The Hospital

By Klemensas Kacinskas

The residents of Hamley wake to a nightmare when hordes of ravenous, mindless killers ravage the town. The mysterious infection spreads, threatening the survival of not just the country but the entire world. Completely out of options and time, Sheriff Jimmy White and the remaining law officers are forced to make their last stand at the local hospital where Doctor Feldman is about to make a gruesome discovery about the mysterious disease.

At the same time, the group of survivors embarks on a deadly journey across town to reach the only sanctuary left, just to discover the monsters are not the only danger lurking in the shadows.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Hamley, soldiers of “A” company under Major William Conway, tasked with the town’s recapture, are still unaware of the thousands of infected creeping toward them. Will they be able to stop the impending onslaught and save the people of Hamley? The clock is ticking…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781471091872

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bellevue Hospital, Hamley

22:00

Alan Bender slowly raised his eyelids. Hell, what’s this? he thought.

What appeared to be a stark white wall was pressing up tight against his face.

He groaned, pulled the thin sheet to the side, then lay there for another minute as he gawked at the ceiling dotted with two rows of bright lightbulbs, until his senses finally kicked in.

His head was fuzzy, and it ached. So sore—too sore. Confusion had set in, too.

He clutched at the sides of his face, willing away the headache.

Finally, when the world stopped spinning, Alan sat up and looked around.

He wasn’t alone.

The spacious room was full of other bodies hidden underneath sheets, yet none of them stirred—it was ominous, freakish, yet the head pain succeeded in dulling his senses enough to stop his brain asking too much. In fact, his poor brain was not interested. It sought only to rest.

Alan took his time to stand up. He was going to have to look around.

Whether he wanted to or not—he had no choice.

At first, his shaky knees refused to obey. He stumbled, almost falling, but leaned against the table and accidentally flipped the chair. Then he heard the doors open.

Sir, what are you doing here? somebody asked, forcing Alan to face the sound.

Indeed, what was he doing here?

I only wish I knew, came the voice inside his head, but he didn’t voice the thought. And when he asks what I’m doing here…where is ‘here’ anyway? Where the hell am I?

His eyes covered in white mist, he stared at the uniformed person—a police officer—standing there in the doorway, struggling to figure out who it was, then opened his mouth.

Only a loud moan came out, and he suddenly bolted from the spot toward the door.

Why was he moaning?

And why did he bolt for the door like that? It was as though his legs had a mind of their own. This was all too bizarre.

Stand back! the deputy called to him, raising his gun and pointing, but Alan ignored the warning, closing the gap. The cursing officer fired three times, scoring a hit to the chest before he was rammed into, and pressed firmly against the corridor wall.

Now realizing he had somehow become the aggressor, Alan sank his teeth into the officer’s wrist. No hesitation, no second thought.

For one thing, a hefty bite could maybe shake the officer off his case.

For another—well, he recognized that he loved the taste of it, and also relished how his incisors sank into the soft, warm flesh.

Hang on! another voice shouted nearby.

But the taste of warm blood on the aggressor’s lips was too great to get distracted. He really loved this taste—tangy, sharp, metallic. Bloody.

Alan bit harder into the flesh before something heavy connected with his occipital and threw him back into the darkness.

***

Sturdy bastard.

A tall fellow in his sixties tried to pull the axe out of the crushed skull of one wretched thing. The sharp blade had split the head almost in half and wouldn’t budge.

He huffed and tugged again. No luck.

Should have been more gentle with him.

Heaving, the aged gentleman caught his breath. You ok, kid?

Thanks, mister, the officer said, sitting on the corridor floor. You saved my skin.

My pleasure, son.

The aged guy smiled and placed his right foot on the corpse’s shoulder.

Let’s try again. He put all his weight into the effort this time, tugging and pulling on the axe, and the weapon finally came out. Blood and bits of gore poured from the deep cut, forming a growing pool of thick red liquid around the body. Disgusting, eh?

He wiped the blade against the cotton shirt. Looks almost like new.

