Dating After the End of the World - 2

The toe of my shoe taps quickly against the tiled floor while I wait for a pot of coffee to finish brewing. I only have a few minutes before a nurse or an attending physician comes looking for me, abruptly ending my reprieve. As a doctor in residency, my breaks are short and few and far between. Come on, come on, I silently plead, willing the process to speed up. A news bulletin flashes across the television screen hanging in the corner of the break room, snapping me out of my daze.

“ Tonight’s top story, a mysterious illness that popped up seemingly overnight is sending people to area hospitals in droves. Patients are reporting flu-like symptoms, such as nausea, brain fog, and debilitating headaches. Top health officials are unsure as to what caused the sudden outbreak, but their top priorities are to treat the symptoms and slow the spread. ”

Every year, we go through something like this. A new illness. A new outbreak. The news hypes it up for ratings. Crowds of fearful people show up at their local hospitals, complaining of sniffles and runny noses. And those prepping for the end of the world sit back, thinking this is it, this is the end. It never is, though. Modern medicine always prevails.

The door swings open and I sigh, realizing my break is finished before it even started. I glance over my shoulder, ready to address whoever is about to request my time and energy, but instead, I find Nate strolling in with no urgency whatsoever. He’s got it all—looks, height, brains, a great job, and a full head of hair—so I’m not exactly sure what it is he sees in me.

“Nate,” I say with a small smile.

His hand cups the back of my head, pulling me into him. Nate presses his lips hard into mine, and my cheeks immediately feel warm.

“It’s Dr. Warner,” he teases. “I’d hate to have to report you to HR.”

“I’d hate that too, Doctor,” I say before kissing him again. We both work long hours, our shifts overlapping here and there, so the moments we have together are fleeting. We try to make the most of them.

“Dr. Warner?” a voice calls out, interrupting us.

We quickly pull apart. Turning away from him, I wipe my mouth, straighten my top, and try to look as nonchalant as possible. Nurse Garcia stands in the doorway, a clipboard in hand. She saw what we were doing, but she pretends not to have noticed.

“Yes, Nurse Garcia, what is it?” Nate says, brushing his white coat flat and running a hand through his perfectly coiffed blond hair. Even though he’s my fiancé, I still don’t know how he maintains the shine and volume throughout a full fourteen-hour shift.

“Emergency waiting room is backed up due to that virus outbreak, and we’re out of room, so we can’t check any more people in. I contacted other area hospitals, and they’re in the same boat as we are, so what do you suggest we do?”

“Start discharging patients, then,” Nate says.

“No can do.” She shakes her head. “There aren’t any to discharge.”

Nate sighs heavily, scratching his brow. “Do we have more beds?”

Nurse Garcia nods.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and impatiently take a small sip, burning my tongue and upper lip in the process. I need the caffeine to get through the rest of my shift. I should be halfway done at this point, but given the state of the hospital, it’s most likely just starting.

“Have a few orderlies start lining the hallway closest to the emergency room with beds on either side. Space them six feet apart from one another, check in any patients reporting symptoms related to that unknown illness, and assign them to a hallway bed. Just mark them with numbers if you need to keep track. Bed one, bed two, et cetera . . . Dr. Pearson and I”—he throws me a quick, flirty smile—“will process all the ‘flu,’ or whatever it is, patients and hopefully get them in and out quickly. Most of them are just looking for medication to manage their symptoms, right?”

“For the most part, yes, but we’re starting to see repeat patients, ones that came in yesterday. I recognized at least eight when I did a quick scan of the waiting room,” she says.

Nate furrows his brow for a moment but then relaxes it. “Get the repeat patients checked in first. Hopefully, it’ll give us an idea of what’s not working. That way we can make adjustments for any new ones coming in with similar symptoms.”

“Yes, Dr. Warner,” Nurse Garcia says, before making a quick exit.

I blow on my hot coffee and look to Nate with a coy smile. “Wonder if there’s a spare bed for you and me.”

He snaps his fingers and points one in my direction. “That reminds me. My parents are coming into town in a few weeks.”

“The mention of us in bed together reminded you of your parents?” I cock my head.

Nate chuckles. “No, spare and bed .” He flicks a hand at me. “Anyway, they want to meet your dad, and I’d like too as well. I don’t want to meet him for the first time at our wedding. So, is there any chance he can come into town? Even just for dinner.”

I take a long sip of my coffee. It’s still too hot, but I need time to come up with an excuse while also going through the Rolodex of reasons I’ve already given him for why he can’t meet my dad. Let’s see. There’s the farm that doesn’t exist that he has to take care of. He’s had every doctor’s appointment under the sun. Jury duty. Can’t use that again. His truck’s in the shop. He’s on medication that he’s not supposed to drive on. He caught the flu again. He’s got an old army friend staying with him. Hmmm.

