“Why are you so desperate for us to stay?” Smith snapped. “What’s your angle? You have the hots for Wingate or Batfish or maybe for me or Wilde? Because if that’s your thing, you’re making a big mistake, pal.”
Yadav took a couple of backward steps, holding up his hands in a surrendering motion. His face crumpled and he looked absolutely terrified. “No, no, nothing like that,” he stammered. “I could just use the company, you know? Being here in this building all alone is a terrible experience but I can’t leave. I can’t go out there.” He pointed toward the corridor. “I would be torn to pieces by the infected or murdered by the gangs of thugs who roam the streets. Like you, I am far away from my homeland. I am just a simple doctor from Delhi. I am no soldier. I don’t even know how to use a gun. The only way I can terminate the infected is by injecting them in the brain with a lethal dose. I am so frightened all the time.” His voice became increasingly high pitched and panic stricken with every sentence.
“Okay, okay, enough,” Smith barked, waving his hand in a downward motion. “Just shut the fuck up, already. Geez, you’re giving me a headache with all that babbling.”
Yadav nodded but I noticed he was shaking. I began to feel a little sorry for the guy. He’d probably been through the mill, the same as us.
“Let me just say, I am deeply sorry about the loss of your two friends,” Yadav said quietly.
“Look, we’ll give it a few days and see how we go from there,” Smith said. “Like a trial run.”
Yadav couldn’t contain his joy. His face broke into a broad smile and he clapped his hands together. “That’s very good news,” he said. “I know you won’t regret staying here.”
“That’s funny, I’ve heard that line before and I generally have,” Smith muttered. “Now, lead me to those showers you were talking about.”
Yadav grinned and gestured to the café entranceway. “This way, if you please.”
I watched Smith and the Asian doctor walk out of the café and heard them talk to Batfish and Wingate in the corridor, obviously explaining our plans for our temporary accommodation. I didn’t hear raised voices or anything in the way of complaints so I assumed we were sorted, for a few days at least.
Batfish and Wingate used the showers when Smith had finished up. They took Spot with them and gave him a good soaping as well. The little guy looked decidedly pleased with himself when he returned, shaking off the excess water all over me and wagging his tail ready for another feed. Yadav took Smith on a guided tour of the secure wards and I knew Smith wanted to check for himself the perimeters and locked doors to the staircases and other areas of the hospital before we rested up.
I took a long shower myself, reveling in the hot water and lemon scented shower soap that somebody had kindly left in the cubicle. Then I settled down with a cold steak and kidney pie in the café. The light faded and I was in near darkness by the time I’d finished my meal.
We sat in a portable, LED lit TV lounge for a while. Obviously without the luxury of a working television set. The lounge was situated in the center of the ICU so we didn’t have to worry about zombies breaking through the high windows from outside.
Yadav talked at length about his plight in the hospital and how he’d endured the first few days of the apocalypse. He said that most of the hospital staff hadn’t survived beyond the first few days of the outbreak. The small band of survivors had freed up as much space as they could inside the hospital and locked themselves in. I watched him talk and remembered Rosenberg, a junior doctor, who had traveled with us from Brynston to Manhattan. Rosenberg sacrificed himself on a Manhattan street so I could escape. Another good person who bit the dust too soon.
“How come you have a backup generator for hot water but not for power in the unit?” Wingate asked.
Yadav shrugged and sighed. “The backup generator for the electricity power is located in another section of the unit. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to reach the generator to turn it on. Besides, I thought if I turned on the lights, it would only attract more attention from the outside world. The generator we have working powers the water and heating and also the incinerator down below us in the basement.”
The others continued talking quietly amongst themselves but I kind of zoned out. I tried desperately not to think about Cordoba or Jimmy but I kept seeing their faces in my mind. I knew with time, their images would fade but it still felt kind of raw.
Wingate and Batfish decided to share a room for the first night and I would have gladly bunked alongside Smith but he wanted his own room and I didn’t want to appear to be some kind of sissy. I took Spot into my room to keep me company and try to help ward off the demons that haunted my dreams during the night.
The whole hospital ward beyond the ICU unit was constructed in a series of decreasing square blocks, with the TV lounge in the center. We all took rooms inside the inner sections to avoid the areas with windows to the outside. It was highly unlikely that the undead could reach the windows, positioned high in the outer walls but wouldn’t be such a problem for a surviving rogue gang armed with a hammer and a step ladder.
The hospital room was basic. The interior consisted of one single bed, a sink with a mirror above and a small built in closet. We’d left our backpacks back inside the Range Rover so I didn’t have any spare clothing or equipment to store in the closet. I guessed there was no great hurry to retrieve our rucksacks, I could hand wash the clothes I wore in the showers over the next few days.
