The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured (6 page)

He resembled a monster more than a man.

Things were moving too fast. Every few hours something new and horrible happened.

Don clopped over to them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you guys shitting your pants?”

“They’re killing people in the street,” Lance said, still staring at the dead man. “Things are going to hell in a hand basket.”

They watched as the soldiers moved the bodies to the sidewalk and reloaded their weapons. Another armored vehicle arrived with a man stationed behind a mounted gun on top.

They were gearing up for a war.

“Guys, we need to get out of here ASAP,” Don finally said.

“How?” Lance turned to him. “There are armed guards and military personnel outside the door. A colonel or a major already threatened me.”

“Why?” Liz asked.

“Said I was a troublemaker or taking liberties or something like that. Seemed like an asshole.”

The door to the room opened and Doctor Brown stepped through.

“Good morning,” he said.

Lance looked him over, shocked at how fatigued the man appeared. Dark circles hung under droopy eyes. Half of his shirt was tucked in—the other half dangling over his belt. Bloodstains dotted his coat.

“Liz, Don, this is Doctor Brown.” Lance eased back onto his bed, glad to be off his feet again. It was amazing how years of office work had sissified his legs. Every time he took some pressure off them, he felt orgasmic.

Don stepped forward, offering a hand. “Doc Brown? Really?”

“Please save the Back to the Future jokes for another time. I’m too tired to pretend that you’re the first person to make the connection.” He gave Don’s hand a feeble, exhausted shake before turning his attention to Liz. “Are you Lance’s wife?”

Liz hesitated. “Yes.”

Her response surprised Lance. He’d expected an emphatic ‘hell no’.

“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but under these circumstances, it’s not.” The doc stepped away from the door, lowering his voice. “I only have a few minutes, but I promised to keep you in the loop, so here I am.”

“You look tired, Doc,” Lance said.

“We don’t have time to sleep, unfortunately. We’re trying to get ahead of this thing, but it’s not looking good.”

“No shit, Doc. They’re shooting people out there.”

“They’re shooting people in here too.” Brown shook his head. “I can’t even begin to explain the things I’ve seen. Two of the people under our care were killed this morning by military personnel.”

Liz gasped. “How can they do this?
Why
are they doing this?”

“The men were shot in self-defense. They attacked several of our orderlies and broke loose. The soldiers shot them before they could hurt anyone else.”

“How many people are infected now?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know. We have at least fifty cases in the hospital, but we’ve had more people coming in all night.”

Don said, “And three more were just killed outside.”

“If people out there are infected and not seeking medical attention, then we have no idea how widespread this is.”

“Our television doesn’t have any signal so we aren’t up on the latest. Has the government said anything?” Lance had chills running up his spine. He was starting to wonder if this was it.

The end of it all.

“They cut off the communication systems inside of the hospital. Something about quelling any panic, which sounds like a load of crap to me. I only know what the CDC is telling us, which isn’t much. They’ve declared martial law though—no one is allowed out on the streets unless for medical emergencies. All interstate travel is shut down too. At this point, they’re following some preplanned protocol to contain an outbreak. We’re in full-blown crisis mode.”

Cutting off the phones and television signals to the hospital felt like a too little, too late situation to Lance. If the people outside the building suffered from the same things as those in here, then what was the point in taking out their communications? He knew the government was slow and inefficient, but this was ridiculous.

“And what about the disease? Is it contagious?”

Doc Brown stepped further inside. “Incredibly contagious. The CDC thinks it is airborne, which would basically decimate the population, but I don’t believe that. We have two doctors and a dozen orderlies that are showing symptoms and all of them have come in contact with the patient’s blood or saliva.”

“Saliva? Are you telling me we’re dealing with zombies here?” Don asked. “Bullshit.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. These people are very much alive. But their bodies are changing at an incredible rate. The woman who came in yesterday barely resembles—”

Three raps on the door cut him off.

“Time’s up, Doctor Brown,” Eifort said from the hallway.

