by R. M. Smith
Wendy shook her head no and stood up.
“Listen; my wife, ok, she needs help. This guy’s a doctor. He can help her. But only you know the way to the hospital.”
“I know where the hospital is,” Ben said standing up, too.
“Well then I guess we don’t need this little girl then, do we?” Max asked. He pointed his gun directly at Wendy’s forehead.
She cringed clenching her eyes shut biting on her bottom lip with her buck teeth. “No. Don’t shoot me please. I don’t want to die.”
“Leave her alone,” I yelled.
“Cut that shit out!” Doc screamed. “Listen we don’t need this.”
Bluntly, Max said, “This can get bad, ok? Just help my wife and we’ll be fine. I’m not going to ask again.”
I swallowed. Ben stood his ground. Doc stepped forward a step. “I will help you,” he said. “But you can’t hurt these other people.”
“Oh I won’t hurt them,” Max said, keeping his pistol pointed directly at Wendy’s forehead. “Now lead us to the hospital, honey or I’ll shoot you, ok? This other kid knows the way too so remember you’re expendable, alright?”
“But you said you wouldn’t hurt us,” Wendy begged.
Max didn’t say anything. He motioned with his pistol for her to get moving.
We gathered up our belongings. Doc stood to the side, his hand on his crowbar. Max kept the gun pointed at all of us. Ben and I grabbed Angie and lifted her. Her body slung between us. I carried her by the feet.
Memories of throwing Rainey, Aunt Brenda and Uncle Kent down into the ditch flooded my mind. I shivered. It was a shiver of fear on top of a shiver of cold. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Is this just a dream? Am I having a nightmare?
Climbing the stairs back out of the basement, fear renewed its grip on all of us. The sound of chattering teeth fenced us in.
“I really don’t want to go back out there,” Wendy mumbled.
“Me either,” Max said pushing his pistol into her back. The rest of us didn’t say anything. Doc kept his hand on his crowbar.
I was thinking to myself that Doc could have hit Max in the back of the head with his crowbar. He had the perfect opportunity. He was right behind Max, but he didn’t. I think Doc was afraid Max might pull the trigger when he hit him.
Stepping outside snow swirled in around our feet. The street was clear other than cars buried under the accumulating snow.
Even though it was dark we could still see huge snowflakes coming down. Enough light reflected off the flakes to partially light up the area. Everything had a deep gray hue. The snow was knee deep. Doc’s breathing got louder and louder trudging through the snow.
All around us chattering teeth filled the ice cold air like the sound of hundreds of thousands of locusts singing in the late summer air.
Ben and I had a hard time keeping Angie’s limp body held above the snow. Her butt kept dragging through it. I honestly didn’t know if she was dead or alive.
Wendy high stepped through the snow ahead of us holding her arms out for balance. Max walked behind her, stepping in her tracks, his pistol pointing at her back. His breath was ragged.
“Hurry up,” I told Ben. “We’re falling behind.”
He breathed, “I’m….trying…”
Max turned around to check on us. “Hold on,” he said. “Let these other two slow-pokes catch up.”
Catching up to them I noticed the deep snow ahead of us had been broken by someone else’s tracks. Further down the street, on the next block, someone hurried through the deep snow; a girl holding out her arms for balance much like Wendy was. The girl carried a flashlight, its beam stabbed the dark.
“Someone’s up there,” I said nodding toward her.
The girl was suddenly overtaken by hundreds of zombies from behind. They fell on her in the snow. She screamed for only an instant before she was consumed.
“Holy shit,” Max yelled.
Two of the zombies lifted their heads upon hearing us. They violently clacked their teeth together communicating with the pack around them, getting their attention and turning it toward us. Leaving the destroyed girl behind, the group of undead ran through the snow toward us, their long legs enabling them more speed through the snow.
Behind us, more zombies came funneling around the side of the church. They, too, were moving faster through the snow.
“Oh fuck,” Max yelled. “Where’s the god damn hospital?”
