Had this idea kicking around for a few weeks now as a second attempt for the tried and true zombie apocalypse plot. I pulled the other one down because it had been so long since I originally started combined with a water thin plot that I had pretty much lost all motivation to continue it. This one, so far, seemed to be rather promising in the idea department. Here's hoping!
If the summary seems as if a few words are missing I apologise, but for some odd reason it's not saving the description properly right now despite it being well within the character limit.
Two cars weaved dangerously through the traffic on wet roads cutting off startled commuters as a Chevrolet Impala pursued a stolen Range Rover, trying to edge it towards an exit ramp and force it off the free-way. It pulled onto the SUV's left side, only to fall back when shots were fired from the back passenger window.
Face set in grim determination, the Impala's driver didn't take his eyes off the road when he heard familiar click coming from where his partner sat. "What the hell are you doing, Murphy?"
"We have to stop them somehow, Carter."
"Are you insane?!" He exclaimed, "If that thing flips and the package becomes airborne, we're screwed!"
"I'm aware," Murphy replied, "But if they disappear with it things will be a whole lot worse. Now get along side them again."
He growled, knowing that Murphy was right. Stepping on the gas the Chevrolet roared and lunged forward, once again encroaching on the left side of the Range Rover. With the passenger window down Murphy took am with an HK45, lining the sights up with the back seat just behind the driver and fired to take out the one who had shot at them. The SUV fishtailed precariously, the driver spooked by the return fire, but stayed the course before taking the next exit, scattering or ramming unsuspecting motorists out of his way. The pursuers followed, chasing their quarry down a series of alleyways and back streets, sporadic gunfire exchanged between the two vehicles.
Eventually the chase came to its inevitable conclusion. A bullet struck one of the Rover's rear wheels and the sudden loss of a tire sent it into an uncontrollable swerve before rolling, the screaming tear of metal along asphalt accompanied a spectacular shower of sparks and the Impala came to a skidding halt. Carter and Murphy got out with guns drawn, cautiously approaching the wreck as dark clouds overhead opened up with another summer storm which did nothing to alleviate the stifling humidity. Boots crunched on shattered safety glass from blown out windows while a the smell of gasoline was carried on a breeze loaded with approaching sirens. The local law was on its way so they had to wrap this up; fast.
Suddenly one of the damaged doors swung open and a man emerged with a large revolver gripped tightly in his hand.
"Drop the gun!" Carter yelled.
He ignored the order and instead bought it to bear on the agent, only to have his head snap back violently as a bullet slammed home. Carter glanced to his right as Murphy overtook him heading to one side of the car while he went the opposite. The back seat shooter was already dead, the shot Murphy had taken on the free-way had hit him in the back and lodged somewhere in his chest, an AK-47 lying on the upturned roof the the SUV. The last one left was unconscious and bleeding, dangling upside down in the front passenger side secured by his seat belt.
"Hurry up, Murph, those sirens are getting damn close."
Murphy searched the trashed interior before finally coming across a small back case. It had a few scratches but otherwise looked to be holding up. Snapping open the catches Murphy opened it up and quickly checked it's contents before letting out a sigh of relief.
"The package is intact, Carter. Lets get the hell out of here." He held his hand out for it and Murphy passed it over then headed for the car. "What are you waiting f-"
Before Murphy could finish the report of Carter's gun sounded off, instantly followed by a searing pain. The ground came rushing up to meet the agent as a second round went off, ending the life of the last surviving would be terrorist. Murphy's breathing became laboured, fighting to stay conscious as the approach of footsteps neared.
"Nothing personal, Murph, but these are tough times," Carter said, his voice sounding strange and far away as his partner fought to hang on to the tenuous thread of life, "I'm gonna miss you."
There was one last thunderous bark, then nothing but the rush of oblivion.
Where am I?
Life and light came flooding back to reality in equally painful measures bringing with it disorientation and confusion. Eyes darted around the room trying to comprehend the unfamiliar surroundings, machines and plastic tubing surrounding the bed like some bizarre sentinel. As the world slowly came back into focus so too did recognition; it was a hospital room. Fingers pushed the call button for a nurse, but there was no response, even after several tries. The patient's unease grew at both the abnormal silence and the increasing realisation of missing memories, something felt very wrong.
Who am I?
The patient looked at the plastic identification bracelet in hope for at least that answer but found nothing but frustration.
Jane Doe.
Well that's helpful.
Disentangling herself from the myriad of tubes and needles she sat up only to immediately regretting the decision, her chest and side feeling as if it had been skewered with a poker. Taking a peek under the hospital gown she was surprised at the bandages that were underneath. It didn't smell very fresh either, so why hadn't it been changed recently? What the hell had happened? Using the IV stand for a little support she managed to stand up on shaky legs and picked up her chart that hung from the end of the bed, trying to find anything that could help her work out the when and why of her stay here. The admission date read the thirtieth of September, now all she had to do was find out today's date. It wasn't much, but at least it was a start into piecing together the fractured puzzle she had woken up with.
The crushing silence was becoming unnerving, some ingrained instinct screaming at her move and that it wasn't safe here. Once her legs had stopped shaking under her own weight she made a move for the door, opening it slowly and peeking through the gap to make sure the coast was clear. The idea of a hospital of all places being dangerous seemed absurd but it was there all the same. Slipping out of the room she silently made her way to the nearest nurses station which was down the far end of the hall.
