Chapter 24 #2
Down the hall, a small green sign tucked up in the corner indicates a stairwell. We’re making our way toward it when Greg blurts out, “Hey, wait. This says there’s a cafeteria here.”
“You can wait until we get back to the house to get a snack,” Blake snaps at him.
“No, not to eat now. Although I am kinda hungry after throwing up. But we should stock up on food and bring it back.” The group is collectively impressed with Greg’s quick thinking. We smile like proud parents who just watched their child score a touchdown for the first time in peewee football.
“Fine, let’s split up. One duo can grab extra supplies, while the other two go for the insulin,” JJ says.
Blake nods in agreement.
“Okay, Greg, follow me.” JJ pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll head to the cafeteria.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I’m not going with Blake,” I say. “JJ can come with me to the ICU and keep watch while I search for the meds.”
“I’m not going with him either,” Greg argues. “Besides, Casey, Blake can watch your six better than anyone. He was a Navy Seal, after all.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m some infectious virus,” Blake grumbles.
“Well, you are.” I smirk.
“Rock, paper, scissors for it?” Greg holds out his hand in a fist over his other palm.
“Seriously?” Blake huffs.
“Deal,” I say, holding my fist out. “On shoot?”
Greg raises a brow. “Of course. Best of three?”
“I’m not a heathen. Obviously, best of three,” I say, pounding my fist down into my cupped palm.
My punishment for losing to Greg is crouched in front of me, scanning every inch of the hallway on the third floor.
His steps are silent, and he moves with a swiftness and surety of purpose that one can’t help but be impressed with.
When Blake deems this section of hallway safe, he motions for me to join him.
“All good?” I ask.
“Yeah, for now.” He slowly moves along the hallway, following the signage directing us to the ICU. “I’m really glad, by the way,” Blake whispers.
“Glad about what?”
“That you changed your mind.”
“Changed my mind?” I ask, confusion twisting my face.
“When you won RPS, you picked me to go with you. I am the best guy for the job, so that was smart on your part.” Blake pats me on the shoulder.
“I didn’t win. I lost. That’s why I’m with you.”
“Feels like a win to me,” he says with a smirk.
“That makes one of us. Now, shut up and keep your eyes peeled instead of on me.” I spin my finger in circles at him, his body turning around in response.
The situation up on the third floor is even worse than ground level.
The ICU likely had some of the first people turn into biters, and the scenery before me reflects that in the most gruesome way.
Bodies are piled on top of one another, more densely packed and further decayed than before.
Some at the bottom of the piles have turned into rotting sludge, their essence seeping across the floor in a yellowish pus, moistening the black death streaks marking the halls.
Most of the bodies look like carved turkeys after a Thanksgiving meal, small pieces of graying meat loosely hanging from bone.
The hallway appears to have a dark cloud suspended in the air as what has to be hundreds of thousands of flies buzz about for the remaining morsels of food.
“It looks like we’re about to walk into hell,” Blake whispers back to me.
“That’s cuz we are.”
Pushing through the haze of insects, mouths closed tight to avoid inhaling any flies, we scan the edges of the hall, checking every room we pass to ensure no biters are waiting in ambush.
Halfway down the hall, we both jolt back in panic at movement from one of the bodies on the floor.
It’s a biter, but it’s so weak and decayed, it can’t even stand.
Its legs are nothing but bone, covered in scratches and bite marks.
It lifts its head, its eyes bouncing back and forth, widening with excitement.
The creature reaches its arm out, planting a hand on the ground as it tries to pull itself forward, but the bone gives out, and its skull smacks down against its arm.
With a look of desperation, it begins gnawing at its own skin, chewing the dried flesh like a piece of jerky that’s been left out in the sun.
As we continue, we notice half a dozen or more biters like this one, too weak to move.
“What’s wrong with them?” Blake asks, crouched down in front of one that’s trying to eat the bones of a nearby corpse.
“They’re starving,” I say, looking at the caved-in face of another biter, which is essentially just a skull with rotting eyeballs.
Near the biter, a body wearing a white doctor’s coat is leaned up against the wall. I reach into its pocket and fish around.
“Are you robbing the dead now?” Blake asks, staring at my hand with a look of shame.
I pull out a name badge with a barcode on the back, the laminate still glistening in the dim light.
“No, just borrowing. If the backup generators are keeping the reserve power running, then the pharmacy will still be locked.” I hold up the badge. “And this will open it.”
“Good thinking, Pearson.”
“I know.” I stand and begin moving down the hall with more confidence, since the area seems clear of any biters capable of doing us harm.
At the nurses’ station in the middle of the floor, a body is draped over the desk, arms hanging down to the ground with only the bones left in place.
I hop over it and open the drawers along the wall, pulling out untouched supplies.
Gauze, tongue depressors, disposable gloves, iodine, and a half dozen other items.
