I weighed the possibility of finding some latex gloves somewhere and coming back for the spear, but one glance at the crowd convinced me there was no time. Thirty or forty undead had broken through the defensive line and were headed in my direction. I stood out clearly against the white wall of the hospital. I had to get out of there.
After one last look outside, I ran full speed back down the dark corridor, my footsteps echoing in that cavernous tunnel.
A leak in the roof had formed a puddle in the middle of the hall. I’d seen the puddle before, but I was so crazed when I came back through, I forgot about it. I slipped and took one hell of a fall. I lay there for several seconds, the wind knocked out of me, trying to catch my breath. When I tried to get up, a sharp jab in my side made me scream in pain. I slumped back down, cursing a blue streak. Just what I needed—a broken rib. For sure I had a big, fat bruise. Fucking puddle! I was going to sue that fucking hospital.
Just the thought of a lawsuit, in this dire situation, made me double up with laughter, and that set off new spasms of pain. A lawsuit. What a joke! I struggled to my feet, whimpering in the pain, laughing hysterically, and kept going.
No doubt about it—my nerves were shot.
I pushed open the swinging doors with my good side and reloaded the speargun, still hiccuping with laughter. I took a quick look around me. Double doors opened in both directions. On one side of the doors were some steel hooks attached to two brackets on the walls. The hospital staff had used those hooks to prop open the doors to keep from having to constantly push them open.
I had a different use in mind for those hooks. Next to the door, on the floor, under a pile of discarded medical supplies, lay an IV pole with two empty IV bags hanging from it. I had to kick aside a mountain of gauze, boxes of tranquilizers, and used bandages to get to it. I slid that pole through the hooks to bar the door closed. I frowned, my heart heavy. It always worked so well in the movies. That pole wouldn’t withstand the pounding for long. That crowd would be through the door in two minutes.
I was breathing hard when I reached Prit. He studied me with a worried face as I leaned on his chair and caught my breath. I brought him up to speed with the huge problem we were facing. It was impossible to leave through that door. Besides, I was pretty sure the undead would make it into the lobby very soon. We had to find another way out. A big complex like the Meixoeiro Hospital must have dozens of entrances and exits. That hospital was a maze of rooms and corridors that confused even the personnel who worked there every day. We had to find one on a different side of the building. To get on the other side, we’d have to go down into the bowels of the building.
We had no choice. I asked Prit if he could walk. The Ukrainian struggled to get up. Very brave, but futile. His legs failed him in a few seconds, and he collapsed back in the chair. The morphine still in his system and his blood loss, coupled with fatigue and not enough food for weeks, held him back. I’d have to push him.
I set Lucullus in Prit’s lap. I held a flashlight in one hand and gripped the back of the wheelchair with the other, and off we went, just as we heard the first blows against the ER doors.
We set off down a corridor at the back of the room. I pushed open the door and paused. That hallway was dark as a well at midnight. Fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling, covered in a thick coat of dust, useless junk without electricity. So little outside light filtered in, I could only guess where obstacles lay across the corridor.
I assumed that things would get worse, since we were headed deep into the bowels of the hospital. At least we were still fairly close to the outside. Some faint light from the lightning came in, and we could hear the rain. As soon as we stepped through the next door, we’d be in another world.
The smell, not the lack of light, stopped me in my tracks. The minute I opened that door, a pungent rotting odor smacked us in the face. Nowadays that putrid stench was everywhere, but I’d never smelled it that concentrated before.
That odor was heavy, like the smell that hung over the ruins of the Safe Haven, but ten times as strong, probably from being in a hot place with no ventilation. My eyes teared up, so I tied a handkerchief around my face. I coughed and tried to breathe through my mouth. I had a knot in my stomach and was getting more and more nauseated. Prit had screwed up his face, trying to keep from gagging. The hospital was full of dozens of bodies in an advanced state of decomposition. We were about to enter a mass grave.
