Psych Ward Zombies (13 page)

The utilities room had been pitch black when Chester removed the fitting on the gas pipe. He relied solely on his sense of feel to complete this task. Fortunately, turning a large wrench is something that can be done easily in the dark. Once the fitting had been disconnected, the leaking gas flowed freely from the pipe. The room quickly filled with the pungent smell of natural gas, causing Chester’s eyes and nose to burn. He swung the door open, allowing the gas to circulate into the rest of the hospital building.

His task was nearly completed, and all he could do now was wait. Chester slouched on the floor of the utilities room, lying with his back propped against the generator. He stared ahead at the doorway. In the hallway he could see a faint tinge of rose-colored light provided by the rising sun. Before dawn had arrived, Chester had been relying on the darkness to hide him from the roaming zombies. Now his only concealment was the ebbing shadow in this back corner of the room. Zombies still shuffled to and fro in the corridor, but none had noticed Chester’s motionless form. A harsh wetness crackled in each of his breaths, but the sound was masked by the steady hiss of gas escaping from the pipe
.

He reached into his pocket with slow, fumbling movements. His fingers closed around a small object. Chester withdrew his hand and gazed upon his cigarette lighter. There was really nothing special about it. It was just the cheap, disposable kind of lighter you can buy at a gas station for less than a dollar. Operating it required spinning a small steel wheel against a piece of flint, while pressing a button to release the flammable gas before the spark had dissipated. In this case, all Chester needed to do was spin the steel wheel, as the air in the room was already saturated with flammable gas. However, his fingers were clumsy and responded with hesitation to his brain’s commands. His brain itself was blinking in and out of awareness, like the flickering of a dying fluorescent bulb. Chester’s last remaining strands of consciousness were having serious doubts about his ability to operate the simple lighter
.

He grappled with the lighter in an effort to position his thumb on the wheel. His attempt to focus on his thumb resulted in his other fingers releasing, and the lighter fell to the floor. Chester commanded his eyes to search the floor for the lighter. His eyes reported back that the floor was dark, and the lighter was not found. He eyes gave up quickly, preferring to roll back into his head and rest
.

Intense hunger cascaded through every cell of his body. The lighter had lost all meaning. It no longer existed. All thoughts, feelings, and emotions were now saturated by an overwhelming hunger. Even his soul was hungry. Chester’s entire being was screaming to be satiated, like a thousand wailing voices calling out, “Feed me!”

His eyes fluttered open, now appearing milky and dark. The world appeared fuzzy, as if everything were wrapped in black gauze. Chester looked up to see a massive shadow pass in front of the doorway. It was humanoid, but the concept of “human” had been replaced with a vague abstraction akin to nourishment. This shadow represented food. The shadow stopped and turned to face him. A remnant of conscious thought flashed in Chester’s brain, signaling an ambiguous sense of danger. The feelings of hunger and danger competed for control, yet both feelings drove him to rise to his feet. As he stood, the shadow from the doorway crept toward him. The morning glow from the hallway backlit the approaching figure, but in a glint of reflecting sunlight Chester saw the shape of a mangled left hand.

The sirens in his mind blared an alarm loud enough to drown out the shrieking voices of hunger. However, both sounds were soon replaced by a burgeoning roar. It was the low, deep roar of anger, rising to a crescendo. It shook Chester’s core like an earthquake and culminated in an explosive lunge toward Luther. Luther did not attempt to dodge the attack, but stood rooted like a massive oak. Chester collided with the giant zombie, pushing him backward a couple of steps but failing to knock him to the ground. They locked together, each grasping at the other’s neck and head
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This was a battle of two zombies, so there were no ninja-style kicks, artful parries, or strategic leg sweeps. There were only two powerful beasts bent on destroying each other and driven by intense primitive urges. Luther attempted to bite at Chester’s face, while Chester drove his fingers into the fleshy part of Luther’s neck
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Luther bit down and ripped with his teeth, tearing Chester’s nose and part of his cheek away. Since Chester’s transformation was still in its early stages, his blood had not yet congealed inside his veins. Deep red blood streamed down his face and soaked his beard.

Chester plunged his thick fingers into the rotted muscles and ligaments of Luther’s neck. He ripped and tore with his hands, severing arteries, veins, and musculature. Only dribbles of clotted blood fell to the floor from Luther’s wounds. With the damaged muscles, Luther was now unable to turn his head. His head slumped to the right like an inverted bucket atop a pole.

Luther raised both massive arms and brought them down on Chester’s head like dual sledgehammers. Chester’s skull cracked from the blow. If he had felt pain, he would have passed out. However, pain was beyond his comprehension at this point. He reached out, grabbing one of the protruding ribs where Mel had chewed a hole in Luther’s torso. Chester yanked the rib free, snapping it like a twig. Holding the broken rib bone like a primitive dagger, he attempted a stabbing motion toward his opponent’s face. The rib passed through Luther’s eye socket and split the paper thin bone behind the eye. The jagged weapon penetrated an inch into Luther’s brain.

