User:Asherah

This story is part of the Malton Chronicles. This story is fan-made, and is not officially part of any background history for Urban Dead.

I. In which Dr. Katal struggles with her new life...

Pushing herself upward into a seated position, her back smearing against the grimy, blood-spattered drywall, Thera pushed her goggles down, looked through hooded eyes toward the entryway inside which she'd collapsed, and knew almost immediately that she was screwed. Oh, not right now, of course. Not like the time she'd awakened to find a dead zombie lying next to her bite-marked forearm -- killed by her brother, Corran, a policeman. And not in an oh God oh God we're all going to die sort of way. Just a vague, cynical, yeah, I figured this would happen type thing. Thera Katal, MD, was a very pessimistic person in general; the quarantine hadn't exactly made her disposition any better. So, she was pretty much always screwed; there were just varying degrees.

She sighed, pushing her breath out through pursed, chapped lips. She'd only been asleep for a couple of hours -- lately, that was all she'd been able to sleep at one time -- and now the place was a fortress: barricaded to the point where she would not be able to get back in if she left. That is, if she could even find a way out. And I'm all out of medical supplies. Clenching her jaw, she rolled her eyes at the rather large group of people, some in uniform, some not, milling about her immediate vicinity. No one noticed; they scurried into and out of various nearby offices, the air buzzing with multiple conversations as they scrounged about. It was more than she'd ever seen in one place since awakening into this nightmare so recently. 23 people in here and they have to barricade like that?

The tall doctor stood, stretched, reached up to run her fingers through her short blonde hair, saw how dirty her hands were and instead wiped them vigorously on her jeans, in a spot she hadn't yet sullied from previous "cleansing attempts". I'd kill for a shower, she thought. She was allowed to think that, for now -- she hadn't killed for real yet. Casting about for the few companions she knew had made it here with her -- one of them her big brother -- the young doctor breathed a sigh of relief they were still around, and quickly took inventory. Some knives, one of which was actually sharp enough to do some damage, a wire cutter she wasn't sure she needed, a radio which she hadn't been able to operate yet, an axe, a shotgun with one shell, a flak jacket that she could not fathom she'd ever need, since zombies don't use guns, but which she'd put on anyway so she wouldn't have to carry it... and a bottle of beer. She was saving that. The shotgun and shell were new and she looked at them again bemusedly, somewhat excitedly, but mostly with fear: she'd never fired a gun in her life.

Then she frowned; she missed the books she used to carry, reading them from time to time to pass the sleepless nights. She'd had six at one point, reading from each of them little by little, but had dropped them all a week ago. Now, she wished she'd kept at least one. Her books had helped her more in the past month than any attempt she'd made to defend against the infected. Why? Plain and simple: Thera Katal, MD, sucked at fighting zombies. But healing people? That was her forte. It was pretty much all she was good at right now, so she did it with gusto. Hell, she'd heal zombies if she thought it would help them.

"But I need frakking supplies!" she muttered harshly, almost loud enough for someone to hear. She realized that she had been pacing the small space she was confined to and that she had been given a wide berth.

Thera knew deep down that she was probably the safest she'd been to date, with all these people around, even if zombies did somehow manage to break in. And she could hardly blame them for over-barricading -- it was a police department after all, and many of these people looked like they had been at it far longer than she could even imagine. One would expect at least a modicum of safety from such a place, and she certainly hadn't felt very safe in the hospitals she'd taken refuge in up till now. In fact, they'd all been attacked eventually. She'd been very lucky so far and she knew it. She just wished she could listen to those more experienced, learn from them. For the first time in her life, she wished it wasn't 'to each his own' -- she wished people would talk to each other.

But for now, she would have to leave, and hope her friends decided to come with her. She had to get to a hospital; she had to do her job. It was the only thing keeping her from sliding over the edge.

II. In which Dr. Katal finally begins to accept her predicament...

Thera rubbed her face, knowing that she was just smearing the grime around, but not caring. She was tired. But then, she was always tired lately. And annoyed. She would never forgive those in charge, or herself, for this quarantine she found herself in the middle of. If only I hadn't been so skeptical, she thought again for the hundredth time since her ordeal began. But who could really believe that zombies were real? Certainly not Thera, a doctor thoroughly educated in the matters of the human body. I frakked up. Totally. That's what I get for not going for that Necrotech job.

