Infected Pt.1

A grim horizon sledged its way with cold rain and twisting winds, demolishing the formerly blue, cloudy skyline like it was glass beneath a bulldozer. I waited in my car until the crewman arrived to unlock the warehouse.

There was myself and one other person stationed in the heaven-like clean waiting room; an older lady with a limp that came with the bitter weather, but she never let it sully her pride and thanks for living another day. All I wanted was to get this deed done with sanze decapitating any of the infected with a clipboard I was forced to break in half.

I read through a book I hadn't touched since junior high as my zeal for life found itself drained by the events of the last couple of weeks. My dog had been run over (I had to sweep it's left-hind paw in to the gutter), my mother was about to have both of her legs amputated (because of those damned infected), and my health-coach suggested I should go on a diet despite the fact that I weighed just under three-hundred pounds, could run five-miles a day, and my blood pressure - as the health analyst would soon express - was "excellent." Which continued to confirm my beliefs that once someone left medical school, they knew nothing about people, the human body, or preserving life - only how to open someone's mouth and throw handfuls of pills at them, and whichever one's actually made it inside the mouth were downed with water, the one's that fell to floor were turned into suppositories.

Being a new patiet to this warehouse-clinic, I began filling out the info-sheet when a wheezing hacker limped in and sat next to me. My hands quickly gripped each sides of the clipboard, ready to snap it in half. Jabbing the pen through its larynx would have been a bonus and I would have spilled blood in heaven, but the symptoms of the infected subsided, and I resumed fillling out a contract made unreadable as the final draft had obviously been tossed at the mercy of the computer's spell checker. "I hereby sign his letter of life examination authorization...." unless, these scrub-draped bastards were working for someone - a Him.

Why were there delivery trucks in the back? What went in to this clinic that had to be distributed throughout the city?