Bryson and Paige made their way quickly through Bridgeport back to back, knives out, guns at attention, ready to fire at a moments notice should something go wrong here. To anyone watching from the outside, the duo would look as if they were performing some sort of synchronized dance, moving in perfect harmony when they struck out with their blades, right into the skulls of any roamer that came too close, fighting their way through town towards the hospital.
Each was as attentive as the other, terrified to let anything happen to the person that had their back. The person they loved. The hospital lay in the center of town, on a street called Ingram. If they followed sixteenth street through town, it would almost be a straight shot there.
Sixteenth street was a long stretch of road lined with houses and neighborhoods, even a school. Bryson's stomach knotted as they passed the older brick building, Fitzgerald Elementary staring proudly back at them in bright gold letters above the front door. He began to wonder about the children that used to attend here, before society collapsed. Where were they now? Dead? Orphaned? ...Roamers? The thought of children turned roamers made him sick. He hoped he'd never have to see that with his own eyes.
Roamers came at them from alley ways and side streets as they passed, their eyes hungry and crazed. Jaws snapping like rabid animals. There weren't enough roaming the streets to overrun them but it was still enough that there was a small crowd surrounding them. Bryson kicked one square in the chest, pushing it away as he drove his blade into the skull of one that went for his arm. The knife sank all the way down to the hilt, causing him to have to give a quick yank to free it. It sounded something like a suction cup as the blade was freed. Shoving the lifeless corpse at another roamer, he sent them tumbling to the ground as he went for his next victim.
He desperately wanted to turn around, to check on Paige, to make sure she wasn't getting overrun. But he knew she was capable enough to handle herself. If she cries out, I'll help her.
But she never did, albeit a few occasional grunts and thuds as she struck out, disabling her opponents, the infectious monsters that terrorized them. She had come a long way since he first saw her standing there helpless on top of that bus, he thought, pushing onward in a fast paced trot, Paige following his lead.
Another group of roamers shuffled after them, the awkward half-run half trot of the dead. "Leave them. We don't have time to take care of them all. We need to save our energy."
He took solace when Paige's hand slipped into his. He glanced over his shoulder at her. Her face was flushed, strands of dark hair matted to her forehead. Blood covered her hands, blending with his. It hit him then that seeing her like that, covered in blood and gore, running through a strange city with roamers on their trail, he still thought she still looked gorgeous. She was fierce and beautiful and strong. A survivor.
They were passing a gas station now, pale hands scratching at the windows from the inside, trying yet failing to get to them as they jogged past. Apparently, zombies couldn't open doors. Not that he was complaining or anything.
"There's a big group up ahead." Bryson breathed, spotting a cluster of roamers heading toward them from up the road, the wind carrying their moans and animalistic hissing through the air.
"What do we do?" There was a hint of panic in Paige's voice as she glanced behind, at the roamers that were following them. There was a group coming from both directions.
"Follow me. "They darted into someones yard, or more like, what used to be someone's yard. He'd never know what happened to the previous owners but he could take a pretty good bet, he thought, as he jumped the fence with ease.
"Roamer's can't jump 'em. But we sure can." Paige didn't have time to argue or agree with his logic as the nearest group closed in, the roamers slamming into the chain link, rattling it against the metal rods that held the fence up. The fence wouldn't hold long, but it would slow them down and buy them a little time.
Eventually the weight of multiple rotting bodies would knock it down and they'd be able to follow them again.They darted across the backyard, jumping the next fence that led to a different yard. And so on and so forth. Bryson paused at the next fence, jamming his knife into a single roamer that stood in their path, her long, pale arms reaching for them over the barrier.
With a spray of blood she collapsed, her dirty hair covering her face, which Paige was grateful for. She looked so young. Maybe a teenager. But in a world like this, until they found a cure, it was them or us. That roamer, or Bryson. All the people she loved. She knew her choice without even having to think about it. Guilt and hesitation were not emotions that survived out here.
They were both out of breath by the time the hospital loomed above them, a pristine building stretching toward the heavens. It looked undisturbed for the most part, besides a few broken windows. Drapes fluttered out into the daylight, ghostly specters peeking from the top floors.
"Where do we need to go? The front doors?"
