Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  “Rrrah! Rrrah!” Mark heard, as more and more zombies gathered around outside—growling and clawing at the door.

  Mark was now scared to death, standing alone, trapped in a tiny restroom with barely enough room to walk around in.

  Chapter 10 way of the undead

  Mark felt stranded. His only chance to get back to the stairwell and he blew it. His heart was pounding and perhaps seeing such familiar faces attacking made him come undone a little. No food or water. The restroom light was dimly lit, and like all the other lights they had begun flickering on and off exposing the room’s horrid, almost checkered green wallpaper. He hoped Becky was okay—but his worry for Stephanie and his family overshadowed everything. He began to ponder—thinking frantically to himself as he stared up at the ceiling wondering if anyone else knew that the world was coming to an end.

  Looking up at the ceiling tiles, he realized there might be a way out. Using his metal rod, he poked at the Styrofoam-like tiles. Bits of foam began to fall just before sliding one of the tiles over on top of the next. Mark stood atop the toilet, realizing that he was too low to the ground to climb all the way up. Looking over at the sink, Mark took a long step over from atop of the toilet seat, easing one of his feet onto its ceramic basin.

  He then cautiously brought his other foot over—being careful not to break the sink as he was weary that it might not support his full weight, and this before standing up ever so cautiously. With use of the corner of the wall to lessen his load upon the wobbly sink, he grabbed ahold the top to pull himself up.

  Many formerly serene, undead old-timers were still at the door, scratching and clawing. With the noise getting louder, once completely off of the sink—it started to crack. Nearing the top, the supports and bolts had started to bend and break, with his weight beginning to rip them right out from the wall. At the last second, Mark lifted himself up off the sink before it collapsed completely under his weight. Gripping the steel support beam, he looked around into the completely dark, dreary, and cold ceiling, pulling himself up a little more with use of the brick corner of the room’s wall.

  Once again the small flashlight attached at the keychain was shined in all directions. Although, there was uncertainty where to go, the realization that the space was a definite way out of the tiny death trap of a restroom was enough to carry onward.

  From the looks of the area, large steel constructed planks and ceiling support beams still remained from the buildings construction many years prior. One might even be able to get around pretty good on them, Mark assumed.

  Up, off into the cold and dusty space atop the first support beam. The area was full of metal conduit and wiring. Slim silver water pipes ran in every direction and were apart of the sprinkler system that led into every residents room.

  Blackened dust and thick cob-webs covered everything come into contact with. Straddling the steel support beam, carrying his weapon and bag of first-aid equipment, a small feeling of relief came over him, making his way over towards the middle of the unit. With thick blackened dust dropping down all around, the thought of a world with zombies around every corner made Mark worry: it was figured there would most likely be no more holidays, even if his family and friends did somehow remain safe. He began to imagine a world where these things couldn’t be stopped or controlled, just like in the movies. Mark considered a place in time where the quarantines that were supposed to contain the infection would fail.

  Mark reached a small intersection and shined his light down each path. Mark decided to veer off to the left before climbing over from one steel support beam to another. Trying to get over to the ceiling of a small secured room, there was always a chance that Becky might be safely hiding. Right over the room—he easily reached down from the heavy steel support beam and slid the ceiling tile to the side. Unsure as to what he’d find—he began clutching onto the beam as tightly as possible without falling—trying to lean over so he could see down into the small room.

  “Is anyone down there?” Mark called out.

  No one answered. The room was small, but locked up: safe and secure. Mark lowered himself down—making a loud plop as his shoes dropped swiftly upon the ground. A feeling of uneasiness suddenly came over him, having been immediately spotted through one of the rooms’ small rectangular windows by one of the many growing number of zombies out in the hall. The mob of zombies gathering at the door began scratching and clawing ferociously. Unparalleled was their attack of the walkthrough closet door as opposed to earlier. The room had two exits: one was now being attacked relentlessly; the other was locked by a keypad. As Mark tried to stay out of sight, exploring the room, he had now been spotted at both door’s windows. The growing hordes of zombies were now on each side, banging and scratching and clawing away at the outer doors—wanting nothing more than to eat his flesh.

