The Hospital

A Changed Man

The disfigured shell of a man, formerly known as Patrick Meyers, once a proud husband and father of two, shuffled towards the occasional rattle of gunfire in the distance. The company's logo on his dirty and oily overall said "Billy's Repairs", where Patrick worked as a car mechanic and, according to his boss Billy Hunt, a goddamn good one. Until this morning, Patrick was proud of his job and never missed a day. Today was the first time. In truth, his days as a car mechanic were over. Now Patrick was a changed man, driven by a different call.

During the brief periods of silence between gunfire pops he was slowing down, sometimes even stopping and waiting for the sounds to resume before picking up the pace again. There were no other significant sources of noises anymore to attract his attention. It's been a while since he heard cars passing by or people shouting on the streets. It all went quiet. Occasionally, less important sounds interrupted this illusion of peace, briefly stimulating his interest. Doors creaked left open in a hurry; the flipped waste bin rolled down the street accompanied by the monotonic crackle of fire spreading unhindered through nearby buildings. For the most part, Patrick ignored them because those insignificant sounds were inconsistent and didn't associate with food. His was drawn by more powerful and continuous sounds of gunfire in the distance. Guided by an uncontrollable urge to feed, Patrick shuffled towards the noise. He did not think about it, just followed the instinct. It was his only purpose now.

Patrick had no thoughts or memory of his previous life after waking up this morning and starting his neverending quest for food. He didn't remember going to his favourite bar last night and getting drunk, as always. He had no recollection how on the way home he got attacked by some crazed stranger in a narrow alley. The man bit him on his hands and wouldn't stop until Patrick pushed the intruder to the ground and started kicking him with his heavy shoes. He didn't notice someone else jumping on him from behind. Patrick didn't recall falling and smacking his head against the large waste container by the wall and how the impact rendered him unconscious. When he finally opened his blurry and milky eyes in the morning, he had no memory of anything anymore.

The broken right ankle and twisted bleeding left shoulder didn't bother Patrick one bit as he continued his journey towards the rattle of gunfire. A wheezing sound of air escaping the left punctured lung accompanied his every step. However, the injuries slowed him down a bit. He didn't bother thinking of how he broke that ankle earlier that day after getting hit by the car while running across the street. The impact sent him flying over the vehicle that drove off without ever slowing down. Patrick didn't feel any pain. He got back up again and tried to run after the woman he chased before the impact. But the crushed leg slowed him down, allowing the others to overtake him and get to his precious prey first. The others were just like him - hollow shells of their previous 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 in red. It took Patrick some time to reach the feast's place to satisfy his hunger, but soon the woman's remains turned tasteless, and he lost interest in her. It always happened. The freshness of the food didn't last long, forcing Patrick and the others to search for new prey.

Once Patrick got lucky. A man armed with a rifle rushed out of the house right in front of him. He was running away from the others chasing him through the building. Patrick did not hesitate to sink his teeth into the man's left shoulder, ripping the muscle through the thin shirt before the victim could react. Taste of the fresh blood sent Patrick into a frenzy. His hunger was insatiable. The man yelled in pain and pushed Patrick back with his rifle, simultaneously jumping away. Before Patrick could reach him again, the man fired the weapon, hitting him in the left shoulder. The blast knocked Patrick down, but just for a brief moment. As soon as he fell, he was back up again. Dislocated, bleeding shoulder did not bother Patrick either. The man stepped back, trying to reload the rifle but tripped on the sidewalk edge and fell backwards. Now Patrick had enough time to reach the prey and latch himself on the man's throat. The doomed victim tried to push him away but soon was overwhelmed by the others joining the massacre. This time Patrick could enjoy the food a bit longer before it turned tasteless.

As the daylight dwindled, so did the sources of food. The prey vanished from the streets, leaving just hungry crowds of the others desperately searching for the few remaining. For a while now, Patrick could only see flipped waste bins, in a hurry abandoned vehicles and dead bodies littering his path. Sometimes he would abruptly stop, reacting to the familiar sounds of muffled human voices somewhere close. But they wouldn't last long enough for him to pinpoint the source or location. Lately, silence reigned the streets, apart from those distant pops of gunfire. In his, now void of thought and life mind, the sound associated with food, so he followed the trail.

As he walked past the large shopping mall engulfed by fire, the light of the dancing flames revealed other shadows following him. Dozens of lifeless figures with various degrees of injuries and scars all headed in the same direction. Some were missing limbs or bleeding from ghastly open wounds. Others looked almost intact apart from walking in a strange unnatural manner, almost dragging their feet. From time to time, new silhouettes were joining the ever-increasing procession, all drawn by the same noise, which now was getting louder. Patrick did not speak to the others. None of them talked to each other. They all just walked side by side, some quietly growling and snarling. He was ignorant of their presence as they did not smell of food. Their scent was different from other humans. They didn't feel like anything to Patrick.

