Andre held his hands together in a bowl under the faucet until it filled
with water before bringing it to his face with a splash. He repeated
this, splashing his face again and then rubbing his fingers over his
eyebrows and messaging his temples as if trying to massage in the smooth
coolness of the water. It did little to ease the throbbing behind his
temples, however, or the stiffness at the base of his skull. The water
did not wash away the reality of what he had just done, and what it would
mean to his wife and soon to be born daughter.
He brought his hands down and looked at himself in the mirror. How could
it have all gone so wrong? Why did it go wrong? Why was it that when he
made his one grab for happiness, one reach for the thing that everyone
else on the whole fucking planet can get as easily as air, he was cursed
to fail? Was God against him? Was he being punished for the life that he
had lead? Was he not allowed to be happy? To live a quiet and peaceful
life with his family?
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He had been to jail before. Had
been going to jail since the age of ten in fact, but always for little
petty stuff. Burglary. Drug possession. Vandalism. But never for murder,
not until now. When the police came banging at his door this time, they
were going to take him away for good.
Andre thought back to the events that took place just two hours ago. It
had all happened so fast that he never even had time to think. It was
suppose to be a simple drug deal. He and a partner were supposed to sell
fifty grand worth of crack cocaine to some Mexican guys for one and a
half. Andre and "B", whose name was Brian, had done similar deals
hundreds of times before. They knew a supplier and were able to get their
drugs below street value, therefore making a nice profit. Seventy five
thousand a piece, and that was to be Andre's last time. Afterwards, he
would get a legitimate job, probably as a mechanic, and raise his
daughter. The money, which he would not have told Luda how he got, would
have insured that she and the baby would never be uncomfortable.
But during the trade, the Mexicans had pulled out guns instead of money.
"B" died in an instant. The Mexicans killing "B" first had gave him the
time needed to dive for cover and pull out his own Berretta. There were
three Mexicans, and one ran for Andre, gun in front. That's the one that
Andre got. He had popped up like a jack-in-the-box and emptied his clip
into the man's chest. The other two grabbed the drugs and ran.
Andre paused just long enough for one last look at "B" before running
himself. The entire exchange could not have taken more than ten seconds.
In just tens seconds his best friend and his money had been lost. As soon
as the police caught up to him, his freedom had been taken away as well.
He blew out a long breath and turned off the running water. He then
walked past the row of sinks and to the hand dryer, a bit disappointed
that there were no paper towels. He pushed the chrome button and the
dryer turned on, its motor building to a steady hum as a blast of warm
air streamed from its nozzle.
Andre turned the nozzle so that it faced up and put his head over it. He
rubbed his hands over his face, wishing that the headache beneath his
temples would go away, before bringing up the front of his shirt to wipe
the remaining water from his face.
"Aa-aah fuck," he let his arms drop to his sides.
Once again, he had fucked up. The difference was that this time he gave a
damn. He cared for Luda. He had other children. Three by three other
woman, and he had walked out on them all. But he wanted to do right by
this one. Luda had been there for him. Had dug through the muck of his
soul and made him feel alive. Had made him want to be a better person.
But it would never happen now. In as little as ten seconds, he had thrown
it away, and nothing short of a miracle from God could change that. A
miracle, or maybe the end of the world.
He walked to the bathroom door and pushed it open. In the hallway, he
headed towards the elevator. His footsteps made hollow, clopping sounds
as his sneakers met with the clean tiles.
After the shootout, he had arrived home to discover that Luda was in
labor. Without even thinking, he had loaded her into the car and had
driven her to the hospital. It at all seemed like an out of body
experience, like he was watching himself drive on a television or
something. He had gotten her to the hospital and the nurse, a large woman
with a bit of a moustache, had Luda sit in a wheelchair and she brought
her to a second floor room for observation. As it turned out, it was a
false alarm and the contractions passed. The doctor had wanted Luda to
stay and rest for a few hours though, and had given her a shot to help
her sleep.
Just before the elevator were two vending machines, one for soda and the
other for snacks. He was about to pass them up when his stomach groined.
