One is the Loneliest Number:

“God, I could have helped that guy. Something, something could have been done! Why did I have to wake up to this? I should have awaken to Sarah looking over me running her fingers through my hair and smiling; God, her beautiful smile; saying, “Welcome back, baby.” But, I wake up to this shit! A damn horror movie. Some, Nightmare on Stink Street crap.”

Chris began sobbing heavily and rolled into the fetal position onto the cold cement landing of the 3^rd floor.  His sobbing got louder as he yearned for Sarah to be there by his side. He started crying to the point that his sarcastic side thought, “Did you get the wind knocked out of you? No? Well, you’re crying sounds like the Stooge, Curly, with your ‘N’yuk, n’yuk, n’yuk’ noises. Suck it up and kick ass!”

He argued with himself, “Suck it up and kick ass?’ Hey, lil’ devil-on-my-shoulder dude, umm, if you haven’t noticed, I’m like a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest. So, there ain’t gonna be any ass-kickin’ in my near future.”

An eruption in the ambient noise from the 3^rd was noticed. “Errrrrrroooo…gaaaarrrrrrrrr” “Oh shit! They heard me! O-oh damn, what do I-where do I? Dammit!” Chris started wobbling down the stairwell so the 3^rd floor ghouls couldn’t find him. He stopped at the sign that read, “Ground Floor” with a small bit of graffiti written at the bottom of the sign saying, “Dr. Ed Toler douches.” As mature as Chris’ Xbox, RC cars and SyFy Channel would let him be he even said, “You can take the boy outta the high school, but ya can’t take the high school outta the boy.”

Chris heard the 3^rd floor stairwell door slam open and was immediately followed by several guttural moans above him. He inched the 1^st floor door open as he did upstairs and didn’t hear or see anything. He quietly shut the door behind him hoping that the dead dudes wouldn’t figure out where he was.

“As I recall zombies-well, if these are zombies; are stupid and can’t climb ladders, drive cars or use a calculator so, I’m praying they stay on the 3^rd floor landing until they rot and fall apart. Now, where the hell is Security?”

The lobby looked like it made a big half-circle and was lit by an amber hue from what few streetlamps that were working outside. There were large plate-glass windows enveloping the lobby and was covered with uniformly-installed sheets of plywood about eight feet high. Desks, chairs, file cabinets and couches were piled against the plywood. As Chris started rounding the large half-circled lobby, he saw one person standing motionless, then six people, then 13 people. All of them not moving, just standing there like department store mannequins. He stood frozen reminded of the fear of his first encounter:

 “Ma’am? Can you help me?”

Her head jerked straight up at the sound of his voice. She turned around and fixed her milked-over bloodshot eyes at him. Her skin was pale, her arms rose up with clawing fingers and she shrieked a guttural scream at him. Chris froze. “What the fu-” She flew over the counter and tackled him.

He screamed in his head, “Oh, HELL no, that ain’t happening again!” He spotted the receptionist’s desk and saw a body lying on the floor. It was a Security Officer. He was lying on his back but his head was twisted around where it looked like his face was against the floor. Chris slowly stepped toward the body and made out what looked like a pistol. Chris got on his knees and scooted foot-for-foot toward the firearm. Tunnel-vision set in and all he could desire was in the magazine of that gun on the rent-a-cop’s hip. “Bullets…Protection.” With all this crazy stuff going on, that was what he wanted; what he needed.  His right hand was grabbing at dead air wanting that gun.

He got closer to the desk and bumped an open drawer with his right shoulder making a clanking sound. Immediately, grunting and shuffling was heard. Chris was shaken out of his hypnotic desire for the pistol and he looked up to see the motionless people looking around. He shot for the desk and rolled under the tabletop. The echoes of moaning, grunting and shuffling were relentless. Chris sat just mere feet from the gun he so desired but he was too terrified to go for it in his challenged condition.

He sat under the desk listening.

