CODE Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology Read online

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  He felt foolish as soon as he said it, noticing her unseeing eyes and the small drops of blood on the front of her jacket.

  She gripped him with strong hands around the throat and tried to drag him toward her gaping maw, teeth red with gore.

  Two quick punches to her face didn’t faze her and he could smell her rancid breath on his face as she drew him in.

  He drove a knee into her midsection and punched her as hard as he could in her head, forcing her to loosen her grip. He bashed her kneecap with his foot and heard bones cracking. Without another thought he began pummeling her, driving her to the floor and stomping her back and sides with his feet. James kicked her in the ribs, hearing them snap, and the blow pushed her to the edge of the stairs.

  She teetered there, hands still trying to reach for James instead of pushing herself to safety. He planted a shoe in her face and watched as she tumbled down the steps and smashed against the concrete wall on the landing below.

  James didn’t have time to celebrate, as two undead struggled past her flailing body, vacant eyes resting on him.

  His initial reaction was to exit the stairwell on this floor and slam the door behind him but he decided the roof offered him his best chance to escape. Making sure the two weren’t gaining on him, he began moving up the steps, keeping an eye out for surprises from above as well.

  Winded and panic-stricken, he came to the top of the stairs and stopped on the landing to catch his breath. He could hear them moving down below, quiet save for the sliding feet and bumping bodies. He thought he heard more than the two that were down there but the echo was so great that he didn’t really know.

  What he did know was the door was locked with a PIN-pad device and he had no idea what the combination could be. He tried sequential numbers to five but that didn’t work, then reversed the order. No luck.

  His pursuers were definitely moving slowly up the stairs, getting closer one thumping foot at a time.

  “Don’t freak out, you’re a doctor,” James whispered to himself over and over like a mantra. He thought about intense surgeries he’d been involved with in the past and the extreme pressures of his job, making snap judgments that resulted in life and death.

  The problem now was that it was his life on the line, not some patient he’d met an hour before or a day ago. This was the ultimate pressure cooker.

  His cell phone rang and he almost slipped and fell backwards and down the stairs. He fumbled in his pocket until he pulled it out and answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, James, this is Rick. I was wondering if you weren’t too busy tonight, if you wanted to grab some dinner.”

  “Asshole. Where the fuck are you?”

  “I’m below you, but it looks like there are a half-dozen of these things between us. I’m hoping you’re on the roof already.”

  “Not quite.” James looked at the barred door. “I don’t have the combination to the roof.”

  The noises were getting louder and closer. He glanced over the side and saw they were at the landing below him now, two bloody dead men walking.

  “Try 9-0-2-1-0” Tori said and James glanced at the phone.

  “Tori? You’re alright?”

  “Of course. I was on the way to rescue you two morons when I ran into Rick. Did you try it?”

  “Try it?” James asked stupidly. He was so elated to hear her voice and know that she was alive.

  “The fucking door,” she yelled. He could hear her below, her words echoing in the stairwell. “Shit, that was pretty stupid,” she said in a lower voice.

  James turned and tried the combination and it worked. The door opened and he stepped out into the cool night air. “It’s opened,” he said into the phone.

  Rick’s voice came back to him. “I think Tori got them turned around. That might be a good thing. Keep quiet up there and close the door and keep it closed until we call you back.”

  “Wait, I can lead them up to the roof,” James said. He realized he was whining again. She was so close and he didn’t want to lose her. He stepped back into the stairwell.

  “No dice, buddy. We’ll call you back.”

  James stared at the phone until a sliding sound on the steps below brought him out of his stupor. With a curse he shut the door but didn’t lock it. He supposed the things couldn’t open the door. Could they?

  He went to the side of the building and looked down onto utter chaos. A clump of emergency vehicles were ablaze, the black smoke being pushed away from him on the wind. Clusters of police, hospital personnel and EMT’s were being surrounded by a horde of still-moving dead people.

