Nightfall Protocol:A Zombie Romance

Chapter Four

The stairwell smelled like copper and static, that particular tang of blood mixed with the ozone hum of emergency lighting. Each step up sent a fresh throb through my wounded leg, but I pushed the pain down into the same place I'd been shoving everything else tonight — a locked box somewhere in the back of my mind, to be dealt with later, if there was a later.

Second floor landing. I paused at the door, pressing my ear to the cold metal, listening for movement on the other side. Nothing but silence, thick and expectant.

I eased it open.

The hallway beyond was worse than the one I'd left behind. Overhead lights buzzed erratically, throwing the space into strobing fragments of light and dark. Patient rooms lined both sides, doors hanging open, curtains torn from their rails. And bodies — too many bodies, some unmoving, some that I watched carefully for any twitch of movement that would tell me they weren't done yet.

"Mia," I called again, softer this time, testing the silence rather than breaking it.

A sound answered — not a growl, not the wet chewing I'd learned to dread, but a sharp, muffled gasp, quickly stifled. It came from a supply closet halfway down the hall, door cracked just an inch.

I approached slow, weapon low but ready, and knocked two soft raps against the frame. "If you're in there and you're breathing, I'm a cop. My name's Andrew. I'm not going to hurt you."

A long pause. Then the door creaked open, and a face peered out — not Mia, but a young man in hospital scrubs, maybe an orderly, eyes wide and red-rimmed from crying or fear or both.

"Oh God," he breathed, sagging with relief at the sight of my badge. "Oh God, you're real. Please — please, is it over? Is someone coming?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "But I need information. Have you seen a woman — brown hair, mid-thirties, was carrying a camera crew ID? Her name's Mia."

He shook his head slowly, and something in my chest sank another inch. "I've been in here for almost an hour. I heard people running, screaming. I didn't look. I couldn't—" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It wasn't, not really, but there wasn't time to unpack that. "Listen to me. You need to get out of here. Down to the loading dock on the ground floor, then out through the alley. Stay low, stay quiet, and if you see anything that doesn't look right, don't wait to find out — just run."

He nodded fast, gratitude and terror fighting for space on his face. "Thank you. Thank you, I—"

"Go," I said, and he went, sprinting past me down the hallway toward the stairwell, footsteps echoing until they faded into silence.

I kept moving, room by room, calling Mia's name at a volume that felt too loud and too quiet all at once. Most rooms were empty, abandoned mid-evacuation — IV poles knocked over, call buttons still blinking uselessly for nurses who would never answer them again. A few held things I didn't examine too closely.

It was in the fourth room that I found the first real clue: Mia's press badge, lying on the floor beside an overturned rolling cart, the lanyard snapped clean in half like it had been torn away in a struggle. My stomach dropped as I picked it up, running my thumb over her photo, the easy smile she always wore for identification pictures like the world wasn't something to be afraid of.

She'd been here. Recently, judging by the way the coffee cup on the counter still had steam curling faintly off its surface.

"Mia!" This time I didn't bother keeping my voice down. Whatever was hunting through this hospital already knew I was here — subtlety wasn't buying me anything anymore.

A crash echoed from somewhere further down the hall, followed by a voice — human, frantic, unmistakably hers.

"Andrew?! Andrew, is that you?!"

Relief hit me like a physical blow, so intense it nearly buckled my knees. "Mia! Keep talking, I'm coming to you!"

"I'm trapped — there's too many of them, I can't—" Her voice broke off into a scream, and my blood turned to ice.

I ran, ignoring every protest from my leg, following the sound of her voice down the corridor and around a corner into a scene straight from a nightmare. Mia was backed into a dead-end alcove, a fire extinguisher gripped in both hands like a club, swinging desperately at two of those creatures closing in from either side. Her camera crew — or what was left of them — lay motionless on the ground nearby, and I didn't let myself look too long.

"Get down!" I shouted, already raising my weapon.

She dropped instantly, years of trusting each other in worse situations than this kicking in without hesitation. I fired twice — one round each, clean headshots that dropped both creatures in a heap just feet from where she crouched, trembling but alive.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Mia was up, crossing the space between us in three quick strides, and I caught her as she collapsed into me, her whole body shaking.

"You came," she said into my shoulder, voice raw. "I knew you'd come."

"Always," I said, and meant it more than I'd meant anything in years. "But we need to move. Now. This place isn't safe, and it's not getting safer."

She pulled back, wiping at her eyes, forcing steel back into her spine even as fear still shook her hands. "There's something you need to know first. Something I saw before all this started."

"What?"

Her eyes found mine, dead serious despite everything. "This wasn't an accident, Andrew. I have proof. Someone did this on purpose."