*BUMP*

The receptionist desk shifted toward the back wall and slapped Chris on his spine. He started quivering and sweat poured down his face. He shakily said to himself, “O-oh God, oh G-god, oh God!” Even though he was begging not to make a sound in his head, he covered his mouth out of fear that his whimpering may get too loud.

Chris looked at the Security Officer’s body and the gun right in front of him.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

“Damn, my legs are shaking.” He kept hearing this noise coming from somewhere below him. The sound got louder as he descended the stairwell. The echo in the stairwell made the noise indiscernible and he couldn’t make any words out. “…and that smell!” A red and white sign read, “7^th Floor” as he crossed the

landing when he could hear something above the roaring noise. “I-is that s-someone?” Chris shuffled faster down each floor.

…”5^th Floor” The sound is getting louder *cough!*

Chris started dry-heaving from the intense smell concentrated so strong in the stairwell. “My God! It’s like walking into a road kill café!” The roaring noise was now intense. He could hear a voice above the other voices. The majority of the voices were monotone. There was an individual voice; higher pitched. “I’ve got to be close-it’s so loud. 3^rd Floor, okay… Whoa whoa, stupid! Are we gonna run into a mob Nurse Nutjobs?” Chris rolled his eyes at himself. “ Aww jeez. Alright, lemme look n’ see what the hell’s going on.” He grasped the handle of the stairwell door and started slowly pulling the door to his belly with his eye by the crack of the door jamb.

“Get back! Get the hell away from me! God get away! HELP! HEEELP!”

As Chris inched the door open, and the dialogue became clear. He screamed in his head, “Oh crap, oh crap, oh, hell no!” He opened the door and he didn’t see anyone. He slowly pushed the door farther and farther until it was halfway opened and he peeped his head around the door and saw what was happening:  There were about 30 people clawing at some sort of reinforced nurses’ station. The people looked sickly their clothes were soiled with dark brown spots and their skin was colored a peach-gray with cuts and lesions on their arms. There were about 15 people lying on the floor; twitching. “Why are they twitching?” There were several doors standing vertical and leaning against the counters. He could see a white guy standing above the doors thrusting half of an IV drip pole down at the people.  

Chris closed the door and sat down on the landing. “Oh my God! I gotta help that guy, I m-mean he’s in trouble. Hang on, Chris. You’re a tripod now. You can’t exactly Chuck Norris your way into helping this guy. Damn. “

Chris started panicking whether to, at least, try or not try. He flashed back to Master Yoda, “Do or do not. There is no try.”

“If I don’t help, I’m a turd. I if do help and get killed, then what? I’m dead turd. I don’t know what’s going on, but it looks like I’m a turd either way.” Chris stood up and started breathing heavy and started having a proud Karate Kid moment. He stood up; his breathing got faster and faster as he pumped himself up and reached for the door handle.

*CRASH!* Chris’ eyes shot up to the door and he heard the guy screaming, “Heeelp oh God You..ugh..” the monotone crowd of people made a unison excited grumble and then Chris heard what sounded like the gnashing sound of biting into celery. He started sobbing. “I could have saved him!” The little demon on his shoulder assured he couldn’t. And then it dawned on him.

”Abandoned hospital, psycho nurses, gray skin, funky dead skunk smell…”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no. It’s not…No. I’m not in some stupid zombie movie.”

Figuring out the Unbelievable:

Chris ran back to his room, shut the door and collapsed in the room’s chair. He was breathing heavily to the brink of almost hyperventilating and shaking with confused fear. His almost still-asleep legs felt even more like spaghetti. “Wh-what was wrong with that nurse? I-I mean, she was crazy and stunk.  She stunk like a dead animal. A dead animal?  She couldn’t have been dead, could she? Dead people don’t stand and grab and…Oh jeez, Chris. Pull yourself together!”

Chris calmed down slightly. “I gotta call Sarah!” He picked up the hospital room phone only to find nothing. No dial tone or busy sound. Chris checked the TV and every channel was snow. He checked the radio and nothing but static. The anger rose with no communication in sight. Then he started tearing the room apart. He threw all the linen that was in the closet on the floor. He slung his unzipped suitcase to the wall and his belongings went everywhere. Out of frustration, he fell to the floor sobbing. “Why? Why? WHY?! What is going on?!”