“Over there,” Wendy hollered pointing to a long tall building shadowed in snow across the street to our right, not a block away.
We ran.
Running through the snow reminded me of running into deep water from a shallow beach. The depth slowed us down. We stumbled over the curbs again heading toward the building. Ben and I held Angie up higher, getting her butt out of the snow. My arms were aching. She still hadn’t stirred.
We entered the hospital through the emergency entrance. Inside, emergency lights lit long empty halls. There was no movement. The place was eerily quiet.
We slammed the doors shut behind us. The zombies crashed into the doors. There was no lock. The zombies pushed through, shattering glass, creasing metal.
Doc quickly slid his crowbar out. He stepped toward the zombies swinging at them aiming to slow them down or stop them at any cost. I laid Angie down on the floor. I pulled my shotgun out from behind my backpack and started shooting crazily at them.
Ben did the same. Zombies at the door fell onto their frozen faces. An overwhelming smell of gunpowder filled the air. Wendy stood to the side, her hands over her ears, her eyes closed. Behind her, another set of swinging doors led down a different hallway. Above and behind her an overhead light flickered on and off.
Between shots of his pistol Max shouted, “Where are the operating rooms?” He picked off zombies at the front of the group and others further in back.
Chattering their teeth, chomping over and over, their arms reached, longer than a normal man’s. Sharp fingernails scratched the air. Snow covered legs and feet trampled the tile floor.
Dressed in heavy coats or jackets, some wearing only t-shirts or pullover sweaters, some nude, some wearing work uniforms; all covered in wounds, torn skin, ripped flesh, missing limbs. One near the back wore a football helmet. Another, a nurse cap, their hospital uniform ripped, bloody and frozen.
“We need to move back,” Doc yelled, slamming his crowbar against rotted heads.
Max yelled again, “Where are the fucking operating rooms?”
“Second floor,” Wendy shouted back.
Max shot a zombie point blank in the face. “Go to the second floor,” he yelled. “Don’t forget my wife!”
Ben and I shoved our shotguns back behind our backpacks, leaned down, and grabbed Angie. Holding her, we shuffled backward away from the entrance doors.
Wendy ran quickly away from the swinging doors behind her. “It’s upstairs,” she yelled. She led us down the hall to a stairwell behind another closed door. “Go in there,” she said quickly.
Doc continued to slam his crowbar around. Going through the door, I stopped for a second, my foot holding the door open. I yelled, “Doc, come on!”
He turned and quickly ran toward us.
Max shot two more zombies. He pocketed his gun. “Go!”
Doc held the door letting Max go through first. We ran up the stairs. The door latched closed behind us. Zombies pummeled the other side of the door with their fists. Running up the stairs Max asked, “Where are they, darling’?”
“This way,” Wendy answered pushing the door open leading onto the second floor. “Down this way.”
After a short run down the hall we entered, we ran through the main doors of a Surgery Center.
“We need to barricade ourselves in,” Max said, looking around for anything large to shove against the door.
“Here,” Doc said. Several large pieces of furniture in the waiting room worked well as a door blockade. We shoved any loose f
urniture against the doors we could find.
Breathing hard, Wendy walked a bit further down the hall ahead of us past other medical equipment. Her wet shoes squeaked on the tile floor, her body reflected upside down in the tiles. “Down here,” she whispered quietly waving us on.
Ben and I carried Angie into an operating room.
“Lay her on the operating table,” Max told us, his pistol pointing at Ben’s back.
Awkwardly we laid Angie down. Max stepped next to her, laid his pistol in her lap, put his arms under her and sat her up. He slid her coat off, laid her back down and covered her up with the coat. He rolled the sleeve up on her uninjured arm. Grabbing his gun again he asked, “Ok. Who’s transferring first?”
Doc said, “We need equipment to do this and this room isn’t sterile...”
Max screamed, his face red, “Do I look like I give a fuck about shit being sterile? She’s needs a fucking blood transfusion. Find the shit you need and fucking do it!”
