Author's Note: I hate the hospital scenario now. It seems like I've run into nothing but writer's block and complications. Blah. It may be ending sooner then I expected, but that's not a bad thing. In fact, I have something planned I think you all might like. After reading a review of a PC game called, "Sanitarium" I got an idea. I'm going to do a separate scenario, showing what exactly happened to our little missing character. Be warned though, things will become a little more surreal and freakish if I do it. Which I may have to move this story to the "R" section (don't want my fanfic to be deleted), Anyway, to Lost Survivor, your Joshua character is very interesting. But I already have a set number of characters (because I lose track if I put in too many…eheh). However, I think I've got an idea involving your character. I'm not sure if it'll work, but I'll try. This Joshua…I'm assuming his last name is Ryman? Anyway, thanks for your suggestion! I greatly appreciate it! God, this author note is too long. Thanks to those who reviewed the last time (and thanks enRAGEd for the food! I'll take your advice and start adding page breaks). Hope you enjoy this chapter.

James and Daniel sat in front of the television watching a movie. It wasn't an uncommon thing for them to do on a Friday night. James called it bonding between a father and son, Debbie called it an excuse to be a coach potato.

James always rented movies on Friday nights, usually old western movies. He managed to get Daniel to take a liking to them. The boy would often go around pretending he was a cowboy, beating the "bad outlaws" and saving the day.

The only light in the room was from the television screen. Daniel watched intently as the hero walked up to the gang of outlaws, magnum revolver in hand.

"James, you really shouldn't be showing him that kind of thing," a voice called from the kitchen. He put his arm around Daniel, grinning.

"Oh come on, Debbie, it's a great movie. Teaches him good values," he said.

She sighed. "Like shooting someone," she responded sarcastically.

The outlaws taunted the hero, telling him he needed to get out of town. He didn't budge, staring defiantly at the three bad guys. Then they all reached for their guns, pointing them at one another with their fingers on the trigger and-

His head was throbbing.

He could hear a noise. Was it the sound of the television going? No, it was his own breathing. He wasn't laying on the soft carpet of his living room, instead he was laying on something cold and hard-steel.

The world slowly returned in a blurry mess of colors and shapes. What happened?

Then he remembered, the elevator snapped. He tried moving his sore body. Nothing seemed to be broken. And he was hurting too much to be dead.

He groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling something wet sticking to his hand. He pulled his hand away and saw it was blood. He cursed, knowing that he must have smacked his head pretty hard against the floor.

Light slipped into the stuffy, dark elevator. A small opened space was located between the floor he was laying on and the top of the shaft. It was just wide enough for him to get through.

The elevator creaked again, like it had done before when it fell.

Better get out of here fast. I don't think I could survive another fall.

He slid his legs through first. Then he leaned back and pushed himself all the way out. He hit the floor clumsily as he landed, grunting as he got onto his feet. Rubbing his back, he saw in big bold lettering "B2" written on the wall across from him.

So I didn't fall to the first-floor basement. That's good…

He needed to get back to Bethany and Elizabeth.

The hallway was large, lined with several metal doors. It was going to be hard to tell where the stairs were without exploring first.

'Better get started then,' he thought miserably, not looking forward to whatever surprises were down here. He walked further down the hall, glancing at each door. None of them particularly caught his interest, except for one. The door labeled "Audio Room."

He stopped. Would the audio room have any information on what was happening right now?

No James, that's not the way to the stairs.

He pressed his hand against the door

James, you have to leave. You don't know what's in that room, you don't-

It creaked open.

FOR GOD'S SAKE JAMES YOU COULD BE KILLED JUST GO BACK-

He peered inside. From what he could see, it was well-lit. There were no monsters lurking in the room. In fact, it was very clean and well-organized, a sign it hadn't been used for a while.

As he stepped inside, he felt warm air against his skin. There were filing cabinets lined against the wall. In the back of the room was a desk, with a box and tape recording sitting on top of it.

The floorboards creaked under him as he walked towards the desk. He pulled the oak chair out and sat down. It was slightly uncomfortable, but he was too busy looking into the box to care. Several tapes filled the box, each labeled with what it was about. So far, he couldn't find anything that would be useful to him.

He glanced at the tape recorder on the desk. There was a tape lying right next to it, unlabeled. He put on the headphones that were next to him, adjusting them so that they fit comfortably over his ears. He slipped the tape into the record player and hit play. A few seconds passed as he listened closely the soft static of the tape.

Then a voice spoke.

"Dr. Hamilton, I'm glad you could take a few seconds out of your busy schedule to see me," a calm male voice said. James could sense a trace of sarcasm in the man's voice.

"You know I'm taking care of a lot of patients. Why did you need to see me so badly?"

"Well, I received a phone call."

"Yes?"

A sigh.

"George," the doctor's professional title had been dropped, "you know we can't save those patients who have that new virus."

There was a pause.

"What was the phone call?"

"The virus is spending too quickly, and we can't seem to find a cure fast enough. We've already lost more than I can count…"

"What was the phone call, Richard?"

