E52 Read online

  “Why?” I snap.

  “I need to put this salve on your arm to stop the bleeding,” He answers, pulling a tube of medication out of his pocket.

  Glancing down at my arm I realize that my wound is bleeding again.

  “Do whatever you feel you must,” I state, irritated.

  Lying on the concrete floor, I am for the first time this morning, able to remotely relax. The man calmly rises and walks over to me.

  “You might feel a little pain, but it will help,“ He states.

  The man kneels down on the floor beside me and applies a generous amount of medication to my arm.. The bleeding instantly stops.

  “I am so sorry they are doing this to you, but I will be back for you. I will help you as I promised,“ He whispers, then walks to the door.

  He knocks a few times and within moments the door opens and the man walks out.

  Curious, I run over to the door and glance through the small window.

  He is angry and screaming at other men, all of which are wearing white jackets and masks to hide their identity.

  “You told me that she had not received the drug yet, that she had fallen, cut her arm and needed medical attention. You son of a Bitch!” He screams at the men. “How dare you take my life in your hands!”

  The man that had been so kind to me before is now showing his true fear.

  “She could have ripped me to pieces!” He yells.

  “Calm down!” the other man states. “We were watching the entire time. We would have stopped her before anything happened.”

  “And when exactly were you planning on coming in? After she bit me?” The man demands to know. “What then? Would you have locked me up like the others?”

  The lights flicker as an ear-piercing alarm sounds. “Code red 1! Code Red 1!” A woman announces over the intercom.

  “West wing, room 22!” She continues.

  “Shit they have gotten one of us!” One of the men state in a panic.

  A metal shield slams down from above, further keeping me hostage.

  Chapter Two

  The morning sun peeks through the window waking me from my slumber. I wake feeling refreshed.

  Laying silent in my bed; I welcome the sun. The warmth that it offers blankets my skin.

  A smile emerges on my face as I look over at the digital calendar and realize that it is Tuesday; the one day a week I am allowed out of my room. Although I must pass a urine test before I will be allowed out, I feel confident that some day soon I will be well enough to not only go to the cafeteria, but to go outside and enjoy the fresh air.

  The routine is the same every Tuesday, I must take an empty cup from the drawer in my bathroom and fill it with my urine, then place it in the small doorway within the mirror. It usually only takes minutes before I know my fate for the day.

  Today for some reason I feel more anxious than normal. I try to wait patiently, but I can feel the restlessness inside me quickly rise.

  “I wish I would get better so that I will be allowed to leave this place for good,” I think to myself.

  My mind wanders back to before I became infected. There was a time not to long ago when I was healthy and living with my husband of six years and our five year old son “Johnathan”. We were happy. That was until the day that I woke up with a rash on my arm. At first I did not pay attention to it, but it quickly spread and within a few days it had overtaken my body.

  My husband was worried that whatever it was plaguing me was contagious so he had insisted that I go to the doctor. That was the day that I was brought here. Since that day; over seven months ago, I have not seen my husband nor my son. Often I wonder if he knows I am pregnant with our second child. If they would just allow me one phone call, I am certain David would want to know and possibly come visit me. A day does not pass by that I don't ask if my husband has called or has come to see me, but my questions are always ignored.

  The sunlight peeking through the small window glistens against the rash that remains on my arm, enhancing the red bumps in such a way that my skin appears to be on fire. Intrigued I lift the gown from my right arm to see if it appears the same as the left. To my surprise there is a bandage that covers most of my forearm. Confused, I feel every inch of the material with the tips of my fingers.

  “What happened?” I wonder to myself.

  Focusing on the gauze I try to remember the events that took place the day before, but to my surprise all I can remember is waking up and two men coming in to see me.

  “What were they here for?” I question in my mind.

  Closing my eyes I try to concentrate on only yesterday, but try as I might my memories continue to fail me.

  “Why can't I remember anything but them?” I question myself.

  As I press down on the gauze I cringe as a pain shoots through my arm. I want to take off the bandage but dare not in fear that the rash has progressed and possibly has now eaten through my flesh. The bandage could possibly be the only thing protecting the rest of my body from being plagued with the same fate.

  “How are you feeling today?” I hear someone ask.

  Preoccupied in my thoughts I do not hear the door open; I quickly glance at the door. A young man is standing in the doorway. He looks familiar to me. He is wearing the normal protective gear that most of the people around here wear. A white jacket with sleeves that stretch down to his wrist, gloves, white pants and coverings on his shoes. Today, however, he is not wearing a protective mask, nor a hairnet.

  “I feel much better today,” I state hoping that my words will convince the man that I am well enough to leave my room.

  “Well your test came back negative.” The man smiles.

  His words are like a beautiful song that I have been anxiously waiting to hear. I feel as if I have been cooped up in this room forever and now for the first time in weeks I see a ray of hope.

  “Does that mean that I am getting better?” I ask.

  The man's silence causes an overwhelming panic within me.

  “Please tell me if I am getting better,” I beg. “I want to see my husband and my son.”

