Waking The Zed (7 page)

Then she rose to her feet to
grab her cell phone and call Dr. Klein. She cursed as the call went to voice mail. She tried the main number and a male voice answered. It was not the usual female receptionist. She told him about her problem, and he said he would send help as quickly as possible. But she should know that she was not the only one handling an emergency and she should do what she could for the lab tech on her own. “After all”, the man said, “aren’t you studying to be some kind of doctor?”

“
I’m not a doctor. I’m a pathology graduate student. All I know is some basic first aid. Why can’t you send help?” Pam asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I’m not sure,” the man said. “Somebody said there has been some sort of animal attack or something.”
Then Pam was pretty sure she heard a gunshot from the man’s end of the phone connection. The phone went silent.

Pam did not try
to call again, but just shut her phone off and slipped it into her pocket. Her heart raced, and she knew she really needed to find help. But some instinct made her reluctant to draw more attention to her presence in this room. She had no weapons of her own. The equipment in this room was either delicate or much too heavy to pick up. The thought of mad creatures and gunshots made her wonder if her best option would be to simply hide until help arrived. She might be able to crawl into the closet, but she could hardly prop up George in there with her too.

F
or a variety of reasons, Pam was handy with a first aid kit. People growing up on fairly isolated farms had to know how to help each other out. But this poor man really needed a real medical doctor and perhaps a hospital. Pam’s training had prepared her to be a researcher more than a practitioner.

She
used the small scissors to cut his shirt away. After she completely uncovered the wound, Pam’s eyes opened in wonder.

She had seen
plenty of animal bites in her time. When she had worked for a summer in a day care during high school, she had seen a few toddler bites as well.
This looks human.
Of course, it was larger than the bites that had been delivered by teething one year old children. Dr. Klein had said she experimented with some sort of primates.
Would an ape bite look like this?

Then she tore open a pack of wipes. The package said they were anesthetic and antiseptic. She figured they might hurt anyway, but she carefully dabbed at h
is wound. He did not even react as Pam swabbed his wound. It was as if his arm had gone totally numb. His eyes were still open but he barely seemed conscious.

As she crouched by the poor man’s side, she could almost feel the heat rising off his body.
He couldn’t have developed a fever from an infected bite this quickly.
His eyes seemed glazed though they were very red now. They were wide open, but not focused. Except for his staring eyes there was no sign that he was even awake any more.
I guess people can still be unconscious with their eyes open.

There was no way she could treat the guy
with these lousy little wipes and a few Band-Aids. That is, George’s actual wound did not seem that bad. But his reaction to the wound indicated he needed a real hospital emergency room and a real medical doctor. He needed antibiotics and maybe even fluids to prevent dehydration.

She could only work with what she had.
Pamela poured the contents of the kit on the floor and rifled through an assortment of bandages, cleaning swabs, and small bottles of pain relievers.

She thought tha
t a couple of pain relievers might help but she would need to leave the room to get him a glass of water. There was a small sink, and a large cleaning hose for water. But the company forbade any food or drinks in the lab rooms. Dr. Klein had made an exception when she delivered Pam’s coffee this morning, but she had promptly removed the cup when the technicians had removed the bodies. There were no other glasses or cups. She looked up frantically at the lab door but nobody had appeared to help her yet.

“I am going to get some help,” Pa
mela said. “Can you hang in there?” George did not reply, but just gazed vacantly at the wall. His eyes were still open, but they appeared unfocused and uncomprehending. He had to be in shock and she could not help him.
A couple of aspirins or bandages would not be enough either.

Then she rose
to her feet and made her way out the door. The wide hallway was empty, but Pam saw streaks of blood on the white walls. A foul smell, like human waste, permeated the air. It looked and smelled like somebody had lost an awful lot of blood and apparently other body fluids. As Pam gagged she noticed that the overwhelming odor was not blood, but more like rot. Besides, George’s bite looked ugly but it could not have bled that much and he had not carried the foul stench into the lab.
This had to come from somebody or something else
.

Some instinct made her retreat
back to Preservation Room 17 to see if there was something she could use as a weapon if she was confronted by some kind of wild animal. Most of the tools in this room were electronic. They would be absolutely useless against a wild and determined attacker. When Pam had first seen the laboratory technician enter the room, she had seen that George had been a sturdy man with a barrel chest and thick arms. Any animal that could get past his guard and deliver a bite like the one that George had must be a lot stronger than she was unless it had just totally taken him by surprise.

Pam
threw open the closet door again. A sturdy umbrella had been propped up against the back wall, partially hidden by the lab coats. It was a long, blue striped umbrella with a heavy handle. It reminded her of rental umbrellas she had seen passed out on a golf course. That seemed like an odd thing to keep in a laboratory room like this but she guessed somebody must have dropped it off here and forgotten about it. It hardly seemed like much of a weapon but she supposed it might be better than nothing. A good rap from the heavy handle might get a creature to think twice about attacking her.
It’s a lousy weapon, but it’s all I have.

Feeling frightened, and slightly ridiculous, she picked up the umbrella and returned to the hallway.
Previously, she had always emerged from a work room or laboratory to see a few workers or scientists heading from place to place. But just then she looked left and right down an empty corridor.

As she turned the corner, she saw more
smears of blood on the walls and a reddish-brown pool on the floor. This had to be more blood than George could possibly have lost from one puncture wound in his arm. The punctures did not even seem that deep. There was blood on his shirt sleeve but not that much. To produce this much blood, George’s clothes would have surely been soaked.

