Journal of the Living

by John Moralee

  “No – it’s not in a secure area. You can just walk in. The staff will treat your hand if you show them your wound. It’s the perfect excuse for being there.”

  “Good. I’ll head over there. You do what you’ve got to do to get a plan. I’ll meet you back here later.”

  “How late?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll just show up when I can.”

  “That’s not very specific. I’d like a time.”

  “I can’t give you one. If I’m not back by midnight, assume things went wrong and get yourself out of here.”

  “You still have your gun, Ben?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Under my jacket.”

  “Use it on yourself if you’re going to get captured. You don’t want to be put in the pit with the zombies.”

  “I like your confidence in my abilities.”

  “Just giving advice.”

  “Your advice is to shoot myself? Thanks!”

  “I’ll kill myself rather than be taken for interrogation,” she said. “One bullet in my head from this baby will do that.” She patted her rifle. “Head to the hospital on the main streets – not the back streets. It won’t look suspicious if a soldier is walking around in plain view – but it would if you started sneaking around, acting like you’re avoiding being noticed. As far as everyone here knows, you are one of them. They’ll not be looking for someone breaking into their base unless you act weird and give yourself away. Don’t act weird, Ben. Got it?”

  “I’ll try not to act weird, Maggie. I was thinking about dancing backwards with a traffic cone on my head – but now I’ve heard your advice I don’t think I do that. Thanks for the obvious advice. I’ll see you later.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  I left the building. I felt vulnerable walking up the street where I could be seen – but nobody gave me a second look in my Pure Blood uniform.

  On my journey north through the City of Spikes, I saw some Pure Bloods in civilian clothes. They were just doing ordinary things like shopping and walking their dogs. A pretty young woman was looking after some small children in a park. Traders were exchanging things in the market – clothes for food. Some boys and girls were playing football in the road. I was surprised. I had expected the Pure Bloods to be doing evil things all of the time – but when they were off-duty they seemed surprisingly normal. They didn’t even look stressed out by the danger of zombies, which was a perpetual state for everyone else. I supposed it was easy to relax when you were guarded 24/7 and knew a zombie bite would not kill you. Their lives in Oxford looked comfortable. I could sort of understand why some people would be glad to be a part of that. The Pure Bloods had turned Oxford into a safe haven for themselves. It was a shame they had done it at the expense of selling their souls.

  Ahead, I saw a modern concrete and glass building. The hospital. My hand itched under my bandage as I entered the busy and brightly-lit A&E department. The artificial light came as a shock because I’d become so used to buildings being dark – but the hospital had electricity. I felt as awestruck as Thomas Edison inventing the light bulb. I had not seen an electric bulk working for so long I wanted to stare in wonder. I was standing there a little dazed when a doctor noticed me.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  Just like a normal doctor.

  He didn’t even look evil.

  I was wary, though.

  “My hand,” I said, waving it for him to see the bandage. “My sergeant told me to have it checked out. Got bit by a zom on my mission. Cleaned it myself – but you know ...”

  “Yes, you’ve got to be careful. It would be ironic if you died from a simple bacterial infection. Let me have a look at it over here.” He pulled aside a curtain, revealing an examination bed and blinking electrical equipment.

  I had not wanted to be noticed in the hospital – but I could not turn down treatment without drawing attention. I followed the doctor into the cubicle. I sat on the examination bed and offered him my hand to examine. He peeled off my bandage and studied the fake bite wound made by the impression of some false teeth. I was afraid he’d know I wasn’t a Pure Blood when he saw the fake wound. “Good news. It’s pretty shallow and clean. I’ll disinfect it thoroughly just to be sure, then I’ll put on a fresh bandage and give you a course of antibiotics. Zombie bites can’t give you the virus – but their mouths do contain nasty bacteria, too, just like the living. Come back immediately if it gets any worse.”

