Into the Male Ward Part Two
Miles, Waylon, and I were now all standing on the top of the elevator, in another darkened section of the Male Ward. The black and white checkered flooring seemed to be a common theme here. We stepped off of the elevator top, standing in the middle of the room we were in. To the right of the elevator, there was a grated door leading to one of the upper floors; but it was locked. To our left was another grated door. It, too, was locked. The white paint was peeling off of the walls here. There were double doors directly across from it, but they had wooden boards sealing them off. To the right of these doors was another corridor, the door open.
"You two ready?" Miles asked, looking between Waylon and I.
"As we'll ever be, I suppose." Waylon replied with a half-smile.
"The further we get into this place, the closer we get to getting out. So that's a silver lining at least." I commented, trying to inspire not only them but myself as well. Miles and I had arrived here at nine o' clock p.m. It was now two a.m. Miles still had his cell phone, and although his phone service was completely out, we could still see the time and we were able to keep track of it. We'd been here five hours. I had no idea how long poor Waylon had been navigating through this damned mess.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right, Blackie." Miles said, and we made our way into the open corridor, looking around. The floors in this corridor were hard wood; creaking eerily in the night. To our right was another blocked set of double doors. Paper littered the floor. There were overturned file cabinets, a stool, and a metal cart. Straight ahead of us was an abandoned wheelchair, the door directly in front of it sealed shut with plyboards. We walked through the only available door to our left, stopping at a staircase, leading both up and down.
"I'll check the upstairs and see if we can go that way." Waylon replied, already heading up the stairs. Miles and I heard him pulling at a door, but it wasn't budging. He ran back downstairs, shaking his head.
"We can't get anywhere up there. Only way to go is down." Waylon said, and the three of us headed down the stairs. The Male Ward was pretty dark in this area, so thankfully we still had our night vision. At the bottom of the stairs, there was an opening in the wall, so we squeezed through it, coming into what looked like an office. There was a computer desk in front of us, the computer still on, a blue screen asking for a password. There were two bookshelves against the wall on the right, many files lining them. Hanging on the wall next to the bookshelves was an award in a picture frame. It read: "Team Player Award: Patrick Petryna." I wondered briefly what had become of him. With nothing else to see in this room, we opened the door, heading into another large area. There were more overturned file cabinets and furniture; paper littering the floors. We kept walking until we reached the end of the large room. We came to a stop when we saw Father Martin on the other side of the doors; shining a flashlight.
"Thank God you all survived. I feared that secular maniac would carve you all up like the others. Meet me outside. We're close now." He said, turning and running in the opposite direction.
"Now we have to go on a wild goose chase for Father Martin? You've got to be kidding me." I said in annoyance.
"Looks that way, Blackie. Like we have a choice. Let's go." Miles replied, sounding equally as annoyed as I was.
"Son of a shit biscuit." Waylon grumbled, following behind us as we headed into yet another darkened corridor. We turned to our left, heading into a nearby bathroom. We all stopped when we saw that one of the sinks had a person's leg cut from the knee down and an arm in it. Someone had set the body parts on fire, flames dancing over the skin, the smell of burned flesh gagging us.
"That's just fucking horrible," I said, carefully turning the water to the sink on to put the flames out. Then, with nothing more for us to do here, the three of us left the bathroom, continuing straight down the corridor. We passed another abandoned wheelchair, opening a door into a larger bathroom and locker room area. There was a dead security guard laying in a puddle of blood in front of the blood splattered lockers. Some of the lockers were damaged; their doors laying on the tiled floor. Trash and other debris littered the dirty floor. The locker room smelled awful; of blood, stale urine, and death. The large mirrors above the sinks were so dirty that we could barely see our reflections in them. From what I could see, though, all of us looked like pure hell, our clothes wet, bloody, and dirty. Dirt and blood streaked on our skin. I desperately want a shower. I thought, wrinkling my face in disgust.
We all came out of the locker room, noticing even in the dim light that there was smoke in the air.
"Someone set a fire," Miles stated as we made our way through, looking for the source of the fire. We came to the end of the corridor, broken glass crunching under our feet as we noticed a table under an open window, smoke flowing through the open window. There were bloody footprints on the table and the wall leading to the window.
"Looks like we found the fire." Waylon commented, climbing up on the table.
"What are you doing?" I asked, alarmed. I didn't know how bad this fire was yet, and I didn't want any of us getting hurt any worse than we already had.
"There's nowhere else to go but through here. We can't stick around and wait for the fire to spread." Waylon responded.