He remembered that he had not eaten all day, so he stopped at the snack
machine and looked over the selection. Finally, his eyes came to rest on
a row of cheddar-ranch fritos. He didn't really care for them, but they
were Luda's favorite. He put in fifty cents and made the select, the
metal spring inside turned and a single bag of fritos dropped. From the
soda machine, he selected 7up, also Luda's favorite. Snacks in hand, he
headed back to Luda's room.
"Clear!"
There was the soft hum of electricity discharging and the Hispanic
woman's body tensed under the currents. With a click, the voltage
switched off and the woman went limp. Dr. Taylor brought the paddles away
as Bruce lifted the woman's eyelids. He shined a pen light onto the
coronas, but there was no movement. No opening and closing as the eyes
reacted to protect the retinas that would have shown some sign of life,
no matter how faint. In fact, as Bruce watched, the eyes actually seemed
to be losing even the little remaining life that stayed inside of a body
after a person had died. They began to fade from what was once a pretty
brown into a cloudy grey.
Bruce quickly figured that it was a result of the trauma that she went
though.
He closed her eyes and looked to Dr. Taylor, shaking his head.
Dr. Taylor set the paddles down. The last shock was the third. Third
time's the charm, and if nothing after that, well, it was game over. He
looked to his watch.
"Time of death," he paused until the seconds held reached the twelve.
"Seven forty eight."
Bruce watched as Dr. Taylor lifted the white sheet above the woman's
head. It didn't make sense. They had repaired all of the damaged organs.
Had closed all of the wounds, yet the woman continued to bleed. Her blood
seeped through the stitches as if the devil himself were determined to
see her dead. They had pumped fresh blood into her, but that came out too
and Bruce had wondered, as foolish as the thought was, if her body were
trying to get the blood out. It wasn't into her heart had stopped that
she stopped bleeding.
"Joann," Dr. Taylor turned to leave, not bothering to look at the nurse,
"have the orderly take her downstairs."
"Yes Doctor," the nurses turned with him.
They all began to change out of the blood smeared operating smocks. They
pealed off their rubber gloves and tossed them into a red can with a
biohazard symbol painted on it in black.
The nurses left as the doctors washed their hands in a large sink.
"This your first?" Dr. Taylor did not look to Bruce.
Bruce nodded "Yeah."
"You never get used to it. You just learn how not to die along with
them." Dr. Taylor picked up a towel and dried his hands as he left the
ER.
Bruce turned back to look at the body covered with the sheet. He had
known since before he took his first medical class that one day, despite
all of his best efforts, he would lose a patient. People die, plan and
simple. Nothing could ever change that, not even doctors. At most, all
that doctors could do was hold it off a little. Give a person just a
little more time to live.
But he did want to save her. He wanted to save her badly. Not to give
himself some kind of satisfaction for performing a miracle. He wanted to
save her so badly because someone, some animal hidden in the body of a
person, had wanted so badly to kill her.
"They'd better catch that son of a...," he froze.
A thought came to him. The eyes. The blood. He had read somewhere that
poisons could do that to a person. There were poisons out there that kept
the blood from clotting and caused discoloration of the eyes. Sometimes
making them red as they were filled with blood, but sometimes making them
a milky white as it robbed them of oxygen.
He went to the body and lifted the sheet. Reaching down, he opened the
woman's eyelid.
"Jesus," he whispered. The dead woman's eye was almost completely white.
In the center, it was blood red in the shape of a circle that seemed to
be growing wider.
Bruce pulled out his pocket light and shined it into the eye. Looking
deeply into it.
A nurse entered. "Dr. Conner. You're needed in room three."
"What is it," he didn't look up from the eye.
"We're getting people...," Bruce looked up and noticed that the nurse was
shaken. "There's a riot downtown. People are attacking other people.
We're getting people who were... bitten. It's like they're trying to eat
each other out there."
Bruce looked back down at the woman. He pulled the sheet back over her
and headed for the door.
"We've got three ambulances coming in with people in bad shape." Bruce
walked pass her and into the hallway.