  Mark had originally thought to check the room for Becky, but had decided to get on down mainly to check the units training computer. Although he didn’t expect much, perhaps the rooms’ computer was working, if so, an email could be sent out for help. At the entrance into the small closet-sized, the zombies lost sight. They continued to relentlessly beat at the door anyway.

  Mark quickly booted up the computer and clicked on the internet icon. He waited as a connecting to the internet message came up on the screen. He set there impatiently waiting.

  “No connectivity,” Mark said. “What now?”

  Mark picked up his weapon and bag of medical supplies and looked over at one of the small door windows as the cold stair of a zombie looked on sinisterly. It was Mr. Baumgartner, at one time one of the sweetest old-timers. Before the climb back up into the dark ceiling, the decision to check within the other supply closet for anything of use seemed no good. The door was locked. Mark stepped over to the blue linen cart and attempted to climb back atop. After a light struggle, once up top, he set his weapon and first-aid equipment on the ceiling tiles before pulling himself back up to the steel beam. Having wasted little time, he was all the way back up in the ceiling and making his way over to the mid-beam. Mark continued off into the cold, dark, and very dusty ceiling, led only by his small flashlight. Once over what assumed to be the nurses’ station, the ceiling tile was slid to the side. Peeking down below, curiously checking, a zombie, formerly his colleague, Joan jumped, reaching and clawing at the slightest movement above her now undead head.

  “Rrrah! Rrrah!”

  To Mark’s dismay—Joan was covered in blood, noticeably missing some fingers.

  Having eased back up into the darkness, by use of his flashlight—the light was shined in every direction—frantically searching for an area to cross over. The light from his flashlight shined down upon what seemed to be a single wooden plank, probably left behind years ago during construction of the nursing home. Mark crawled slowly over to the board and pulled it off of its securely wedged position before placing it over atop the corner of the wall closest to the opening into the small yet squarely cut out section of room leading into the Head Nurse’s office. A feint light was visible, but in the immense darkness of the ceiling, the tiniest bit of light was seeming much brighter. For fear of the old board’s toughness, the plank of wood was checked as it was sturdily wedged, being tested for durability.

  Entering into the small opening, Mark ripped off a vent cover. After removal, a sickening smell overtook the area, rising up hitting him almost in the face. Looking down, a horrid sight, sheer terror to find, Nurse Darlene, a 2nd floor nurse sat on the toilet slumped over dead. She had obviously committed suicide. Mark looked around fighting the foul stench, spotting a pistol near the deceased’s foot.

  Although dead, the blood and guts in the restroom could still carry infection. The Head Nurse wasn’t moving. She wasn’t in a zombie-like state, making it far easier to climb down. Once down, Mark quickly unlocked the small restroom door before exiting out as a mere second longer would have pushed him over the edge.

  In shock, Mark began to search for clues to the appare
nt suicide. Looking around the office, out in plain sight, a note rested on the Head Nurse Jason’s desk. From the note, it appeared that the two nurses were having an affair. And from the looks of the note and from what Mark could gather, Head Nurse Darlene had been working with an infected individual just as it changed before having got bit. The note told of how she had to bash the crazed residents head in as its bite was relentless and wouldn’t let go. Mark put the note back down on the desk where he found it. Around the room, many plaques and certificates from Ivy League colleges for Nursing could be seen hanging; additionally, the bookshelves were lined with only the top Medical books, journals, and literature of the day. A couple of camera monitors were set to record the unit from different vantage points. Mark thoroughly scoured the cameras monitors for signs of Becky or anyone alive in need of help.

