The Last Words

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

So we waited, prepping as much as we could. Some of the patients, according to Cassie, they could start screaming if startled. And the Doctor said some of them had missed their medication for most of the day. Which gave me another idea. Tim Tom and I and I think Cassie and Eric the insomniac, we could fight. Tim Tom had already made it clear he was willing to kill if necessary. But the Doctor, no way, he needed another way to take them down, one he could live with. So the first order of business was to get down to a nurses station on one of the other floors to get tranquilizers, hypodermics, and some restraints.

“The restraints,” Dr. Gates says, “they don’t get used much these days. We train our staff to prevent escalation first and restrain only as a last resort. But, they are still there, for dire emergencies.”

“Well, Doc, if it’s any consolation, we’ll be using them on the staff too.”

Per Cassie’s request, we picked up some ear plugs too. For some reason she was quite determined not to hear what the nutters were chanting out there.

“I’m telling you, that is what will drive you mad. Bob told me it’s on the news too.” And the Doctor actually listened to her, “look, it sounds mad, of course, but something is causing this, this mass hysteria. I suspect a virus or maybe, I don’t know, toxins.”

“Toxins? You think this might be a terrorist thing, a chemical weapon?”

“Of course not. In so many cities? Do… do you?”

“Honestly no, but right now, I don’t actually have a better explanation.”

Of course he wanted my opinion from what I had seen overseas and I meant what I said — That level of coordination, so many different cities at once. I doubted the enemies of the US could pull it off. But then, no one saw the planes coming either, did they?

But if it makes Cassie feel secure, then it’s better than the cloth and tape around her head that she’s using now. And, even though it is ridiculous, perhaps we should cover the ears of the other patients, or at least give them the choice, just in case. Many of them believe what she is saying and will want them anyway.

So we picked a floor that Dr. Gates knew would have less patients and staff, and those they do have would be less of a threat; the diabetic ward.

He was right, there was no threat left there.

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

“Oh my God.”

At first I thought I had said it, because it was exactly what I was thinking. But it turned out Timothy had beaten me to it.

The diabetic ward was where we kept patients with other special medical needs besides their mental or neurological conditions. Many of them were confined to beds or wheelchairs, but none of them were left in their beds or wheelchairs anymore. They were scattered across the floor. And by scattered I mean TORN APART and scattered, everywhere. Never, not in my time in Africa, never, had I seen something so, so just incredibly awful. There are no words to describe the carnage.

“Stay right here Doctor. You too Tim Tom,” Jude said, gesturing to Timothy to stay with me right outside the elevator. Then he held his finger up for silence.

I wanted to close my eyes. I would have, but I could not help but take in the scene. Guts, limbs, and mainly, blood. Blood everywhere. And there on the wall, in bright red blood, were those damned words again. Worm milk, chest mouth, wound sea…

I turned to see Timothy looking at the wall, and where I thought I would see a face as full of shock as my own must be, I saw only sadness. Deep in that gentle giant’s soul was just sadness. He was looking at the words too, not understanding their meaning, of course, but then, neither did I.

“Doctor, down!” Jude screamed from the hall where he had been scouting as we waited. But I wasn’t nearly fast enough. Thankfully Timothy was.

As the male nurse was charging us and nearly on us Timothy took one grand swing with his table leg and sent blood and teeth flying. I clearly saw and heard his jaw break on impact and his head slam down against the tile floor and knew he was out, but Timothy did not stop there, he was on him, slamming the table leg into his head again and again until he was completely unrecognizable, just a quivering heap.

“Timothy. Timothy!”

He stopped, his table leg in the air, dripping gore. And he caught his breath and heaved a great sob before straightening himself out and trying to regain control. A tear flowed down one check but that was all he allowed himself.

Jude, back to us now, patted him on the back.

“It’s OK, big guy, it’s OK.”

He didn’t know the words but he knew the meaning.

“I don’t think this guy did this alone but the others must have already left and for all we know could be heading down to our crew so we need to get a move on.”

While I collected any drugs that might be useful Jude went through the surgical instruments and picked what, I suppose, would be useful to him.

“Do you really need all those scalpels?”

“Not all for me, Doc, we can’t have our people moving around without a means to protect themselves.”

“Jude, many of our depressed patients haven’t had their medication today, I don’t know if…”

“You would rather someone else kill them? And honestly, I doubt anyone is going to want to off themselves when they’re working hard to survive against others.”

He did, I suppose, have a point.

By the time we got back to the rest of our group Jude had to ask what the plan was again. He was aware of what was going on still and knew there was a plan, he had just forgotten the details already.

“We are going to move the patients who are unaffected over to the forensic ward where they will be safer, locked behind steel doors and barred windows, in a building with two razor wire fences surrounding it.”

“Sounds like a good plan. How are we getting in?” he asked.

“The back door to this building will take us through a gate and into the back door of the next building. But first, we need to get to the guard station in this building and get the keys.”

“Guard? Any weapons?”

“I’m afraid not, Jude. Firearms are not allowed on the premises.”

“That’s a shame.”

But just getting the keys, that proved to be a more difficult proposition than was expected. We left Cassie and Eric in charge of the rest of the patients, feeling that they were still quite secure on this floor, if only for the time being, and took the elevator down to the first floor. But, unlike the diabetic ward, the first floor was not at all abandoned.

As soon as the doors opened they were upon us.

“Stay in the elevator,” Jude yelled.

And he was off. In the blink of an eye three people were down, blood flowing from their necks, as he wove into the crowd, like liquid flowing through the cracks of a desert floor. Never have I seen such a macabre ballet as Jude’s dance through the mad crowd, slicing as he went, each movement carefully controlled, each slice exactly where it needed to be to do the most damage. It was clear he was aiming to kill quickly, as merely hurting them would not stop their onslaught. And it all happened in the time it took for the elevator doors to open, then close, and he was back in with us just before the doors closed.

Breathing hard, covered in blood.

“So, the direct approach isn’t going to work so well,” he laughed, actually laughed, as he hit the button to go back up to our floor. “Any other ideas?”

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

Since the Doctor was the only one familiar with the building, it was kind of up to him to work out a plan. But he’s a smart guy, so it didn’t take long. He drew it out on the fire escape map.

“And here is a back way to the guard’s office, where you’ll be less likely to be seen. If we can secure the doors here and here we can use the freight elevator and get everyone to the loading docks here.”

It was a good plan, I must admit, but it needed one extra thing.

“We’ll need a distraction,” I added.

“I have an idea,” Eric the insomniac spoke up. I know that he had other issues besides insomnia, but that’s what everyone called him, at least when they were talking to me. They knew I couldn’t remember names so they always used name and reason they were here with me; Cassie the schizo, Bob who couldn’t speak, Marcus the savant, Tim Tom the aphasic (I’m sure I had to ask them every time what that meant) and Eric the insomniac.

“I’m a chemist.”

“And by chemist, he means he had a meth lab,” Cassie added. She was holding the bandage open and had one ear unplugged just long enough to hear the plan.

“Yes, well, I started making meth when I was studying chemistry in college.”

I wondered if that’s why he was here, and what caused his insomnia, the meth use. But he didn’t look like a meth head. He had all of his teeth, and it really didn’t matter now anyway.

“And?” I asked.

“And, if you point me to a cleaning closet, I can put together something that goes boom.”

“OK.”

“We throw it out the far window and the sound might attract them to that side of the building, at least long enough for us to get across.”

OK, that was actually a really good idea.

“Just try not to make any meth while you’re in there,” Cassie cracked.

Eric ignored her. I guess he was used to her.

So operation Night Flight was on.