CODE Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology

by Brown, Eric S. ; Besser, Rebecca; Wraight, Anastasia; Rosamilia, Armand; Ibarra, Bowie V. ; Christie, Peggy; Mahan, Jeremy L. ; Sinclair, Pembroke; Snow, Rebecca

  “Maybe we should go shopping.” Brent broke the silence.

  “Shopping?” Marcus glared at him. “You’re thinking about shopping right now? Really?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about getting Ronnie a big teddy bear or something.”

  “She hates bears.” He massaged his temples, a thumping headache having set up residence.

  “Well, you think of something, then. I just wanted to make her smile.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Sorry.” He leaned forward and rubbed his eyelids. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

  A nurse walked into the waiting area and exchanged words with the nurse at reception, who pointed at Marcus and Brent. He approached them with a practiced gait meant to give off confidence and reassurance. He wore navy blue smocks with a white tee underneath and orthopedic trainers, not fashionable but comfortable enough for the impossibly long hours. He looked half-tired already, probably nearing the end of his shift.

  “You Veronica Sinclair’s father?” He looked unsure of whom to ask.

  “We both are, yes.” Brent kept Marcus’s hand securely in his.

  “Ah, yes, well.” He hesitated for a moment, looking them over before clearing his throat. “We are all done with the tests…”

  “So what’s wrong? Is she okay?” Marcus could feel his body tremble.

  “It’ll take some time for the results to come in. The blood work should be done relatively quickly, as well as the X-rays. Some of the other test results, though, won’t be ready before the week is up.”

  “Can we see her at least?”

  “Sure, I can take you to her. We moved her to the children’s…” he paused to cough into the crook of his sleeve. “Sorry, pardon me. She’s up in the children’s ward. She will be a lot more comfortable there. I can take you to her, but she’s asleep right now. The tests took a lot out of her.”

  “Please.”

  The nurse led them to the elevator on the other side of the waiting area. Marcus and Brent followed him in and stood slightly behind him, listening to the ping of each floor passing. Marcus sighed uneasily as the doors opened to the children’s ward. Same blue walls as downstairs in the waiting room, but these were painted with vibrant rainbows and sunshines, happy images meant to make the kids more optimistic.

  Marcus couldn’t help but peek in through the open doors as they walked down the “SecretGarden” hallway. One boy lay rigidly still on a bed, his skin badly burned and a mask over his face providing his body oxygen. One girl was sitting up in her bed, coloring on her tray and listening to some popular children’s program on the television. In the next room, a little girl was resting against her pillow, watching cartoons. She had a pink cap over her bald head, hiding the effects of her treatments. She smiled at him as he came into her view and waved. He smiled sympathetically and gave her a wave back.

  They stopped at an emerald door with stenciled flowers painted around the window. Marcus peered through at his little daughter. She was sound asleep but continued coughing. Drops of blood dribbled down from the corner of her mouth and nose. Had her nose been bleeding before? He pressed his brow against the cool glass as the nurse and Brent discussed Veronica’s condition.

  The nurse started coughing again, his body doubling over as he tried to control himself. Brent grabbed the man’s shoulders and pulled a tissue from his pocket. The nurse accepted and covered his mouth, his face turning purple as he struggled for breath. Marcus looked away from the window and turned his attention to the nurse as he wiped crimson dribble from his mouth.

  “Thanks,” the nurse whispered, his voice hoarse. “I must be coming down with something.”

  “Yeah,” Marcus eyed him suspiciously. “Need some water?”

  He shook his head, “I’ll be all right.”

  He excused himself, leaving them outside Ronnie’s door. Marcus put his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath before walking in. His heart stopped. There was a tube connected to her throat, feeding her body oxygen. An IV line supplied the replacement fluids she had lost. He touched her cheek softly; her feverish heat now seemed almost dead cold. He rubbed her arm, trying to transfer some of his warmth to her.

