Noah jogged across the street. He checked the area, switching his attention between the open space of the road and the group of trapped freaks. The activity of a few had drawn more to the fence. He eyed the metal frame. He hoped to hell it could take the strain from the push and pull of the restless undead.

With no immediate danger, he headed toward the few tents he could access. He slowed as he approached the hanging tarp. Though he figured it to be true, he wasn’t going to make the mistake of presuming all dangers had been drawn out into the open. Noah used the ax to push the sheet to one side. He leaned forward and checked the interior. The tent was in disarray. A table had been knocked over, scattering paperwork across the ground. Bloody footprints were visible on the papers, as well as smeared lines down the canvas side. Noah swallowed hard, then stepped inside. He glanced down at the sheets of paper. The notes were in shorthand but they appeared to be from some kind of itinerary—dates, times, and initials.

There has to be something.

Noah crossed the tent to the other table. More documents were spread across the tabletop. He picked up a page and examined the scrawled handwriting.

Ian Braunstein, Anna Laney, Peter Martin.

There were more names, some he recognized as he scanned the list. Each name had a line drawn through it. He read the information beside each name. There were more times and dates, some personal data like height and weight, where they lived, their jobs.

Sample reactive. Sample reactive.

Noah noted the repeated phrase attached to every name. “What sample?” he said to himself.

The day he and his father had come to the hospital everything had gone to shit. Everyone in the city had been asked to report to the base at the ER. Noah had never gotten the chance. The undead nightmare had hit Garnett with a vicious force.

A noise outside disturbed him from his memories. He returned the page to the table, then he crouched and listened. The muscles in his arm were taut as he gripped the ax. He watched the legs of a single freak as it shuffled past the open entrance of the tent.

Was it just one?

Noah moved around the table to the opening. He dared to break cover, leaning out of the door to check for others. The zombie-freak was alone. Reaffirming his hold on the ax, Noah took action. The undead man was focused on the fenced area and the sound of the trapped and restless group. A few swift steps and Noah was behind him. Noah raised the ax, swinging it hard at the monster’s rotted head. There was a horrible sound as the blade of the ax cut into skull and brain. The monster made a strange whine before crumpling to the ground.

The ax was lodged deep. “Come on.” Noah levered the handle until the blade pulled free. He looked up and at the fence. Half the monsters were pressed against the gates. He eyed the chain as it tightened.

Fuck. He needed to get inside and out of sight.

Noah broke into a jog, made for the hospital building and ascended the ramp to the main entrance. The glass panes in the doors were splintered in circular webs. He wrapped his hand around the handles and pulled hard. The doors opened a small distance before stopping dead with a clatter. Noah checked inside. A chain, similar to the one on the gates, held the doors tight. He chewed on his lip.

Who had chained the door? When and why? It had been eight months. Could there still be anyone alive in there? Noah straightened and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t stay out here and he wasn’t about to give up and head back to the prison.

Not yet. Not without something, anything. The army doctors had been testing people, maybe searching for someone like him. Could they have known?

Noah pushed one door, tightening the chain. He was reluctant to break the links. He eyed the gap. There was no way he could fit through. He checked behind him. He couldn’t guarantee what or who else might stumble this way.

I need to get inside.

There was no time to find another way in. He’d have to do his best to secure the doors when he got in there.

Resting his back against the door, Noah pushed it as far as he could. The angle wasn’t ideal, but he managed to get the ax through the gap. His first attempt glanced off the door handle, only managing to scratch one of the metal links. He tried again, failing to do any damage.

Come on.

Noah hit out once more. One link contorted under the weight of the strike. They had always made it look so damn easy on TV.

Too much noise.

Noah tensed his jaw. Changing his strategy, Noah fed the chain through the handles until he had the padlock. It looked cheap and Noah hoped it would be easier to break. He pushed his foot against the door, allowing him more space to lean back and swing. He aimed for the top of the lock, smashing the ax down over and over with heavy blows. Relief swelled in him as the pressure of the door against his foot lessened. The shackle had been forced, and the padlock swung open.

Finally. He unhooked the broken padlock and pulled the chain free. The door opened easily and he stepped inside. The entrance hall was illuminated by an eerie, dim glow, as sunlight hit dust in the air to create hazy streaks. The noise of breaking the lock had alerted nothing to his presence, at least not yet. After pushing the door closed, he checked through the window. It was clear him being here had agitated the freaks within the fenced area. He wished it would be a case of out of sight, out of mind, but he knew those things could be relentless.

I need to secure the door.

He threaded the chain in a figure of eight through the handles, knotting the ends as best he could. He gave it a tug. Without some kind of lock to hold it in place, there was no guarantee it would stay where it was, not when pressure was applied to the doors. He took a step back.

There has to be something here I can use.

Noah spun around and inspected the area for anything to secure the door. Beside the reception desk were two IV stands. Noah gripped the ax and walked over to the stands. The silence inside the building was unnerving, but equally disturbing was the chorus of groans outside, together with the sound of the swaying fence and the thud of the undead hands against the window. The combined noises echoed along the corridor to his left.

Slowing, he edged around the desk, checking the space behind it. The sight of blood caused cold patches along his spine. Noah wasn’t sure why it bothered him. He had seen so much blood and gore in the last eight months it barely affected him anymore. So much of the violence and loss had unmoved him, just more stains on his soul. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened, so why let it bother him. He knew he had become detached from the reality of the horror he had seen, finding it easier to make some quip, or give a shrug and carry on.