Straightening her black jacket, She looked around the hospital where she'd spent the night -- the only one she could get into, damn barricaders -- checking for those needing help; seeing that none needed any. She felt almost sad at this, and gave a short chortle to herself; helping people was all she was good at. She would have to make more rounds later on. Her brother was at the nearby PD; she knew. They would have to hook up later.

But first, she would search the hospital. The generator she'd fueled the day before had made it so much easier to spot first aid supplies, although she had come to detest the newspapers -- containing nothing useful at all -- lying around. She wanted to read something, anything, but after the third one announcing the zombie outbreak, she hadn't bothered. If only they contained something worth reading...

Shortly thereafter, others in the hospital might have noticed a crooked grin on the face of the shy blonde doctor reappearing in the lobby of the hospital without talking to anyone. Thera knew no one here and tried to keep to herself. But what she did know was that now she had enough medicinal supplies for two days.

Time to go to work.

III. In which Thera learns a new skill...

I did it!

Thera stood on the low rooftop of a hospital she'd been trying to get into for a week, her chest heaving, sweat glistening on her grime-smeared face and neck and dampening her light blue t-shirt. Smells better when you're not on street level...

Shrugging off her satchel and letting it drop to the gravel, she peered across the street at the much larger hospital she'd just fled, having been overrun by zombies while she was sleeping in a supply closet. The calf of her right pants leg was torn and bloody, evidence of yet another bite mark to add to her thankfully small collection. A small part of her mind was thankful she'd slept with her feet to the door instead of her head, and made a note to look for boots in the next factory she found. But right now, nothing could diminish the pure exultation she felt at having accomplished what she'd been certain would be impossible for her: getting around that barricade. I can't wait to tell Corran...

The doctor hadn't seen her brother in at least a week now; he preferred to stay in places where he could salvage ammo for fighting the undead, which he was becoming increasingly skilled at, while she preferred to stay where she could help survivors. That meant spending all her time in hospitals, or traveling amongst them, although she was becoming increasingly aware that it was probably safer to stay in some random building nearby to sleep. That way I don't wake up as an appetizer.

Not being allowed inside a hospital – any hospital – due to the rather spurious judgment of those inside its walls barricading it from the inside, had frustrated her from the very beginning of her ordeal. She'd been essentially booted from her previous location while out doing what she called her “rounds”, when she'd returned to find that the people she'd been staying with for several days had completely blocked her from getting back in. "I frakking fueled that generator!" she'd shouted at the time. But banging on the doors had only resulted in smug expressions from those within – expressions that would surely have become apologetic had they known exactly how much medical equipment she was carrying. She'd made it to another hospital not minutes before collapsing from exhaustion.

So she hadn't bothered knocking this time. She'd climbed the frakking hospital from the outside. And she still couldn't believe she'd done it.

A wide smile blossomed on her normally grim face, double rows of perfect white teeth shining in the dark in contrast to her ruddy, grimy skin, a dimple forming in just her left cheek. It was a smile that no one would ever see, and which no one but her brother had ever seen, in happier times. She hadn't told him she'd been practicing, climbing, stretching, building her upper body strength, in preparation for this day. And I did it!

Then she swayed, lost her balance, stumbled as she overcompensated and barely managed to stop her head from striking the gravel roof with her hands as her legs gave out beneath her. Furrowing her brow, she looked through blotchy vision toward her injured leg, which she now realized was throbbing with a familiar pain, one she'd learned quickly to recognize. Reaching down, she carefully pulled up her pants leg and found the flesh around where she'd been bitten to be an angry red color, swollen and hot to the touch.

Frak, she thought, the smile vanishing as though it had never been. I'm infected. Again.

As she went about the task of disinfecting the wound, and dry swallowing some antibiotics to kill the infection from the inside, she thanked God she had ended up in an over-barricaded building. Then she shook her head at the irony of that statement. I won't be like them, she vowed, I won't become like the people I hate.

But deep down, she knew she'd probably break that vow the very next day.

