by Ricky Fleet
“Honey, anything?” Sarah asked the dog who was interested in the bodies, but showed no outward signs of fear.
“Ok, let’s go,” Kurt ordered. They stepped carefully over the human debris and broken furniture. Behind the serving counter, more rotting food was still under the heating lamp. The pre wrapped sandwiches were all green, and the fruit had shrunk and withered in the display bowls.
Kurt signalled to the rear doors and whispered, “Kitchen.” He pointed and put his fingers to his lips, telling them to be quiet. They all nodded and Sam took Honey’s lead, walking her to the entrance. Sniffing around the door lining, she still seemed unperturbed at the area.
Gloria swung the door open with the shotgun barrel and Kurt glanced inside. The glass skylights in the ceiling cast pools of sunlight onto the reflective counters and appliances like the spotlights of a theatre. No matinee was taking place, only the silence and abandoned feeling that was so pervasive. By nature, humans are social creatures and they all felt more of the loneliness that would accompany them with each day of their new lives.
“It’s all clear. Come take a look at this,” Sam said, poking at a pile of food on one of the counters.
“What about it, Sam?” Gloria asked. The food was unremarkable; the whole area was covered in it. She gave an ‘I don’t get it’ shrug.
“Look how fresh it is, how long do you think the other stuff has been sitting for it to rot like that?” he added. The food had barely started to fester; the first signs of mould had just appeared on the surface.
“You’re right! Which can only mean there are people in the hospital,” Kurt stated. None of the group showed any excitement, the disappointment of their previous finds had left them cautious.
“Everyone keep your eyes peeled. I haven’t seen any other signs of the living which may mean they have left already,” John explained.
“I hope they are nicer than Debbie and Mike,” said Braiden without tact.
Jodi saw the others were hoping she didn’t take it the wrong way and smiled. “No he is right, I don’t like what this whole thing has done to Mike. I always knew he had a troubled past, but his behaviour is totally beyond the pale.”
Wary of surprises from both the dead and living, they exited the dining room and turned left towards the x-ray department. More holes riddled the walls at head height and the chunks of brain and scalp were still embedded by the bullets. The army had a hell of a battle within these tight, winding hallways. Ultimately, for all their firepower and training, the unsleeping, remorseless advance of the dead had prevailed. Kurt looked at the meagre weapons they held, and felt the immensity of their predicament. The x-ray’s red warning lights were mounted outside the examination rooms, forever dark. Kurt pushed at the first door and met resistance from the other side. It wasn’t a lock, because when he and John put their shoulders to the door it opened a fraction with a grind of protest.
“Gloria, get ready,” John said as the gap opened wide enough to allow them through.
“I will go first, stand back,” she answered and disengaged the gun’s safety. She sidestepped through, prepared for an attack. The room looked empty; however, with no other doors in the room it was obvious that the equipment had not moved itself to block the entrance. The end of a mattress could be seen projecting from the protective barrier as they moved further inside. The room filled with the others and the only place a living person could be hiding was behind the shield that the doctors would use to protect themselves from radiation.
“You, behind the counter, come out now. We won’t hurt you,” called Sarah and they waited. The faint sound of movement came from behind the panel and a blonde head peered out with fear.
“It’s ok, you can trust us,” Sam tried to coax her out and the sight of the family was enough to assuage the fear of the gun. Gloria raised it to the ceiling and reengaged the safety to show their harmless intent. The rest lowered their machetes and Kurt put his hammer into the waistband of his trousers.
“I’m Kurt. This is Sarah, Sam, Braiden, John, Jodi, and Gloria. The yellow wagging machine is Honey,” he said to the lady.
Honey couldn’t resist and ran behind the screen to lick the new lady. She took a couple of steps back at first and held up her hands, fearing she would be bitten. Nothing could have been further from the dog’s mind and she jumped up and lavished licks and kisses to the woman who immediately started laughing. Walking around to them, stroking the excited dog with one hand she held out her other and shook theirs each in turn.
