Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) by Shana Festa Page A

closed the hatch enough to provide her some
privacy should anyone walk by, and began to look her over.
    Nursing school can't teach someone how to
interact with people; either you've got it or you don't. This was
the skill in which I prided myself. I talked with patients—not at
them—and created a human connection. The smell of infection wafted
up from the sheets as I turned her on her side. Immobility had
caused pressure ulcers to form on her underside, and necrosis of
the tissue around her coccyx was evident.
    Pressure ulcers, more commonly known as bed
sores, were diagnosed in stages. A stage one ulcer happens after
being in the same position for only a few hours. The easiest way to
describe that so people understand is to look at the redness left
after uncrossing your legs. That's the beginning of a pressure
ulcer. A stage four ulcer is an open wound, caused from skin not
getting oxygen for an extended period of time. Lydia had several
stage four ulcers on her backside.
    "I know you're in a lot of pain, but I'm
going to help you shift positions every two hours to let your skin
breathe. I don't want these to get any worse." I didn't feel
comfortable lowering her head for fear she would aspirate, so I
grabbed the crumpled comforter and stuffed it under her so she was
tilted to one side.
    Telling her I would be back shortly, I went
to the group, my lungs desperate for fresh air. Peter was talking
when I approached, pausing only to ask me how Lydia was.
    "I'm not a doctor, Peter. Hell, I'm barely a
nurse. But it doesn't look good. If I were to make a guess, I don't
think she's got much time left."
    His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I didn't think
so either."
    "The best thing we can do for her is keep her
comfortable and treat her like a human being. She doesn't need to
fight alone."
    "Thank you," he said, taking my hands in
his.
    Jake interrupted. "Peter was waiting for you
to come back outside. He's going to share their story."
     
    * * *
     
    "Lydia and I worked together for twelve
years, selling real estate for the largest firm in Cape Coral.
About a year ago, she got sick, lung cancer. It's been an uphill
battle for her, and a few months before things fell apart we
thought she had it beat. As you can see," he motioned to the cabin,
"we were wrong. The disease had progressed and the doctors told us
it had metastasized. They did another round of chemo, but weren't
very optimistic. At that point, we knew it was just prolonging the
inevitable."
    Peter paused, taking a long gulp of water
from the bottle someone must have given him while I was in the
cabin. He savored the refreshing liquid as it slid down his
esophagus, his eyes closed in contentment.
    He cleared his throat, still scratchy from
lack of hydration, and continued. "She doesn't have any family; she
buried her mother a few years back. She's my best friend, and I did
everything I could to help her. When she got too sick to drive, I
took her to chemo and made sure she always had food in the house.
Essentially, I moved into her house when she got too bad to handle
even basic daily activities.
    The day the bees showed up, we'd just left
her last round of chemo. The television had been on during her
treatment, and the news showed an unedited video of the city in
chaos. They came right out and said the Z word. Lydia had spent her
savings on the Island Bound," he patted the captain's chair, "and
we drove straight to the marina and boarded. We hadn't planned for
the end of the world, only the end of her world, and we didn't have
supplies on board. I left her down in the cabin and drove to the
closest mini-mart. It was abandoned, not locked up, just empty of
people. So I loaded as much food and water as I could, along with
the measly stock of personal products they stocked on a single
shelf, and made it back to the boat."
    Peter shuddered, remembering whatever it was
that haunted him from that day. I thought he was finished talking
and opened my mouth to ask a question, but he