She shook her head at him. "No. We need to find the trauma room. Our best bet is to go in through the emergency room doors."
Bryson didn't have to ask what the trauma room was. It was where they performed surgery on anyone with a substantial wound; car crashes, burns, stabs, and most importantly, gun shots. They ran across the street hand in hand, their footsteps echoing loudly as they found the ramp to the Emergency Room, probably where ambulances used to drop off patients.
The doors, marked with the symbolic red cross, which had at one time been automatic, had to be pried open, a sick smell hitting them instantly from inside the hospital.
"Ugh. Gross." Paige complained, stepping gingerly through the door with her arm over her nose, peeking slowly around the corner. It was undoubtedly the smell of death and rot, mixed with something else, consuming the once sterile smell of the hospital. The emergency room lay empty, but several blood stains marred the floor and walls, along with a few questionable chunks that he tried not to focus on.
Just breath through your mouth and keep moving. Zach needs you.
A roamer, who appeared to once be a middle aged woman, stood behind the protective glass where she must have once did paperwork, wearing a bright green pair of scrubs. She clamped her jaws at them, unable to reach them from the other side of the glass. Little did she know that when she woke up for work all those mornings ago that would be the last time. Who could have ever guessed they'd have a fate such as this?
"You know, the last time I was in a hospital was when mine got overrun in Portland," Paige had a nostalgic look in her eye, her voice wistful as she recalled. "Ours was much bigger than this. Apparently we had a lot more patients too- the halls were flooded with roamers when I escaped. But here... it's so silent."
Bryson mulled this over. She was right; hospitals had a huge carrying capacity. So then, where were all of the patients? And by that, he meant, where were all the roamers?
"Maybe they all escaped outside, to look for more people to eat." He threw out the suggestion as they picked their way through a hallway. Several trays scattered the floor, old remnants of food letting off a putrid smell. Several papers fluttered in an unseen draft, as if waving them on. Paige stopped to check one of the signs hanging on the wall, veering them left.
"I don't know, I guess that's possible. Here we are."
The trauma room was big, with five operating tables, each with a large overhead light that no longer worked. Shelves full of supplies lined the back wall, along with waist high tables that held multiple instruments. There were even some coolers that resembled fridges, earning his curiosity.
"Blood bank." Paige called out to him as he went to open the door to one of them.
"For infusions?" He guessed, earning him a proud smile.
"Very good. Now I need you to find some sutures. They should be somewhere near those lab tables."
He stared at her, not sure what she meant. She was rummaging through the shelves, pulling down a couple of metal instruments before shoving them into her bag. She looked at him questioningly when she saw he hadn't moved.
"I don't know what sutures are..." She let out a sigh, rolling her eyes as if it was common knowledge.
"They're kinda like stitches. They should be in a plastic package. Grab a couple of them. And grab some latex gloves while you're at it."
He got to work, shoving the supplies in his pack. "Alright, lets get out of here."
"Not so fast," Paige admonished, peeking out of the door, her knife ready. "We need to stop by the pharmacy. If his wound gets infected and he has no antibiotics, this will have all been for nothing."
In that moment, Bryson was extremely grateful they'd found Paige. She'd done so much for them already, and without her, his brother didn't stand a chance.
"Right, lets go. I think it's this way." He didn't know why, but this time, they jogged down the hallway, Bryson in the lead. A roamer limped toward them, but didn't deter them. He didn't even have to stop as he drove his knife into its skull, throwing it aside as they continued on. When they rounded the next corner, though, they both stopped suddenly, eyes going wide.
"I think we found out why there aren't too many roamers here."
Charred bodies littered the hallways in piles, scorched so badly that they were hardly recognizable. Dark soot licked up the walls, which were peeling away in burnt layers. The smell was awful, smoke mixed with rot and burnt flesh and mildew.
"It looks like someone came through here with a flamethrower!" Paige gasped, shock coloring her voice. "Only the bodies are burnt and the areas surrounding them. What in the-?" One of the burnt hands slowly reached for her ankle, causing her to step back in disgust. "Oh my god. Let's get out of here."
The rest of the hospital was much the same, burnt bodies covering the floors. They realized then that they were on the level where most of the patients were held. Upon further inspection, they even found most of the hospital beds burned as well, the patients must have been lit on fire while they lay there.
