The Lost and the Damned (11 page)

In a moment of inspiration, I tried prying the map off the wall. Having a map would come in real handy. This place looked to be almost a labyrinth normally, combine that with darkness and destruction and it became a dangerous maze. I only hoped there was no Minotaur in this maze. My attempts to ‘appropriate’ the map met with failure; it was covered by a thick plastic plate which was bolted down. It had been worth a shot.

The door to the second floor was unlocked. As a mental hospital, I wasn’t sure how much of it would be locked by default. I was in the administrative section, so I could count myself lucky that there wasn’t much of an emphasis on keeping people in. Once I reached the patient wings, all bets would be off.

This hallway was much like the one below it: dark and damaged. Most of the fire damage was on the floor and the smell of burning was not as strong. I drew the conclusion that those Five went through the downstairs corridor. They probably knocked down the ceiling as they came. I hoped the other patients in this hospital were not like them.

In the darkness I found my way down the corridor to the hole. I could see some of light from the downstairs corridor faintly reflected up through the hole. I stepped with great care up to the hole in the floor; I wasn’t going to take chances that the floor was about to go. Luckily, it appeared strong. I used my flashlight to examine the area above the hole. The ceiling above had partially fallen down. There was a metal beam hanging diagonally across this upper corridor. No exposed wires, which was a plus. One side of the wall was promising. And by promising, I mean if you were batshit crazy, you could get across it, but any sane person would ignore it. There was maybe a foot of space between the edge of the hole and the wall. I could technically flatten myself against the wall and sidestep across.

This appeared to be the only way down this corridor. I ran down the list of my other options. First, going outside the hospital. I couldn’t go around the front of the hospital for fear of being shot. The back of the hospital had no military presence as far as I knew of. Assuming there weren’t Army snipers out there, I could kick out a window, make my way to another wing, and attempt to get in. The problem would be that those were patient wings. They were made for keeping people in, so they probably did pretty well with keeping people out. Even if I could get a window open there, I had no guarantee that I wouldn’t find myself in a padded room with a more secure and very locked door. And that would be if I were lucky. If I were unlucky, I could kick open the door to a room containing a patient like those Five. Hell, let’s cut out the supernatural shit. Climbing into the dark room of a psychotic murderer sentenced to a mental hospital would be just as dangerous.

My next set of options would be if I couldn’t go around, I would go over. Get to the roof, travel across the roofs of all the buildings, find Wing D, get inside, find Katie, profit. Step one would be to get to the roof. So far, the only roof access I saw was gated and locked. If I found a crowbar I might be able to get that lock off. I could shoot it with my gun, but that wouldn’t be ideal. First, a bullet might not destroy the lock. Second, there was the risk of ricochet. Ricocheting bullets never hurt anyone in the movies, but I doubted real life would be as forgiving. The other way to the roof would be to climb out a window and climb to the roof. But again, no rope, no grapple. And since I wasn’t Spider-man, that one was out.

I ran my hand through my hair and scratched my head. Of all the options, this seemed the most sane. That was pretty depressing. I realized I was going to really earn this half million. I needed to get across this hole. At seven feet across, maybe I could jump it. The hanging beam made that more difficult. I didn’t want to go all athletic just to jump and bang my head on the beam. Nor was I too crazy about the idea of successfully jumping and making a hard landing on unstable floor, causing it to fall out from under me. Maybe I was over thinking this.

I took a deep breath and flattened against the wall, almost clutching it with my hands. One hand held the flashlight, so I had only so much grip with that hand. With another deep breath, I started shuffling across the small bit of floor next to the hole. One foot at a time, I side-stepped my way across. I could now more clearly see the open ceiling from which the beam protruded. I could see wires up there, but none were exposed. I took another step. I looked down. I could easily see the frayed, sparking wires. Dangerous wires, lethal wires. Even if the voltage didn’t kill me immediately, I doubt anyone would find my unconscious body before death came from one reason or another. Maybe the upper ceiling would fall as well. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to dispel such thoughts.

