CHAPTER FOUR
Wyatt scanned the hallways with his small flashlight. It barely lit the walls, but at least it was enough for him to walk without falling over anything. There were gurneys strewn about the floor, some still standing, some lying on the ground. Some of the sheets were torn and tattered in places, stained with dirt and what appeared to be blood. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for years.
Stopping at each door and turning the handle, Wyatt found no rooms in which he could enter. He had finally managed to make it to the center of the floor with no further encounters. He snuck to the desk, and made his way to the small space to enter behind it. As he stepped into the space, his foot collided with someting soft and wet. When he looked down with his flashlight shining on his foot, he jumped backwards in disgust, trying his hardest to keep from vomitting.
There, on the ground, was a pile of bodies, with their skin tore completely off. They seemed to have had the skin devoured from them because Wyatt noticed what looked to be teeth marks on the arms and legs. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying from the gruesome sight. He then noticed a shiny piece of metal on one of the shelves. He reached for it, his arm extending over the pile of corpses, and grabbed it. When he looked at the object in his hand, it was a handgun. He checked it for any ammo; it was fully loaded. He grinned at the thought of being able to blow the monsters' heads off then checked for any other items he might be able to pick up. Nothing important. He shrugged and walked away-cautiously, of course.
Wyatt mumbled to himself. He was finding many useful items, but running out of places to store them. He managed to be able to hold his scalpel and flashlight in the same hand (his left) and the pipe in his other hand. He stuffed the barrel of the handgun into the back of his underwear, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable and shifty. He needed something other than his hospital gown if here were to get out of this god-forsaken hell hole with all of his equipment.
Passing another door, he turned the handle-shocked, as it turned slowly. He pushed open the door, holding his pipe ready and his flashlight in front of his face. Luckily, there were no monsters in the small room, so he stepped in, closing the door behind him. It was just a janitor's closet, but he hoped he could find something useful inside. He peered around, finding no clothes he could substitute for his own. Pouting slightly, he kept looking. Then, he heard a strange noise. Jazz music? "What the hell?," Wyatt asked aloud, shining his light on a small radio. Picking it up, he shook it slightly, hearing it rattle. "Hmmm, what would I do with a radio?" Turning towards the door, he hit his left hand on a mop handle, causing him to drop all his items, including his only source of light. "Damn it all to hell!," he muttered. He groped around inside the bucket, looking for his lost items.
He found his flashlight with little effort and tested it, thankful it still worked. He cut his fingers on the scalpel, cursed, and left it. It was useless compared to his pipe. The radio was then found and carefully picked up, but instead of soothing tunes, it gave a low static ring. "Damn," Wyatt said, "This place could've used some livening up, too." He shrugged and was rather thankful it had a small band which he could put his wrist through to hold it. Wyatt then opened the door to leave, but was nearly knocked off of his feet by another gruesome nurse.
Wyatt caught himself, skidding his feet across the floor as he swung his pipe in an upward motion, slamming the nurse in the side, sending her to her feet, face-first onto the ground. There was a deep, agonizing moan as she wriggled about feriously, struggling to regain her composure. Her knees buckled backwards, snapping loudly. Wyatt winced at the sound; sinew colliding with bone, snapping and pulling. He could see her bones move underneath her pale, rotting skin. Finally, not wanting to withstand the torture of hearing the thing moan and grope about on the floor, he smashed the pipe into the side of the nurse's head, knocking it completely off and hitting it against a nearby wall. There was a splatter of brain and blood on the wall, and on Wyatt's hospital gown, which he had managed to keep relatively clean. "Damn it," he grumbled, "now I really have to find something decent to wear-it stinks already."
