5
Billy had to ditch the car. The streets were packed with the undead, and the noise of the car engine was attracting them in droves. Billy was in no danger from the creatures as far as he could tell, but they still approached him before pausing in apparent confusion and then wandering away. The things would mill about aimlessly until they spotted something interesting, then, all in the area would be on the move toward whatever it was that they had seen.
Billy figured out that if he didn’t move too fast, or talk, he could walk among the creatures unmolested. If he walked too quickly, or spoke to himself (as was his habit), they would get in his way. Then he would stop, and they would stumble off, uninterested. Everybody else, it seemed, was on the menu.
The crowds got thinner as he neared his destination. He was trying to get to the Morningside Psychiatric Hospital. Not a nice place, but he needed some drugs. He had popped his last Clozapine more than a day ago. The drug had a strange effect on him. Normally, a person on Clozapine would slow down and be dizzy and incoherent, drooling or standing in one place for long periods of time. Zombies, Billy used to call them, and snickered when he thought about it. This particular drug was the chemical equivalent of a temporary lobotomy.
Billy, however, got very amped when he took his meds. He found it gave him a singular clarity he couldn’t attain when not medicated. He talked a lot, was happy, and could figure things out quicker. It also made resisting his homicidal urges a snap. Billy could fight off the desire to kill someone for the fun of it. He still killed when he needed to, but the drug helped him weed out the ones who didn’t need killing.
He was looking at his feet as he walked, contemplating his strategy on getting his meds, when there was an odd sound in front of him. He looked up and there was a zombie pushing an overflowing shopping trolley. The creature was filthy, and had a fifteen inch matted beard with bits of stuff in it. It was wearing an old military-style boonies hat. It was the beard that Billy remembered.
“Hey, Lester,” Billy said and waved.
“Hey, Bill,” the thing replied in a raspy voice.
“Not dead yet then?” Billy asked.
“Day ain’t over.”
Both continued on about their business, in opposite directions.
Billy reached Morningside about an hour after seeing Lester. A pickup truck had smashed into the main gate, obliterating the small guardhouse. The door to the truck was open, and there was no one around, living or dead. He walked past the accident and got to the front doors of the hospital. The glass was smashed and there were bloody hand prints all over. It was dark inside.
A huge blood smear was splashed across the black and white checkered floor. Something had been dragged further into the darkness.
Billy stood there a moment contemplating, the pistols from the dead gang bangers in each hand, and a shotgun strapped to his back.
“Heavens to Mergatroid,” he said aloud, “Well, I guess I better--” He was cut off by a loud caterwauling scream from inside the dark halls. He took a few steps back and peered into the darkness, the pistols raised. There was a slapping sound, obviously bare feet running on linoleum, and suddenly a figure solidified in the blackness. Another inhuman scream emanated from the thing, and it sprinted toward Billy, reaching with the need of the damned. It pushed the broken doors wide without slowing, heedless of the broken glass under its bare feet, screaming as it closed the distance. Billy fired once with each gun, hitting the figure in the left shoulder and missing with the other bullet. The thing, a young man in bloody pajama bottoms, slowed down and clutched at his wound with his right hand, Billy momentarily forgotten. He raised his head to the sky and screamed again, then snapped his head down and looked at Billy with blood-red eyes. The man hissed, bared his teeth, and charged. Billy shot the man three more times, and he fell, dropping on his back a few feet short of his goal. Billy backed up another three quick steps. The wounded man tried to get up, but remained up on his back, coughing blood and making claws with his hands.
Billy took a tentative step toward the gasping man. The man saw him and bared his teeth again, trying to snarl, but only making a gurgling noise. He flipped over on his stomach and tried to pull himself toward Billy. He managed a very short distance before his head fell to the ground. He laid there, bloody eyes fixed on Billy, but otherwise unmoving.
Billy raised his eyebrows. “Huh.”
He walked past the man and stopped in front of the doors to the black halls of the hospital. “Alrighty then,” he said and started forward when he heard a noise behind him.