The wound sent bolts of lightning through Luther’s body and he convulsed slightly. Luther dropped to one knee but did not fall to the floor. Chester stepped forward in a crude attempt at a grab, but Luther punched forward with the mutilated remains of his left hand. The damaged hand hit Chester’s torso and shattered. With the ligaments of the wrist no longer intact, the two bones of Luther’s forearm split apart. The larger ulna deflected off Chester’s breastbone. However, the smaller radius bone splintered at the end and pierced Chester like a sword.

Luther tried to pull his arm free of Chester’s torso, but it had become lodged between the ribs. The two combatants were fatally conjoined now. Chester placed both palms on Luther’s chest in an effort to push him away, while Luther brought his remaining right arm up and clubbed at Chester’s fractured skull. The two toppled over as one unit, with Chester landing atop his foe. Upon impact with the ground, Chester’s mangled face collided with the end of the rib protruding from Luther’s eye socket. The force drove the rib fragment further into Luther’s skull, rending a jagged tunnel through his brain. Luther twitched once and then remained still
.

Chester pushed himself up and rose to his knees. The arm of the dead zombie still protruded from Chester like a deviant umbilical cord. Chester attempted to stand, placing his foot atop Luther’s torso. He gave a heave with his back and managed to reach an upright position. Luther’s arm was pulled free, spilling butchered pieces of heart and lungs from the resulting wound in Chester’s breast. Chester staggered toward the generator and collapsed
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Through his narrowing slit of vision, he could see the lighter lying a few inches from his face. He slid his hand across the floor, clumsily placing it atop the lighter. The lighter settled into his grip in an upside down position. Chester held the lighter tightly in his fist, placing his hand on the floor with thumb facing upward. With a coarse motion, he pulled his hand backward. The steel wheel of the lighter skidded across the concrete floor before catching. The wheel turned against the flint and a single spark leapt forth
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The gas explosion ripped through Eldemere, sending chunks of concrete hurling through the air like popcorn. Fireballs erupted from every window and door. The Administration Tower belched fire and smoke like a chimney before collapsing in on itself. Soot and ash filled the sky.

The blast sent a wave of heat and debris through the window of the old building where Dave was standing. He was knocked forward, almost falling to the floor. With Dave distracted by the blast, Devlin seized his opportunity to attack
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“Die, you damned midget!” Devlin cried, swi
nging the rifle at Dave like a club. The attack hit Dave squarely in the head. Dave crumpled to his knees, dizzy and blind from the pain. He dropped the revolver, clutching his battered cranium with both hands. A small stream of blood trickled into his eyes from an open wound on his scalp.

The dizziness began to clear and Dave wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand. When he looked around the room, Devlin had disappeared. He glanced backward over his shoulder and then staggered over to the window. As he peered down from his fifth floor perch, he observed what was left of the new hospital. Most of the building was flattened altogether, and the remainder was a blackened, smoking ruin. Debris had been cast hundreds of yards in every direction. A thousand small fires smoldered all around, twinkling like stars in an evening sky
.

Dave leaned out the window a bit more and looked around to assess the damage to the old hospital building. He saw that the central part of the old hospital had collapsed from the force of the blast and the building was on fire. The rising sun filtered red light through the billowing plume of smoke. Car alarms wailed from the parking lot, having been triggered by the flying rubble. Dave was oblivious to the sound, however, as the blast wave had temporarily deafened him
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His thoughts were still clouded by the blow to the head, but he realized he had to escape the building and catch Devlin. He floundered out the door of the room and into the hallway. The central stairs were billowing smoke and likely led to a dead end. Dave decided to try the stairs at the far end of the corridor
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There was no longer any need for stealth, so he ran down the hallway as quickly as possible, tripping over errant litter and pieces of debris. He reached the stairs and carefully maneuvered his way down each step in the thick, polluted air. At the third floor landing, he almost stepped on Janet. She lay doubled over, holding her left ankle. He was stunned to find her here, as he had thought she was outside in the woods
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“Janet! Are you okay?” he called to her, reaching out his hand to help her up
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She winced in pain and grabbed Dave’s hand. As she slowly stood, she was unable to put any weight on her ankle. “I think I’m okay,” she coughed, choking on the smoke. “My ankle is hurt pretty bad though. I think it may be broken.”

Dave was still partially deaf, so he could barely hear Janet’s word. He did not bother asking her to speak up. Instead, he draped Janet’s arm over his shoulder and helped support her. They began slowly descending the stairs together. As they walked, Dave yelled, “What are you doing here? And what happened?”

“I was gathering the kids together in the woods to wait for you, but then some of them started acting weird. They were fighting amongst themselves, and the next thing I knew they were chasing me! Doc, I think the kids are turning into zombies too.”

Dave nodded, having heard enough to understand. “Devlin admitted to poisoning the kids,” he said.

“I ran to get away from them and I came in the front door of this building. They were right behind me,” Janet continued. “I was only inside for a minute before everything blew up around me. I didn’t see what happened to the kids.”

“Did you hurt your ankle in the explosion?”

Janet shook her head. “Funny you should ask. I was coming up the steps to find you, and I ran into Devlin coming down. That bastard pushed me down the steps and just kept running! With all the smoke, I didn’t see him coming.”

