Feed Them Their Own

Feed Them Their Own

Dustin Miller

Copyright © 2019 Dustin Miller

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2019

ISBN 978-1-64628-709-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64628-710-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Hospital

The Security Tower

On The Road

Attempt to Maintain Order

The Horrific Truth

Wrangling 'Em Up

Wake-Up Call

Feeding The Undead

The Warden

Transformation

Held Up

Escape

Awaiting Departure

Their Numbers Grow

Cellblock A

Internal Collapse

Breach

Dark Days Ahead

About the Author

The Hospital

Are you going to the hospital today? were the first words out of my mouth.

I was on the phone with my older sister, Claire. Our uncle, Avery, had been in intensive care after having a severe stroke only a few days before.

I can't make it this time, Steve. I'm pulling a double. One of the employees came down with something pretty serious I heard, and I'm behind on my rent, she replied.

Claire worked as a waitress, full-time, at a mom-and-pop Mexican food restaurant. Not exactly what she had intended for her life, but she seemed to be content—and I never brought the topic up for discussion.

Knowing that there were no other relatives or close friends in town, I became anxious, realizing that I would be the only one able to make it down there.

I'm sorry, little bro, but you're going to have to go it alone on this one.

All right, well, I guess I'll give you a call in the morning to let you know what the latest news is, I said, and we gave our last goodbyes.

Sounds good, I'll talk to you then. Love ya.

Unenthused, I murmured, Yeah, love you too, bye, and then tossed the phone to my side after hanging up.

I reluctantly got out of bed and went out into the living room of the one-bedroom apartment I had just moved into a month before. Tiny little cramped place, still crowded with unpacked boxes and all my belongings. But the rent was low, and my neighbors were pleasant enough. I figured that once I had gotten everything unpacked and set up, it would feel more like home—I just wasn't used to the place yet.

Entering the small room, I glanced over at my television but walked past it, knowing that if I had turned it on, it would only prolong the process of getting ready to leave. With the hospital being located in the next town over, the drive usually took about two hours, depending on whether or not you were going to exceed the speed limit of fifty miles per hour, which I usually did.

We had had our fair share of bad experiences with hospitals in the past, my sister and I. Our mother had passed away two years before of cancer. We had practically lived at the damn place—staying overnight, watching over her helplessly and not knowing what might lay ahead, which had gone on for quite a while.

After her passing, I moved in with a couple of friends of mine while still being in a deep depression and not believing that this could ever happen. But I always knew in the back of my mind that one day I would inevitably lose her.

Once I had gotten a stable job, working a forklift in a warehouse, and was able to save up some money, I moved to the other side of town, hoping to escape my own reality; I didn't want to look back, but the whole situation seemed to be repeating itself already—only this time on a smaller scale.

I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, and the first thing I noticed was the amount of parking spaces available. I had been here several times before, and parking was always an issue, but today was different. I just figured it was a dead time for visitations—no big deal, just seemed strange for this time of day.

I found a parking spot near the front entrance, pulled into it quickly, and parked my truck. As I walked through the entrance doors of the building, that horrible smell came over me. Everyone I had ever talked to about hospitals always mentioned that smell. Sterilization, medical supplies, and even the aroma from the awful cafeteria food seemed to have found its way into the air. It was the unpleasant contrast between order and death, and it always made me feel a bit uneasy.

There weren't many people roaming the first floor of the hospital, only a handful of nurses, staff, and one janitor minding his own business as he was mopping the floors.

Already feeling uncomfortable, I took a deep breath and quickly made my way toward the elevator, which was located about twenty feet ahead of me. I arrived in front of the two large metal-plated doors and pressed the button to go up. A bell rang, and the doors slid open in front of me. I entered the small, brightly lit space and continued by moving upward to the fourth floor. The bell sounded once more, and the doors opened again. Immediately I could see doctors and nurses moving frantically about, looking over charts, going about their business, seeming to put everything else on hold, focusing on what was most important.

Walking past the other patients' rooms was always one of the hardest parts of coming here. Seeing helpless patients with tubes going into their bodies, family members' looking over their loved ones, not knowing what was going to happen next, and I would always think to myself, What happened to them? How serious is it? Would this be their last day on earth? And I would find myself being overtaken by sadness and anxiety. I didn't even know these people, but every family on that floor could relate with one another.

I entered my uncle's room slowly and approached his bedside. Avery, Uncle Avery, are you awake? I said to him as he lay nonresponsive in his bed.