Then, satisfied, he extended his hand to the injured officer. Let me help you up, son. Next time, aim for the brain. Seems to do the job. Rendal Brooks. That’s me.

Mark Dawson. I know. He was so fast. Caught me by surprise.

Yep. That bastard was too quick. Lucky for you, I was near; otherwise, we wouldn’t be talking right now. We’d be digging a hole for you.

Damn, it hurts. Mark examined his wound.

Jagged edges around the bite marks swelled and kept bleeding. It wouldn’t have been as bad if the bastard had bitten a nice clean edge. He hadn’t. The flesh was torn, ripped, jagged.

And the wound was deep, oozing deep red blood and itching already.

That will leave a scar for sure.

Rendal passed him one towel from the nearby storage cabinet. You better have that checked out, son. It looks nasty, and God only knows what this guy had. Probably a whole plethora of diseases. They do, you know.

Thanks. Mark nodded and took the cloth. Just a tiny cut. I’ll be fine. Only now, he noticed other people gathered in the hallway. It’s all good, folks. Don’t worry!

Step aside!

Sheriff Jimmy White’s voice echoed somewhere behind the wall of curious bystanders. Overcrowded hospital corridors offered little room for maneuver, so Jimmy had to use his elbows and brute force to squeeze through.

What the hell is going on here? He finally emerged next to Mark.

For starters, you are about to mess up your fancy shoes, Sheriff. Rendal pointed at the expanding puddle of blood on the floor.

Jimmy stepped back. Just bloody great.

Very appropriate, Rendal said and chuckled. Nice pun.

Cut it, sir. Jimmy wasn’t in a mood for jokes. He noticed the soiled towel wrapped around the young officer’s palm. Mark, are you injured? That’s quite a lot of blood.

Will live, Chief. Mark holstered his handgun. He appeared out of nowhere and jumped on me. If it weren’t for Mr. Brooks here, I’d be dead.

Anything to help. Rendal bowed. This deadbeat, I knew him. Wasn’t the brightest character. Thick as shit, actually.

The Sheriff frowned. He hated surprises, especially nasty ones, and today was turning into the collection of the most vicious. Plus, he hated the men using such foul language.

How did he end up here? It makes three in the last two hours. Are you certain there’s no back entrance in this part of the building? Jimmy turned to Barry Larson, the hospital’s maintenance chief, who followed him through the crowd as if Jimmy were the pied piper.

The short, chubby man in his fifties shook his head.

Never been no entrance like that, Mr White. The only way in is through this hallway.

Care to explain this?

Jimmy gestured toward the body, but Barry just stared back at him, looking confused.

He must have been here this whole time, Rendal said, shrugging his shoulders. Drunk as always, or stoned. What if he was mistaken for one of the deceased? Look around you, boss. There are more corpses in this place than people alive. Maybe this prick just woke up and turned batshit crazy? It wouldn’t be the first occasion I’ve seen him losing his marbles.

At least we agree on something. Jimmy glanced at the corpse. Well done with that axe of yours. He could have hurt lots of folks.

Just doing my civic duty, Sheriff, Rendal said. Anyway, do you have a better explanation?

I wish I did. Jimmy scratched his unshaved face. But this is becoming a big problem. There might be more lurking around. We’ll need to recheck every room.

We’ve been stocking up bodies from here to the freezer, Barry pointed out. Nothing but bodies. Way more than we can handle—they’re piling up everywhere.

Sweat trickled from his forehead down to his thick chin.

He wasn’t feeling well but kept it to himself, just like the fact that in the morning, a homeless guy had attacked him on his front porch and bitten him on the shoulder. Only by luck, Barry had managed to get into his car and drive away.

Then we’ll have to check all the bodies, Jimmy said. We might have missed some. We can’t afford to have more of them sneaking on us from behind.

He hated the idea of losing control.

Chief, so what now? Mark asked after a brief, uncomfortable pause.

Jimmy White drew a deep breath. Today had turned into a never-ending nightmare.

