The Last Words

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

The bomb went off and I was taking the first group down the freight elevator. Able bodied first, armed and ready. But when I stopped on the first floor there was no greeting party. Thank God.

Cassie lead them to the loading docks where the back door to the forensic building was with Tim Tom following up to make sure they were OK while I made my way to the guard’s office as quietly as I could.

The cameras were still on and I could see the crowd still in the lobby, some of them still filing out the shattered front doors to see what the explosion on the other side of the building had been. I flipped the cameras around to check the rest of the building out. I hoped the forensic building had a set up like this where I could keep an eye on things when we got over there.

There were a few stragglers on other floors, and they all appeared affected, stumbling around like dumb animals, chanting those damn words. One of them even seemed to be gnawing on the remains of a person, but it was hard to tell what it was. Jesus. But everything seemed clear around the back where my people were. My people. What had happened to my platoon? I couldn’t remember. Were they alive? Shake it off, can’t think about that right now, I’ll just read my journal later, when things are secure and there’s time. I felt it with my hand, rolled up and tucked into my pants, my paper brain, my only way to remember.

Then I saw her. A lone one, but definitely affected. Walking towards the back where the next load of patients would be coming down soon. Shit.

I ran, quietly, but fast, to head her off before she saw anything. Would she call the others? How did this…sickness, affliction, whatever…work?

Unfortunately, I heard the answer to my question.

As the elevator opened with the last group of survivors, I guess that’s what they are now, her chanting suddenly got loud and she screamed before I could get to her and cut her throat. She was the first woman, no, female, that I had had to kill, and I didn’t feel good about it, even if I knew it had to be done. She went down but it was too late, I could hear others running, yelling, chanting, heading our way. So they did communicate to some degree.

“Run! Now!” I yelled. They ran, even the ones who had barely been shuffling. But some of them were slow and I tried to speed them up, grabbing an older man by the arm.

“Come on. Run, dammit!” He didn’t speak but he was worried.

We got through the door and Eric slid a broom he had secured from the cleaning closet, guess he wanted a weapon, through the handle. That would last only a minute or two.

“Out the door. Out the door,” I hollered.

We were out and I gave the keys to the Doctor so he could get them across as I grabbed Tim Tom.

“Stay back with me, I’ll need help.”

I remembered that he couldn’t understand my words, but I could tell he knew what I meant. We would deal with the affected if they followed.

The space between buildings was small, but it seemed like miles with a crowd of crazies at our backs.

Through the gate and into the other building the last of the patients made it, and luckily none of the affected were outside where they could see us.

Oops, spoke too soon. A group of them hadn’t gone around the building to check out the explosion, but at least they were now on the other side of two tall chain link fences topped with razor wire. I would like to say there was no way they were going to get through that, but it looked like they were going to try anyway.

One of them climbed right up and into the razor wire. Getting tangled and cut but still trying. Writhing and thrashing like an animal caught in a trap. Screaming, not in pain, but in pure unfiltered rage at not being able to get to us. And did the others learn from his mistake? No, three more crawled right in, not even trying to go over him, crawling up in different spots and meeting the same fates. Squirming and bleeding and screaming. OK, they weren’t too bright, that was clear now, but they were fierce as fuck.

Tim Tom and I were staring, dumbfounded, when we heard the other group get through the door in the other building and, knowing there was only fence between them and us, we hurried into our new little home, the Kirby Forensic Center.

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

We found no affected in the Forensic Center, thank God, since Tim and Jude were behind us. But, I did have my syringes full of tranquilizers and ready just in case. I suspected we might have better luck here if the affected were as lacking in intelligence as they seemed to be so far.

Every ward and every floor here had multiple security gates, and all the patients’ rooms were locked from the outside. This was, after all, where the criminally insane (yes, I know) from various districts in New York were kept either awaiting trial when they are declared fit for trial, or, after trial, when they were declared not guilty by reason of insanity. Here were the murderers and rapists and cannibals too ill to be held accountable for their monstrosities. I know that as a neurologist, and as a psychiatrist, I was supposed to have more sympathy for these poor sick souls, but, let’s face it, there’s a reason I chose to specialize in neurological disorders and not forensic psychiatry.

