I can't believe I have to end my day with him, Donald thought grimly. He walked into a brightly coloured children's medical office, painted with savannah animals, with a polite smile.
"Hello there, my name is Doctor Andrews and I'll be assisting you today. I heard your daughter may have the same infection going around?" Donald asked the middle-aged black woman in front of him with an audibly forced eagerness.
Sitting on the bed that was covered in paper was a young girl covered by a sick mask. She hacked into it repeatedly, her little body quivering likely due to the fever. He didn't bother listening to the woman tell him of her daughter's symptoms. He could already tell she was afflicted with the same virus everyone else had come in with the last few weeks. Donald checked off a list on his board as he noted everything the child seemingly had, merely nodding along to the voice in the background.
Once she had finished he put his pen in his coat pocket, not bothering to meet the eyes of the anxious mother.
"Someone will come check on her after you take her to the sick bay. You may stay with her as long as you have masks,"
As he exited the room he began visiting more and more patients. Every single one of them had fallen ill due to an outbreak of a strange, fever-like disease 19 days ago. Thankfully it contaminated at random, not infecting anyone unless they had poor luck. Nobody could make any sense of what it was or how it had begun. None of the research in any of the many departments yielded anything. If a quarantine won't be issued today, it will be soon. Maybe then Lucas will stop going out without my permission, Donald thought. He walked out the room with a drag to his step. The hesitance to visit the crooked man making him slow his pace. He stepped into the elevator, clicking the button that took you to the hospital's surgery floor.
His co-worker, Oliver, called out "Hold the door!", to which Donald begrudgingly did.
As they began ascending, Oliver asked him in a voice caught between a childlike, giddy excitement and unease.
"So any updates on…the patient?".
Donald swallowed a lump in his throat.
"Ever since he stopped making audible noises he's just been twisting and turning," he said, his voice steady and sounding uninterested.
"They tried to send someone in to get a closer look, but he tried attacking them again," Oliver whistled in surprise.
"Well, in a couple days we'll finally get to see what's inside the crooked man," he continued with a cheesy smile on his face.
Donald let out an unenthusiastic hum of agreement. Thankfully after the meeting to discuss research on the crooked man was over, his tedious shift ended. Finally, he could go to visit Gina. That is if she hadn't gotten sick herself. Who knows, hopefully he could come home to a quiet house with his son asleep. Perhaps he wouldn't have to bear the silent judgement from Lucas. Lucas had been giving him more attitude of late. Maybe it was because of the thought that he had slipped into the bottle again. He resented the thought, because the truth was he had been staying out late after work to go meet a woman he had started to like, as much as he hated to admit it. He was sick of Lucas always thinking he was just some drunk. So he sobered up and picked up a healthier, yet more expensive, vice.
But he didn't want to burden himself with more of his son's petty scorn. Lucas hated him enough, why give him more reason? Donald let out a deep sigh from his nose. No matter who I bring home, paid or not, all he will see is someone who isn't her, he thought bitterly.
The elevator's ascent to the surgery floor ended and the doors opened. The two walked down the hall before turning and entering what was once a viewing area for medical students to watch live surgeries be performed. Now it had been turned into a surveillance area for the crooked man. Thirty-three days ago a man was taken to the ER after being found in a popular stargazing outside the city. He was convulsing, suffering from a deathly fever, and did not respond to any sort of attempt to contact. After no solution was found to help him he was transferred to a Seattle hospital to have more tests done when the doctors noticed his bones had begun to grow.
Around fifteen days after he had first been found, his bones had begun to grow and twist on their own. Slowly and gradually, they became more uncanny in length and angle. What was once a thin, five-foot-ten man with matted black hair had grown into a living cadaver. His height grew to six-foot-six, yet he showed no pain from the growth spurt. Donald hated keeping this thing a secret. He hated even more having to deal with how upset the wife of the man was.
Their fellow colleague, Fiona Willibald, waited by the blood analyzers that had just come in after issuing them when they had first received the man. "We had the blood samples brought down, they've already been unfrozen"
To which Donald replied in a tone not hiding his annoyance at the tardiness, "You'd think with something like this they would have a bit more urgency".
