Life Among The Dead (24 page)

Mortie turns and faces towards the way he had come. He slowly crawls past the hole he had entered and bravely transverses the psychiatric ward above the heads of the berserkers. It is dark and smells of dust. As soon as he thinks of the smell he wishes he hadn’t because his nose is starting to tickle.

A sudden sneeze offsets his weight distribution and the tile beneath his left hand falls through. His shoulder catches on the thin retaining rods. The crowd is directly below him, they have been following his progress.

Mortie is fighting to get up, but he absently places both knees on the same tile and it falls away as well. He is lying on his chest as his legs dangle. The crazies are reaching for him though he is well out of range. He flails his exposed limbs franticly and the thin aluminum supports start to shake.

He knows he needs to calm down, or he will fall right on top of the lunatics below. Mortie stops his wild movements and takes a deep breath. The mortician carefully lifts his right leg and sets his knee on the unstable bracket. He waits, wanting to make sure it is safe to lift the second leg. As he brings his left one up the bracket gives way, bending sharply. Mortie is falling.

The insane mob is showered with debris from the ceiling along with the screaming man. The eager folks break Mortie’s fall, he crashes down on their heads taking them to the hard floor along with him. The mortician is on a pile of bodies that fight to get up. Those still standing have him surrounded.

Hands are grabbing at him, pulling him in every direction. They all seem to want to bite him. They have him by the hospital pajama shirt he was made to change into when he had first arrived. Mortie slips out of the thin, green fabric and crawls for freedom. His skinny body squeezes between the legs of one of the psychotics.

Mortie is on his feet running towards the television room. The ward is dark except for emergency lights along the ceiling. The door is illuminated in a circle of yellow light. He doesn’t have to look to know they are after him already.

His hand is on the knob, but it won’t turn. He tries and tries despite the fact he knows it to be locked. To his right is the patient pay phone.
You don’t see those too often anymore,
he had thought during the tour. The orderly told him that cellular phone use is forbidden in the hospital because they interfere with the heart monitors upstairs.

The last sane person on the psychiatric ward steps up onto the pay phone’s metal shelf. Soon he is standing on top of the large rectangular relic, reaching for the ceiling again. His fingertips just barely touch the white squares. He has just enough height to push one up and away, revealing the black space above.

Mortie must jump to reach the edge where the ceiling meets the wall. He hangs by his fingers as the violent horde approaches. Their bodies push away a wooden chair that allows phone users to sit down when they call their loved ones, or their attorneys.

He can feel hands brushing his loose pants as he scrambles to get up the wall. They had taken away his shoes upon admittance; he was forced to wear a pair of cheap slippers with virtually no tread. The slippers slide down the heavily painted wall as he tries to gain enough purchase to elevate himself.

His pants are in the grasp of one of his pursuers. He can feel the thin fabric being pulled down. Losing his pants doesn’t concern him; it actually gives Mortie the incentive to try harder. The frail man finds the strength to pull himself up so his chin crests the edge. Never before in his life has he ever done a pull up.

Mortie is out of their reach and out of his pants. He shimmies to his left while wearing nothing but those cheap slippers and a pair of tighty whiteies. The nearly naked man is able to swing his right leg up onto the ledge and heft his body up into the void.

He rolls along the tiles and brackets feeling relieved to be out of danger. After a short rest on his back, Mortie moves to get on his hands and knees. It hits him too late that he should be careful of how he moves on the tiles.

His body cracks one of the squares in half and he is once again falling. The television room is as dark as a cave. His back strikes the ground and all the wind leaves him. He can’t move. The pain is too great. He can only wait and see if there is anything vital damaged. The lunatics serenade him during his convalescence. He can hear them moan through the door.

40

The door opens and a flashlight beam precedes the two figures that enter the room. Dan rises to meet them. The figure in the lead is pushing a translucent cart. It is a basinet. Heather watches as her husband’s face lights up with a wide smile.

“
You’re a daddy.” She whispers to him.

“
Happy birthday, Vincent.” He says sweetly as he leans over the cradle. They have had the name picked out for the past year with an alternate if they had a girl.

The tiny bundle moves, his eyes are closed and the lids are glossy from the ointment that the nurses put on after birth. They open slightly and look at the man who hovers overhead. Dan reaches for him. He has been looking forward to holding this boy for so long.

“
Don’t touch him!” The nurse wielding the flashlight says. She aims the beam right at Dan who is blinded when he looks in her direction. He knows by her voice that she is the one he had met at the door, the one with the shotgun.

“
He needs to eat.” She continues. “And, you need to clean yourself up.”

“
Oh. Right.” Dan replies.

“
Bathroom is over there.” She points out a door with her flashlight. Dan takes a few steps as the other nurse scoops up his son and carries him over to Heather. As the child nears his mother a small song can be heard that Dan recognizes as the Irish lullaby.

“
What’s the music for?” Dan asks.

“
It prevents accidentally giving a child to the wrong parent.” The nurse in charge tells him and hands Dan her flashlight. “Wash your hands. And, at least cover your filthy clothes, there are robes in there.”

At the door the proud new father gives one last look back and sees the most wonderful sight he has ever witnessed. In the romantic light of the candles his wife is feeding his son. She looks down at their first born with such a calm loving expression, a slight smile curls the corners of her mouth.

The bathroom, however, is not a wonderful sight. What greets him is horrifying. Even after all he has seen today, this is the most horrific thing bar none. The ghastly scene makes his testicles constrict with a shivering sensation. He backs out of the lavatory; his eyes are wide from the sight of it.

“
What happened in there?” He asks nobody in particular.