  The man continues to look at me, his expression is that of sadness.

  I sigh.

  “Let me check your temperature,” The man states unexpectedly. “If it is normal I will take you outside and we can go for a walk, instead of just staying in the building.”

  For the seven months that I have been here I have never been told that I could go outside.

  “Maybe this means that my prayers have been answered and that I am getting better,” I think in my head.

  I smile.

  He takes slow steps toward me never losing sight of the door. The great caution that the man is taking confuses me at first.

  “Why is he acting like I am going to attack him?” I question to myself. “I have always been very nice to everyone and have never gave any indication to anyone that I would hurt them.”

  From my bed I stare up at him. He is a strong man that appears to be in his late twenties. His hair is dark brown with subtle streaks of gold that accentuates the flakes of green in his dark brown eyes. He reminds me a lot of my Father when he was younger.

  The man takes a thermometer from his pocket and places it in my mouth.

  “Are you hungry?” The man asks.

  The object under my tongue makes it difficult to speak, but I do the best I can.

  “I could eat,” I answer in a muffled tone.

  “Is there anything that you are craving?” He asks placing his hand closer to my face.

  “Actually some bacon and eggs sounds good,” I answer, moving the thermometer to the side of my mouth.

  The man asks no further questions. He smiles, then takes the thermometer from my mouth.

  “No fever,” he states.

  “Would you mind if I went with you to have breakfast?” He asks. “You must have someone with you when you go outside, so after you eat, we will go for that walk I promised you.”

&n
bsp; It is has been months since I had the opportunity to breathe the fresh air or feel the warmth of the direct sunlight. If it means that this man must accompany me, then so be it.

  “Do you think I am well enough to ask my family to come see me?” I ask.

  “I am sorry,” He answers is a softened tone. “Your rash remains, so it would be best if we waited for a bit longer, you wouldn’t want them to get sick also.” He pats me on the shoulder.

  I was once told that the rash is a virus that affects the Cerebral Cortex of the brain causing the patient to lose days and sometimes a lifetime of memories. In the worst cases the Hypothalamus is also infected causing those patients to suffer worst than I. They are not certain of the long term effect of the disease. Out of the thousands of people they care for in this hospital, everyone has had different outcomes, leaving them still searching for answers. My belief is that most of the patients have died from the fever, but the doctors don't want to tell the remaining of us our inevitable fate. Instead, they keep the remaining patients separate from one another and treat each one of us with a different medicine in hopes to come up with the cure. I pray every night that tomorrow will bring the news that I so badly yearn to hear.

  As a tear wells in my eye I take in a deep breath and sigh. I know he is right, as everyday I wonder about the baby I house inside me. Is the fetus infected and if it is will he or she die? I could not bare the thought of losing two children, so it is best to wait to see my family. I do not want to get my other child ill also.

  “Let's get you out of here so you can enjoy the day,” He states holding his hand out for me to grab.

  “What is your name?” I ask.

  “My name is Bill,”

  “Nice to meet you, Bill,” I smile, reaching out for his hand.

  His handshake is firm, causing the pain in my arm to escalate. I flinch.

  “Is your arm bothering you?” He asks.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  The man takes a syringe from his pocket, takes the cap off and places it by my arm.

  “I can give you a shot that will numb the area if you like,” He states. “You have a bad wound.”

  “Do you know what happened?” I ask.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No, actually, I am having a hard time remembering anything from yesterday.”

  The man cocks his head slightly; his expression that of attentiveness.

  “Oh… well.... you... um.... had a seizure fell and hit the edge of the table,” He states, his words unconvincing. “The sharp edge sliced through you skin and cause a bad cut.”

  “I don’t remember doing that.” I state.

  Nonchalantly Bill leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I will tell you the truth later, just go with what I am saying.”

  He glances at me and winks.

  “Well that is what happened, you had a seizure and cut yourself,” He states loudly, as if he is trying to get others to hear him. “This shot will help with the pain.”

  Although intrigued by the truth, I understand that for some reason he can not offer that to me right now. I decide to not press the issue and wait to hear what he has to say at a later time. There is obviously more going on here than I know and the only way to find out is to be patient.

  Accepting his offer graciously I agree for him to inject the numbing medicine into my arm. With great care he unwraps the bandage. I look down. My skin has been pulled tightly together and stitched.

  “Wow,” I think to myself. “That looks bad.”

  The prick of the large needle is painful at first but as the numbing agent is released from the syringe the pain disappears.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  Bill helps me from the bed and together we walk to the door.

  “As we head down the hallway keep looking forward and don’t ask any questions,” Bill whispers.

  His request seems odd to me, but I do not question him.

  The walk down the corridor is disturbing. Erie voices reverberate against the concrete walls as the sounds of people screaming escapes from behind the closed doors. I have heard them before but never at this magnitude. The horrific sounds causes a chill throughout my body.