Bruce could hear the crowd as they chattered in the waiting room. He
walked down the corridor and looked down the hall. It was filled with
people, most holding their wounded arms or legs, the rest comforting the
injured.
The nurse ran to stand next to Bruce.
"All of them bitten?" Bruce asked, eyes wide.
The nurse shook her head. "It's like they're trying to eat each other."
Luda opened her eyes when she heard Andre setting the bag of chips and
soda down on the table beside her bed. She smiled at him, fighting the
drug that the doctor had injected into her system to make her sleep.
Andre looked back at her and smiled back. "I thought that you might be
hungry after your nap," he whispered to her.
"Thank you," she tried to lift her head, but it felt like it weighed a
ton so she kept it on the pillow.
"Thank you," Andre repeated, mimicking her Russian accent and smiling.
Mimicking her was one of the things that he liked to do whenever they
were alone. He said that it was one of the things that he loved about
her, which always made her feel better. Since coming to the United States
three year ago, she had always felt somewhat alone. Like an outsider
because of the things that made her different, but Andre had not only
accepted her differences, he had embraced them.
She studied his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered too quickly and forced a smile.
"You sure?" She was becoming more worried. Andre was shaking and his eyes
watered up. She once again tried to lift herself, but the drugs were too
strong. She would not be awake much longer.
"Positive." He rubbed her stomach. Caressed it, and then leaned down and
kissed it. He then kissed her on the lips. "Get some sleep."
She knew something was wrong. It was in his face and she would get him to
tell her what it was so that could handle it together. She just needed to
close her eyes for a moment. Her thoughts were too full of cobwebs now.
She just needed to close her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts.
When she opened them again, Andre was gone.
Luda closed her eyes and slept.
Chuck pushed his cart into the ER and frowned. He had hoped that they
would have taken the body away before he had gotten there, but it still
laid on the operating table, covered with a white sheet.
Chuck pushed the cart to a wall and looked over the cleaning supplies.
Bidding his time. He had overheard a nurse calling for the orderlies to
remove the body and take it to the morgue in the basement, so it would
not be long before they arrived.
"Lazy bastards," Chuck mumbled. He had given them more than enough time
to have come in and get her. They were just slow. Slow and lazy.
Chuck looked back at the scene, trying not to look at the body. He went
over what he would clean in his mind and decided to just give it a quick
once over. He had also heard the nurses mention that there was a riot
downtown. If the waiting room was any indication, then more than that
woman's blood would be hitting the floor tonight.
Besides, they would probably need the room again too soon for him to do
too good of a cleaning.
Mike and Todd, the two orderlies, entered the room, pushes a mobile
gurney. Mike looked to Chuck and cracked a smile.
"I didn't need you after all," he joked to Todd. "Chuck could have helped
me move her."
"Shit," Chuck reached into the cart and pulled out a bottom full of
liquid, "death ain't about to ease up into me."
The orderlies laughed as they wheeled the gurney next to the operating
table. Mike stood at the woman's head as Todd took her feet. On three,
they transferred her to the gurney, sheet included.
"I'm going on break," Todd turned and walked out of the door.
Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a toe tag. He crossed to the
woman's feet and lifted the sheet. He placed the tag around her right big
toe before covering her up again.
Grabbing hold of the gurney, he leaned and wheeled the body out of the
ER.
Chuck went to the operating table and began spraying it with the
disinfectant.
The elevator doors opened and Andre stepped out, almost bumping into a
man wearing a sky blue smock and wheeling a dead body into the elevator.
He half expected the body to sit up and the sheet to fall revealing the
corpse of the Mexican that he had shoot, pointing an accusing finger at
him.
Andre stepped to the side to allow the orderly to enter, and raised his
arm across the elevator door so that it would not close.
"Thank you," the orderly said as her stepped into the elevator.
Andre nodded, and once the orderly was inside, turned and walked down the
hallway to the waiting room.
His jaw dropped at the sight. The room was full of people, most with
bloody gashes on their arms or legs. Some with gashes on their faces.