The place was a mess; tiles from the ceiling had been knocked out and most of the lights were destroyed, the few that were left running on some backup generator flickered weakly casting abstract shadows along the walls. Gurneys and debris were scattered all over the place, like some massive panic had swept through the building. She reached the station and went behind the desk, searching through draws and shuffling through papers to find anything that could be of use. There was a small pen light, set of keys attached to a lanyard, a lighter and a water dispenser with a half full bottle in the corner of the small reception cubicle. At the sight of it she was overtaken by just how thirsty she was, pulling one of the disposable cups from a nearby stack and began to drink greedily. With dehydration no longer an immediate concern she moved on. What she needed now was clothes, having her bare ass hanging out of the back of a hospital gown didn't seem like the best of ideas. Even if she could just track down some scrubs it would make her feel a lot better. While wandering aimlessly she wondered just what had happened while she lay asleep in that bed to cause the sort of damage she was seeing.
Wait a second. Are those.. bullet holes?
Who in their right mind would shoot up a hospital? The harrying sense of wrongness pushed down with even more urgency. She needed to get out of here ASAP. She picked up the pace as much as her injuries would allow, there had to be a change room around somewhere. When she found what she was looking for it was in the same sort of state as the rest of the place, lockers were left open and their contents strewn all over the floor. Ignoring it she set about looking for clothes and after sifting through discarded items for a couple of minutes she was finally able to find something that fit, even if it was a little big. As she turned to leave a sudden wave of nausea hit, causing her to expel the water she had not long a go. She had a good idea why she was feeling like crap but she didn't feel safe here to check out just what was under the tape and gauze. She'd see what she could hastily rustle up in way of medical supplies and get the hell out of this building, grabbing a large discarded handbag and emptied it of its contents along the way.
Finding a supply store she began stuffing the bag with fresh bandages, tape, and whatever else would make a good first aid kit; even a multitude of the small vials and a few syringes, finding it odd that she somehow knew what they were for.
Was I a nurse? A doctor? Why do I know these things?
She roughly shoved the idea aside for now and zipped up the bag, this was no place for speculation. It was time to go, this place was creeping her out way to much. Grabbing a scalpel on the way out the small blade made her feel just a little more secure. Taking a glance at a large map that showed the layout of the hospital she headed straight for the nearest exit. She reached the ground floor but shied when she neared the large open space of the waiting room; there were voices.
"This is such a dumb idea," One said, sounding distinctly male, "Even if the place is free of Stiffs, do you honestly thing there's anything worth salvaging here? It's probably been cleaned out already."
"I don't like it either, but we don't have a hell of a lot of choice," Replied a second, also male, but his voice was deeper than the first one. "If we can't find anything on this floor we'll get the hell out, I'm not risking my neck trying to search the whole damn building."
Pressing up against the wall her grip tightened around the scalpel as they approached, finding it strange that she knew exactly how to hold it as if it were a weapon. Guess that cancels out being some sort of healthcare professional. Sweat that had broken out across her brow threatened to drip into her eyes and her body started to shake in protest to the stress on its battered system as the nausea was fighting to come back for a second round. Slowly she backed into the darkened corner, only to freeze when something cracked underfoot.
"Wait, did you hear that?" The second man asked his companion, "Came from over there."
"May was well check it out, I don't want something sneaking up behind us thinking it's snack time."
Shit. Shitshitshit.
There was no escape behind her, the only way out was forward. With the scalpel gripped tightly in one hand and bag of supplies in the other she waited, muscles tensed like a cobra waiting to strike. When man number two finally came around the corner she threw the bag and he caught it out of instinct with a sound of surprise, narrowly dodging the small but deadly blade that followed it.
"What the fuck?!"
She came at him again with weapon poised, muscle memory taking over her actions as she lashed out. But her injured state made her sluggish and slow, the brief and violent flurry coming to an end when he caught her wrist in his large hand and twisted, the sharp pain making her cry out and the scalpel clattered harmlessly to the floor. Thinking he had the better of his would be attacker he let his guard slip and paid for it with a knee to the groin. The low blow doubled him over and she struck out with frenzied fists, driving him back a few steps, but achieved little else as they lacked the strength to do any real and lasting damage. Shrugging it off he charged, catching her in the gut with a shoulder tackle.
It pushed the nausea over the line and again the reflex to vomit racked her frame, only there was nothing to bring up this time. Her chest felt as if it were on fire, whatever was wrapped up seemed to have been more than aggravated by the sudden assault. Head spinning and limbs feeling like lead the seductive call of unconsciousness beckoned, but to heed it would be the worst mistake she could make. Desperately looking around she found herself among shards of broken glass and in the back of her mind was somehow amazed that she hadn't been torn to ribbons. Or perhaps she was and she just couldn't distinguish it from everything else yet.
The two scavengers looked at one another then eyed their ambusher warily, not knowing what to make of her at all. Dark blood was beginning to seep through the ill fitting cotton shirt but it hadn't been torn, leading them to the conclusion of a previous injury. How it was sustained was the primary question for them though.
"Don't even think about it," The first man ordered with a gun drawn as she made a move for a large shard of glass, more than likely intent on throwing herself at them again. "Stand up, slowly." With visible effort she did as she was told, her small case of the shakes becoming more noticeable tremors. A look was exchanged between the two men as they took in her pale appearance, she didn't look well at all. "Who are you?"
"I... don't know." Her voice cracked as she spoke, like it hadn't been used for a while. She shook the wrist that was clipped with the disposable bracelet, "Seems the hospital staff didn't know either."
"Were you bit?" The other man asked, motioning towards her blood soaked side.
It seemed like the most bizarre question she had ever been asked, "What?"
"Were. You. Bit?" He repeated slowly with a hint of hostility edging in.
She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily and shook her head in an attempt to clear it but it had the opposite effect, the seductive call to pass out turning into a demand that she couldn't fight any longer. "I think... I'm going to..."
Surprise took the pair as she swayed a little then fell to the floor, falling once again into the comforting arms of darkness.
