I take my time walking across the parking lot, being careful not to step on any of the body parts scattered around the hospital. My knife is clutched in my left hand, ready for use, though I hope I won't need it. I've only encountered three walkers that I've had to kill so far on my little trips here and back, and neither of those three times went over too well. I haven't been bitten, but they were all pretty close calls.
The door creeks as I push it open just enough to squeeze my body and my duffel bag through. I've been bringing supplies back to my apartment from the hospital each time I've been here to check up on him, so I've acquired a lot of medical supplies in case I need to use it. I quietly make my way down the hallway and stop at the room he's been in for the past three months. I sit on the bed outside of his room that blocks the entrance and crack the door open, briefly peeking in just to make sure he's still there. He is, so I continue on down to the pharmacy after slipping my knife back into its holder safely on my hip. My goal today is to stock up on antibiotics and painkillers, so that's what I do.
I quietly fill my black duffle up with as many pill bottles, syrenges, needles, and IV bags as I can fit inside. Then, I start making my way back towards his room. I thought I faintly heard someone calling for a nurse, but I brush it off as nothing and assume it's just my brain faintly recalling a memory from before the turn. I stop by the nurse's station to sit my bag down, get out the IV bag he needs, and pick up his file and a pen. I've been taking notes on his case and hopefully he'll be waking up from his mini-coma soon.
As I make my way back from the nurse's station, I immediately notice that the bed is pushed away from the doorway to his room. I quickly tuck the file and IV bag under my arm and run into the room. He's missing from his bed and his IV tubing is laying all over the floor. He must have woken up and wondered off. I need to find him and explain everything to him before he finds out for himself.
Leaving the IV bag and patient file on the table, I quietly jog down the hallways looking for him. After a few minutes, I find him standing in front of the double doors looking at the walker hands desperately grasping at him through the cracks.
"Don't dead, open inside," I say from right behind him. He jumps, obviously startled from my voice.
"What does that mean?" He questions, taking a couple of steps back from me.
"It's supposed to say 'don't open, dead inside', but the idiots made it look like 'don't dead, open inside'," I try to joke with him.
"Who are you?" He reties his hospital gown and gives me a skeptical look. I can tell he's very confused as to what's going on, just like I predicted.
"I'm Doctor Zedler, but you can call me Beatrix. I was the trauma suergon who saved your life from your gunshot wound," I take a step closer to him, and he backs away. "It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure everything is fine with you. Can we go back to your room?"
"Yeah," he mutters and let's me take his arm so I can help him walk. "Why are there dead people in the hallways? Why are you the only person here?"
"Calm down, Mr. Grimes, you're going to get your blood pressure up. I'll explain everything once I make sure you're okay," he nods his head and I help him into the chair beside his bed.
"Can I ask questions while you're working? Or would that interfere with anything?" He asks while I gather my supplies. I had to get another IV needle, seeing as he ripped his out. I sit on the stool in front of him, pulling the vital's cart along with me.
"Of course, but you're probably going to think I'm insane. You must believe that this is real, because it is," I strap the blood pressure cuff on him and start to take his pulse.
YOU ARE READING
Zedler, M.D. // Daryl DixonFanfiction
Beatrix and Daryl had never met before. In fact, they lived two completely different lives. Beatrix lived in the city, right beside of the hospital, which is where she spent most of her time. Her favorite thing to do at work-besides work, of course...