by R. M. Smith
They were hospital staff. Nurses. Doctors. Paramedics. All of them dead. Gorged. Large bite marks riddled their arms and legs. Their stomachs and chest cavities had been emptied. Ragged rips tore through their skin.
Wendy took in a breath to scream. I slammed my hand over her mouth hitting her teeth and smashing her top lip.
Closed doors further down to the left were the same doors Wendy had leaned on when we came into the hospital in the first place. Several zombies fed on bodies next to the doors. An emergency light above them flicked on and off. One zombie pulled a long strip of skin off a dead woman’s leg with its teeth.
Looking the other way, I spotted a sign above a closed door which read Cafeteria. A tall stack of empty food trays sat next to the door in a small nook. Next to it, a long cafeteria serving rack had been secured in a down position allowing people to walk past without bumping it. This was a closed serving line I realized, and a roll-up door above the rack had been closed, too. During serving hours the roll-up door would be open.
I took my hand off Wendy’s mouth. A streak of blood remained on my palm. Quiet, I mouthed, putting a finger to my lips. Shhh.
With Wendy on my heels I pushed the door open and stepped past the corpse that had been leaning on the door. We slowly tiptoed across the hallway.
A loud clack of teeth echoed.
The zombies at the end of the hall stood up.
“Fuck! Run!” I yelled.
I shoved against the cafeteria door.
It was locked!
No!
It was the only door going in! Panicking, I stepped to the side and started shoving upward on the closed roll-up serving door. It creaked, but didn’t move.
“Help me get this up!” I yelled.
Wendy started pushing up on it too. It was stuck in place. I hammered on it. The zombies closed in. Using every bit of strength I could muster I pushed up on the door again. It rolled up a few feet. Shaking, feeling the zombie’s breathing down our backs, Wendy and I jumped under the overhead door and fell down into a small room on the other side.
I dropped the gun.
Immediately zombies started reaching through the gap at the bottom of the roll-up door. If we tried to pull the door back down the zombies would grab us and pull us through. Their arms were long, grabbing for anything, finding nothing. Their nails scraped on the tile.
One of the zombie’s arms hit Wendy’s pistol. It went spinning away from us into the corner closer to the door.
We slid backward on our butts away from the reaching arms and leaned against a bank of cupboards. The zombies fought to get us. Their teeth clacked loudly.
Looking around I realized that this wasn’t the cafeteria at all but a small room across from it. Only drinks were served here: milk, orange juice, coffee and soda dispensers for hospital staff only.
Rows of plastic cups lined the shelves around us. There were dish washers, boxes of napkins, straws and sugar packets. There was no food in here; and no space! The zombies kept reaching, grabbing, their gnarled hands less than three feet away from us.
Wendy and I sat motionless with our backs plastered against the cupboards. We didn’t dare move. We had to wait for the zombies to go away.
The zombies didn’t stop trying to grab us. Their fingernails skittered over the tile, their arms banged against the wall below.
I sat staring, unblinking for hours thinking about the zombies and Rainey and everything that had happened since I got to Minnesota. Could it all be a dream? Were there really zombies now? Did Rainey really die? If this was a dream, I sincerely hoped it would end because it was the worst nightmare I had in my life.
No one came down to check on us.
I wondered what was happening upstairs. I hoped Ben was ok. I was really starting to worry about him.
The zombies finally gave up. All at once, after a loud clack of teeth their arms disappeared through the gap under the roll-up door. We listened to them slowly walking away.
With a swallow and a sigh, Wendy looked over at me with tears in her eyes. She slowly shook her head, blinking. The blood on her bottom lip had dried.
Quietly, I asked, “You ok?”
She nodded and swallowed. She said softly, “Yea…but I…”
“What?” I whispered.
I could tell she was anxious to get this done. Obviously, her parents were the most important thing to her right now. She didn’t want to be here anymore than I did. She wanted to be with her loved ones before they died, too. I didn’t know if she had any other brothers or sisters.