“What time?” Lance asked.

“They’re limiting our time with each patient. Listen to me very carefully—do not kiss each other or touch anyone who is bleeding. You don’t want to be exposed to any bodily fluids other than your own. We don’t have a test to tell who’s infected or not. Only time is giving us any indicator. If this thing gets inside you, symptoms will appear within hours.”

The door opened and Eifort poked her head inside. “Now, Doc. The major will be up my ass if you don’t get out here.”

Brown went to the door. “Be careful. I’ll stop by later if I can.”

Lance wanted to know more, but the doc looked too exhausted to keep going much longer. He figured it would be better to let the man see patients who actually needed help and not just information.

To his surprise, Brown paused by the door for a moment, before motioning for him to follow. Lance jumped off the bed, his sore feet and ribs regretting the sudden movement, and fell in line behind him.

“This patient needs to have further testing done. I have to take him down the hall for a moment.”

“Bullshit,” Eifort said. “You know the rules.”

“If this man dies because we couldn’t—”

“He looks fine to me.”

Gunfire exploded outside. Heavy and louder than last time, the walls vibrating from concussive blasts.

Lance ran back to the window, his pain temporarily forgotten.

The soldier operating the mounted gun fired relentlessly, spraying bullets down an alley to his right. He paused, swiveling around, and let loose another burst into the street.

Lance craned his neck, pressing his face against the window, following the soldier’s line of sight.

A dozen people ran forward with jerky gaits. Their bodies appeared bloated, like they retained too much water. They hissed and shrieked, their wails filling the area.

The machine gun cut them down.

Civilians cried out and ran inside a café across the street. Two uniformed men dragged the dead bodies to the sidewalk and stacked them on top of each other.

Major Reynolds strode into the street, barking orders. He was the only person down there who appeared to keep his cool. Men ran around him, following his directions, setting up railings, sawhorses, and police tape to keep people at bay.

One of the soldiers by the door lost his breakfast as a dilapidated body on a gurney was carried past him.

Lance turned around. “Eifort, what’s going on out there? Are they telling you anything? It’s like a fucking warzone.”

Her eyes were as big as saucers, plainly visible through her gasmask. “I’m under orders not to—”

“Goddamn it! They’re killing people in the streets! You need to help us get out of here! You realize that we’re locked inside this damned building with at least fifty infected people? Do you expect us to just wait here to die?”

“You’re surrounded by armed soldiers who are here to protect you,” she said without conviction. “This is the safest place you could be.”

“Tell that to the people piled three deep on the sidewalk.” Lance pointed out the window. “They’re executing the sick. If the order to take us out comes down, will you shoot us too?”

She stared at him for a while, her fingers tapping on the stalk of her rifle. “What do you want?”

Glass shattered somewhere down the hall.

A man cried out, screaming like a wounded animal.

“Stay here, I’ll come back in a minute.” Eifort slammed the door shut, taking Brown with her.

More shouting came from the streets below. Lance looked down, watching as a few soldiers coiled cables around their arms, packing them in crates. They loaded up the canvas-covered back of a truck. Others followed suit, putting supplies away, rather than taking them out as they had the day before.

Lance waited a few seconds before going to the door, putting his ear against the wood. The man in the hall stopped screaming, but other people shouted things that Lance couldn’t make out. He opened the door a crack, seeing a few patients across the hall doing the same.

“What are we going to do?” Liz asked. She stood behind Don, peering over his shoulder.

Even at a time like this, Lance hated that she would rather hide behind a man she hadn’t seen in over a decade than her own husband.

“We’re getting the hell out of here.” Lance pulled the door all the way open and looked both ways. None of the guards remained in the hallway. A radio squawked from somewhere off to the right, but he couldn’t quite make out the orders coming through.

“Maybe we’re safer here,” Don said. “We
are
surrounded by people with guns.”