“I’m Dr Hargis, but you can call me Christina.” She smiled warmly at the group.
“A doctor. That’s fantastic news, we figured that we would never see another medical professional,” John exclaimed.
“You all look like you have been through the ringer. Where are you from and, more importantly, how on earth did you make it here safely?” asked Christina in quiet admiration.
“It’s a long story. We are from Emsworth, I will tell you how we got here later, when we are all settled if that’s ok?” Kurt answered. In truth, he would only give a brief breakdown of the travails, the destruction and horror that they had witnessed wasn’t something Kurt wanted to relive unnecessarily.
“Of course,” she said, smiling warmly, “I assume you came because of the soldiers?”
“Yes. We were told that they had secured the hospital, what happened here?” John asked and a look of anguish wiped away the smile.
“They held out for as long as they could, I will tell you all about it later too,” Christina replied and said no more.
“We could use your help, we have a couple of injured people,” Sarah said, changing the subject. She didn’t want to take advantage of the lady’s skills when they barely knew each other, but Peter needed to be checked.
“I must emphasize I am technically an anatomical pathologist. I have still had extensive medical training so I will do what I can, where are they?” she asked with concern.
Kurt sent the doctor and Sarah off to check Peter over while the rest continued their task to destroy any remaining zombies in the last section of the building. Gloria said a silent prayer of thanks. Just when her faith was being tested to breaking point, He seemed to respond in mysterious ways. Moving slowly, Sam used the slingshot to pick off the stragglers so they didn’t need to take unnecessary risks and go hand to hand with the dead. Reaching the final entrance they found that the army had also blocked this one with concrete which meant they only had the front door to watch.
**********
They met back in the main foyer and Kurt gave Mike the nod to lock the door properly. The snap was a welcome sound for the group and they felt safe, for a little while at least. Christina returned from Peter’s room and gave him the all clear from a punctured lung.
“I have listened to his chest and, though painful, the broken ribs haven’t penetrated his lung. He will be in considerable pain for a few days so I have given him some morphine. He is currently singing to Paige so it seems to be working,” she explained. Debbie’s face reddened and she looked like she would explode. Christina missed it; she had no previous knowledge of the complicated twists in the group’s relationships. She assumed that they had always been a couple, the same as Debbie and Mike.
“Thank you for that, we really appreciate it,” Kurt said.
“Mike, are you ok?” the doctor asked him with a worried expression.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired,” he muttered in response.
“Would you mind if I took a look at you? You look really pale and sweaty,” she continued.
“I said I am fine, now fuck off!” he yelled and picked up his things. As he stormed off they watched as Debbie followed to heel like a well-trained dog.
“Sorry, I just wanted to help,” Christina apologized and the group explained in greater detail the dysfunctional relationships and problems they had encountered with the pair. They made it plain that they would be parting ways as soon as possible.
“Anyway
, how the hell did you manage to survive here for the past few weeks?” John asked with genuine amazement. There was obviously more than meets the eye with the friendly doctor.
“It was a bad day, one of my closest friends had just died,” started Christina, her eyes took on a faraway look.
Chapter 16
The chilled room of the morgue was bustling with activity. The smell of pine disinfectant hung on the air, disturbed and swirled by the ventilation system. The floor was highly polished white tile, designed to be easily cleaned in the event of a spillage. Two stretchers were in use, both holding the covered, deceased bodies that were due to have a post mortem.
In the corner lay Dr Keston, who had passed away the previous evening after a short battle with cancer. The death was expected, so the tests had been rudimentary. Blood was taken, followed by any organs that would be suitable for experimentation by the trainees. Dr Keston had been a well-known figure among the staff. He had been a friend and colleague to them all while serving in his position as the previous Head of Anatomical Pathology. Even in death he would continue to help the hospital.
She had trained under Dr Keston and had loved him dearly for twenty years. He was not only her mentor; their relationship had developed into a solid friendship. Despite an age gap of thirty years, he had possessed a sense of humour very similar to hers, derived from the often macabre nature of their work and a defence mechanism against the emotional toll. Dr Christina, as he had affectionately called her instead of her surname, had often spent time at the doctor’s Sussex home, sharing meals and learning more about the profession, fascinated by the depth of knowledge he carried. His wife, Janet, was a lovely woman too, quick to laugh and generous in nature.