"He's right, you know. Let's get this shit over with." Miles said, climbing into the window after Waylon. I sighed, climbing into the window. We were now standing in what looked to be a dining area; the whole room in an orange glow. Flames were consuming the wooden tables all around us; the heat of them rippled the air. The flames seemed to be dancing; mocking us in our defeated feelings. Each of us held a hand in front of our faces as we navigated through the dining room the best we could without touching anything, the smell of smoke and burning wood filling our nostrils as we coughed. Soon, we came to a metal dining cart, blocking our path. I knew we couldn't move it; it would be too hot to touch.
"Always down for some parkour," Miles commented, jumping over it.
"Only in these shitty situations at least," Waylon said, following Miles.
"Shitty is an understatement." I said, hopping over it as well.
The three of us walked around a burning table, coming to a patient sitting on another one that hadn't yet been engulfed in flames. He had his hands folded in his lap, looking down at the ground. Concern welled in my heart for him, he didn't need to be here any more than we did.
"Sir, you need to come with us before the fire spreads even more," I said, my voice taking on a higher pitch in my worry. When I spoke, he looked up at me, smiling a mirthless smile.
"I had to burn it. Murkoff took so much from us. Used us. Turned us into these things because nobody cares about a few forgotten lunatics. So let it burn. Burn the whole damned thing down. So get out, if you want to live. You can get out through the kitchen." He replied, his voice cracking with emotion as he pointed to his left. I opened my mouth to say something more, to beg him to come with us, but Miles shook his head sorrowfully.
"Come on, Blackie. He's made his choice. Nothing more we can do." Miles said, and with a final look at this man, we all headed in the direction he pointed us towards, tears burning the back of my eyes.
"We're definitely not the only victims here. Not by a long shot. That guy would rather burn alive than spend another second in this place. It's fucking sad." Miles commented, sighing.
"And it's partially my fault. I wish I'd never taken on a job here." Waylon said sadly.
"Waylon, you didn't know the extent things went. Only what you could see." I said, trying to reassure him, but he just stared at the ground as we walked, not saying a word. We hopped over another metal food cart, noticing a pile of burning bodies on the floor. Their burning smell assaulted our noses, the three of us covering our noses and mouths as we stepped around them, crawling under a wooden bench. We stood up, noticing another dead body on the floor, blood smeared where he tried to crawl his way through here. I wanted so badly to forget everything about this place, but I knew that I never would. We headed through the open door, back into another corridor. We shut the door behind us so the smoke wouldn't be as harsh through here.
The right of this corridor was a dead end, so we all turned left, noticing a gap in between some file cabinets stacked along the walls. We quickly squeezed through it. The left of this area was another dead end, so we continued straight, until Miles noticed an open door into a small room, walking into it.
"There's a water pump here. But unfortunately, there's no water in the system. Which means that we have to find the two valves to turn the water on." Miles said to Waylon and I. My heart filled with hope at this news. If we can find those valves, we can put that fire out, and save that poor man and ourselves from potentially burning to death.
"I wonder where the valves are." I said, walking out of the room.
"There's a green sign on the wall there." Waylon observed, pointing ahead of us. The sign read: BATHS, with an arrow pointing to the right, CAFETERIA, with an arrow pointing to the left, and LAUNDRY with an arrow pointing to the right.
"I could be wrong, but my guess is that one pump is in the bath area, and the other is in the laundry room." Miles said, looking at the sign as well. We walked a little further out into the corridor where the sign was, noticing down the hall to our right another darkened area. Then, we heard heavy breathing and the sound of chains rattling.
"He's back." I whispered, my heart beginning to pound.
"Chris fucking Walker. It fucking figures. I'm so sick of his fucking shit." Miles snapped, and the three of us slid back in behind the wall.
"This time, we're all sticking together. Let's get to the bath area first. Then we'll go to the valve in the laundry room." Miles whispered, "That okay with you two?"
"Hell yes. Let's get this shit going." Waylon responded. The three of us poked our heads around the wall, watching as Chris Walker turned right into the darkened area, muttering to himself. It looked like there was another room there, separated from the bath and laundry rooms.
"Let's make a break for it. Run like hell. Let's go." Miles said, and we all sprinted our way through, Chris Walker roaring as he chased after us.
"SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCKING HELL!!" Waylon yelled, breathing hard as we ran to the right of the corridor, shoving ourselves through the gap in between some file cabinets as quickly as we could. We were at the bath area. We walked into the room, noticing that some of the bathtubs were filled with blood. There was a patient scrubbing a dead body in another one, murmuring soft words to it. Then, he looked up at us.