Whatever this was, it had not been done on accident; someone had come through and taken care of all the roamers here. The only question was, who? The government? Citizens of Bridgeport? Why did they clear the hospital, and then just leave?
The door to the pharmacy, which was attached to the gift shop, chimed with a bell as they creeped inside, pulling out their flashlights. There was a little light streaming in from the windows, but Paige needed to be able to read the small labels on the pill bottles quickly and efficiently. Bryson hung back to guard the door as she hurried into the back, between the shelves, the goldmine of medication.
Shining her flashlight from shelf to shelf, Paige searched for the correct antibiotics she needed. Where were they? This was taking so long, too long, maybe, for all she knew. Zach could be bleeding out the last of his life force right at this very moment. And that thought scared the hell out of her.
Not just because she could potentially lose a friend, who if she was completely honest with herself, she considered family more than anything; but also because she was afraid of the man Bryson might become if he lost his brother. That, she knew, would change him deeply. She hoped she'd never have to see that Bryson, the broken side.
A single bottle caught her eye as she skimmed over the various names, her eyes lighting up. There it was! That was it, the one they needed. Now they could get the hell out of here. Her hand wrapped around the bottle as she slid her bag off of her shoulder, ready to toss it in. What are the odds that there would be one bottle left?
She nearly jumped out of her skin as a shadow arose, a pale arm darting through the shelf, latching onto her arm. The hand, which was rather large, was cold as ice as it yanked, trying to pull her arm right to the roamers greedy mouth. Somehow, she'd missed the roamer when she'd come back here- she hadn't looked between all the shelves! Pulling her knife free, she severed the hand from the arm, falling back into the set of shelves behind her.
She watched in horror as the roamer leaned into the shelf in front of her, trying to push its way through so it could get to her. It's frenzied eyes were focused on her throat as the shelf began to fall, about to crush her. She dropped to the ground, covering her head with her hands. Pill bottles shattered open as the shelf tipped, sounding like thunderous rain as thousands of tiny capsules fell to the floor, bouncing and rolling on the linoleum tiles.
With her head still covered, she could feel the weight of the shelves, along with the roamer, crushing her, pinning her in place. She was trapped, unable to move even an inch.
This is it, she thought, closing her eyes, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming her.
The roamer, which was laying on top of the overturned shelf, snapped his jaws at her, his teeth closing around her ponytail, tearing into it like a rabid dog, barely missing her skin. That was when she screamed. One bite was all it would take. One bite, and it was game over, just like Tori, her friend from Portland that Zach had shot in the barn. She wasn't ready to die. Zach was counting on her.
Bryson let out a loud roar, full of anger. She swore it shook the air around her as some of the weight lifted, and she watched Bryson fling the roamer across the floor, toppling yet another shelf. He dove on top of it, driving his knife over and over into its now sunken skull, breathing heavily.
As if waking up from a dream he stopped abruptly, blinking a few times before finally turning his eyes to her. Realization kicked in as he jumped to his feet, grunting as he pulled the shelf off of her. She crawled out, her hand going to the back of her neck to check for bite marks. She couldn't stop the shaking that quickly spread from her hands to her core. Had she been bitten? She hadn't felt a bite, but with the adrenaline, she might not have been able to feel the pain...Her fingers brushed her abused ponytail aside, running over the soft skin, greeted by something warm and sticky.
Blood. Oh no. Please no.
"Paige..." Bryson's voice was thick as he stared at her, eyes wide with horror, zeroing in on her blood stained hand. She sank to the floor, resting her head in her free hand; the other still clutched Zach's antibiotics. And then... she laughed. Not just a small laugh, either- no, she laughed, gut wrenching, tear inducing, almost crazily.
Bryson stepped closer, looking at her as if she was a lunatic before brushing her hair aside. He had to see this for himself. Besides the circumstances, goosebumps rose on her flesh as his hand brushed across her neck and down to her collarbone.
"You're not bit."
"No. I'm okay." It hadn't been her blood! She was going to be alright!
"Why are you laughing?" A small smile spread across his face as he stared at her quizzically. Pulling herself together, she took a deep breath, standing up.
"Relief? Shock? I don't know. But here's what I do know. We need to get the hell out of here."