  He treated me and told me to collect the antibiotics from the pharmacy. I headed that way – until I was out of his sight. Then I started my search for Angela, looking in rooms, going from floor to floor. There were sick people in many of the rooms – even Pure Bloods need medical treatment – but I didn’t find Angela on the ground floor. There were several floors with hundreds of rooms – with hundreds of opportunities for someone to notice me – so I hoped I could save time by having a look at one of the computers behind a reception desk on the second floor. The computer was hooked into the local network and appeared to be working fine, though it needed a password. I found a password on a piece of paper pasted to the back of the monitor. I typed it in. And I got access to the hospital records. I knew which day Angela had arrived – which helped me find twenty-one patients listed records. Only one was listed under a file number with no name, as they probably didn’t know it.

  PATIENT X, FEMALE, AGE 20-25:

  DIAGNOSIS: POST-OP BACTERIAL INFECTION AND SEPTICAEMIA

  TREATMENT: INTRAVENOUS ANTIBIOTICS

  BLOOD VIRAL STATUS UPON TREATMENT: UNINFECTED BY NECROVITALIS VIRUS ALPHA

  CURRENT STATUS: COMATOSE, STABLE.

  LOCATION: DEPARTMENT E4, ROOM 204

  I stared at the screen, hardly able to believe it.

  Angela was alive.

  ENTRY THIRTY-TWO

  Department E4 was a long way from the hospital’s entrance, along dark corridors and up four floors via an unlit stairway. (The lifts were working – but they were guarded so I didn’t use them.) Most of the lights on that floor were not working. It looked like there had been a big fight to clear the building of zombies because dried blood and splattered brains were smeared on some of the walls. Not exactly hygienic – but it was an old NHS hospital so maybe the gore had been left from before the apocalypse kicked off. There were also the unmistakeable holes left by bullets. I would hate to have been on the cleaning crew. Departments E2 and E3 were definitely no longer being used due to damage. I stopped to have a look out of curiosity. Trolleys and beds were in the rooms, stacked up, covered in blood. I could see a disturbing amount of broken equipment caused by whatever had happened. After Day One nearly every hospital in Britain had been overrun by zombies. The Pure Bloods must have spent weeks destroying them. I moved on to my destination.

  Only a few strip lights were working on that floor – but I did see they were working in the corridor outside Department E4. I encountered nobody – but when I arrived at the entrance doors I found the ward locked. I read a notice: RESTRICTED AREA. PRESS BUZZER TO ENTER. ID MUST BE SHOWN AT ALL TIMES.

  Hell. I didn’t have any ID. I looked through a small window in the door – seeing an armed soldier on the other side. Room 204 was down that corridor, where they were keeping Angela. I looked at the buzzer, tempted to press it. I had a gun. I could shoot the guard when he opened the door – but that would not solve my problems. Angela was in a coma, according to her medical report. I would have to transport her out of the ward and the hospital without anyone catching us. Blustering in now, without a plan, would be foolish.

  I walked down the corridor to another door leading into E4. It was also locked – with a guard posted on the other side. I could hear him talking to a bearded doctor, having a conversation about the patient in room 217.

  “Well, I can’t stick around all day. See you tomorrow.”

  I heard a buzz as the door was opened. I had nowhere to hide. My hand touched my gun. I dismissed the idea of shooting the doctor in a heartbeat. Not m
y style. I don’t shoot the living unless I have no choice. The doctor stepped out, looking startled to see me there only a few feet away. The door closed behind him, leaving us standing there.

  “Can you help me?” I said. Asking for help is always a good way of disarming someone if there are suspicious, which the doctor was. I could see it on his face. “I’m totally lost.”

  “This is a restricted area,” he said. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Oh – I’m sorry.” I showed my bandage. “This bleeding place is too big. I’m supposed to get some antibiotics for this bite wound – but I’ve got confused. I’ve been wandering around for ages. Where’s the pharmacy?”

  “You’re completely on the wrong floor. Go back down to the ground level. The pharmacy is in the reception area. I don’t know how you missed it.”

  I grinned like I was an idiot. “Right. A3. Thanks, Doctor.”

