Pain

by Harry Shannon

  The odors were repulsive, and though Doc was no stranger to blood, it disturbed him to crawl through puddles of it. He made his way back up the hall and turned away from Champ a second time. He glanced her way. She seemed occupied with her cell phone. Doc went into ER number two and saw Fred in the corner, clearly bled out. The enormous homeless man, Riggs, was still tied down to the table. Doc grabbed the man’s hand and checked his wrist; the heartbeat was slow and steady. One survivor, anyway, although God only knew what would happen when and if he woke up.

  Doc went back into the hallway and discovered what was left of Officer Paris and Theresa. He saw the door to the bathroom open a crack. There were forms inside, but they had all gone silent again for the moment, in that weird way the infected suddenly seemed to switch off. He looked back down the hall. Thought he saw a tiny glow from Champ’s cell phone. He flicked his flashlight on and off quickly to let her know he was still okay. He kept moving.

  ««—»»

  “Getting greedy, soldier?”

  Cap whispered into his collar mike. “Fucking A, man. I want a new identity, the whole package.” Cap removed a small padded box from his shirt pocket. He opened it, and examined the last, small vial of PAIN virus in existence.

  “We’ll pay.”

  “Damn straight. Man, you haven’t seen what this shit does to people. I have. And that’s why my fee just went up again.”

  ««—»»

  Doc turned left. He was near an overweight infected man in a pinstripe suit whose nose was flattened. The guy was still breathing, so it was difficult to know if he was dying or merely in that strange comatose state. Doc licked his lips. He forced himself to crawl over the man’s body and get into ER room one. The emergency lights weren’t working in one part of the room. Doc felt his skin crawl. His hand touched some kind of splintering board, and something else rustled in the darkness. Clothing? He risked a quick check with his flashlight. Boffo the clown lay dead on the floor. Doc had never seen him without makeup before. No Callie. Just the one corpse in the distance, no one else. Doc searched himself, wondering what he should feel under the circumstances. A strange chill moved over the back of his neck and the hair on his exposed arms.

  “Doc?”

  He twitched in response. Callie? He used the flashlight again for a second. Callie was hiding behind Boffo’s body. She’d been alone with the corpse for a while, and was clearly hyperventilating. Her eyes were huge.

  “Callie, keep your voice down. Are you hurt?” She hurried over on hands and knees, sat and then threw her arms around him. Doc felt her lips rapidly kissing his face and neck. Callie whispered hot and heavy, “Honey?”

  “Don’t,” he whispered back.

  “Baby, in case we don’t make it…”

  “Whatever you do, don’t bring up our anniversary.”

  “Very funny. Doc, wait, I have something I really need to say.”

  Doc thought for a moment. He moved her away. Something cool tickled the hairs on the back of his neck again. “Yeah, but it’s probably nothing I really want to hear.”

  Callie felt his hands move over her body, but quickly realized that Doc was not showing affection. He was just being efficient, brisk. Doc was just checking for wounds. Satisfied, he gently pushed Callie further away.

  “You’re okay. I have to keep moving.”

  Callie trembled and sobbed. “No. Wait. Wait. Don’t leave me alone.”

  Doc used the light one last time and risked a look up at the window above her.

  It was pretty well blown out. He’d been feeling the breeze. The infected would be back and likely on her within seconds. He softened a bit.

  “Look, Billy Ray is upstairs in the attic. You might be safer there.” He allowed himself a grim smile. “Or then again, maybe not.”

  Callie contorted with anger. “You asshole, I never loved you, you know that? Never.”

  “Yeah. I know,” Doc said wearily, “I actually kind of figured that out.” After a moment there in the gloom, remembering how it all started, his eyes moistened. “Good luck, Callie.” “No! Wait! Baby! Honey. Lover…?”

  Doc forced himself to ignore her. He rolled over the body in the doorway. He crawled off in search of more survivors. His left armed bumped something. Doc heard faint breathing. Someone above him, perhaps behind the ER curtain. Doc used the flashlight for a quick look. It was a nun, her eyes closed. She was leaning against the wall. Doc did not notice she was holding a handgun. He just kept making his rounds.

