"Oh, shit," Clara said.
Joan turned around, and saw that the creatures they hadpassed in the hallway had pursued them, cutting off any sort of escape, notthat there was any place in the hospital that didn't seem to have infectedmilling around in it. If there was such a place, they had no way of getting toit. There was only one option, the windows, large thick hunks of glass thatwent from floor to ceiling. Joan ran to the nearest one and began bashing on itwith the butt of her rifle, she could see the ground below, a twenty-foot drop,likely onto either hard concrete or some sort of landscaping that was likely toimpale them. She was fine with either option; it was better than being torn toshreds.
Clara was there next to her, bashing the window with herfists. Joan could feel them closing in on her. Their moans and groans grew inintensity. She wondered if they could still salivate. She felt the firstoutstretched hand grasp at the back of her shirt, pulling her towards it. Shespun around to deliver a blow with her rifle, when the creature's headexploded, blood, bone, and brains spraying out the side of the infected's head.It fell to the ground, and more took its place.
More gunshots followed, their sound echoing off the coldwalls of the hospital. There was no time to look and see where the gunshotswere coming from. The mass was too thick. Clara and Joan still had to fight. Assoon as one infected's head exploded in pink mist, another would step up overits body, hands outstretched. The best they could do was shove and push themback, shuffling along the wall of windows towards where the shots were comingfrom.
It seemed like the shooting and the shoving went on forhours. Clara's arms felt like spaghetti noodles that had been boiled for tenminutes. There wasn't much strength in them, and she could see Joan failing outof the corner of her eye, wedging her rifle between herself and the infected infront of her, leaning back, just out of arm's reach, like a bully tormenting asmaller child on a playground.
"It's clear! Run this way!" yelled a voice.
Clara risked a look. The way was mostly clear. At the endof the waiting room area, she saw people in green and brown camouflage. Some ontheir knees, others standing behind them, rifles aimed and firing. They stuckto the wall as they advanced, their ears ringing with gunfire. It was going tohappen; they were going to escape. Tears came to Clara's eyes.
"Not that close," a tall man wearing sunglassesyelled, a five o'clock shadow blanketing his jaw. They stopped against thewall. The man looked at them, his mood a mystery due to the sunglasses."Strip."
The command was simple. The ability to fulfill it evensimpler still, but they hesitated. Where were they? In what world was it ok fora man to tell them to strip? To take off their clothes and expose themselves?This was not normal. All of these thoughts ran through Clara's head, but allshe managed to say was, "What?"
The man looked at her, shouting above the gunfire,"Strip or you ain't coming with us. We've already lost too many men topeople that have looked fine, only to have some hidden wound. So take your clothesoff, or take your chances with them."
Clara looked over her shoulder, seeing Joan's worriedface and behind her, the still moving stream of infected that were pouring outof the hospital's cafeteria. Clara also knew there were more below. If her bestchance of getting out alive was to take her clothes off, then fuck it, off theycame. She pulled her shirt over her head, and dropped it onto the floor. Shebent over to undo the Velcro straps on her walking boot, and then she slippedthat off as well. As she did, she noticed that Joan was just standing there.
"Do what they say, Joan. It's our only way out ofhere." Joan still hesitated. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper,"For all we know they'll be dead soon, and it won't matter if they've seenyou naked."
Joan began to disrobe, quickly, with a minimal amount ofsexiness. When they were both standing there, fully naked, the soldier spoke upagain, "Spin."
They twirled about letting the soldier eyeball them,while the other soldiers continued firing. Clara wondered how their nightmarecould get any worse.
"Alright, put your clothes back on. Is there anyoneelse alive in this hospital?"
Clara pulled her jeans on, balancing on her one goodankle. "Not that we've seen."
Joan spoke up, as she pulled her clothes on at alightning pace. "But we haven't been everywhere. There could still be sometrapped in the rest of the hospital."
The firing had stopped. Behind Joan and Clara was a sightthat neither hoped to ever see again. The floor was littered with the dead.Some were patients, some were hospital staff, there were even a few policemenin the pile.
Behind the soldiers, the door to the stairwell burstopen, and a stream of the dead poured through it, cutting off their escape andstartling the soldiers at the same time.
"Move!" the soldier in the sunglasses yelled."Martinez, get us out of here."
A tan soldier ran down the path through the middle of thewaiting rooms, hopping over bodies, and put his assault rifle to his eye. Hefired three shots at the thick glass windows, shattering them. The othersoldiers fired into the mass, backing up in an orderly manner. Still the deadswarmed.
Martinez pulled a rope from his backpack and looked for aplace to tie it off. "There's nothing to tie it to, sir!"
The soldier in the sunglasses looked at Martinez, andwith ice in his voice, he said, "Then tie it around yourself."
Martinez looked at the mass of dead headed their way. Heknew how much ammo he had, and he knew that the others must be in the sameboat. They were running low, this could be the end of him, but he did his duty.He tied the rope around his waist, and braced himself against the lip of thewall. It
