Day 350 - Untitled Zombie Story Chapter 8.1 - (1,358 words)

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UNTITLED ZOMBIE STORY

By Wayne Webb

Chapter 8.1

Focusing on the task at hand was paramount, and escape was the first thing, provided of course he was being held prisoner. It was hard to know for sure with little or no context for his current predicament. No one had told him anything and no one had tried to stop him from leaving, not really. However he had been drugged or sedated twice now, both without warning or obvious method of delivery.

He was somewhere else, where he was not a prisoner but was technically not allowed to leave, a bond on his brothers good behavior on a mission he did not actually understand. Ben had chosen Derek for some reason, and James had been escorted back to the City to join the people there and wait for Derek’s return.

There was no actual threat, but the deadly force they wielded on the would be bandits was hanging over their relationship like a Damoclean sword. They had been provoked and were defending themselves, but that still underlined the ability they had to inflict damage and the unhesitating nature of that when required.

The attempted assassination of Rusty by Ben’s mother had shocked everyone, Ben included if what they saw was to be believed, yet it was not too surprising that the violent judgment of the group, acted out so unexpectedly, was just hiding under the surface. No one expected it to burst forth from the older woman like that, and with such purposeful intent as well.

James had watched her warily as they drove off together, with his brother while the rest of the ‘gang’ was in the mini-van with him.

Rusty had taken off at a pace and frankly who could blame him? His brother brutally murdered, his potential sister-in-law taken in a similar fashion, death was all over that small bend in the road. Rusty had been given the chance and he just started running, and it was James’ guess that he didn’t stop until his lungs were fit to burst.

The fear and threat hanging over James had dissipated after a week or more at the City, it’s haven like state lulling him into a false sense of security. He had worked hard, served the group and made use of himself for the greater good. Yet under stress, strain and after saving the lives of the woman and her daughter? Then he was drugged somehow and taken to … wherever this was. That made no sense to James, why on earth when things were going so well did they do that to him?

The machines? He remembered as he walked through the corridors that there was mention made of machines twice now, and each time after wards he had been drugged to unconsciousness.  What machines they were referencing he had no idea and the proximity to his being knocked out may have been coincidental, but then again maybe that was what this was all about.

James had turned down several corridors, and there was no one on the floor that he ran into. The ward he was in was the only one that looked like it had any regular use; the rest of the floor was covered in sheets of plastic, wrapped against the dusts of disuse and time. A window on the far side of the long corridor showed him that the floor was maybe three or four stories off the ground, but still he had no view of anyone else in the vicinity.

The stairwell was at the end of the same corridor, a doorway with a fire exit quick release bar strapped across it’s middle. James examined the door before testing the latch-work on it, he was looking for wires or signs of an alarm, but there was nothing, and he had to risk it.

“Click, Clack.” The latches fell to his pressure and the door came free from it’s restraints and opened freely. He listened carefully and looked for any lights or LED’s that may signify a system that was tracking his egress or bringing down any pursuers to prevent him leaving.

“Not much of a prison.” He said to himself out loud, though barely higher than a whisper in his croaky, dry voice as he set off down the stairwell until he reached a tall number “2” painted or laminated onto the wall. He stared at the number for a while and eyed up the door that lead out of the south stairs and onto the second floor.

James decided against the option and continued down towards the ground but then about half a flight later he stopped and sniffed the air.

Smoke?

Derek caught the top lip with both hands, unevenly so that the fingertips of one hand and the armpit of the other were wedged painfully over the top edge, but he had a strong purchase none the less. The pain in his chest from slamming against the edge where his arm had found the strongest grip was digging in a long line and the tenuous grip on his fingertips was the first to give way, him swinging on the same spot where the pain was concentrated.

Closed eyes, gritted teeth and a will to not fall prey to gravity kept him on the edge with his arm glued to the wall. The free arm swung up and over to take the weight off his chest and pulled the sharp edge of the wall out of the corner it had dug into his flesh.

Over the top of the wall he found a sunken roof top with an air conditioning vent, pumping out a slient vapor into the air, he could see it clearly. The guard tower was still manned and the searchlight was aimed down and away from his position, pointing back at the helicopter which he could hear winding up it’s rotors now, getting ready to take flight again.

No time to catch his breath he crouched and ran at the same time to the air con vents and ducked behind them, putting the box of it between himself and the guard tower.

Taking a few deep breaths he looked around the roof and saw the top of the fire escape that lead to the roof top, and even though he needed to rest more he made for it as soon as he could, thinking to get off the roof and away from possible detection as quickly as possible.

At the top of the ladder he could see down into what was probably Main Street of this once small town, now a fortress of some kind. The middle of the town, as the circular walls were concerned anyway, was as big square building maybe five stories tall, and the biggest structure in the town. It was nearby to a municipal building that was much older and carried a town clock on a spire, but was still smaller than this building he was looking at.

It looked like a hospital but the signage he could not read at this distance. There were streetlights that made vision possible, but the definition they gave this far way was simply not enough for reading at night.

The procession with his brother on the stretcher had paused inside the gates of the town, and the rumbling of them closing was coming to a stop. James was unconscious, he hoped it was only unconscious, and still on the stretcher but the men carrying it were loading him onto the flat bed of a small pick up truck that someone else was driving.

The truck drove slowly and the men were sitting on the back making sure that James did not tip out of the stretcher or move around too much on the short trip that it took up to the hospital. The headlights on the truck were on as they drove up with James on the back, and the brighter halogens directed at the signs gave Derek a view of the name of the building, but it did nothing to help.

“Hereford Dynamics” was the name in the biggest and boldest letters, and underneath that was the much smaller word “Clinics.”