The radio still continued a low buzzing as Wyatt wandered through the dark hallways. Occasionally, he glanced at it, but it still kept to its low static hum. Wyatt learned that he was on the fifth floor of the hospital, in the psychiatric ward-still. The only two fire exits on either end of the floor were both sealed shut. There had to be some way down to the floor below, but he couldn't find that way-at least, not yet. Still checking each door, he found a patient's room open and peered inside. The radio's hum lowered to a near silence. Wyatt stepped inside, peeking his head behind the curtain around a bed. Another corpse strewn out, its sking completely void. All that showed was muscle and bone. It was moist and gooey-looking, and blood oozed from under it onto the sheets and dripping on the floor in puddles. Getting rather accustomed to the corpses by now, he shook his head and looked around with his flashlight.
The corpse must have been a doctor-there was a white labcoat(well, it was supposed to be white-there were bloodstains here and there, and a few holes ripped in it) with a nametag. Wyatt picked off the tag and looked closely at it. The name was scribbled off, but the picture was plain to see; a woman with deep brown hair tied in a neat, tight bun. Wyatt remembered seeing her around the hospital and sometimes in his room. He glanced at the body and muttered, "Sorry this had to happen to you." He then slipped the coat on and poked around in the pockets. A pen, suckers (obviously for little children. Wyatt unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth. "Not bad!"), and a card key. He looked at it carefully, reading what was on it aloud, "Level A card key. Access to lab rooms, chemical storage rooms, morgues, and offices above floor 4..." He puckered his cracked lips and creased his eyebrows. "Above floor 4? Damn, then I have to go upstairs to find another way out." He placed the card key back into his pocket, pulled the handgun from his briefs and placed it in the same pocket, and put his radio in his left pocket. Feeling relieved to have his hands free once more, he stepped out of the room, listening closely to his radio-the hum increased, but not by much.
Wyatt pondered his situation. Here he was, a patient in a hospital because people thought he was "crazy" but now, who wandered freely about a completely destroyed building-with a level A card key, no less! He smiled to himself, thinking of all the things he could've done if he had managed to do all this while everybody was still alive-before this place-whatever it was-came into being. He still didn't know quite what had gone on, but he knew that those monsters had something to do with it, and that little girl...his mind snapped at the thought of that little girl. He recognized the face suddenly, but not from where. Wyatt knew if he wanted to know what was going on, he'd have to find that little girl.
Wyatt scanned the hallways with his small flashlight. It barely lit the walls, but at least it was enough for him to walk without falling over anything. There were gurneys strewn about the floor, some still standing, some lying on the ground. Some of the sheets were torn and tattered in places, stained with dirt and what appeared to be blood. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for years.
Stopping at each door and turning the handle, Wyatt found no rooms in which he could enter. He had finally managed to make it to the center of the floor with no further encounters. He snuck to the desk, and made his way to the small space to enter behind it. As he stepped into the space, his foot collided with someting soft and wet. When he looked down with his flashlight shining on his foot, he jumped backwards in disgust, trying his hardest to keep from vomitting.
There, on the ground, was a pile of bodies, with their skin tore completely off. They seemed to have had the skin devoured from them because Wyatt noticed what looked to be teeth marks on the arms and legs. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying from the gruesome sight. He then noticed a shiny piece of metal on one of the shelves. He reached for it, his arm extending over the pile of corpses, and grabbed it. When he looked at the object in his hand, it was a handgun. He checked it for any ammo; it was fully loaded. He grinned at the thought of being able to blow the monsters' heads off then checked for any other items he might be able to pick up. Nothing important. He shrugged and walked away-cautiously, of course.
Wyatt mumbled to himself. He was finding many useful items, but running out of places to store them. He managed to be able to hold his scalpel and flashlight in the same hand (his left) and the pipe in his other hand. He stuffed the barrel of the handgun into the back of his underwear, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable and shifty. He needed something other than his hospital gown if here were to get out of this god-forsaken hell hole with all of his equipment.
Passing another door, he turned the handle-shocked, as it turned slowly. He pushed open the door, holding his pipe ready and his flashlight in front of his face. Luckily, there were no monsters in the small room, so he stepped in, closing the door behind him. It was just a janitor's closet, but he hoped he could find something useful inside. He peered around, finding no clothes he could substitute for his own. Pouting slightly, he kept looking. Then, he heard a strange noise. Jazz music? "What the hell?," Wyatt asked aloud, shining his light on a small radio. Picking it up, he shook it slightly, hearing it rattle. "Hmmm, what would I do with a radio?" Turning towards the door, he hit his left hand on a mop handle, causing him to drop all his items, including his only source of light. "Damn it all to hell!," he muttered. He groped around inside the bucket, looking for his lost items.