"I mean, even you must've realized that there's no hope for them-"

"But I'm still trying to save them. Now what was the damn phone call?"

"It was from someone in Umbrella. They want us to contain the virus."

"…How?"

"They," the man paused, "they want us to separate the infected from the normal patients. Find some spare rooms to put them in-"

"And do what with them? You know that the patients that are close to dying are dangerous, they'll tear each other apart. Especially the newly infected ones that were brought in. And we don't have that many spare rooms to put them in."

"They're all going to die anyway, George."

"You…you can't be serious."

"But let me continue. They gave us a suggestion on how to do it. We could even take in a group one at a time and-"

"And what?"

"Euthanize them."

There was silence for a brief moment.

"Oh my god."

"We could probably start with the adults first, then move onto the children. They said they didn't care how we did it, just as long as it was done."

"Oh…oh god," the doctor's voice cracked. The man hesitated before speaking again.

"George, I thought I could tell you this because you're my friend."

"But we couldn't possibly contain it that way! It spreads too quickly and…and…"

"Then we'll have to try disposing as many as we can. It's for the greater good, George. You'll be doing everyone a favor. You know they're impossible to save."

"I…I just c-can't…"

"You know, you look pretty tired. Perhaps you should head on home, give yourself time to think about it. Hell, you look like you could use a strong drink right about now."

"We can't do this…we can't…"

"I'm sorry, but it's not really your place to decide."

They were going to kill all the virus carriers? And what exactly did Umbrella have to do with this?

He didn't want to hear anymore. He reached to turn off the tape, but through the hiss of the static he could hear a voice.

"…Yo…craz…"

It was Hursh's voice. James slowly pulled his finger away from the stop button.

"But…it………necessary proce…" He couldn't identify the other voice speaking. It sounded like the man who had spoken to Dr. Hamilton before.

"It's wrong!" Hursh's voice blurted out. The static began to die down, enough for him to hear more clearly. The loudness of those two words nearly made him jump out of his seat.

"But it's the only possible way to contain the virus," the man spoke. Ah, so it was the same man from the previous recording. Had he talked to all of the doctors about this?

He felt the air grow colder, just a little. He thought nothing of it.

"Then hell! We might as well nuke the whole city!" came the strained response.

"If we don't figure out a way to contain the virus now, they probably will," the man said coldly. For a moment, neither voice spoke. He could only hear the crackle of the tape recorder.

"I'm your friend, Hursh. I'm doing this for your own good. For everyone's good," the man said softly. Wait, didn't this man also say he was a friend of the other doctor? It could have been just a coincidence, but something just didn't feel right.

"Besides, you don't want your little secret to get out. Am I right, doctor?" the very last word was spoken with a tint of venom to it. There was a choked cry from Hursh.

"No…" he whimpered.

"Good. You're doing the right thing. I promise."

He shut off the tape, still feeling confused. Who was that man talking? What secret was Hursh hiding?

What's with all those leeches?

He pulled the headphones off and sat them down. He was feeling very exhausted. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew that his body would be going to sleep without him if he didn't get out of the hospital soon. Maybe the other survivors and him could find somewhere to rest for the night-

Oh no!

He needed to get back upstairs. For all he knew, they might have already left without him. Or something worse could have happened. They might have all been killed.

Stupid, stupid James!

"Urragh…" he turned around, noticing the door was wide open, and a zombie was standing in the middle of the doorway. She had long, wavy brown hair that touched her shoulders, which were covered by the thin patient gown she was wearing. Her skin was deathly pale, but none of it had rotted off. Did she die recently?

Surprisingly, her appearance didn't frighten him as much as it had the first time he saw a zombie. He thought maybe he was becoming desensitized to them, as sickening as the thought was.

She wasn't moving. Almost like she was waiting for him.

Fine by me.

He raised the gun.

Click.

He looked down at his gun in panic. He had forgotten to reload it after his encounter with the dog. He forgot to reload it.

He reached down in his pocket for the box of handgun bullets. The zombie girl lifted her head and stared through him with her ghoulishly white eyes. He felt her silent laughter as she stumbled toward him while he struggled to open the box without dropping all the bullets. He frantically began shoving them into the barrel of the gun. He couldn't reload fast enough-

Blam!

Handgun bullets clattered to the ground, spilling everywhere. The girl collapsed, a small hole through her skull. Her body convulsed as blood leaked onto the floor. Eyeing her corpse carefully, he began to scoop up as many bullets as he could and finished reloading his gun. He put whatever was left back into the box.

She still didn't move.

He moved past her, expecting her at any moment to rise up and attack.

Nothing.

He quickly exited, knowing that he had to stop getting sidetracked. As he lectured himself for being irresponsible and foolish, there was a deafening sound that seemed to be not far from where he was standing. He heard a loud rattling, and something that also sounded like-

Screams?

But they weren't human screams. He didn't know of any man, women, or child that could screech like that. He wasn't sure, but could it be-

No, they couldn't be the screams of those they were going to kill…could it?

The loud banging of metal made him jump. He took off in the opposite direction, praying that the stairs wouldn't be located from where those screams were coming.