"Did you three bring your duckies? You can all go next when I'm done." He said, going back to washing his dead friend.
"I don't know about you two, but that guy ain't touching shit on me." said Waylon, shuddering at the thought. I resisted the urge to laugh at him as we continued to the end of the baths, coming to a stop at a red sign that read: SPRINKLER VALVE.
"Hell yeah!!" Miles shouted triumphantly, the three of us rushing into the room as he turned the valve to the left; releasing some of the water we needed. We were temporarily ecstatic about this; until we remembered that we had to go back out to the laundry room, where Chris Walker was stalking around. We left the baths; standing safely behind the gap at the bathroom door. Thankfully, there was no sign of Chris Walker yet.
"Once again, run like hell." Miles stated, and we all slipped through the gap quietly, bolting for the laundry room. We turned through the corridor, legs pounding, Chris Walker breathing heavily behind us. We finally reached the laundry room; slamming the door in Chris Walker's face as he began pounding it. We ran to the other end of the room, throwing open the other door quickly, the three of us rushing inside as Chris Walker burst into the room, snarling in anger, chasing us as Miles slammed the door shut again.
"HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!" Waylon shouted, him and I pressing ourselves against the door as Chris slammed into it, cursing at us.
"Sheesh. I'm working on it," Miles snapped, twisting the valve. We heard all of the water rushing back into the system, relieved we'd got the valves going. Now, we just had to make it back to the pump. The door gave way, Chris shoving me and Waylon to the floor as he rushed over to Miles, grabbing him by his throat. Waylon and I jumped on him; kicking and punching. Miles landed a blow to Chris's face; and he dropped Miles, tossing Waylon and I off his back.
" I'M GOING TO GET YOU, LITTLE PIGS, IF IT'S THE LAST THING I FUCKING DO!!" He roared as he gave chase again, the three of us sprinting back to the pump, finally losing Chris Walker to the darkness. I slammed my fist into the pump, water raining down on us as the sprinklers turned on. In that moment I was overjoyed, some of the blood and grime washing off of us onto the floor. We all ran our hands through our hair, hoping to dislodge some of the grime in it.
"This is by far the weirdest shower I've ever taken." I said, rubbing at the dirt on my face.
"Meh. I'd say lots of people have taken showers together, Blackie." Miles commented with a chuckle. I rolled my eyes, smiling.
"You know what I mean, moron." I said.
"Yeah, well, after this shit, I'm never showering with you two again." Waylon joked, smiling at us.
"God, I sure as hell hope not." Miles replied, chuckling.
"Fuck you." Waylon chuckled, shaking his head. We made our way back to the kitchen, noticing that the man who'd started the fire was now gone. The fire had successfully been put out, the room bathed in darkness. Our night vision illuminated the area as we walked through it, figuring out where to go next. We soon came to the table where the man was sitting, noticing the open doors in the kitchen. We walked into it, startled, as the man who'd started the fire charged at us, knocking Miles over as he roared in anger. Miles stood up, shouting at him.
"WELL FUCK YOU TOO THEN!" He shouted.
"Guess he wasn't too happy about us putting the fire out." I said, watching as he ran away.
"Guess not." Waylon replied. There was the body of a man laying on one of the metal counters, his lower half missing as his guts were splayed out from him. His head was detached from his torso, lying by his neck. Flies swarmed around him.
"I hope no one is hungry." Miles commented, disgusted.
"Definitely not." I said, stepping away from the dead body.
If we had a dollar for every dead person we found here, we'd all be rich. At this point, I was starting to become a little desensitized to it, but it still saddened me. Some of these people here probably deserved it, but not all of them did. I knew that much. I knew that we still had a ways to go before we could leave this place. Once we did, I was never coming back, not for anything or anyone.
"Let's go." Waylon said softly. We soon found ourselves back in the room where Trager had first taken us, only this time, we were free to go outside. It was still storming, thunder cracking in the night as we stared at the exit.
"Father Martin is waiting for us out there." Miles stated, looking at me, then at Waylon.
"Let's not waste any more time. Let's go see what he wants." I replied, nodding.
"Might as well. But I don't trust him." Waylon stated.
"Neither do we. But we have no choice." Miles replied. With nothing more to say, the three of us headed out into the storm, rain pounding onto us. Father Martin was nowhere to be seen, at least not yet. However, I knew we would find him. Then, maybe, we could get the hell out of this place.