Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 6

  “Ready?” Cale asked.

  Naeem nodded.

  Cale counted mostly for himself, but ultimately because it was how he’d been trained.

  “One…Two…Three.”

  The two of them burst through the door, knocking over an infected as they did. The core group of undead had journeyed further up the stairs, unable to determine on which floor their prey may have found refuge. With only a few stragglers on the way down, it took no time at all for Cale and Naeem to reach the ground floor, tossing any of the undead that got in their way over the railing. Mangled bodies littered the center of the corridor, though not entirely dead. One of them crawled on broken arms because his legs wouldn’t work. In life he might have been an orderly, or perhaps a nurse. His green scrubs were stained with his own blood, and he had a large and noticeable throat wound, but what drew the eye now were the broken bones protruding through his skin. Each time he inched forward, supporting his weight on his arms, the white bone bulged grotesquely further out. Cale paid him no more attention, and exited the stairwell. They were back where they’d started, with full packs, standing outside the doors to the operating room. From here, they heard a series of gunshots. They suspected it was another scavenging team, and, thankfully, they would be drawing the attention of the infected toward them and away from Cale and Naeem.

  Naeem gave the operating room door a push, but it didn’t budge. Excitedly, the undead trapped inside began beating on the door with decayed fists. Slowly, their moans mounted to a crescendo.

  “Another way around?” Cale asked, hoping Naeem would understand.

  He looked at Cale, confused, but guessing the American had proposed another route. Naeem was impressed at how well Cale had navigated the way back with all the signs in Arabic. He looked down the hall at another set of signs. One pointed the way to recovery, another to the nurse’s station, and the last to radiology. He recalled seeing a sign for radiology on the other side of the operating room. Naeem said something in Arabic, and Cale took it as ‘This way’. He led Cale down the hall toward radiology, past doors labeled ‘No Entry’ in Arabic, as well as two large elevator doors. Naeem stopped where the hall was bisected by another; he needed to check for more signs, and they were difficult to read since the emergency floodlight cast only so far. Naeem found a sign that pointed to a clinic waiting area and to radiology. They continued to follow the arrows, their chain clinking and clanking as they went. The hall opened to a waiting area with a desk and to an entry door to radiology. Naeem was the first to vault over the desk, and Cale followed closely behind, careful not to overturn the computer monitor that sat in the corner.

  Under the desk was a corpse, its brain destroyed long before their arrival. They heard gunfire, much closer this time. They paused to listen, and one more shot rang out; whoever it was, they were close. The next sound to greet them was the throaty call of a zombie. It must have heard them and followed, searching for the origin of the noise. The two ducked for cover behind the desk. On the other side, they heard the infected ‘tracker’ knocking over chairs and dragging his feet. He let out another loud growl, which was answered by a half dozen soft moans. Cale slowly peeked over the desk.

  “Oh….shit…” he whispered.

  Naeem decided to take a peek as well. He quickly crouched back down, startled by what he’d seen. He gestured, pointing at the door to radiology. Together, they moved toward it, staying close to the floor. Naeem reached for the handle, but Cale stopped him. He had an idea. Cale grabbed a stapler from the desk, and tested its weight. Stealthily, he looked back over the desk, checking for an empty corner far away from them. Once satisfied, he chucked the stapler, launching it like a small grenade, and it shattered when it struck the wall. The crowd took the bait, migrating toward the source of the noise, and giving Naeem and Cale the chance to escape.

  Beyond the door was another hallway lined with more doors, and ending in a “T” intersection.

  As they all had been, this hall was poorly lit. An undead sat against a wall to the right. It had been some time since he’d seen anyone, living or dead, and the walking corpse was glad for the company. He greeted the shackled men with a decayed smile. Pearly white maggots fell from his open wounds, and as he stood, he disturbed the flies feeding on what was left of his carcass, their buzzing filling the hallway. Cale grabbed the excess chain and pulled it tight, leaving no slack between himself and Naeem. Without looking, Naeem understood the plan. The awkward corpse stumbled forward on feet that seemed much too heavy, his legs stiff. His pants had been eaten away, exposing his bare legs and genitals, which were covered in sores and festering wounds. Cale and Naeem charged the man, clotheslining him. He feebly tried to rise to his feet, but was stomped out instantly. It was now apparent that the insect larva had penetrated his brain. Maggots wiggled among his spilled grey matter. Naeem and Cale were both drenched in sweat and out of breath. The creature’s stench filled the corridor, causing them to retch with each inhale. Cale felt a surge originating from his stomach and rising into his mouth. He coughed, as bile and what he’d had for breakfast spilled onto the floor. His eyes watered and his throat burned. The smell was almost unbearable. The duo continued down the hall still gagging.

  From their current position, Naeem saw another sign at the end of the hall. A glass dome on the ceiling enabled them to see if there were infected around both corners. The passageway looked clear, and Naeem led Cale to the right, toward the emergency and operating rooms. Neither of them paid attention to the next dome, which revealed an armed man around the corner, readying himself to fire. Naeem was the first to walk into the man’s line of sight.

  10.

