by Tara Brown
Old Mike stands next to where the nurse collapsed on the grass. He sways on his rickety old legs for a second before he freezes.
His head jerks to the left three times.
He walks in a slow circle, his body covered in blood.
He pauses, twitching like some of the palsy patients I’ve seen and then jerks his head to the right, also three times.
“Oh shit.” I can’t think or feel anything beyond the shivers. I’m freezing.
The cold breeze of the air conditioning blows down on me from the roof, creating the tiniest whistle. It adds tension, reminding me of the soundtrack from The Shining.
Old Mike pauses again, tilting his head as if waiting for someone to pour something in his ear. His head jerks—perhaps he’s heard something—and he’s off. I’ve never seen the old man run like that. I’ve never seen him move much at all, except when they try to take his sweater on washing day.
Old Mike’s gone, the biting lady is next to the nurse on the ground; neither of them moves. Until, as if on a timer, the nurse repeats Old Mike’s movements.
When she’s gone, I’m alone once more. Me and the original random lady who hasn’t moved since she bit them both. I back up until I can’t see her or the blood stains anymore.
I’m lost on what to think. I pinch myself hard enough that my nails cut in and small cuts start to bleed.
A scream fills the air, this one comes from inside.
I spin. Through the glass window in my door I see a nurse run by. She’s shouting.
Confused, I scan the hallway and small nurses’ station next to me. No one moves. The screaming fades but doesn’t stop.
Another person races past the window, this one is not making any sounds beyond the slapping feet.
A big guy hurries by.
I smack the window when there’s movement again but the older lady ignores me. She turns back to check behind her and then runs.
She sees something, something I can’t.
A man races toward my window, with another lady right behind. Someone screams as one is tackled to the ground by whatever is behind them. I assume it’s the lady screaming as the man leaves her. He runs faster, pure terror on his face as he passes my window. I have seen that look before.
“What the hell?” My mouth is as dry as a cotton ball and my eyes burn from not blinking as I stare at them. The woman below my window fights, trying to crawl away, kicking and screaming.
A herd of people come, seeing a nurse biting the screaming lady, but don’t intervene. They gawk for a moment and continue on together, strangely calm.
It’s silent.
The lady who was bit is unconscious, even though she was only bit on the leg. The nurse who bit her is on the ground, lying motionless as well.
I want to look away.
But I can’t.
Staring, I press my nose against the cold glass and watch the scene play out, just as it did with Old Mike, only here there’s blood smeared across the white industrial floor. So when the lady who was bitten stands and does the twitchy head thing, she’s much creepier.
As if it’s all on timers, the silence ends at once.
Screams begin filling the halls and the ceiling and the window behind me again. Every scream matches what I have already seen. Madness, fear, fighting.
Panic has taken over the hospital, but this time it isn’t a few people running past, it’s pandemonium.
Feet pound and thump down the halls in front of me and above me as nurses and doctors and possibly patients rush past. I bang on the window but I’m ignored.
Everything goes silent for a moment before someone comes racing around the corner, pausing when she sees the scene in front of her.
I bang on the window again, not thinking clearly.
Her eyes dart to mine and over to something I can’t see. The woman rushes to me, unlocking the door. As I pull it open to escape, she jumps in knocking me back and closing it behind her. The door clicks, followed by muffled screaming. A man comes around the corner, blood flowing down his face where he’s clearly been bitten. His eyes are wild as he shouts and thumps on the window.
“Holy shit. What the hell is going on?” She trembles, taking up the window view of the man losing his mind on the other side. “Did you see that? Holy shit, they’re everywhere. What’s happening?”
We both jump when the man outside starts smashing his face against the glass.
I tell myself over and over that he can’t get in. I chant it until I realize that if he can’t get in, we can’t get out.
“You locked us in,” I complain, eyes locked on the creepy guy outside my door.
“I know. They can’t get in here.” She gasps for air, her breath drowning out the whistle of the air conditioning. “It’s safe in here.” She doesn't sound convinced.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I don't know,” she mutters.
I can barely hear her over the racket of the man smashing himself against the glass.
The noise of his body hitting the door could drive me insane, if I weren’t already there.
His hands and face bleed from the pounding but he doesn't stop.
He screams until no sound comes out.
“They can’t get in,” she repeats and turns around, nodding at me. “We’re safe in here.”
“Safe? We’re locked in and everyone’s leaving. We need to find someone to let us out.”
“You don't know how bad it is out there.” She scoffs and stares back at the hallway. “He’s nothing compared to the rest of them.”
The violent man pauses, tilting his head oddly again. He snaps his head to the right, running off and leaving us with the red haze to stare through.
Screams flood the yard outside. I don't look but she does. She rushes past me, gasping at the scene. “What the hell? They’re all biting each other. They’ve gone mad.”
“Maybe it’s better than the food here,” I joke uncomfortably.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you seriously making jokes right now?” The disgust is laid on thick.
“Maybe.” How do I explain that it’s my coping mechanism, inappropriate mocking of serious moments?