Just this morning, life in their cozy countryside town had begun as peaceful as ever, but soon it all changed. Jimmy had started getting reports of random attacks and savage behavior all over the place. At first, they’d seemed like isolated incidents. Police and ambulance crews answered the call but quickly ended up calling for help themselves.

As more officers joined the rescue, all hell broke loose.

People had begun attacking bystanders on the streets, trying to kill them.

His deputies confirmed it to be true. Some even claimed to witness acts of cannibalism in broad daylight, and most of the attackers weren’t local, making their identification difficult.

Low on the workforce, Jimmy contacted surrounding counties to find out the same was happening everywhere. Whatever had driven these individuals mad had also made them ignorant of any reasoning.

No amount of warnings by armed police or pleas to show mercy by victims affected them.

With the situation spiraling out of control, the Sheriff allowed the use of live munitions. His subordinates spared no expense, but body shots only slowed the crazies down.

They kept attacking with only one intent: to kill. Casualties mounted before officers figured out the only way to stop the psychos was a bullet to the head. Civilians were also taking up arms, trying to defend themselves and their households. Most wouldn’t make it.

By lunchtime, the whole of Hamley had transformed into one gruesome battlefield, with shots echoing in every neighborhood, dead bodies littering now deserted streets.

Sporadic vehicle and building fires spread, but to make matters ten times worse, the town’s fire brigade had also fallen in the early hours of the event, with no one left to tackle the flames.

Local ambulance services soon shared the same fate, the outbreak decimating the hospital’s staff to a handful of doctors and nurses.

A few remaining struggled to deal with an increasing stream of injured survivors.

The Sheriff’s office issued public announcements, ordering everyone to stay indoors and keep quiet and avoid contact with outsiders, especially anyone acting strange and aggressive.

Yet despite all the efforts, the number of individuals exhibiting violent behavior simply grew. Jimmy was soon receiving reports that some of the town residents had sided with the ranks of those already affected and begun assaulting neighbors and even their own family members. But without solid confirmation, the Sheriff dismissed them.

Well, of course he would, as he was way too busy to chase rumors.

All attempts to contact the District Governor’s office failed. The mayor’s cell phone was unreachable, leaving Jimmy with no choice but to take charge and try to salvage the situation.

By early evening, the Sheriff realized he was fighting a losing battle.

Half of his officers were dead or missing, and some had gone back to their families.

Jimmy didn’t judge them. He would have done the same if he had one.

Meanwhile, many residents panicked and had decided to flee the town through only two public roads. The outcome was predictable. Traffic got jammed, followed by widespread panic when large groups of crazies roamed the area, attacking those on the road and in their vehicles.

Jimmy, coordinating efforts to regain control from the police station, could only witness the massacre through a local news TV channel as the news helicopter hovered low above the scene. The cameraman zoomed in on the gathering below.

Some people were abandoning their cars and running away, while others remained inside them, hoping for the best. Another group of twenty individuals gave hot pursuit, killing everyone in their path. The camera focused on a couple carrying a baby. Three pursuers dashed after them into the field, the husband desperately trying to resist, but the trio tackled him to the ground while the woman screamed with the child in her hands, hesitant to leave her husband.

Stirred by the noise, one attacker jumped up and leapt onto her.

Jimmy changed the channel. He couldn’t bear watching the unfolding slaughter, feeling useless and helpless. Those people needed his help and protection, and he’d failed them.

Other news channels reported similar events. The same was happening nationwide; cameras were capturing widespread chaos and riots all across the country, the footage from major cities drawing a grim picture of destruction and death. According to some reports, the National Guard and Armed Forces were failing to contain the outbreak. Then phones, the internet and TV broadcasts stopped, leaving everyone in the dark. With his task force dwindling, Jimmy pulled all remaining officers to the town’s only hospital, intent on securing it as much as possible.

Chief! Mark brought Jimmy back to reality. What’s the plan?

What a lousy day this has turned out to be, Jimmy thought before answering.

Chapter 2

Ashley Street

21:15

A disfigured shell of a man, known as Patrick Meyers, once a great husband and father of two, shuffled toward the intermittent rattle of gunfire in the distance. His dirty and oily overall had a ‘Billy’s Repairs’ logo on it, for the garage where Patrick worked as an auto mechanic.

