24 Hours in Hell by Isobel Harrison (black male authors .txt) đź“–
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from a bench on the opposite side of the room. He walked back to the table and added a range of other chemicals to the beaker, and the mixture ended up as a browny, bubbling mixture. It had the worst smell in the world when Cameron sniffed it, so he put the mask back on.
“What now?”
“GREAT TIMING. THEY'RE HERE. WE NEED TO FIND THE FIRST AFFECTED. THAT WAS MISS CHALLET. SHE WAS TWENTY YEARS OLD WHEN SHE WAS INFECTED, WITH SHORT ORANGE HAIR. FIND HER.”
“Okay, Miss Challet. Orange hair. Twenty years old. Gotcha.” Cameron picked up a metal rod off the ground.
“TRY NOT TO HURT THEM. WE'RE TRYING TO REVERSE IT, NOT KILL THEM.”
“Right. Sorry.” Luckily, the zombies weren't very strong, so Cameron just shoved them back with the long tube of metal. “I can't see her!”
“SHE'S RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GROUP.”
“Oh, that's just typical, isn't it?”
“WELL IT'S NOT MY FAULT, SO DON'T SNAP AT ME.”
“Whatever. How do you know this is going to work?”
“I DON'T.”
“I wish I never asked.” Cameron muttered, and looked around the room for anything helpful. Suddenly he got an idea. The straps on the table extended out a long way; they were at least thirty meters long if you pulled them out to their full length. Cameron cut them at the base, and then tied one end to the window pane of a broken window at the back of the room. The zombies herded in like cattle, and as they came closer, Cameron tied the entire group in one big bundle by circling them with the long strap. In the end they were all in a big huddle, all facing outwards, arms outstretched trying to get away. Cameron tied up the other end after circling the zombies a few times, then jumped up on a high table and looked down. There, in the middle, was Challet.
“What now?”
“POUR IT ON HER EYES.
“Well how am I supposed to do that?!”
“BE CREATIVE!”
“Yeah, right. Creative. Some help you are.”
“I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A STUNT MAN.”
“Whatever.” Cameron looked around again. Attached to the ceiling were old fashioned beams, the kind you would find in old pubs. They didn't look as if they belonged in a surgery. “What are these doing here?”
“I GOT THE BUILDERS TO PUT THEM IN. NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU NEED A GOOD OLD BEAM AROUND THE PLACE.”
“Hmm,” Cameron picked up the chemical and put it into an old jar, put it in his pocket, then jumped up and grabbed the beam, pulling himself up on top, so he was sitting comfortable there. He crawled across until he was right above the bunch of zombies. He took the jar out of his pocket and opened it. “What now?”
“POUR IT INTO HER EYES.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“JUST DO IT.”
Cameron carefully leaned over and opened the jar. The stench was over-whelming. I'll just have to trust my luck, he thought, and poured it onto Challet's face. Amazingly, it hit her right in the eyes. Challet blinked, and then dropped over, followed by every zombie in the room. Cameron climbed down from the beams. “Did we do it?”
“I HOPE SO.”
The zombies stood up. They were back to normal. There eyes were their natural colours and they weren't hunting for human flesh. Cameron sighed in relief, but then remembered something:
“Saphy!”
He ran out of the surgery and down the hall, through the first room and into the study. Saphy was standing there.
“That was so gross!” She said, and hugged Cameron. “How did you fix it?”
Cameron smiled and picked up the diary from the desk. Saphy let go.
“The ghost of E.C.Hare. The man was a genius.”
“Cameron?”
“Yeah?”
“You smell terrible.”
“Thanks.”
The pair of them left the asylum, and outside the police were waiting for them. They had been gone 24 hours.
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“What now?”
“GREAT TIMING. THEY'RE HERE. WE NEED TO FIND THE FIRST AFFECTED. THAT WAS MISS CHALLET. SHE WAS TWENTY YEARS OLD WHEN SHE WAS INFECTED, WITH SHORT ORANGE HAIR. FIND HER.”
“Okay, Miss Challet. Orange hair. Twenty years old. Gotcha.” Cameron picked up a metal rod off the ground.
“TRY NOT TO HURT THEM. WE'RE TRYING TO REVERSE IT, NOT KILL THEM.”
“Right. Sorry.” Luckily, the zombies weren't very strong, so Cameron just shoved them back with the long tube of metal. “I can't see her!”
“SHE'S RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GROUP.”
“Oh, that's just typical, isn't it?”
“WELL IT'S NOT MY FAULT, SO DON'T SNAP AT ME.”
“Whatever. How do you know this is going to work?”
“I DON'T.”
“I wish I never asked.” Cameron muttered, and looked around the room for anything helpful. Suddenly he got an idea. The straps on the table extended out a long way; they were at least thirty meters long if you pulled them out to their full length. Cameron cut them at the base, and then tied one end to the window pane of a broken window at the back of the room. The zombies herded in like cattle, and as they came closer, Cameron tied the entire group in one big bundle by circling them with the long strap. In the end they were all in a big huddle, all facing outwards, arms outstretched trying to get away. Cameron tied up the other end after circling the zombies a few times, then jumped up on a high table and looked down. There, in the middle, was Challet.
“What now?”
“POUR IT ON HER EYES.
“Well how am I supposed to do that?!”
“BE CREATIVE!”
“Yeah, right. Creative. Some help you are.”
“I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A STUNT MAN.”
“Whatever.” Cameron looked around again. Attached to the ceiling were old fashioned beams, the kind you would find in old pubs. They didn't look as if they belonged in a surgery. “What are these doing here?”
“I GOT THE BUILDERS TO PUT THEM IN. NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU NEED A GOOD OLD BEAM AROUND THE PLACE.”
“Hmm,” Cameron picked up the chemical and put it into an old jar, put it in his pocket, then jumped up and grabbed the beam, pulling himself up on top, so he was sitting comfortable there. He crawled across until he was right above the bunch of zombies. He took the jar out of his pocket and opened it. “What now?”
“POUR IT INTO HER EYES.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“JUST DO IT.”
Cameron carefully leaned over and opened the jar. The stench was over-whelming. I'll just have to trust my luck, he thought, and poured it onto Challet's face. Amazingly, it hit her right in the eyes. Challet blinked, and then dropped over, followed by every zombie in the room. Cameron climbed down from the beams. “Did we do it?”
“I HOPE SO.”
The zombies stood up. They were back to normal. There eyes were their natural colours and they weren't hunting for human flesh. Cameron sighed in relief, but then remembered something:
“Saphy!”
He ran out of the surgery and down the hall, through the first room and into the study. Saphy was standing there.
“That was so gross!” She said, and hugged Cameron. “How did you fix it?”
Cameron smiled and picked up the diary from the desk. Saphy let go.
“The ghost of E.C.Hare. The man was a genius.”
“Cameron?”
“Yeah?”
“You smell terrible.”
“Thanks.”
The pair of them left the asylum, and outside the police were waiting for them. They had been gone 24 hours.
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Publication Date: 03-22-2010
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