“Come here.” I wave Blake over. “Turn around.” Unzipping his backpack, I stuff everything inside it until his pack is so full, it becomes difficult to zip closed.
“What’s in there?”
“First aid supplies, pain meds, disinfectant.”
“Good find,” he says, readjusting the bag on his shoulders to account for the increased weight.
“All right, we’re almost to the pharmacy room. Follow me.” I take the lead again, heading down the hall. I can finally see the med room. A badge scanner is mounted outside it, and I take off at a jog, passing by the final few rooms.
Suddenly, I’m slammed into the wall. A shriek pierces right into my ear as two hands dig at my sides, fingers pressing hard as they try to puncture my skin.
I whip my head around just in time to see the open maw of a biter, closing in on my nose, ready to rip it clean off my face. I stifle my own scream.
A flash of metal fills the open hole, Blake’s knife stabbing down through its skull and into its mouth. The biter slinks to the ground, its jaw still chomping up and down like a set of windup teeth.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I wipe the saliva from my face and try not to think too hard on whether I just pissed myself.
“You’re welcome.” Blake smiles, pulling the knife from the creature’s head.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I wave off his heroics, even though he did just save my life.
He faces me in a huff, squinting. “Are you gonna stay mad at me for forever?” Blake snaps.
“No . . . just until you die. Or I die. Actually, if you would have just let that thing kill me, I would have been done being mad at you.”
“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head in frustration.
I ignore him and swipe the badge across the reader. We’ve got more important things to focus on than feelings. The small light turns from red to green, and the lock clicks out of place as I push the door open. This time, I let Blake take the lead, scanning the room to make sure it’s safe to enter.
“Clear,” he whispers, gently pulling me in and closing the door behind us.
“You should stay out in the hall,” I say.
“Why?”
“In case there are more biters like the one that just attacked me. We don’t want to be surprised when we try and make a quick exit, nor do I want to get trapped in here. There’s only one way out.”
He starts to open his mouth like he’s going to argue with me, but instead he nods and heads out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.
I make a beeline to the refrigerated cabinet, hoping it’s still working off the generator reserve.
A wave of cool air hits my face, and glistening in front of me like crystals are more than twenty-five bottles of insulin, safe and intact.
I grab all of them, stuffing them into my backpack, careful not to break them.
I scan the room, noticing the shelves are mostly still stocked and untouched since the world ended.
Dozens and dozens of bottles of antibiotics, cholesterol and blood pressure medications, stronger painkillers, muscle relaxers, liver and gastrointestinal medications—you name it, it’s here, waiting to be plucked like a ripe apple from a tree.
“This is a gold mine,” I whisper to myself, grabbing everything in sight.
Once my bag is stuffed full, I open the door, expecting to find Blake standing guard, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I frantically glance around, hoping to lay eyes on him.
“Blake!” I yell in a whisper. “Blake!”
I jog down the hall on my tiptoes, trying not to make any noise as I look into each room I pass.
My head darts from left to right in panicked jerks.
Room after room, each one is empty, and I begin to worry even more, contemplating the worst. I skid to a stop, twisting backward as I gaze into an ICU room behind me on the left.
Standing just inside the doorframe, staring into it, is Blake, his back covered with the bulging rucksack.
“Blake!” I whisper, trying to get his attention.
At first, I think I hear him respond in a low grunt, not saying any words, instead just making a sound to let me know he heard me.
But his body doesn’t move, and the grunt turns into a moan, steady and longer than the first one.
I creep behind Blake and peer around him, finally seeing what it is he’s staring at.
In the middle of the room, a biter sways back and forth, emaciated to the point its ribs are showing, and its skin hangs loose on its bones like all the muscle has melted away.
It’s barely able to stand as it inches toward Blake.
The biter’s arms are stretched out in front like a mummy, trying to keep its balance.
“Blake, let’s go,” I whisper to him.
He doesn’t respond. What the hell is his problem? Why is he just staring at this thing, frozen in time, like when we first entered the hospital?
“Blake! What the fuck are you doing? We’ve gotta go.” Still nothing.
I reach forward and yank on the bag slung over his shoulders, but his body is rigid, promptly snapping back into place. I try to move around him, but he fills the doorframe. The biter is now less than six feet away from him, so I yank on him again.
“Blake!” I scream at the top of my lungs, filling the entire floor of the hospital with my voice, hoping that’ll snap him back to reality. His head rattles, and he glances back at me, finding the source of the scream, only to see me pointing behind him, a look of horror on my face.
He turns just as the biter lunges at him, using its last bit of strength to reach for his body. Blake raises his arm in front of his face, shielding himself. The biter sinks its teeth right into his arm; blood secretes from his flesh, dripping off his elbow and onto the floor.
My eyes nearly split at the corners. No. No. No. No. No. This can’t be happening . . .