They reached the first floor and looked down the corridor. At the far end lay what was left of the hospital foyer. Through the billowing smoke, they could discern that it was partially collapsed and burning. “Maybe we can get to the front door,” Dave suggested. “I think all the other doors are probably locked or nailed shut.”

They began hobbling toward the scene of destruction. Large chunks of concrete and rebar lay in their path. They drew within
ten yards of the collapsed section, when Janet abruptly stopped and pulled Dave back. She did not speak, but pointed at the floor in front of them. Waves of smoke washed by, and in the gaps they could see two adult figures lying on the floor. One was the homeless man Dave had seen earlier. The other was Devlin. A mob of agitated children were tearing at the men’s bodies, strewing their intestines across the hallway like party streamers. The smoke made it too difficult to see how many there were, but the frenzied mass of bloodied children almost completely blocked the corridor. They were playing and dancing with the lifeless corpses of Devlin and the hobo. Some of the kids shoved pieces of flesh into their mouths like birthday cake.

Dave and Janet began to back away slowly, hoping to stay hidden within the shroud of swirling ash. One of the children looked directly at them and paused, seemingly unsure of what he was seeing. Then, with a shriek, he tossed handfuls of gore into the air and started trotting clumsily toward the pair. Dave and Janet turned and attempted to run. The adrenaline coursing through Janet’s body had taken away much of the pain from her broken left ankle, but the laxity of the damaged joint caused her to nearly collapse when she tried to put weight on it. Dave put his arm around her back, lifting her slightly as he ran, while Janet hopped awkwardly on her right foot. She held her left leg off the ground. It was like a perverse three-legged race,
but there was no time to coordinate their movements. Losing the race meant death. They flailed down the hallway, desperately trying to outpace the pursuing zombies.

They reached the stairwell ahead of the zombie children, and were now faced with a decision. They could go up the stairs, where the zombies would probably not be able to follow. However, the smoke was more dense in the upper floors of the burning building. The other choice was to go down the stairs into the basement tunnels. There would be less smoke, but the zombies would be more likely to follow. Janet made the decision easier by lunging toward the stairs going down. “I can’t climb stairs with my ankle,” she cried in frustration. She was right. Hopping down steps is far easier than trying to jump up steps on one leg
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The pair arrived at the basement floor and paused to look back toward the level above. The zombie children were creeping toward the edge of the stairs and, one by one, began tumbling down. “That’s what I was afraid of,” Dave grunted. “Let’s go!”

He and Janet continued to flee the juvenile undead mob. The tunnels below the hospital were completely underground, and therefore no ambient light was present. They had to hop and stumble along the wall, using the feel of the damp, cold bricks as their only guide. Dave’s hearing was returning to normal, and he could hear their footsteps echoing in the dank tunnel. He also heard the pitter-patter of little feet. This was not the sound of children’s feet. No, this time he was sure he heard the scurrying of large rats. The scratchy steps seemed to be hurrying in the same direction he and Janet were going.

“Janet, we’re surrounded by rats,” he said, instantly realizing the unintended effect of his statement. Janet screamed and froze in place. He could not see her in the darkness, but with his arm around her back he could feel all her muscles instantly tighten up
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“No,” he barked, although trying his best to sound compassionate. “It’s a good thing. The rats are running out of the building. If we follow them, maybe they’ll lead us to a way out.” He grabbed her more tightly and pulled her along with the flow of rats. The brief time they had just spent loitering had allowed the zombie children to close in. The kids’ wet, raspy breaths could be heard a dozen feet or so behind them
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Janet’s hand slid along the slimy wall as they moved, but suddenly her fingers reached out into nothingness. “Wait,” she shouted. “The tunnel must branch off here.”

The pair stood still and listened. Their ears strained to determine the trajectory of the rats’ movements. Dave turned his head left and right, trying to get a spatial sense of the rats’ skittering footsteps. Dave estimated that the rats were going straight, so he jerked Janet forward. At the same moment, a small, cold hand reached out and clawed at her arm from behind. She jerked her arm away and pushed herself forward at a grueling pace.

Her hand hit wet bricks again once they passed the intersecting tunnel. They were starting to get a rhythm to their movements now, with Janet hopping on her right leg as Dave ran along and supported her. The scampering sound of the rats began to seem comforting, as it now represented some glimmer of hope for escape. The pair
was moving with impressive speed, and the breathing noises from the undead kids began to fade behind them.

All at once, they were both met with a waist-high metal bar slammin
g into their mid-sections. The pair went toppling forward in the darkness. A moment of free-fall was followed immediately by the perception of being immersed in briny liquid.

Dave thrashed his arms in all directions, grasping frantically for some object to orient himself. His eyes were wide open, but it was like being submerged in ink. It was impossible to orient himself in space. There was no up or down, just blackness. The liquid entered his nose and mouth, pouring into his lungs. His thrashing stopped and his body relaxed. He had no idea where he was or what had happened. He felt infinite confusion. This confusion gradually ebbed away, replaced by a strange sense of peace. It was like floating in the womb as a fetus. Everything in his adult life was drifting away. He had come into the world via the womb, and now he would leave the world in this same way. It all made sense somehow, and he was fine with it
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It was over.