The room was stuffy and felt thick with overwhelming heat. I could see the beads of sweat moving slowly down his face. I called a nurse into the room, and a familiar face responded, Brenda. She had been watching over my uncle since he had arrived at the intensive care. A very kind and patient woman who seemed to never let anything bring her down. She left no time available during the day for pessimism to manifest because she knew it only took one small instance of doubt to destroy someone's positive outlook. Any time I visited the hospital, I wondered how anyone could want to become a nurse with all the grief and death that came along with the occupation, but as I thought about it that evening, Brenda began to explain something to me which seemed to solidify her optimistic outlook on the medical field—at least in my eyes.

You know, usually the family or close friends of the patients ask me how I can do the things I do throughout my long shifts without collapsing or getting overwhelmed and walking out. Every nurse or even doctor I know almost always gets asked that same question or something in that vein, but you haven't said one thing the entire time since you've been coming here, Brenda said, looking at me with a cutesy smirk as she playfully gave me a hard time.

Well, it's not like I'm not curious. I just figured you get asked those types of questions all the time, it would be like asking a German how they feel about Hitler and the Holocaust, I said and continued. I guess for me it's a sanitation issue. I don't do well with bodily fluids.

Ha, ha, ha. Yeah, I figured. Obviously, you've never had kids, said Brenda.

I glanced down at the light reflecting off the tiled floor and shook my head from left to right in embarrassment. To me, it didn't help matters that I looked so young for my age. I was twenty-nine, but appearance-wise, I looked more like I was nineteen. Some said that was a good thing, but I disagreed, feeling as though I was never taken seriously because I was thought of as immature.

Brenda continued to lightly giggle and said, I have three, and, yes, at first it can be deterring having to clean up bodily fluids from any person, including your own child, but by baby number two, you become desensitized, and those things become second nature. You realize, or at least I did, that caring for a baby becomes a passion but also a full-time job. Baby number one is pretty much played out in a hazy fog. Hardly any sleep and you have no time to stop.

I sat and listened intently.

The most important thing to do in this field is to sincerely care for the patients and of course keep them alive, monitor them constantly. I can honestly say that I love my job, but the past four years of working have been the most stressful time of my life. Even more so than the time I've spent raising my kids.

Really? I said, raising my eyebrows.

Oh yeah, think about it. When a woman becomes pregnant, she instantly becomes a caregiver, nurturing the child inside of her womb for nine months. By the time the baby is born, the woman already has an established relationship with the infant. The child is an extension of the woman. When a patient comes in, they are injured or are in some type of danger. We have to get information out of them just to have some idea of who the person is and what led to the traumatic incident. A lot of the time, when it's bad enough, we have to resort to getting the information from the family members, and in many cases the family won't even show up or can't be reached. It's times like those that take their toll on your mental state. She finished changing my uncle's saline bag and then turned to me with a humble smile on her face.

I smiled back at her and said, Why are you telling me all of this? That's a lot of personal information to be sharing with someone you barely know.

Remember, Steve, I started the conversation, and besides, I enjoy bragging about my job, she replied with both hands raised at her side.

Her confidence and humor became infectious and had me enamored. I directed my attention back to Uncle Avery after beginning to blush and immediately snapped out of my daze when I saw the increase of sweat on his body, seeping through his gown. I paused and recollected my thoughts, reminding myself why I was there.

Brenda, is there any way we could get the air conditioner going in here? It's getting a little hot, I said, rubbing the side of my face with my right hand.

She glanced at Avery, taking notice of his appearance and said, Oh, of course. Now that you mention it, it is a bit stuffy in here. I'll take care of that right away. Talk to you in a bit, and she walked out.

Checking my uncle's vitals and looking over him for a moment, I walked over to the window and opened the curtains to get some sunlight into the room. The view from the room was actually quite nice, overlooking the city and, of course, the parking lot below. I looked up toward the sky and noticed several helicopters distanced away from each other, hovering above the city.

Must be an escapee, I told myself, not thinking much of it.

I walked back over to Avery and pulled a chair up next to his bedside. I rested my head back into the seat cushion, still pretty exhausted from the night before. I didn't get much sleep, and it had been like that for the past few nights. I was beginning to feel a bit stir crazy.

I could finally feel the cool air entering the room through the vents, and seeing that Avery was still in a deep comatose-like state, I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off.

* * * * *

Waking up to the sunlight hitting my face, I realized that the sun was setting as the darkness was slowly creeping in. I had been passed out for at least two hours. I got up from out of my chair and stretched my limbs, causing a few moments of light-headedness. I glanced over at Avery who was still lying peacefully in the hospital bed asleep. Poor guy; I didn't know when he would be awake from what seemed like an endless daze, and there was nothing I could do for him—all any of us could do was patiently wait on the sidelines.

I peered out through the doorway, noticing the desk where the nurses and doctors sat but saw no one at their stations or anyone around that area. Then two nurses, not including Brenda, walked into the room.

"Mr. Williams, would you mind stepping out for a moment? We need to change your uncle's