by Amy Cross
"But Emma has a chance," Cally replies. "A better chance than us."
"We don't have long left," I tell her. "It's cold in here. I'm going back up to the ward."
As we head up the stairs, I can't help but think about the fact that somewhere, many miles away, someone is getting ready to push a button that will send missiles heading straight for us. I've long since given up on trying to find a way out of this mess, but in some strange way, the thought that Emma Briggs survived offers a degree of consolation.
"I think I'm going to go back to my room," Cally says as we reach the top of the stairwell and head back through to the main part of the ward. "Do you want to -"
"I want to be alone," I say firmly. "I'm sorry. You might find some of the other patients in their rooms. I think some of them are praying. God knows why, but I suppose any port in a storm..." I pause as I realize that even though I don't share their belief in God, I'm a little jealous of the fact that they can find solace as death approaches. And who knows? They might be right.
"I think I'd rather be alone too," Cally says, before leaning closer and kissing me on the cheek. "Thank you," she adds. "Thank you for saving my daughter's life. If it wasn't for you, she'd still be right here with us."
Shocked by the sudden moment of tenderness, I take a few seconds to reorder my thoughts. "It's nothing," I reply with a faint smile. "Anyone would have done the same thing."
As she heads off toward her room, I pause for a moment. The old Andrew Page, the Andrew Page of a few years ago, maybe even a few days ago, would probably not have tried to save that little girl. As I check my watch, I just hope that somehow, maybe Catherine understands that I finally became a better person. There's a part of me that wants to try and call her again, but I guess I'd just become a maudlin mess. She'll probably learn, some time over the next few days, about my death, and I'm sure she'll shed a tear or two. I hope so, anyway.
Spotting the Ward C sign on a nearby wall, I walk over and stare at it for a moment. I've worked here for the past decade, and now I'm going to die here. Reaching into the pocket of my lab-coat, I find a black marker pen and pull it out, before scrawling a large Z over the letter C on the sign.
Ward Z
I can't help but smile, and then the smile fades as I think once again of Catherine. At least I spoke to her one final time. At least she knows that I cared, even if I didn't show it when we were together.
I check my watch.
Three minutes left.
Cally Briggs
At least I'm not going to die of cancer.
I just hope the end comes before she comes back.
The other me.
The monster.
I can feel her, stirring in my soul. It's as if she's reaching up from my belly, her long, spindly fingers plucking at the strings of my soul, waiting to take over. Now that she's back, I'm starting to remember that brief moment when my body was controlled by something in my gut. It's as if my mind was pushed aside by a violent force. The worst part is, I can remember the feeling of my teeth biting into Emma's neck, and the taste of my blood.
And right now, I can feel the slow, sickening sensation of something twisting its way around my spine, making its way toward my heart. I guess it's the same white cord-like thing that I saw poking out of June's neck.
"Just a few more minutes," I whisper.
I'm standing in my room. I've spent the past year in this place, subjected to round after round of chemotherapy and radio-therapy. Dr. Page tried everything in his power to cure me, but it has been obvious for a long time that my time was coming to an end. I admire his determination, but I only had a few weeks left. The cancer was eating at me from the inside, forcing my cells to reproduce at an alarming rate, each one blossoming and burning with irrepressible life.
In a way, I wasn't dying at all. My body was simply living too much, too fast, growing so many cells that eventually the tumors came and my blood began to die.
At least Emma is alive. That's all a parent can really hope for: to know that their child will outlive them. I just hope that Emma has a safe and strong world, and that these creatures, whatever they are, never manage to become a major threat.
I don't know where the other patients are. Some of them might be praying, but I suspect that most have finally succumbed to their tumors. It's not entirely clear how much longer we have left, but -
Suddenly the pain bursts through my body, like a hand reaching up into my chest and striking my heart. I step back, barely able to breathe as waves of agony wash through me. It would be so easy to let the cancer take control, to spend my final moments as one of those zombie-like creatures, but I'm determined not to let the tumor win. I'm going to force it back, so that when I die, I'll still have my own mind. This is my body, damn it, and I won't let some invader take control.
The white cord is wrapped around the top of my spinal column now, poking at my brain.
Stumbling to the window, I look out across the dark, empty car park. The tumor is still clawing at me, trying desperately to take control, but I won't let it win. I've never had to push back against something so hard, and it feels as if my mind is being assaulted from a thousand different directions all at once. That other voice, the voice of anger, is nibbling at my soul, but I know I can hold it back, at least for a couple more minutes. I want to have full control of my body when I die. I won't surrender to the cancer. I'll die, but at least I'll beat it in the process.
"Hey," says a voice nearby.
Turning, I find that one of the other patients has come to my door. I've seen her around a few times, but never spoken to her. Apart from June and a few others, I mostly kept to myself during my time on the ward.
"The rest of us wondered if you wanted to come and join us," she says, her voice sounding curiously flat and empty, as if she's given up. "We..." She pauses. "We've been praying," she continues, "and now we're just talking."
Taking a deep breath, I stare at her, as the pain continues to grow in my belly and chest. I had control of it while I was alone, but now the appearance of this woman seems to have given strength to the tumor.