“I’ll ask him,” I say, knowing full well that I won’t, and ultimately, I’ll tell Nate that he can’t come for one reason or another, once I think of one I haven’t already used. It’s been nearly two years since Nate and I started dating, and a month ago, he slipped this sparkly rock on my finger and asked me to marry him. It’s too big for my taste, but I told him I loved it, and I said yes. Afterward, Nate wanted me to call my dad to tell him the news, but I claimed it went to voicemail and that I’d call him back. I never did.

“Your dad can stay with us too, and if driving in the city is a problem, he could take the train down from Harvard, and I’ll pick him up.”

“I’ll let him know.” Another lie.

The truth is, I haven’t really spoken to my dad in nine years—I mean, aside from occasional short replies to his lengthy texts, letting him know I’m still alive. But I can’t tell Nate that, because if I did, I’d have to explain to him why I don’t really have a relationship with my dad. That’s not something I ever intend to revisit. I left that part of my life behind, and that’s where I want it to stay.

“I’d really like to meet him, Casey.”

“I know, and he wants to meet you too,” I say. It’s not a total lie. If my dad knew Nate existed, he’d want to more than meet him. He’d welcome Nate with open arms and treat him like the son he never had.

Nate nods, accepting my answer again. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up this charade. We’ve already agreed on a two-year engagement so I can finish my residency before I have to start thinking about planning a wedding. Plus, Nate and I haven’t been able to get out of the city for even a night, due to one of us always being on call. That’s the only reason I’ve been able to keep my past separated from my present. If I had known when Nate and I first started dating that our relationship would last longer than a few months, I would have told him my dad lived on the other side of the country, rather than up in Wisconsin.

“Dr. Warner to the hallway waiting area. Dr. Warner to the hallway waiting area,” a voice calls through the hospital PA system.

“Ready?” Nate asks, tossing me a charming smile.

Grinning back, I plant a kiss on his lips. “Always.”

By always , I mean from the age of fourteen—that’s when I knew I wanted to be a doctor. My father’s impractical way of protecting people never made sense to me, so I sought out a realistic way of actually doing some good. An ideal I still cling to in the early stages of my career, despite complaints from the other, more jaded doctors, who now seem only to enjoy the paycheck, Nate included.

Nate and I walk side by side through the long corridor, the walls a sterile mix of white and light blue, not shades you would ever pick for a room in your home.

Hospital beds line either side of the hall, spaced six feet apart, just as he requested. Half are still empty, but a dozen plus, set closest to the waiting room, are already occupied with newly checked-in patients. I recognize several from yesterday, but from their pale faces and sunken eyes, it’s clear their conditions have worsened.

A middle-aged woman presses her palms against her temples and lets out a moan. She rocks back and forth, trying to alleviate the pain. A thin man squeezes his eyes shut and winces. Nate and I pull apart to make way for a nurse pushing an ailing patient in a wheelchair. Nods and tight smiles are exchanged, our way of saying, This is totally fucked , without actually saying it, because it’s our job to stay calm.

We reach the first set of beds and do an about-face, surveying the work ahead of us. It’s madness, with hospital staff moving quickly and a couple dozen confused and sick patients waiting to be seen. Some sit calmly, coughing and sneezing, while a few writhe in pain.

“You take the left, and I’ll take the right,” Nate says. “Report anything out of the ordinary, and let me know if you have any questions, okay?”

“Sounds good.” I nod.

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it once before beelining to the bed located on the right side of the hall. My first patient is an older woman. She’s lying on her back with her eyes closed. Her breaths are slow and deep, and she must have dozed off between when she was assigned to the bed and now. I review her chart, picking out key details. Repeat patient from around ten hours ago. Symptoms started about twelve hours ago. Fever increased to 102.4 degrees. Headache reported as an eight out of ten on the pain scale. Experiencing confusion, brain fog, and extreme fatigue.

I touch her shoulder lightly. “Ms. Klein, how’re we doing?” My voice is soft to ensure I don’t startle her. She doesn’t stir, but her breathing remains steady. After ten seconds and a few more light touches, I decide to let her rest with the plan to circle back. She seems to be well enough, and there are too many patients to tend to. I approach a thin middle-aged man with a shiny goatee, either from good grooming or spittle and tears. He writhes in pain, begging for pain meds. I grab his clipboard, reviewing the notes: Repeat patient from yesterday. Symptoms started around twenty-four hours ago.

Just as I’m about to greet him, a confused voice calls from behind me, “Where am I?”

I turn, finding Ms. Klein seated in her bed, her mouth agape, while her eyes frantically scan the hall.

“Hi, Ms. Klein,” I say, quickly returning to her side. “You’re at the hospital. How are you feeling?”

