But who will take care of the weak, the ill, the locked-up, the helpless? [Jeffrey Scarlett's Journal, September, 2012]

A week passed. Jeff spent most nights in the hospital. The majority of the staff had left, so Jeff felt he had no choice. Meanwhile, the town seemed safe as usual, except everyone stayed inside. The cable news and the internet had come to halt.

But the hospital had run out of food. The truck full of food that was supposed to come once a month had not. So he drove ten minutes south on the empty interstate to the shopping center to find, to his surprise, that Wal-Mart had not been abandoned.

The lights were still on. But the glass on the sliding doors was shattered on the floor. The food section was nearly empty, but some items were scattered through the three aisles. A makeshift sign (made from three small pasteboards and written on with a sharpie) declared all prices tripled. It did not matter to him. Living single, he had enough discretionary income.

He ran his arm through each shelf, dropping cans and boxes to fill up two shopping carts. Then, he went up to the only operating register to find an obese, balding manager. Apparently, he was the only one still operating the store. His blue polo shirt said "Chuck" and it looked particularly small, even for a man with his frame and gut. His stomach stretched out the Wal-Mart smiley face so that it looked equally overweight.

"Chuck" rang up all the items, and took out his pocket calculator to multiply the total by three. Jeff could see him "That will be nine-hundred and eighty-five dollars, please! Oh, and ten cents." Jeff slipped out his credit card. "Oh, cash only, please!" This was mysterious, seeing as machine still glowed blue.

Jeff opened his wallet to find two twenties and a ten. He never carried bills anymore. He threw his cash on the register and filled a paper bag with a random amount of groceries. Chuck did not object, but as Jeff left he noticed that Chuck did not open the register, but rather pocketed the money.

More days passed. Sleeping on a hospital bed became normal to Jeff. He brought all of his food from home to the hospital to serve the few patients remaining. He guessed that Malcom had escaped the calamity—that the television would turn on soon and everyone would return to work.

But one rainy night, Dallas, his patient, complained of hunger. She was a gaunt to begin with—she had had anorexia nervosa in high school. Feeling guilty and restless, Jeff walked downstairs to step into the rainy night.

Head down, Jeff walked to the automatic doors in the front. His teeth were gritted in frustration. He heard the first set of doors open, as usual, but the second set opened at exactly the same time. This seemed off. He glanced his eyes up without moving his head to see two women shuffling through the door. They were dressed in executive clothes, not the typical garb of Malcolm. And a man was unconscious on the ground, bleeding profusely from his right hamstring, right where the door had opened. "Oh, my God! Get him inside. Let me get a gurney."

Jeff dashed to the E.R. to roll a gurney back to the entrance. This was not his usual department, but he figured he would help, considering only two doctors remained. The automatic doors shut and closed because they were still being triggered. They had not moved him. They leaned over him, knees on the ground.

"Come on!" Jeff shouted. They glanced up at him, but then their attention went back to the man. Then, they lurched at the man's neck and bit. Every ounce of him wanted to help the man, but he knew that he would only get himself hurt. He thought of the oxygen mask parable.

Jeff dashed away to the emergency room, which, fortunately, required a key fob to pass. It had taken him a moment, but he felt his body tighten in a panic. The clarity of thought he had upon seeing the injured man vanished. He had to sit down on a hospital bed stop himself from feinting.

Attention. He needed to garner attention. But the doctor, the nurse, and the remaining patients were on levels above. He could go to the front desk and call them through the intercom, but this would requiring approaching the automatic doors. No. He would go upstairs through the security of one of the back sets of stairs.

Remaining calm was a rule of thumb in working in a hospital. Screaming in the hospital was usually the job of mental patients, not staff. So Jeff did not feel quite right running up the stairs and through every wing screaming, "They're here! Zombies. Doctor!"

He climbed passed Dallas and his other patient on the third floor, and found both the doctor and the nurse in 400N. He caught his breath and explained the situation.

The young doctor, standing at an unimpressive 5'6", created a plan. Jeff knew that certain doctor was always the one to take command, even when his confidence was unfounded. "Alright, we'll take them all up to the 500S and barricade the doors."

Jeff and the nurse agreed. Nurse Jannett had worked for decades, a reliable nurse who dedicated her life to her patients. The type, like Jeff, to clock out just so that the administrator would not think they were overworking themselves.