  A strong hand squeezed his shoulder, “She’ll be okay. The doctors will take good care of her. We’ll have her home and complaining at us for making her clean her room in no time.”

  “I hope so.” He placed his palm flat on her forehead. “She’s cold.”

  “Cold? Her fever down already? That could be a good sign…” Brent paused as he felt her cheek. “Does that seem…”

  “Too cold? Yes.” He leaned an ear down to listen for her breath.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Ronnie didn’t cough. The life seeped from her, dripping steadily from ears as well as her nose and stained the pillow under her soft curls a tie-dye crimson. She was still and cold. Marcus took a step back, the color draining from his face. He tripped into the chair beside her bed, nearly knocking it over. Brent touched her wrist and then the vein by her neck, searching for a pulse. Marcus knew he would find none.

  “She…he said she was okay…” Marcus felt like he was about to crumple. He stepped into the hallway and shouted as loud as he could, tears catching in his throat. “Nurse! Somebody!”

  He saw someone in scrubs slumped against the wall a few doors down. He jogged over and knelt beside the nurse, the same man who had brought them to Ronnie. Marcus checked for a pulse and felt the intense heat emanating from the man’s body. He had to be well over 100 degrees by now, cooking from the inside. At a loss for how to wake him, he slapped the man’s face to stir him awake. He woke with a start and choked on the bile and blood that had settled in his throat.

  “You all right?” He helped the man try to stand.

  “Wh…what happened?” he blinked. “I can’t see.”

  He blinked rapidly as if trying to clear his vision, but then closed them tightly against the light. Marcus just caught a glimpse of the dark color of his eyes. The vessels were black and thick, just like Ronnie’s had been.

  “You passed out.” He held the man until he had steadied himself. “We need a doctor. Now! Where…?”

  A chair crashed in Ronnie’s room. Marcus stood up quickly as a loud, hacking choke sound came from Ronnie’s room. He ran through the door to find Brent on his hands and knees. He turned up the chair and pulled Brent into it.

  “Hey! You all right?” He pushed Brent’s hair out of his face.

  “Yeah…yeah.” He leaned over the arm of the chair and vomited onto Marcus’s shoes. “Sorry.”

  He grimaced a little at the smell, but focused on Brent. “Sssh. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it cleaned up.”

  “Ronnie. Is she?”

  He fought back the tears and nodded. Marcus wrapped his arms around his love and buried his face against his chest. He felt a heavy sigh and slight sob, and Marcus knew he was giving up trying to be the strong one. The act didn’t matter anymore, not now that she was gone.

  As Marcus glanced over at their daughter, his blood froze. She was gone. He pulled away from Brent and bolted to the bed, searching the bed sheets futilely. He ran to the door and looked both ways down the hallway. Where had she gone? How had she gone? She was dead!

  “Brent! It’s Ronnie!” He shook Brent, who had closed his eyes and whose head sagged slightly. “She’s not here. Did you see her go? Did anyone come in while I was in the hall?”

  Brent didn’t stir.

  “Answer me!”

  Marcus pressed his fingers to the veins in Brent’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing. He was cold and clammy, as if he had been gone for more than just a moment. Marcus fell back against the floor and stared at his partner, lifeless.

  “This cannot be happening. God, let it be a nightmare,” he silently prayed.

  He closed his eyes tightly. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms. He took deep breaths and tried to calm himself.
He had to get help.

  A shuffling sound startled him. He lifted his head and felt his heart stop. The chair was empty. “Brent?”

  A scream echoed in the hallway, startling him back to reality. He grabbed the frame of the bed and pulled himself up. Without thinking, he ran down the hallway to the children’s reception desk. The nurse was doubled over and clutched her stomach. Bloody vomit dripped from her lips. As Marcus ran around the side of the desk, he saw her body collapse; the life flew from her eyes. He backed away slowly, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

  He frantically searched the children’s ward for others affected. The small girl with her pink cap was sprawled across her bed; the sweet smile gone. The cartoons played quietly in the background. He stepped over a fallen nurse to check the next room. The burned boy’s oxygen system clicked, but his chest no longer rose. The last child lay slumped over her coloring tray, a crayon still in her tiny hand. His heart broke as each bed he checked had a cold body. The disease was spreading faster.