“
Nothing happened,” The gruff lead nurse says, clucking her tongue. “She had a baby. Men are such chickens.” She is shaking her head at him. “Get in there and clean up.”

He enters the bathroom again. The wall, floor and all the fixtures are a sterile hospital white. Even the towels and washcloths are white. Everywhere he shines the light in the aseptic room is splashed with blood. The toilet rim has a thick clot that had dripped rivulets down the porcelain. The tub has a blood ring around it, left when the water was drained. The floor between the two is marred by wide drops and puddles left to coagulate on the ceramic squares.

A shiver runs up the soldier’s spine. It really isn’t as bad as he had first thought. It’s the fact that it is so close to the ones he loves. It’s the fact it is his wife’s blood that makes it so terrible.
She is a fucking saint to go through this,
he commends his wife as he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the blood spattered sink.

Bleach white cloths are pink from their prior usage. He grabs a fresh towel from a rack nearby and washes his face and hands twice. He inserts his arms into a robe and cinches it tightly over his camouflage uniform.

Dan returns to his family’s side. He watches as the two bond, feeling completely at peace. He doesn’t notice the younger nurse is still in the room, he walks right past her.

“
Heather told me you want to leave the hospital?” She says in a sweet voice that makes it a question.

“
Yeah.” Dan doesn’t take his eyes from his wife and son to respond.

“
And, you want to take us with you?”

“
Sure, whoever wants to go.” Dan leans closer to see his boy feeding. Heather had decided to breastfeed since she had heard and read about all of the benefits of it. He loved the idea since it helps children develop strong immune systems. He loved it even more because he had heard how expensive formula can be.

“
Do you have a plan?” The nurse continues.

“
Not yet.”

The nurse seems to be waiting for something, as if he has more information to pass. He really doesn’t. He actually forgets she is there again. The soldier is lost in his gaze of his son. Vincent opens his eyes and seems to be able to see his father. Dan isn’t sure it is possible for the baby to do that this young.

“
I’ll see who wants to go.” The nurse says exiting the room.

“’
Kay.” Dan says absently. He has the only two people that matter to him, right here in this room, and that is all he cares about.

41

Oz is barreling down the halls slowing only to negotiate turns. He has encountered only a few lone zombies along his path, and dispatched of them the same way each time. The large man just slugs them in their mouths without hesitating. He then proceeds to smash their heads into the walls until they fall limp. He finds it exhilarating.

Never in a million years did he think he would be pummeling humans to death, he never really wanted to except for the surgeon who stole his wife. This isn’t exactly taking lives since they are already dead.

What Oz desires most is to get out of this place. He feels like he has been trapped here for far too long. That is a feeling he has had for a while, even before this madness ever occurred.

The janitor pauses to think out his escape. He knows the west wing is under renovations. Most of it is closed off and should be relatively clear. The only open wards on that wing are mental health and the emergency room. Both are on the first floor.

He is running again. The next corner takes him towards the west wing. The contractors have it blocked off with a naked sheet of plywood. Oz drives his shoulder into the temporary barrier and it gives up its hold on the adjoining walls with ease.

The juggernaut doesn’t stop. He continues through the sheetrock lined halls. He follows the path to an unfinished staircase and bounds down the bare concrete steps, three at a time, all the way to the second floor.

Oz stops on second because it is right above the ER. He doesn’t want to get too close to it. He remembers how crazy it had been that morning, and all of the blood he had been asked to mop up.

Exposed two by fours and a half-finished dry walling job surrounds the janitor. Wires and pipes are visible running up and down where the wall is supposed to be. He is searching for particular a window. An awning hangs over the ER and he wants to get on top of it. He can jump down from there.

The big man can hear moaning, but cannot pinpoint the origin. Scanning the area he spots something leaning against one of the incomplete walls that could prove useful, a twenty-pound sledgehammer. He takes it with a smile.

42

Bill’s eyes open. He can see the hallway as he rises to his feet. His vision is a lot clearer now. The man is scared, more scared than he has ever been before in his life. He isn’t afraid of the walking dead anymore. What scares him is the fact he is moving without trying. He isn’t controlling his body.

The human brain can live for seven minutes without oxygen. After three you risk brain damage.

“
Is this what it’s like?” He asks, but what emerges from his vocal chords is a moan. “I can’t do this… This can’t be it.”

He is trying to control his body, it is no use. He is on autopilot. All he can do is watch the halls pass by. Bill is forced to see whatever his body decides to look at as his head turns from side to side. He can hear his own footsteps echoing and taste the bourbon he drank hours ago. He cannot feel much of anything though. He can’t feel his legs as they press the ground. He doesn’t feel his shoulder when it bumps against the wall. All he can feel is his stomach. He is experiencing hunger pains like he has never known.

“
Oh, God!” Bill moans. “This is hell.”

43

Mortie decides he can attempt to move. The skinny, naked man gets to his feet. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room. Some light is filtering through heavy blinds on the windows. He hobbles over to them, the pain in his back forces him to hunch slightly.

There are double panes of glass between him and the outside world. Mortie can see Main Street beyond the psychiatric ward’s small enclosed patio area.

The orderly had told him that is where smoke breaks are taken. It is a concrete slab surrounded by a cage made of thick steel bars painted white. A canopy hangs overhead.
To prevent the loons from climbing out,
Mortie suspects.

The door to this outdoor cell is hidden in the shadows of the room; the mortician discovered it by feeling around. There is no knob. He can’t tell if it is locked or not. The man, desperate to elope the mad house, is trying to pry the door open with his fingers. He is squeezing his skinny digits into the crack where the door meets the jam. He feels the heavy steel move; he just can’t get a good enough grip to pull it more than an inch.