The man was pushing himself to his feet. Billy raised his pistols. The bullet-riddled man stood and looked around. He saw Billy and moaned, raising his arms and shuffling forward with that same undead gait Billy had seen hundreds of times that day. The creature stopped about three feet shy of Billy, then turned, lowered its arms, and shambled off.
“Huh.”
6
The Alcatraz survivors had gathered in the cafeteria at the behest of Detective Meara. He stood at the front of the room and addressed the small crowd.
“Well folks, here it is,” he began. “There’s a group of people, mostly kids, trapped in a school about four blocks from the Marina Bay warehouses. We’re going to get them. I need four volunteers…” Instantly, hands shot up throughout the crowd; eight-year-old Sam had her hand up high. Meara smiled and looked at Rick, who was also smiling and nodding.
“If you’re interested, come on up, and we can discuss the plan.”
“Did you say four blocks?” a man asked.
“Yes, a little less than three quarters of a mile. Again, if we could get the
volun—“
“Because if they’re four blocks from the wharf, they may as well be on the moon with all those people on the loose,” the man interrupted, “and I just don’t see the point in attempting a rescue if we’re going to send our people to certain death.”
Murmurs of assent could be heard from the crowd, while snorts of disgust were more prominent.
“Well Mr.…?”
“Martingale.”
“Mr. Martingale, there’s a bunch of kids stuck in a school, with few supplies, and a mounting force of infected just outside the walls. Now, I’m simply not OK with leaving them to starve, scared and alone. I noticed you didn’t have your hand up, so you can remain here and make yourself useful while the rescue team goes and gets them.”
“Shouldn’t we let the military get them? For that matter, when are they coming for us? Haven’t you been in contact with them?”
Meara sighed. “I didn’t want to bring this up until I was absolutely sure, but I’m fairly certain the military isn’t coming.”
Shocked outbursts and demands for more information assaulted Meara. He held his hands up to quell the surge.
“Please folks, please. I’ll tell you what we know. I was in contact with a friend of mine at USAMRIID, which is a military run infectious disease center. Now, as most of you know, there has recently been an outbreak of violence in Boston. This is the same stuff. It is an as yet undefined sickness that… that reanimates the dead into murderous savages…”
“Ridiculous!” Martingale exclaimed.
“How widespread is this?” a tall woman asked.
“As I was saying, these infected people are, for all intents and purposes, dead. They have no vital signs, and can function with tremendous amounts of damage done to them. Damage that would incapacitate or kill a human being. Insofar as how far the infection has gotten, it seems to be everywhere. Every major city has had outbreaks, some are faring better than others, but Boston, New York, and most of the East Coast cities are… gone.”
The crowd was silent. Even Martingale looked shocked.
“The US military is in full retreat from most of the West Coast cities, and has left the East Coast already. I had contact with a National Guard convoy leaving San Francisco, but I lost them a few hours ago, and repeated attempts to reach them have gone unanswered. Part of the problem is that there isn’t anywhere to retreat to.”
“As of right now, it looks like we’re on our own,” Rick added. “We’re going to have to survive for a while until the military can get to us. We’ll need to secure food, water, and weapons. Also, we will need roving patrols on the island until we can fortify it enough to fend off attacks, and not just from the infected, but from people who want what we have.”
“When do we set up a system of government?” Martingale demanded. “We’ll need a voting system and elected civilian leaders to…”
“Mr. Martingale please,” interrupted Meara, “we’re going to need to worry about staying alive first. Frankly, I’m surprised all of us made it out of the city with the numbers of infected being what they are.”
“But the fundamental purpose of a government is to…”
This time Rick interrupted, “We’ve got kids to save. If you’re not helping, then step back and let us plan,” he said angrily. “If you feel an-all important need to set up a government, then knock your socks off, but DO NOT tell us how to operate. As of now, this island is under San Francisco police control--” Martingale started to protest-- “AND if you don’t like it, you’re welcome to go back to the city. It’s a pretty tough swim I hear.”
There were assorted chuckles from the small crowd. Martingale folded his arms and scowled, but remained silent.
