Jason Morrow - Anywhere but Here

I open the door and sneak through quietly and search the filing cabinets. P…P…I can’t see a thing. I pull off my backpack and unzip the top. Maybe Gabe provided me with a flashlight. I sort through the bag, a can of beans… tuna… Swiss Army Knife…flashlight! I pull it out and switch it on, scanning the filing cabinets for P. Once I find it, I open it as slowly as possible and I see about a million files. It’s a good thing Elkhorn University Hospital’s Maternity Ward still used a paper system. When I had come to the ER, I found it annoying to fill out all that paperwork, but I’m glad now.

I flip through the first ones until I finally come to the name Paxton. Paxton… Paxton… Paxton… There are eight Paxtons, total. I thumb through the first file and I hear a noise down the hall. I let a curse pass my lips in a whisper and I switch off the light. I listen for more movement, but it sounds like it’s just one greyskin at the other end moving about aimlessly. I flip on the flashlight again and pick up the next file. Not her. The next file isn’t her. Then the next. On the fifth file, I start to lose hope that Jessi had her baby at Elkhorn University Hospital. Maybe she didn’t have the baby at all.

But then I get to the sixth file. My heart bangs against my chest when I see the name. Jessi M. Paxton. It’s her! I look for a birthdate and she’s as old as I am. The baby was born three years ago. It’s her! Apparently her baby was named Evelyn. Poor Evelyn and Jessi are probably dead now.

I hear another noise, this time a crash from the other side of the ward. I flick off the flashlight and stuff it and the file into my backpack and sling it over my shoulders. I pick up the machete from the floor and creep back to the registration desk. I try as hard as I can to listen for the source of the crash, but I can’t hear anything except for a tiny groan behind me. My stomach leaps into my throat as I turn. All I can see is a shadow as a greyskin wearing the scrubs of a nurse stumbles forward. I accidentally let out a yelp as a fall backwards onto the chair next to me. As I pull myself up, I swing for the greyskin’s head but I miss.

I never miss!

The blade slams into the side of the filling cabinet and the handle breaks off in my hand. The greyskin is on top of me now and it’s all I can do to roll away as it grabs onto my foot. I pull the pistol from my belt, knowing that if I don’t I’ll be dead, even though the noise will bring every greyskin in the hospital to me. I let off a single shot into the nurses’ (greyskin’s) head and it slumps to the floor. I can still hear the ringing in my ears a moment later as I drag myself into the hallway. On my belly, gun in hand, I look both ways: once toward the door and then toward the rest of the maternity ward. I can’t help but freeze when I see what comes out of the room beyond. Doctors…nurses…patients. My stomach wrenches when I see a greyskin walking out in a large gown, her stomach protruding.

I pull myself up to my feet and charge out through the doors but I stop in my tracks when at least eight greyskins make their way toward me, walking as though they have all the time in the world. But I don’t. Either I go the familiar way I came and face more greyskins, or I go back through the maternity ward and hope I don’t run into more than three. I shake my head. It’s always better to know where you’re going.

With the machete broken and gone, I walk forward and lift my pistol in front of me, taking careful aim at the first greyskin’s head. It drops to the floor. The others start to come at me a little more quickly. I’ve got to be quick. I let off three more rounds, three more greyskins fall.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Three more fall on top of the pile. The shots make the ringing in my ears worse and I know its only a matter of seconds before more come out to investigate. I shoot the next two, but hit the last one at the neck. No good. I pull the trigger but this time there is only the sound of an empty magazine. I curse and let the magazine drop as I reach into the side pocket of the backpack. The doors behind me crash open and the greyskin in front of me is getting closer. My fingers fumble with the loaded magazine and I almost drop it. I jam it up into the gun and pull back on the chamber. I fire at the greyskin in front of me, hitting it in the chest. Another shot finds its mark right in the forehead.

The greyskins behind me are moving fast. I jump over the pile of bodies and sprint to the stairwell. I take the steps four at a time, knowing that it’s never a good idea to be so careless. I could run into a greyskin, sprain an ankle…either one could be the end of me. I finally make it to the first floor and I can feel my heart beating quickly, my escape now within reach.

I open the door, rush into the hallway, and I instantly wish that I didn’t. I have no idea how many greyskins I see to my left rushing toward me. There have to be at least twenty or thirty, and there are even more blocking my exit. I run back through the door onto the stairwell and slam the door shut. I immediately feel the push of greyskins against it. I can see the rotting faces of them through the narrow window in the middle. Their black eyes are lifeless, but their teeth are black, yellow, and sharp. Their hands beat against the door and I know that soon I won’t be able to hold them back.

A hand breaks through the window, not flinching from the glass that slices its skin with drooling black blood. With my shoulder pressed firmly against the door, I pull up the pistol and begin firing through the opening. I feel some relief from the pushing for a few seconds, but it has bought me no time and there is no chance I will be able to hold the door for much longer. As I lean against the door and survey the stairwell in front of me, I try to think of where I could go, another exit I could take out of here.

Another thump against the door and the shoving begins again. I sit my butt on the ground and try to stay as firm as a rock, but my weight won’t be enough to hold the door closed for very long. I’m too distracted to listen to my surroundings, but the crashing door up above me is loud enough for anyone to hear. The sound of hurried footsteps and hungry groans echo off the walls as the greyskins begin their descent down the stairs toward me.

This is it, I think. I took a chance and I lost. I’m fulfilling my death sentence from Crestwood.

My pistol is empty so I swing my rifle in front of me and hold it as steady as I can with my back shoved against the door. As I try to listen, I think I can hear five or more coming for me, but does it matter? I’ll waste my bullets on these and then I will be empty-handed. With no weapon, I have no defense, and every greyskin in the building senses my presence. I hold a firm grip on the rifle and fire a shot at the first greyskin I see. It falls to the bottom of the steps only a foot in front of me, but it is followed by six more.

I take a deep breath as a tear slides down the side of my cheek — the first time I’ve cried since…

I fire all but one of my bullets into the six and they all crumple to the floor. More will come down or up the stairs, it won’t matter. Anywhere I try to go, I will only find more greyskins, and one bullet means I might as well have nothing. The pushing against the door is getting heavier. I can’t imagine the death they will give me. I can’t think of what it feels like to have their teeth and nails sink into my skin, ripping away muscles and crunching on my bones.

I look down at my rifle, knowing that a single bullet remains. I know it will only take a slight movement. I won’t feel any pain. Sure, the greyskins will have my body, but I won’t know it. I won’t turn into one of them. I no longer have a giant pit in my stomach consuming me. Now, I feel a wave of relief, knowing that I don’t have to be one of them, that I don’t have to feel fear anymore.