Doc said, “It’s not as easy as you think…”
Max pointed the gun directly into Doc’s face. Doc didn’t flinch. Max said, “I don’t care if I have to shoot each one of you individually. I will bleed you out into her if I have to, ok? So think of something quick, Doc, because my finger is getting pretty damn itchy on this trigger.”
Doc held his crowbar. He suddenly swung it up and hit Max’s arm. The impact knocked his pistol loose. It clattered to the floor.
Max bent down regaining control of his gun. Standing up he pointed it again directly into Doc’s face. “One more time and I will kill you.”
Angrily Ben said, “After we helped save your ass downstairs? What a nice way to say thanks.”
Without taking his eyes off Doc, Max said, “Boy, watch your lip.”
“You know what?” Ben said. “I’ve been prepared to die for a long time asshole. I’m not afraid of you.”
Without looking, Max took his aim off of Doc’s face, spun the gun around on his finger and slammed the butt down on top of Ben’s head.
Ben went down.
Max said, “There we go. The boy with the big mouth is our first volunteer.”
Ben lay still on the floor. I went down to my knees to check on him.
Max said, “Doc. Do your thing.”
“I have to find the blood transfusion kits,” Doc said quietly. “There are certain things I must use or it will not be an effective transfer.”
“You’re the doc, Doc.”
“I’m going to need help. I can’t do this alone.”
Reloading his pistol with bullets from the pocket of his coat, Max said, “You have two able bodies here.”
Doc looked at Wendy. “Help me.”
She said quietly, “Ok.”
They both went out into the hallway to find supplies.
“Hurts like a son of a bitch, doesn’t it,” Max asked Ben looking down at him. “Serves you right for fucking with me.”
Ben didn’t say a word. He was knocked out cold.
Sometime later Doc and Wendy brought in another gurney loaded with medical equipment and parked it next to Angie’s table. Doc rigged up several field blood transfusion kits. He had collected cotton swabs, needles, different lengths of small rubber tubing, and several clear glass jars. He said to Max, “I’m going to warn you: this won’t be safe. I cannot guarantee your wife will survive. Her body may reject it. It may make her sick or sicker. It may even kill her. There’s a chance that…”
“I don’t care!” Max yelled. “Fuckin’ do it!”
Doc asked softly, “May I check her?”
“What for? You’re the one who said she was infected.”
“I need to check. Please.”
Max yelled, “Then fucking check her.”
Doc leaned down and put his head to her chest. He listened to her heart.
“Here use this,” Max said. He tossed a stethoscope onto Angie’s stomach.
Doc stood up. He turned his head toward Max and looked at him for a long time. Finally, Doc asked, “Is this some kind of game to you?”
“The hell you talking about?”
Doc said, “You’ve had the stethoscope all along. Why didn’t you give it to me before?”
“I wanted to see if you were really a doctor.”
Doc sighed. “I’m not really a doctor. I was a field medic in the Army back in ‘82. I’ve been a pharmacist assistant for 10 years.”
“That’s what I thought.” Max said setting his pistol down. He reached for his wallet. “But I am a doctor. Doctor Max Whittridge.” He threw his ID onto Angie’s stomach.
Doc picked it up and studied it. He stepped to the side. “You do the procedure then since you’re a real doctor.”
“No, no. You do it. I’ll assist.”
Doc took the stethoscope off Angie’s stomach. He listened to her heartbeat. “Her heart rate is elevated.”
“As I figured,” Whittridge said.
“So she is not dead.”
“Obviously,” Whittridge said stiffly.
Doc felt her pulse. He checked her eyes. The pupils were dilated with a slight yellowish tinge. Doc felt her throat, checked her ears, and looked in her mouth. He studied the wound on her arm and said, “Yes. She has the infection.”
“Well then, let’s proceed with the transfusions. Get the older kid up here.”
At gunpoint, I helped Doc lift Ben onto the gurney next to Angie. Doc used a foot lever on the bottom to raise him higher than her and locked the wheels in place.