“Everything clear in here?” Jude asked. He was in now, the thick door closed and locked behind him, the small window in it shatter proof. That alone would hold a crowd for a time. “Where is the security office here?” Of course. Jude was always thinking, clear and confident under pressure.

“Close.”

We made it without incident as Timothy stayed behind to watch the rest of our group. The cameras were still on. And it looked like everyone was still where they should be.

Jude scanned for less than a minute, “OK, this floor looks like it has the fewest wanderers. And it’s only two flights up.”

There were a few orderlies, and a nurse, five people in all, stuck on the floor, unable to get out now that they had forgotten how their badges would unlock the doors.

“We can clear them out and move our people in there while we check out the rest of the building.”

“Clear them out?”

Of course, I knew what he meant.

“Kill them, Doc.”

“Of course. What about those who might be in the rooms?”

“The patients? Are the rooms locked?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“If the electricity goes out will the rooms stay locked?”

“Yes. The locks remain locked even during a disaster and can be opened manually with… well,” I pointed at the key-ring on the wall, “probably with some of those keys there.”

“And the gates and other security doors?”

“Yes, all on that ring I’m sure. And my badge will get us through as long as the power is on.”

“OK, well if the patients are locked in and can’t get out then we’ll worry about them when we need to, if ever.”

I left it at that, not pointing out that they will eventually starve if we don’t do something. But at least I knew they had sinks and toilets in their rooms so I didn’t’ have to worry about that for now.

From the journal of Timothy Lorne 12/23/2012

I went in with Joe first and we cracked some heads. I hesitated when a woman came at me though, and had to fight her off when she started trying to chew my face off. But Joe got her off. At first I assumed he’d killed her, but then I saw the syringe in his hand. He shrugged. I guess the Doctor had talked him into having a little mercy, though I wasn’t really sure that was a good idea.

When it was clear and we brought the rest of our group in we put her in one of the empty rooms. Luckily most of them were empty, but not all. I found that out the hard way.

Near the back when I was looking through the window in each room one of them, I guess he was crazy like everyone else, started slamming into the door, screaming something. I just froze, watching this guy, slamming his face into the little reinforced window until it cracked and he was leaving blood on it, but he just kept going, slamming his head harder and harder until it suddenly stopped. I stood there, then I saw blood seeping from under the door. Jesus H.

The others, I don’t think they were affected by whatever was going on. They just watched me through the windows. Some of them trying to talk to me, some of them just staring, which was much worse, from the far corner of the room. I knew this was where they kept the really dangerous ones. But I didn’t know how we were gonna tell which ones had gone crazy from the, um, sickness, and which ones were already crazy. I also didn’t know if it mattered.

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

When I was sure everything was secure I took the Doctor’s keys and got Tim Tom to come with me. We were going to have to find the kitchen, for knives, yes, but also for food. These people were going to have to eat soon.

I also asked the Doctor to get the other patients to find whatever containers they could and go into the rooms to fill them up with water out of the sinks. The unoccupied rooms, of course.

“OK, but we should be good for a while. Wards Island has its own water tower.” He pointed out the window to the east.

“Good, but I can see smoke from fires in… wait, where are we?”

“New York.”

“Oh. Wow. I can see smoke from fires in the city, which means some of the buildings, at least the ones up to code, might have sprinklers going to try to put them out. If anything catches fire here on the island, or sprinklers start going, or a pipe breaks somewhere, it could drain that water tower quicker than you think. And honestly, Doctor, I have no idea how long we will be here.”

It was true, I knew that the shit, as they say, had hit the fan. Still remembered enough to know that. I needed to sit and read and write in my journal so that I don’t forget the situation. But first, weapons and food. I had to get everybody ready for the night, it would probably be a long one.

“OK, Jude, no problem, we’ll get water, but I don’t think…”

“They’ll be hungry soon. We need to get to the food while we can.”

“What do you mean?”

I thought about it. Whatever happened had started yesterday or today. Probably not everyone was affected yet, which meant that there would be more affected tomorrow, and they might make their way to the island. “Things could be even worse tomorrow.”