"Didn't you have a little girl with you?" the woman asks. "Your daughter, right?"
"She..." I pause. "She's gone. I got her out of here."
"You did?" she replies, visibly enthused by the news. "How? Maybe -"
"It was a one-off proposition," I say firmly, wincing as the pain spreads further through my body. It's as if that invisible arm, reaching up into my chest, is now unfurling its fingers into my brain. I thought I'd be strong enough to resist, but now I realize that I never even had a chance. "I don't even know if she'll get far enough away before..."
"Are you okay?" the woman asks, clearly a little nervous. "I tell you what. If you change your mind, just come along to room -"
"It's fine," I say, taking a couple of careful steps toward her, "I'll come." As I reach the door, however, I can tell that this is a losing battle. The cancer, the force within my body, is too strong to be held back, especially now that it senses a chance for one last feast. "Just -" Gripping the door-frame, I try to stay on my feet.
"No pressure," the woman says, clearly scared.
"Stop!" I shout, lunging at her and grabbing her arm, quickly pulling her down to the floor. As she screams for help, I feel something stirring in my mind, something that is strengthened by the thought of all that warm blood being pumped through her body. For a moment, it's as if I can see her as nothing more than a fleshy container of nutrients, and as these dark thoughts begin to build in my head, I feel my old mind once again being pushed to one side.
"Please," she whimpers, trying to push my face away. "Please, leave me alone."
I try to tell her that it's not my fault, but although I'm able to open my mouth, all that comes out is a deep, ghostly hiss. I feel my body pushing back against him, my mouth opening to bite into her flesh, and although there's a part of me that's horrified by the idea, there's another part of me that desperately wants to
taste her blood. It's as if, having taken control of my head and body, the tumor is now invading my mind. I feel the sensation of my teeth ripping through the flesh of her neck, and the crunch of her bones as I tear at her meat. Blood flows into my mouth; warm, rich blood, still being given velocity by the panicked beating of her heart. It's as if life itself is being transferred, and although I know I should be horrified, I'm quickly overwhelmed by an urge to drink more and more.
For a few more minutes, I press my face into the bloody mess of her neck. Her heart has stopped beating now, so the blood doesn't flow with as much force, but it's still warm enough to fill me with a sense of strength.
Hearing someone scream nearby, I look up and spot another patient at the far end of the corridor. As soon as we make eye contact, she bolts back into her room and slams the door shut. I know I should continue to feast on this first dead body, but I'm consumed by the thought of another kill, and besides, my first victim's blood is already starting to cool. Slowly, and a little awkwardly, I get to my feet, ignoring the blood dripping down my chin as I stagger along the corridor. It's hard to properly control my limbs, and I bump into the wall a few times, but eventually I reach my target. I try the door handle, and although someone is trying to hold it from the other side, I'm quickly able to push it down and get the door open.
"No," the woman says, backing away toward the window. "Please, God, no..."
Smiling, I step into the room. I'm aware that this might be the last kill I manage to complete before everything ends, but at least I'm going to go out on a high.
"Help me!" the woman shouts, trying to run past me.
I grab her by the waist and pull her toward me, while sinking my teeth into her neck. I feel her twitch and jerk, but I keep a tight grip as hot blood flows into my mouth, driven by the beat of her heart. I feed for a few more seconds, holding her in my arms until she's no longer able to struggle. This is good. This is all that matters.
Blood.
Dr. Andrew Page
As I stare intently at the last glass of whiskey I'll ever drink, I start to become aware of a distant scratching sound. It's as if there's someone or something out in the corridor, getting closer and closer. I guess I should be scared, but as I glance at my watch I realize that there's not much point getting too worked up. Whatever happens, happens.
Two minutes.
The door handle starts to turn, and somehow I just know that it's her. After all, who else could it be? After everything that has happened over the past few days, it's somewhat appropriate that she's going to be with me when it all ends. She was the one who brought the sickness here, which I still don't quite understand. Why would a woman like Dominique Ribery take such a huge risk? I guess that maybe, in the end, she was scared of dying.
And now she's here. Right at the end. With perfect, poetic symmetry.
"Come in, Ms. Ribery," I say with a smile, before taking a sip of whiskey. "Please, make yourself at home. I was just moping in here anyway, thinking about mistakes and regrets, of which I have more than a few. Can I offer you a drink? What does someone like you prefer, anyway? Vodka? Rum? I'm afraid I only have whiskey and cognac."
She pushes the door open and takes a couple of lumbering steps into the room. Gray and sallow-skinned, she stares at me intently with yellowing eyes. It's hard to believe that she was once an intelligent, charismatic woman who worked around the world. It's not long since she first arrived at the hospital and we spoke, briefly, about the cancer that was already taking control of her body. I can't help but wonder whether, right before her mind was lost completely, she understood what was happening to her. Then again, there's also the question of whether she might still be in there somewhere, her mind intact despite having been pushed aside by the cancer.
