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Your worries are over

Robbins had missed his chance and he knew it. He should have turned tail and left the minute the first unruly patients had started attacking that nurse, he should have run like hell and barred the entrance after him from the outside. But he had realized this too late and now the hospital was already overrun. He silently snuck through the door into his office, carefully making sure the door slid close as silently as possible to avoid one of those wretched creatures hearing it. He turned the key and heard the cap of the lock give a small click. With a low gasp he sank to his knees and muttered a string of virulent curses, starting with the day he was born and working his way through his job, his staff, his ex-wife and finally his Lord and Savior.

“I knew this would happened, I knew this would happen”, he mumbled to himself as he heaved himself back on his feet, gasping a little with the effort. He walked over to his desk on shaking legs, opened the third drawer, fished around a bit inside and withdrew his hand clutching a small bottle of Branded Rose. He unscrew the cap and took a large swig of the golden liquid, choked on it but manage to not splutter it all over himself and took another big gulp from the bottle. It burned pleasantly down his throat.
Suddenly there was a high shriek and something thudded loudly against the door and he started and almost dropped the bottle. He spun around and ducked behind his desk, carefully nipping his head around the corner and looked towards the office door. It was one of them, of course, he’d known they’d find him eventually. He recognized a head of grey hair and realized that the person, no, the thing, outside was his Mrs. Winlow. Or, what had once been Mrs. Winlow. The creature that was no longer Mrs. Winlow and no longer even human stared at him through the glass window on the upper half of the door and it slid its skinless fingers along the surface, leaving bright red smears across it. Its face was a bloody mash of infected flesh and one of the eye sockets was dark and empty with something yellowish and sticky-looking trickling down from it like tears.

“Oh, doctor Robbins”, he chided himself, mimicking his secretary’s voice. “You know I won’t tell, you know it, but I worry! Please don’t drink during work hours. I worry the patients might notice, I worry!” He raised his bottle to greet the drooling, howling creature outside his door.
“Your worries are over, Mrs Winlow”, he said and giggled, his voice already slurred from the whiskey. He leaned back against the wall and watched her as she pounded her bony fists against the door, watched as the spidery cracks glinting along the glass surface grew thicker and wider and when the tinkling sound as the glass broke filled the small office he closed his eyes.


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