The Last Words

From the journal of Dr. Montgomery Gates 12/23/2012

We started rounding patients up, the ones who were scared and not violent, and getting them up to the next floor. It was almost done being renovated so no one was up there. Just some equipment and tools, the paint smell, and some of the furniture that had been covered in plastic.

So we started moving patients up when Timothy stopped us. “Not him,” he said, pointing at Jonathon, a manic depressive patient.

“What? Why not?” I tried to gesture.

“He’s off. There’s something wrong with him, like with the others.”

I tried to ask him what he meant but he didn’t seem to understand.

Jude stepped in, “leave him.”

“What?”

“Leave him. I trust Tim Tom’s judgment. He says there’s something wrong with him then there is.”

Jude didn’t even remember Timothy beyond this morning, maybe not even from more than a few hours ago, yet he trusted him to make this decision and I hadn’t even thought about it. He was right.

Timothy hasn’t been able to communicate through traditional means since his accident 6 years ago. Of course, I had seen it before; he had developed an intuitive sense of body language and facial expressions. He could tell that something was wrong with Jonathon, and the others. He had been the first to each scene, ready to stop it, because he had known it was coming.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain this to Jonathon but it turned out that I didn’t need to. He had overheard and as soon as I turned to him he went completely mad, as if he had been saving it, waiting until he was on the next floor with us. He went right for my face.

But Timothy was on him and it didn’t take long for him and Jude to subdue him. From that point on we tried to check with Timothy as best we could about who else we were bringing up.

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

We got them all up to the next floor, but our security didn’t last long. A few of the patients and staff from other floors would wander up the stairs and try to get through the doors but we had secured those pretty tight with restraints that they kept for emergencies. The elevator was another matter. We piled up furniture in front of it, but I didn’t think it would hold if a group came up that way. Oddly enough, though, we never had to test that defense, no one seemed to be using the elevator. Odd, but lucky I guess.

As we were moving furniture I saw Tim Tom unscrewing a thick oak table leg from one of the tables. Scary, but smart, it would be a hell of a weapon, especially for someone his size. And he was right, the people on the news were killing other people. Those patients and the staff downstairs were aiming to kill, they just didn’t have any weapons but their own hands to do it. And I’m pretty sure that one doctor had killed a patient, banging his head against the floor, before we got the rest out. And the Indian doctor stabbed that other guy.

“Hey Doc, is there a kitchen on this floor?” I asked Dr. Gates.

“Kitchen? No, not really. The kitchen is on the first floor but there is a break room, of sorts. But probably no food yet. Are you actually thinking about food right now?”

“No, but we should soon. I was actually thinking about knives.”

Of course, there were no knives, not with a bunch of depressed patients. But since they were moving people in there was something almost as good — box cutters. Not perfect, but it would work, if it came to that. There were also some hammers, screwdrivers, and some other tools that might come in handy.

We settled in, somewhat secure, but still watching people trying to get in the doors. And then we looked outside.

Things out there were bad. Really really bad.

The hospital, if I haven’t already explained this, is on Wards Island in New York. From what the Doctor says there is this hospital, which is the Manhattan Psychiatric Center, the Kirby Forensic Psychiatric Center in the building next door, a sewage treatment plant, some other smaller buildings and a whole lot of parks.

There wouldn’t be as many people as Manhattan, of course, but there were still a whole lot of people wandering around out there. Some just wandering, and others fighting, attacking, traveling in packs and jumping on people and, holy shit, it looked like they were just tearing people apart. Like roving bands of animals, wolves, I don’t know. What the hell was I seeing? Was this real?

And then I went to the front and saw some of them trying to get in the building. The whole campus was surrounded by a fence and there was a guard gate but some people must have already been inside, and now they were coming in the building. I saw piece of a tall chain linked fence, no two of them, in a row, with razor wire on top.

“Doctor, what’s in the building next to us, with the razor wire fences?”

“The Kirby Forensic Center.”

“Forensic. So is it like a ward for the criminally insane?”

“We don’t tend to call them that, but yes.”

“The whole building?”

“Yes, but there are only about 200 patients in there. Like this building, it is far below capacity.”

“So it’s maximum security, right, with bars on the windows and doors that can be locked?”

“Yes, heavy doors, very secure,” then the Doctor got it, “my God, you’re right.”

“You know how to get the keys?”

“I know where there will be manual keys, yes, and my security badge will get us in anywhere. It was part of the deal.”

“We should get the keys too, just in case. Your badge won’t work if we lose power.”

“OK, that, that’s just brilliant.”

From the journal of Dr. Montgomery Gates 12/23/2012

Of course I should have thought of it. But Jude is a soldier, actually, more than that, a SEAL who is fluent in four languages. Sometimes, because of the way he speaks, I actually forget that. You can’t be stupid and be a SEAL, they are the best and brightest.

But getting over there safely, now that would be a problem. Timothy was using duct tape to make a grip on his new toy, the wooden table leg, and Jude had borrowed a tool belt loaded with screwdrivers, hammers and box cutters. I had to tell him what I thought, “this is madness. How are we going to get them all over there? Some of these patients are barely responsive, getting them up here was a miracle.”

He responded, “we’ll wait ’til dark, of course. And we’ll be very very quiet.”