Fiona looked through the window, down into the operating room turned holding cell, as she replied with a toneless voice, "This man isn't the only person with problems. That virus that has been spreading is really putting a hold on most of any requests,"
Donald scoffed at her explanation. "I don't know about you, but I feel this," he said pointing to the window looking downwards to the crooked man, "is much more concerning than just some widespread flu. The guy barely looks alive. It is nothing like anyone who is in on this has ever heard of"
Fiona crossed the room as she stared down at the man, replying without looking at Donald in a cautionary voice. "Looks like no matter what we focus on, someone suffers".
Oliver shuddered at the words, yet his irritating grin still remained on his face as he walked up to the window and peered down at the patient.
"Come on, lighten up you two. Today's the day we submit the blood tests! A few days from now, we'll know what's going on inside Mr. Trabber," he said far too enthusiastically.
Donald couldn't stand how obvious his fascination with the morbid aspect of their job was, but maybe it was different in this case. Maybe he just couldn't stand someone acting like this was some sort of science experiment rather than a tragedy. A couple more doctors from different fields whose names Donald couldn't be bothered to remember slowly trickled in, each of them always checking through the lookout window as soon as they came down.
"It'll be awhile before we get anything, but we should compare what we've found from our last tests," Oliver said, entering the blood samples into the analyzers.
Everyone had sat down at a foldable rectangular table. Each person had a folder containing any notes or research done in their perspective about the crooked man. Donald could tell everyone in the room thought the same thing. Maybe it was that every ligament in his body had been contorting and bending in a way for the last two weeks as if his skeleton wasn't the right fit for his skin. Thinking back to their research, his body had shown all signs of decay. It could just be that his heart had not missed a beat in all the time he had been under their surveillance. His body showed signs of decomposition. His eyes having sunk into his skull, and his skin turning ghostly pale with bits of purplish-red and blue in some areas rather than having fully started decomposing by now. The process seemed to be happening at a far slower rate than any normal corpse. The most unsettling part to Donald was that every instance of trying to get near him resulted in him thrashing violently and trying to break free of his restraints as if he had rabies, snapping at them with teeth that were black with rot. Little was left to imagine what he would do if he got out.
They began going in a circle and one by one droned on about their theories and notes. Donald could not find it in him to listen. It had been plaguing him ever since he had first seen the man. When they had all finished talking about their notes, the silence lay around the room like a fog. An older man in his seventies broke the silence before anyone spoke of any of their notes.
"I-I'm sorry, but we need to report this…this thing to someone. This just isn't something doctors like us can do anything with! We need to tell the news, or-or the government! This isn't some genetic condition…this is something else entirely!"
Donald cut into the conversation with a voice like a whip, "And tell them what? We still haven't notified this man's goddamn family on what is happening with him. What will telling anyone do but cause panic? Nobody even knows what is making him like this!".
The old man, Donald seeing his name was Dr. Orros on his nametag, had a perplexed, slightly offended look. His mouth hung agape as if it was hanging on by a few strings.
The group of doctors looked at Donald, and he felt his face getting red hot. Maybe he should have cut the old man some slack. A low "help!" from the operating room broke the silence.
Some of them, Donald being one, immediately pressed up against the glass to stare down where the crooked man laid. The others froze in place and merely glanced in the direction of the sound. As Donald's mouth gaped at the man, who had been acting like a dog with rabies for the last month, he spoke again. Its voice was dry and coarse, as if it had swallowed sand before speaking.
"Help me… ," it croaked, looking straight at the ceiling as if unaware of his surroundings.
As the crooked man laid eerily still in the chair Jane Follock, a girl Donald always had found cute, nervously called out to the man through the window. "Mr. Trabber?"