According to his boss Andy Hunt, a goddamn good one. Until this morning, Patrick had always been proud of his job and had never missed a day. Today was the first occasion, and now, shockingly, it was all too clear his days as a car fixer were over.

Now Patrick was a changed man, driven by a new call.

During periods of silence between the pops, he would slow down or even stop and linger in waiting for the echoes to resume before picking up the pace again. There were no other significant sources of noises anymore to attract his attention. It had been quite a while since he’d heard cars passing by or people shouting. It had all become quiet.

Sometimes, less essential sounds interrupted this illusion of peace, such as house doors creaking, having been left open in a hurry, the flipped waste bin rolling down the street, or the monotonic crackle of fire spreading unhindered through nearby buildings.

Patrick ignored most of those sounds because they didn’t associate with food.

Unlike that rumbling thunder somewhere ahead.

Guided by an uncontrollable urge to satisfy his hunger, Patrick shuffled toward that thunderous noise. He didn’t think about it, just followed the instinct, his only purpose now.

Patrick had no memories of his previous life after waking at dawn and embarking on this new eternal quest. He didn’t remember going to his favorite bar the night before and getting drunk, as he often did. He didn’t recall how on the way home, some crazed stranger had sneaked up on him from behind and attacked him in a narrow alley.

The man had bitten him—he didn’t even recall that much despite the hideous teeth marks deep in his flesh, and the green and red bruises all around his swollen skin—and wouldn’t let go until Patrick pushed the intruder to the ground and put his heavy boots to good use.

Then someone else had come along to join the scuffle, someone who’d grabbed him from behind. Patrick had no recollection of how he smacked his head against the large waste container and passed out. When he opened his blurry and milky eyes the following day, he had no memory of anything anymore. No—not a single thing. Not from that day or any other.

The broken right ankle and dislocated, bleeding left shoulder didn’t bother Patrick on his journey, while a wheezing sound of air escaping his painful punctured lung accompanied his every step. However, the injuries reduced his mobility a bit.

It didn’t bear thinking of how he’d broken his ankle earlier that day, getting smashed into by the car while running across the street. The collision had sent him flying over a vehicle that’d driven off without ever slowing down. Patrick felt no pain.

He rose and tried to run after the woman he’d chased before, but the crushed leg slowed him down, allowing the others to get to his precious prey first.

The others were just like him—hollow shells of their former owners, devoid of life, consciousness and thought. The woman screamed and kicked while dozens of hungry mouths ripped into her flesh, painting her white dress with red. Patrick was last to join the feast before the victim’s remains turned tasteless, and he promptly lost interest in her.

It always happened. The freshness of the meat just didn’t last, forcing Patrick and the others to search for the next victim. And then the next. And the next.

Once, Patrick had got lucky.

A man armed with a rifle rushed out of the house right in front of him, and Patrick didn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into the man’s shoulder before the victim could even react.

The thing was, he was intent on firing at a crowd, never imagining a lone attacker would come and assault him straight outside his own front door. Usually, some stealth was required to get a good bite of a victim—but this one had wandered right into the attacker’s grasp.

Unbelievable luck. He didn’t even need to expend any energy!

Patrick’s hunger had proved insatiable, and the taste of fresh blood sent him into a frenzy.

But the prey wasn’t for giving up. The man yelled in pain and shoved Patrick back with his weapon, then jumped away and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Patrick to the left shoulder, and he stumbled, but only for a second. The dislocated and bleeding shoulder didn’t bother him, either. His focus wasn’t on anything other than his hungry gut, his grumbling stomach juices, his greedy, open jaws. Later, when satiated, he could think of other things. But not now.

Meanwhile, the man stepped back, trying to reload the rifle, but tripped on the sidewalk edge—and fell. Patrick had enough time to reach him again.

More luck. Things were going his way for a change.

This time, he was able to latch onto the throat to enjoy the taste of flesh a little longer.

As the daylight dwindled, so did the sources of food as the