He found his flashlight with little effort and tested it, thankful it still worked. He cut his fingers on the scalpel, cursed, and left it. It was useless compared to his pipe. The radio was then found and carefully picked up, but instead of soothing tunes, it gave a low static ring. "Damn," Wyatt said, "This place could've used some livening up, too." He shrugged and was rather thankful it had a small band which he could put his wrist through to hold it. Wyatt then opened the door to leave, but was nearly knocked off of his feet by another gruesome nurse.
Wyatt caught himself, skidding his feet across the floor as he swung his pipe in an upward motion, slamming the nurse in the side, sending her to her feet, face-first onto the ground. There was a deep, agonizing moan as she wriggled about feriously, struggling to regain her composure. Her knees buckled backwards, snapping loudly. Wyatt winced at the sound; sinew colliding with bone, snapping and pulling. He could see her bones move underneath her pale, rotting skin. Finally, not wanting to withstand the torture of hearing the thing moan and grope about on the floor, he smashed the pipe into the side of the nurse's head, knocking it completely off and hitting it against a nearby wall. There was a splatter of brain and blood on the wall, and on Wyatt's hospital gown, which he had managed to keep relatively clean. "Damn it," he grumbled, "now I really have to find something decent to wear-it stinks already."
The radio still continued a low buzzing as Wyatt wandered through the dark hallways. Occasionally, he glanced at it, but it still kept to its low static hum. Wyatt learned that he was on the fifth floor of the hospital, in the psychiatric ward-still. The only two fire exits on either end of the floor were both sealed shut. There had to be some way down to the floor below, but he couldn't find that way-at least, not yet. Still checking each door, he found a patient's room open and peered inside. The radio's hum lowered to a near silence. Wyatt stepped inside, peeking his head behind the curtain around a bed. Another corpse strewn out, its sking completely void. All that showed was muscle and bone. It was moist and gooey-looking, and blood oozed from under it onto the sheets and dripping on the floor in puddles. Getting rather accustomed to the corpses by now, he shook his head and looked around with his flashlight.
The corpse must have been a doctor-there was a white labcoat(well, it was supposed to be white-there were bloodstains here and there, and a few holes ripped in it) with a nametag. Wyatt picked off the tag and looked closely at it. The name was scribbled off, but the picture was plain to see; a woman with deep brown hair tied in a neat, tight bun. Wyatt remembered seeing her around the hospital and sometimes in his room. He glanced at the body and muttered, "Sorry this had to happen to you." He then slipped the coat on and poked around in the pockets. A pen, suckers (obviously for little children. Wyatt unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth. "Not bad!"), and a card key. He looked at it carefully, reading what was on it aloud, "Level A card key. Access to lab rooms, chemical storage rooms, morgues, and offices above floor 4..." He puckered his cracked lips and creased his eyebrows. "Above floor 4? Damn, then I have to go upstairs to find another way out." He placed the card key back into his pocket, pulled the handgun from his briefs and placed it in the same pocket, and put his radio in his left pocket. Feeling relieved to have his hands free once more, he stepped out of the room, listening closely to his radio-the hum increased, but not by much.
Wyatt pondered his situation. Here he was, a patient in a hospital because people thought he was "crazy" but now, who wandered freely about a completely destroyed building-with a level A card key, no less! He smiled to himself, thinking of all the things he could've done if he had managed to do all this while everybody was still alive-before this place-whatever it was-came into being. He still didn't know quite what had gone on, but he knew that those monsters had something to do with it, and that little girl...his mind snapped at the thought of that little girl. He recognized the face suddenly, but not from where. Wyatt knew if he wanted to know what was going on, he'd have to find that little girl.