  I returned the way I had come – with the doctor watching me. He didn’t walk in the other direction until I was pressing the button for the lift. Then he walked in the other direction as I stepped into the lift. I’d noticed he was wearing a laminated ID giving him access to E4. I needed one of those ID cards. I thought about following him and stealing his ID – but a hasty move like wouldn’t help for long. I pressed the button for Floor 3. That floor was dark and deserted. Obviously a large section of the hospital was not being used – probably for a number of reasons, like saving electricity, zombie-related damage and chronic under-staffing due to the lack of doctors and nurses. No changes there.

  Before trying to get on Department E4, I needed to change out of my Pure Blood uniform into a doctor’s white coat. A visit to the laundry room sorted that out. The coat had a few stains on it – but nobody would notice in a hospital. I left my army uniform in an empty room on the third floor, then I went looking for a security pass.

  There is one place in all hospitals where you are guaranteed to find the staff hanging out. The cafeteria. Even the Pure Bloods didn’t change that behaviour. I scoped out a doctor with the right ID on his white coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair as he ate lunch. He looked like he had just started his meal of bangers and mash. He was bald – so I looked similar to him with my head shaved. He was engaged in a conversation with some other doctors – too distracted to notice when I brushed by, stealing his ID. I clipped it onto my coat as I left the cafeteria. I estimated I would have thirty minutes before the doctor finished his meal – time enough to check out the ward and return his ID before he missed it. I rode the lift to the fourth floor with a couple of orderlies. My timing could not have been better, for they were also going to E4. All three of us arrived at the doors as a group. I pressed the buzzer and waited for the guard. He opened the door with his hand on his weapon.

  “Show me your ID.”

  We did. The guard barely looked at my ID We were all let in. The orderlies headed down the corridor, but I stopped at the nurse’s station, picking up a chart. Room 204 was just ahead on my right – but I didn’t want to head straight there because a nurse there behind the desk watching my arrival.

  “You’re new,” she said.

  It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation. She probably knew all of the staff working in the ward. I hoped she would not take a close look at my ID.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They need me to look at 201’s stitches.” I had just read that the patient in that room had undergone an appendectomy. “Excuse me.”

  She nodded and lost interest in me as I entered Room 201. The patient was awake – but he was handcuffed to the bed. There was a bandage on his side and a drip attached to his arm.

  “Hey!” he said. “What’s going on here? Why am I handcuffed? I did nothing wrong. Why are you treating me like I’m a criminal?”

  I had no idea what the Pure Bloods had told the man – but it was clear he didn’t know what fate they had planned for him. Apparently the Pure Bloods didn’t like sick people dying before they were healthy enough to be injected with the necrovitalis virus. That made as much sense as not executing Death Row prisoners if they were ill. The man looked scared and bewildered. He had a right to feel that way. “The cuffs are for security, sir. We can’t have patients wandering around the hospital. We have to maintain safety for everyone here.”

  “This is wrong. You people can’t do this. Let me out of here!” He rattled the handcuffs, but then slumped back, exhausted. “Not right … Help me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “Now just relax. You’ve just had a serious operation. You need time to recover.”

  He listened to me and relaxed. I hated lying to him – but I couldn’t save him from the Pure Blood when he was secured to the bed. I slipped out of the room. The nurse was still there at the station. I picked up some more charts. As I moved from room to room, I discovered every patient was in the same situation, secured to their bed with handcuffs. I wondered what they did if the patient needed to be turned over. Did the guard undo them?

  The nurse was no longer at the station when I left Room 203. Once I was sure nobody was taking any notice of me, I slipped into her room. The room was dark. The only light was from the machines by the bed. Someone was in that bed. A young woman with red hair. It was Angela. Alive.

  I hurried to her side.

  She looked like a beautiful sleeping princess, waiting to be woken by a handsome prince.

  I would have to do for now.

  “Angela?” I said. “Angela, it’s me. Ben. Can you hear me?”