  Bad timing

  The gunshot echoed down the hall like thunder. Out of pure instinct, Naeem and Cale dropped and lay flat on the floor. The round was too high, striking the wall just above Naeem’s head.

  “Don’t fire! It’s us!” Naeem shouted in his native tongue.

  Cale and Naeem scrambled back behind the corner for cover. Pashet’s ears were ringing so loudly that he didn’t hear the man’s plea. He fired another round at the corner, totally oblivious to the fact that zombies didn’t take cover when fired upon.

  “Stop shooting! It’s us!” Cale yelled.

  This time the fat man hesitated; for a moment, he thought he heard them shout. After dismissing this as an auditory hallucination he discharged and shot again at the figures around the corner.

  “Hold your fire! Hold your fire” Naeem continued to scream.

  This time Pashet was positive they’d spoken. While keeping his rifle at the ready, the ensign slowly approached the corner.

  “Don’t shoot!” Naeem yelled again.

  “Get your asses out here,” the ensign ordered in Arabic.

  Naeem slowly poked his head around the corner, careful not to startle the trigger-happy ensign.

  “What are you doing?” Pashet asked.

  Naeem didn’t answer. The pair walked out and stood in full view of the fat man.

  “Have you gathered any supplies?’

  “Yes. We found a room full of them,” Naeem said as he took off his pack and opened it to show Pashet the fruits of their labor.

  “Excellent. Now we can get out of here,” Pashet said with a shiver.

  They’d only been in the hospital a short time, and the ‘crazies’ had already almost killed him. The ensign wasn’t sure if he was ready to believe these people were actually dead. They were more than likely just a bunch of druggies running rampant, spreading their hysteria. Although, the last time he checked, in the real world, a gunshot wound anywhere would stop most people from getting back up.

  “Can we go that way?” Pashet asked in Arabic as he pointed toward the radiology clinic.

  “No, it’s blocked off. What about back that way?”

  The ensign shook his head. Cale scanned the hallways as the two men discussed their options. He knew that the sound of the gunshots would draw the infected. The hospital would be the scene o
f their deaths if they didn’t get out soon. The two African men continued their conversation, stopping only when a loud crash echoed down the hall. The three of them exchanged anxious looks. Pashet readied his weapon, and they quickly decided to go down the only available hall. The tile floor was covered in dust, over grime, blood, and gore. At some point, someone had been dragged across it to his or her death. At the end of the hall, a solid double door obscured the view of what was beyond. Pashet was the first to reach it.

  “Go ahead,” he said to Cale.

  “What?”

  “Go through the door,” the fat man ordered.

  “You have the fucking gun. You go first.”

  Pashet used the butt of the rifle to hit Cale in the gut. He fell to the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

  “Keep running your mouth. You’ll learn not to talk back.”

  Naeem helped him up, and then volunteered to go first. Inside was another nurses’ station. It was, in fact, the intensive care ward. The station sat in the center of the unit. Large glass doors blocked off the rooms from the nurses’ desk. Many of the curtains meant to provide privacy for patients were torn down. Cale looked around at the nine rooms the station was responsible for. Infected skulked about their rooms like animals on display at the zoo. It was like an ‘Undead Exhibit’.

  The nurses had been smart enough to lock their patients in their rooms, preventing them from escaping into the many corridors of the hospital. The corpse of the last remaining nurse sat at her desk chair. Pashet prepared to shoot her, but Cale stopped him.

  “What are you doing?” Pashet asked in English.

  “She’s not one of them,” Cale said pointing at an empty syringe lying below her chair, “She wouldn’t still be there if she’d been bitten.”

  It made sense, but Pashet kept his weapon pointed at her, “Alright, then go check,” he sneered.

  “Fine.”

  Cale walked over, covering his nose with his shirt, and pushed the chair with his foot. The chair moved a couple of inches, but its occupant remained undisturbed. Her smell wasn’t as bad as the living dead, but it still stung Cale’s eyes.

  “See? She’s dead,” The American said, as he blinked the tears out of his eyes.

  Satisfied, Pashet lowered his weapon. The infected patients took notice of the three men, and began feebly pawing at the glass. Even though they’d never break through, the three were cautious as they circled the room, looking for a safe exit. In the corner opposite the entrance, Naeem found an unmarked door that had been barricaded with gurneys and linen racks. Pashet supervised as Cale and Naeem cleared the way. The barricade was easily dismantled; all the objects were on wheels. Pashet checked his watch; they’d already wasted enough time. They needed to return to the boat soon or they’d be left behind.

  “Step it up. We need to make this quick,” Pashet ordered.

  Cale pulled the door open slowly, listening for lurkers in the dark hallway. As the three men crossed the threshold, Pashet let the door slam, echoing down the corridor. He ignored the angry glances from the other two men. They waited for a reaction in the darkness. Down the hall, a door creaking in its frame broke the silence. A sliver of light penetrated the darkness, casting sunlight into the space. A shadow bobbed awkwardly along the wall, and the men stood, holding their breath, waiting to see if they would be discovered. The undead exited his former office. He’d never had the pleasure of tasting warm flesh, but his own body had been ravaged. Strips of skin hung off his exposed ribcage. His abdomen was sunken; his attackers had burrowed a hole through his side, and had removed some of his organs. His once white lab coat hung on what was left of his fragile frame.