Inaudible as he looked around the room: "What the fuck?"
In the elevator, Mike pushed the basement button. When the doors closed,
he lifted the sheet from the woman's face and upper body.
She had been a pretty woman, and, though covered in bruises, had a nice
body. Mike had noticed that she was still warm when he placed on the toe
tag, and that she had nice feet. Young feet.
Most of the people who died in the hospital where older, but she looked
to be around thirty or so. And although the stitches running up and down
her body made her look a bit like the Frankenstein monster, she looked
very doable. So long as she was warm. Warm, and loose.
Mike lowered the sheet when the elevator stopped on the basement level
and the doors opened.
He pushed the gurney into the hall leading to the morgue.
He would be alone there since very few people ever came to the basement.
If they needed him, they would call. He figured that he would have a good
hour with her before the body dropped to room temperature, and she would
be too stiff to...
The body suddenly sat up.
Mike let out a cry and jumped back. A second later and he sighed, already
beginning to relax. He had worked in the morgue for over ten years, and
moving bodies were nothing new to him. Those last bits off movement that
bodies made, be it a twitch of the arm, or burp, or sitting up, were not
uncommon, but they still could take your breathe away.
Mike crossed to the body to lay it back down. Sometimes, when the muscles
relaxed again, the bodies would fall to the floor. It was always better
to guide them down than to have to pick them up.
He reached for the body and froze. There was movement as the dead woman's
hands worked and then pulled the sheet from her head. Her eyes were open
and wide as she stared ahead and then side to side as though confused at
her surroundings.
Her eyes landed on Mike, who stood frozen in his spot, the hand that he
was going to guide her with still in the air.
The air left Mike in a shaken gasps as he stared into the thing's eyes.
The pupils were red, as though made of pure blood, and wild like an
animal's.
She roared and reached for Mike's outstretched hand and digging her nails
into the flesh of his arm.
Mike yelled and through himself backwards, tripping and landing hard on
the floor between the wall and the gurney.
In an instant, the woman leap to the floor, standing over Mike and
arching her back, exposing her teeth and brandishing her nails. She
roared again, a maddening thing that made no sense.
"I'm sorry," Mike cried and threw his arms over his head. He was sorry
that for what he was about to do to her body. Sorry for what he had done
to the bodies of other women that he had taken to his morgue. Sorry that
his sins had awaken this great evil to punish him.
The creature leap onto him, sinking her nails into his arm and holding it
as she bit a mouthful of flesh from just below the elbow.
Mike screamed and struggled to get free. To get her off of him. His
struggles exposed his face and she clumped her teeth onto his left cheek.
Mike screamed as she tore the flesh from him, chewed, and swallowed.
Mike fought to roll over onto his stomach and he threw his arms back over
his head. Anything to keep her from biting his face again.
"I'm sorry," he shouted again.
The creature tried to roll him back over and get back to the soft tissue
of his face when it realized that the flesh of the arms that protected
his head would be just was good.
She brought her head down and bit deeply into his arm below the shoulder.
Mike screamed and raised himself to his knees. He tried to shake her off
of his back, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She held tightly onto
his shirt as he tried to shake her.
With a yell, Mike lifted himself to his feet, the woman still on his
back. He shook and she fell, crashing to the floor. He ran for the
elevator, but his steps seemed awkward and his head spun. The elevator
doors seemed to turn like the dials on a clock.
The creature swallowed the meat in her mouth and stood. With a roar, it
charged Mike from behind, leaping into the air and landing onto his back.
It wrapped its arms around Mikes chest and its legs wrapped around his.
Mike fell, his vision already beginning to blur. The elevator had turned
a complete circle and was going again when he felt the woman's teeth on
his temple. The elevator turned upside down, turned red, and then faded
all together.
