The screaming began before we arrived at the basement floor. As the door slowly slid open we pushed through, scrambling to the source. The piercing sound became our compass. I pushed through the doorways and passed stacked of boxes, trolleys and plastic sheets. Through the cluttered mess of the disused medical research area.
Turning through the last set of doors, we found ourselves in the white sterile surroundings of an operating theater.
Bruce was slouched by the side. A scalpel by his side and his intestines in his hand. He’d managed to rip his intestines clear of his body.
“Oh no, no,” gasped Dr Thorn as she rushed to his side.
“Is there anything we can do?” I spluttered. I was feeling weak in my legs.
Duncan was holding onto my arm, pulling me to a chair, “Rest here, Ernum.,” he said before rushing to assist Dr Thorn.
I hated how useless I was in that moment. Not that I had any real medical knowledge with which to help.
I felt the energy drain from my limbs as I sank deeper into the chair and watched the room spiralled further away from any tangible reality. Then I floated up until my back pressed against the ceiling, and I watch the panic and chaos unfold below.
A gazed down at the blood. It trickling through the cracks in the floor like an army of marching ants, towards the feet of my slouched, inanimate body.