From the journal of Timothy Lorne 12/23/2012

I wasn’t’ sure where we were going but I knew Joe wanted me with him, and my trusty little club. I decided to call her Carrie, I knew a girl named Carrie once, she was one hell of a ball buster, so I figured the named fit.

Once we got to the kitchen I knew what we were up to. Unfortunately we weren’t the first ones here.

A couple of crazies were eating flour, just straight flour, when we walked in, and they were on us instantly, with crazy powdered ghost faces and wild eyes.

Joe cut one of the kabuki cannibals down and I took out the other with Carrie; blood splattering against the wall and flour poofing off of him and making a cloud where his head had been before it hit the floor. Joe gave me the silent finger, listening for more. And we heard them, screaming from another room to the sound of their fallen… comrades? pack mates?… I don’t know. Not even trying to be quiet we got against the wall on either side of the door and waited and took three more out while they were still looking around like animals, like fucking velociraptors. I looked at them, blood and gore on their mouths, I didn’t want to look in the room they had come from to see what they had been eating.

We listened and didn’t hear any more and Joe motioned me to come on. The freezer and fridge were still going so we grabbed what we could from there first and stuffed it in big industrial garbage bags. Most of it looked like precooked frozen crap, the kind of stuff they feed your kids at school, that we would have to warm up somehow. I couldn’t read the boxes but I’m guessing chicken nuggets and Salisbury steaks and oddly found myself craving them. He pointed at cans of beans and soup and I grabbed all the cans that had pictures of beans and soup on them and put them in my bag.

Then while he was rummaging through a drawer I saw him smile real big, and hold up a shiny silver knife.

That Joe. He grabbed a few more and laid them on a table cloth and wrapped them up carefully the way I used to roll up my wrenches. And then we were off.

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

I knew the kitchen wasn’t secure enough to cook for now, I could worry about that later, but I figured these Salisbury steaks were precooked and I could just put them in a microwave since we still had electricity, for now, and we can eat the canned stuff later. If the juice last long enough I can secure the kitchen and we can cook up whatever is left in the freezers, but who knows how long the juice will last.

You wouldn’t believe how much these people loved those microwaved Salisbury steaks. I have to admit, they were damned good.

At first, we were all quiet, eating them with our hands, when Tim Tom started talking about how this was the best damn Salisbury steak he’d ever had, oohing and aahing over it and asking for more. Leave it up to Tim Tom to lift the spirits of a bunch of mental patients as the world was ending around them.

Then we heard him, from one of the cells, “um, say, you got any of that for me?”

It was one of the patients. One of the criminally insane patients.

“Say, that smells really good.”

Tim Tom started heading over there with his, I guess he could tell from the tone what he was wanting.

“Whoa, wait a sec,” said Eric. “You’re going to give our food to them?”

Tim didn’t know what he was saying. He just stopped and looked confused when Eric grabbed his arm.

“Eric,” the Doctor said. “We can’t just let him starve in there.”

“What? How much do we have? How long are we gonna be here? He’s not even one of us.”

“But he’s not one of them either. He’s speaking clearly, he’s obviously not affected.”

“But he’s a criminal. What if he’s that guy that chopped up his girlfriend and cooked her in a soup and fed her to homeless people?”

“No, he’s on the fifth floor,” said the voice from the cell.

“Well, what did you do?”

“Eric,” the Doctor stopped him, “let Timothy feed him.”

I have to admit, I didn’t know which way to go, but looking at Tim Tom’s face I spoke up, “Go ahead Tim Tom, give it to him.” Tim Tom understood.

“What the hell Joe? I thought you were a soldier!”

“Do you know how loud he’s going to get if he starts starving to death in there?”

Eric shut up at that, but he wasn’t happy.

“Thanks big guy,” the voice said to Tim Tom as he slid a steak and some bread through the slot in the door, which I guess they feed the dangerous ones through. “Do you happen to have any A1?”

Then he laughed, and it gave me the fucking chills.

Luckily, most of the rooms on the floor were empty so we had a few beds and could make do with the couches too. Maybe I was feeling a little too safe in here, but I let Tim Tom and the Doctor take the first watch while I wrote in my journal and got a little shut eye. They didn’t wake me up for my shift.