“It’s as if they’ve gone crazy.” She disregards me and my joke.
“No. Crazy people don't do this, not like this. This is more like rabies.” I try to act calm but I’m on edge, panicking at being locked in a box. The walls become smaller every time I think about the fact people are leaving us here. “Rabies,” I whisper again, almost to myself.
“They—they’re eating each other.” She’s frantic at the sight in the back. “Did you see?”
“No.” I shake my head, reliving the moment on the lawn. “Look closer. They’re not eating, they’re not chewing and swallowing. They’re biting. Watch. They bite down, ripping the flesh, and then they stop. The biter collapses and the guy who’s bit passes out for a moment, and then they wake up and do the same thing.” I gasp for a breath, realizing I’m rambling. “They’re spreading the disease.”
“How can you tell?” she shouts at me; she has to over the noise flooding the hospital grounds outside. The fight seems to have moved out there.
“What?” I ask. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I’m reliving Old Mike getting bit and trying to stay calm.
“How can you tell?” Her eyes are wide and I think there are tears in them. “How are you so calm?”
“I’m locked in solitary confinement, and like you said, we’re safe from everyone out there attacking each other. It gives a bit of perspective.” I gaze out the window, taking heed of my own words, fighting to stay still. “From here we can observe them. Take a second and pay attention to the fact that they aren’t eating, they’re biting. It’s just like spreading a virus in a movie. It’s obvious this has to be some sort of rabies.”
“You’re creepy,” she mutters and turns back toward the window. “Since I’m stuck in here with you, I’d
appreciate you keeping that creepy shit to yourself.”
“Should I panic like you? Would you feel better knowing a diagnosed psychopath is panicking in solitary with you?” I mock her, noticing I feel better when I do.
“No.” She swallows hard, admitting a truth she doesn’t want to.
She is scared of me. Her dark eyes are wide, terrified. She’s a dark and beautiful picture of fear. On any other regular day, I might have taken a few minutes to enjoy the view, but this isn’t a normal day.
“I’m Grace.” She does that thing that all people do with psychopaths: they try to personalize their relationship with us, as if forming an attachment makes it so we won’t attack. They believe their bond with us saves them, not realizing how much more we’ll think of them. Like how I'm repeating her name, Grace. I'm thinking about it. How it would sound shouted in the Grand Canyon. Or whispered in a basement with concrete walls and the slightest bit of water dripping somewhere in the distance. “What’s wrong?” she asks when I don’t say anything.
“Liam,” I speak after a long minute. “I’m Liam.”
“I know who you are.” She doesn't meet my gaze. “Everyone knows you.” She’s slightly older than I am, maybe twenty-five. She’s beautiful, athletic. She’s wearing scrubs, but I can’t place her in the staff I’ve met. I’d remember her.
“Who are you, Grace?”
“Nutritionist.” She sighs. “We need to focus. It’s getting worse out there. There’s dozens of them attacking. People are running, screaming. What are we going to do?”
Grace the nutritionist. I don’t know her.
“Did you hear me? It’s getting worse.” She scowls.
“I can hear them just as well as you can.” I sit on the bed, staring at her. She’s interesting and she makes this moment less. Not only less frightening, but less lonely. Less weird. “Can I ask you a question?”
“No, Liam. Let’s keep this as friendly as we can without getting too personal.” She glances my way, connecting my eyes with hers. Maybe she’s smarter than I gave her credit for.
“Do you have the ability to get us out of here in case no one comes?” I ask anyway. I only asked permission to scare her into thinking I’d ask something personal. “Because you asked me what are we going to do, and all I can think is die. We’re going to die if we can’t get out.”
“Yeah, I think my key opens the inside lock.” She sounds distracted.
“You think? You came in here hoping you could get out?” I sigh and wait for the screaming to end. “How long do you think it’ll be before they run out of people to bite?”
“I don’t know.” She’s disgusted with me perhaps.
“Well, think about it. It’s a small facility. There’s only a hundred and fifty people in here, plus at least that in staff. I can’t imagine it’ll be that long. And whatever this is, it moves fast. Unnaturally fast. The biters change faster than they should. I don't know that the body can morph that quickly, at least not naturally.”
“What do you mean?” she asks but stays stuck, staring out the window, desperate to watch as the screaming gets louder and closer.
“I mean, this can’t be driven by nature. They’re bitten and within a short amount of time they’re a biter too? This isn’t a video game or some cheesy movie, it’s real life. There’s no way they should be biting so quickly. And the head jerk, it must be some kind of rewiring.” My mind is moving as quickly as my lips are. “It’s science, it’s forced on us. It’s an experiment gone wrong.” An idea hits me hard. “Is there government testing here?” I’ve never even thought of that.
“No.” She looks at me again. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of any.”
“Hmm.”
“Science? You mean like a purposeful virus that's been released by accident?”
“I mean, regardless of what’s happening to them, once they’re bitten and wake up, they move as if they’re being controlled. Their heads jerk to the left and then the right, three times. All of them. They go from screaming and freaking out to completely calm. Listening. Something is making them do this. It’s not natural. There’s no virus that does this. They attack and then stop, moving on to the next victim or falling to the ground.”