“So here we are, old friend,” Dr Christina said, trying to maintain the emotional detachment that he had instilled in her on the first day of work after completing her medical degree. Her tears were evidence that it wasn’t working at the moment. She knew that the body was only a vessel, and his soul had moved on to whatever came next. Placing a hand on his cold brow, she moved a stray wisp of hair from his face.
“Are you ok?” Jenny asked, paying her respects. Jenny was the new medical student, twenty-two years old and as keen as mustard. She had only been lucky enough to work with Dr Keston for two months. A sore throat of Dr Keston’s had been diagnosed as aggressive oesophageal cancer. The illness had claimed him seventeen days after first diagnosis, the lack of suffering a blessing in some ways. He had often spoken of his desire to die quickly, not wasting away and becoming someone different as his faculties failed one by one.
“I’ll be fine, thank you for asking,” Christina answered, removing the tubes from the veins and covering him to protect his dignity. “Actually…”
“Yes, Doctor?” Jenny asked, eager to please her boss.
“Would you mind preparing him for viewing? His wife Janet will be here soon and it’s going to be hard enough, without me dressing him too,” Dr Christina said, struggling with the grief. He had been like a surrogate father to her through the years.
“Of course, here let me,” she replied, moving the body on the wheeled trolley and pushing through the side door. It led to the chapel of rest, a viewing room where the families could see their loved ones in a peaceful and tranquil environment before the undertaker collected the deceased.
Dr Christina took a shuddering breath, wiped the tears away with a tissue and put fresh gloves on. The post mortem on Harold Giles would take her mind from the pain and loneliness of her sudden loss. She prepared her table of implements. Rolling the sheet back, she exposed his torso. Mr Giles had been the victim of a drunk driver. The collision between their vehicles had been so severe that his body had to be cut free from the wreckage. Dr Christina sympathised, life was cruel and unfair at the best of times. Taking the scalpel, she placed it at the top of the chest, but was interrupted by the clatter of the main doors opening and two orderlies manoeuvring a new trolley into the room.
“Where did you want her, Doc?” Brian asked. He was a heavyset man, with a hairy chest and body. The polo neck he wore only accentuated the furriness, his coarse, brown hair bristling from the collar. He was a friendly character though and Dr Christina liked him. The same could not be said for the second man. Percy was in his early thirties, single, and had a surly attitude that aggravated everyone. It was only the fact that his mother was one of the governors of the hospital, that he even had a job. His usual tardiness and general aggressive tone would have seen lesser men fired. On one occasion, Dr Christina had found him in the refrigerated storage room. A young female body had been uncovered and the lascivious look on his face was enough to send chills down her spine. Much shouting had ensued between them as she chased him off. Her complaint had been brushed under the carpet at his mother’s behest. Their only communication now was looks of disgust on her part, and anger on his.
“She can go in 3 E, thanks Brian,” she answered, taking the transfer sheet from him. She signed it and then wrote the name on the tracking board, ignoring the glare of Percy and the way he looked both furious and aroused as he regarded her. Refusing to be intimidated, she stared back, looking him up and down before laughing dismissively. His face reddened and his small eyes narrowed with hatred. Brian pulled the metal handle of the refrigerated door and a cloud of cooler vapour flowed over the floor. The fluorescent lights flickered, blinking off before coming back on.
“Sorry, Doc, that wasn’t me, was it?” Brain apologised.
“No, the doors are not linked to the electricity. It’s a standard lock instead of the electromagnetic type we use for safety,” she assured him and he smiled, pushing the trolley deeper within.
Dr Christina took the scalpel again and made an incision straight down to the man’s navel. She then started to cut across the collar bone to the sternum, but noticed movement from the left arm. Pausing, she watched and waited, sure it was just the pressure she had exerted on the corpse. There it was again, the fingers fluttered and flexed.
