Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33904527-20180423210158

Agonisingly slowly, Julian climbed up the broken spiral staircase, leaning heavily on the frail wooden banister to his left. It could’ve broken at any time, but he was not injured. The only weight that was forcing him to lean was the weight of the emotional trauma he had gone through in the last year. Most of the dusty steps were cracked, and shattered, most likely caused by a flurry of panicked nurses and doctors desperately trying to escape from their inevitable fate. Sure, they might’ve escaped the hospital, but it would catch up to him eventually. It caught up to everyone.

To his right, Julian noticed a skeleton. It was slumped face first over one of the huge holes in the battered oak that once resembled stairs. Carefully, he leaned over and examined it. Many of the bones were broken, and the spine was missing a large chunk of vertebrae. Trampled. That wasn’t what the illness did to you. Julian felt huge envy for the skeleton. They might’ve not known it, but they were extremely lucky to die before they saw what the world had become. A few scraps of clothing were still clinging onto the bones, but he could tell it wouldn’t be long before it wasted away completely, ceasing to exist.

Skeletons were a sign of the early victims. Later, people wouldn’t waste away anymore. They would somehow stay perfectly preserved, like time had just stopped when they died. The world could’ve been saved at that point, but nobody had any idea what was going on. And when the government did discover what the illness was, they tried to cover it up. They convinced everyone it was a conspiracy, while they secretly worked on a cure.

The fools.

They couldn’t beat it on their own. Despite cutting-edge technology, and the best scientific minds known to man, the cure wasn’t coming quick enough. If they had just told everyone what was going on, yelled it out to the far ends of the globe, we might’ve stood a chance. But they realised this too late, and people found out. And they were angry. Angry that something of such importance had been hidden away for months. Some of the biggest rebellions known to mankind happened in that year. It was WW3. The People vs The Government. What a catastrophe. Nobody wanted to work together to find some sort of cure. Globally, hatred overtook common sense. They fought until there was no-one left to fight each other.

Nobody except him.

People would just pass out. Pass out, and never wake up. The streets lined with bodies of the fallen. That’s all Julian knew about the illness. People didn’t trust the government anymore, so they never listened to the symptoms, or containment laws being enforced. Chaos was all that prevailed. Complete anarchy everywhere you went. Neighbour against neighbour, fighting for supplies, and shelter, while people rioted until they all dropped unconscious, one by one. It must’ve become airborne at some point.

And yet, out of 7 billion people, he was the only one who was immune.

Everyone was dead. He couldn’t save humanity now, he wasn’t a doctor. But Julian just wanted some answers. And the best place to get answers must be the hospital where it all started, on the 4th floor, room 18.

He knew the end was drawing near. He couldn’t keep living in such a destroyed world. How religious he had been before all of this. How he prayed every night with his runaway group of pious friends for salvation. One day, he just lost faith. Surely no God would punish his creation this way. And if he did exist, then he was a cruel master who did not deserve worshipping. His friends stayed as religious as ever, even though he tried to talk them out of it. In a way, that was what had killed them. Their faith in God to help them ended up killing them. How ironic.

Now it was just him, alone in his thoughts. And the only thing he wanted to do was know why. Then he would die, not happily, but with knowledge.

After, what seemed like an eternity, he made it up the stairs. The corridor he found himself at the end of was long, and lined with windows coated with grime, letting little light through. The floor was tiled, and lined with wheelchair marks. Most of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving ugly piles of junk that Julian had to step over. He saw skeletons in wheelchairs in the rooms that he passed, yet he had seen so many, that this didn’t even phase him in the slightest. He chuckled bitterly at how resilient he had become. The sky was an ugly grey, and hadn’t been much better ever since the illness first appeared. Like the sky had died along with every other living thing.

Finally, he reached the door that he had travelled for miles looking for. Along the way, he imagined nearly every scenario possible when he stepped through that door. Maybe it had some survivors. Maybe it was full of monsters. Maybe it was completely empty. At least now he could put this burning question to rest.

The door was locked, but a few strong, well-placed kicks soon fixed that. Inside, the smell of must was overpowering, causing Julian to cover his nose with his sleeve. Particles of dust floated around freely, like tiny birds in the sky. He rummaged around in his bag and found a pocket flashlight that emitted a white beam of light that cut through the darkness like a hot knife through butter.

Julian studied the room closely. It seemed to be an operating theatre of some kind. The door he had come through opened into the seating area, full of cheap, wooden benches that looked uncomfortable and chipped. Scattered glass from the broken lights was spread out among the operating table, where the skeleton of a young adult lay, face pointing upwards, with arms by his side, and straight legs. Many taller skeletons were collapsed near him, presumably doctors and nurses. The various items of equipment that had been in use were toppled and damaged.

It was a grim scene, but what made it grimmer was the discovery of another skeleton sat on the upper level of seating across from him. Julian clambered over the seats towards the skeleton and found his leathery wallet in one of the winter coat pockets that the skeleton was wearing.

The skeleton’s name was William.

Funny, Julian thought, about how little information he had found out about the others. He had disregarded their lives, like they were disposable, a mere fleeting thought or idea, when they all had their own unique experiences that he chose to ignore. Who knew how this man, William, tied into what had happened. He sure didn’t know, and he doubted anyone else would truly find out.

There was a back room. Behind the operating table. Not intentionally hidden, but tucked away so that you might’ve missed it if you didn’t look hard enough. It had a window that gave it a view of the theatre. But the window was clean. Completely spotless. Maintained, even.

Julian suddenly became a lot more aware of the silence that surrounded him. Not a single thing moved, and all he could hear was the ringing in his own ears. The only light in the entire theatre trickled in from the roof, and it was extremely dim without the torch. The back room appeared to have another source of light, a faint orange glow that cast shadows across the walls.