(Chase, thanks for the great words. But now I'm looking forward to
reading your version of the hospital. After you finish with Day, you
should go for it. By the way, I'm not ignoring you, or anyone here. It's
just that the equation of my life is WORK SCHOOL GIRLFRIEND = NOT
MUCH TIME, but I read, post reviews, visit recommend sites, and write as
often as I can).
with water before bringing it to his face with a splash. He repeated
this, splashing his face again and then rubbing his fingers over his
eyebrows and messaging his temples as if trying to massage in the smooth
coolness of the water. It did little to ease the throbbing behind his
temples, however, or the stiffness at the base of his skull. The water
did not wash away the reality of what he had just done, and what it would
mean to his wife and soon to be born daughter.
He brought his hands down and looked at himself in the mirror. How could
it have all gone so wrong? Why did it go wrong? Why was it that when he
made his one grab for happiness, one reach for the thing that everyone
else on the whole fucking planet can get as easily as air, he was cursed
to fail? Was God against him? Was he being punished for the life that he
had lead? Was he not allowed to be happy? To live a quiet and peaceful
life with his family?
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He had been to jail before. Had
been going to jail since the age of ten in fact, but always for little
petty stuff. Burglary. Drug possession. Vandalism. But never for murder,
not until now. When the police came banging at his door this time, they
were going to take him away for good.
Andre thought back to the events that took place just two hours ago. It
had all happened so fast that he never even had time to think. It was
suppose to be a simple drug deal. He and a partner were supposed to sell
fifty grand worth of crack cocaine to some Mexican guys for one and a
half. Andre and "B", whose name was Brian, had done similar deals
hundreds of times before. They knew a supplier and were able to get their
drugs below street value, therefore making a nice profit. Seventy five
thousand a piece, and that was to be Andre's last time. Afterwards, he
would get a legitimate job, probably as a mechanic, and raise his
daughter. The money, which he would not have told Luda how he got, would
have insured that she and the baby would never be uncomfortable.
But during the trade, the Mexicans had pulled out guns instead of money.
"B" died in an instant. The Mexicans killing "B" first had gave him the
time needed to dive for cover and pull out his own Berretta. There were
three Mexicans, and one ran for Andre, gun in front. That's the one that
Andre got. He had popped up like a jack-in-the-box and emptied his clip
into the man's chest. The other two grabbed the drugs and ran.
Andre paused just long enough for one last look at "B" before running
himself. The entire exchange could not have taken more than ten seconds.
In just tens seconds his best friend and his money had been lost. As soon
as the police caught up to him, his freedom had been taken away as well.
He blew out a long breath and turned off the running water. He then
walked past the row of sinks and to the hand dryer, a bit disappointed
that there were no paper towels. He pushed the chrome button and the
dryer turned on, its motor building to a steady hum as a blast of warm
air streamed from its nozzle.
Andre turned the nozzle so that it faced up and put his head over it. He
rubbed his hands over his face, wishing that the headache beneath his
temples would go away, before bringing up the front of his shirt to wipe
the remaining water from his face.
"Aa-aah fuck," he let his arms drop to his sides.
Once again, he had fucked up. The difference was that this time he gave a
damn. He cared for Luda. He had other children. Three by three other
woman, and he had walked out on them all. But he wanted to do right by
this one. Luda had been there for him. Had dug through the muck of his
soul and made him feel alive. Had made him want to be a better person.
But it would never happen now. In as little as ten seconds, he had thrown
it away, and nothing short of a miracle from God could change that. A
miracle, or maybe the end of the world.
He walked to the bathroom door and pushed it open. In the hallway, he
headed towards the elevator. His footsteps made hollow, clopping sounds
as his sneakers met with the clean tiles.
After the shootout, he had arrived home to discover that Luda was in
labor. Without even thinking, he had loaded her into the car and had
driven her to the hospital. It at all seemed like an out of body
experience, like he was watching himself drive on a television or
something. He had gotten her to the hospital and the nurse, a large woman
with a bit of a moustache, had Luda sit in a wheelchair and she brought
her to a second floor room for observation. As it turned out, it was a
false alarm and the contractions passed. The doctor had wanted Luda to
stay and rest for a few hours though, and had given her a shot to help
her sleep.
Just before the elevator were two vending machines, one for soda and the
other for snacks. He was about to pass them up when his stomach groined.