Chris pulled the bottom of his pink polo shirt to his eyes to dry the tears from his eyes and he saw a bag under his hospital bed. He stretched his arm under the bed and retrieved the bag.  His cell phone! The bag was sealed with a big red stripe across the center that read, “Evidence.” “It musta slid under there when I went postal and threw the suitcase.”

Chris turned the phone on with a quick prayer, “Please God, lemme have some battery power.”

*ba-la-la-ding-ding* “YES!” His phone powered on and he was in heaven. The missed calls and text messages started flooding in one after another. “Okay, the phones aren’t working, but the cell towers are? I’m not complaining!” Chris started reading his text messages from the last one he sent, “In office in about 15 minu…”

From Jeff’s Cell: “I see how you are. I wanted to make sure y’all are coming over tomorrow night and you won’t pick up ya damn phone when I call, ya know? Alright man, gimme a call when you get this message.” “Sorry, Jeff. I was a little busy being comatose, YA KNOW?! Jeez! Crap, I hope Jen and him are okay.”

*bee-doop*LOW-BATTERY*

From George Summerton: “Chris, look, your repetitive tardiness will not be tolerated much longer. You can’t sell houses if you’re not here. Anyway, see me when you get here. We need to talk.” “Oh screw you, George! I was late three times in two years, you jack hole!”

From Pastor Mike: “Hey Brother Chris, when you get this message I just want you to know that we’ve been praying for the Lord to wake you up and bring you to a full recovery so you and Sarah could get back to normalcy, and, if you’re reading this message, praise God! Also, the motorcycle ministry is doing a benefit ride to help out on your medical bills. Well, brother, God bless ya and we’ll see you Sunday. We love you.” “Now that’s a straight-up dude.”

“Yes, finally, a message from Sarah!”

*bee-doop*LOW BATTERY*

“Baby, if you get this message there’s some really weird stuff going on since the accident. The military has been all over Houston. There are people attacking other people. There’s a curfew. Houston and every surrounding county are under martial law. It smells awful outside; like rotten meat, and no, it’s not Lobo bringing dead cats home again. The news is just reporting that there’s some new virus from Asia and if you feel ill with anything to get to the hospital. Problem is, I’m feeling terrible and the hospitals are clogged and the National Guard is forcing people to go back home. So, I can’t even come visit you. If you wake up and read this, I’ll be home wai…

*bee-doop*You’re phone is powering down*

“Dammit! I gotta get to her. NOW!” Chris looked at the atomic clock “11:31pm.” Chris started playing 20 questions again and thought about the martial law, the curfew, if people are attacking people, could he defend himself with one arm in an attack? He didn’t want to get shot by the cops or the Army and really didn’t want to run into another Nurse Ratchet. Chris opened the curtains and looked down into Houston. There were a couple of buildings that had small fires burning in them. From what he could see under the street lights, there were some cars bashed into one another and looked like they had burned up. He couldn’t really see anything else. “Okay, Chris. Looks like we need a weapon. Hey, every hospital has Security, right? And if things are as bad as Sarah say they are, then this place must be locked down and Security has to be armed to the teeth. Okay, I’ll go down to the lobby and see if I can find an Officer.”

Chris went to the door and slowly turned the door handle and pulled the door open. Again, no sounds. “Good.”  Instead heading right this time, Chris headed left down the hall and saw a red exit sign at the end. “Ah! A stairwell!” Chris went into the stairwell and quietly closed the door. “Ugh, what’s that smell? It smells like that nurse did. What’s that noise?” Chris could hear some kind of stadium crowd sound coming from one of the floors below him. The sound wasn’t that of elated party-goers; it resembled more of a sound that reminded him of a recording he had heard on one of those late night am radio shows where the host played what he claimed was “The Sounds of Hell.”

He covered his nose and mouth with his shirt and started descending the stairs.

Diagnosis, Doctor?