  My curiosity becomes the best of me. I casually glance in every window that is not obscured by bars. Most of the windows are high on the doors which makes it impossible to see in many of the rooms.

  At first I do not see anything out of the ordinary, but the further we walk I see that some of the windows appear to be splattered with what looks like blood.

  I glance over at Bill. He is walking beside me ignoring the people screaming.

  Nonchalantly, I walk closer to the left side of the wall and walk on my tiptoes, hoping to see further inside the rooms. Without being noticed by Bill I am able to get close enough to get a glimpse in one of the rooms. There is pregnant lady lying in bed.

  "Another pregnant woman?" I question in my mind.

  It seems peculiar to me that there is another woman in here pregnant, but I dare not ask Bill if she is infected to. I was asked not to look in the rooms and I have done just that.

  We continue to walk.

  As the screaming continues to intensify, the sound of people shrieking in horrific pain quickly becomes nerve-racking. I can't stand it anymore! I cover my ears and continue walking; quickening my pace.

  Before I can voice my concerns about what I am witnessing we arrive at the cafeteria door. The sounds of terror cease as we enter the soundproof room.

  “Let's have a seat by the window,” Bill suggests. “It is a beautiful day outside.”

  Why is he acting like nothing is amiss? After what I just witnessed I want to scream!

  I want answers! What is really wrong with my arm? Why are there people locked in rooms bellowing out in pain? Why do some of them have blood on their windows? Is the disease eating at their sanity? All questions I want answers to, but do not ask.

  “I will go get our food,” Bill smiles. “You just sit here and relax..”

  Baffled as to why he is oblivious to the fear that I express, I glance over at him with a concerned expression. As if to look through me, Bill continues to ignore my concerns.

  “I don't care about the weather,” I growl in my mind. “I need to know what is happening.”

  I continue to glare at Bill as he reaches over and pulls a chair out for me to sit.

  “Bill...” I begin to speak.

  “After breakfast,” He whispers, interrupting me. “Although there is no one in here there are people always listening.”

  I move the chair closer to the window so that the sun-rays shine directly on my skin.

  Bill takes off his lap coat of and rests it on the back of a chair.

  With the memory weighing heavy on my mind, I continue questioning. “What was wrong with those people?”

  I watch Bill as he walks toward the far end of the cafeteria. Try as I might I attempt to relax but the memories of the people I just saw and the blood on their windows haunt my mind. Although I fear the truth I must know what is happening to them.

  As soon as he is out of sight I grab his lab jacket and slip it on. Further masking my true identity as a patient, I tuck my gown in my underwear and then quietly scoot my chair back and stand up. The jacket fits loosely around my stomach, hiding the fact that I am pregnant.

  I glance back over at the food area. I still do not see Bill so I continue on with my mission.

  Swiftly, I make my way out of the cafeteria and down the hallway. There is one window in particular that I would like to peek in; the one that with the glass that was consumed with the most blood splatters.

  As I reach the door I hear inhuman like moaning coming from inside the room. I am now more curious than ever. Leaning against the door I peek in.

  “What in the hell?” I gasp.

  Sitting in the middle of the room is a boy that by the size appears to be around six years old or at least I think the crou
ched figure is a child. His skin is the color of a dead man's flesh. His gown is drenched with the red serum of the animal that he is feasting on.. He is eating something that appears as if it was recently alive, but I am uncertain to what it is. He looks over at me for a moment and in that moment I wish I would have never came here. I glare into into his soulless eyes. His expression is that of misery and hunger, as far as he is concerned I do not exists except as a possible meal.

  Blood drips down his chin as he continues to chew on the dead carcass, all the while never losing eye contact with me. My breathing ceases as his black eyes continue to hypnotize me.

  Vomit rises to my throat. The breakfast that I had wanted earlier; I no longer crave.

  Although I want to walk away, I cannot. The sight is horrific and disturbing but at the same time I am intrigued.

  The child is chewing slower now, every few moments licking the blood from his lips. He tosses his meal aside and glares my way. He is interested in my every movement.

  Fascinated, I take a step to the left. Never moving his head he follows my movement. I take a step to the right, his eyes follow. I feel as if we are playing a game, but the expression on his face indicates to me that he is not.

  Never losing eye contact with me, he stands. His stance is awkward. Fumbling as he tries to keep his balance, he continues to glare toward the only barricade between me and him; the door that I am standing in front of.

  As if he is not in complete control of his movements, every step he makes is awkward and jilted. At first he walks slowly, then step by step his pace quickens until he is at a full out sprint.

  Sounding as if a ton of bricks has just been thrown from a ten story building, his body slams in to the door.

  I leap back at the frightful sight in front of me. His appearance is more disturbing than I had originally thought. Every inch of his clothing is drenched in blood and his face is covered with the same rash that is on my arms; in certain areas the rash has eaten through his skin and has caused massive oozing sores. The flesh around his eyes is deep purple, his irises black as coal. His teeth are sharp, like that of a sharks; his fingernails like daggers embedded in his fingertips. He is like a animal in human form.