“How do you know this?”
“Watching and guessing. It’s easy to observe when the danger isn’t representing itself to you. But observation suggests the hypothetical answer is man, not nature. Our bodies do not react to viruses this way. Not even rabies, so this is some sort of man-made rabies.”
She swallows hard, nodding. “I guess.”
“Are you scared?” I don’t need to ask, she clearly is. I just want to hear her say it. A little joy would be nice to distract me from the horror outside and the being trapped inside.
“Yeah.”
“Of me?”
“No,” she lies. It’s beautiful to see. People who understand a disease assume they know how to work it, control it. I love that about the hospital and its staff. I hate when I lose my temper and the intelligent hold I have on who I am. I hate when I unleash and prove all their stupid theories right about me.
“Did you have to run from them?”
“Yeah.” She sounds hollow.
“Why’d you come down here?”
“I came from my floor, two up, down the stairs. I heard the commotion on the grass and looked out the window. I saw the fight. I know the nurse, Sheila. She’s nice. I ran for her but then the stairs started filling with screams so I took the first door. Everyone else was running outside but the doorway was clogged and they were coming.” Her pitch rises a bit and her eyes widen, but she doesn't see me or this room. She’s reliving it all. “They were running at me, coming from two sides. I hurried into this corridor and when I came around the corner I saw that.” She points at the door, to the bloodstains. “And then I saw you. And I knew you were a safer bet.”
“I’m the safer bet.” I confirm it. It’s the truth. As much as I might play with the idea of being alone in here with her and me being me, I have no desire to hurt her. In fact, since I arrived here I have had no desire to hurt anyone. Well, except Celia and that little bitch Meredith.
And now some asshole biter is taking that away from me.
They’re making Meredith a savage animal and I’m not there to see it.
It’s disappointing to say the least.
Almost a year’s worth of hate being washed down the drain.
“We need to leave here,” I say after a few moments of thought.
“The police will come. They’ll help us. We should stay in here until then.”
“The police?” I cock my head to the side, not sure I heard her right.
“Yeah. They’ll come. Something is obviously happening here. They’ll save us.”
I have to fight not laughing at her. “Do you think this is isolated to this one institution?”
“You don’t? You’re the one who asked about government testing.” She leaves the window and goes back to the door, wincing when she sees the carnage through the red haze drying on the glass.
“Well, that’s one possibility, but if there’s no government testing here, then this likely came from out there.” I point at the window, toward the gate.
“Maybe. But maybe it’s just here.” She’s hopeful.
I’m not.
I’m a realist.
I think of it as a gift.
If I had to guess, I’d say she thinks being an optimist is a gift.
Chapter 2
“What time is it?” I stretch and glance at Grace staring out the window into the darkness. The sun’s gone completely.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, as if anyone can hear us.
“Look at your watch.” I narrow my gaze, wondering if she’s lost her mind in the time I’ve been napping. Solitary isn’t for everyone. Considering we might be trapped, I can't believe I fell asleep.
“It’s been silent for hours and no police have come.” She sounds weird, dista
nt. I think she was really counting on the cops.
“Great. Well, we agreed.” I hold a hand out. “I’m starving and thirsty so if you don't want to go get food, I’ll just go alone.”
“You—uh—we shouldn’t leave here.” Her eyes widen and dart to mine.
“Because I’m crazy and could be a threat to society? A society of rabid zombies?” I can’t help but laugh bitterly. “If everyone else is dead or looking for fresh brains, I’m possibly the most normal guy here.” I crack a bitter grin and step closer. “Now, either you’re giving me the key or I’m going to take it so I can leave this cell and get food. We made a deal, honor it.” I warn with my tone. Waking up from my nap to find we’re still in this shithole and no one has come for us, hasn't improved my mood. I wasn't counting on cops but someone could’ve thought to let us out.
It takes several heartbeats for her to decide. “Fine.” She hands the key over. As I reach for it, she grabs my hand. “Don't leave me in here.”
“I won’t.” I snatch the key, trying not to drink from the desperation in her eyes as I turn to the door. “I don't understand why you don't want to come.”
“I don't want to.” She curls up on the bed and hugs her knees. She doesn't have the same hate for solitary that I do. If I don't come back she might start understanding. “Just go see if the coast is clear and come back for me. Bring water.”
“Fine.” I put the key in the lock and pray it opens the damned door.
When it clicks, I sigh in relief for the first time since this started.
The door opens silently but only goes so far, hitting something. I peer down through the window at someone lying on the floor. I push harder, using all my force to move the dead person and squeeze my body through the gap to step out into the hall.
The silence is alarming. I’ve never heard this kind of quiet here before. Even in the dead of night, the institution has sounds. We have a lot of screamers who live here.
The whistle of the air conditioner is back.
Sneaking quietly, I move through the hall searching for a guard.
Beyond the dead I step over, there’s no one.
It’s a graveyard of unburied bodies. A tomb.