I stepped again and I knew immediately there was a problem. As soon as my weight was down on that foot, the floor went soft on me. Half of the ledge I was making my way across crumbled. As I started to fall forward, I grabbed at the hanging beam. I caught the edge of it with my free hand, my other keeping a death grip on the flashlight. First I held the beam, and then I pushed against it, steadying myself. I righted myself, moving my front foot to a wider section of the ledge. I breathed a sigh of relief.

That’s when I heard the creaking. The sound was a rising crescendo, the sound of wood and plaster tearing. And it was coming from above me. I knew at once what had happened. In grabbing the beam, I must have yanked it from its tenuous balance. As bits of plaster started falling from the roof, I knew I was in trouble. With a spark of adrenaline, I made a mad jump. I caught the ledge with my right foot, my left foot missing it. My torso went down on my right knee while the other leg dangled down the hole. I felt the ground under my right foot creak and begin to buckle. Madly I pushed off with my right foot and scrambled forward, clawing at the ground, pulling myself forward. I hauled myself forward into the hallway before the floor edge fell down. A second later, the ceiling above the hole came thundering down.

I lay prone, my heart pounding and coughing as I struggled to breathe in the cloud of dust. When I could breathe easily, I stared back at the hole and the corridor behind me. Wires, beams, plaster, wood – it was all hanging from the ceiling down through the hole. I could see no way through and I didn’t trust those wires. I had just barely made it through alive, but one thing was for sure: there was no way back, not that way at least.

I waited until my heart stopped pounding before picking myself off the floor. I haven’t had too many brushes with death, but I’m pretty sure “Death by Ceiling” would not be the epitaph I wanted on my tombstone. Those who knew me would make it much more ironic: “John Keats – Wrong Place, Wrong Time” or “J. Keats – Owed Me Money, Killed by a Building”. Wiping the dust off myself, I decided I didn’t want anybody I knew writing my epitaph. Bunch of shitty-epitaph-writing jerks.

This half a million dollars was working out to be more dangerous than I first thought. I figured that all the work was going to be finding her; once I found her, it’d be a simple phone call to Intersperse Records, a short wait for a drugged-out-rock-star-retrieval team, then I’d be on a plane bound for sandy beaches. Someplace in the Virgin Islands or the Bahamas. I've heard St. Johns was very nice.

My mind basking in white, sandy beaches, I started down the darkened hall, my flashlight bobbing from left to right. I tried to step more tentatively, more lightly. After the way that ledge gave out, I wasn’t sure any of the floor around here was safe. Maybe once I was in the next building I would be more trusting of the floor. Maybe.

As I crept down the hallway, I noticed light spilling from under a door into a hallway. Unlike those I had seen previously on the left side which faced the front of the building, this door was on the right side. That immediately discounted Army flood lights as the cause. I wondered if it could be a sign of another survivor. I didn’t get my hopes too far up. Since whatever generator kicked in, any light left on went back on, provided it wasn’t destroyed. This could just be a light someone neglected to turn off.

I slowly crept up to the door, staying close to the wall. As I grew closer, I noticed the sign saying “Men” on the wooden door. No handle, just a metal plate where the handle would be, suggesting one just push. I bent down and watched the light at the bottom of the door. It was slightly obscured and then the obscuration was removed. Someone (or some thing) was moving around behind the door. I didn’t like how my mind so quickly appended “some thing” to that sentence. It betrayed I was more rattled than I thought. I hefted the flashlight in my hand. Long, heavy, ridged grip. Good for bludgeoning and in some cases illumination. It gave me some confidence. If the occupant meant me harm, I could void the flashlight’s warranty on their head.

Feeling ready as I ever would, I pushed on the door. It pushed an inch before it stopped with a dull noise. Barred.

I quickly pulled my hand back and gripped the flashlight in a ready crouch.

Seconds later: “H-hello? Is there somebody there?” A very nervous male voice.

I measured the pros and cons before replying. “Hello? Who’s in there?” I said.

“Are you one of them? You’re not one of them, are you?”

“One of who?” I asked. Immediately my mind went to likely candidates: the Five, Army, murderous patients, Boogeymen.