  ENTRY THIRTY-THREE

  “Angela, can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Angela didn’t respond to my voice.

  “Angela, can you hear me?”

  There was a slight fluttering of her eyelids. I wasn’t sure if she had reacted to my question or it was an involuntarily facial tic. I didn’t want to get my hopes up – but there was an increase in the speed of her heart on the monitor. Yes. She had heard me.

  To prevent her escaping, the Pure Bloods had fastened her wrists with handcuffs to a metal rail on the sides of the bed. They looked like strong cuffs. I’d need the key or a good hacksaw. I was trying to see if I could slip her wrists loose when I heard someone coming into the room. I stopped what I was doing just in time. I pretended I was examining her chart as a curly-haired nurse entered carrying a bag of saline. It was an awkward moment for me. A split-second earlier, when I had touched Angela’s arm, her eyes had fluttered open and she had seen me. She had recognised me despite my newly shaved head – but she didn’t give the game away by saying my name. Not in front of the Pure Blood nurse. Angela understood the situation and let me know by smiling just for me. Then she closed her eyes and acted unconscious again just as the nurse crossed the room to swap an empty bag for the new one. The nurse glanced at the monitors, then at me. “Uh – we need some help in 207. The patient’s pulled out his stitches out trying to free himself. You done in here, Doctor?”

  No – I wasn’t done. I had to free Angela.

  “Yes,” I had to say. “Lead the way.”

  The nurse hurried out and I followed her – but not before leaning over Angela and whispering in her ear.

  “I’ll get you out of here,” I said.

  She nodded. A tear ran down her face as I left the room.

  The situation in room 207 was crazy. The patient – a professional body-builder by the looks of massive muscular body – had ripped the stitches over his stomach, spilling blood on his bed and on the floor. He was screaming in pain as he bled out. The guard had left his station to follow us into the room, but he stopped at the doorway, disgusted by the blood.

  “What an idiot,” the guard said. “Will this take long, Doc? I want some coffee.”

  The guard was talking to me. What did I know? I had to sound authoritative. “Help me stop him thrashing around. Hold him down so I can re-stitch his wound.” Yes – I really said that like I knew what I was doing. The guard obeyed me. He struggled to hold down the patient as I
asked the nurse to get me the equipment. It felt surreal as I put on gloves and sewed up the wound with the nurse’s help. She was frowning at the job I was doing – but I got the blood to stop flowing. The patient’s blood pressure was very low when I had finished – but he was stable.

  I felt triumphantly like George Clooney saving a life in ER when I tossed my bloodied gloves in the disposal bin.

  “Can I get that coffee now?” the guard said.

  “Sure,” I said. My hands were shaking.

  The nurse was staring at me. “Can I have a word, Doctor?”

  “Yes,” I said. “What is it?”

  She waited until the guard was gone before speaking in a low voice. She tapped her fingers on my ID. “You’re not Doctor Blake. I know him. Who the hell are you?”

  The fact that she had not alerted the guard was something. I had my gun – but I didn’t want to start shooting people. “My name’s Ben. I’m a friend of the girl in 204. I just wanted to see if she’s all right. I don’t want her to get injected with the necrovitalis virus. You know it will probably kill her. I came to rescue her.”

  The truth shocked her – but she didn’t shout for the guard. “What are you doing with Blake’s ID? Did you kill him to get it?”

  “No, I borrowed it. He’ll probably be missing it soon, though.”

  She looked relieved. “I don’t believe this. You are either insane or incredibly brave. What’s your rescue plan?”

  “First, I need to get my friend out of here. Will you help me?”

  She looked around nervously. “I suppose I’ll have to. I hate what we do here. I save lives just to have most of my patients die when they inject them. Are you ‘pure’?” She said ‘pure’ like it was a dirty word. I liked her for that.

  I read her name on her ID. It was Tamsin. I felt I could trust her. “No, I’m not a Pure Blood, Tamsin. My friends were taken by them so I sneaked in to Oxford to save them. I don’t want them being turned into zombies.”