My fingers clutched the steering wheel to keep from shaking as I sped down the road toward the only hospital around here that I knew. My machete kept a gun comfort in the passenger seat while I attempted to keep my mind away from worrying about Craig. I had to focus. I needed to get to the hospital, get blood and antibiotics, and get back. There was no room for worry and if I let it get the best of me, I'd make mistakes.
The plan was to get back before sundown, but that all depended on when I found everything in the building. I had traveled to the hospital once or twice with some people from the old group that was back at the apartment. When we went in, I usually stayed behind everyone else and took mental notes on the route we went. It was only a few twists and turns on the first floor when you went through an old emergency exit on the side of the building to get to a supply closet full of antibiotics. That was as far as we had ever had to go, which left the rest of the hospital unexplored and dangerous. Whenever we went in, it was a tossup of how many snappers would be in the halls. However, it was manageable. There was only a small fraction of killing we had to do as it was pure luck finding a suitable supply closet for our needs that close to an exit and for the simple fact that we only needed to go when it was necessary, which surprisingly wasn't too often.
Goosebumps traveled along my body as I started to realize just how deep I'd have to go in there to retrieve the blood for Craig. It was manageable with a group. Now, I was all by myself. And honestly, I was terrified. A small voice begged me to drive far, far away and to leave Craig die for my personal safety. I hadn't heard that voice in a while and it scared me even more now. I wasn't a coward, but walking in on a suicide mission wasn't appealing.
You're his only hope, I reminded myself sternly. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat. You owe him.
Snappers caught my eye, tearing my attention away from my thoughts momentarily. As I propelled the vehicle down the street I noticed that more and more snappers were appearing. My stomach began tying itself in knots at this and my knuckles turned whiter as my grasp tightened on the steering wheel. I didn't want to be one of them, roaming around, brain dead, craving human flesh, and possibly taking someone's loved one away from them.
My muscles tensed and my lungs froze themselves as the hospital came into view. It was a large glass building for a suburb, but small compared to the skyscrapers in the city. It was also far more intact than the city, which from stories was mostly burned down from bombs and filled with snappers. It wasn't a place anyone wanted to be, but because of that, it was said to be full of supplies. The city wasn't too far from here, but it would take more than blood for me to venture in there.
Before I realized, I had already pulled up to the side of the building where the exit was. For a second, I sat there with my white knuckles and stared out the window. Then, just like snapping a twig in half, I came out of my trance. There was no choice here. There was a decision and I had to do what I had to do, because I couldn't live with myself if I let him die, too.
Reaching into the backseat I grabbed onto the bag I had packed and opened it. I accounted for the hunting knives I had packed along with a flashlight I had tossed in there. The light wasn't too strong as the batteries were aged, but it would have to do. Taking out the flashlight, I looked at my machete and the gun. I could only carry one, but it was a no brainer. If I shot off the gun snappers would swarm and I'd be screwed. Plus, I was tense enough already. Not holding the gun would probably be the best idea.
Slipping the bag over my shoulder, I put the flashlight in my mouth and clasped my hand around the machete. My lungs expanded as I swallowed hard. Time to go into the lion's den, I thought to myself as I pulled the exit door open.
The small light shined on two figures moving against the darkness. Feeling the flex of my muscles, I rose my machete and struck the first one, pushing its body off with a kick as moved back on my feet to get ready to strike the next one. For a second I felt a little dizzy, the lack of food hitting me hard. Seconds later, I managed to regain my composer and I continued down the hall.
Even though my group had previously cleared out all the fallen bodies and hospital beds, we couldn't wash away the blood. Dried splatters coated the walls along with gunshot holes, the shells left to decorate the floor. Whether they had hit their intended target, it was too hard to tell. All the damage and bodies made sense; the hospital was a large building with many rooms and was the go-to place when the virus hit. Before major outbreaks like this everyone went to the hospital and once people started turning into flesh-eating freaks, people didn't know how to react. That's probably were most of the first fatalities resulted from when shit first hit the fan. Whoever thought they were sick would go see a doctor. Then, the snapper's infected the doctors tending to them before the doctors even knew better. Once they were infected, they infected others after they turned. It was a cycle of utter chaos that erupted throughout the globe.
At this point, I was just a girl trying to make it in a dead filled aftermath of a world that self-destructed.