Fatigue took hold of my body again and I must have slept peacefully for a couple of hours. Then the nightmares came again. I flitted in and out of consciousness. Faces of the dead leered at me from dark places in my mind and at times, I didn’t know if I was awake or asleep. Ghosts swirled around the hospital room, laughing and shrieking as they circled around my bed. My other self also appeared, looking like a fully pledged member of the undead. He sat on my bed and talked nonsensical words, almost as though he was talking in a language only he understood. Of course, the image of Cordoba appeared at some stage, so too a screaming Jimmy. The moment my hand brushed against his jacket, trying to hold him back repeated itself several times over. I sweated, cried, pulled the duvet over my head and thrashed around for the best part of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I was up and out of bed before the dawn broke, showering and eating a can of apricot crumble before anybody else stirred. The light provided by my flashlight cast eerie shadows around the café and I was glad to at least have Spot for company. The little dog seemed to enjoy a tin of corned beef for his breakfast, followed by another bowl full of water.
I didn’t know how long I sat at that table. It could have been thirty minutes; it could have been a couple of hours. I sat and thought but I wasn’t thinking constructively, I was simply letting the past events of my recent life roll through my mind in a series of moving images, almost like a playback on a computer hard drive. And I just sat there watching.
The inner mind movie automatically hit the pause button when Batfish and Wingate walked into the café. I hadn’t noticed dawn’s daylight had already lit up the front half of the room, with the sunlight streaking across the countertop. Batfish and Wingate both performed a double take and almost recoiled when they spotted me sitting at a table on my own. Spot ran to them, wagging his tail in greeting.
“Brett…you okay?” Batfish asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just didn’t sleep too well is all. New place, strange comfy bed. Not used to it I suppose.” I attempted a half smile and a slight laugh.
Batfish and Wingate both made a fuss of Spot and spoke to him a bit. I guessed we’d all neglected the poor little guy recently.
“He’s already been fed,” I said. “Corned beef this morning. He hasn’t eaten so well for a while.”
“I know, Brett,” Batfish said. “And he’s made a little more room for some more.” She wafted her hand in front of her nose. “Can’t you smell that? He’s done his business in the corner
right here.”
I shook my head, oblivious to the smell of doggy-do. “Sorry, I didn’t notice.”
Batfish took a napkin from the countertop and scooped up Spot’s waste product.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Brett,” she sighed. “I'll go dispose of this down the potty.”
Batfish held the soiled napkin out in front of her and walked quickly out of the café. Wingate waited until she left the room then approached my table. She sat down opposite me and put her hand on top of my own. She looked me straight in the eyes and I knew she had something serious to say.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.
I shrugged. “As okay as I’ll ever be,” I sighed. “It’s me who has to live with it if I ‘aint.”
Wingate broke her gaze. “It’s about Cordoba.”
“I had a feeling it might be.”
“We have to dispose of her body somehow. You know we can’t just leave her in that emergency room, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I hate to say this but…Chandra says the incinerator is still in working order, operating on that lone generator. I think it’s the best way, Brett and the sooner the better. We wouldn’t want her to start…well, you know.”
“Decaying?” I tried to mentally push away the image attempting to enter my mind. “Yeah, of course. You’re absolutely right. We have to dispose of the body. After all, it’s not her no more, is it?”
Wingate shook her head and sniffed. “I’m going to miss her a lot. She was a good friend. She really did like you, you know.”
I nodded, feeling the lump rise in my throat once again. “I know she did.” My voice cracked. “But it’s so hard to keep a relationship going amongst all this.” I waved my hand, gesturing around the room. “We’d cooled off a little lately but I was hoping we could pick it up again when we got settled someplace.”
Wingate met my gaze with sorrow in her eyes. “I’m sure you would have done, Brett. We have to move forward now. You know how these things roll?”
“Yup, up and at ‘em,” I said, smiling falsely, with tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “We have a little time to rest up for a while, so let’s make the most of it, I guess.”
Wingate nodded. “If you ever want to talk to somebody, come and grab me and we’ll talk in private someplace, okay?”
I gulped the lump of sadness away and nodded.
“You don’t have to come down to the incinerator if you don’t want to. Smith, Batfish and I can handle it.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. I knew the images of Cordoba burning up would haunt my dreams forever if I did.
Batfish returned and Wingate stood. She patted my shoulder before returning to the countertop to grab some breakfast.
It must have been sometime during mid-morning when Chandra Yadav approached me as I milled around outside the café smoking a cigarette.
“Do you play chess, Brett?” he asked. His face broke into a cheery smile.
I shook my head. “Nope, never played before in my life,” I replied.
“Come, let’s go to the TV lounge and I will give you your first lesson,” he said. “I need an adversary to play against and I’m sure you will become a very skilful player.”
I followed Yadav to the lounge. I knew the whole thing was a ruse just to get me out of the way. Smith, Batfish and Wingate would be taking Cordoba’s body to the incinerator and wanted the doctor to keep me occupied while they performed the necessary deed.
Chess wasn’t really a game I’d ever been interested in. The stupid board game looked totally boring and not really my bag but with time on my hands, I decided I’d give it a go. Chandra and I ended up playing the game for the next few hours. I picked up the rules real quick and found it wasn’t so boring after all. Of course, he beat me easily several times but I felt I was improving with every game. Spot sat beside me, watching the proceedings.