  ««—»»

  Out in the garage, among the rusty tools and empty boxes, the gas-powered generator was still running. The door squeaked open. One of the infected, a giant coach with a jersey and a whistle, entered the room and stumbled around. He seemed half awake and half in a comatose state. He spotted the chain saw hanging on the wooden wall. It seemed to fascinate him for some reason. Then his attention turned to the generator, as if he’d remembered something. The coach started that way. Then the sleepiness came over him again, and he sat down abruptly, fell backwards against the wood paneling beneath the chain saw.

  His eyes closed.

  ««—»»

  “Urmph.”

  Theresa opened her eyes again. She was in great pain, but still not yet dead. The door behind her felt moist with her sweat and some other fluids Theresa didn’t want to think about. The room was dimly lit and stank of something rotten. White power was everywhere and something had made her lightheaded. She struggled to think. She remembered why she was sitting there, pushing against the door. She tried to gather her strength, but felt empty and weak. If they tried again…

  Theresa whispered, “Champ? Champ?”

  Down the hall by the back door, Champ could hear her but chose not to answer. She sat rigidly, clenching her knees to her chest, stone-faced. She watched Doc crawl towards her foster mother. After a long moment, her features changed as she tried to force herself to respond. Theresa. The poor woman was dying, after all.

  But then Theresa coughed up blood and said, “Champ, you need to repent while there’s still time.”

  Champ sighed and closed her eyes. That does it. She remained silent.

  Doc reached Theresa in the dim light. She sat quietly, her immense body soaked in a pool of gore. Doc knew at once that it was too late to do anything significant, but went through the motions, slowing the bleeding, an injection to numb things where there were broken bones. He was just hoping to offer a bit of comfort. He moved her limbs around carefully, used her blouse to tie off her bleeding right arm. Then his own temper got the better of him. Doc said, in a low voice, “What the hell did you do to that poor girl?”

  “Jesus will forgive me my sins.”

  “Don’t bet on that,” Doc said, his voice dripping ice. He moved away. “Oh, and don’t try to talk anymore.”

  Theresa coughed again, weakly. “Why, will it hasten the end?”

  “Not really; it’s just because you’re just such an asshole.”

  Her mouth opened and stayed open. At least her jaws weren’t flapping. He had to finish what little he could do. One of the infected moved behind the white curtain and they both froze for a long second. Doc returned to work. He tied off her bleeding leg and began to pack up.

  “Doctor? Is Champ with you? Is she okay?” Doc gave Theresa an injection for the pain. If nothing else, she wouldn’t be hurting as she shuffled off this mortal coil. “We’re together by the back door. She’s okay so far. Get some rest.”

  Theresa closed her eyes, probably for good this time. Doc listened for the movement behind the curtain, but nothing happened. He crawled into the waiting room, lightly knocked on the floor to attract attention. He saw Cap hunched in the corner, apparently mumbling to himself. Didn’t see the other soldier, Bowden.

  “It’s Doc. Anyone hurt?”

  Cap reacted, startled. He closed something fastened to his collar and quickly closed the flap of his vest pocket

  “I’m over here, Doc.”

  “Wha
t’s wrong?”

  “Not me. I’m okay. Have you seen Sergeant Bowden?”

  Cap had survived the assault intact. The door and windows were splintered and gaping open in spots, but none of the infected had gotten into the room itself, at least not from the look of it. He’d lucked out in his choice of stations, that’s for sure. Doc crawled to Cap’s side.“Bowden? Your man? No. And I’ve been through the entire ER except for the attic. Must have missed him back there somewhere.”

  “Sit rep?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How bad off are we, Doc?” The two men sat up and leaned against the side of the couch, close enough to speak in low whispers.

  Doc wiped his face. ”We lost four that I know of, and like I said, I haven’t even been upstairs yet.”

  The two men exchanged glances in the gloom. This didn’t look good. Morning was a long way off.

