by Rob Horner
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Rose said.
“You better give it to her straight,” Grace added.
“I don’t know what to say,” Dr. Crews said. “I don’t know enough to be able to say if you should be scared.”
“You better not let me end up like those people,” Rose said quietly. “I don’t wanna go out like that, flipping out like Kanye, attacking everyone I know.”
Grace went to her friend, enfolding her in a hug.
Buck moved past the two receptionists, looking down the dark hallway that led back to the center of the hospital.
“What do you think, doc?” he asked.
“I think what I said before,” Dr. Crews said, “those guys can take care of themselves.”
“What about Rose?” Buck said softly.
Dr. Crews shook his head. “I really don’t know. It did seem to stop bleeding rather quickly.”
“I thought so too.”
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad,” the doctor said.
“No, but it might.”
“It might,” Dr. Crews agreed.
It wouldn’t be enough, Austin realized.
There were others, some he had called, some who had come for other reasons.
He needed them as well.
The sensations grew. More minds, more bodies.
Pressing. Pressing.
Some resisted, old habits causing a minor rebellion in the brain as the pressure increased.
But then the doors failed, and they were through.
One set down. One to go.
Again came the press, the sensation of pushing, straining, dirty fingers reaching, digging, pulling.
The second set of doors came open, bodies flooding in. Some wanted to hunt, sniffing the air like dogs on a scent, or walking with heads craned forward like an old tracker following the prints of a wounded deer. Others listened to Austin’s directions, turning right, passing the dead become on the floor, rushing as one writhing organism for the feeble doors at the back. This last barrier gave way easily. The doors were meant to open from the direction of the press. The crash resounded through the darkened halls, footsteps pounding straight out from the doors, rushing at the backs of the alarmed policeman and his escorts.
“She just…she just…” Jordyn said but Brandon ignored her, snatching Angelica’s dropped 9mm from the ground and turning toward the mob coming at them from the direction of the cafeteria. Led by the old dementia patient, Randy Sprugg, the three patients hugged the wall as they approached. Brandon tried to remember everything his dad ever taught him about guns, about how to hold one properly, how to aim, and the only thing that came to mind was the admonishment not to point a gun at someone unless you had every intention of using it.
No problem there, Brandon thought, pointing the firearm at the rushing bodies.
Yet, despite his desire to defend himself and protect his friends, despite the visceral fear those running people evoked, he couldn’t just shoot them.
Caitlin had no such compunctions, firing two more rounds in quick succession that dropped a second running form.
And then it didn’t matter, as the remaining men reached the crossing corridor in front of them and turned into it, running toward the center of the building.
“Fucking shit! Give me that!” Angelica swore, reaching out and snatching the gun from Brandon’s hands. A second later the booming report of her pistol filled the hallway as she fired point-blank into Jenny’s head. Even as the nurse fell, Angelica was pivoting, taking quick aim at the form on top of Karen and firing a second time, slamming the man’s head forward with the force of the slug.
Then she collapsed.
“Angie?” Jordyn said, finally breaking free of her paralysis.
“You check on her,” Brandon said. “I’ll get Karen.”
Can’t look at China. Nothing you can do for her.
Karen was also gone--nose, neck, and part of her left breast torn away by the vicious teeth of her attacker. Her eyes, when he thumbed back the lids, were fixed and dilated, like she stared into an endless night.
She might not stay gone, Brandon thought, and wasn’t that a terror-filled idea.
“Angie? She’s gone. You can wake up!” Jordyn said, the tone in her voice one of desperation.
Brandon saw the reason.
A spreading pool of blood surrounded the older secretary, flowing freely from a severed artery on the dorsal forearm. The skin there was shredded and torn, chunks of tissue ripped away, possibly swallowed by the crazy nurse. The wound kept filling with blood, but every time it was turned, and the blood allowed to spill out, a wide swath of white bone could be seen.
Even worse, there were already growing tunnels of blue and red under the unbroken skin, racing each other up past the elbow.
“We need to go, Jordyn,” Caitlin said softly.
Brandon had been thinking the same thing and berated himself for the sense of relief that came when Caitlin said it first.
“We can’t,” she wailed. “They need us.”
A loud bang sounded from somewhere behind them.
“She’s right, sweetie,” Angelica whispered. “It’s too late for me. Y’all need to go on while you still can.” She began scooting back to sit against the wall, placing herself between Karen and China. “I’ll just sit here and keep Karen company, you know, make sure she doesn’t cause y’all anymore trouble.”
Brandon swallowed, feeling like a lump of dry sand just went down his throat. His voice croaked a little as he asked, “And what about you?”
“Don’t you worry about me, big guy.” The barrel of the 9mm made a click as she tapped it against the floor. He hadn’t realized she’d kept hold of it. “I figure I can stay awake long enough to do what needs to be done.”
“Angie, no!” Jordyn wailed.
“Go on now. Get her out of here.”
Jordyn resisted at first, but Brandon was able to get an arm around her, half-pulling and half-lifting to turn her away from the dying woman.