The bodies, blood, and bullets were only one of the new everyday things one experienced in this world, but at least they were something you could adapt to. A snapper's stench was something that hit hard every time you first came in contact with it. Some smells were worse than others, luckily this one didn't burn my nostrils too bad. I wouldn't have to tie the bandana I kept wrapped around the loophole of my jeans until later.
As I continued down the hall, the smell became more intense, but I only had to kill three more snappers. I began to lose myself in the darkness, the small path of light harsh on my eyes. It wasn't until I was coming up to the last turn that I noticed barely flickering lights on the ceiling. For a second, I thought they were sunlight. That is, until I realized that there weren't any windows and in all the times I'd come before, that light didn't exist. This was odd. There's no way I would've missed even the slightest of light in here. Plus, the generators had to have been exhausted months ago.
I shook my head, dismissing the possibilities of why the lights would be on. There weren't any more survivors. Not around here at least and especially in this hospital. We'd been here before. We didn't see anyone and the rest of the building was probably overwhelmed with snappers.
A frustrated sigh escaped my lips. I probably just missed the lights before. Either way, I wouldn't find the answer because I was looking for a different solution. I'd just keep my guard up even more than it already-
As I turned a corner something collided with my instantly, the impact cutting off my thought and causing my machete to fly out of my grasp and my flashlight to fall from my teeth. With the whizzing sound of a throat gurgling from the creature that fell on top of me, I realized instantly that what was on top of me was a snapper. The lower half of its face was gone, leaving what was left of her tongue hanging out with loose skin around it to graze my cheek. My fingers wrapped around her brown hair that was full of knots trying to keep her from biting me. Through the darkness all I could make out were the red, soulless, puffy bloodshot eyes that bore into mine.
Her hands clasped my shoulder, digging into my worn jean jacket as I tried to hold her off. Her skin was so flaky and moldy that I nearly ripped her hair from her scalp. It took everything to stop from gagging as I pushed away thoughts of panic. The weight of her body pressed upon mine with more than I had thought, but I managed to shove her off for a few seconds. It was all I needed.
I scrambled away from her, feeling up the ground for the handle of my machete. Fingers clasped around my ankle as I kicked away, becoming more frantic by the second and cursing myself for letting my focus go.
Instead of the machete, I found my bag. My fingers practically tore it open as I made for the hunting knife, grasping the handle as I moved to make contact with her forehead. The blade slid through with ease, coagulated blood curdling from the entry wound as I pulled it out. Taking a breath, I crawled over toward where the flashlight barely shone and scanned the floor for my machete. Once I was again collected, I stood up and glanced over at the lump on the ground.
The snapper had a ripped t-shirt and shorts on. It almost looked like she was my age; she seemed to be around the age of seventeen. At this I instantly felt a pang of sympathy for her, mostly because of the fact that she became one of them and I was spared. I was always spared.
I shook my head of my thoughts and collected myself once again. I needed to get the blood.
As I turned the corner, the medicine room was like a beacon in the darkness. Literally. The light was on. Cautiously, I moved toward it, my machete ready for a moment's notice. Once I walked in there, though, I didn't come into contact with anyone living or non-living. Instead, I got a different surprise. The antibiotics were nearly cleared out.
Anyone else would have cursed for the fact that so much was gone, but I didn't. Something warm grew in my chest, something nice. People had been here. Survivors. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had just overlooked them. This meant two things. The first being that Craig and I weren't the only ones. The second was that either these survivors were just passing by, or they were still in this hospital. Of course, I knew that these people weren't necessarily good people. Not everyone was good, I'd still have to be cautious. They could have also been bitten and turned by now, but there was the fact that they were here. Craig and I actually weren't the last one standing. There were people and maybe, just maybe things could go back to the way they were.
Ever since the pandemic happened, I've been trying to keep my hope. I had hope in the beginning when I thought the government would keep us safe. I thought there would be a cure in no time, like every broadcast had assured us. I thought we would be okay.
A lump formed in the pit of my throat and my veins went rigid. After I lost my parents, my brother became my priority, and I had to hold onto the hope even when things only got worse. I didn't like to think about my parents, much less him. I had been in a different group when we were attacked. I can't remember most of it, only certain things. After that day, I found an apartment building, cleared it out, and stayed by myself.