“Nothing,” she said. She licked her lips and stood up.
I got to my feet. I slipped over to the door and carefully unlocked it. At the other end of the hallway, the zombies were busy feeding again. I bent down and picked up Wendy’s gun. We went out into the hallway.
Stepping around the corpses, I reached for the unlocked door on the other side of the hall leading into the cafeteria.
A short hallway led into a larger open room full of long empty cafeteria tables. Devoured bodies lined the floor. The tile was tacky with blood. A large mural of a lake with a fisherman casting lines covered one wall. Blood had splattered across it. ST. CLOUD HOSPITAL was painted above the mural in large white letters. On the wall next to it, another closed roll-up door was locked above a serving line. Another closed door stood at the end of it.
“The kitchen’s in there,” Wendy whispered.
Inside, stainless steel equipment lined the walls. Two large stainless steel tables sat in the center of the room. All sorts of cutlery and cooking utensils hung from overhead racks.
A sound of chewing gristle came to our ears. Stepping around one of the tables, Wendy and I came face to face with another zombie feeding on a man who was lying face down on the floor.
The zombie stopped feeding. It looked up at us. It held a bloody lump of flesh in its distorted hands. Wet strings of blood clung to it. Part of it slid out of the zombie’s hands in a large bloody drip. The zombie turned its head to us. It clacked its teeth loudly.
I pointed the gun at it.
Wendy knocked my hand down. “No,” she said in a yell of a whisper, “the other zombies will hear!”
The zombie stood up. His head nearly bumped into the overhead rack of kitchen utensils. He wore ripped bloody surgical garb. He clenched his fists stepping over the dead man on the ground.
“In here,” Wendy said.
She grabbed my arm pulling me toward a closed walk-in closet.
“No, we’ll be stuck in there,” I said. “We got to kill this thing.”
The zombie was within reaching distance now. Its hand was twice the size of my head. I noticed a ring on his finger. It had cut into his flesh when his hand had grown.
Wendy opened the walk-in. She yanked me in with her and slammed the door shut.
It was completely dark.
“Nice!” I said, angrily. “Now how are we supposed to get out of here?”
“Just wait,” Wendy said. “It will leave us alone. The other ones did.”
The zombie started pounding on the door.
“Yeah, is sounds like it,” I said. I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and clicked it on. I sat down on a sealed cardboard box. “This is taking too long, Wendy. We need to get back upstairs. I need to see if Ben’s ok.”
“Well, at least you have someone to go back to,” she said with a whimper. “All my family’s dead. My Mom…”
I said, “You don’t know that.”
She put her head down.
“We’ll find your folks, don’t worry.”
“I really, really want to,” she said intensely.
The zombie pummeled the door, chattering its teeth.
I said, “That thing’s going to bring the other ones in here. I should shoot it!”
“That would definitely bring them all in here.”
“You don’t know,” I said.
“It makes sense, ok? Aren’t they attracted to noise or something?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Is there another way out of here? Another exit so we don’t have to go back out into the hall.”
Wendy didn’t answer. She still had her chin down.
I asked again, “Is there?”
She shot me a dirty look. “I was thinking. Hold on!”
“Sorry. I thought you were ignoring me.”
“Ignoring you?” She shook her head at me. “You’re an idiot.”
“What?”
“First you want to shoot a zombie and then you think I’m ignoring you.”
I said, “Well you didn’t say anything.”
“I was thinking!”
“Sorry!” I stood up and started to pace the room. It was cramped in here. There were shelves upon shelves of dry goods. Soups in large cans. Bags of flour. Bags of rice. Dry cooking ingredients. The back wall had stacks of bottled water leaning against it.
Wendy finally said, “At the school, we have field days. Students and the teachers come over here for lunch. After, we take a tour if no surgeries are planned. I know there are two stairwells and two elevators going to the second floor. There might be an employee entrance or stairwell, but I’m not sure.”