“We need to find the others,” he said.
She might have nodded against his side.
Brandon didn’t know which way to go. Should they still attempt to find a way out through the Maternity wing? That’s the direction the other four came from. Of course, with the second and third crossing corridors still ahead of them, the four might have wended their way from any of the large areas at the back end of the hospital. A right turn would take them toward the other groups, but it was also where old man Sprugg and the other patient went.
In the end, it was the need to have others around him that decided the matter. That, and Caitlin turning into the crossing corridor without so much as consulting him. If those two men turned and attacked, they would be running right into his baton and the nurse’s gun. And that was certainly better than having to worry about them doubling-back and attacking from behind.
They turned right.
The lighting on the crossing corridors was set just as regularly as on the parallel corridors, of course it was. But knowing the lights were the same distance apart didn’t stop the path from seeming darker, feeling less brightly-lit. The shadowy areas between lights were larger, pools of liquid blackness that seemed poised to suck a man in, if he dared to tread on them.
Brandon worked hard to squash those fears, telling himself that the darkness kept them hidden from the things roaming the halls. Caitlin didn’t seem to be bothered, hugging the right wall and hurrying from one darkened area to the next.
They’d only gone a few feet into the crossing corridor, approaching the first big puddle of black against the wall, when a dimly seen horde of people rushed across the splash of light that must indicate the center hallway.
My God, there must be dozens of them!
“Did you see that?” Jordyn asked.
He nodded.
A second later came the sounds of several raised voices, screams of fear.
A series of sho
ts rang out, and Brandon found himself hurrying forward, rather than holding back. Surprisingly, Jordyn moved with him.
Only a few seconds later, a shot reached them from behind, wholly different sounding, as if he could tell the difference between weapons just by the report.
Two seconds later, or about as long as it would take a person to move a gun from pointing at someone else to resting under her own chin, a second shot rang out.
Brandon resisted the urge to turn around even as Jordyn pulled on his hand, urging him forward.
They knew what those shots meant.
The sudden bang from behind them made everyone whirl to look.
“Was that a door?” Jessica asked.
“If it was, then someone got into the ER,” Dr. Crews said.
“They could be coming down the hall behind us!” Grace said.
“Uh uh. No way do I want them scabby things getting a piece of my juicy butt,” Rose said.
Grace mumbled something in a reply that set Rose cackling.
“They might come up any of the corridors,” Dr. Crews said. “Everyone, move into the crossing, quickly.”
“Don’t that just put us between the hammer and the anvil?” Grace asked, even as she moved with Rose to do what the doctor said.
“Staying in this hall does too, but it’ll be easier to guard two directions in a narrow hallway,” the doctor replied.
Buck didn’t necessarily agree, but he also didn’t have a ready argument other than that they already knew of two crazy dead people who’d gone into the corridor. He still didn’t understand why they’d broken off their attack in the first place, but maybe even the dead had some sense of self-preservation.
He stepped into the corridor, saw the flood of people crossing through the faint pools of light just a dozen yards away, and jumped right back out.
“Forget that way,” he said, reaching out for the first person he could grab. “Move. Hustle!”
“I’m coming,” Jessica said, jerking away from him. “Don’t break my hand.”
Dr. Crews moved up beside him. “What—?”
“Dozens of them, doc!” Buck said.
Then they heard the shouts, the screams, and a five or ten second barrage of gunfire, a dozen discrete shots from a semi-automatic pistol. More screams.
Two more gunshots that were fainter, coming from farther away.
The noise got the others moving, not even Grace daring to complain about the sudden exertion.
Scared, almost reckless, Buck led the group up to the second crossing. He held up a hand to stop them and made sure no one was going to pass him. He noted Dr. Crews spinning, covering their back trail. Taking a deep breath, he leaned around the corner and looked.
The crossed the first intersection without incident. There’d been noises coming to them from both directions, although they only gunfire they heard was from the left.
Billy wanted to go help, but Josh silenced him with a look.
“We got our own mission,” Tim said.
There were more doors along the walls, though neither nurse seemed inclined to offer commentary or guidance. Maybe they thought if they hadn’t opened the door to the doctor’s lounge, that fellow Fromeyer would still be alive.
Two more gunshots came from the left, over where the big guy with his baton was supposed to be.
“We really should—” Billy started to say, but another sound cut him off.
It was the bang of metal doors slammed opened, smacking the walls behind them.
They’d gotten into the ED and were coming up behind them!
“Move!” Tim said. “They’re coming. Move.”
Josh responded, pushing the wheelchair forward.
Billy screamed and fired the Taser. Whipping his head around, Tim caught a fleeting glimpse of someone tall and fast coming out of the side corridor, barreling at the smaller nurse. The pop-sizzle faded into the distance. Billy had missed.
A second later Josh screamed as well, falling back and bumping into the wheelchair, giving it an angled push that forced it to turn to the right.
Tim switched the Glock to his left hand and grabbed the right wheel, yanking it back, completing the turn.