Her skin has paled to the color of the crisp white sheets she’s sitting on, and there’s an emptiness to her expression, like she’s looking through me rather than at me.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“I’m Dr. Pearson,” I say, touching the name badge clipped to the front pocket of my white coat. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” I try to meet her gaze, but her eyes won’t settle and are constantly on the move.

“Where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital, Ms. Klein,” I tell her again.

“Ms. Klein?”

I tilt my head, unsure if she’s repeating my words or asking a question. “Yes, Ms. Klein,” I confirm.

“Who’s that?” she asks.

I find her response perplexing to say the least, and my first thought is that it must be the result of a head injury. I retrieve a penlight from my pocket and click it on. “Ms. Klein, can you look straight ahead?” She squints and looks away as I shine the light in her eyes, trying to examine her pupil dilation.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Where am I?”

I don’t answer her this time because she’s clearly not retaining anything. Something is very wrong.

I repocket my penlight and flip through her chart again, double-checking to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

“Hey,” I say to Nurse Garcia as she passes by, hustling back to the waiting room.

“Yes, Dr. Pearson.” She stops in her tracks, exhaling sharply, like she’s grateful for the brief pause.

I step toward her. “Did Ms. Klein report a fall or an accident of some sort?”

“No, why?” she says, wiping her glistening forehead with the back of her arm.

“Because she doesn’t know who she is or where she is.” I keep my voice low. “Are there any other patients experiencing confusion or memory loss?”

Nurse Garcia shakes her head. “Not that I’ve seen. But maybe Ms. Klein did experience a fall or have an accident.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but her pupils responded normally to a light test.” I scratch the side of my neck, mulling it over. “I’m ordering a CT scan to rule out a head injury,” I say, noting it on Ms. Klein’s medical chart before handing it over.

“I’ll get that in the system right away, Dr. Pearson.”

“Thanks. How’s the waiting room looking?”

She sighs heavily. “It’s packed. If this continues, we’re gonna look like a nightclub with a line out the door.”

“Not possible. Nightclubs have closing hours,” I say with a smirk. She stifles a laugh and smiles at me, before heading back out to the waiting room.

“And I want those CT results as soon as they’re in,” I add.

“You got it,” Nurse Garcia calls over her shoulder.

Nate appears at my side. “You’re ordering a CT scan?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah, for Ms. Klein, to rule out a head injury,” I whisper.

“She came in for the flu, though.”

“I know, but I think she’s lost her memory.”

“What?” Nate pulls his head back.

“She doesn’t know her own name.”

He raises a brow and glances over at Ms. Klein. Her eyes are searching the hallway for recognition or familiarity.

“Is she shaking?” Nate squints.

I notice it too, a slight tremble, and I’m immediately at her bedside. “Ms. Klein, are you okay?”

Her teeth chatter, and her body quakes.

“Where’s her medical chart?” Nate asks.

“I gave it to Nurse Garcia, so she could set up a CT scan,” I explain.

Ms. Klein shakes even harder. Instinctively, I press the back of my hand against her forehead. It’s cold, like the metal railings outside the hospital on a winter night. “Her fever broke.” I pull my hand away and look to Nate, cocking my head in confusion.

“That’s good.”

“No, Garcia took her temperature maybe fifteen minutes ago. It was 102.4. This . . . isn’t possible.” I grab a thermometer and a disposable guard from a box set beneath her bed.

I tell Ms. Klein that I’m going to take her temperature, but she doesn’t seem to register my words. Maybe her chattering teeth are too loud for her to hear me.

Swiping the thermometer across her forehead, I bring the screen to my line of sight, waiting for it to beep and a number to appear. When it does, my mouth drops open.

“What is it?” Nate asks, grabbing my elbow to steady me.

“89.8.”

“What? That’s . . .”

“Impossible,” I say, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah, unless we were pulling her out of Lake Michigan or a meat locker.”

“He needs help,” a woman yells, stealing our attention.

She wears a look of horror as she points at the bed one down from Ms. Klein’s—where the man with the shiny goatee was writhing in pain just a few moments ago. He now lies completely still. I run to him and immediately check for a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there beneath his cold skin. His mouth is parted, but his eyes remain closed.

“Pulse?” Nate calls out, still tending to Ms. Klein. He helps her lie back and covers her with blankets.

“Barely, and he’s cold too,” I say.

Nate’s eyes widen with fear or surprise—I’m not sure which. “Watch out!”

Just as I turn my head, the man with the shiny goatee lunges up at me and sinks his teeth into my flesh. It happens in a flash, giving me no time to react. The first thought that goes through my head is that I should have seen it coming. The pain is instant and excruciating. He clamps down harder, ripping through skin and sinew. I howl in agony and try to pull away, but his bite is too strong. I ball up my free hand and thrust it into the side of his head. The two-carat diamond on my ring finger slices at his flesh, but does nothing to stop him from gnawing on my arm.

