Jamie McGuire - Red Hill

A sick feeling came over me, and I walked quickly, on the verge of breaking into a sprint for the employee exit. Just as I opened the door, I heard a scream, and then more. Women and men. I didn’t look back.

Running across the intersection to my Suburban in the southwestern lot, I could hear tires squealing to a stop. A nurse from the third floor was fleeing the hospital in a panic. She was afraid, and wasn’t paying attention to the traffic. The first car barely missed her, but a truck barreled around the corner and clipped her body with its front right side. The nurse was thrown forward, and her limp body rolled to the curb.

My training urged me to go to her and check for a pulse, but something inside of me refused to let my feet move anywhere but in the direction of the parking lot.

Angie, the circulation nurse from upstairs, appeared in the doorway of the employee exit. Her surgery scrubs were covered from neck to knees in blood, her eyes wide. She was more cautious, dodging the traffic as she crossed.

“Oh my God, is that Shelly?” Angie asked. She rushed to the curb and crouched beside the woman lying lifeless. Angie placed her fingers on the nurse’s neck, and then looked up at me, eyes wide. “She’s dead.”

I wasn’t sure what expression was on my face, but Angie jerked her head forward to insist I respond. “Did you see who hit her?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s going to matter,” I said, taking a step back.

Angie stood, and looked around. A police cruiser raced toward downtown. Other employees of the hospital began to filter out of the door, racing to the parking lot.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, pulling her scrub hat from her short blond hair.

“Your scrubs,” I said. A dark red streak ran down the front of her green standard-issue surgery scrubs. Her neck and cheek were also splattered with crimson.

“Mrs. Sisney flat-lined, and then woke up,” Angie said, her face red and glistening with sweat. “She attacked Dr. Inman. I’m not sure what happened after that. I left.”

I nodded and then backed away from her, toward the parking lot. Toward my Suburban. “Go home, Angie. Get your daughter and get the hell out of town.”

She nodded in reply, and then looked down at the blood. “I should probably just go back in. I don’t know how contagious this is. Kate’s with my dad. He’ll keep her safe.”

Her eyes left her blood-saturated clothes and met mine. They were glossed over, and I could see that she had already given up. I wanted to tell her to try, but when the faces of my own children came to mind, my legs sprinted to the parking lot.

I threw my purse into the passenger seat and then inserted the key into the Suburban’s ignition, trying to keep calm. It was Friday, and my daughters were already an hour away, at their dad’s for the weekend. Each possible route flashed in my mind. Scenes from post-apocalyptic movies with vehicles lining every lane of highways for miles did, too.

I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Andrew’s number. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then a busy signal buzzed in my ear instead of his voicemail. “It just started,” I said quietly, putting my phone in the cup holder. “I can still get to them.”

I tossed my phone into my purse, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and shoved the gear into reverse with the other.

A part of me felt silly. The logical side of my brain wanted to believe I was overreacting, but there was no music on the radio. Only breaking news about the pandemic, the rising death toll, and the ensuing panic.

The Suburban stopped abruptly, and I turned around, seeing Lisa Barnes, the employee-health nurse, gripping her steering wheel, her eyes bulging. I’d backed up while she was pulling out of her parking spot, and we’d crashed into each other. I pushed open my door, and ran over to her.

“Are you okay?” I said, hearing the subdued panic in my voice.

“Get out of my fucking way!” she screamed as she gripped her gearshift and threw it into reverse.

Just then a pickup truck barreled through the lot and slammed into my Suburban, taking it all the way to the street.

Standing still beside Lisa’s sedan in shock was the only thing I was capable of in that moment. My brain refused to process the surreal scene in front of me until I caught a glimpse of a crowd of people pushing through the side entrance, and fanning out into the street, joining others who were from other parts of town, running for their lives, too.

Drew Davidson, the human resources director, stumbled and fell. He cried out in pain, and then looked around him, reaching out to those passing by, screaming for help. No one so much as paused.

A pair of wild eyes stood out from the mob. It was Mrs. Sisney. She was moving quickly, into the dispersing crowd. She crossed the road and finally caught up to Drew, who was still on the ground, reaching for his ankle.

I watched in horror as Mrs. Sisney charged Drew, leaping on top of him and grabbing at his expensive suit while opening her mouth wide. Drew was pushing back against her, but she was a large woman, and eventually her body weight helped to press Drew’s arms down enough for her to take a bite of his shoulder.

Drew’s cries attracted someone else—whom I recognized as Mrs. Sisney’s son—and another woman in scrubs. They ambled over to Drew’s flailing legs and began to feed.

Lisa’s screams matched Drew’s, and then the crumpled front end of her sedan flew past me and toward the road as she left me standing in the parking lot to witness the horror alone.

A loud boom sounded in the distance. It was then that I noticed several pillars of smoke in the sky, the newest in the area of the blast. Gunshots added to the noise, both close and far away. The chaos was confusing and happening so fast I didn’t have time to be afraid.

Shiny silver keys lay fanned out on the grass a few feet in front of Drew. He’d just bought a Jeep Wrangler the month before. I had only paid attention because I’d just lamented over that Jeep in the showroom of the local Dodge dealership during lunch, and Drew had been sitting at our table. Not a week later, when arriving for my shift, I saw that Jeep in the parking lot, and Drew Davidson stepped out of it. He thanked me for the tip, and that marked the first and last time he’d ever spoken to me.

Taking even one step toward that scene was terrifying, but I found enough courage to scoop up his keys and run for the Jeep. My fingers pressed the keyless entry. I yanked the door open, praying that the gas tank wasn’t close to being empty. Mrs. Sisney was still consuming the meat of Drew’s neck and the others were slowly gnawing on Drew’s now lifeless body. He definitely wouldn’t need his Jeep again, I thought as I ripped out of the parking lot.

Speed limits and red lights were irrelevant. I glanced from one side to the other at each intersection, and then blew through them until I reached the main road out of town. Surely most people would head for the interstate, I thought, but I was wrong. Wrecks peppered the old two-lane highway toward Kellyville.

I kept the gas pedal pressed against the floorboard, trying to stay away from traffic jams and buy myself some time to think of what I should do. People, alive and dead, were running around. Gunshots could be heard from all parts of town as people shot reanimated corpses from their vehicles and porches.

A blinking sign signaled that I was entering a school zone. My stomach instantly felt sick. The children had been picked up more than an hour ago, thank God, but mine were so far away. If the pandemic had spread so quickly, the girls were probably terrified and running, too.

I had to get to them. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. If it was the end of the world, I wanted to be holding my babies.