  A blur caught his eye.

  He spun around suddenly. He thought he saw the locks of his daughter’s hair bounce into the stairwell. He ran down the hallway to where he thought he had seen her and shoved the door open. He looked down the stairs, but saw nothing. Then he heard her laughter from above him and. He rushed up, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Ronnie! Ronnie, wait, honey!” He pushed open the door to a research floor labeled Children’s Research Facility.

  The research floor looked like a whole new hospital. Everything seemed too sterile. The walls were the whitest white he had ever seen. He suddenly felt filthy, covered in bloody bile and vomit. He entered the first room he came to, which could not have been more different. The room was lined with beds, each one surrounded by a clear plastic bubble smeared with vermillion grime. Marcus knew all the patients lying quietly in their bubbles were dead without checking. The whole room felt lifeless.

  A shiver travelled up his spine and he searched for his daughter’s blurry figure again. He saw a shadow disappear at the end of the room and he quickly followed. He was met abruptly with a door to a glass office. The nameplate read Dr. Gilmore, Ronnie’s primary caregiver in the research program. He turned the handle to the office and stepped in.

  Dr. Gilmore lay half draped across his desk.

  “Sir?” Marcus approached him cautiously, unsure if the man was alive or not.

  Gilmore started to cough and startled him. He looked up at Marcus through bleary eyes. “Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He rushed over to the man. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” He vomited into the waste bin next to his desk. “How is your daughter? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I can’t catch her.”

  Horror flashed over across the doctor’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I knew.” He glanced down at the papers spread across the desk. One paper in particular caught his eye, the mortality rate of the experiments. “Have they all died?”

  “Yes. No. I think so.” Gilmore opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He took a big swig and then offered it to Marcus, who refused. “It started today. They all started coughing up blood. And their eyes…”

  “Yeah, Ronnie too.” He paused to choose his words carefully. “What did you give them?”

  “A virus of sorts. It was meant to attack and kill the cancer cells. It worked for most patients at first. Ronnie…she was my most promising patient, but…”

  “What happened? What went wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but…here we are. I’m going to lose my job, and I have to explain to all the families that their children did not survive the research project.”

  “There’s more to it.”

  “Oh?” He rested his head on his arms across the desk.

  “That virus.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s contagious, and it seems to be moving faster. People downstairs are being affected by it. The entire children’s ward is dead, nurses and kids included. It’s probably working its way down to the main floor.”

  “Nature is difficult to cont…control sometimes.” He groaned before losing his voice in a coughing fit. He spat a large chunk of phlegm to the floor and gaped at it; it was flesh, not blood. “I think I have it too.”

  Marcus backed away, suddenly as afraid of germs as the nurse at her front desk had been. He wanted to escape, but it seemed Dr. Gilmore had something left to say. The doctor stood up from behind his desk and walked to the door. He placed a weary, bloody hand on the glass with a pained look of apology in his blackening eyes. Without a word, his body fell forward and slid down the door.

  Marcus cried out and leapt back from the door. Ronnie caught his eye again as he turned away, a feeble hand clamped over his mouth. He followed her out of the office, leaving the deceased doctor on his own. She stopped near the stairwell and turned to face him. His eyes remained fixed on her. He couldn’t understand how she was standing now. Yet, he found he didn’t care. He ran over and embraced her and kissed her. His heart seized in his chest as his lips touched her forehead. She was still ice cold. He looked into her eyes. They were glazed over and cloudy, the bloodshot veins thick and black. Somehow he knew she was still dead.