I said, “So we just need to kill this zombie, sneak back out into the hall, and go back upstairs.”
“And,” she added, “We need to take some food with us.”
“Right.” I set the flashlight down on a shelf. I grabbed a bottle of water and went back to the door of the walk-in. I pulled the cardboard box open that I had been sitting on earlier. There were boxes of cereal inside. I grabbed two of the boxes, handed them and the flashlight to Wendy and said, “Hold these.”
“Why?”
Pulling the gun out, I grabbed the water and shoved the door of the walk-in open with the bottle in my hand. The zombie had gone back over to the man. “Run!” I yelled.
“Damn it!” Wendy cried. “You tricked me!”
We ran out of the kitchen and back into the cafeteria. Catching our breath, I peeked back into the hall where the other zombies had been feeding.
“They still there?” Wendy asked.
“I can’t tell…”
“Let’s just go. We can outrun them.”
I pushed through the door. The zombies were still at the other end, feeding.
“Go, go, go,” I whispered.
We quickly went through the door and up the steps to the second floor.
We caught our breath again. I said, “That was close.”
Whittridge stood outside the operating room with his hands on his hips. “About time you two got back. Where the hell’ve you been? I’ve got work to do in here, ok? I can’t be waiting around all day. Get your asses in here.”
Whittridge pointed his gun at my face. “You’re next, son. Your cousin there isn’t doing so well. He needs a break.”
My cousin? How does he know he’s my cousin?
Doc stood between Angie and Ben. He held a needle in his hand which was covered in blood. The blood ran down his sleeve.
Ben had turned as white as a sheet. His eyes had rolled back into his head.
Whittridge told me and Wendy to lift Ben off the gurney. He felt so light. We leaned him on the floor against a cabinet. He rolled down onto the cold floor.
“Give him some water,” Whittridge said. “Give him some of that cereal. Girl, you feed him. Keep him nourished.”
He pointed his gun at me. “Now you, kid. Your turn.”
“No,” Wendy whispered.
“Honey you stay quiet. Take care of ‘old Ben, ok? He’s been having a hard time as of late. He told us all about it.”
My brow crossed. About what?
Whittridge said, “Come on now, boy. Up and at ‘em.”
Doc nodded to me. I saw something in his eyes letting me know it was ok, but to be careful.
I laid down on the gurney.
Doc anesthetized my arm. It went to sleep. A few minutes later he inserted the needle into my wrist. He taped it there. My blood ran down the tube.
Whittridge leaned over me. “Ben, he’s your cousin, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He told me about his sister, Rainey. The cripple.”
I closed my eyes.
Whittridge asked, “You met her, right?”
I turned my head away. I didn’t want to hear anything about her or talk about her.
He opened a box of cereal. He threw a handful into his mouth. Smiling, chewing, cereal falling out of his mouth, he said, “I hear she was pretty cute. Had cute dimples. A pretty smile. Ben said they were close. Brotherly – sisterly close. Did Ben tell you about the ditch, kid?”
I didn’t answer.
I felt the cold barrel of a gun at my neck. “You can answer. If you don’t, I’ll have Doc set Angie loose on you.”
Did she turn into a zombie? I hadn’t even noticed. My attention had all been on Ben.
“Yeah he told me stuff,” I said quietly.
“He tell you about Jean?”
Jean? Jean where did I hear that name before? Wasn’t that Rainey’s caretaker?
I lied. “No I don’t know Jean.”
“She was Rainey’s caretaker. I’m surprised he never told you about her. They were close. Jean, and Ben’s pop.”
I closed my eyes tighter. I didn’t want to hear any of this. I didn’t want Whittridge to ruin any good thoughts I had about Rainey. I didn’t say anything.
He knocked me on the side of the head with the gun, not hard. “You can speak now,” he said, another handful of cereal crunching in his mouth. “Angie’s getting hungry.”
“I didn’t know Jean,” I answered.
Doc stopped the blood flow. He moved some jars around on the floor and then continued.