We ventured into the hallway. Prit shone the flashlight into every corner while I pushed the wheelchair, veering around bodies. Our plan was simple. We’d cross the first floor, make a beeline for the front, and leave from there.
Before the pandemic, a nurse who knew the hospital could’ve made it down that long hallway in ten minutes, tops. In the dark, with no knowledge of that labyrinth, it would take us a lot longer.
For four or five minutes things went pretty well. As fast as we could, we got through several rooms and corridors, dodging tons of equipment and medical supplies. The hospital seemed to have been evacuated in a hurry, but the number of half-rotten bodies suggested the opposite. After evacuating the building, maybe the fugitives had retreated back into the building for some reason, and the undead had trapped them there.
Most of the bodies had bullet holes in their heads. Some of the remains were horribly disfigured and partially eaten beyond any possibility of resuscitation. Almost all of those bodies had on army boots: the defense forces making a last stand after everyone else had run off. Run where?
The jabbing pain in my side had gotten worse. White spots danced before my eyes, and my legs trembled. My breathing must’ve been labored, because Prit turned in his chair and looked at me with concern. “You’re in bad shape. We can’t go on like this. We’d better rest,” he said. I agreed. I needed to catch my breath; I was hyperventilating.
A plywood door to our right opened into a dressing room; lockers lined the walls, with rows of benches in the middle. In the back of the room were a couple of couches. A bulletin board covered with notes and posters took up the entire wall. A huge plastic rubber plant stood guard in the corner. A woman’s purse lay on the floor, its contents spilled out. In the light of the flashlight, I saw a lipstick, a wallet, and the handle of a hairbrush. A nurse’s dressing room. Not a bad place to take a rest.
I closed the door and collapsed on a bench. Prit stroked Lucullus’s head with his good hand, stoically enduring his pain. He’s one tough guy.
I took off the top of the wetsuit. I was so thin I could count my ribs. I hadn’t had a really nutritious meal for months in these subhuman conditions. My body was starting to pay the price. Vitamin C deficiency from a lack of fresh vegetables was the most dangerous. A huge bruise on my right side was slowly turning a dark purple. I touched it and choked back a howl of pain. I must have broken some ribs. That’s a bitch!
I forced down some metamizole sodium, a powerful analgesic I’d found earlier, and picked up the purse. I rummaged around inside. A mobile phone with no battery in a cloth case, a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes, a lighter, and a bent-up driver’s license with a picture of a very pretty blonde with green eyes. She was smiling at me. Laura Viz. There was no hospital ID or document in her wallet. Thanks for the smokes, Laura. I wonder who the hell you were and what the hell you were doing here.
I stuck a cigarette in Prit’s mouth, and he took a deep drag. Then I unwrapped the bandage so he could get a look at his wounds. The little finger was completely gone, and the middle finger was missing down to the second knuckle. There was a lengthwise gash in the ring finger that needed stitches. His palm had a deep cut, but fortunately it wasn’t bleeding very much.
Prit looked up and calmly said it wasn’t so bad, but he needed medical attention right away. He hadn’t lost too much blood yet, but there was the risk of blood poisoning. But I was the only person around to tend to his wounds. With a first-aid kit.
Suddenly, something punched the plywood door hard, making a huge hole at the top. Sticking through the hole was a cadaverous hand, covered in splinters.
The hand pulled back out and hit the door again, nearly ripping it off the frame. Damn, that bastard was strong! I took a few steps back, holding the flashlight tight, while Prit cocked the AK-47 and aimed at the door. I could see the undead guy through the hole. He was young, burly, with a beard and curly hair. All he was wearing was a funny cartoon T-shirt that was way too big for him. A thick bandage covered his right calf. I bet a million euros I knew how he got that wound.
With one last blow, the flimsy door split in two, and the creature lunged forward just as Prit pulled the trigger. Blood and bones gushed out the gaping red hole where his left eye had been.
The guy collapsed like a sack in front of me. I kicked him to make sure he wasn’t moving. There was
