Packing my things, not sure when I would return to the church, I headed northeast to the hospital again. Most of the trip was uneventful, but as I approached the doors I saw some people on Burrowes Ave. When I saw that two of them were doing their best to fend off the third, I realized it was a zombie. As I got closer to try to help, I saw another zombie attacking two people on Eadie Drive.
I worked quickly, using five first-aid kits to help a badly hurt soldier with his wounds. His tag said eXleon, but he was in such bad shape I couldn’t get him to talk. I don’t believe I ever saw him again after that day.
As I circled the hospital to assess the situation, I saw one more zombie was trying to get through the fencing of the junkyard next to the police department. With a large horde to the south, I wonder if loners would be around more often. I decided it was safer inside the hospital.
Getting inside, I found the place to be surprisingly busy. Over 50 people, either tending to the wounded or conversing over any and all topics. It felt refreshingly normal.
I approached the secretary at the main desk to report what I saw outside. I mentioned the 13 zombies at St. Agatho’s Church as well. I didn’t know what else to do, so I searched for supplies to replace what I used outside. I found enough for two FAKs before exhaustion made me realize I needed to rest.
I woke up to the sound of someone cocking a pistol. “I’m gonna go zed huntin’! Wish me luck!” He was oddly dressed. He wore a nurse gown, with a strait jacket on top, but he also had an obscene amount of hardware. He had four shotguns strapped to his back, with six pistol holsters. One of them was empty, and he was holding its pistol out in front of him as he left the hospital. I later learned that he was known as Private Houston.
Someone was hurt, and as most of the people were busy, I was drafted to help. I had a mentor help me, and even though I felt like I had botched the entire process, I managed to cure my patient of infection and clean and bandage the wound. With the facilities of a powered hospital, I realized I could do a lot more good here, especially if a room was available.
Upon returning, Private Houston announced that there were 4 military survivors still out on the streets around the hospital.
“Are the zeds coming here?” asked a small girl. I was shocked to see her here, and I was glad someone else took the initiative to calm her down. “A kitty zed? I think we might have missed something here, Alvy,” said one woman to another. Alvy replied with, “I wonder what happened to the zed squirrel I let loose in the air vents awhile back.” It was a strange conversation to have, but what would you say in front of a child who had to grow up in Malton?