Chris reviewed the file and quickly thumbed through pages of Doctorese jargon. He found the paramedic’s report from the accident:

“Patient was found with red triage or severely damaged left arm and shoulder. Patient had cell phone in hand. HPD CPL. Scopiela states uncompleted text message was displayed on phone, “In office in about 15 minu..” Patient’s vehicle impacted SUV in rear and was rear-ended by DOD semi. Patient transported before CDC response and en route to First Baptist Hospital. Patient unresponsive, good pupil response, Blood loss slowed, arrived at ER at 0817hrs.

“Damn, I remember now. Sarah was texting me about going to Jeff and Jennifer’s tomorrow night and I texted that I’d call her when I got to the office. She texted me asking when I’d get there and I texted back, ‘In office in about 15 minu…I was hunting for “T” and the Suburban in front of me was stopped. Damn, I was doing about 75 miles an hour. What the hell is DOD and CDC? Isn’t CDC the Center for Disease Control? Why would they be coming to my accident? That’s probably an acronym for the wrecker service to tow our cars.” The 20-questions game started in Chris’ head. He grabbed the clothes out of the suitcase and got dressed. “You gotta be kidding me! Of all the shirts she packed it HAD to be that pink fuckin’ Polo!” Chris grumbled and put on the shirt. He walked to the mirror and started tearing up at the armless sleeve. “Look at it this way, bud; you’ll come out cheaper when someone tries charging you an arm and a leg!”

Chris chuckled the tears away and headed for the door. Chris walked into the corridor and it was sparsely lit and ominously quiet. “What’s that smell? Eh, hospitals are full of smells.” Chris thought hospitals are full of smells but he’d never smelled something dead at a hospital. Usually, hospitals smelled like bleach or chlorine. You know, clean. Chris started scanning the hall. Some of the fluorescent light fixtures were working and some were flickering. “Weird.” He looked to the left and nothing. Just a hall of closed doors. To the right there were monitors, workstations, and the edge of a Nurses Station. He headed that way. Chris rounded the corner and saw a nurse standing behind the station with her back turned to him. Something wasn’t right. She was standing perfectly still; her frosted blonde hair was disheveled and her head was laying horizontally over to the left. “Ma’am? Can you help me?”

Her head jerked straight up at the sound of his voice. She turned around and fixed her milked-over bloodshot eyes at him. Her skin was pale, her arms rose up with clawing fingers and she shrieked a guttural scream at him. Chris froze. “What the fu-” She flew over the counter and tackled him. Chris struggled with the sick nurse while rolling around on the floor. He held her by the neck while she snapped at him like a rabid Rottweiler. During the fight, Chris and the nurse bumped the counter so hard that the hospital computer fell and struck her on the forehead; missing Chris’ head by inches.

The nurse quit clawing at him and started jerking and convulsing on the floor after the blow from the computer. Scared shitless, Chris backed up against the file cabinets on the other side of the nurses station and sat speechless.

She stopped moving. “Oh, thank God! Wh-what the hell was wron..”

Her head jerked to the left; then to the right. “Shit! She’s coming to!” Chris started looking around for something to grab. She rolled over on her stomach and her chin raked across the carpet as she drug her head forward and locked milky eyes with Chris.

There was a computer monitor just over his left shoulder. He jumped for the monitor and pulled it to slam her on the head only to be tethered by the monitor’s cables. Chris was circling around the station away from her and realized the she wasn’t jumping at him like a caged animal anymore.

There was a dent in her pale-skinned forehead where the computer obviously hit her. But, she was acting like a flickering television. She was crawling to Chris but it was like her wiring was criss-crossed. One eyelid was flapping open and shut. One arm was paralyzed while the other arm was completely active.

Chris shuddered at the thought of bashing this thing’s head in. Since she was moving extremely slow, Chris scanned the station and decided to prop a chair on her skull. There was a chair that didn’t have wheels and Chris stood over her with confidence and stuck one of the rear legs on her head, closed his eyes and flopped 225lbs. down on her head. He heard the sound of teeth biting through a stalk of celery.

What…the hell just happened?!