  She reached up a hand to touch his face gently. He smiled and chuckled through the tears streaming down his face. The peaceful, blank look on her face at once faded and she jerked forward at him. Her soft hands turned to claws. Before he could pull away, she bit into his neck. He shoved her away And fell backwards. He got himself up to his feet and watched her. She looked hungry, as odd as the idea sounded in his head.

  Marcus stepped backwards and crashed into one of the beds. Its inhabitant sat up and clawed at the plastic bubble. He screamed out for help, but no one came. Soon all of the patients, all whom he had presumed dead, jolted to life and started to tear through the linings around their beds.

  He wanted to run, but the loss of blood in his neck made him feel weak. He collapsed to the floor. His daughter’s shadow fell across him as his sight darkened.

  He woke up a couple of hours later. The bubbles were all torn open, but no one sat in the beds. He looked around frantically for Ronnie. She too was gone. He stood up quickly, his head was still faint. He coughed, just a light but damp cough. The research floor was dark and silent. He went to the stairwell and slowly descended the stairs. At each floor, he peered into the hall and listened for anything. Only the buzz of halogen lights and the occasional click or beep of a biomedical machine echoed back to him.

  He continued down and then pushed the emergency exit open, stepping out into the fresh air. He crossed the street to the brick Catholic church. Each step was a struggle. One foot, pause, and then the next. He collapsed in the middle of the aisle and the priest rushed to his aid. He fanned Marcus’s face to try to cool him as he yelled out for help. In the background, he heard a chorus of coughs echo from the choir balcony and through the pews.

  “Sir? Sir? Hang on. The ambulance is on its way.” The priest shook him.

  A woman touched him and shook her head. “He’s gone.”

  They all crossed themselves and muttered prayers as the priest began a shaky last rites. As he whispered the close, “Amen,” Marcus’s eyes popped open, now dark and glazed over. He lurched for the holy man and sank his teeth into his neck as the ambulance pulled up at the front of the church.

  TO WALK THE HALLS

  By Rebecca Besser

  Cameron Gather lay on a narrow bed in a little room off the main emergency room ward at Saint Helen’s Hospital, absently rubbing her bulging stomach, waiting for the doctor to examine her. She stared up at the ceiling, breathing slowly like they’d taught in her birthing classes; focusing on the florescent bulb – which was blinking slightly – kept her mind off of the fact that she was in labor a month early. Fear raged in her mind every time she heard a sound outside the closed door and her concent
ration slipped. It had already been a long night and she was tired, and she knew there was more stress to come.

  The door clicked open and Cameron jumped and turned to see her husband, Joe, entering the room holding papers and tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans; he looked at her and smiled.

  “All set,” he said, pulling the utilitarian plastic chair from the corner closer to the bed and his wife’s side. “Has the doctor been in yet?”

  She shook her head no and tears sprang to her eyes. Turning her head, she again focused on the ceiling and the light.

  He laid the papers on the floor between his feet, took her free hand in one of his, and placed his other hand on her stomach, rubbing gently.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, honey,” Joe said, trying to be reassuring, but he was scared too. His heart was racing, his thoughts were jumbled, and he felt helpless. The fear of losing the woman he loved and/or their child made him want to fall on his knees and cry, while simultaneously he wanted to punch both his fists through the wall and scream at the top of his lungs.

  They stayed this way for many long minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, afraid to voice them and jinx the situation. Hollering, ranting, and swearing could be heard through the closed door. The ER was flooded with people seeking various types of medical attention, but they’d been placed in a secluded room to try and keep Cameron calm while they waited for a doctor to decide what was going on with her pregnancy and their unborn child.

  The door clicked open and Cameron and Joe jumped, their attention immediately going to the door; the raised volume of the commotion beyond the opening shocked them. A man in a white lab coat and blue-green scrubs walked through the door holding a chart. He was middle aged, slightly overweight, and starting to go bald. He glanced up at the couple and let the door go shut on its own behind him; none of them noticed that it hadn’t latched.