He remembered that he had not eaten all day, so he stopped at the snack
machine and looked over the selection. Finally, his eyes came to rest on
a row of cheddar-ranch fritos. He didn't really care for them, but they
were Luda's favorite. He put in fifty cents and made the select, the
metal spring inside turned and a single bag of fritos dropped. From the
soda machine, he selected 7up, also Luda's favorite. Snacks in hand, he
headed back to Luda's room.
"Clear!"
There was the soft hum of electricity discharging and the Hispanic
woman's body tensed under the currents. With a click, the voltage
switched off and the woman went limp. Dr. Taylor brought the paddles away
as Bruce lifted the woman's eyelids. He shined a pen light onto the
coronas, but there was no movement. No opening and closing as the eyes
reacted to protect the retinas that would have shown some sign of life,
no matter how faint. In fact, as Bruce watched, the eyes actually seemed
to be losing even the little remaining life that stayed inside of a body
after a person had died. They began to fade from what was once a pretty
brown into a cloudy grey.
Bruce quickly figured that it was a result of the trauma that she went
though.
He closed her eyes and looked to Dr. Taylor, shaking his head.
Dr. Taylor set the paddles down. The last shock was the third. Third
time's the charm, and if nothing after that, well, it was game over. He
looked to his watch.
"Time of death," he paused until the seconds held reached the twelve.
"Seven forty eight."
Bruce watched as Dr. Taylor lifted the white sheet above the woman's
head. It didn't make sense. They had repaired all of the damaged organs.
Had closed all of the wounds, yet the woman continued to bleed. Her blood
seeped through the stitches as if the devil himself were determined to
see her dead. They had pumped fresh blood into her, but that came out too
and Bruce had wondered, as foolish as the thought was, if her body were
trying to get the blood out. It wasn't into her heart had stopped that
she stopped bleeding.
"Joann," Dr. Taylor turned to leave, not bothering to look at the nurse,
"have the orderly take her downstairs."
"Yes Doctor," the nurses turned with him.
They all began to change out of the blood smeared operating smocks. They
pealed off their rubber gloves and tossed them into a red can with a
biohazard symbol painted on it in black.
The nurses left as the doctors washed their hands in a large sink.
"This your first?" Dr. Taylor did not look to Bruce.
Bruce nodded "Yeah."
"You never get used to it. You just learn how not to die along with
them." Dr. Taylor picked up a towel and dried his hands as he left the
ER.
Bruce turned back to look at the body covered with the sheet. He had
known since before he took his first medical class that one day, despite
all of his best efforts, he would lose a patient. People die, plan and
simple. Nothing could ever change that, not even doctors. At most, all
that doctors could do was hold it off a little. Give a person just a
little more time to live.
But he did want to save her. He wanted to save her badly. Not to give
himself some kind of satisfaction for performing a miracle. He wanted to
save her so badly because someone, some animal hidden in the body of a
person, had wanted so badly to kill her.
"They'd better catch that son of a...," he froze.
A thought came to him. The eyes. The blood. He had read somewhere that
poisons could do that to a person. There were poisons out there that kept
the blood from clotting and caused discoloration of the eyes. Sometimes
making them red as they were filled with blood, but sometimes making them
a milky white as it robbed them of oxygen.
He went to the body and lifted the sheet. Reaching down, he opened the
woman's eyelid.
"Jesus," he whispered. The dead woman's eye was almost completely white.
In the center, it was blood red in the shape of a circle that seemed to
be growing wider.
Bruce pulled out his pocket light and shined it into the eye. Looking
deeply into it.
A nurse entered. "Dr. Conner. You're needed in room three."
"What is it," he didn't look up from the eye.
"We're getting people...," Bruce looked up and noticed that the nurse was
shaken. "There's a riot downtown. People are attacking other people.
We're getting people who were... bitten. It's like they're trying to eat
each other out there."
Bruce looked back down at the woman. He pulled the sheet back over her
and headed for the door.
"We've got three ambulances coming in with people in bad shape." Bruce
walked pass her and into the hallway.