Smith, Batfish and Wingate entered the TV lounge with sheepish looks on their faces and I knew they’d done what they had to. Cordoba was no more. She’d returned to dust. I sighed and tried to think about my next chess move.
“You doing good, Brett?” Batfish asked, pointing to the chess board.
I flapped my hand. “Ah, I suck at the moment but I’m getting better.”
“He’s going to be a very good player,” Chandra chipped in, obviously attempting to make me feel better. “A very deep thinker with an eye for anticipating my next move.”
“That don’t sound like the Wilde Man I know and love,” Smith teased, before slapping me on the back.
“Ah, thanks a bunch, Smith,” I hit back. “The guy blows smoke up my ass and you’re already blowing him off.”
We laughed between us, albeit a little falsely. Even so, it felt good and I hadn’t been capable of any sort of humor in a long while. Maybe it was the start of a new beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Our few days stay in The Royal Glasgow Infirmary Hospital turned out slightly longer than planned. I’m not sure exactly what happened but I guess Smith, Batfish, Wingate and I all felt kind of settled for the first time in a long while. We had hot and cold running water, flushing toilets, plenty of food, shelter and comfortable beds.
My earlier malicious misgivings about Chandra Yadav totally changed over the course of the following days since we first entered the hospital. He was a lovely, charming, kind, intelligent man with a great sense of humor and I enjoyed his company. We whiled away hours hunched over the chess board and I actually managed to beat him a couple of times. He recounted stories about his poor upbringing in India and how hard he’d worked to become a qualified doctor. I told him about our own perilous travels across America and the flight over Atlantic. He listened intently when I told him about my hallucinations and horrific nightmares. I thought I’d found a new friend as well as a fellow survivor.
Chandra and I also found a kid’s indoor cricket set when we were mooching around the basement while collecting more food tins. He tried to explain the rules of the game to us all and we played a few games of indoor cricket in the large floor space beyond the ward. None of us really knew what we were supposed to be doing but Chandra was very competitive and easily won the match. Nobody seemed to care, we had some fun playing. Fun was an experience I had long forgotten.
We soon ran out of cigarettes and I knew Smith was itching to get to the Range Rover to retrieve our supplies. He collared me one morning in the café while I was half way through a fruit dessert.
“How do you feel about taking a quick trip to the outside world, kid?” he asked.
“What for?”
“Ah, well, I figure we really could use some spare clothes and we could definitely do with that spare ammo.”
“And the extra cigarettes?”
Smith ducked his head in a laugh. “Okay, kid, you got me. I really could do with a smoke and I’ve also got a couple of bottles of the good stuff tucked away in one of those packs. But I really am sick of wearing these same combat fatigues day in day out. I’ve washed them but they don’t dry properly. I’m even getting a rash around my ass. So, what do you say?”
I really didn’t need to venture outdoors in the zombie infested hospital grounds but I knew Smith would go out there with or without me regardless.
“Have you told Wingate or Batfish about this little expedition?” I asked.
“No way, man,” Smith gasped. “She’d bust my balls and tell me to quit smoking and the lack of cigarettes would do me good and blah, blah, blah. You know how she is.”
I assumed he was talking singular about Wingate.
“And Batfish is talking about quitting cigarettes anyhow. Yadav has got her some of that nasty nicotine gum or whatever the hell it is. So, it’s you and me again, buddy.”
“All right,” I sighed. “When do we go?”
“Atta boy, kid.” Smith slapped my shoulder. “The sooner the better.”
“Hold up a moment.” I held up my
hand, not trying to sound too enthusiastic. “How the hell are we going to get out to the car? I don’t want to get trapped in that damn corridor again, like the last time.”
“No, I have it all figured out,” Smith said. “We use the door from the basement next to the incinerator. There’s a staircase down there with a door leading to the outside. We go out that way and double back to the Range Rover. We’ll be back inside before anybody notices we’re gone.”
I took in a deep breath and blew it out. This sounded like another one of Smith’s crazy assed plans. “We haven’t got much in the way of ammunition. You got any mags for that M-16?”
Smith shook his head. “Half a mag at best. This will have to be a strictly covert op. Handguns as a last resort. We’ll have to use silent weapons as much as we can.”
I started to weigh up whether the expedition was really worthwhile. “Okay, so you’ve got your big assed machete and what the hell am I going to use?”
Smith looked blank. His cravings were getting the better of him. “Didn’t the Doc say he used to inject the zombies with some kind of death dose?”
I sighed in frustration. “Smith, I’m not going outside with my ass hanging out, armed with nothing more than a stupid little needle. I need a decent kind of weapon.”
“All right, all right, I hear you,” Smith groaned, holding up his hand to silence my griping. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Where did you find that bat and sponge ball for that silly assed game we played?”
“I am not taking a kid’s cricket bat out there against a whole bunch of undead. Forget that one, Smith.”
Smith shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean that,” he hissed. “Was there any more sports gear down there where you found it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t look too closely at all the other stuff down there.”
The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Page 12
