King of Zombie Heath

Day 35 - My doctor thinks I'm a racist, homophobic misogynist.

No water in the bathrooms. Haven't had a shower for days and taking a dump has become just one more reason not to wake up in the morning. The power's failing, been kicking in and out for days. Out mostly. Had about an hour this evening, before the florescent lights went out. Still off as I write this in the dim glow of an emergency light. It's getting chilly inside, in spite of the double glazing and wall insulation.

Still no sign of Major Sanders. Probably exchanged us for a nuclear bunker. Action Man, Chimp and Freckles are pecking around like headless chickens, quaking in their snow-boots. Still haven't seen Soldier X. Keeps himself to himself. I've been told by an unreliable source (Dick, who, even though he's just as locked up as I am, has supernatural connections to the grapevine) that he's some kind of S.A.S. bad-ass and sits on the roof all day looking through the scope of his sniper-rifle and screaming Why me? Why me? at the top of his voice. To cut a long boring story short, his squad got ambushed by Angel Dusters and he was the only survivor. Had to shoot two of his mates.

Ahh... Guilt... a weighty emotion. I don't envy those lesser souls dragged deep into the murky waters of their turbulent lives by it. I guess I'm lucky. Were I so encumbered, I wouldn't be the man I am.

I'm asking myself why on earth Soldier X had to shoot his buddies. Did he not like them? Was it for the pure, sadistic pleasure of it, or was he making good on one of those gay "save the last bullet for me" pacts best buddies make when one of them mentions a "bad feeling" about whatever suicide mission they're up for. Doc once told me that bad feelings are self-fulfilling prophcies driving us to imprudent attempts to save ourselves from them. Death being the ultimate imprudence. Can't top that. 

Anyway, for a second time in not very long, I thank the creator that the Chinese are still happy in China because, if a squad of highly-trained ass-kickers like the S.A.S. can get creamed by a handful of naked jiggling junkies, we'd be eating crispy fried cockroach and doing Tai Chi every morning instead of watching Breakfast TV with a bowl of Cornflakes.

Today we had a meeting. My Bad, accompanied by Hulk, Big Bro, the Blinged-up Turd Burgler and a skinny little Pakistani wearing black NHS specs and a grey polyester zip-up jacket I'd never clapped eyes on before, came to give us a man-to-man. Woman to men really, cos My Bad did all the talking. Basically, she made us promise (please tell me she can't be that naive) to take our meds and be good. In return, she unlocked our door (daytimes only, for the time being) to give us a bit more freedom, now that Herr Sanders is no more than a bad memory and no one important has come to take charge. It was My Bad's idea. Big Bro wasn't convinced and wanted to vote. Hulk was on the fence and Bling and Big Bro were dead set against it. The little Pakistani didn't say a word. My Bad brushed them all off by telling them that, as the only doctor on site, she'd make the decisions about what was best for the patients. Big Bro refused to give her the keys, until she reminded him why he was still alive.

I asked her about the squaddies. She said not to worry, she'd talked to them, and was of the opinion (I'm paraphrasing) that they were more afraid of the psychos outside than those inside. I asked how many people were still in the hospital, she said nineteen, not including the squaddies. I asked her when the rest of the staff were coming back and she gave me one of Doc's incredulous looks and told me to wake up, this isn't Cloud Cuckoo Land anymore. There're probably none left alive to come back, and if any of them do, you can be sure it won't be because they want to come back to work. So, I asked, if no one's left, who's running the hospital? She was, she said.

Now, don't get me wrong, My Bad's a lovely gal, and it's thanks to her trying to kill me that I'm still alive (see later) but her being in charge now that Walt wasn't was a little worrying, given that a) she's so young b) she's so puny c) she's a woman and d) she's a "bloody foreigner" with a doctor's certificate in hypnosis or shamanism she probably bought for fifty naira in some shady Lagos street-market.