As Pam walked down the corridor she
noticed that the door to Preservation Room 16 was slightly ajar. She glanced in through the window and gasped. She was sure she saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind the work desk. Startled, she pulled back. She tried to talk herself into entering the room to see if another person needed assistance, but she never had a chance to make a decision.

That was when she saw Enrico rounding the corner behind her. H
e moved slowly and seemed dazed. Pam stepped forward and started to tell him about poor George, but Enrico just stared at her without any apparent recognition. His eyes looked red rimmed like George’s had.
Was there some sort of chemical accident?

He had
certainly been cold to her this morning but this was different. He moved towards her slowly. His handsome bronze face looked unnaturally waxy under the bright hall lights. As he got closer, Pam saw that his eyes looked aflame with infection.
Maybe he can’t see well.

His slow pace was deceptive. When he was with an arm’s reach of her he groaned and lunged forward. Pam was a good head shorter than the handsome engineer, but s
he had been raised around nervous horses and angry bulls. Without thinking, she sidestepped and raised the umbrella to block his outstretched arms. He stumbled against the wall, seemingly unable to fully control his muscles. Momentum carried him so his head hit the wall with an audible cracking sound.

Pamela suddenly was seized by the thought that he was hurt and simply reaching for her for support. She
felt bad because she had struck out so impulsively. But as she turned towards him, she saw that he had lost a huge chunk of flesh from the back of his neck and shoulder. The wound was streaming blood and matted with gore.
There was no way he could be walking around with an injury like that.
How the heck is he even conscious?

Enrico regained his balance, snarled, and lunged at her
again. His movement surprised her, and it was her turn to stumble back. She caught herself, but as soon as she had her feet untangled, Pam lost no time as she turned on her heel and sprinted back down the empty hallway.

She thought she should return to poor George in Preservation Room 17. The door could be locked from the inside. She had certainly closed the door tightly when she left so no predator could enter. As she approached the door, she saw George’s face at the
window. Shuddering with relief, Pam assumed he was not hurt as badly as she thought he was.
Perhaps we could get out of here together. Maybe he’s miraculously recovered from the shock on his own.

But when she stepped up to the door the lab tech slammed
his head against it, and she saw that his features were contorted with rage. The door was not locked. It would be simple enough for him to open it. But instead he just splayed both hands and tried to push it open with his head and arms.

Pam glanced back. Enrico ambled around the corner. His head seem to hang awkwardly as he made his slow
but determined way towards her. His skin was torn from his forehead and nose where he had hit the wall. Oblivious to multiple injuries, he just kept plodding forward.

George still slammed against the door, but Enrico
did not seem to display any interest in the man’s frantic antics. His red rimmed eyes seemed vaguely focused on Pam as he opened his mouth to release an inhuman growl.

Unsure where to head
next, she only knew she wanted to distance herself from the insane creatures that George and Enrico had turned into. Pamela sprinted down the hallway. The umbrella was clutched tightly in her right first and she spread her left arm out for balance. Tracks of blood could be hazards and she could not afford to slip and hurt herself. Right now, she just wanted to make her way out of the building and find some help.

She had to pass through a set of double doors in order to make it to the exit nearest the parking garage. She started to push through
the heavy doors when she saw three more figures by the exit. Thinking that she had finally found some help, Pam sprinted through the doorway. The figures had been standing fairly still, but as she moved into the hallway they all turned in unison.

Pam could see blood dripping down from the nose of the nearest man.
Another man had blood and brown fluid crusted around his hairline and jaw. He seemed to stare at her vacantly as he stepped towards her with an old man’s stiff gate. Bits of something that looked like meat were stuck between his teeth. He had the same red-eyed gaze as Enrico had.

The worse sight was the third figure. The woman had blood dripping from her jaws
though she seemed to be missing her tongue.

“Oh,” Pam
said, “I don’t like that.” Operating purely on adrenaline and instinct, she whirled back. Enrico was only about ten yards away, blocking the corridor. She tapped the umbrella against her right hand to gauge its strength. She believed it was a thick and sturdy golf umbrella, made to stand up under hard use and misuse. She hoped it could stand up under some serious misuse right now.

She tried to sprint past Enrico on the other side of the hallway, but his long legs and arms worked in his favor. As he lunged for her, Pam backhanded his temple with the heavy handle as hard as she could.
She had never struck a human or animal like this before. She had played a bit of tennis in high school, and Pam tried to remember how she had delivered her most punishing ball returns. His head, already unsteady, lolled to the side and he seemed to lose his bearings. He did not fall, but took uncertain circular steps as if her blow had taken out some brain function that used to keep him moving in a straight line.

His
actions were certainly curious. He seemed to pivot on the one leg that he kept firmly planted on the floor. His other leg jerked him around in a circle. He looked like some sort of grotesque broken toy circling around in a mad dance. That made Pam think of the way Dr. Klein had seemed to waltz around Preservation Room 17 in the morning. For a moment, Pam stared at him. But she did not intend to wait around for the final dance, and she certainly did not want to be his partner.

She raced back down the hallway towards another set of doors that led to the main entrance
at the front of the building. She just prayed that she would not run into another group of these wounded madmen. As she passed Preservation Room 17 again she saw that George was still flinging himself against the door, though he had seemed to slow down like a windup clock losing momentum. The small reinforced window was streaked with blood. George’s nose looked broken. It seemed as if he had torn his own head apart in an effort to move the door, but the simple solution of using the door handle escaped him. Pamela froze for an instant to watch, but then quickly started to trot off again.