Whittridge said, “I know Ben showed you the ditch, kid. Pretty sad isn’t it? Sad that Ben had to bury his own poppa in the same place where his poppa buried Jean six months ago. Sick really. Did you know she was pregnant?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Ben’s pop got Jean pregnant. Killed her over it. So sad. My God.”
I bit my lip scared to say a word. I wanted to cry.
Whittridge added, “Rainey liked to paint. You knew that right, Jon?”
He said my name. Ben told him my name! Dammit Ben!
“Yes,” I said. A tear rolled uncontrollably out of my eye.
More cereal crunching. A loud swallow of water. “Poor girl. My goodness.”
“Yes,” I agreed in a whisper.
“You loved her.”
I shut my eyes hard. Please don’t go into this. Please. Please.
Whittridge asked, “Jon?”
I couldn’t speak.
Another bop on the head with the gun. A little harder this time. “Jon. Answer me.”
I started feeling light headed; my blood loss began to affect my senses. I said, “No.”
“No? No? Why that’s not what Ben said! Ben told me he read all of the letters you sent to Rainey. In them, he said, you wrote that you missed her. You signed the letters ‘love Jon.’ Now why would you write ‘I love you,’ but not admit it out loud?”
“Please leave me alone,” I whispered.
“Oh Jon, come on now. Don’t disappoint me, boy.”
Doc asked, “Why not leave the boy alone?”
The cereal crunching stopped. “You shut the fuck up, Doc,” Whittridge said. “This is not your concern. This is an A-B conversation. You need to ‘C’ yourself out of it. You just watch Angie, ok? Understand? Or I’ll feed your ass to her when she’s done with this kid.”
Doc said, “Fine.”
“Fine then,” Whittridge repeated. “Please don’t interrupt this exceptional young man again.”
I was feeling very dizzy.
“Now then,” Whittridge started again. “Where were we? Ah. Yes. So. Jon. Did you love Rainey?”
“Yes,” I mumbled my voice sounding far away. I didn’t know if I was talking or not. It didn’t feel like
me.
“I thought so. This is what Ben told me. But my God. I don’t think he told you about what he, poppa and Jean did to Rainey, did he; before Jean died?”
“No,” I said, far away, echoing.
“They took turns using the belt on her. Poor girl. Her poor little legs…and then they made Rainey paint it.”
I closed my eyes. Tears were rolling. But she only paints landscapes, I thought.
“She wanted to tell you this, Jon. For better than eight months, Rainey wrote you telling you all about this. She begged you to come to Minnesota, save her. Help her. But she never sent the letters. She threw them away. She couldn’t bare telling you about it. She just threw those horrible letters away.” He crunched more cereal. “But Ben read them. He pulled the letters right out of her trash can. He read them and then he threw them away.”
I was crushed.
Whittridge asked, “Jon? You still with us?”
“Yes,” I managed.
“How do you feel about all this?”
“Why do you care?” I managed to ask.
“Why do I care?” he asked, acting stunned that I would even ask such a thing. “I care because your blood is going into my wife! I don’t want any bad blood between us, Jon. We need to be straight with one another.”
I was nearly unconscious.
Whittridge threw another handful of cereal into his mouth. He sat staring at me while he chewed it, his arms folded, a grin on his face. He said, “Just take your time, Doc. We don’t want to lose these people. I need my wife alive, ok? If we have to do these blood transfusions again, I want you to run all of these people through again.”
Doc said, “You know none of these people’s blood types have been checked. Mixing blood types is not healthy; not to mention the fact that we are using the same needles here.”
“Angie is looking pretty fucking healthy to me, Doc,” Whittridge said dreamily. “Her skin color is good. Her eye color has returned to normal. We keep this up, ok? We don’t stop until she’s walking again.”
I passed out. I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. The next thing I knew I was sitting on the cold floor next to Ben. Wendy was up on the table. She was crying. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the son of a bitch!”
