* * *
There was movement; he was moving, slowly, stop start across something, then a lifting sensation and a distant sound of grunts and groans. Then, stillness and a throbbing pain in his head that was growing stronger by the second. Keith moaned as his vision began to return, the pain in his head and body pulsating. He had a dull ache at the base of his spine too, like he had been kicked there. He looked around, the dimness of the single overhead bulb casting shadows in every corner. It swung from a draft coming from somewhere and it was cold damp and dark. He seemed to be in a basement or cellar of some kind and as his vision began to clear, he saw a cage, sectioned off from the rest of the room. There was a rancid smell in the air too, like rotten meat or something gone off. Something was in the cage, in the corner and Keith strained his eyes.
The light bulb above gently swayed towards the shape and Keith cried out in fright when he saw it. A woman; only not a woman; skin wrinkled and decrepit was crouched in the corner of this cage wearing only rags. Keith just stared at the sight in front of him in disbelief, it looked like a dead body days after it had died, blue and dark purple veins visible through the pulpy scaled skin. But it breathed and was alive, eyes sunken and blood shot, the pupils enlarged and staring. It looked like something from a zombie movie; a real life zombie right in front of him. It had something in its lap, something red and dark. It was a set of human intestines and the thing raised them to its mouth and began to chew slowly. Keith gagged and felt bile shooting up his gullet and hitting the back of his throat.
Derek suddenly appeared from the shadows in the background and Keith tried to move away in reflex but he was bound tightly to a chair by strong tape which dug deep into his wrists and his mouth had tape over it. He couldn’t move himself from the waist down and there was a tingling feeling in his back, it felt like paralysis.
“Don’t try to move, you won’t get very far,” said Derek calmly, almost sympathetically. “I’ve given you an injection of Bupivacaine in your spine...do you know what that is?’ Keith shook his head gormlessly.
“It’s the stuff pregnant women get Keith when they are about to go into labor, it’s an epidural effectively,” he continued. “You won’t feel anything down there for quite some time!”
Keith began to groan, trying to speak but unable to from the disorientation and tape clamped over his mouth.
“I know what you are thinking Keith, and I’m sorry you got caught up in this, but they do say curiosity killed the cat you know!” Derek motioned back to the animated corpse in the corner that was now munching quite happily on the intestines, eyes never looking up from the meal. “This is my wife Mary, Keith. Would you believe we have been married for thirty seven years? She caught this new flu two weeks ago when we got back from holiday in the Caribbean. When I saw the news, I knew if I took her to hospital, they would take her away from me, I would never see her again and I couldn’t bear that.” His voice quivered lightly and he looked away, his eyes slightly glazed. “We’ve never been apart for one single day since we married.”
Keith began pulling at the restraints on his wrists with his arms but they were too tight and his lower body was useless. He tried to shout but was stifled by the tight gag.
“Human flesh you see?” continued Derek. “It’s the only thing that calms her down, for a little while. When she started to get really sick she got aggressive and tried to attack me. I realized that human flesh is the only thing that relieves her. I have to keep her locked up now in that cage and of course my work gives me the perfect opportunity to get food for her, but it has to be as fresh, so now you understand the need for the organ containers, yes?”
Keith began to wail and cry in panic, the true meaning of his captivity now becoming clear to him. As Derek moved slowly around to his dead wife’s cage, he was careful to click off the padlock and open the door very quietly. The thing on the floor didn’t notice; too busy feasting on the body parts and organs that were slopped on the blood drenched floor. Derek moved around to Keith and using scissors, he cut off part of his trouser leg. Taking out a scalpel he gently ran the blade along Keith’s shin bone, drawing blood immediately. Keith felt nothing but wailed again in fright.
“I have to go now,” said Derek calmly, “But the best I can do for my Mary now to ease her suffering is fresh food, and what’s better than a live person!?”
Keith moaned in horror as Derek quietly left the cellar room and pulled the door shut behind him. He watched helplessly in terror as the thing in the cage finished eating the intestines. Eventually, its nose began to twitch. It looked over in his direction and began to crawl over to him on hands and knees, gurgling with scarlet dripping from its mouth.
He shrieked in horror when it started licking his numbed bloodied leg like a child sucking on a strawberry lolly pop, its eyes almost lighting up at the taste. When the first nibbles came, it felt like he was being tickled, the drug masking the pain, just as Derek intended. When the nibbles turned to full on bites and gouges, Keith threw his head back, away from the thing chewing at his legs and cried out in terror, calling for Diane and to God through his tears. The image of Diane and his girls was the last thing he thought about before he felt his consciousness slipping away to the ghoulish sound of teeth chomping through his flesh in the background.
Lockdown
By Shawn M. Riddle
Hinesville, Georgia
RobertE.LeeMemorialHospital
April 19, 2011-9:52 P.M.