  Sporadic areas of the city around him were without power, dark buildings shadowed by the glow of fires and punctuated by random gunfire.

  He went to all sides of the hospital and it was the same: battles, fires and destruction. James sat down directly across from the stairwell door and waited.

  “Life is too short, and it’s time I got over her and realized what an ass I’m being to a friend.” James wiped a tear from his eye and laughed, knowing that if Rick saw him like this he’d ride him incessantly. He wouldn’t blame him. On the other hand, if Rick found out why he was crying he’d likely punch him out. Rick didn’t seem like the jealous type, although admitting ‘hey, I fucked your wife in the Bahamas’ was more than being caught staring at her great ass.

  She did have a great ass, James thought. “Stop it, you bastard! That’s Rick’s wife. Rick’s totally hot wife that you had sex with…”

  He went quietly to the door and put an ear to it, but it was either too thick to hear through or there was nothing on the other side. He was getting restless. The sounds below weren’t getting any better and he didn’t relish the thought of spending the night in the cold on the roof.

  With nothing to do and no food, drink or extra clothing, he decided to pace around the roof and see if there was perhaps an opening somewhere below. Maybe an open window on the floor below so he could raid a vending machine or check the nurse’s desk for candy. They always had candy. He didn’t want to get too far in case Tori and Rick were coming.

  The rear, northernmost corner of the hospital had a fenced in area below and a metal ladder that went straight to the ground, passing several windows. James decided he could climb down, testing each opening, and try to sneak in and out of the floors. It sounded like a plan to him.

  He had one foot on the first rung when his cell phone rang. He smiled when he saw it was from Tori’s phone. “Hello?” he said, trying to sound serious instead of excited to hear her voice again.

  “Rick’s been bit.”

  James was stunned at first. “Again?” he finally said.

  “Again? He said his hand was bitten when you two went into the room where Betty was.”

  “Yeah, I knew that.” It was all he could say. ‘I love you’ was on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know if Rick was within earshot.

  “He’s turning into one of those things,” Tori said frantically.

  “Where is he now? Get away from him.” James smiled, despite the seriousness of his friend becoming one of these things. “Come to the roof.”

  “I can’t, there are too many of them.”

  “Where’s Rick?”

  “Well, here’s the problem… I told him about us, I told him everything.”

  James was a mix of emotions and they cycled through his head at such a fast rate he was getting a migraine. “What did he say?”

  The line was quiet and James thought Tori had hung up.

  “Hello?” he finally said.

  “He was pissed. He said he’d kill you, James. He said he’d rip you apart.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, and then as he was screaming his eyes turned all milky and he stiffened. I thought he was going to kill me, but instead he left the room.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. He was heading back up the stairs. I don’t kn
ow where he was going”

  James turned as he heard the shuffle of dead feet behind him.

  “I know where he is. I love you.” James hung up the phone and closed his eyes.

  And In the Beginning

  By Anastasia Wraight

  Each step was a struggle. One foot, pause, and then the next. He made his way up the stairs of the old church at a snail’s pace, begging his body to keep moving. He paused to cough, a deep cough that tore through his lungs. He spat bloody phlegm on the cement and entered the church. He paused to light a candle and bent his head in prayer.

  “A lot of good prayer will do now.” He blew out the match.

  He turned and walked down the aisle, his hand seizing every pew to steady himself. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and began to hack again. People turned from their prayers and stared at him, recoiling in their germaphobic habits. One woman instinctively held a handkerchief to her face. As if the flimsy clothe could protect her.

  He collapsed to his knees, the cough wracking his body. He tried to breathe, but the red mucus thickened in his throat. A murmur of commotion stirred among the silent congregation. A priest rushed forward and helped him to a sitting position. He heard a call for water and then the priest wiped the blood from his face. He opened his eyes but squinted quickly against the light, the corners of his eyes darkening until he could no longer see. He sneezed, spewing a scarlet mess across the priest’s vestment. A cold hand caressed his cheek and a muffled voice told him everything would be okay. Then he heard it echo from the choir balcony: a cough.