Nate pins him down by his shoulders, yelling for security.

Screams and cries fill the hall, my own and others.

Fed up, Nate punches the man in the side of the head as hard as he can, over and over, until his jaw goes lax. I jerk away, falling back and landing on my ass.

“We need security!” Nate shouts again, still pinning the crazed man down as he thrashes and growls, snapping his teeth. I scramble to my feet, grabbing a hospital gown and wrapping it around my wound.

A piercing scream cuts through all the chaos. Four beds down, a nurse tumbles to the floor, blood pooling from her torn-open cheek. The patient she was tending to staggers toward the downed nurse, his mouth and teeth stained red. There’s another scream, and another, each one more earsplitting than the last. Several of the repeat patients have become feral, attacking anyone in sight, their nails and teeth tearing into flesh, painting the once sterile hall red. It’s complete madness, and as much as I want to help, I already know it’s a lost cause.

“Nate, we have to get out of here!”

He’s still trying to restrain the man, but the scene unfolding around him is far more dangerous. A security guard bursts through the emergency waiting room doors, his gun already drawn. Nate releases the guy and rushes to my side. We back up behind security as the man swings his legs out of bed and lurches forward, snarling and grunting, his lips and teeth coated with my blood.

The security guard shakily points his gun, telling the man to stop, but he doesn’t.

“I’m warning you. Stop or I’ll shoot.” His voice has very little conviction in it, so I’m not even sure he’s capable of pulling the trigger. I consider taking it from him and doing it myself, but his gun only holds ten bullets max, and I know he’s gonna need a hell of a lot more than that. Nate and I continue backing away, watching in horror as patients and staff are ripped and torn apart by other sickly patients. This isn’t some flu-like virus.

The security guard finally fires a shot, piercing the man in the shoulder. It does nothing to slow him down. Another shot rings out. This time it strikes him in the other shoulder, but he continues staggering toward him. Two more shots. One in the upper arm, the other in the thigh. Those don’t stop him either.

“What’s going on? Where am I?” Ms. Klein says, rising from her bed.

Several more shots ring out before the gun clicks over and over, signaling that it’s out of ammunition. Panicked, he scrambles to reload. But it’s too late. The man riddled with bullets lurches at the security guard, puncturing his neck. Blood squirts everywhere, having clearly ruptured the carotid artery. The guard screams as he’s yanked to the ground.

“What do we do?” Nate looks to me with wide eyes full of fear.

“We have to get out of here.”

“What about our patients?” he asks. It’s a silly question, given the scene before us. Maybe Nate just needs a second opinion that fleeing is the right thing to do. We took an oath to do everything in our power to save them, but that’s not happening tonight.

“Those aren’t our patients anymore,” I say, reaching for his hand.

Nate leads the way, pulling me with him through the doors behind us that lead to the emergency waiting room. I press my wounded arm against my chest to ensure the hospital gown stays tightly wrapped around it. It’s full-on panic—most likely from the gunshots, because the horror we just witnessed hasn’t made its way out here yet. They have no idea what’s coming. But even so, people shove and trample one another, fight or flight taking over.

“Dr. Warner,” the front desk receptionist calls out. “Police are on their way.”

It’s too late for that. Whatever’s happening is just the beginning. A thought creeps into the back of my mind, one that I try to suppress immediately, but it won’t stop clawing at me, scratching and scratching relentlessly. He was right about everything.

“Get out of the hospital!” I yell.

Her face crumples with confusion like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “What?” she says just as the doors behind us burst open with those things that used to be our patients spilling out, like hell just threw up. Their arms are stretched out in front of them, already clawing the air, mouths agape, snarling and snapping. They’re caked in gore, with bits of human tissue stuck to their clothes and skin, some even wedged between their teeth. The hallway behind them is a bloodbath. People who were walking and talking just a few minutes ago lie still on the floor, torn and ripped to shreds, crimson liquid pooling around them. They’re not people anymore, though. They’re bodies.

“Let’s go,” Nate says, leading us toward the exit doors.

Normally, the hospital is a place you go when you need help, but not today. We weave through the clusterfuck of fleeing people, a blur of screams and carnage. I’m nearly knocked over by a woman slamming into my side, but Nate keeps me upright, keeps me going, and never lets go of my hand. Unfortunately for the woman, there’s no one holding hers, so she crashes to the ground face-first. A heavyset man tramples over her, his boot stomping her head. I look away, focusing on the exit sign up ahead. The glowing red letters blur together as I fight to push through the crowd. We just have to make it through those doors. Because I know if we do, we can survive this.