Bruce could hear the crowd as they chattered in the waiting room. He
walked down the corridor and looked down the hall. It was filled with
people, most holding their wounded arms or legs, the rest comforting the
injured.
The nurse ran to stand next to Bruce.
"All of them bitten?" Bruce asked, eyes wide.
The nurse shook her head. "It's like they're trying to eat each other."
Luda opened her eyes when she heard Andre setting the bag of chips and
soda down on the table beside her bed. She smiled at him, fighting the
drug that the doctor had injected into her system to make her sleep.
Andre looked back at her and smiled back. "I thought that you might be
hungry after your nap," he whispered to her.
"Thank you," she tried to lift her head, but it felt like it weighed a
ton so she kept it on the pillow.
"Thank you," Andre repeated, mimicking her Russian accent and smiling.
Mimicking her was one of the things that he liked to do whenever they
were alone. He said that it was one of the things that he loved about
her, which always made her feel better. Since coming to the United States
three year ago, she had always felt somewhat alone. Like an outsider
because of the things that made her different, but Andre had not only
accepted her differences, he had embraced them.
She studied his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered too quickly and forced a smile.
"You sure?" She was becoming more worried. Andre was shaking and his eyes
watered up. She once again tried to lift herself, but the drugs were too
strong. She would not be awake much longer.
"Positive." He rubbed her stomach. Caressed it, and then leaned down and
kissed it. He then kissed her on the lips. "Get some sleep."
She knew something was wrong. It was in his face and she would get him to
tell her what it was so that could handle it together. She just needed to
close her eyes for a moment. Her thoughts were too full of cobwebs now.
She just needed to close her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts.
When she opened them again, Andre was gone.
Luda closed her eyes and slept.
Chuck pushed his cart into the ER and frowned. He had hoped that they
would have taken the body away before he had gotten there, but it still
laid on the operating table, covered with a white sheet.
Chuck pushed the cart to a wall and looked over the cleaning supplies.
Bidding his time. He had overheard a nurse calling for the orderlies to
remove the body and take it to the morgue in the basement, so it would
not be long before they arrived.
"Lazy bastards," Chuck mumbled. He had given them more than enough time
to have come in and get her. They were just slow. Slow and lazy.
Chuck looked back at the scene, trying not to look at the body. He went
over what he would clean in his mind and decided to just give it a quick
once over. He had also heard the nurses mention that there was a riot
downtown. If the waiting room was any indication, then more than that
woman's blood would be hitting the floor tonight.
Besides, they would probably need the room again too soon for him to do
too good of a cleaning.
Mike and Todd, the two orderlies, entered the room, pushes a mobile
gurney. Mike looked to Chuck and cracked a smile.
"I didn't need you after all," he joked to Todd. "Chuck could have helped
me move her."
"Shit," Chuck reached into the cart and pulled out a bottom full of
liquid, "death ain't about to ease up into me."
The orderlies laughed as they wheeled the gurney next to the operating
table. Mike stood at the woman's head as Todd took her feet. On three,
they transferred her to the gurney, sheet included.
"I'm going on break," Todd turned and walked out of the door.
Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a toe tag. He crossed to the
woman's feet and lifted the sheet. He placed the tag around her right big
toe before covering her up again.
Grabbing hold of the gurney, he leaned and wheeled the body out of the
ER.
Chuck went to the operating table and began spraying it with the
disinfectant.
The elevator doors opened and Andre stepped out, almost bumping into a
man wearing a sky blue smock and wheeling a dead body into the elevator.
He half expected the body to sit up and the sheet to fall revealing the
corpse of the Mexican that he had shoot, pointing an accusing finger at
him.
Andre stepped to the side to allow the orderly to enter, and raised his
arm across the elevator door so that it would not close.
"Thank you," the orderly said as her stepped into the elevator.
Andre nodded, and once the orderly was inside, turned and walked down the
hallway to the waiting room.
His jaw dropped at the sight. The room was full of people, most with
bloody gashes on their arms or legs. Some with gashes on their faces.
Inaudible as he looked around the room: "What the fuck?"