  It had started out so small, seemed so innocent. Marcus had met his partner Brent and daughter Ronnie at the main hospital campus. It was routine, Dr. Gilmore, head of the research department, had assured them. Ronnie's blood tests the past few weeks had shown strong signs of improvement. Too soon to call it a cure, but things were looking good, he had said. Only a couple more weeks of treatments, evaluation of the results, and then they would be able to say for sure.

  Marcus winced as the nurse pierced Ronnie's shoulder with the needle. Fatherly instinct made him want to protect her from everything, even something so small as a needle. He had to remind himself, though, that the injections were doing her good. She wasn't as sick; her iron levels were up. She could run and skip and play with the other kids. She hadn't done that in almost two years. Hell, she was alive. The research team had given them hope. He just had to steel himself for a couple of more shots.

  An hour later, as they impatiently waited for results, Ronnie had resumed her coughing. “What do you say to a hot chocolate?” Marcus offered, knowing it would probably do little to soothe her throat.

  “With baby marshmallows?” She whispered, her voice rasping.

  “Of course.” She had him wrapped a few times around her pinkie. “You two okay here? I’ll only be a minute.”

  Brent nodded as he adjusted the blankets around Ronnie. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Want anything?”

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  He left her with Brent and walked over to the nurse’s station. After a set of confusing directions, he finally figured out where the cafeteria was located. He made his way to an old vending machine and gave it a good once over. It looked like an antique; he wasn’t sure he knew how to use it. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a couple dollars’ worth of change. He pressed buttons and then, a moment later, pulled out a steaming Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate, which spilled slightly onto his hand. He cursed under his breath and wiped the drink on his jeans. No marshmallows. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. He returned to the elevator and jabbed the buttons, counting each ping until he was back to Ronnie’s floor.

  The cough hadn’t subsided and, in the following hour, became much worse. Marcus watched as the cough doubled Ronnie’s tiny body over, shaking her and threatening to snap her in half. He tried to offer her supper. May have been hospital food, but it would've done her some good. She had refused, lying on the waiting room couch with her eyes screwed tightly shut. She complained of a headache, said it felt like a hammer crashing against her skull.

  Brent called over one of the research nurses to take a look at Ronnie. The nurse took the small girl’s temperature and blood pressure. She had a fever, 106. Her heart rate was accelerating. The nurse faked a confident smile and told them everything was fine. She pressed her cold palm to the girl's cheek and told her to lie still for a while. One of the doctors would be in soon to see her.

  Marcus leaned over his frail daughter and kissed her burning forehead softly. She looked so weak, the fever ravished her tiny body. Her skin tried desperately to cool her, sweat soaking through her favorite sparkly Hannah Montana t-shirt. Her eyes, the vessels around the pupil black and thickened, opened occasionally, only to squeeze shot against the light the next second. He brushed her hair back away from her pallid face. He wished he could trade places with her, to be sick instead of her.

  “Daddy?” The whisper barely escaped her chapped lips.

  “I’m here.” He tucked away a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m here.”

  “Water?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” He reached into the bag he had packed and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “She’s going to want something colder than that,” a friendly voice came from the doorway.

  Marcus turned to see Brent walking into the room with a cup filled with ice chips. He pulled a chair up to Ronnie’s bedside and set the cup on the bedside table. “Here, sweetie. Sit up a little.” He helped her sit up and adjusted the pillows behind her back.

  Marcus picked up a couple of chips and gently ran it along the back of her neck and forehead as Brent lifted the cup to her lips. She struggled to swallow the melting water.

  "Any better?"

  "No." She slumped back against the bed and pulled her pillow over her face.

