'Cline's antidote, the stuff that helped Leonard ... is it the answer?'
'Afraid not. She tells me that it is only working in a small fraction of the cases. Most have succumbed too completely to be reached. It seems to help only in cases not too far advanced.'
'So all these comatose people, all these madmen running about the city like wolves in packs ... it's all a fermentation process, and when the fermenting is done...'
'Then we'll see the city fall like a house of cards as men are turned against men, as the sacrifices begin.'
-10-
At St. Stephen's Hospital in the middle of Manhattan, Dr. Kendra Cline and her assistants continued to work tirelessly on an antidote that wouldn't throw the victims of this plague into a catastrophic fit that, for some, had ended in death. Leonard had been the rare exception. She theorized that the protective wear and the fact he and Stroud and Wisnewski had been breathing untainted oxygen had gone far to combat the ravishes of the paralyzing disease. To date they had had only a handful of successes. Those who were infected simply were not responding to the treatment, except to die of it, which, as the grim word getting around the hospital had it, wasn't such a bad cure, given the alternative of a vegetative state.
All the hospital's equipment was strained beyond the limits.
She heard a noise outside the lab, some disturbance, people cheering. Her intercom buzzed. It was Mark, shouting, 'We're seeing some activity in here, Dr. Cline. You'll want to come see for yourself.'
'Activity? What kind of--'
'They're coming around, all of them, on their own.'
'The comatose patients?'
'Yes.'
'All of them?'
'Yes. Come quickly.'
She could hear her staff cheering in the background. So why did she feel a cold wave of eerie fear grip her heart? There was something on the other side of her sane world, scratching with a satanic talon to rip sanity from her. She could feel it close at hand like the rush of the A/C whenever she sat below the vent. Like something trapped in the wall, scratching to get in ... or out.
She was suddenly aware of an ominous silence outside. She got up and rushed to the monitoring room, where she stood frozen with the others this side of the glass that separated them from the walking zombies on the other side. What was at first thought a remarkable, unprecedented medical phenomenon was fast becoming a nightmare. The people whose limbs worked, who had snatched out their IVs, dragging them along behind, unfeeling, unthinking and unseeing, stared back at the fully living with green-hued eyes that bored through them. The jubilation of Cline's staff had ended abruptly with the realization that these zombies had the use of their limbs and muscles but not their minds. It was clear that they were like so many marionettes, their bodies manipulated by unseen hands.
They raised their hands and arms in unison and pounded with all their combined weight against the thick glass partition, which resounded with a barrel noise as it held. They brought their combined force against the glass a second time, a third, a fourth, as the interns, nurses and doctors watched in horror.
The zombies, on the fifth attack against the glass, used their heads along with their forearms, bloodying themselves in their relentless obsession to break through. The glass shattered but held at first, a spider's web of crackling lines now masking the horror somewhat, snapping Kendra and the others out of their awe-inspired helplessness.
'Call for help! Mark, get on the phone!' she shouted.
'Who do I call? Orderlies won't touch these guys.'
Tom shouted from his phone, 'It's happening on every floor, every isolation ward!'
'What?'
'Every comatose patient is walking out of the hospital.'
The glass was hit again and again and it began to crumble. Some men and women who tried to subdue the flood of zombies were grabbed and lifted and carried before the army. Mark and Tom uselessly threw hefty notebooks and chairs at the front of the line, trying to slow their progress as they ushered everyone back. Mark grabbed Dr. Cline, pushing her through the door.
Once everyone who was able had gotten beyond the door, it was locked behind them, but suddenly the door was being rammed. The zombies attacked it without letup again and again and again.
'I've got to call Stroud,' Kendra called out, racing back into her lab, but there she saw that some of the zombies had opted for a second way out of the isolation ward, having battered through a wall, using the bodies of some of her dead staff as their battering rams. She raced from here, and now the zombies were coming through the locked door of the monitoring room, the bodies of other blood-soaked men and women used as battering rams dropped before them and trampled underfoot.
The zombies made for the corridors, the stairwells, the exits, and before them ran the staff.
Kendra found nurses cringing behind a desk on the floor below who told her they'd telephoned police, but that the same thing was happening all over New York, at every hospital and clinic that had taken in victims of the plague, that they were all moving and killing as they went.
From the windows they saw a flood of zombies amassing in the streets going blindly toward some unknown destination. 'Like an army of mindless insects,' said one of the nurses from a window on the twenty-ninth floor.
'Where are they going?' asked another.
Then it dawned on Kendra exactly where the zombies were going. Their goal had to be the pit at the Gordon Construction site. Gordon meant to bulldoze over the pit, having changed the design of his massive tower, but something in the pit had other plans.
She raced for the phone and dialed Stroud at the Museum of Antiquities. It seemed to ring forever before Wisnewski answered it, and when she pleaded for Stroud, he told her that Abe was just getting some much-needed sleep.
'Wake him, dammit! This is important, Doctor.'
'What's happened?'
'Please, I must speak to Stroud.'
It seemed another eternity before Stroud got on the phone. She almost screamed. 'There's something terribly wrong going on out here, Stroud!'
'What's wrong?'
'Our comatose patients ... all got up--' Her voice was out of control.
'Then your antidote is working!'
'No! No, it isn't! They're--they've attacked us.'
'Attacked?'
'En masse! They've become like--like zombies, Stroud, and it's happening all over the city, and--'
'Easy, easy--'
'--and they're all heading for the pit, toward Gordon's damned hole!'
'Christ, it's happening.'
'What?' She was suddenly confused. 'You expected this?'
'No, not so soon, anyway. This thing must be incredibly powerful.'
'Gordon's people must be warned, and Nathan's--'
'Gordon's people?'
'Don't you see, it's got to do with Gordon's people back at the construction site.'
'But we had an agreement with the mayor that--'
'All bets are off. You've been so secluded at the museum that you don't know what's going on. Gordon's calling the shots now.'
'Dammit! The fool has precipitated this. Damn him!'
'Gordon's planning to bulldoze the site and--'
