Nineteen

The corpses behind the glass doors writhed and grasped at them. Park stared at them, rifle slung over his shoulder. Why had he come back? What was he doing standing here with these people? He could have been dead by now.

"You sure guns will be enough?" asked Kristen, looking at Angie. "I'll have to push Dad."

"Glad someone thought of that," said Mr. Paulson.

Angie looked at Kristen, then Mr. Paulson. "Wait here." She slung the rifle over her shoulder and walked down the hallway. Park noticed she walked around Sam and Freeda but didn't look down.

"And what's on your deep ocean of a mind?" said Mr. Paulson.

"How much you'll slow me down," said Park.

Kristen scowled at him. Good. Last thing he wanted was anymore fucking friends.

It would be so easy to just blow his head off right now. Let them have one extra gun and one less person. Easy.

Angie walked back in, pushing an electric wheelchair. "Forgot we stored these in the back room."

Mr. Paulson snorted. "You mean I could have had one of those fuckers all this time?"

"Sure looks that way," said Angie. She pushed the chair until it was right next to Mr. Paulson.

"Here," she said, grabbing Mr. Paulson's arm. Kristen grabbed the other one and they helped Mr. Paulson over to the new chair.

Angie moved to switch the oxygen tank from one chair to the other. She glanced at Kristen, doting over her father. Kristen's face was red and taut. Full of anguish. Angie's face briefly softened, but the look was quickly gone. Damn right, thought Park. Stupid bitch got her friend killed.

The tank done, Angie stepped over to the front of the wheelchair. "Push the button here," she said, pointing.

"I know how to do it," said Mr. Paulson, pushing her hand away. He pushed a button on the right arm of the chair and the joystick-like controller lit up. He pulled the controller back and the chair lurched backward, almost hitting Kristen.

"Whoopsie-daisy," said Kristen, her voice raw and flat. She laughed but her eyes weren't in it. Park considered offering to shoot her, but he chuckled and looked away.

"What's so funny?" said Angie.

"Nothing," said Park. "Can we go anytime soon?"

"Damn," said Kristen, looking at her hands. Black grease from the wheelchair's underside was smeared across her fingers.

"Better wash those," said Angie. "Don't want to drop anything once we're out there."

Kristen walked over to the sink and turned on the hot water. It sputtered, spit out a few drops, then stopped. Kristen turned on the cold. Nothing.

"What's wrong?" said Angie, walking over. Park followed, curious.

"Great, just great," said Kristen, wiping her hands on her shirt. She sniffed and rubbed at one of her eyes. Black smeared across her cheek. "The water's out."

"Something must have happened to the main," said Park. "All kinds of shit going on out there, it's a wonder the lights haven't gone off for good yet."

Angie nodded. "Wait, if the water's off..." She looked around at the ceiling. "Give me your lighter."

"I'm out of cigarettes," said Park. "Can't help you there."

"Just the lighter," Angie said, not taking her eyes off the ceiling.

Park shrugged. He fished out his lighter and handed it to her.

Angie walked over to the nurse's desk and climbed up onto it.

"What the holy fuck are you doing up there?" said Mr. Paulson, wheeling himself over. "I thought dumbshit there broke the ladder. And besides, how would I..."

"Now, Dad," said Kristen, walking over to him. "Let's just see what she's doing." She sounded upbeat but her voice was shaking.

Angie flicked the lighter on and held it up to the nearest sprinkler. The sprinkler sputtered out a few drops but otherwise did not respond.

Angie smiled. "If the water's off, then so are the sprinklers." She tossed the lighter back to Park, then jumped down off the desk. "And you said they don't like fire, right?"

Park nodded. "Yeah, but we've just got the one lighter."

"Two," said Mr. Paulson, fishing an old-fashioned butane lighter from his hospital robe.

"Dad!" said Kristen. "What do you have that for?"

"I use it to warm my balls, what the hell do you think?" said Mr. Paulson.

Park looked at Mr. Paulson, then back to Angie. "Okay then, two. Now we have twice the amount of jack shit we had before."

"Wait here," said Angie, walking over to the sink. She opened some cabinets and started rooting around.

Park looked over at Kristen and Mr. Paulson. Kristen was doting and Mr. Paulson was sulking.

It would be so easy to shoot himself. But he wanted to see what Angie had planned.

Angie pulled out a plastic jug of something. Then two more. Then three more. She took one of the jugs and carried it over.

"Rubbing alcohol," she said. "Won't burn for long but it will burn. Watch."

She took Park's lighter from his hand without asking. She walked over to one of the glass doors. Corpses writhed and bit at her. She splashed some of the alcohol on the door and lit it. Flame roared across the glass for a few seconds, then was gone. The glass was scorched and darkened and the room smelled of smoke. But behind the glass, the corpses had backed up several feet.

Park raised an eyebrow and nodded. "That would definitely help."

Angie nodded back at him. She held out his lighter. Park shook his head. "Keep it. You start fires, I'll shoot." He smirked at her.

She smirked back and put the lighter in her smock pocket. "Okay then. Let's see what else we have we can use as weapons."

Mr. Paulson pointed at the jugs of alcohol. "I hope you aren't planning on me carrying all those fuckers."

Angie looked down at Mr. Paulson, then reached for his waist.

"What the fuck?" said Mr. Paulson. Angie grabbed the belt of his hospital robe and pulled it free.

"Hospital property," she said. She walked over to the jugs of alcohol. She threaded the belt through four of the jug handles, then lifted it all up off the counter. She tied the belt around her waist, two jugs dangling at each hip. She double knotted and pulled it so tight Park winced.

"That's gotta hurt," said Park.

"You bet it does," said Angie. "But it'll work."

Park nodded. "Got anything sharp? Scalpels or some shit?"

Angie thought about it, then walked to another counter. She pulled open a drawer and pulled out packets of scalpels and blades. She opened the protective plastic and put four scalpels together. She stuck one in the robe belt. She handed the other three out to Park, Kristen and Mr. Paulson.

"They don't feel pain," said Angie, “but you can use these to cut free a finger or hand. Wish we had something that could cut deeper, but surgeries aren't generally done at the nurse's station."

Angie paused, looking at Kristen. "Here," she said. She took the rifle off her shoulder and handed it to her. "Since Mr. Paulson can move himself now, you can use this."

Kristen blanched at the sight of the gun. "I'm not really that good with a gun..."

Angie cut her off. "You were good enough to pretend to shoot Sam. Just take it. Aim for the brain and try not to waste ammo."

Kristen took the gun.

Angie turned to look at the three glass doors. The corpses had returned to the scorched one. All three doors were covered with corpses, squirming and grasping. Park stepped up next to her.

"Which door?" he said, taking his rifle off his shoulder.

Angie shrugged. She picked up a fifth jug of alcohol and popped off the cap. She took out the lighter. "I don't suppose it matters." She pointed at the one in the middle. "Though that one will give us a choice of two hallways at the middle of it. It splits off. One half goes straight to the emergency room. That's the hallway we came down to get here. The other half goes to the cafeteria, laundry room, and eventually back around to just outside the emergency room."

"Always good to have choices," said Park. "I guess we'll do that one."

Angie turned to the others. "We ready?"