IV. In which Thera has a taste of the other side...

Dimly, as if venturing slowly out of a long dark tunnel, Thera became aware of light, and of rustling sounds, similar to leaves whispering as they blew across the back yard behind the house where she grew up, in a crisp fall breeze. Lying on her side on the ground, she slowly got an elbow beneath her to prop herself up while reaching toward her pounding head, her eyes still closed, automatically cataloging the other areas on her body that radiated with pain and heat and would need attention soon. She shivered yet burned with fever, felt sick to her stomach, and grimaced at the horrible metallic taste in her mouth. What the hell...?

A strangled groan came from directly in front of her and she instinctively pushed herself away from it, covering several feet of distance through sheer adrenaline as she scrambled backward on all fours over the cement plaza, only to careen into another zombie shambling by and land painfully on her backside on the cement. The zombie stumbled, but amazingly did not fall. And more amazingly, it did not attack her. Instead, it groaned as it looked down at her, using almost the same tone the first one had. She was frozen with fear.

It finally shuffled away into the crowd, and with dismay Thera fully realized her predicament. Somehow – she could not remember – she had ended up outside in unsafe territory, and was now surrounded by a horde of at least a dozen of the walking dead, in varying forms of decay. Shuffling their feet along the cement, occasionally jostling one another, they were making the rustling sounds she heard. But how ... I was in the hospital... Still splayed on the ground, her mouth agape, she gazed dumbfounded at the mob surrounding her. She had never seen so many of them together in one place, and although they were aware of her presence, none of them seemed interested in her beyond that questioning groan they all seemed to share.

It was something she could not wrap her head around. Zombies don't act like this. Yet here they were. She shook her head to clear it, stood on trembling legs, and wrapped the straps of her satchel – empty now save for a shotgun with one shell and a fire axe, the long ends both poking out of a makeshift hole in the side – around her wrist, and began the laborious process of dragging it very carefully through the crowd, her head down, attempting to pass unnoticed. She was lightheaded, and her extremities tingled, felt slightly numb, as though her blood wasn’t circulating properly. She knew she was infected; she could feel it burning inside. But she could see two of her hospitals in the distance; one of them not three blocks away. I can make it, she thought stubbornly. Although none of the zombies were bothering her, she didn’t want to take her chances among them here, out in the open. Someone would help her once she got inside.

Passing a public fountain in the large open plaza in front of the hospital, Thera realized that there was some standing water in it from a recent rain. She gratefully leaned over the edge to splash some water on her burning face – and froze, all the blood draining from her head. The caked blood and ichor around her mouth, and trailing down her chin and neck, remained in stark contrast to her now ashen skin.

“Oh my God,” she croaked, leaning way back to avert her eyes. She turned away from the pool of water just in time to keep the contents of her stomach from polluting it as she projectile vomited onto the pavement; and then, upon seeing the aforementioned contents, retched until her entire body was sore from exertion.

Thera had seen it many times by now on the faces of zombies who attacked hospitals: a perfect feeding pattern. Like babies on their first birthday given their very own chocolate cake and allowed to have at it, she thought crazily. It's in my hair...! Leaning heavily on the edge of the fountain, she dipped her hands – she realized now that these were also bloody, her fingernails ragged and dirty – into the water, and scrubbed them frantically, then her face, until she could see no trace of blood, and after that she kept washing until her face was raw. Then she began to spit, again and again, into the water.

Finally, the blonde doctor was still, except for deep, wheezing breaths that caused her shoulders to rise and fall. She sat there for a long time, staring at her reflection in the now cloudy pool of rainwater. Hooded, bloodshot eyes – her own – stared back at her. Where before her clothing had been merely grimy with dirt, now her shirt, jacket, pants, and even shoes were flecked with blood, and a lot of it was not her own. She fought down the urge to heave again. What will Corran think? I can't tell him...

Just then, she heard a low groaning from the east, followed by another. Quickly pushing herself to her feet, she swayed, and her legs nearly gave out again. She looked up at the tall, heavily barricaded edifice of the hospital right in front of her across the plaza, and knew that she wouldn’t be able to get in.

Sinking back to the ground next to the fountain, Thera buried her face in her hands and quietly, hopelessly, began to weep.