  Finally, Doc said, “We’re not going to make it out of here.”

  ««—»»

  Champ was playing with her smartphone, searching up and down, moving it back and forth, trying to find some way to acquire the band she’d spotted when Bowden was still on the computer. The light from the little screen was her lifeline. Champ considered herself a pretty good geek and at times a master hacker. She knew there had to be a way, if a strong signal was in that close a proximity.

  And then the screen said SIGNAL ACQUIRED.

  Champ jumped and smiled broadly. She wanted to call out to Doc, but held back. Something was moving, just outside the back door. Someone moaned. Champ felt like ants were crawling up the back of her neck. She tried to turn her head to look, but couldn’t bring herself to move. The sound came again, low and urgent, followed by the rustling of clothing. Champ looked back over her left shoulder. She could just see through the splintered boards out into the moonlit yard. Shapes moving, twitching. A man and a woman, coming out of the slumber state, waking up in pain and looking for someone else to hurt.

  Champ looked the other way, down the dimly lit hallway. Doc was gone, most of them were dead, she was alone and the infected were coming closer. She fought back a scream when she heard them scraping at the door with their filthy fingers. They had few weapons left, and Champ knew time was short. Terrified, she grabbed the flashlight and started towards the storage closet, moving fast on her hands and knees. Behind her, strange snuffling and scrabbling noises. The infected became more frantic. She could hear them getting all worked up. They seemed to know a post had been abandoned.

  Champ hurried. Dust everywhere, some kind of white powder that made her feel dizzy. She passed a dead body and arrived at the door to the storage closet. She looked for Doc one last time. Again, almost called out, but remembering what he told her, she reached up, turned the knob and crawled into the closet instead.

  10:42 PM

  Leanne was sitting back, wearing headphones to make Burkhalter assume she was busy. She kept rocking in her chair, trying to figure out how to get her hands on a sidearm. They were locked away outside, but there had to be a weapon somewhere. Suddenly her console beeped and the screen asked her if she wanted to lock on or block a signal. She sat forward, heart skipping like a stone over cold pond water.

  INCOMING MESSAGE/CELL PHONE.

  Back in the ER, Champ used her flashlight to explore the storage closet. Cringed at a few dead cockroaches and a mouse someone had squashed. She fought back tears as she sat there scared and all alone in the dark. She tested her phone again, but no one had responded. Noises from the ER as more of the infected woke up. No time. Champ flashed the light around a second time, and that’s when she spotted the entrance to the crawl space below the ER. A way out. She hurried to the floor panel, pulled it up. Looked below.

  A filthy, rat infested crawl space; cobwebs and spiders and God knew what. Champ decided there was no way in hell she was going to drop down there and crawl around, just no way. Screw it.

  And then a subtle scraping sound as one of the infected tried the door to the storage closet. They were right behind her, stalking her. Coming. Shit. The knob was turning

  With a whimper, Champ dropped down into the darkness, closed the door over her head as quietly as possible. She squatted down in the pitch black, clinging to her cell phone, as the footsteps shambled into the storage closet and left again.

  ««—»»

  Someone was coming up the stairs, slowly but surely. Someone adult size. Billy Ray remembered playing monster with his father when he was a boy, but this terror wasn’t delicious, it was bone chilling. Billy Ray lost his grip completely. He retreated into the shadows and took refuge in a pile of empty boxes. He had no pride left. Too sweaty and scared.

  Someone arrived at the last step. The emergency lights made everything worse somehow; blurry and distorted. Billy Ray couldn’t stand not knowing either, so he raised up a flap of cardboard and peered out into the attic. A shadow fell across him.

  He scooted backwards on his ass, making way too much noise, finally remembered to grab a two by four.

  Footsteps slid closer.

  Billy Ray got partway up, and his left knee popped. Loudly. He steeled himself.

  The person took shape in the doorway. Long legs, shapely body. It was Callie.

  Billy Ray sighed with relief. Callie heard him. She crossed the space between them, tripped on a cardboard box and ended up in his arms. All the adrenaline immediately gave Billy Ray an erection the size of Florida.