After administering a local anesthetic and allowing it to put her arm to sleep, Doc inserted a needle with an attached tube into Angie’s wrist and taped it to her arm. Immediately blood began to flow down the tube. He set the other end of the tube in one of the glass jars on the floor. It began to fill with her blood.
“Very good,” Whittridge said, his gun still pointing at us. “Get the bad blood out.”
“She may die here,” Doc said. “If her blood clots…”
“I know the dangers,” Whittridge said. “Now drain that other kid into her.”
Doc administered a dose of anesthetic to Ben’s arm. Minutes later, he inserted another needled tube into Ben’s wrist and taped it to his arm. Both ends of this tube had needles in it. The inside of the tube was wax-coated for easy transfusions. Blood ran smoothly down the inside of the tube. He inserted the other end into the artery of Angie’s elbow and secured it with tape as well.
“You’re doing well,” Whittridge said. “I’m actually impressed.”
Doc didn’t say anything.
Whittridge leaned over to Wendy and me, “You two. Go find us something to eat.”
“But the cafeteria’s downstairs,” Wendy started.
“There’s more than one way downstairs, kiddo,” Whittridge said with a shake of his head. “You’ll want to find food, believe me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you two are next in line to give blood. You’ll need nourishment to replenish your lost blood cells. After your friend with the knot on his head is drained, he’ll need nourishment, too. He’ll die if he doesn’t eat; or he could have a heart attack, so you better make sure to bring enough food for all of us, ok? By the way, Doc, you might want to keep an eye on the jar down there. Don’t want to overfill it.”
Doc stepped back. The jar filling with Angie’s contaminated blood was nearly half full. He asked, “What are you wanting to do with the jars?”
Whittridge said casually, “Save them.”
“What for?”
Whittridge didn’t answer. He had a sick smile on his face.
Doc said to him bluntly, “You’re insane.”
Whittridge smiled despite himself. “Maybe. Maybe that’s why they sued me for malpractice. Maybe that’s why Angie and I were…” He stopped, a strange smile on his face which quickly faded away. He looked back over his shoulder at us. “Food, you two. On the double, ok?”
I asked, “Can I take my flashlight at least?”
“Take your fucking guns too. I don’t care. But don’t try any funny stuff. I’m not in the mood for it. You wouldn’t want these people’s deaths on your conscience, would you?”
Wendy touched my arm. “Don’t worry about it. I still have the pistol you gave me.”
I grabbed the flashlight out of Ben’s pack.
We left.
Outside the operating room the hallway was quiet. Dim light reflected on tiled floors. The doorway leading back down to the stairwell we had originally came up remained blocked.
Still, I felt uneasy. I felt like we were being watched or someone else was in the hospital with us.
Wendy and I stood side by side in the dim hallway, listening. She was breathing fast.
Her breath, the dribbling of blood into the jar in the operating room and the howling of the wind outside were the only sounds we heard.
“We’ll be alright,” I whispered to her, touching her shoulder. “Come on. How do we get to the cafeteria?”
“It’s downstairs.”
I took a step that way. She didn’t move. She was rooted to the spot.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Shaking her head back and forth slowly, her eyes wide, her mouth clamped shut, she breathed, “I…I don’t know want to go. I just want to find my parents.”
“We’ll find them,” I reassured her. “Let’s get this taken care of first, ok?”
“My legs don’t want to move,” she said.
I grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s do this as fast as we can.”
She nodded, her lips pinched together covering her buck teeth.
At the other end of the hall we went quietly down another stairwell to a closed door. I pressed my ear to it, listening. It was quiet other than the wind blowing outside.
Pushing gently I dared a peek out the door.
I was only able to push the door open a little bit. Something blocked it on the other side. I pushed harder. It felt like a bag of sand had been leaned against the door.
“Give me your gun,” I whispered. I put the flashlight in my coat pocket.
Wendy gave me her pistol.
I pushed the door open further. A dead body had been blocking it.
The hallway was cluttered with corpses. All of them had been eaten. Blood had puddled, dried and froze around their bodies.
