LIZZIE WOKE SWEATING. GOD, AM I feverish? She put her hand to her forehead. You're being paranoid. It was the covers; she kicked them off.
The clock read 5:35 AM, but she was wide awake. She felt tired, but didn't want to go back to sleep. She sat up and looked out the window. It was a dark, damp November morning. The crescent moon shone through a gap in the clouds.
Lizzie felt jealous of the moon as she got out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The moon always returned, even after her darkest hour. Lizzie had no idea how she was going to come back from all that had happened. She poured a cup of yesterday's coffee and put it in the microwave. Then she fixed herself instant oatmeal.
After breakfast she stepped outside into the pre-dawn air. It was cold, but not freezing. She shivered and zipped her coat. Yesterday she looked for food, and someone left alive. Today she had a different goal.
Destinación: El hospital. Though her father spoke Spanish and her original last name was Guerrero, the only Spanish she knew was from Dora the Explorer and song lyrics: "Uno, dos, tres, catorce" and "Si no me quieres, librame." Lo siento, Papa. Lizzie hit the street, and headed up the opposite direction beside the freeway.
At the end of the street she took the trail leading to her old elementary school, Sunnyland. The clouds had cleared away and the sliver of a moon appeared stark in the growing daylight. She slipped through the shadows of the trees until she came to the one Jayce said looked like an old man's face. It stared at her with mournful eyes.
She came out at the War Memorial and walked toward the school. It was strange to see the play equipment, with its faded primary colors, silent and empty.
Lizzie left the school behind and crossed James Street. She felt a tingling on her neck again like someone was watching her. This time she stepped behind a car and ducked down. Sure enough, her hungry acquaintance from yesterday was following her.
"Shit," she whispered. She should have brought the gun. Lizzie looked through the semi-tinted windows of the car. He'd seen her and was walking straight toward her.
"Hey, dog-collar man, you hungry?" She took out another Snickers bar, peeled back the wrapper and held it up for him to see, laid it on the hood of the car, and backed away.
A big, dumb smile lit up his face when he saw her. While he devoured his treat, Lizzie hopped a fence and cut across a couple backyards to lose him. She reached the end of the row of houses. Exposed to the street again, she ran.
She reached the hospital, her nerves live-wired, Lizzie hopped in an unlocked car, closed the door, and watched the way she had come. Her fingers found their way to her mouth. Don't chew your nails. It was always Mama's voice saying that.
She'd picked up a tail. He acted like a dog, a dog-man.
After a while, she decided she was safe, safe. Safe from Spike, the dog-man. Lizzie smiled to herself―Spike suited him. She headed to the hospital doors. Like at St. Luke's, a sign in front said, "Danger! DO NOT enter! Quarantine!" She kicked the sign over as she passed.
The automatic doors opened as she neared. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," she muttered, quoting Dante. Air whooshed out like she had unsealed a tomb, carrying the reek of death and bleach. Her stomach heaved and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
A body slumped over the information desk. Others lay at odd angles on and off the seats and stretchers in the waiting room. As she pushed further in she had to pull her shirt up over her face against the smell. Everything screamed at her to run away. Her imagination went into hyper drive. She envisioned the dead bodies rising around her. This is real life, not the movies, she told herself, trying to shake the images.
At the directory on the wall she looked for the elevator. She hit the up button. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw an arm move. She hurried in and punched Floor #3.
The elevator doors sealed together with a bang. Her heart lurched. What if they didn't open again? What if the elevator plummeted down and smashed her to bits? But it glided upward like it should. As it came to a slow stop at the third floor, Lizzie tugged the doors open.
There was a morbid orderliness here: bodies stacked neatly against the wall. This time Lizzie's stomach upended and most of her breakfast landed in a potted plant. She rinsed her mouth in a water fountain and got a handle on herself, scanning door numbers for 314.
A shuffle sounded behind her. She froze. Get a grip, Lizzie. Stop freaking out. It's your imagination. It had to be. But no. Something moved again. She swiveled slowly. A hand reached out for her and she screamed.