  “Oh, honey!”

  Billy Ray figured he was probably even more relieved than she was. He took his shot and kissed her. Exhausted and grateful, Callie kissed him back. Billy Ray figured it was true that a hanged man got a boner. He held on for dear life.

  ««—»»

  Leanne had locked on the phone signal, but whoever was on the other end was not responding. She instinctively repressed the urge to mess around and see if she could hijack the device, cause it to ring. Who knew what was going on in that ER by this time. They’d been under siege for hours, and her nosiness could end up getting someone killed. What seemed certain was that this wasn’t a military signal. It was someone with a private handheld and some real hacker talent.

  The tent flap rustled. Leanne sat back and yawned as if bored. She turned her chair around to face Burkhalter as he appeared in the doorway. Burkhalter looked at her warily, suspecting something. Leanne realized she may have tried a bit too hard to seem casual. She frowned.

  “Jesus, what a strange night. I don’t know what to make of any of this.” She paused, read his face as if for the first time. “Are you okay, Mr. Burkhalter?”

  “You seem nervous,” he said. He had piercing eyes and it seemed to Leanne not much soul behind them.

  She rubbed her stomach. “Too much coffee and not enough sleep.”

  Her computer buzzed and Leanne whirled around. If this was civilian contact, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted Burkhalter to know about it. He crossed the distance like a man on roller skates and peered over her shoulder. Letters fought their way onto the computer screen, someone working hard to keep his act together with a weak signal and loads of interference from government jamming.

  B…O…W…D…EN

  “It’s Cap’s mate, Bowden,” Burkhalter said, a bit unnecessarily. “Son of a bitch he’s still alive.”

  Something about his use of the word “mate” startled Leanne. Burkhalter had pronounced the word like an Australian, yet his American accent was flawless. Who the hell is this guy?

  Miles away in the ER, Bowden typed again. He was beat up and bleeding, half stoned from the pain drugs everywhere in the air around him. He managed to get two more words up.

  SITUATION DESPERATE.

  “Shall I try to answer him?” Leanne’s fingers remained poised over the keyboard while Burkhalter considered. It was clear Bowden was typing very slowly and carefully. Another message appeared.

  EVAC SOONEST.

  Burkhalter still had not reacted. Leanne said, “Permission to try for audio.”

&
nbsp; Burkhalter ignored her. Leanne looked at the photo of her daughter. Sweetheart, I’m in some kind of deep trouble here. I may be seeing you again sooner than I figured.

  “Sir?” Leanne said, struggling to keep her voice neutral. “Our men are dying out there. Can I try to answer him now?”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Burkhalter turned his back and walked outside.

  ««—»»

  Alone in the attic, Billy Ray and Callie were still cuddling. Down below, out in the yard, they heard noises. Exchanged glances in the gloom. The infected were beginning to awaken.

  “Hold me. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Oh, shit,” Billy Ray said, “better believe it.”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  Billy Ray pressed himself against her. “Then let’s live while we still can.” He kissed her again, this time passionately. He slid his right hand up under her blouse to fondle her breast. His equipment was throbbing. Callie half-heartedly pushed him away. “What? Wait. Not here. Not now.”

  Billy Ray glanced over his shoulder. He shrugged. She had a point. There were dead bodies everywhere. Blood had splattered up the wall like modern art. The attic didn’t smell very good, either. Emptied bowels. But Billy Ray, he already had her blouse open, her breast felt hot as a stove, and in some weird way the death and destruction was a turn on. He squeezed her nipple and she gasped. Apparently, as weird as these circumstances were, it was a bit a turn on for both of them. Ambivalent but aroused, she kissed him back.

  “Oh! Oh! Jesus, Billy Ray, this is just so wrong.”

  “How can it be wrong when it feels so right?”

  They both giggled. Hands continued to paw going both ways, up and down, teens in the backseat after two quarts of beer. Callie inhaled and caught the scent of decaying flesh again. Her stomach lurched.