“People with guns who are holding us hostage in a hospital. I’d rather fend for myself on the outside, than be trapped in here. Besides, I’m not so sure they’re going to be here to protect us much longer. They’re packing up the trucks outside right now. What happens if we wake up tomorrow and they’re gone? Will it be too late to navigate the streets? It already looks like a scene from Mad Max out there.”

Liz and Don exchanged a long look.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Don said. He handed Liz her purse and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

Lance stepped through the door in time to see a group of soldiers run past the end of the hall, rifles at the ready. He spun around and went the other direction, heading toward the nurses’ station, hoping it would be empty.

It was. They continued past it, moving quickly.

A door opened on their right and a man poked his head into the hallway. “What’s going on?”

Lance shrugged, raising a finger to his lips.

The glass observation room waited ahead. It was dark inside, with only a dim lamp in the corner. Lance peered in as he went by, seeing the sick woman still strapped to the gurney.

Someone had placed a divider in the room, separating the lamp from her rolling bed. Extra straps ran across her chest and thighs, keeping her from making all but the slightest of movements. Lance stopped and stared at her, his mind racing at the horror inside the room.

Liz bumped into his back. “What are you doing?”

She followed his gaze and gasped, raising a hand to her mouth.

“My god,” Don said. “Is that the woman we saw in the street?”

“That’s her.”

“She doesn’t even look human,” Liz whispered. A tear spilled down her cheek.

The woman’s frame had expanded, her muscles engorged like a fitness model. Veins bulged throughout her mostly nude body. The bone structure in her face protruded, her jaw much more pronounced than it had been before. Her chest rose and fell like a panting dog.

Hollow, unseeing eye sockets stared at nothing.

She writhed against the restraints, hissing and snapping at the ones across her chest.

“Hey!” A soldier stood at the other end of the hall, pointing at them.

“Run!” Lance took off, his feet sliding on the linoleum as he rounded another corner.

“What are we going to do?” Liz wheezed beside him.

“No idea!”

Another shriek came from a corridor to their right. One of the sick smashed through a door, breaking it in half. The man, enormously muscled and vascular, slid across the floor, jagged pieces of wood puncturing his gray skin.

He hissed, shrinking away from the light fixture above him, holding a long-fingered hand above his face.

Lance accelerated, running as fast as his aching feet would allow.

Don huffed behind him, swearing under his breath.

Soldier’s boots echoed through the hallways.

Rifles barked.

A stairwell sat at the end of the hall, unguarded.

Lance threw his shoulder into the door, popping it open. He stumbled forward, nearly falling down the stairs before he grabbed the handrail.

“This is complete madness!” Don rushed past him, taking the steps two at a time.

Liz cried as she ran, her back heaving with each sob. Lance grabbed her arm and helped her down the stairs. They only made it down one flight when they heard the door above them kick open and boots attack the steps. Lots of boots.

The stairwell rumbled like an entire platoon chased after them.

Lance eased the next door open, rushing Don and Liz through, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak. He gently pulled it closed just as he saw the boots rounding the bend between flights.

Don didn’t wait to see if it worked—he took off down another corridor, his expensive shoes sliding on the polished floor. Liz leaned against a wall, shaking her head, tears flying from her cheeks.

“I can’t do this!”

Lance grabbed her face in his hands, and lifted her chin. “Yes, you can. You have to.”

“It’s too much. I can’t handle it!”

“If you could handle my bullshit for years, then you can make it until we get out of here.”

The corner of her mouth curled slightly. “You are a pain in the ass.”

“Come on.” He grabbed her arm at the elbow and gently pulled her along. “I think this floor has access to the parking garage.”

Don stopped at the end of the hall, staring down at a puddle on the floor.

They ran up beside him, looking at the same spot, tasting copper in the air.

Blood.

A crimson smear trailed away from the puddle, streaking down the hallway and into an open door. The light in the hallway above the smear was smashed in, as if something slammed into it with great force

Don whispered, “I don’t think we want to go that way.”