  She started coughing again, a phlegmy, wet cough that refused to break up. She struggled to catch her breath. Marcus pulled the pillow from her to give her air. He grabbed a tissue and held it to her mouth as mucus started to come up. He stroked her hair, tears coming to his eyes to see his daughter suffering. As he started to wad up the tissue, he noticed the blood.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Brent elbowed him sharply in the ribs and motioned to keep quiet, though he looked just as concerned.

  The doctor walked in, his attention buried in the charts he was reading, “So, Ms. Veronica Sinclair. How are we feeling today?”

  He looked young, too young to be a doctor. Sensing Marcus’s distress, Brent took his hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he tried to comfort his partner.

  “Not good,” Ronnie whispered before having another hacking fit.

  “You’re not her usual doctor.”

  “No, I’m Dr. Reyes. Dr. Gilmore isn’t available at the moment.”

  Marcus sat down on the bed beside his daughter and pulled her into his arms. She snuggled up against him and buried her face in his chest. He could feel the heat of her fever radiate through his t-shirt. He ran his fingers through her curls, straightening out the sweaty, tangled mess as best he could. Crimson tears trickled down her cheek. He tried to keep a brave face as he wiped them away. He knew she was scared. Hell, he was scared.

  "So, doctor. Any ideas? I mean, should we be concerned?" Brent rubbed his forehead.

  “Well, it’s not necessarily anything, but it is something to take seriously. We’ll run some tests and see where we stand then.”

  “They’ve done tests. Needles…and they just…I mean, how much more do you need to do?”

  “There will be chest X-rays, maybe coagulation arterial blood gas, pulse oximetry. We need to run tests to determine what’s going on. Has she had any chest injuries lately? Been exposed to anyone with similar symptoms?”

  “No, nothing. I mean, not that we know of. I mean…”

  "Have any of the other test patients had the same kind of symptoms?" Marcus looked up at the doctor.


  Dr. Reyes continued talking as if he hadn’t heard Marcus. “I’ll send a nurse in here to prep Veronica for the tests. You can sit in the waiting room while we get the results. We will do everything we can.”

  A thousand questions flooded into Marcus’s mind as the doctor nodded and left the room. How could coughing up blood be anything but serious? The nurse soon walked in and ushered the fathers out. Marcus kissed his daughter and then leaned heavily on Brent as they walked, his heart racing and nerves twisting his stomach.

  It was taking forever. Marcus sat uncomfortably in the flat-cushioned waiting room chair, shifting his weight awkwardly. He stared at the pale blue on the walls and counted spots of missing paint. His fingers tapped nervously on the arm of the chair. How long were these tests going to take?

  Brent took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, “I’m sure it’s nothing bad. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

  “How can you know? She’s burnin’ up and… she…she’s just a little girl. This isn’t fair.”

  “No, it’s not.” He turned his head away and coughed softly into his sleeve. “But she’s also a stubborn little girl, much like her dad. She won’t give up easily.”

  He nodded but wasn’t sure he believed him. Brent wrapped his arm around Marcus’s shoulders and hugged him, smiling up at him with those big brown eyes that made him melt every time. In some small way, the gesture nearly made Marcus feel confident. Maybe everything would be okay.

  With the moans and sobs of the sick and abandoned around the room, a gloom fell over him once more and the confidence passed. Reminded again of the dire situation they were in, his eyes returned to the fading blue paint. Vintage floral trim ran around the entire room, ugly orange roses and yellow daisies. How many people stared vacantly at these same walls, hoping and praying for the best while knowing only the worst would occur? How many had sat holding tense, cold hands in agonizing anticipation? How had they stood this?

  Around the room, sterility fought with dirty in an endless battle. He had never understood the point of the monumental effort everyone put into the antibacterial craze. The nurse at the reception desk dutifully wiped down her station with disinfectant. She coughed onto her sleeve, spewing germs across the recently clean area. Off to his side, one of the maintenance staff pushed around an old mop, water from his yellow bucket sloshing chemicals to the floor. The acrid smell stung Marcus’s nostrils.