In the elevator, Mike pushed the basement button. When the doors closed,
he lifted the sheet from the woman's face and upper body.
She had been a pretty woman, and, though covered in bruises, had a nice
body. Mike had noticed that she was still warm when he placed on the toe
tag, and that she had nice feet. Young feet.
Most of the people who died in the hospital where older, but she looked
to be around thirty or so. And although the stitches running up and down
her body made her look a bit like the Frankenstein monster, she looked
very doable. So long as she was warm. Warm, and loose.
Mike lowered the sheet when the elevator stopped on the basement level
and the doors opened.
He pushed the gurney into the hall leading to the morgue.
He would be alone there since very few people ever came to the basement.
If they needed him, they would call. He figured that he would have a good
hour with her before the body dropped to room temperature, and she would
be too stiff to...
The body suddenly sat up.
Mike let out a cry and jumped back. A second later and he sighed, already
beginning to relax. He had worked in the morgue for over ten years, and
moving bodies were nothing new to him. Those last bits off movement that
bodies made, be it a twitch of the arm, or burp, or sitting up, were not
uncommon, but they still could take your breathe away.
Mike crossed to the body to lay it back down. Sometimes, when the muscles
relaxed again, the bodies would fall to the floor. It was always better
to guide them down than to have to pick them up.
He reached for the body and froze. There was movement as the dead woman's
hands worked and then pulled the sheet from her head. Her eyes were open
and wide as she stared ahead and then side to side as though confused at
her surroundings.
Her eyes landed on Mike, who stood frozen in his spot, the hand that he
was going to guide her with still in the air.
The air left Mike in a shaken gasps as he stared into the thing's eyes.
The pupils were red, as though made of pure blood, and wild like an
animal's.
She roared and reached for Mike's outstretched hand and digging her nails
into the flesh of his arm.
Mike yelled and through himself backwards, tripping and landing hard on
the floor between the wall and the gurney.
In an instant, the woman leap to the floor, standing over Mike and
arching her back, exposing her teeth and brandishing her nails. She
roared again, a maddening thing that made no sense.
"I'm sorry," Mike cried and threw his arms over his head. He was sorry
that for what he was about to do to her body. Sorry for what he had done
to the bodies of other women that he had taken to his morgue. Sorry that
his sins had awaken this great evil to punish him.
The creature leap onto him, sinking her nails into his arm and holding it
as she bit a mouthful of flesh from just below the elbow.
Mike screamed and struggled to get free. To get her off of him. His
struggles exposed his face and she clumped her teeth onto his left cheek.
Mike screamed as she tore the flesh from him, chewed, and swallowed.
Mike fought to roll over onto his stomach and he threw his arms back over
his head. Anything to keep her from biting his face again.
"I'm sorry," he shouted again.
The creature tried to roll him back over and get back to the soft tissue
of his face when it realized that the flesh of the arms that protected
his head would be just was good.
She brought her head down and bit deeply into his arm below the shoulder.
Mike screamed and raised himself to his knees. He tried to shake her off
of his back, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She held tightly onto
his shirt as he tried to shake her.
With a yell, Mike lifted himself to his feet, the woman still on his
back. He shook and she fell, crashing to the floor. He ran for the
elevator, but his steps seemed awkward and his head spun. The elevator
doors seemed to turn like the dials on a clock.
The creature swallowed the meat in her mouth and stood. With a roar, it
charged Mike from behind, leaping into the air and landing onto his back.
It wrapped its arms around Mikes chest and its legs wrapped around his.
Mike fell, his vision already beginning to blur. The elevator had turned
a complete circle and was going again when he felt the woman's teeth on
his temple. The elevator turned upside down, turned red, and then faded
all together.
(Chase, thanks for the great words. But now I'm looking forward to
reading your version of the hospital. After you finish with Day, you
should go for it. By the way, I'm not ignoring you, or anyone here. It's
just that the equation of my life is WORK SCHOOL GIRLFRIEND = NOT
MUCH TIME, but I read, post reviews, visit recommend sites, and write as
often as I can).