anything...?”
“There's no hope for them, Lena,” Fish said softly. “Zero.”
The last thing they heard before Holt closed the door to the supply room was, “Do you have the guard's gun, too?”
Holt was gone for more than five minutes, but no one spoke. Anders wandered back over to the window and lit up his second cigarette, but no one else even sat down.
They heard a muffled gunshot. It sounded like it came from downstairs.
Maybe from a downstairs bathroom.
Another shot quickly followed the first, then another right on top of that. Silence again. They could hear Holt yelling, then screaming, from the supply room. Sam was closest, and he thought he could make out the words “do it” over and over again, getting louder each time.
There was one final shot, and silence. Holt didn't open the door for another five minutes. When he finally did, he didn't speak. He handed the radio back to Fish, slammed through the stairwell door, and headed up to the fourth floor.
Mutt felt ashamed that he let another man do the dirty work that, by virtue of his authority, should have been his. He owed that man a gigantic debt of honor, and he vowed to himself that he would spend the rest of his life, however long it might be, repaying it. In the meantime, he'd take control of the group again. Holt would need their support. “Okay, grab the food and drinks. Fish, is there another armory?”
The question seemed to take the younger man by surprise, but it snapped him out of his fugue. “What? Oh, uhhhh, no. Only in the main office, on the second floor. And I think we've established that that's a lost cause right now.”
“Thought so. We'll figure it out on the way. Let's go.”
They grabbed what they could and entered the stairwell more cautiously than Holt had a few moments before.
They searched each floor in turn, and were left with one question: where were all the patients?
“This makes dozens of people,” Lena offered. “I know some of them were...downstairs. I have no clue where the rest could have gone.” She looked to Fish. “Did you guys run a fire drill?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that I know of. Even if we did, I'd think that most people would have taken their coffees, at least.” He cocked his head to his shoulder and stared. "That's weird."
"What?" Sam asked.
"Nothing. Just...thinking out loud."
“Maybe they went up?” Mutt said.
“That's an idea. What's on the upper floors, Lena?”
“The labs, executive offices, cafeteria. That's where I was headed; I was supposed to network a bunch of new machines in the labs when all of this kicked off.”
“Up we go.”
They climbed several more flights of stairs (peeking in to confirm the status of the next two floors) until they reached the 7th. Holt made to walk through it as he had all the others and nearly dislocated his shoulder. The door held firm. There were no locks, so it had to be barricaded from the inside. And to be barricaded from the inside, there would have to be people.
“Hey!” He pounded on the door. “Open up! We have survivors out here!” He got no answer. “Try the radio.”
Fish started to cycle through the channels. “This is Security 2, anyone there? Hello?”
On channel 4, they got a response. “Security 2, this is Dr. Lewis. How many are you? Any wounded?”
“Six, and miraculously, no.”
“Hang tight; we'll let you in.”
* * *
Orpheus returned as Mutt finished up. “And that's how we met Martin Trager, head of hospital and kind of a prick. I don't like him, I sure as Hell don't trust him, but we need him. And he needs what we can provide for him.”
“Specimens?” Tim asked.
“Right. And our experience. We survived the initial outbreak with few weapons and no organization. Now we have some tools. It's not ideal, but it's mostly doable. Trager's a bureaucrat, not a grunt, like us. He never would have been able to put this together.”
“He'd shit his pants if he ever had to fight one of
“There's no hope for them, Lena,” Fish said softly. “Zero.”
The last thing they heard before Holt closed the door to the supply room was, “Do you have the guard's gun, too?”
Holt was gone for more than five minutes, but no one spoke. Anders wandered back over to the window and lit up his second cigarette, but no one else even sat down.
They heard a muffled gunshot. It sounded like it came from downstairs.
Maybe from a downstairs bathroom.
Another shot quickly followed the first, then another right on top of that. Silence again. They could hear Holt yelling, then screaming, from the supply room. Sam was closest, and he thought he could make out the words “do it” over and over again, getting louder each time.
There was one final shot, and silence. Holt didn't open the door for another five minutes. When he finally did, he didn't speak. He handed the radio back to Fish, slammed through the stairwell door, and headed up to the fourth floor.
Mutt felt ashamed that he let another man do the dirty work that, by virtue of his authority, should have been his. He owed that man a gigantic debt of honor, and he vowed to himself that he would spend the rest of his life, however long it might be, repaying it. In the meantime, he'd take control of the group again. Holt would need their support. “Okay, grab the food and drinks. Fish, is there another armory?”
The question seemed to take the younger man by surprise, but it snapped him out of his fugue. “What? Oh, uhhhh, no. Only in the main office, on the second floor. And I think we've established that that's a lost cause right now.”
“Thought so. We'll figure it out on the way. Let's go.”
They grabbed what they could and entered the stairwell more cautiously than Holt had a few moments before.
They searched each floor in turn, and were left with one question: where were all the patients?
“This makes dozens of people,” Lena offered. “I know some of them were...downstairs. I have no clue where the rest could have gone.” She looked to Fish. “Did you guys run a fire drill?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that I know of. Even if we did, I'd think that most people would have taken their coffees, at least.” He cocked his head to his shoulder and stared. "That's weird."
"What?" Sam asked.
"Nothing. Just...thinking out loud."
“Maybe they went up?” Mutt said.
“That's an idea. What's on the upper floors, Lena?”
“The labs, executive offices, cafeteria. That's where I was headed; I was supposed to network a bunch of new machines in the labs when all of this kicked off.”
“Up we go.”
They climbed several more flights of stairs (peeking in to confirm the status of the next two floors) until they reached the 7th. Holt made to walk through it as he had all the others and nearly dislocated his shoulder. The door held firm. There were no locks, so it had to be barricaded from the inside. And to be barricaded from the inside, there would have to be people.
“Hey!” He pounded on the door. “Open up! We have survivors out here!” He got no answer. “Try the radio.”
Fish started to cycle through the channels. “This is Security 2, anyone there? Hello?”
On channel 4, they got a response. “Security 2, this is Dr. Lewis. How many are you? Any wounded?”
“Six, and miraculously, no.”
“Hang tight; we'll let you in.”
* * *
Orpheus returned as Mutt finished up. “And that's how we met Martin Trager, head of hospital and kind of a prick. I don't like him, I sure as Hell don't trust him, but we need him. And he needs what we can provide for him.”
“Specimens?” Tim asked.
“Right. And our experience. We survived the initial outbreak with few weapons and no organization. Now we have some tools. It's not ideal, but it's mostly doable. Trager's a bureaucrat, not a grunt, like us. He never would have been able to put this together.”
“He'd shit his pants if he ever had to fight one of
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