Whitney Goes to the Hospital

The nuts and bolts were big and heavy, sturdy looking for sure. That didn't seem to matter when the four wheelers weight was added to the rusty, aging bridge over a ten foot drop to a river.
"Use the bridge, he said," Whitney mumbled. "It'll hold, he said. Fuckin' George." There were several rotting corpses on the far side, shambling closer. Whitney swore and cut the engine, letting the four wheeler coast to a stop as she pulled the crossbow from her back. Aiming carefully, she picked off the first one and the bridge gave another bone shaking judder as the body collapsed. Reloading as the other two jerked and shimmied their way closer, still ten feet away, she sent a bolt straight into the skull of the second and it dropped. Another tremble, and the squealing whine and tinkle as a nut gave way. Whitney cursed and started the four wheeler, intent on circling around the last rather than give the bridge more time to collapse.
It shook. It shook and didn't stop.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Whitney screamed at the sky, stomping the gas as it gave a final, ear splitting scream, the bridge pushed past its limits and the end nearest her crunched through its bearings and began to drop. The four wheeler jerked backwards, shaking her in the seat and spun out. She wailed in tune to the bridge's shrieks and the final zombie's rattling moan, and threw herself off the four wheeler, sliding down the bridge as it swung down, the far side holding only by hope and faith.

Hope and faith was not very reliable in this world, and a moment later that side gave way as well, and the bridge dropped, crashing down into the water. By some miracle, Whitney was not crushed, and she splashed into the water as the bridge cut the river's flow off, forming a rusting steel and concrete dam. The water surged, pinning her against the bridge, and she dragged herself across and up the bank, spitting water and aching badly.
"Fuck," She rasped, spitting out dirty river water. "Fuckin' shit. Fuckin' bridge. Fuckin' George. Fuckin' stupid medicine." She spat again, this time out of disgust. Why her? Why did she have to draw the short straw? Whitney shook her head, climbing to her feet, wiping mud from her hands and clothes. She still had a job to do, fallen bridge or no. The hospital was only a few miles away, and was supposedly still stocked due to the amount of rotting shits around it. She scrambled up the embankment, getting to the grassy top and pausing to catch her breath.

That was one of their few remaining four wheelers, one of Sasha's babies.
"She's gonna kill me." Whitney groaned to no one. She sighed bitterly and, thanking grace that she had a waterproof pack, pulled her smokes from it and lit one, bitter and already sick of this mission. She began walking, keeping an eye out for shamblers. They were nasty things, all stinking rot and teeth and broken, bloodied nails. Mostly harmless, unless you were caught unaware, or surrounded. Hence the danger of this job. Supposedly, the large, formerly state funded hospital was allegedly one of the origins for the beasts, and most of its...occupants remained in the area around it, feeding on anyone who stumbled into their den. Kind of like what Whitney was doing now, all for some antibiotics and gauze.
"Can't wait for a shower," Whitney sighed, flicking mud from her shoulder length, kinky hair in disgust. "A long shower, and a bucket o' booze. Fuckin' bridge."
After an hour, the hospital was in sight. It was massive, once serving as both a medical school, hospital, and psych ward, sitting on ten acres of land with three massive buildings. The school and crazy house was pointless to search, it was the hospital where the sick folks were meant to stay was the target.

Even from a distance, Whitney could see at least three dozen zombie's poking around the front of the building, could hear them groaning and whining like animals. Animals that looked like people.
"Don't go there," She murmured to herself. "They ain't people, no matter what they look like."
This was to be a short mission, bust in, sweep for medicine and get the fuck out of dodge. Of course, if the bridge was anything to go by, it would never be that simple. Some of the shambler's began moving Whitney's way, and she could hear their groans rise in pitch at the sight of food. She broke into a jog, yanking a knife from her belt. She'd cut a few down if she could, but the primary plan was to run away. To stop and fight was to be surrounded. To be surrounded meant death. Whitney did not plan on dying anytime soon.
The first came into arm's reach, four more a few yards away. She cut the first down, yanked the crossbow from her back and shot a second point blank in the face and then skipped out of reach of the others and headed for the doors at a dead run, tucking the knife away and reloading as she went.

"Go, go, go, damn it." Whitney panted, hit the front doors. They were automatic, and no longer functioning. She swore, snarling at her luck, and grabbed a rock off the ground. The fucker's were getting closer all the while. She slammed the rock into the glass door, once, twice, three times and it shattered in a spiderweb pattern. Covering her head, she slammed a shoulder into the crackling glass and stumbled into the room. Hopping the front desk, she bolted through a jammed open door as the zombie's reached the front door and began crunching the glass under their feet. Running through a massive room of cold tile and tables, Whitney paused only to check a sign declaring the basement as storage. Cursing, disliking the thought of underground, she went in search of stairs. She slammed through a door and crashed right into a shambler. They both went down, down to the floor and sliding to the stairs before tumbling down them, the zombie grabbing and scratching at her the whole way. It was sheer luck that the scratches didn't pass the disease on, but their saliva and blood. At the bottom of the stairs, her hip and shoulder screaming from where she'd landed, Whitney cracked a fist into the zombie's face, snapping its head back. She yanked the knife from her belt once more and plunged it into its throat, keeping her mouth and eyes firmly shut against the blood spray as the zombie snapped its teeth. Aiming blindly, she sank the knife into his temple, and shoved the body away from her, letting only the smallest whimper escape. Using her shirt to wipe the blood from her face, Whitney stood, her head throbbing as she hoped she was not concussed.

