurse’s lips. I struggle to keep her away with my left arm. It bends even more, and she inches closer to my flesh. I snarl and spit through clenched teeth as I try to free my pinned right arm.

  The sharp report of a single gunshot nearby startles me. It echoes down the hall. I flinch. A brief flash of yellow and orange from my right catches my eye.

  A squishing sound quickly fills my slightly ringing ears followed by the nurse’s head jerking to the left. Her body drops lifelessly onto my chest in a heap of dead weight.

  My hand releases the flashlight, so I can try to get the nurse clear of me. I struggle to position my arms under her body to push her off. She wasn’t overly big, but trying to bench press dead weight off of me, especially when I have skimpy muscles, is challenging.

  Footsteps head this way. I grit my teeth and finally roll her bulk onto the floor. I spew a breath of tension and exhaustion from my mouth.

  My head tilts to the right and finds a pair of military boots and fatigues standing near me. I look up toward the ceiling. I’m met with a blinding light that blasts me in the face. My eyes narrow from the harsh beam as my hands come up to shield my face. I can’t tell who it is.

  “You all right, son?” the voice wearily inquires. It’s Commander Reynolds.

  “Yeah. I’m better now. Thanks.” My head turns away from the light to keep it from blinding me.

  He sweeps down my body, then back up. “She didn’t bite you, did she?”

  My hands remain up as I shake my head no. “Not for lack of trying. Can you remove the damn light from my face?”

  It takes him a moment to comply, but he finally does. He reaches down, takes hold of my hand, and pulls me to my feet.

  I scan the floor for the flashlight, and find it clasped within Cindy’s hands. She’s barefoot and dressed in a hospital gown. I rush over to her.

  “Are you ok?” I worriedly inquire.

  Cindy hands me the flashlight. I take it from her, and cradle her flushed face. Tears stream down her cheeks.

  She whimpers as she wraps her arms tightly around my neck. “I was so scared, James. I didn’t know what it was going to do to me.”

  I hold her tight for a moment longer. She releases her hold and takes a step back.

  I grip the sides of both of her arms. I thoroughly check her for any additional bites or wounds that the chaser may have inflicted.

  “Did she bite or scratch you? I don’t see anything.”

  Cindy shakes her head. “I don’t think she did, but it all happened so quickly.”

  Commander Reynolds approaches from our right. He towers over us. “What exactly happened after she spotted you?”

  Cindy brushes away the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She sniffles, and slows her panted breathing.

  “I tried to stay as quiet as I could. I guess she saw me sitting there, and that’s when she came at me.” She pauses, and swallows down the fear that remains. “She jumped up on the bed and just sat on top of me. That’s when I yelled for James.”

  Commander Reynolds nudges my arm. “Were you not with her when this happened?”

  I turn and point in the direction of the office. A bead of light comes out of the dark room and into the walkway where I left Ms. Jones.

  “Ms. Jones had an accident when she was getting the radio. She tripped and banged her head pretty good. Made a lot of noise as well. I went to check on her, and found her on the floor. That’s when I heard Cindy screaming for help.”

  Commander Reynolds turns his focus back to Cindy. “So, she didn’t try to bite or attack you?”

  Cindy shrugs, then shakes her head no. Her bottom lip quivers. More tears swell in her eyes as she looks at me.

  “That’s enough questions for now,” I say.

  “I got ahold of Lieutenant Jacobson on the radio,” Ms. Jones says from behind us. “He’s heading up now with some men.”

  Ms. Jones walks alongside me, and braces herself against the edge of the bed. She looks a bit shaken still. Her balance is a bit unsteady as she sways from side to side.

  Cindy points at her forehead. “Your head. It’s bleeding.”

  Ms. Jones nods. “I know. I was in such a rush to get back, and it was so dark that I ran into the shelves. It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about it.” Ms. Jones reaches down and runs her fingers over the few wires and tubes that are still attached to Cindy’s arm. “Come here, sweetie. Let’s get those off of you. We’ll probably be moving down to one of the lower floors now.”

  “I’m glad you’re ok.” Commander Reynolds gently places his hand on Cindy’s shoulder. Cindy offers a warm smile through the sadness on her face.
/>   Ms. Jones escorts her back over by the bed.

  I spot some blood splashed on top of the commander’s hand. “Did you get bit or something?”

  The commander grumbles. “No. It’s just a cut. The nurse over there and Private Ferris attacked us. Knocked me into a window. Damn jagged glass carved me up good.”

  I look back over my shoulder. Someone is missing.

  “Where’s Private Carter?”

  “We split up. He went after Private Ferris, and I came after the nurse. She had the jump on me after putting me into the window. Last I saw, Private Carter was chasing Ferris toward the other end of the hospital.”

  Christ. That doesn’t sound good.

  The odds of Carter becoming infected are pretty good. I hope he manages to take down Private Ferris before that happens, though. The last thing we need is to have more infected roaming the halls, and the grounds outside.

  The double doors from the hall burst open. Multiple beams of light slash through the darkness. The tromping of footsteps charges our way.

  Lieutenant Jacobson appears with four other men behind him. He stands just outside of Cindy’s room with his pistol drawn. Both hands tightly grasp the grip. He looks toward the dead nurse, then back to us.

  “Is everyone all right?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “We’ve got a situation, Lieutenant,” Commander Reynolds tersely says.

  He can say that again.

  Jacobson motions with his right hand for his men to disperse and check the perimeter. They stomp off, splitting up to sweep the immediate area.

  The lights overhead buzz, then flicker as if they’re struggling to come back on. Brief snapshots of white from the rounded bulbs illuminate the space in a warm, white glow before fading away.

  “Are we still having issues with the generators?” Commander Reynolds inquires. “Power has been off for a while up here.”

  Jacobson glances up to the lights that finally cease their flickering and come back to life. “Among other things, sir. I’ve had a few of our men down in the boiler room working on it. Damn thing’s got issues. They’ve got them working as best they can with what we have on hand. Not sure how much longer they’re going to hold out.”