Cautiously, Julian pulled out the .44 his father had given to him and checked the chamber. One bullet. He would have to make it count.

He stayed slightly lower to the ground and crept to the doorway, silently stepping over the skeletons. The glow became more and more prominent, until it felt like a beacon, showing him the way to his destination, whatever that was.

Something sat up.

There were no words to describe the blind panic Julian felt at that moment. He had just written off the body as a skeleton, but it was clearly moving. The body reached out to a lever on the wall and pulled it downwards. Blinding lights flickered across the theatre, then stayed, Julian gripped his pistol tightly at the end of his outstretched arm, pointed straight at the body. As his eyes became accustomed to the sudden change in light, he got a good view of the body. It was dressed in surgeon’s clothes that looked too big for it, seeing as it was extremely skinny. It was, without a doubt, human, but looked like it was on the brink of death, with a pale face, bulging white eyes, and wild, unkempt facial hair that matched the flailed locks on its head.

“Another mutation will take place.” The surgeon said, calmly, staring directly at the man with unblinking eyes.

“And you can’t do anything about it, no-one can”

He stood up, his bony limbs barely being able to push him from the cold, hard ground.

“Stay back! Stay the hell away from me!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. You must listen to me.”

“Who are you?! How did you get here?!”

“My name is Charles, and I used to be the operation overseer here at the hospital. I’ve been here ever since that poor, innocent boy got infected by that contaminated water bottle. They brought him here, and within seconds, everyone started collapsing all around me, like they had fallen asleep. I panicked, and shut down the theatre, but it got into the water supply through the equipment. Within a day, the entire hospital was infected, but I couldn’t tell anyone because there’s no communication equipment in here.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Contaminated water?”

“Something got into the local water supply. A virus. That’s how it spread around so quickly. Then it mutated, and learnt to spread through contact, then it mutated again, and started to spread through the air. Now it’s going to mutate for the last time, and I have no idea what kind of advancement it’s going to make. All I know is that it’s something to do with light sensitivity to the eyes.”

“But how do you know all this? And how have you survived this long?”

“I’ve been applying my time in here to study the virus using all of this equipment. Even once the victim is dead, the virus stays and preserves the bodies so that it can feed off them. I’ve kept myself alive by eating stray bugs, and drinking the rainwater. Its been awful, but I’ve stuck through it all hoping that someone would come find me. Are you immune?”

“Yeah, I was traveling with a group of friends, trying to get away from the illness with them, but…”

Julian swallowed hard. He felt like there was a marble in his throat. He holstered his gun.

“They…all died. I was the sole survivor.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The surgeon continued. “But we have to focus on more pressing matters.”

“What are the mental effects of the illness?” Julian enquired. This was what he had truly come for. He had heard all sorts of things, but could never rely on any of them to be truthful.

But the surgeon ignored the question. His eyes were locked on the operating table.

“What are the mental effects of the illness?” Julian repeated, shuffling closer to the surgeon. Still, he heard no response. The death stare from the surgeon remained the same. Still focusing on the theatre, the surgeon limped closer to him, whispering something into his ear.

“Run.”

Before Julian had any time to react, the surgeon grabbed the .44 out of the holster and offed himself on the spot. An extremely loud gunshot echoed through the theatre and rang down the corridor, before a deafening silence overtook all noise. A light splattering of blood splashed across Julian’s face as he watched the only friend he had for months lie dead on the floor, chunks of skull and brain littering the walls.

It took all Julian’s willpower to turn around and face what had driven the surgeon to suicide. Eventually the sound of glass breaking pierced his ears, and he whipped around to gaze upon 5 upright skeletons pushing against the barricades. They had white, creamy liquid flowing out of their eye sockets. A couple of them were missing arms, or a leg. They moved like puppets being tugged on by strings, smashing into the walls that had once protected the surgeon for a whole year with the full force of their bodies.

Looking back at the surgeon, Julian thought back to the dead body he had found on the staircase only minutes before.

Death before infection. Only this time, it was purposeful.

The skeletons. This was the newest mutation. Soon, an army of these things would arise, wandering the world for more lives to claim.

Light sensitivity. The skeletons arose mere moments after the surgeon had turned the lights on. It was daytime, and surely every single body would wake within the hour.

The barricades that were once open had closed behind Julian when he entered the back room, giving him a little more time to evaluate his situation. Exits? Nope. Weapons? Nope. Hiding place? Pointless. They clearly knew he was there. Screwed? Yes. He was going to die, but at least if he was quick, he would die with the one thing that he was seeking this entire time: knowledge.

Julian hurled an orange-glowing lantern, the source of light that had lured him into his death, at the skeletons. A burst of flames consumed their bones, but it had no effect. They wouldn’t stop.

There were machines laid out on the tables around him, meant to let him control the equipment. But the equipment was useless in his scenario, so he searched elsewhere.

Torn documents were all that Julian could find. None of them had any relevant info, mostly just medical mumbo-jumbo, and records of other patients. Time was running out. The skeletons would soon be upon him.

Seconds away from death, Julian scavenged a piece of paper relating to the disease.

“Patient is in coma, unresponsive to treatment. Huge breakdown in nervous system, with all senses numbed except vision. Drastically increased brain activity suggests possible hallucination in dream-like state. No physical wounds, but heart rate increasing exponentially. Patient flatlining.”

The paper was torn out of Julian’s trembling hands by flaming, bony fingers. Backing himself into a corner, he screamed for help until his throat became sore. Before the skeletons could deliver the final blow, Julian clutched his chest as his heart rate soared, eventually dropping dead right next to the surgeon. The skeletons stopped, standing over the two dead men as droplets of water began to fall, extinguishing the flames, just as the world had been extinguished of all life. 