The crooked man's head snapped up to the surveillance window, its previously lifeless grey eye widening as it just stared at the group through the glass. Its entire body was shaking in the restraints as it gazed upon them with focused eyes, like a bird of prey's. Its jaw went slack as it stared at them, the black inside of its mouth looking like a dark pit waiting to swallow you whole. Donald felt a bead of sweat run down the side of his forehead as Jane took a couple steps back with a breathless gasp. The crooked man began trying to wriggle its left arm free. In the few seconds it erratically thrashed its arm as much as it could while strapped down until a sickening, muffled snapping sound came from the wrist. It then pulled its arm out of the first strap, its hand dangling at the wrist. The crooked man looked at the arm with no reaction, like it was merely confirming it had freed itself. Donald couldn't stand waiting for something terrible to happen anymore. He swiftly travelled across the room to the door, opening it.
"Where are you going?" Oliver called out.
Donald just snapped back, "Anywhere but here! We can all tell ourselves this is some sort of medical anomaly or something we just don't understand, but whatever this- it isn't something human! And I am not going to wait around until I regret it!".
His foot had already stepped outside the room. He turned and said firmly, yet urgently, "If any of you are coming, let's go. NOW,"
The older woman quickly strutted to the door right after Donald. Donald and the woman began briskly walking down the long hall towards the elevator. Donald turned behind him to see Follock quickly darting to the elevator along with them.
When they got to the doors, Donald pressed the button. The fact pressing it several times wouldn't make it go faster tortured him. His eyes darted back and forth between the hallway and the elevator door until they finally opened. The wait had left him with a tight jaw and a fidgeting hand. Donald, along with Jane, and the older woman stepped into the elevator as they kept an ear out. Silence came from down the hall as the door shut.
When the elevator finally got to the ground floor, he quickly brushed past the other two as he stormed down the hallways. People in the hospital, staff and patients alike, gave him looks of concern.
Follock yelled out behind him, "Call some security guards to the surgery wing, to room 114! Quickly!"
Donald turned back, still trotting backwards, as he saw Jane was pleading with the front desk. The older women had already turned to go somewhere far from that damnable crooked man. Shit, I have to get home to Lucas! I gotta make sure he's inside, Donald thought. He pushed past confused and concerned bystanders as he ran towards his car in the parking lot by the side of the building. He got into his car and failed to plug his car key into the exhaust twice due to his shaking hands before finally starting the car. When he sped out of the lot, nearly hitting another car backing out, he was met with an unfortunately timed series of red lights. At the third red light, he let out a yell of frustration as he smacked the wheel several times.
"GOD-DAMMIT!"
Am I overreacting? There's all these other sick people, I need to remind him to stay inside! Why can't he just listen to me, for Christ's sake!?, he thought with an anguished grimace. He could feel the sweat on his palms and the shakiness of his hands make it just the slightest bit harder to keep holding the wheel tightly.
As he got onto the highway, an ear splitting sound cut through the normal bustling of a city. Donald didn't even know what he was hearing at first. It was as if a jet engine had turned on right beside his ears. Traffic jammed so abruptly Donald had to slam the brakes to prevent rear ending the person in front of him. He could hear other cars crashing ahead and behind him. As Donald cursed at the man through his window, the sound slowly faded out. He scanned around him to see where the sound had come from. It didn't take more than a second to see the shadow that had suddenly been cast over the city. Donald noticed more and more people stopping the array of honking from their cars, slowly getting out of their vehicles as if they had been put under a spell. Donald scrunched up his face in bewilderment, but did the same. When he got out of the car and saw the large, snow-white metallic crescent several hundred meters into the sky, he had to blink several times. He heard awes of wonder and confusion as they stared at this pale, false moon.
All Donald could seem to think though was that he wouldn't be able to get to Lucas.
He heard the man in front of him say in a disbelieving tone, "Dear God, what is that?"
His wife on the other side of the car had no time to offer a response before the Crescent emitted another near deafening noise, this time much more shrill. It sounded like a cross between an iceberg breaking underwater and an emergency siren. The noise was constantly repeating, slowing down, and rewinding all at once. It drove him to one knee as his hand kept himself stable by clutching his car door. It went on for a mere 18 seconds, yet it felt like an eternity. By the time it was over, he didn't even get up due to reeling from how loud it was, his eyes shut tight in fear. He only opened his eyes and stood a minute after, once he had heard the first shriek from a woman down the highway.
