The Demented Z (Book 2): Desolation (Book 2) (14 page)

Still on his hands and knees, Tom began crawling in the
direction he had last heard Eddie.  
“Eddie...Eddie.”   He swept his hands
out in front of him, reaching into the darkness.
  His hands touched something...metal...a patient
chair. Continuing to feel along the base
of the chair, Tom’s hand felt hair. “Eddie!”
  His hand felt along Eddie’s head and found
the base of his skull was slick and wet.  
Moving his hand down to Eddie’s neck, Tom checked for a pulse, nothing,
Eddie was gone.

Tom had not known Eddie for long, really just a couple days,
but the kid had been a trooper. They had
been put in some of the worst situations imaginable and he had stuck through
it. Even when everything hit the fan,
Eddie stayed put to help Tom. He
couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe
they should have taken the hallways.
  Maybe they should have used their
firearms. The list of maybes and
what-ifs could go on and on. Despite the
heavy chest, Tom shoved the guilt to the back of his mind, knowing he would
have to deal with it later.

A loud splintering noise came from the far door, followed by
growls.

Tom quickly checked over Eddie’s body until he found his
pistol. He shoved it into the back of
his pants and spun around. Estimating
where he last heard his rifle hit the floor, Tom began crawling.
  He swept his hands out in front of him,
feeling for anything. When his hands
touched a leather boot he knew he was close.  
He had at least found the demented’s body.

There was a sudden loud cracking noise as the door gave way
to the horde that wanted in so desperately.  
Shrieks and growls filled the room as demented spilled in through the
opening. Meager light spilled in through
the splintered door. Tom could make out
silhouetted forms climbing through, but the darkness quickly swallowed them up
once inside the room. He continued to
crawl across the floor, his hands hitting on another patient chair.
  Scuttling on all fours, Tom scampered behind
the chair.

Items clattered to the floor and loud barks filled the room
as more and more demented piled in. The
darkness affected them just like it did Tom.  
They stumbled around blindly, running into patient chairs and one
another. With the lack of prey in sight,
their fury seemed to slowly subside.  
After several minutes of angered chaos, the room slowly became a bunch
of hidden forms shuffling around in the darkness.

A few had found Eddie’s body on the ground.
  Disgusting, wet ripping sounds followed.
  Their consumption of the body was ferocious
and gut wrenching.  
Tom remained huddled behind the chair, in the small space between it and
the wall. The urge to throw up was
nearly overwhelming. His stomach churned
and his head spun. Both the thick darkness
and the terrible noises were getting to him, dizziness and nausea
combining. Disorientation caused him to
fall over, landing on something hard.  
Its edges dug into Tom’s ribs, nearly causing him to scream out in pain.

Tom sat back up and reached out to see what had hurt so
badly. His hand rested on the familiar
cold metal of his AR15. Even though it
would do him little good in the dark, it was still very comforting.
  He hugged it to his chest like a newborn
baby. Without realizing what he was
doing, Tom slowly dozed off.

When Tom woke up he was still curled up behind the patient
chair, clutching his rifle to his chest.  
His whole body ached. He had no
idea how long he had been asleep, but surprisingly the room sounded like it had
emptied out a bit. There was still the
sound of shuffling feet and occasional groans, but it sounded like only a few
infected. Tom was both shocked and
thankful that none of them had found him tucked away by the wall.

Looking out from around the chair, Tom was surprised to see
a bit of light spilling in from somewhere.  
It was faint and only caught edges of chairs and counters, outlining
their vague forms in a dull gray. Tom
saw the light was coming from both the broken door and the door that supposedly
led to an office area. One of the
infected had managed to open the door and now it remained partway open, letting
in a sliver of light.

There was movement in the far corner, past the open
door. The shape was nearly formless, but
Tom knew it was an infected. His ears
told him there was at least one more in the room somewhere closer to the
destroyed door.

Tom slowly untangled himself from the scrunched knot he had
placed himself in, and then slowly rose to a half crouch.
  He held his rifle to his shoulder, ready for
an assault. It came sooner than he would
have thought. The demented instantly
noticed the movement and screamed out in rage.  
From directly across the room, the nearest one charged directly toward
Tom. Two quick pulls of the trigger
dropped it to the floor. The recoil was
a bit shocking to Tom’s aching body, stinging his shoulder and sending sharp
pains down his arm.

There were two more demented in the room with him and both
of them were racing his way. Their dark
forms were silhouetted by the dim light spilling in through the broken
door. In a hurry to get to Tom, both of
them slammed into one of the patient chairs halfway across the room.
  The base of the chair was mounted to the
floor. Both demented went flying head
first over the stout chair.

Tom fired off a couple quick shots, just missing high as
they both fell to the floor. Quickly
sidestepping across the room to get a better angle, Tom continued firing at the
dark forms that struggled to rise to their feet.