Rick’s new friend Dallas came up to Rick and looked him in the eye. He turned around and faced the group. “They’re kids. I’m goin’.”
The tall woman stepped forward. “My name is Juanita Del Carmen. I’m in.” Others surged forward as well.
7
Billy walked up the steps to the hospital and stepped through the smashed front doors, swinging the shotgun in a horizontal arc. “Clear!” he said to himself, and sniggered. He made it a point not to step in the blood on the floor if he could help it. There were bloody footprints, some bare, going in many directions. It was very dark, but he could see a little. He read the names on the opaque glass panes in the doors as he progressed, but he was more interested in the titles. Dr. A.P. Morgan, Clinical Psychology, Dr. S. Silverstein, Child Psychology, Dr. V. Prendes, Administration. The next door’s window was smashed, and there was blood everywhere. Something was making wet tearing sounds from the room.
Billy looked through the broken window, but could only discern vague shapes. There were two indistinct figures low to the ground, huddled over something. The sounds of chewing were apparent. As he leaned in to get a better vantage, Billy shifted his weight and heard window glass crunch under his feet. He looked down, cursing himself for making so much noise in the confined hall. When he looked back up, there was a dead man in a red hospital orderly’s uniform staring at him through the hole where the window had been. The nametag read Carl. Billy backed up a few steps. The former orderly turned away, showing Billy that the uniform was actually white, just gore-stained. Two other dead things appeared from the darkness of the room, reaching through the broken window. Billy took a step forward whereupon both creatures lowered their arms turning back into the darkness.
Billy opened the door and flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. The zombies went back to eating their unfortunate victim. The form on the floor turned out to be half a man. He was missing his head and both arms, and his chest was a dripping cavity. Half-a-guy had been a security guard before the madness began, and he had a flashlight on his belt.
Billy stooped to retrieve the flashlight, careful to avoid the copious amount of blood on the floor. The torch was also slick with gore from the fallen guard. Wiping some of the blood on the back of a feasting zombie, Billy cleaned the light as best he could. He was about to leave when he noticed a set of keys on a ring attached to the victim’s belt. Retrieving the key ring, he stepped from the room and clicked on the flashlight. The beam cut the darkness with precision, only illuminating where it was pointed. Billy continued down the gloomy corridor, toward a set of double swinging doors.
A bump from the other side of the doors made them open toward Billy for a moment. He moved forward cautiously. The bump occurred again. Obviously there was something moving on the other side of the door. A crimson puddle had spread across the entire hallway in front of him. Billy reluctantly stepped into the blood and pulled back the door. There was a small child sitting on the floor, slurping viscera from what used to be a human being. The creature looked up, but didn’t move. The child looked completely fine, except for the red eyes and the fact that he was covered in gore. Billy pointed one of the pistols at the dead boy and fired point blank into the creature’s head, destroying it. The shot was deafening in the enclosed corridor, and his ears began to ring, but not before he heard another inhuman scream from deeper in the darkened hospital.
“Not your fault,” he whispered to the twice dead kid, and kept moving.
The beam from the flashlight cut the blackness like a knife, showing scenes of carnage and failed last stands, a small circle of light at a time. Here another drag-smear, there bloody fist prints on a broken door. As he came to a stairwell going up, he could see an assortment of chairs and other office furniture that had been thrown down the stairs to block access. The door to the stairwell was hanging on one hinge, and there was more blood on the furniture, but it looked as if this hasty barricade had held.
A few more meters, and another set of double doors blocked his way. This time the doors were steel, with small windows at face height. The windows had an interlaced lattice of metal wires to prevent shattering. A placard above the doors read: Level 1. The doors were locked tight. This is where Billy needed to go. The drugs he wanted were certainly beyond this obstacle.
Using the keys from the eviscerated guard, he tried several before he heard a loud
snick.
He opened the doors and stepped through. Even on this side of the locked doors, signs of struggle and death were evident. Gore smears on the wall, huge blood drops on the polished baby-blue floor tiles, another smashed window in an office door. Billy locked the doors behind him, and kept moving.