As he stood and looked past the rows of people and cars that had gathered on the highway, he saw a woman watching in horror. She screamed akin to a banshee, Donald found it hard not to cover his ears. She stumbled backwards, hands clasped over her mouth. What seemed to be her boyfriend screamed in agony and thrashed his arms as a woman had begun mauling his ribcage with her teeth. Blood already covered his entire torso as he was pressed against the side of a truck. More screams of pain and fear erupted all around Donald. He made a hundred-eighty degree turn as he saw more and more people on the highway turning to the person next to them and begin sinking their teeth into them. All Donald could do was begin running as fast as his god-given legs could take him down the road. As he ran he had to skid to a stop as he saw two obese men on top of an older man, the crimson life of the senior sliding down the road. He saw the two men turned hypnotized cannibals slowly turn to him and begin standing up, albeit with difficulty. Donald made no wait for them as he ran through the cars to his side. He made it back onto the street where the scene had continued to remain apocalyptic in nature. He heard the sirens of crashed cars and the shrill screams of men and women alike all around him.
Sisters devouring brothers. Husbands ripping wives' throats out with bare teeth. The old feasting on the young, and the children. God- even the children were eaters and eaten. Donald had no time to wipe his tears of horror out of his eyes before he was tackled to the ground. He let out a breathless gasp of pain as he hit the cold concrete as a young man in a golden yellow and violet purple basketball jersey snapped his teeth at him, barely being held back by Donald's kicks and shoves. He felt saliva hit his cheek as he finally got a powerful kick right into the man's stomach, throwing him off. Donald scrambled upwards and began bolting down the street, weaving through and shoving aside every one of the sudden man-eaters with as much as he could muster. He made no effort to turn his head back, as the constant footsteps and familiar yells of human suffering made it apparent that his chase would not be over so easily.
So he ran, his leather shoes rubbing against his heel like sandpaper. Smoking cars lay about the road like leaves scattered by the wind. Some people still inside them either from having crashed, or petrified in fear. The skyscrapers and tall buildings that laid on the side of every street made it feel like he would never get out, and alleyways he hoped would lead to some sort of escape instead housed more carnage. It was as if he was trapped in some labyrinth of steel, glass and concrete.
Eventually it was as if his feet had disappeared. He collapsed in the middle of the street, propping himself up as he heaved. His lungs felt as if they had been filled with fire; he hacked and coughed until he finally looked up. A block down the street, more of the man-eaters shambled towards him. They moved as if they had little idea of how to even use their legs, their knees bending inwards and their feet stepping as if there had been ice under them. Donald looked around him as he slowly stood up, his own legs quivering. He saw more people running away, others being food for the man-eaters. In the distance, Donald heard faint gunshots, a sound which strangely made him begin to cry. This is really happening, he thought with a hopeless smile on his lips. His sobs lead him to throw his head back in a deranged manner as he let out a laugh. He turned and began shambling down the street, his legs still begging for more rest, until he turned the corner and saw it. The Crescent's milky metallic exterior shone off the sun, making Donald have to squint to get a good look at it. It was massive, Donald guessed it must have been larger than several football fields in height and length. The more Donald looked at it, the more he saw it was so identical to the actual crescent moon that if it was farther away he wouldn't look twice. He wondered if that had happened. The Crescent just sat quietly in the sky as if that was where it belonged. As if it had done no wrong. As Donald gazed at the shape of apocalypse, he heard the sound of unbalanced shoes treading towards him with the sounds of snapping teeth to follow. Donald closed his eyes and let out a trembling breath, trying to think of anything to calm his nerves. Michelle…I don't wanna meet you again so soon, Donald thought. The familiar ghost of shame that came with remembering her slowly creeping over him. He tried to stand up and run again. His mind reaching for all the reasons he had to get back up. Lucas, get up for Lucas! He needs you! Donald thought to himself, managing to stand up before his legs gave out from under him again. The sound of masses of snapping teeth got closer, but he could only let out a breath of amusement at that thought. He knew it wasn't true.
They hadn't needed each other in a long time.