Rather than wait to see if they were dead or not Tom ran for
the partially open door. The door burst
all the way open in front of Tom, slamming up against the wall.
  Several demented raced into the room.
  There was a brief burst of light before the
door slowly swung back to a nearly closed position.
  The demented sprinted right past Tom,
continuing all the way to the center of the room.

Using their haste to his advantage, Tom darted across the
last few feet, flung open the door, and raced through the opening.
  Spinning around, he closed the door behind
him. The door could only be locked with
a key, so Tom left it, hoping the closed door would at least slow the meat
heads.

With his back pressed to the wooden door, Tom surveyed the
room in front of him. The space was
filled with grey cubicles, several to each side of a narrow hallway that led to
another door.

The demented slammed into the door behind Tom, shaking
him. The door handle began to jiggle.

Tom raced across the room with his rifle aimed in front of
him, scanning for targets. There was no
movement in any of the cubicles.  
Emergency lighting kept this area dimly lit from a pair of wall mounted
lights. Tom heard the door handle click
open behind him. He could not believe
how fast they were. They were so dumb in
the beginning.

Reaching the far door, Tom recklessly flung it open and
darted through the opening, pulling it closed behind him.
  He was immediately hit by screams of rage.
  Looking left down the hall Tom saw a massive
horde of demented sprinted his way. They
were pouring through a wide open front door.  
Beyond the glass there appeared to be hundreds of demented packed into
the front parking lot, all pushing to get inside.
  The back ones probably did not see Tom, but
the excitement and anger of the front ones trickled back through the ranks,
like wind blowing through a wheat field.

Tom spun to the right and was met with a half dozen demented
racing his way. The nearest one was less
than ten feet away and closing fast. Rifle
raised, Tom began firing at the hideous attacker while running directly toward
him. Tom continued firing while he ran,
knowing the horde was bearing down on him from behind.
  Loud booms echoed down the hallway as Tom
rapidly pulled the trigger. His sights
bounced and jiggled as he ran, but the demented were so close and bunched
together he couldn’t miss.

Tom charged down the hall like a gun toting berserker from
the pit of hell. Taking all the pent up
frustration for the days of struggles and losses, Tom released a bit of it with
every trigger pull. The recoil, the
bang, the spilled blood, the smell of acrid cordite all made him feel
better. It was the drug fix for a
desperate man fed up with everything. He
knew it wouldn’t bring all those they had lost back, nor would it get him Sam,
but it felt good.

He did not know how many he had killed before reaching the
corner, but had he looked back he would have seen a horrific trail of bodies
and gore. Demented sprinted, hurdled,
and tripped over the dead in their pursuit.  
The hallway was filled with them climbing over one another, hungry for
flesh, violence, and death.

At the corner Tom could see several more demented racing his
way from the left and to his right was the elevator.
  Chipped cement walls surrounded the large
metal doors. Along the wall sat the two
buttons for up or down, neither was lit, and Tom knew this was the moment of
truth. It would be a matter of seconds
before he was swarmed by demented, far more than he had bullets for.
  It all hinged on the hope
that a hospital would tie their primary elevator into the backup power system.

Not wasting any time, Tom lunged for the buttons and hit the
up arrow. Even over the growls Tom could
hear the soft ding. The button lit up
and the elevator doors began to slide apart.

Not having time to thank the hospital’s Engineering
Department, Tom rushed into the elevator and scanned the button panel.
  He was looking for a number three, but then
noticed they were labeled ‘B’ for basement, ‘M’ for main, and a ‘2’ for the
next floor up. He rapidly hit the number
‘2’ several times. Nothing
happened. The doors stood wide
open. Raising his rifle, he fired a
volley of shots into the oncoming demented.  
The closest ones collapsed to the floor.  
Reaching back over to the buttons, Tom began hitting the close doors
button as fast as possible. He knew it
did not require multiple presses, but he was at least doing something.

The horde began flowing out of the main hall, the first of
them slammed into a set of drinking fountains on the far wall, carried by their
momentum and the surge of those behind them.  
Like a flood, the trailing demented began bouncing off and turning the
corner toward the elevator.

Tom raised his rifle as the elevator doors finally began
their slow slide back together. Rapidly
pulling the trigger, Tom began firing shots through the narrowing gap.
  As fast as they fell, three more took their
place. He instinctively began stepping
backwards, trying desperately to gain distance in the confined space.
  His rifle ran dry before the doors came together.
  The last thing he saw was a hideous, bearded
man’s mangled face crash into the doors, and then they came together with a
hollow
clunk
.
  A strange quiet followed.
  Only the dull
thuds
of the demented pounding on the other side of the thick steel
could be heard.