  After a few minutes of searching with no signs of his friend, a feeling of calmness came over him, especially after having spotted the Head Nurse’s refrigerator. With little delay, the refrigerator door was opened with a can of grape soda taken out just before having its top popped. Within a cabinet a cheap duffel bag engraved with the initials of the Health Center at Memorial drive was found. With the possibility of a long road ahead, the contents he’d already collected were placed into the new bag to go along with anything of use in the fridge. Orange and grape can drinks were quickly tossed into the sack. After having zipped up the bag, he went over to the storage cabinet where the Head Nurse kept all of the unit’s most important medical supplies and devices. Mark sifted through the stacks of wheel chair and bed alarms. He then took out a large box of plastic disposable gloves, just before putting a pair in his pocket, after which he placed the rest in his bag.

  With hopelessness loaming on the horizon, the decision to take anything of use in preparation to exit the facility was an easy one. He then took the pair of gloves out of his pocket and put them on. He got a roll of paper towels and some disinfectant out before going back into the restroom to retrieve the small caliber pistol that continued to lie about on the floor in a pool of infected blood. Cautious, Mark brought the pistol back into the Head Nurse’s office and cleaned the gun before disinfecting it. The gun had almost a full clip, somewhere around fourteen bullets in total. The gun was placed in the waist band of his scrubs before a last ditch effort to look through the office’s desk. A quick search for anything else of use warranted nothing. Mark knew that he might have a hard time finding his way back to his family and friends without supplies: witnessing that just as the streets outside of his own facility were now seemingly getting backed up with stalled vehicles, there was a definite need to be prepared for anything.

  Explosions outside the facility could be heard. Over at the window, through the smoke, it was a relief to see that Becky’s car now appeared to be gone. Mark immediately realized that the facility could be on fire. The side parking lot seemed to be the source of the explosions.

  It was feared the savage fire was beginning to spread.

  After a few minutes, Mark lost all visibility out the window. Thick black smoke began to loam heavily around the building. He knew he had to get out or risk being exposed to the facilities sprinkler system . For fear of his own life, for fear of the possibly contaminated water system, it was time to act. Even if he did successfully get off the unit uninfected, there was a better chance of getting help sent back. Acting out of pure instinct, Mark ran over to the Head Nurse’s closet—opening it up quickly. He then took out a poncho hanging up before putting it on and zipping it all the way up. He then pulled the hood of the rain protectant coat over his head and closed the door back. In a panic, he walked over to the storage cabinet and took out three wheelchair alarms. His instinct’s told him to not take the smoke outside lightly.

  Given the explosions and thick black smoke loaming heavily on the outside of the facility—Mark decided to cause a distraction. With little time to waste, it was figured noise might draw the zombies away, allowing just enough time to make it out of the units locked, entrance door.

  Mark hurried, grabbing his things. Once the sprinkler system kicked on, there was no doubt that his keycard would fell to unlock the door. Once the facility went into lockdown, his card would be useless. At the door—clutching the handle, fighting his fear, the door was opened and with no immediate danger. Mark quickly threw an alarm down the 1st hall and watched briefly as it drew a group of zombies. The distraction worked. The noise echoed loudly—drawing any zombies completely away from the front of the unit and away from his location. As he tossed the second alarm over near the 2nd hall, well past the Nurses’ Station, the alarm hit the floor and slid a little over next to the wall. It immediately started beeping loudly, drawing more and more zombies towards it.

  “Rrrah! Rrrah!” a pair of zombies roared, spotting him exit.

  Having used his ID card, after the sound of the electronic unlocking mechanism, Mark closed the door behind him and pulled out his pistol, shooting a now approaching zombie in the chest, but nothing happened. There was no doubt that the brain needed to be destroyed to kill the beast. With the barrel of his pistol steadily aimed, he concentrated: sending the next two shots quickly into the skulls of the zombie, all the while watching nervously till it dropped to the floor dead. Mark stood motionless for a brief second in disbelief. Zombies began pounding on the door to his backside. Then out of nowhere the alarm began to sound with the sprinkler system activated. Tainted water began to fall over every inch of the facility. From his backside—loud bangs quickly brought him back to reality as he quickly turned back around towards the double doors where a group of gut-wrenching zombies were now ferociously hitting and pulling at the unit door. Mark turned back around, ducking his head a little to not get any of the sprinkler water on his face from within his poncho.