Two people had come out of the crossing corridor, one of them the tall, old man who shot the nurse. He was the one wrestling with Billy.
Josh was down with another man writhing on top of him, the nurse’s arms batting desperately at his attacker.
And behind them…
Oh, sweet Jesus!
Behind them were a dozen or more others, rushing in. A woman in front lunged and grabbed one of Billy’s arms.
Billy screamed again.
“Fuckin bring it on!” Tim yelled, taking aim and firing.
The top of the old man’s head flew off with the first shot and he fell away. The second shot ripped into the neck of the woman who had her hands on Billy’s right arm, chewing at his shoulder. The slug passed through her and into Billy, entering his chest just left of the breastbone. His screams stopped instantly.
“Goddammit!” Tim yelled, swinging his arm to the right and down, firing off three more shots in quick succession. Two entered the head of a fat guy in a hospital gown who’d been leaning forward to get at Josh. The third was point blank into the skull of another patient, or maybe a family member.
“Get up if you can!” Tim said, not knowing if Josh could hear him, not willing to look down and find out he couldn’t.
Then he was swinging back again, pointing down the long corridor at the rushing mass of dead people.
He didn’t so much aim as just shoot high into the mass, five, six, seven times.
On the eighth pull, nothing happened. He’d dropped four or five of them, he was sure, but now his magazine was empty.
They reached him before he could replace it, long arms out, mouths open to tear and chew.
Strong hands grabbed his, pushing his arms up above his head. One squeezed, cracking his right wrist, and the useless gun fell away. Two more came in, pressing into his body, lifting.
“Let me go!”
The wheelchair moved at first, but then his ass left the seat and hit the back, tipping it over. He kicked, squirmed, cursed and fought, and only succeeded in drawing three more crazy people in who grabbed his legs.
Other than his wrist and the pain in his head, he wasn’t hurt. None of them tried to scratch or bite him. It didn’t make sense. Why pick him up? Where were they taking him? Looking down between his legs he saw both nurses who’d come with him covered with biting forms, people who probably took their kids to the same daycare as him, or who cheered at the same soccer games.
They passed the second crossing and kept going.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, pulling and pushing, trying to curl his legs in enough to push back out, maybe dislodge one of them.
If he could get to his feet, he could…
Could what? He couldn’t stand without assistance, and the thought of moving under his own power made the pain in his head double, if that was possible.
“Why aren’t you biting me?” he whispered.
But none of them answered.
Moving slowly, Brandon, Caitlin, and Jordyn watched with horror as the group swarmed over the police officer and the two nurses, most of them moving off, carrying the cop like soldiers might carry a fallen friend away from a battlefield.
Brandon kept a hand over Jordyn’s mouth, afraid she might cry out and give them away.
The cop had put up a hell of a fight. There were eight or nine dead bodies littering the crossing. Double-dead, if you could wrap your head around the fact that they’d already been dead once. Brandon shook his head, not sure what he believed. One of them, he noticed with relief, was the crazy old man with the torn-up neck.
There were a few stragglers still attacking the bodies of Billy and Josh. But then, strangely, like they’d been giving a signal, all of them stopped, stood up, and started following the cop and his carriers.
&nb
sp; Jordyn tried to push forward but Brandon held her back. Something wasn’t right. They needed to wait. Caitlin sensed it too. She held still, gun pointed at the motionless bodies of their friends.
Thirty seconds later, both Billy and Josh started struggling to their feet.
It’s not right, dammit! Brandon thought. Just let them stay dead.
The nurses turned as one and moved up the middle corridor, following everyone else.
Only then did Brandon follow Caitlin past the center hallway, sneaking from darkness to darkness, racing for the right-side hallway by Radiology.
Please, Lord. Let there be someone still alive over there.
“What the hell?” Buck muttered.
It didn’t make any sense. Why would there be a group of those things walking slowly up the corridor, almost in lock step? It looked like they were carrying something heavy.
“Buck, you need to come back,” Dr. Crews whispered, startling the big paramedic. He’d unconsciously edged out into the second corridor, struggling to see what was happening.
A part of him ached to continue forward, the urge to know almost stronger than his fear of the things in front of him.
Almost.
He stepped backward, keeping his shoulder against the wall, until he stood again in the long hallway to Med-Surg.
“What’s going on?” Tina asked, stepping up between Buck and the doctor.
“Dunno. It was weird,” Buck said.
He described what he’d seen.
“What’s down that way?” Grace asked.
“Not much,” Tina answered. “The middle corridor leads to the back corridor where we’re headed. At the end is ICU and a secondary entrance to Med-Surg. If they turn left, they’ve got a beeline for the cafeteria—”
“While a right leads them toward the morgue, or right back at us,” Dr. Crews finished.
“Can’t we just, you know, go faster? Get there ahead of them?” Jessica asked.
Buck thought that sounded like a great idea.
A sudden sob of “Thank God,” came from behind them and everyone turned. Dr. Crews raised his pistol.
“Don’t shoot,” a man’s voice said.