Doctor Steve Zimmerman jerked his Mustang into the parking lot and cut off a blonde nurse in a Honda Civic to take the last space in the emergency employee’s lot. When she honked at him, he flipped her off without a glance.
This was his fourth straight week of working the ER night shift. The past month had been monotonous. Sure an occasional real patient came through the ER, but the majority was the dregs-- drunks who got into bar fights or fell down stairs, drug overdoses, and every hypochondriac in the county. They all seemed to converge on his hospital and, more specifically, his shift like vultures to a fresh corpse. He didn't spend all those years studying and working through his medical degree to waste his talents on trivial, meaningless cases.
Chuck, the night security officer, glanced up from his newspaper as Steve walked in. “Evenin’ Doc. How you doing tonight?”
Steve screwed on a tight smile, “OK I guess, just another night of dealing with idiot drunks and patients who think a runny nose is a 911 emergency.”
Chuck snickered and snapped his newspaper, “Yeah, we do get a lively crowd, but it pays the bills I guess.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Steve sighed as he scratched his name into the log. He turned and strode away from the desk, hoping to avoid further conversation.
“Have a good night, Doc,” Chuck called after him.
Without turning around, Steve mumbled, “Yeah,” and made his way through the lobby and into the ER.
10:10 P.M.
The evening lived down to Steve's expectations. He checked the log and found that there had been three patients in. A twelve-year-old boy who had broken his arm playing football, he’d been treated and released shortly before Steve’s arrival. The second was a frequent flier-- tonight’s complaint was a mild fever with chills which she self-diagnosed as avian flu. The third was a man who had been brought in an hour or so before Steve's arrival. He had apparently been mugged earlier in the evening and had suffered numerous minor injuries.
Susan Hamilton, night shift head nurse, approached Dr. Zimmerman. She was in her late thirties, with strawberry blonde hair and a figure that turned heads. She said in a heavy English accent, “Good evening Doctor Zimmerman, how are you feeling tonight?”
Steve scanned the charts again. “Why hasn’t the hypochondriac in room two been sent home yet? She was released almost an hour ago by Dr. West.”
Susan smiled, “She wants a second opinion before she leaves. She’s not convinced that Dr. West’s diagnosis is correct and insists she has avian flu. I tol
d her she could wait for the next shift and they would have another look at her to confirm Dr. West’s diagnosis.”
“Why do these people waste my time? That woman has been in here four times this month and there’s not been a damn thing wrong with her. I’ve wasted enough time with her. Get her out of here.”
“I apologize Dr. Zimmerman. But she was quite insistent on a second opinion.”
Steve’s cheeks flushed, “I don’t care what she insists on. She has been diagnosed and released…”
Susan interrupted him, “I realize that, and I’ll thank you to mind your tone, I’m simply doing my job.”
“Not very well as far as I can see,” Steve snapped. “I’ll go have look at her and release her from care, again. If necessary, have the moron at the security desk drag her out of here, I’ve got better things to do.”
“Yes Doctor.” As Steve headed off to room two she added under her breath, “Arrogant little git!”
10:23 P.M.
Susan opened the curtain to room seven where Mr. Garcia was sitting upright in the bed. He had been brought in earlier in the evening after being mugged.
“How are you feeling Mr. Garcia?” Susan asked.
“Diosmio, my arm hurts like a son of a bitch, and my head hurts so bad it feels like it’s going to explode,” he replied, gripping the bandage on his arm.
Susan smiled reassuringly, “I’ll get you something for your pain. The Doctor is with another patient. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” She placed the blood-pressure cuff on his uninjured arm. After a few moments, results appeared on the display. She placed the digital thermometer in his ear. Susan noted the results of the tests in his chart. “Why don’t we take a look at that arm,” Susan said as she removed the bandage. She saw that lesions had begun to form around the wound and his face was flushed a darker red than when she came in. She smoothed the bandage back into place. She smiled at him again and said, “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
His breathing somewhat labored, he raised his head and managed a weak smile, “Gracias.”
10:26 P.M.
Dr. Zimmerman was at the desk filling out paperwork when Susan approached him. Without looking up from his papers he sighed, “Yes, what is it now?”
“Doctor, Mr. Garcia in room seven is complaining of a serious headache and his arm is still hurting. Dr. West started him on Tylenol and antibiotics an hour ago. His temperature elevated--99.1 to 100.7. BP is also elevated. He’s flushed and lesions have formed around the bite on his arm.”
Her report sparked his interest, “What’s his BP?”
Susan glanced at the chart, “When he arrived--9:32 this evening--his BP was 127/89. Last reading was 142/110.”
“I’ll look in on him in a minute.”
10:52 P.M.
“Good evening Mr. Garcia, I’m Doctor Zimmerman, Nurse Hamilton tells me you’re not feeling well.”
