Infected

by Anthony Izzo

  “Like something out of a zombie flick,” Mary said.

  She heard a screech and saw them coming at the far end of the parking lot. They picked up speed, a tangle of arms and legs driving forward towards the building.

  Rob and his daughter stepped from the building. The girl saw the mob coming closer and said, “That's what he looked like. That Carl guy.”

  The cop said, “She's right.”

  The creatures reached the first row of cars, and there would be no time to escape them now. Mary watched a group of them flip a car over as if it were a toy.

  “Get inside,” the cop said. “We'll lock the front doors. Hang on.” He ran for his cruiser, which was maybe fifty yards from the approaching hoard.

  “Where's he going?” Ryan asked.

  The cop opened the door, dug around, and came out with a shotgun. Then he sprinted back to the building doors, waving them to go inside.

  They all went in the building and Ramsey pulled out a key ring and locked the doors. Mary saw the first of the mutants smack against the door, a woman in pajama bottoms and a blood-stained tee shirt. Her skin was a sickly yellow. She pounded on the glass.

  “Where's the other doors on the ground level?” The cop asked.

  Ramsey said, “There's one at the rear of the building and one near the elevator bank.”

  “You got the keys, come with me,” the cop said. “We need to lock this place down. Who can shoot?”

  Rob said, “I can. Emma's taken me out on the range.”

  “Can you handle this?” he said, and handed Rob the shotgun.

  Rob nodded and took the gun. Mary felt vulnerable without a weapon. Not that she had any idea how to shoot. “What about us?”

  “There's a janitor's closet on this level. There should be a hammer or something,” Ramsey said.

  The cop said, “Let's go lock up. We'll be right back.”

  More of the freaks showed up at the front doors, pounding on the glass. Mary wondered how long it would hold, or if they had the presence of mind to pick up a rock and smash the glass. The doors rattled and she didn't want to think about what they'd do if the glass broke.

  Ramsey came up next to her. “Hope that glass holds. Let's find some weapons.”

  Mary and Ryan followed the old man down a corridor and he took out a hefty key ring. Keys jingling, he unlocked the janitor's closet. It smelled musty inside, and there was a shelf, along with assorted mops, brooms, and cleaning supplies. On the shelf rested a Craftsman toolbox. There was also some pegboard with hammers, screwdrivers, and a crowbar.

  Ryan took the crowbar, while Ramsey and Mary took claw hammers. It seemed inadequate. A chainsaw would make her feel better. Or a rocket-propelled grenade.

  The zombies – that's what they looked like to Mary- continued to pound. You could hear the steady rhythm echoing down the hallway. They went back to the lobby to find the numbers had grown; there were at least fifty of them pressed against the glass.

  “We need to get to higher ground,” Mary said. “Lock ourselves in. Call for help.”

  “C'mon. Let's find the cop,” Ramsey said, staring at the front doors.

  Chapter Nine

  Rob had helped Tim lock the doors on either side of the building. They stacked trashcans, chairs, and tables in front of the doors. They could've made a run for it had it been the two of them. But Kayla was with them, and he wouldn't risk her life. Plus Ramsey would slow them down and likely wind up food for the freaks.

  “We need to get off this floor,” Rob said.

  “We shouldn't leave the others in the lobby,” Tim said. “Agreed on getting off this floor.”

  “Are we going to be stuck here?” Kayla asked.

  “We'll find a way out honey,” Rob said.

  They went back to the lobby. A glance at the doors showed him the things had multiplied in number. Rob and the others weren't getting out the front door. Not without a tank.

  The others had armed themselves with hammers and a crowbar.

  Tim said, “Is there any other way out of here?”

  Ramsey scratched his head. “The loading door. The dock slants downward into the basement. I don't think they can get in there.”

  “I'm thinking we need to find a way out.”

  Mary said, “We're not going out there with those things.”

  “What's outside those loading doors?”

  Ramsey said, “Dumpsters. Carl parks the maintenance van out there. Uses it to get supplies for the building.”

  “You're not thinking about going out there?” Mary asked.

  “We go upstairs, we could end up trapped. The only way out's the roof,” Rob said.

  “Splat,” Kayla said, and despite the mood, everyone laughed.

  “Someone have the key?” Tim asked.

  “I've got a spare. There's a code for the roll-up door. My key unlocks the code box. Door's mechanical,” Ramsey said.

  Ryan, looking nervous, said: “We should wait for help.”

  “About how far to the van?” asked Rob.

  “I'd say thirty, forty feet,” Ramsey said.

  Tim said, “We need to try for it.”

  “How will we know it's clear?” Rob said.

  “There's a security camera outside that door. The monitor's in the basement maintenance office,” Ramsey said. “We can watch on that.”