  The corpse lurked about in the dark hall, unsure where the sound had come from. His dead eyes no longer had the ability to adjust to the darkness, which made the three men nearly invisible to him, and he turned his back and walked away. He bumped the walls as he walked, but continued on—around the corner and out of view. He could smell the living but lacked the intelligence to track them efficiently.

  Cale was the first to start moving again. He crept to the door where the infected doctor had emerged. In Cale’s mind, sunlight meant a window, and a window meant escape.

  Naeem was forced to follow as the tether tightened between them. Pashet stood with his rifle at the ready, just in case the doctor happened to wander back. Cale pushed his way into the small office, stepping on discarded paperwork as he entered. The doctor’s desk was in disarray. His computer had been carelessly thrown to the floor, and the bookcase shelves were crooked in their frame. The doctor’s numerous certificates, qualifications, and awards, hung on the pale walls, the achievements of his life lost to the new plague of man.

  Cale walked to the window and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, saw a narrow street outside. Abandoned cars blocked anything larger than a bicycle from passing through. And from his vantage point he also saw that numerous infected were still trapped inside their cars. Pashet followed the two of them into the room and carefully closed the door behind him. Cale attempted to open the window, but he couldn’t find a mechanism that would release it. The American stepped to the side and Naeem took his turn, but he was also stumped.

  “Get out of the way,” the fat man barked, as he pushed Naeem out of his path.

  Pashet used the butt of his weapon to break the glass out. He hurriedly smashed out the pieces that remained around the edges. This invited the smell of the dead to waft in and assault their senses.

  “You first,” Pashet said in English, as he pointed at Cale.

  Cale saw no point in arguing, and carefully climbed out into the streets of Alexandria. The glass crunched underfoot as he planted himself firmly on the ground. The breaking of the window had gained the attention of some nearby infected.

  “Hurry up!” Cale shouted to the two men inside.

  Naeem quickly vaulted out the window, ready to do battle with any undead that challenged him. Together they waited for the fat man to stumble out; he was not as graceful as the two before him. It didn’t help that he was horribly out of shape. His body flopped to the ground with a loud thump and a groan. Naeem tried to help him to his feet, but was met with anger and hostility as Pashet pushed him away.

  “Get off me!” Pashet shouted in English.

  The ensign righted himself, and looked at his bloodied hands. He’d managed to cut himself on the broken glass, but ignored the pain. He readied his rifle and began firing wildly at two approaching infected. Cale had hoped he wouldn’t shoot at them, but it was too late; Pashet would never have listened to him anyway. Pashet had alerted all infected within a wide radius to their presence. It took Pashet a half dozen rounds to drop his two targets, far too many.

  Pashet fumbled with his weapon as he reloaded it. His injuries muddled his coordination, and the fat man cursed under his breath as he seated the weapon’s magazine. More corpses bobbed around derelict vehicles in the road. Their collective moans filled the air with an eerie chorus, and the sound shook the men to their core. There were dozens of creatures roaming around and between the cars. Pashet looked for the path of least resistance and took it. Naeem tugged Cale along, and they followed. The team climbed onto the roof of a car for safety. The metal popped and bowed with their combined weight, while rotted hands reached, clawing the air for them. Pashet again fired wildly into the infected mass.

  Cale and Naeem seized the opportunity to leap to the roof of another vehicle. And after dropping only two of their attackers, Pashet followed. The crowd tracked them to their next perch.

  “We should just make a run for it!” Cale shouted.

  Naeem didn’t understand, but had come to the same conclusion. Together, they left the fat man to his own devices, leaping from one vehicle to the next. Behind them, Pashet continued to fire without discrimination, which brought him to the full attention of the crowd.

  Cale’s ‘fight or flight’ mode kicked in. It was definitely a time for flight. He sprinted back toward the b
oat, with Naeem easily keeping pace. The duo retraced their path away from the hospital, and they heard Pashet’s weapon fire cease for a moment, then resume. They could no longer see him, but it didn’t bother either of them. Their first stop for rest was behind an overturned van, where, breathing heavily, they took a quick survey of the area. A street sign read ‘Kasr Al Tin’.

  Naeem had noticed it when they’d passed through the first time. They’d have to follow the street to the bay, and then go north along the docks ‘til they found the boat that dropped them off. He reached over and placed his hand on the American’s shoulder, raising his eyebrows to ask if he was ready to continue. The American nodded in agreement, and together they continued down the street. Naeem was in peak physical condition and really hadn’t needed to stop. Having been a child soldier, he was much more conditioned than Cale.

  They were almost to the circle drive when Cale began to slow once more. He was sweating profusely and breathing hard. Naeem got his attention, and demonstrated a breathing technique, a long, deep breath in through his nose, and then exhaling it slowly out of his mouth. He did so until Cale caught on and began to mimic his breathing.

  Gunfire could be heard toward the north. The boat crews were defending their vessels.