She moved on, leaving the stairs and entering the basement proper. There didn't appear to be any zombie's down here, but she kept her crossbow out anyhow, not wishing to take any risks. She ended up in the kitchens, massive and cold and filled with stainless steel. Here, she heard a sobbing. Her heart clenched. Zombie's didn't cry. Stepping lightly, crossbow aimed ahead, she began a sweep of the kitchens. She reached the tray line and found the source. Cuddled up in the corner, back against the shelves, was a little boy of about eight years old, surely born after the world had died and come to life once more. He was whimpering, and watching her with terror in his eyes. Whitney felt...well, awkward. She was never good with kids and here she was, splattered in gore and aiming a weapon at one. She hooked the crossbow on her back and cleared her throat.
"Uhm...kid? What are you doing here?"
"Everytime I tried to leave they chased me," He whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. "So I...I hid down here."
"Uh...huh. I see. How long have you been down here?" Whitney stepped a little closer, doing her best to paste a comforting smile on her face. The kid wiped the tears from his face and sniffled.
"Um...I think maybe a day. Or more," He looked up at her pleadingly. "I'm hungry." Whitney blinked.
"Uh, hungry...right. I don't have any food on me. But if you come with me, I can get you food. It'll take us a day or so to get back, but I have to find medicine first. Do you know where it is?"
The little boy got to his feet.
"Uh huh. There's none of the monsters down here, so I explored some before I got scared. There's a big door down the hall. It said storage on it." He smiled up at Whitney, looking cheered up at being useful, and grabbed her hand. "Follow me!"

He pulled her along and she went, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the stickiness of his hand. It's not as though she were any cleaner.
"I'm Howard," He said, still more brightly. "What's your name?"
"I'm Whitney. It's, uh. Good to meet you?" He smiled back at her as they left the kitchens and turned right.
"Nice to meet you too." They traveled, Whitney treated to a diatribe of where he'd been before this, when he lost his parents, how he'd gotten to the hospital, how he'd gotten in (A side door had been smashed), and a number of other topics that Whitney tuned out. After a few minutes of identical hallways and twisting turns, they arrived at solid looking double doors, with a small plaque beside them labelling it "Medical Storage". Whitney tried the doors, more out of desperation than a belief that they would really be unlocked. Sighing, she shook Howard off her hand and crouched down, going to work on the lock with a pick and screwdriver. Howard watched her go at it, enraptured. After several painstaking minutes, tumblers fell into place and the lock clicked open. Letting out a small cheer that Howard echoed, Whitney shoved the door open and went inside. Her jaw dropped at the rooms contents. Rows, and rows of shelves. Shelves packed full with medicine of every kind. Everything from aspirin to psych meds. An absolute cornucopia of "feel good" tablets. There was a clipboard hanging on the wall, and after scanning it, Whitney was able to locate the antibiotic capsules. Shoving as many pill bottles as she could fit in her bag, she knew she'd be leading a team back here in a day or two to collect all the rest. She turned back to the boy, who was watching her with a delighted look.
"Alright, come on kid. Let's get outta here."
"It's Howard." He corrected, trailing after Whitney.
"Yeah, sure." She muttered, making a mental note to dump him on the first team member she saw in camp. They left, and she pushed Howard ahead of her, instructing him to lead her back to the stairs. She kept her crossbow out, more out of habit than need, and kept it trained on the ground as they walked.

Down the halls, up the stairs once more, passing the body Whitney had left behind (Her shoulder ached at the memory), and out into the first floor.
"I gotta use the bathroom." Howard piped up, the slightest whine in his voice. Whitney resisted the urge to curse him, instead scanning the open area. She spotted the telltale sign and gestured with the crossbow.
"There, lets go. Quickly." Howard nodded and joined her as they crossed the room, the boy now jiggling his legs a little as he walked. They stepped up to the bathroom and Whitney moved to enter first, only to back away when a small hand touched her waist.
"You can't go in there with me! I need privacy!"
"Are you fuckin-" Whitney took a deep breath. Fuck it. Not like there was anything in there anyway, the hospital was shockingly devoid of shambler's. "Fine. Go. Fucking quickly."
"Shouldn't swear." Howard mumbled and quickly shoved his way into the bathroom, his need great enough that he held himself now.

Whitney had no sooner leaned against the wall to wait when there was a gurgling shriek. She busted into the bathroom and slammed headfirst into a bloody mouthed zombie. She yelped, shoving him away from the corpse on the floor. Howard's corpse.
"Fuck." She wheezed, all the breath leaving her lungs as she stumbled back, unable to stomach touching a child's corpse. A child. Dead. Her fault. Howard. "Fuck!" Whitney shrieked as the zombie launched itself at a fresh target. She cracked it upside the head with the crossbow, breaking into sudden sobs, regretting her impatience, her awkwardness, her coldness. She yanked out the knife and stabbed the zombie through the nose, stabbed again into its right eye, again directly into its mouth, again and again, long after it was dead. She stumbled back from the horrific scene and puked in the corner. She had Howard's blood on her hands, her already blood soaked hands. Howard's face was bitten, torn and ripped up into an unrecognizable shred of raw flesh and nerves. Destroyed, in so quick a time and-
He whimpered. Gurglingly. Whitney shrieked, mindless. He whimpered again and Whitney sobbed once more. No, no she couldn't do it. She could not. No matter how much of a mercy it would be, she could not kill a child.


Whitney fled. From the bathroom, and the hospital itself. She would not be coming back.