“Those… those… things!” answered the voice.

The Five, probably. “I assure you, I’m no thing. What are you doing in there? Open up, so we can talk.”

“I’m not opening up! It’s safe in here!” he answered.

“Look, I need you to open up right now. This whole hospital is under a state of emergency. I need you to open up or…” My mind struggled for something effective. “…or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.” Yeah, let’s go with that.

There was a long silence. Then there was the sound of the door being unbarred. The door opened a crack and a face eyed me. “You’re a cop?”

“Police Detective John Henderson, sir,” I said, taking advantage of my suit. “Please open the door and let me inside.”

With a slight sigh of relief, he pulled the door back. As I walked inside, I tried to catalog the last time I used the John Henderson identity. I try not to use any fake name too often or I might find my lies traceable. And impersonating a police officer was not something I wanted to be traced doing. But I tried not to make up names on the spot, as they always felt stupid and unbelievable. Worse, sometimes stress blotted out any creativity and all you can think of are celebrity names. Police Detective Philip Glass got me a black eye the time I inadvertently used it.

The bathroom inside was fully lit with fluorescent lights. Think “elementary school bathroom” and you had this place nailed. Two stalls, one urinal, two sinks. The walls were done in white tile, the sinks bolted into the walls. I took stock of the man who barred the door behind me. Shorter than me, overweight, white jacket over business suit. His face was round with small jowls on each side, the skin reddish. He wore glasses and his dark hair was beginning to show grey. I didn’t have to read the ID clipped to his white jacket to know he was a doctor.

“What’s going on? Is the hospital secure? Are there more on the way? Is everyone okay? What do they know about what went on here?” His nervousness fired those questions at me at a fast clip.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there,” I said, gesturing for him to calm down. “Let’s start at the beginning. What’s your name?”

“Merill. Dr. Arthur Merill Ph.D.”

Dr. Merill, eh? I was just going through the papers in your office not long ago. Fancy that.

“Okay, Dr. Merill,” I said, “let’s start at the beginning. How did you end up here?”

“Are you the only one?” He paced to the window which faced the back of the hospital, looking out into the darkness. “I don’t see any more. I had guessed that the rescue teams were the ones that secured power. What’s their status?”

“Relax,” I said. “I don’t know the status of the rescue team.” This wasn’t a lie, I didn’t know any status on a rescue team. With the Army’s current position, I wasn’t sure if there was going to be one.

“You don’t?” he asked, tensing again. “Don’t you have some walkie-talkie thing you can get in touch with them?”

“I… I’m not part of the rescue team,” I said, deciding to give him some truth. “I’m not part of any effort related to what went on here. I happened to be at the right place at the right time. I happened to be in the building when all hell broke loose. I lost consciousness and since then I’ve been trying to figure out what’s been going on.”

“So then, you can’t help me out of here?” he asked, pacing in front of the sinks.

“I don’t think so. Not right now, at least.”

“So you’re trapped here too.” He let out an exasperated sigh, walking into one of the stalls and sitting down on the toilet. He held his head with his hands, his elbows on his knees. “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What was that?” I asked.

He opened up his fingers enough to reveal an eye which looked at me. “Wrong place at the wrong time. You said you were at the right place at the right time. No, no, no. Just the opposite. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’re all probably doomed.”

“Okay, I need some answers. You obviously know more than me about what’s going on around here? Why are we doomed?”

“Monsters. Ashborn’s been making monsters. He wanted gods, but he got monsters!”

“Monsters?” I asked, trying to be incredulous but doing a bad job of it. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw that young girl, poor Nurse Laughton, burst into flames! I can still remember what it smelled like as she burned!”

“Calm down, stay focused on the facts. Don’t try to remember the ugly things,” I said, but knew he was winding himself up, talking to himself more than me.

“They came through, and I ran. I ran! Wise Dr. Merill ran! I locked myself in this bathroom while others died. I should have gone home early today… when I knew what they were doing. When I saw that light, I knew they had done it. They were somewhat successful, at least. I should have hid then, but that’s when the flames came.”