opened the door. Shirt still on his hand, he ripped the wires from the battery backup. On a mission, he ticked the seconds off in his mind as he ran to the kitchen.
Chair and small metal saucepan in hand, he raced back to the door.
“Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.” he counted.
The sound of his own voice didn’t calm him. Rather, it did the opposite. He climbed onto the chair to the count of seven and swung the pan on the count of six.
“Five. Four. Three. Two,” he spat as he hit the box.
Thing seemed to be made of indestructible steel rather than some sort of plastic. The alarm rang out. The ache in his head began to pound. He swung the saucepan at the blinking box two more times before he silenced it.
“Shit,” he yelled as he jumped from the chair.
He threw the pan. Luckily, it hit the carpet with a thud. Chase took off. He made tiny sprints through the house. Going from window to window in each room, he looked for movement outside. After fighting with the heavy drape in the living room, he saw nothing. He sighed. His heart beat painfully in his chest. His breath burned his lungs. He bent at the waist. Hands on his thighs, he tried to catch his breath. He remembered the days when he could work through military training courses with ease. He hadn’t let himself go, but that was over twenty years ago. As the adrenaline started to decline in his body, he took a minute to compose himself.
When his vision started to blur, he righted himself and slid down the wall. The curtain swaying stuck to the sheen of sweat on his skin. His unfamiliar surrounding weren’t homey or inviting but rather a set for a how to decorate your house type show. He rolled his eyes as his mind flashed between the many places he’d lived. None had ever looked like this he thought with gratitude, a rare occurrence these days.
Shaking his head, he remembered his mission. Wanting one more minute until his breakfast stopped threatening to show again, he frowned. He pushed the curtain to the side. When his head hit the window, movement caught his eye. He sprung to his feet and grappled with the stupid drape again. In between two houses across the street, a swarm of decaying flesh appeared. Still the newly dead, they moved fast. At least he knew the front of the house was closed up.
Moving out of the window, he leaned against the wall. His eyes shut tightly for a moment. Yet, as the now familiar sounds of their fast but barely-balanced footsteps spurred him on, he grabbed for the air to begin his frantic search for medical supplies. However, the wretched, guttural groans brought him back to when this all started.
Chapter Two
Dr. Ken Benton looked through the glass window of his office. He could see the rush of activity at the nurse’s station. This day was like no other on an isolation ward. A nurse hung up a phone and made a beeline for him. He swallowed down a sigh. He couldn’t take another shred of bad news. Bad news always followed a nurse slamming down a phone in a rush to get to his offices. He circled his head to loosen the stiff muscles in his neck. Doing so made him more aware of his sweaty ear against the receiver. The nature of the call had been too sensitive for the intercom.
“Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Benton,” the nurse whispered as her rounded body filled the doorway. “But, it’s rather urgent.”
“Give me a minute,” he said to the nurse with his hand over the mouthpiece.
He looked down to hide his eye-roll. Everything in this understaffed hospital was urgent. People were dying from highly contagious diseases. Right now, five college students barely clung to life.
He apologized to his caller. “Can I interrupt you a moment? I have a pressing matter at my door.”
He didn’t wait for her reply before he pressed the phone against his chest.
“What is it?” he snapped then sighed. He’d honestly attempted not to.
“We have another student from Boston University with full-blown meningitis symptoms. Again,
Chair and small metal saucepan in hand, he raced back to the door.
“Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.” he counted.
The sound of his own voice didn’t calm him. Rather, it did the opposite. He climbed onto the chair to the count of seven and swung the pan on the count of six.
“Five. Four. Three. Two,” he spat as he hit the box.
Thing seemed to be made of indestructible steel rather than some sort of plastic. The alarm rang out. The ache in his head began to pound. He swung the saucepan at the blinking box two more times before he silenced it.
“Shit,” he yelled as he jumped from the chair.
He threw the pan. Luckily, it hit the carpet with a thud. Chase took off. He made tiny sprints through the house. Going from window to window in each room, he looked for movement outside. After fighting with the heavy drape in the living room, he saw nothing. He sighed. His heart beat painfully in his chest. His breath burned his lungs. He bent at the waist. Hands on his thighs, he tried to catch his breath. He remembered the days when he could work through military training courses with ease. He hadn’t let himself go, but that was over twenty years ago. As the adrenaline started to decline in his body, he took a minute to compose himself.
When his vision started to blur, he righted himself and slid down the wall. The curtain swaying stuck to the sheen of sweat on his skin. His unfamiliar surrounding weren’t homey or inviting but rather a set for a how to decorate your house type show. He rolled his eyes as his mind flashed between the many places he’d lived. None had ever looked like this he thought with gratitude, a rare occurrence these days.
Shaking his head, he remembered his mission. Wanting one more minute until his breakfast stopped threatening to show again, he frowned. He pushed the curtain to the side. When his head hit the window, movement caught his eye. He sprung to his feet and grappled with the stupid drape again. In between two houses across the street, a swarm of decaying flesh appeared. Still the newly dead, they moved fast. At least he knew the front of the house was closed up.
Moving out of the window, he leaned against the wall. His eyes shut tightly for a moment. Yet, as the now familiar sounds of their fast but barely-balanced footsteps spurred him on, he grabbed for the air to begin his frantic search for medical supplies. However, the wretched, guttural groans brought him back to when this all started.
Chapter Two
Dr. Ken Benton looked through the glass window of his office. He could see the rush of activity at the nurse’s station. This day was like no other on an isolation ward. A nurse hung up a phone and made a beeline for him. He swallowed down a sigh. He couldn’t take another shred of bad news. Bad news always followed a nurse slamming down a phone in a rush to get to his offices. He circled his head to loosen the stiff muscles in his neck. Doing so made him more aware of his sweaty ear against the receiver. The nature of the call had been too sensitive for the intercom.
“Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Benton,” the nurse whispered as her rounded body filled the doorway. “But, it’s rather urgent.”
“Give me a minute,” he said to the nurse with his hand over the mouthpiece.
He looked down to hide his eye-roll. Everything in this understaffed hospital was urgent. People were dying from highly contagious diseases. Right now, five college students barely clung to life.
He apologized to his caller. “Can I interrupt you a moment? I have a pressing matter at my door.”
He didn’t wait for her reply before he pressed the phone against his chest.
“What is it?” he snapped then sighed. He’d honestly attempted not to.
“We have another student from Boston University with full-blown meningitis symptoms. Again,
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