“Oh God!” she exclaimed and ran to the phone and dialled the emergency line. A matron immediately answered.
“Emergencies, Cathy speaking,” came a pleasant voice down the line.
“Cathy, it’s Dr Hargis, we have an emergency. I have just started a post mortem but the man is alive! Get a team down here now!” Christina shouted.
“They are on their way,” was Cathy’s unflustered reply. They were used to dealing with high pressure medical issues, though probably never one as bizarre.
“Brian, Percy, I need your help!” she called through into the darkened room. The heavy plastic strip curtains that hung just inside the door had fallen back into place, hiding the men from view. Turning to administer any treatment she could before the emergency team arrived, she was astonished to see the man sitting. Astonishment turned to blood curdling terror in an instant as she watched his intestines uncoil from her incision, falling from his lap and trailing down to the floor.
“Dear God in Heaven,” she whispered, holding her face in shock. The noise was sufficient to turn Harold’s head and he regarded her with dead eyes. She had seen enough of them in her time as a pathologist, but none had studied her so intently, and they had never been in the head of someone mobile. The second gurney was also alive with movement and the body sat erect, the sheet falling from its face. The head of the second body slowly rotated, seeking the source of the frantic gasping coming from Dr Christina.
Loud thuds and crashes came from the refrigerator room. Brian and Percy were halfway through placing the body onto the storage shelf when she had started to move. Dropping the young lady, she rolled to a stop at Brian’s feet and then reached for him. More impacts echoed in the small chamber as other bodies writhed free of their place of rest. The young woman pulled herself close to Brian and with a lunge; she bit down on his calf, tearing a chunk of muscle away. Brian screamed and pushed the cold body away, watching as it chewed. Another zombie grabbed him from his place on the shelf and tore th
e left side of Brian’s face away in a red spray.
“Percy, help me!” gurgled Brian, as blood poured through the gaping hole in his face.
The younger man looked around, and saw the rising forms of the other corpses. “Fuck you, you’re on your own!” he squealed and ran, dodging past a naked man who reached for him and groaned. More of the previously dead converged on Brian and they weighed him down, the gurgling screams reaching fever pitch as his flesh was peeled away from bone.
Dr Christina was moving toward the chapel of rest, the eviscerated Mr Giles was clear of the gurney and only a few paces from seizing her. It was surreal, the entrails glistened but there was no blood. Her legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, leaden and sluggish. It was a mixture of fear and disbelief. She was a logical and intelligent woman; this was simply not possible. She almost moved toward the figure again, thinking it must be shock that had numbed him from the pain. Percy hammered through the fridge door, catching the shoulder of the man. The legs of Harold Giles tangled in the intestines and he fell to the floor at her feet, lassoed on his own guts. She rushed forward and reached for the spilled loops, hoping to put them back in.
“Please, Mr Giles, hold still. What are you doing?” she said as he clawed for her, trying to bite at her arms. “I’m trying to help you.”
The second deceased body was walking towards her too, arms raised and teeth gnashing.
“Look, the emergency team will be here in a matter of minutes. Umm, just stay put.” She turned and flung open the door that led to the viewing room where families could say a farewell to their loved ones with dignity and grace. Dr Keston was feasting upon the young intern Jenny, who was looking towards Dr Christina, eyes glazing with the agony of her ravaged neck and arms. Blood pumped weakly from her jugular and formed a spreading pool around her body. Jenny’s fingers clawed at the floor, imploring Christina for help, forming trails through the blood. Her dead mentor pulled more muscle free and she saw its arms raise, forcing the meat into his mouth. Dr Keston’s attention was on the red platter as he ate his fill. The horrific last supper caused Jenny’s blood to reach the door and flow under it, a sea of red. The dead man behind was coming; the heavy slaps of his hands on the floor were getting closer as he pulled himself along. The pool of blood at the door meant she would likely slip and fall onto her bottom, leaving her at the mercy of the voracious cannibal whom she had once loved.