"Sit down. Put your feet up. Eat my brains. Whatever you zombies like to do. I'm afraid I don't really know the etiquette." I check my watch. "But be quick about it. We've only got one minute and five seconds before someone presses a big button and we all go sky-high. I imagine they'll put on a pretty big light show. There'll be nothing left standing by the time they're done. I wonder if they'll admit what happened, or if they'll come up with a cover story. Terrorists, maybe?"
She takes another step toward me, and her mouth opens to emit a deep, gargled hiss.
"Cheers," I say, taking a sip of whiskey. "To absent friends and..." I pause. "To absent friends and lost loves," I add finally.
Dominique Ribery stands and stares at me, as if she can't decide what to do next.
"My God," I add, watching as she comes closer, "the things I could have discovered if I'd had a chance to study you properly." Feeling a sharp pain in my abdomen, I realize that the tumor must be spreading its thin white cord up through my body. Too bad that it won't get a chance to finish the job, not before the missiles strike. "For what it's worth," I continue, "I think John Lincoln and his goons have half a chance of beating you lot back. Can't be certain, but..." I pause. "Definitely half a chance. For all his failings, Dr. Lincoln seems to be a smart guy. Not the smartest, of course. I still think I wasted my talents, but I guess regrets are natural right at the end."
After staring at me for a moment, Dominique Ribery turns and starts staggering toward the window.
"Admiring the view?" I ask, surprised by this chance of direction. After all, these creatures have always seemed so determined to lust after human blood. "You don't mind if I call you a zombie, do you?" I continue. "It just seems to be the most appropriate way to describe you. You've got the skin, the eyes, the gait, the general purpose... It seems silly not to call a spade a spade."
She stands with her back to me, staring at the view beyond the window.
"I always thought I'd find it, you know," I say after a moment. "I was convinced that I'd find a cure for cancer. All cancer, everywhere. And then eventually I realized that the first step was to work out what cancer really is. I mean, sure it's basically unrestricted cell growth, blooming like -" I pause as I spot the flowers sitting in a vase on a nearby table. "I guess evolution's a tricky path," I continue, before turning to look at Dominique Ribery. "Finally, though, cancer has found a way to blossom and reach its next stage. Don't take this personally, Ms. Ribery, but I can't say that I'm very excited by the idea. Still..." I take a deep breath. "With a little more time, I still think I could find a cure."
Checking my watch, I see that time is rapidly running out.
I glance at Dominique Ribery and see that she's still staring out the window.
"God," I mutter, "you actually seem thoughtful for a moment. If I didn't know better, I'd genuinely believe that you were thinking about something. Maybe you are, huh? The world's first philosophical zombie. Got any profound thoughts you'd like to share at this late stage? After all, you're slightly older than the other zombies on the ward right now, so I guess you've had more time to think about things."
Checking my watch, I see that the second hand is ticking down.
Three.
Two.
One.
"I don't even know if this is accurate," I say with a faint smile, tapping the glass. "It might be a little fast or a little slow. But let's just say, for the sake of argument, that it's spot on. Right now, a button is being pressed in some dark control bunker somewhere, by someone who can ignore the fact that there are still people in this building, and a bunch of missiles are headed right this way. Any last thoughts, Ms. Ribery?" I turn to look at her. "Any -"
As soon as I see her face, however, I realize that something's different. She's still standing by the window, but she's turned to look straight at me, and I swear to God, there's some kind of intelligence in her eyes.
"We probably only have a few seconds left," I continue cautiously, realizing that I might actually be on the verge of a breakthrough. "Anything you want to say?"
Silence.
"This..." she says suddenly, her voice hoarse and rasping.
"This what?" I ask, stunned by the realization that she can talk.
>
Silence.
"This what?" I ask again.
"This..."
Finishing my whiskey, I get to my feet. The fact that these creatures can actually communicate is a whole new development, and it changes everything.
"This what?" I shout, starting to feel as if maybe there's still a chance to learn something. It's as if, right at the end, she's trying to evolve right in front of my eyes.
"This..." she splutters, with a faint smile. It's clear that she's struggling to get the words out, as if she hasn't yet mastered the art of speech.
"This what?" I ask, as I spot a series of faint, distant lights in the distance. "No," I whisper, realizing that the missiles are coming. "No!" I shout, as a grin spreads across Dominique Ribery's face. "Stop what?" I continue, stepping back as I realize that one of the many missiles is headed straight for this office. "What do you want?" I shout. "Who am I talking to right now? Dominique Ribery or... or..."
Instead of answering, she simply stares at me.
"But -"
"It's not over," she says finally. "This is just day one."
Before I can reply, a missile smashes through the window. Time seems to slow to a crawl and everything happens in slow-motion. The missile hits Dominique Ribery square in the chest and explodes, obliterating her body. The last I see of her is her grinning face, still staring at me as an intensely bright white light roars across the room. I try to turn and run, but I can't move fast enough and a huge wave of fire blasts through my body. The last thing I think, the very last thing, is that we were wrong about these creatures. Whatever they want, wherever they came from, they're more organized than we ever realized. I try to think instead of Catherine, but it's too late.