  With infected water falling, Mark started to jog over towards the elevator, realizing the stairs was his best option. After only a few steps, and having rounded the corner, the elevator door sprang open with a tall, dark and menacing zombie barreling out towards him. The zombie was missing an ear. Trying not to get wet, Mark had been caught off guard, accidently dropping his bag to get a better grip of his metal pipe. A heavy swing from the pipe sent the zombie flying to the ground atop of a large puddle of water that was starting to form on the rug at his feet. With the sprinkler system now activated, it was just a matter of time before the infection spread. Having grabbed his bag, Mark quickly ran over to the stairwell as the tall, menacing zombie continued to lay all sprawled out on the lobby floor. Mark wasn’t wasting anytime.

  Once in the stairwell, peeking over the railing, the dim lights began to flicker on and off. “Is anyone there?” Mark asked, having heard a noise below.

  Perhaps it was only the remnants of his own voice, an echo?

  With no reply, it was assumed to be nothing, just his mind playing tricks.

  Unwilling to take any chances, at the bottom of the stairs, Mark pulled out his pistol before fully opening the side door that led to the Ambulance waiting area: from there he quickly exited out to the smoke-filled outer facility. Upon exiting in broad daylight, through the smoke, he looked over the lot for dangers. As he ran through the courtyard, he saw what appeared to be a group of abandoned vehicles parked directly behind his truck. Once closer, noticing that he was going to be blocked in—a zombie jumped out of one of the stalled vehicles—leaving its driver-side-door wide-open as it attacked. There were no keys visible inside the car, but perhaps a set could be found on the dead maintenance worker on the ground nearby. After a brief search of the corpse, the keys were found tucked away in one of his front shirt pockets. From within the large 4WD utility vehicle, visibility had become difficult, and Mark could barely see as the parking lot was becoming more and more covered with thick clouds of smoke. The side of the building was definitely on fire from what could be seen. Undoubtedly there was still a zombie outside the vehicle approaching, hobbling even.

  Once safely inside, Mark made sure all the doors w
ere securely locked. Mark put the keys in the ignition, then cranked the engine before quickly speeding off—trying his best to get away from the chaos.

  Looking back once more in the rearview mirror—a figure ominously appeared from out of nowhere. Just when the blanket resting over its head began to slide off, it revealed a badly bloodied and bruised complexioned face drooling large amounts of blood. The zombie, from behind Mark in the backseat sat all the way up as it began trying to grab at Mark’s neck angrily.

  In a panic, Mark leaned all the way forward—stepping heavily on the gas. Just as he felt he was about to get bit, he swerved over into a group of parked cars. The speed of the crash sent the small zombie flying headfirst into the dashboard—as well as causing the passenger-side-window to crack upon impact.

  Mark quickly opened his driver-side-door and jumped out.

  Chapter 11 way of the undead

  Although the weather was a bit cool, the sun was shining bright. While exiting off of the facility grounds, Mark was now back behind the wheel. Visibility was poor while watching out for signs of danger out of the 4WD’s blackened and cracked front window. Driving down the small back road near Spruce Street, a shaggy haired drifter on the side of the road was carrying a ball bat, and being followed by an even shaggier haired dog.

  Mark kept driving, gripping the steering wheel tightly, unwilling to acknowledge the stranger’s antics. Nearing a heavily wooded area with a few old-style homes, each seemed fairly undisturbed. A little further down, the remains of the once flourishing gas station assumed to have been the source of a lot of the smoke in the area was still smoking. Mostly ash remained as the area was still strong with the smell of smoke.