  The pounding on the glass intensified. Rob feared it wouldn't hold much longer, and when those things got in they would be ripped to pieces. He wouldn't let his daughter fall into their hands, whatever the hell they were. “Stay close, kiddo. We're getting out of here.”

  “One problem,” Ramsey said. “Carl had the keys to the van.”

  “And Carl's busy leaking blood all over the stairs,” Tim said.

  “Someone needs to go get the key,” Mary said.

  “I should stay. I'm the best shot. If they break through the glass-” Tim said.

  “I'm not taking a key off a dead guy,” Mary said.

  Rob looked at Ryan, who stood against the wall, hands in pockets. He was examining the floor tile, which meant he was a no go. Ramsey was old and slow. That left him. “I'll go. Kayla can come with me. You'll wait here for us?”

  “You're our ticket out of here, my man,” Tim said.

  “Give me your cell number, that way we can communicate,” Rob said.

  Tim read it off to him and Rob took out his iPhone and programmed it in.

  “I don't want to see him,” Kayla said. “The dead guy.”

  “Wouldn't dream of it,” Rob said. “You okay with taking a little walk?”

  Kayla nodded, her ponytail bouncing as she did so.

  Rob got directions on where to find the stiff in question and went to the elevator. Kayla got on with him and they rode together, Rob keeping his arm around her. “You can wait in the hallway while I get the key.”

  “Okay.”

  They reached the cafeteria level and Rob found the blood trail that the cop had mentioned. It stopped at the stairway door. Kayla gripped his arm.

  “Will you hurry?” she asked.

  “Quick as I can. Wait right here. Don't wander, got it?” Rob said.

  She nodded.

  He knew the guy was dead, but still wanted to be prepared. With his free arm he nudged the door open and it gave with a huge squeal. He led with the shotgun. As he proceeded into the stairwell, he slipped a little. Damned blood. Tim had said he'd find Carl's body on the first landing.

  The only thing he saw was blood-slicked stairs. And a pool of it underneath his feet. He felt a little hitch in his guts, panic starting to set in. He went back into the hallway and joined Kayla. Then he took out the phone and dialed up Tim. “You said in the stairs right off the cafeteria?”

  “I believe that's what I said.”

  “All that's here is blood. No body. You sure you got him?”

  “His head exploded. I think that would do it.”

  Rob said, “Well he must've decided to go for a stroll,
because he's gone.”

  There was silence for a moment and Tim said, “Get the hell out of there.”

  “Wait a second, we need the key.”

  “What if he's up and moving about? You want to find him?”

  From around the corner, Tim heard a noise. Thump. Drag. Followed by a gurgling noise, as if someone were trying to breath with a throat full of phlegm.

  “Get behind me Kayla,” Rob said, and nudged her.

  Tim said, “What is it?”

  “I think I might've found the janitor.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lori retreated behind the second door and found a few metal file cabinets. They wouldn't provide much of a barricade, but it was better than nothing. She shoved them in front of the door, backed up, and crouched. She held the gore-slicked hammer in one hand, hoping that Mike would send help.

  The door rattled and was pushed inward. One of the file cabinets tipped with a hollow boom. From the other side of the door came a series of snarls. The second file cabinet tipped over and a clawed hand slipped through the opening.

  Reversing the hammer, she slammed the claw side into the thing's hand, and it punctured the flesh between the first two knuckles. The claw imbedded, she pulled back, tearing one of the fingers out at the joint. It fell on the floor and wiggled like a severed worm.

  The injury only served to anger him. From the size of the hand, she could tell it was the fat man. He pushed the door open, belly swinging. The dead, white eyes fixed on her. The head was caved in where she'd struck him with the hammer, the gray brain matter exposed.

  She readied the hammer for another blow.

  Weiss reached the security desk and found one of the guards, a square-faced kid named Max, returning to his post. He had on his security jacket with the fur collar. His cheeks were flushed from the cold.

  “Max, need you.”

  “What's up Doctor Weiss?”

  “My wife's trapped in the basement. Surrounded by freaks.”

  From the puzzled look on the kid's face, Weiss knew he had no clue. Must've been outside when those things started tearing the place up. “Come with me. She's in trouble. I'll explain on the way.”

  “Okay doc.”

  They took the elevator to the basement, Weiss filling the security guard in on what had happened in the past hour. “You can fire that thing?”

  Max put his hand on the pistol. “I've fired it a few times.”

  “That's not reassuring.”

  They reached the basement and turned left. From around the corner came the crash of furniture being thrown around. When he heard Lori scream, he took off running, Max behind him.

