Jason Campagna: White Ash on Bone: A Zombie Novel

I wonder if I’ll see Mike down in the ER, Kimberly thought to herself.

Dr. Mike Carson was a resident physician at Butler Hospital. He had taken an interest in Kimberly early on. In his early thirties, most women considered Dr. Carson good looking. He was a tall with a strong build. Kimberly liked the smell of his spiced body wash.

Kimberly found herself completely taken with him, and she loved his attention. She no longer cared that Dr. Carson was married. She had met the attractive Mrs. Alison Carson on a number of occasions, and felt the woman's icy stare. Despite the stare, Mrs. Carson treated Kimberly with a measure of politeness. Kimberly felt guilty about it, but it didn’t stop her from sessions in the utility closet with Dr. Carson.

In a few weeks, Kim and Dr. Carson would be traveling together to the Dominican Republic. He told his wife he would be traveling to a medical conference in San Antonio, Texas.

When Kimberly reported to the main desk of the ER, the room was in chaos. Countless open wounds had canvassed the ER in a dark red macabre. Curtains, windows, floors, and ER workers were spattered and sometimes splashed in an unhealthy dose of blood.

Kimberly was instructed to help with patient histories for the countless walking wounded who were turning up in increasing waves. The hospital's ER could only handle so much traffic before the halls of the hospital were added to the triage system. As the halls filled, Kimberly was instructed to help expand emergency capacity to the front parking lot of the hospital.

Many of the patients arrived on foot and were frantic. Their story was universal; they claimed they were attacked by crazy people downtown. The patients insisted that these lunatics attempted to bite and tear at them, but they had managed to get away.

In the parking lot, a woman approached Kim, carrying what must have been her little girl. "You have to help my baby,” the woman shouted. “They hurt her real bad."

The mother’s clothing was marred with the blood of the girl. It was obvious that the child had lost a dangerous amount. The flesh that was not covered in blood appeared devoid of color. The child hung like a rag doll in the mother's arms. It looked devoid of life.

Dr. Carson suddenly appeared from behind Kim and grabbed the child from the mother. "My god," Carson said.

He placed the child on a gurney and bent over to check for vitals while applying pressure to the wound. The child began to emit a slow groan from her frail form. The child's eyes opened and fixed on Carson. "It's going to be ok sweetheart," he said.

"Shh, baby, mommy is here," the mother said through a face-full of tears. “Mommy won't leave you.”

The three of them were crouched over the child. Carson began to become puzzled that he couldn't find a pulse. The child reached out for Carson's hand, and he realized three of the girl's fingers had been torn off. A fourth finger hung by a small piece of skin.

Kimberly felt bile begin to rise up from her stomach, and she fled to find the nearest restroom.

Carson grabbed for the girl's wrist, and he applied pressure behind the wound. The child’s face lunged at Carson's arm. It sunk teeth deep into his flesh. The mother desperately grabbed for her injured child, and Carson screamed out in pain.

"I need help,” shouted Carson, “someone hold her please."

"What are you doing?” the mother gasped. “You’re hurting her." The mother tried to intervene and separate her daughter from Carson, but the child turned on her. The child's teeth found the softness of her mother's neck. Blood sprayed from the internal pressure of the mother's heart.

Carson's eyes darted desperately around the parking lot. He sought some source from which to call for help, but his eyes only took in a scene of utter anarchy. A melee of several fights had started. People were thrashing and tearing at each other. Some people attempted to stop the fights. Others ran from the violence. Shouting and screams filled the air.

Kimberly didn’t make it inside the hospital before she bent over to vomit. It weakened her knees, and she felt dizzy on her feet. She collapsed and just managed to sit upright on the sidewalk curb.

Glass shattered behind her, and she turned to see three women push a man through the window to the ground. They fell on him with violence. The man was individually stronger than any of the women, but they outnumbered him and were relentless as they tore at his body. He punched and kicked at them, but they ignored his blows. She saw the man’s intestines appear in one of the women’s hands. The man screamed as the woman pulled foot after foot of intestines from his abdomen. Kimberly picked herself up off the ground and ran into the building to find help.

Inside the hospital, lifesaving efforts had turned into desperate bids for survival by the staff. Kimberly was forced into a stairwell after being chased by one of the undead. In the stairwell, she found that two of the undead were a floor below her. They scurried up the steps to get at her.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Kimberly pleaded as she ran up the steps. They came on anyway. She screamed for help, but her breath became heavy from the effort to climb flight after flight. She could hear their footsteps pounding up behind her.

Kimberly gained some distance on her pursuers and threw open the door to the next level she came across. In the hallway of the floor, people thrashed and kicked at one another. A hand reached out from the other side of the door and brushed against her sleeve barely missing. Kimberly pulled the door closed as fast as she could. She could hear someone scratching on the door while footsteps closed in behind her. She continued up the steps pausing at each level only to find the same struggle playing out on each floor.

Kimberly’s energy depleted with every step. In a desperate bid, she ran out of the stairwell into the 10 thfloor main hallway. The undead were there and were summoned to the sound of the door closing behind her.

She threw herself into a nearby utility closet and locked it behind her. It was dark in the closet; the only illumination was coming in from the the hallway outside. Shadows danced in the light underneath the door as forms closed in. She fumbled along the walls looking for a light switch. On the door to the closet, the undead beat away.

###

Donna sat on a couch in Jack’s house. The two of them had taken refuge on the third floor. What had once been an attic, had been fully finished and converted into an office with a living room.

Donna stroked Jack’s cat, “What’s your cat’s name?”

“Naomi,” he replied. “She’s more than just a cat; she’s practically my child.”

Jack paced from window to window, keeping a constant vigil on his property. He suggested that she take a shower and wash off the grime from her ordeal.

Donna was amazed at how good the shower felt. It washed away some of the trauma but not all of it. None of what she had seen seemed real to her. She sat in an over-sized sweater and sweat-pants that belonged to Jack. The clothes felt warm and soft on her, even though they were too large. The cat also helped restore a sense of counterbalance to the fear in her heart. For the moment, she almost felt safe. They were silent for a time and listened to the occasional gunfire going off in various places in the city.

Jack stood by the window with his fingers holding two slats of a blind apart. He looked through the opening down at the brick lined street below. “My neighbor is looking up at me,” Jack said.

Donna turned her head to look at him. “Is he trying to get your attention?” Donna asked.

“No, he is just standing there,” Jack said. “He’s also missing an arm.”

Naomi, sensing the tension, shifted uneasily on Donna’s lap. Donna’s heart beat faster at the thought of the armless neighbor below. “I don’t understand how this can be happening,” she said.