Then I saw Craig's group. At first I had thought they were just another illusion, as I was starting to lose myself after being alone for fifty four days with nothing but my cruel thoughts. I was quiet at first with them. After I let them in, I gave them some of my rations and I let them share my setup to recuperate. Whenever they tried to pull me into conversation, I walked away. It wasn't until Craig that I cracked. One night I just told him everything, spilling out my soul. I cried for hours and he just held me until I fell asleep. After that, he helped me cope. He brought me back on the wagon, got me to take care of myself again. For that, I owe him my life.
A moan snapped me back to reality, making me realize that I had to hurry up. I set my machete down and went over to the nearly cleared out rack and looked at what was there. There was still some useful items there that I could use and some antibiotics. I thought about it taking it all, but others would need stuff, too, so I took what I needed and I put it in the bag. Then, I picked up my machete, headed over to the threshold and looked out into the hall.
All I needed was the blood.
I moved into the hall at the ready with my machete and saw the snapper that had moaned heading towards me. It was a man: he was lanky in form and had scraggly gray hair. He wore what looked like a doctor's uniform, bites decorated his neck and arms. Despite the injuries, what still stood out most prominently were the red, puffy eyes. As they met mine he started toward me, and that's when I noticed that he had a limp. His right foot was bare with several toes chewed off, along with the skin that ran along his calf, a large bone protruding from the molded mess.
I gripped my machete in my hand and rushed toward the snapper, raising it as I sliced its head right in-between the eyes, connecting with the bridge of where its nose would have been if it were still there. As the snapper fell to the ground, I took a breath, feeling adrenaline coursing through my strained body.
I had to think now. I had no idea exactly where the blood would be. All I knew was that it was on the other half of the building, but I didn't know exactly where it would be. There has to be a directory around here somewhere. Maybe at the front desk...Yes, there would definitely be one there. I wasn't that far from the front entrance. I could make it there easily.
With my machete at the ready and my flashlight in my mouth, I started down the hall again, this time moving faster now. It was probably one o'clock now, meaning I had a few hours before sundown. Reassurance flooded through my soul. I would make it.
As I moved along, I kept running into snappers, but I never stopped. Instead, I just kept swinging and connecting the blade of my machete with their brains. The snappers were doctors, nurses, patients, and other things. Some looked like they were off the street, whereas some were police officers. Usually on the street there were the plain citizen nobodies, but here there were plenty assortments to see of all types of people.
It did not take long before my arm started to tire and the exhaustion started to overwhelm me. To my luck, the amount of snappers started to dwindle as I neared the front entrance. This was a little surprising to me. However, even though the number of snappers I came across went down, the number of bodies on the floors went up. The smell was becoming unbearable, and I had to stop for a second because I was gagging so badly. I hadn't seen this many dead bodies since the first week of the pandemic. Blood stains and bullet holes covered the wall completely now. I just wrapped my face with the handkerchief and forced myself forward, telling myself to just keep going and that this was only temporary. After a few more minutes of pushing myself, I came across the entrance.
The entrance had so many windows that sunlight filled the room. Bodies were strewn across the floor, but there were a few roamers. Clenching my teeth, I forced myself to find the energy to finish them off. Once I put down the last one, I scanned the room for what I needed.
The bodies that were tossed about on the floors and waiting room chairs didn't look like they'd be much help, so as soon as I spotted the reference desk I sprinted toward it. Coming around the back of it, I saw a plump, frizzy red-headed lady on the floor with a bullet hole leaving a gap in her forehead. Her body was nibbled on a bit: you could see her bones in chunks of her forearms and parts of her face were missing. Her body was in the middle of deterioration, where it wasn't completely gone but wasn't all there. I involuntarily curled back as I was wary on touching her at first, but I sternly reprimanded myself and shoved her body aside the best I could and sat in the desk chair.
I placed my machete on the messy desk as I looked through some papers. Blood splatters coated a majority of the sheets, making some impossible to distinguish. A frustrated sigh escaped my lips as I ruffled through everything, thinking that If only the lady was still alive that she probably could have told me in ten seconds where I'd be able to find the blood.
After minutes of ruffling through the pile of papers, I smacked my palm on the desk, sending half of the papers flying to the ground. Hot tears were threatening to well up behind my eyes. There was no way I could randomly go searching through the hospital in hopes of coming across a blood-bank. That would take too long and I didn't even know how much time Craig would have. There was so much blood...
