He stomped away.
I glanced at Alyssa. So far, only Renati hadn’t been a complete dickbag to me at one point or another. “Are they all such assholes?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why do you think everyone’s been requesting you?”
“People are requesting me?”
She grinned.
I packed up my gear and moved toward the end of the tent, ready to start my rounds all over again.
Everything went splendidly for a good hour or so.
The crunching sounds became evident as I ambled down the row of beds.
Someone was gnawing on something—one medic had warned me about patients sneaking in crackers, though at this point I couldn’t see the harm. I decided to give the offending patient a stern look, then make a point of avoiding the area so they could finish up whatever snack they’d brought in. If we weren’t going to help these folks, we could at least let them eat.
The woman hunched over her bed, stuffing her face. “Miss,” I called, mindful of the people dozing around me. “Miss, we’re not really supposed to have food in here…”
Her head shot up. I froze.
Reddened, rheumy eyes stared across at me, and blood dribbled down her chin as her jaws moved up and down. I had seen that sunken-eyed look before far too often—in the newly dead and the recently returned.
Oh, fuck.
She lowered the limb she’d been snacking on—holy shit whose arm is that and where did she get it?—then stuck one leg off the side of the bed. Her back creaked as she straightened up, swinging her body around to stare at me.
No one seemed to have noticed. I kept waiting for the horrified gasps, for the shrieks and wackiness that inevitably followed the undead. Instead, I heard snores.
Because we fucking sedated them. I backed up a step.
The dead woman drew her lips back, her head canting to the side to snarl at me.
There were soldiers outside. I could summon them, and they could shoot her, and we could all forget this bullshit had ever happened.
But if I screamed for them, the lightly dozing patients might wake up and see a fucking zombie right next to them.
Then I’d really be in deep shit.
The revenant snarled and took a rattling step toward me, the arm still clenched firmly in her left hand. I lifted my hand as if to ward her off—who was I kidding? I didn’t have a gun, or a scalpel, or anything heavy…
I know. I’ll punch her! That’ll do it.
I had to get her away from my patients.
“Come on,” I whispered, edging backward a few steps. “Come get me, sweetcheeks.”
She staggered forward, her free right hand reaching for me. She nearly tripped over her own two feet, but caught herself and shambled forward. She couldn’t seem to straighten up, and hunched forward and to the side, pitching to the right with each step.
Where the hell had she even come from? I did a quick scan of the beds, but everyone seemed to be tucked in…
Oh. There, at the far corner, was an empty bed with the blanket puddled at the bottom. My vision in the murky conditions wasn’t all that great, but I thought I could make out a telltale stain in the center of the bed.
The death splotch.
Well, shit. How had I missed that on my last round?
She lurched after me. I kept backing up, glancing over my shoulder. All I had to do was get her out the tent flaps, and we’d be set—the soldiers in the courtyard could use her for target practice and that would be the end of this.
I kept the dead woman moving. We were almost there. “Come on, kitty,” I muttered. We had reached Alyssa’s bed. “Come on.”
Alyssa opened her eyes.
For a second there was only confusion across her face, as if she’d stumbled into or out of a strange dream. Then her eyes fixed on the dead woman pursuing me, and she tried to push herself up on her elbows. I shook my head slightly, lifting a finger to my lips. Don’t do anything, for God’s sake, don’t do anything.
Alyssa seemed to understand me, but she curled slowly into a ball, her gaze following the stilted steps of the revenant.
I glanced askance. There was nothing I could grab, aside from a handful of patients who looked frail enough to to toss.
Another patient stirred in his bed. All it would take was one scream and that would be it.
I quickened my pace. “Come on, honeybuns,” I said. “Move along.”
She hobbled forward, the awkward gait increasing minutely. “So you’re a quick one,” I whispered. “A little too quick.”
She crouched, swinging her hands back. The arm she’d been eating when I so rudely disturbed her flew across the tent and landed directly on the face of a dozing patient.
Well, fuck me.
The patient’s eyes snapped open upon this obviously very offensive slap in the face. The first thing he saw was the half-eaten arm draped across his mouth, and he predictably let out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead, if you’ll excuse the pun.