The echoes of shots grew ever more sporadic and random. The pauses of silence also became longer forcing the grim procession to slow their pace. For some time now, Patrick stood still in front of the groceries shop on the main town's square corner. The shop was empty with entrance doors wide open and baskets scattered all over the shopping floor. Few half-eaten bodies lay between the isles next to their half-filled shopping trollies. It turned out to be a bad day to do their groceries. The place looked deserted in a hurry just like most of the other sites Patrik passed by today. In any case, he did not care much for the shopping right now.

With indifference, he observed as one of the half-chewed bodies inside the shop, belonging to a young woman, suddenly stirred and eventually sat up. She slowly looked around with a similar milky eyed expression as if trying to understand where she was or what happened. But, just like Patrick, she did not remember nor cared anymore. The woman struggled to stand up on her mauled legs. Both of her thighs and calves were mostly gone. Just clutches of fibre and streaks of muscle tissue hang loosely from otherwise bared bones unable to support the whole weight of her upper body. She collapsed to the floor next to her trolley and remained there. Her mouth was slowly opening and closing as she moved her hands around, grasping the air with her still nicely groomed fingers, waiting for something to raise her interest. So did Patrick and everyone else.

Another, this time much louder pop of the discharged weapon pierced the silence. This one was much closer, and Patrick immediately turned his attention towards the direction of the sound. He bypassed the groceries shop corner, marking the border of the large open space filled with abandoned vehicles and scattered corpses. His lifeless eyes observed people's gathering on the barricade on the opposite side of the town square. The structure was made of lined up cars and trucks and blocked the large hospital building entrance. Benches, office furniture and waste bins filled up the gaps between vehicles.

Patrick didn't care much for getting help nor treatment there either. He felt no pain, nor his injuries bothered him at all. But those people outside had his full attention. Although he could not smell nor hear them yet, Patrick saw them. They had the sight of taste. He opened his mouth and released another wheezing groan. Eyes locked on the nearest prey which happened to be a tall man standing on top of the truck in the barricade's middle. Without a second thought, Patrick dashed forward, snarling and gritting teeth.

As soon as the rest of the crowd started rounding the corner, they also instinctively rushed towards the structure, adding to the ever-increasing choir of horrifying moans. Some were faster than others and soon caught up with Patrick, outrunning him. By now, his damaged ankle broke loose from the tibia, and only skin and muscle tissue held it from falling off. The thick, bloody stump of the bone protruded through the ripped skin, resonating with a thumping sound every time Patrick landed it on the asphalt surface.

The others' first wave reached the maze of the abandoned cars in the middle of the square, forcing them to slow down. People on the barricade noticed the movement. The structure was buzzing with activity. Now Patrick could hear their voices, and that fuelled his resolve even further. With his mouth now wide open and his, still intact, right hand reaching out, grasping the air, he limped towards the prey, ignoring everything and everyone around.

The trickle of the approaching convulsive silhouettes soon turned into the river, painting a grotesque picture of an incoming tide. Defenders waited for the first wave of runners to funnel through the gathering of vehicles in the square's centre. They allowed attackers to reach the stretch of an open space leading to the barricade, before opening a sporadic fire. Shots were infrequent and much more sparse than before.

Still, stumping behind the crowd, Patrick could see some of the more agile others jumping on top of the cars determined to get to their meal first. Some of them fell to the ground hit by an invisible force, as their heads exploded in the red clouds of brain and skull fragments. Others were just slowed down by incoming shots, sometimes losing balance and tumbling between vehicles. But they were getting back up again and resuming their dash for food.

By the time Patrick reached the vehicles' stretch marking the half distance to the barricade, the significant number of the others already were nearing the structure. The crowd grew by the second. The barrier was tall enough to slow them down but not high enough to prevent some of them climbing to the top where the defenders met them with everything they had at hand.

Struggling to get through the maze of cars, yet still focused on the man in the middle of the barricade, Patrick witnessed unfolding battle ahead. He saw humans knocking the climbing attackers down, blasting them with their weapons at close range. The others were pushed back into the crowd below with metal bars, axes and even bare hands. He also saw some of the defenders being dragged down and disappearing underneath the rustling sea of hands reaching up.

Then something else caught his attention. A human screamed to his right. This sound was louder and much closer than the ones from the barricade. Patrick instantly switched his focus to this new source of the noise.

To be continued