I shook my head, bringing my palms to my face and taking a deep breath. When I opened them and prepared myself to keep looking, relief flooded my veins. Laying underneath a blood smeared, torn paper was a building directory. Thanking whatever higher power that gave me divine intervention, I scanned the paper looking for what I needed. It only took a few seconds for me to find what I was looking for: FLOOR FIVE: BLOOD WORK
Bingo.
I stood up quickly, grabbing my machete and heading over to the hallway again. According to the directory, the blood-bank was on the other side of the building just as I had thought. The only issue now would be the snapper's in-between the bank and me. Either there would be a great deal or just a few stragglers. The stragglers would be a piece of cake, the real problem would be getting overrun. I had no clue what to expect. All I could do was to prepare for the worst.
Following the directory, I walked past the hall that led to the cafeteria and headed halfway down the main hall. Next to the set of elevators was the door that led to the stairwell. My stomach was tying all sorts of knots with my intestines and my instincts were still willing me to run. Closing my eyes, I stopped with my hand on the door and took a deep breath before opening it.
I was ready. I had to be ready. For Craig.
My grasp on my machete tightened as I pushed the door open, but as soon as I did, I was blinded by the bright sting of the ceiling lights. This was weird. I could understand the light flickers of the lights in the halls, but these were intense. Of course, it might have been for the fact that my eyes had started to adapt to the darkness, but still. This wasn't right.
Somebody fixed that generator up. Somebody took those antibiotics. Somebody was alive. But were they here? Were they dead? How long have these lights been going? I was relieved at the fact that Craig and I weren't it, but these lights didn't make sense. There were still snappers around the building and in the halls, if someone were here, why wouldn't they have cleared out the place?
Stop, Lease. Maybe a snapper bumped into the generator for all I know. There were plausible possibilities. With that, I needed to push it away from my mind. All I had to do was get what I needed and go back. Craig needed me.
I stepped up the stairs at a quick pace, keeping a vigilant watch on any of the random bodies that had been gunned down to make sure they were still dead. I hadn't run into any snappers yet, which was either a really good sign or really, really bad sign. Several limbs were left strewn on the steps along with dried up, molded organs as blood painted the walls. Weapons remained motionlessly on the floor, accompanied by the bullet shells that had been wasted. It was almost the same everywhere in the building I noticed, carnage and the ghost of chaos laying around every corner. Some parts just had it worse than others. However, the stench wasn't as bad on the stairwell, which almost made it seem as though things were beginning to look up.
Oh, how wrong I was.
I was almost to floor three when I came across it. A small stroller was left laying on its side, several blood stains decorating it. Usually I would brush off those things, trying not to think too hard on what had happened to the child that resided in it. Then, just as I walked past it, my heart stopped. A tiny moan sliced the air, proving to be more lethal than the silence. My eyes stayed on the tiny stroller and I felt my grasp on my machete go slack. Part of me wanted to keep walking. Part of me wanted to scream. Part of me just wanted to close my eyes and never open them again. But of course, part of me forced myself to move forward and take a look.
It was a toddler that looked no older than three years of age, a little boy from what I could tell. He had a torn flu mask on and all I could see were his small, puffy, red eyes. His little moans got louder as he saw me and his tiny fingers reached out to me, begging for a bite. He was tied into the stroller, restraining him from moving further. How long he had been here, I wasn't sure. A tattered batman shirt and brown cargo pants hung loosely from his the skin that barely covered his bones.
My foot hit something as I stumbled forward. A tiny shoe.
Hot tears stung my cheeks as I looked at it. Once the tears fell, I couldn't control myself. My body shook with sobs as my heart slowly shattered with every passing second thinking about what I'd have to do, because I knew I couldn't leave him like this.
With shaky hands I managed to pick up my machete. It took everything I had to try to stop my mind from falling back into the cold grip of a torn memory. We all had to do things in this world that we never imagined.
I lifted it up, squeezed my eyes shut, and struck. The blood splattered against my skin as the blade sliced through his tiny skull. I still kept my eyes closed for a while after, even though I knew I'd never forget the look in the little boy's eyes.
They were the look my brother had when I killed him.