Noah eyed the old dark stain, noting the drag marks that disappeared around the corner and into one of the corridors. The screams of the city’s people echoed around him as bad memories. He was overwhelmed by a sense of grief. This was where it had all started for him, just outside. The first time he had seen the monsters rise with the contorted, wild faces of people he’d grown up with, people he had known.

Noah closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He wished Devin was with him as his grief spun him in circles.

I’m sorry. That’s what he wanted to tell Devin. Sorry he had run out on him. Sorry he had been so stupid.

A noise from outside snapped Noah out of his self-ridicule. He rolled the IV stands to the door. He picked up the first and examined the wheeled base. It was screwed onto the end of the pole. After some effort, Noah managed to loosen the base to unscrew it. He then did the same to the second stand, discarding the wheels and sending them spinning across the tiled floor.

Noah lowered the telescopic poles to their shortest length. The poles were hollow and lightweight, but together with the chain, he was sure they were enough to hold the door. He pushed the first through the handles, managing to feed it through the loops he had made with the chain. The second pole he pushed in from the other side, crossing the first. He pushed on the door, then he pulled.

It’ll be enough.

He peered through the broken glass in the door. There was no clear view of the fenced area, but the street seemed to be empty. Blowing a breath, he turned around. He checked the reception entrance and looked from one corridor to the next.

Where do I even start?

With the ax in one hand, Noah drew the handgun from his waist. He released the safety and held it out in front of him as he remembered Devin’s instruction. He focused on the front sight and aimed from one target to the next—a chair, a plant pot, a vaccination poster, the back of the computer screen on the front desk.

Satisfied, Noah lowered the gun and pressed his finger to the side of the weapon. He considered the options in front of him. He could hear the low thuds of the undead scrambling for entry at the window of a room off the corridor to his left. He wondered what had drawn them there. Could it have been a living person? Or had it been something undead? The corridors at either side of the reception desk were equally formidable. He recalled the drag marks disappearing down the corridor to the left of the desk. The other corridor was littered with debris where part of the ceiling had collapsed, overturned beds and equipment, and a set of double doors where all he could see beyond through the glass panels was darkness.

Noah checked the various signs on the walls. Where would the army have set up if they had been seeking answers?

Anywhere there was space.

Grinding his teeth, Noah scanned the various department names. There had to be some sort of laboratory. The army doctors had been taking samples so they must have been working on them somewhere. Nothing was explicitly written on the signs. The closest, he guessed, might have been the pathology department. They’d have worked with samples and in labs. He might be wrong, but at least it gave him a starting point.

Noah walked around the front of the desk then stopped. He eyed a blood trail that disappeared beneath closed doors. One wall along the corridor was made up of large windows, looking out onto an enclosed garden area. He stared out at the patio. Weeds had shot up through the pebble paths and bark-covered borders. A birdbath sat in the corner nearest him. Stagnant green water filled the bowl. He edged toward the window and lowered his head as he noted the decaying bodies of three, no four, people outside. It was such a strange scene, two lay on the path, their hands and feet visible through the greenery that had grown around them. The other two, a man and a woman were slumped on one of the benches around the centerpiece of the garden—large stones and smooth spheres that might have once been fountains.

Noah focused on the deceased man’s hand and the revolver still clutched in his cold, dead grip. They had chosen death. In some way he envied them. Their final moment almost peaceful in its imagery despite the gunshot wounds and blood.

Tension crept across Noah’s shoulders. He got the sense of being watched. Gripping the gun, he peered over his shoulder to where the noise of the fenced undead echoed in the otherwise silent reception. He tilted his head and listened.

A bang from behind him made him jump and he spun around. A freak stood on the other side of the ceiling-to-floor window. He examined the long smear of dirt and blood across each pane of glass. He leaned closer, unable to see the adjacent corner beyond the closed corridor door. The thing must have been down there somewhere. The freak was male and wearing a military outfit and some kind of gas mask. The sandy colored material of its shirt was ripped and bloody. Its pale skin sagged over visible ribs. From its appearance, it had been inside the glass box for quite some time.

The monster swayed on unsteady feet, before weakly pawing at the window. Through the dirty and cracked mask, Noah could make out the freak’s deformed teeth. A sad smile crossed Noah’s lips as he looked back at the couple on the bench—their decaying bodies intact, unsullied, and safe from the wasting freak.

Noah narrowed his eyes when light reflected in the glass, disappeared then reappeared. There was the crunch of something, like someone stepping on broken glass. Fear gripped him as movement caught his eye. He turned with his gun raised. There was someone there. A heavy blow to his side winded him. The gun went off as his arm was forced above his head. Dust fell from the ceiling.

“The gun. Now.” The voice was deep, male, and held the hint of an accent.

Wait. They’re alive. They’re people.

Noah went to shout out, to assure his attackers he meant them no harm. But it seemed the sentiment wasn’t mutual as he was forced back against the glass, the gun snatched from his hand. He gripped the handle of the ax as his attacker held him by the wrist. For a split second, he had the chance to study the person standing in front of him. The lower half of their face was covered with a mask, they had protective gear on their forearms and chest, and folds of material wrapped around their neck.

“Wait,” Noah managed as he was pushed to his knees. The ax slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor. His plea was cut short by a sharp pain to the back of his head. His world spun. Then he hit the ground.