Ugh this was supposed to be done sooner! But bloody writer's block from focusing on one story hit and… ugh. Still, at least October is nearly over and I can focus on other stories! That'll sort out my wedge head! Expect some 'Just Kids' pretty soon and maybe some new SOTF, MWOL and Burning Notebook too! And… what else am I fucking writing? Man it's been so long. College fried my brain.
Anyway, without further ado, here's some more death and destruction.
Oh, and happy Halloween! Spooper dooper!
...
How lucky was he to no longer hear a thing. How lucky young Raivis Garais was as he lay there, face distorted by the plastic tube and mask over his mouth, oblivious to the slaughter around him as the life support breathed existence into him. Conditional, temporary existence.
He was dying, and the monsters hadn't even gotten to him yet.
And now there was no one left to mourn the child.
Raivis didn't know where he was. The boy never would. He didn't know what had happened since the fire, how he'd collapsed, trapped in his room screaming, curled up on the floor with his arms over his head, or how his cousin had tried to save him, cursing the day he'd made them move here. He would never know. His brain had been poisoned, starved of air for too long and the only thing keeping him alive was a robot; even the hospital staff had abandoned him now as they fled the monsters.
He didn't know.
Raivis was completely unaware of his beloved cousin, now leaning over him, dripping milky red saliva onto his unfeeling cheeks, hungry eyes gleaming. And Toris, in turn, was no longer aware that he had a cousin, or any family at all.
All he saw was dinner.
Still, Toris had wanted to visit his precious baby cousin even since he'd been admitted. Craved a reunion. Any news about Raivis as he'd boredly healed in his own ward. Now here he was.
And luckily for the man he once was, Raivis would not feel a shred of pain as every organ was crushed and ripped from his body.
...
"We ought to go."
Antonio didn't even look up at Francis' comment. He knew. He damn well knew, okay? For once, he could understand the absolute gravity of the situation and how, if he wanted to live, he should run immediately and never look back. But he wasn't going to and there was nothing Francis could say or do to change that. In all honesty, Toni could do without the distraction.
"Go then," he said absentmindedly, like the world wasn't ending. Like his stubbornness wasn't about to kill him and possibly his patient too. Then again, they'd die either way, so this was their only chance, no matter how slim. But why did Francis need to die here too? He could escape.
Just a few more stitches, he noted as he pulled at the needle, but then what? He was going to wheel an unconscious patient through whatever chaos was coming? Well, if this operation was a success, he certainly wasn't leaving without them. There would be no point in that.
Toni's hand shook, and he cursed his wandering mind. This always happened during operations, and if he was honest, it was a wonder he even chose this as a career path.
But he was good once he focused. And focused he had to be here. They'd all pull through! He refused to see it any other way. He just needed time to work his magic.
"I'm not leaving you," at the edge of his vision, Toni saw Francis step forward, stood awkwardly on the other side of the operating table.
"Well, aren't you brave." Toni smiled, still focusing on the body before him. "Or stupid. Like me. It must be catching."
"Or passionate, about saving lives, like you are," Francis fiddled with his surgical mask and nodded. "If you want to stay, then I will too."
"I'd like to say there wasn't a chance of you dying horribly," commented Toni, "but even I can't be that optimistic."
At that, the pair heard a series of low growls, and the dragging of claws against the wall outside. However, Francis just smiled. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."
Toni smiled. "For our patient?"
"Well of course."
…
It wouldn't stop.
Mathias Densen tightened the makeshift tourniquet around his arm, and the bleeding subsided slightly. He didn't want to look at it, the fresh blood spurting out to the beat of his heart, fast and slamming against his chest so hard he thought he'd throw up. Again.
But he had to be quick. Those things could find him again. Tear him apart like they did with the rest of the liver department, the shaking, spacey patients unable to pull themselves together long enough to escape. Their yellow, clammy faces sometimes too full of confusion to know what was happening until they were already dead.