  Weiss saw the dead woman first. A screwdriver had been driven into her eye socket. The door to the storage room was open and Weiss looked inside to see a wide, naked man in the second room. Beyond him, Lori waited with a hammer. Weiss charged in and grabbed the fat man, hooking his arm around the guy's throat. He tried to pull him out of the room, but the man bent over, flipping Weiss on the ground. Looking up, he saw Lori swing the hammer and connect with the man's jaw. The bones crunched.

  Undeterred, the fat man pounced on Weiss. Weiss got his arms up, trying to push the man's face back. The guy was snapping his jaws, trying for Weiss' throat. Lori swung the hammer and it connected with a thwock. She swung it twice, three times. The man emitted a strangled sound from his throat and collapsed on top of Weiss.

  “Get this bastard off me,” Weiss said.

  Max came into the room and pulled the fat man off of him. Weiss got to his feet and said to Lori, “Are you okay?”

  The front of her lab coat looked as if she'd spilled red jelly all over it, but he recognized the mess as blood and brains. Her chest heaved and she let the hammer slip from her hand and clatter on the floor. She pressed herself into Weiss' arms and he hugged her close.

  He took a peek over his shoulder at the dead man, whose head looked like it had been squeezed in some sort of industrial press. He had to get Lori out of the hospital.

  Maria had thought her ER rotation had been bad, seeing a man with a knife jutting from his neck, blood pumping like it came from a squirt gun. But it had been nothing compared to what she had run from in the ICU. All she could think about was Jake, her twelve-year-old son. He was home alone right now, probably watching The Walking Dead and chowing down on the chocolate cookies she'd told him not to eat. She wanted nothing more than to kiss the top of his head. He'd let her do that when she walked by, even if he bristled at hugs. Too big and cool to kiss Mom.

  She'd get home to him. No question. But she couldn't leave other patients without warning them. She got off the elevator on eight, which was the surgical floor. There was a young nurse with a mop of curly red hair at the nurses' station. Her ID badge indicated her name was Hannah McGuire. “How many patients up here?”

  “Just one, why?”

  “You heard the code over the loudspeaker?” Maria asked.

  “Who wouldn't?”

  “We need to get your patient out of here. There's something loose in the hospital.”

  The woman shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  She was about to say something that would qualify her for a stay in the psych ward. “This flu. It's causing people to come back from the dead. They're violent. I just escaped one down in ICU.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “I don't know. I didn't look back. Is there anyone up in peds?”

  “I'll call up there.”

  Hannah picked up the phone and dialed the extension for peds. She looked up at Maria and said, “They've got one patient up there.”

  “If they can move the patient, bring them down here. Then we'll move them out.”

  Hannah gave the instructions, hung up, and said they'd bring the patient down. Being a small town hospital had its benefits, one of them being they had times where there were few patients. Less to protect.

  Maria introduced herself and Hannah gave her a quick smile.

  “Where's your patient?”

  “This way.”

  They went through a set of double doors and down the corridor to room eight fifteen where a plump, gray-haired woman was reading a People magazine. She had a dour expression on her face, one Maria associated with stern school librarians.

  Hannah said, “Evening Cynthia. This is Cynthia Stone. Knee surgery.”

  “You already gave me my meds. What do you want?”

  “We need to get you out of here. There's some dangerous people loose in the hospital,” Maria said.

  “Can't security handle it?” Cynthia said, looking at her magazine.

  “Afraid not. I'll get a wheelchair,” Maria said.

  “I'm not going anywhere. My knee hurts like a bitch.”

  This was going to be pleasant, Maria thought. But she left the room with a fake smile plastered on her face. She just wanted out of here.

  Emma and George stepped off the elevator to find a body of a man on the floor. He was dressed in blood-soaked scrubs. Half the skin was missing from the man's cheek, the bone visible through the wound.

  “Looks like our friends have been here,” Emma said.

  “God, that's friggin' horrible,” George said.

  They stepped around the body and moved down the hallway. Emma saw a sign that read Blood Lab and an arrow that pointed further down the hallway. Hopefully the blood lab staff faired better than this poor guy. They passed several doors, and trying them, Emma and George found they were locked.

  They reached the end of the hallway and followed another sign to the blood lab. A frosted glass door read Blood Lab. Emma nodded, indicating George should open the door. She raised the shotgun. He swung the door open and they entered a waiting room. There was high counter where the receptionist would sit and a row of folding chairs against the opposite wall.

  A larger, wooden door led into the actual laboratory. So far there were no dead people. Always a good sign not to find stiffs. They went into the lab itself, down a narrow
corridor with patient rooms on either side. Each of those were empty.

  The actual lab was at the end of the hallway. People didn't fare so well here. Two more bodies, both female. Their lab coats had been white at one time. The amount of blood that had soaked into the fabric made it looked dyed red. They were both sprawled on the floor.