There were no names on the doors in this corridor, only white cinderblock walls, interspersed with locked cells. Billy shined his light in one of the cells. The flashlight cast an eerie glow in the blackness of the room. Apparently the room was empty, save for a bed and some crayon-colored pictures on the walls. Billy checked each room on the way down the passageway, but all were empty. Locked, but empty.
He came to a T-junction, and shined the light on the wall. Another set of placards told him where to go. Left was
Levels 2-3,
right was
Level 4
and
Pharmacy
. He flashed the beam right, and noticed that one of the creatures was leaning against the wall, its forehead on its forearm. It was female, again dressed in the same garb as the speedy infected that had attacked Billy outside. It saw the light beam and turned to face him. Billy shone the light in its face and it shielded its eyes. “Quit it,” it said.
“Patient?” asked Billy unperturbed.
“What gave me away?” she replied. “The lack of shoes or this stunning attire I’m wearing?”
“What’s your name?”
“Nobody gives a shit. Now get that damn light out of my face.”
“Really? That’s a crappy name. Your parents must have been real jerks.”
The woman smiled at this and Billy lowered the light. “Name’s Ali. What are you doing here?”
“I used to live here, but I didn’t get out much.”
“I know how that feels,” she said in agreement.
“Looking for Clozapine, you got any?”
“Pharmacy is that-a-way,” she said and jerked her thumb over her shoulder, “but I wouldn’t go down there, it’s thick with those things, and one of them runs. They don’t care about me, but they might make a banquet out of you.”
“Nope! They aren’t interested in me either!” Billy replied a little too enthusiastically.
“Keep it down huh? They’ll hear us and start pounding again. Anyway, that fast one
does
care, and tried to get a piece of me, that’s why I’m in here. I was waiting for Doctor Purkayastha to come back. He locked me in this corridor and went to let the twos and threes out of their cages. He’s been gone a long time.”
“Why did he lock you in the corridor?”
“All three doors need an access key to get in or out.”
“What about the fours?” Billy asked.
“Huh?”
“The level fours, are they still locked up?”
“I hope so, they’re just as bad as the deads. Kill you just for fun, and wear your ribcage as a Sunday hat. I looked in the windows a while ago, and it looked like the fours were still locked up.” She indicated a row of security windows, ten or so inches square, with steel mesh covering them, a few inches above the heavy door to the level four wing.
Billy looked a tad sad at her comments. He nodded and stared at the floor. When he looked back up, Ali was looking at him funny. Realization hit her like a bug on a windshield.
“Why do you need Clozapine?” she asked quickly.
Billy smiled. “Us level fours are harder to control with the sissy drugs. We need something a mite stronger.”
“Oh shit… listen, I didn’t…”
“Relax,” interrupted Billy, “you’re safer with me than alone, especially if I’m zoinked on my meds.”
“How long have you been off your meds?”
“Almost twenty-four hours now.”
“Then I’m hardly safe!” she exclaimed. “But you’re right, we need to get out of here, and I’m not going with you unless you dose. But won’t the cloze turn you into a drool-fool?
“Nope, I’m in the top two percentile for that. Works differently on me, I’ll be up and at-em in no time.”
There was a heavy thud at the door at the far end of the corridor behind them, followed by a wet slap on the little window. A gore splatter covered the glass now. Pounding started on the other side of the door, and faint moans could be heard.
“Is that the way your doctor went?” he asked, pointing to the now bloody window.
“Yeah, and that’s why I wanted to be quiet,” said Ali. “That damn pounding is gonna drive me nuts…”
They looked at each other and both erupted into laughter.
“Do you like Bugs Bunny?” he asked her in between guffaws.
“Can’t live without him. What’s your name?”
“Billy. Let’s get my meds.”
She stopped laughing immediately. “Gimme a gun,” she said and pointed at his pistols.
“Fine. How many down there?” he asked nodding his chin at the ominous double doors.
“Lots.”
Billy nodded silently, and the duo approached the doors.