He was lucky, ill but aware, clinging to reality and the hopes of his son being proud of him once more. Jaundice and weight loss had certainly ruined his body, but his mind had escaped, for the most part. And before his liver gave out, he'd been relatively fit, still able to run away in time. No one else on that ward could possibly have ripped out their IV and ducked out of the door like he'd done. Even the poor nurses hadn't stood a chance.
He wanted to feel sorry for them, he really did, but right now he had to think of himself. His confusion was worse in this state, and when he threw up nowadays, yet more blood would be lost, and that was the last thing he needed in a building full of ravenous zombies as he bled to death. Besides, he hadn't liked any of the people he'd shared a ward with. They reminded him too much of himself and his failures. Mathias hadn't wanted to see them torn apart though.
He stared blankly at his red, swollen hand before it ran through his hair, pulling out sweaty clumps that he brushed onto his hospital gown.
Was he a coward for saving himself?
Mathias hadn't dared stop running, not until the carnage was far behind him and he'd been able to hide in a storage cupboard. He'd been here since, catching his breath and patching up the wound in his arm.
As he wrapped bandages around the hole in his vein, he contemplated his next move. Well, he had to get out. Find a weapon. Maybe join up with other survivors if there were any.
There wasn't anything in here he could defend himself with though, just medical supplies and alcohol wipes.
Mathias raised an eyebrow; well, well, well. That was something at least.
He pulled one wipe from its packet and brought it to his lips, sucking the thing and finally tasting the horrible, choking, but oh so beautiful relish of alcohol, his first few drops in months. Sure, it wasn't a refreshing pint of beer, or a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen floor, but it certainly helped to stop that persistent shaking he'd not been rid of for months. He almost fell to his knees at the taste. Mathias had nearly forgotten what it felt like.
It was thoughts like those, he realised in shame, that had put him here in the first place. That had torn his family apart.
He was a disgrace.
"Next week," he whispered to himself, "next fucking week I'd have a new liver and be out of here." Then he could start getting help and be a proper father.
Well, it seemed he would have to get out and get his operation from another hospital. Preferably one not infested with the undead.
Yes, he, a severely ill alcoholic, bleeding critically, was going to outrun zombies and escape here. That was one fine fucking plan right there. He'd probably pass out from the blood loss before they could even get to him. Well, at least that would dull the pain of having his brains scooped out of his skull.
He wouldn't get anywhere hiding here trembling like a lost puppy though, that was for sure. No point bleeding to death and waiting for those things to sniff out his body. If they even could smell, though they seemed pretty good at tracking down their victims anyway. Mathias wondered if there were any waiting for him outside right now.
"Fucking bring it on if you are," he muttered, less intimidating than he'd hoped, before tying up the end of his bandage and bursting through the door.
The pair of shrieks and a child's scream certainly weren't the response he was expecting.
"Mr Densen you idiot!" wheezed Angie.
"Oh, afternoon Dr Lalande, Dr Chen, small boy," he glanced down at a rather terrified Kuzey, who busied himself with wiping the dried tears on his cheeks.
"You have no idea how glad we are to see you," Mei panted, doubling over and clutching a stitch.
"There's no one left," Angie explained.
"Those things got everyone?" Mathias shook his head, "what bastards. Where did they even come from?"
Angie shrugged. "Who knows? I don't care; I just want to get out."
Mathias gave a short nod. "Where's the nearest exit?"
"Front door, downstairs," Mei pulled herself up, "we'll have to run."
"Oh we do know?" Mathias raised an eyebrow, "cause I was planning to just mince out of here."
"You'll end up as mince if you use all your energy to be sarcastic!" Mei scolded, waggling a finger in his face.
A cry and a crash on the floor above stopped any potential argument in its tracks, and the four glanced around before Angie took the lead.
"Just a few flights of stairs," she whispered, "and we'll be out of here. Come on!"
...
Oh, I should probably point out I wanted to try out a Latvian surname on Latvia to see if I liked it, don't mind me.