Mr. Garcia opened his eyes slowly and looked at the Doctor. Both eyes were fiery crimson and a tear drop of blood trickled down the left side of his face. His forehead was beaded with sweat. Mr. Garcia tried to catch his breath to speak; the only sound he made was an unintelligible croak. His breathing had become labored and erratic. Steve pressed the “Nurse Call” button on the man’s bedrail. Moments later, Susan walked through the curtain and asked, “Yes Doctor Zimm…” She stopped when she saw the patient’s condition.
Steve glared at her, “Step outside with me for a moment. Mr. Garcia, I’ll be right back.” Once out of earshot, Steve rounded on her, “What the hell is wrong with you? You didn’t say anything about the sclera or bleeding from the eyes—I would have expected even you to have noted. Not to mention the man can barely breathe.”
Susan flushed, not backing down; she looked right into Steve’s eyes and whispered, “Doctor, he wasn’t like that when I was taking vitals. Those symptoms must have manifested in the last few minutes.”
“I’m not interested in excuses. Get Doctor West in here. We need to run a full work up on this patient stat.”
11:20 P.M.
Doctors West and Zimmerman and the entire night shift nursing staff bustled around Mr. Garcia. The room was filled with the stench of vomit and human waste, augmented by the unmistakable smell of decaying flesh. The lesions had spread and completely covered his arms, and were weeping thick yellow pus. His temperature reached 104.1 and his blood pressure was off the charts. The man was bleeding from the eyes, ears, and nose and was completely unresponsive to all attempts at communication.
The nurses checked and rechecked the patient’s vital signs while the doctors waited for blood test results from the lab. West had his suspicions about the etiology of these symptoms, but had never seen any disease manifest and accelerate at this rate. “Susan, would you please join us outside?” He motioned for Steve to follow.
“Certainly Doctor,” she said.
The three stepped into the hallway. Doctor West sighed and spoke very quietly, “I think we may be dealing with a form of hemorrhagic fever, like Ebola, but I’ve never seen it firsthand. Susan didn’t you spend some time in Africa a few years back? I thought I heard you mention Marburg outbreaks? Have you seen anything like this?”
“You’re asking her?” Steve whispered in exasperation. “She couldn’t even tell me in the beginning what was going on with the patient. . .”
“I’d like to hear from Nurse Hamilton, if you don’t mind,” Doctor West said.
Susan suppressed a grin and said, “I spent several months in the Congo in 1999. The World Health Organization was called out as well as the Red Cross--a massive outbreak of Marburg hemorrhagic fever at a village in the Orientale province. This patient shows many of the same symptoms. But his condition is worsening at a rate far faster than any I saw during my time in Africa. I’m at a loss.”
Dr. Zimmerman sneered, “She’s at a loss, what a surprise.”
Doctor West’s face hardened, “Doctor Zimmerman, I have had enough of your abusive attitude and insults. One more word out of you and I will see to it you are dismissed from your post. Is that clear?”
Steve gaped as if he had just been gut-punched, “I was only…”
“Do you understand?” Doctor West interrupted.
“Yes sir,” Steve muttered, looking at the floor.
Doctor West continued, “Susan, please go to the lab and find out about those blood tests? If this is a strain of hemorrhagic fever, protocol is for us to isolate the patient and alert the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. Doctor Zimmerman, call ICU and have them get a unit ready. Tell them the patient is to be quarantined immediately. All attending staff should observe level 4 protocols. I’ll get CDC on the line.”
“Yes sir,” they replied in unison and rushed off. Doctor West returned to room seven. Mr. Garcia’s condition had deteriorated. The bleeding from his eyes, ears, and nose had worsened; his breathing had become more labored than an asthmatic during a major attack. He thrashed around as he growled and snapped at the staff. Doctor West picked up the phone and dialed security, “Chuck, code postal room seven, stat!”
11:24 P.M.
Chuck burst into the room, breathing heavily, “What’s the problem Doc?” Chuck panted.
“We need restraints--this patient is becoming violent. I have to sedate him, but I need him under control.”
“Yes sir,” Chuck left faster than he came in.
Mr. Garcia screamed; his eyes were wide open and completely red, blood flowed from every orifice and he was soaked with sweat. He thrashed violently and knocked over the I.V. stand next to his bed. As it fell, it pulled the tube from his arm.
Chuck returned with restraints in hand.
“Chuck, give me those. Put on a mask and gloves and hold this guy down, we’ve got to get him under control before he does any more harm to himself, or us.”
Chuck nodded and donned his protective gear. He grabbed Mr. Garcia’s arms and held them tightly to the gurney. The man thrashed and snapped at Chuck. “Hurry up Doc!�
� Mr. Garcia kicked and screamed like a madman, a wet gurgling noise accompanied the screams.
Once the restraints were in place, Chuck released his grip. He saw huge black bruises on the man’s arms where his hands had just been, they were oozing a yellow pus-like substance mixed with blood.
CODE Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology Page 12