The elevator remained in place.
  Tom slung his AR over his shoulder and
stepped over to the button panel. The
small room began to spin and blur, dropping Tom to his knees.
  While he was hunched over catching his breath
it suddenly dawned on him that if the demented accidentally hit the arrows
outside on the wall, the elevator doors would open.
  In a heart pounding panic, sure that they
would open at any moment, Tom reached up rapidly tapped the button for floor
two. When nothing happened he really
began to panic. He looked up and saw the
ceiling access panel was too high to reach without a boost.
 
Why is
this thing not moving?

Working to resist his rising panic, Tom stood back up and
looked over the button panel. He hit the
‘B’ for basement to see what would happen.  
The button lit up and with a distant
whir
began descending.

His heart raced when he realized the doors would be opening
to the basement in a few seconds. He
drew the revolver from his holster and tucked into the corner next to the
buttons. Holding the pistol tight to his
chest while still pointed at the doors, Tom prepared for whatever might happen.

The elevator came to a slow stop followed by a
ding
from somewhere above.
  Tom’s heart pounded in his chest.
  After a brief hesitation the doors began
sliding apart. With one hand he reached
over and hit the button to close the doors.  
They continued to open, revealing the cement floor and drab white walls
of the basement. With his free hand, Tom
kept slowly pressing the pair of facing arrows meant to close the doors.
  “Come on.”  
He whispered angrily.

The opening revealed no movement, however a variety of
growls and other sounds from nearby spilled in.  
After standing open for what seemed like an eternity they began their
slow slide back closed.

Unsure why it would work now, Tom tried hitting the button
for floor two again, but still nothing happened.
  Following a pair of thin wires, Tom found a
gray box with a small keypad on it. Then
it all made sense, there was a security code to get up to the surgery floor.
  He took his rifle and using the butt began
slamming the box. It only took a few
hits and the case blew apart, sending little pieces clattering to the
floor. Hidden beneath was a small
circuit board with button sensors and a silicon pad.
  The pair of wires ran out of sight behind the
green system board. Worried that the
doors would open at any moment or the main floor would call the elevator back,
Tom yanked the wires out the back. With
a hope and a prayer he took the exposed copper ends and twisted them
together. Nothing happened.
  He was beginning to feel deflated when he
realized that he needed to hit the 2nd floor button again.
  Almost hesitantly, Tom pressed the
button. It immediately lit up and the
elevator began to ascend. He breathed a
sigh of relief, but at the same time knew that this was far from over.

Tom shouldered his rifle, keeping the pistol out and ready.
  He took a couple steps backward, hoping the
elevator would just keep on moving past the main floor.
  The readout showed the first floor and the
elevator continued its ascent until the number two lit up, and then it eased to
a stop. There was a
ding
and the doors began to slide open.
 

  On the phone Hank
had said that he did not think there were infected on the top floor, but that
was yesterday, it might be swarming with them now.
  Tom pointed the large revolver right between
the doors. The doors opened to reveal a
short section of empty hall. A large red
tool cart sat in the center of a blank white wall.
  The defibrillator on top marked it as a crash
cart. There was no movement and the
hallway sat quiet. Tom wheeled the crash
cart over and wedged it partway in the elevator doorway, not wanting the doors
to close.

With his revolver held high and ready, Tom began moving
along the wide hallway. The floor and
walls were nearly bare, painted the flat white you would expect in a surgical
zone. It only took a few paces for Tom
to come to a split in the corridor.

Looking to the right, he saw a short hall that terminated at
a set of double doors. Before the door
was a large corkboard mounted to the wall that was plastered with papers and
yellow sticky notes. Next to it a large
blue sign with white lettering marked the doors as the operating room
entrance. Running through the pair of
metal door handles was a beefy chain and padlock.
  To the side of the lock was a piece of paper
stuck to the door with a bright green tape strip.
  Something was written on the paper, but it
was illegible from this distance.

Gun out, Tom began moving.  
The halls remained in silence while Tom neared the OR.
  He hesitantly ripped the paper free off the
door. The note got right to the point,
only saying, “You want you’re boy come get him.”
  Tom angrily crumpled the note and threw it up
against the wall.

Using his fist, he banged on the door and then stepped back
listening. He could hear rustling on the
other side and muffled conversation.  
Stepping up to the door, he shouted, “Its Tom!
  Step back, I’m shooting the lock!”
  He waited, listening.
  It sounded like those trapped inside had
moved away from the door and then yelled something.
  The large door broke up the sound, making it
unintelligible.

Tom moved to the side of the door handles.
  He hated doing this because of the sound it
would make, but he didn’t have any other ideas.  
Pointing the revolver at the top of the lock, Tom partially shielded his
face using his free hand, and then squeezed the trigger.
  There was a loud
roar
,
clack
of metal, and
a noise like sand hitting the floor.  
There was now a gaping gash along the top of the lock, but it still remained
in place. Tom fired another shot into
the lock. This second shot blew off a
chunk of the shank, causing the lock to fall apart, hanging limply.