Waiting Room by Joe Giordano

My mind floated in the liminal space between dreams and death when I heard a male voice, sounding distant, like coming from a hollow chamber.

“Mr. Atticus is sinking fast.”

My brain shuddered and my memory returned. I’d been in an ICU hospital bed, diagnosed with coronavirus, my breathing labored.

Now, I was dying.

An intense heat enveloped me, and I smelled the odor of rotten eggs. I recoiled as shadowy figures like flickering candle flames grabbed me.

Oh God. No.

Taloned, bony fingers dragged me down. I silently screamed as I fought to free myself, gasping in muggy air.

Somebody, please help me.

Suddenly, the dark spirits released me, slinking away as if dogs called off the hunt. My descent stopped, and the thumping in my chest subsided. Thankfully, I could breathe.

Without the pull of the demons, I rose, my ears echoing the deep silence, then a stab of light opened my eyes. I was in the isolation ward. My hands clutched my face and body, confirming I was still alive. The moment’s elation was cut short by the observation that I was alone.

I called out in a hoarse voice. “Is anyone around?”

No response.

How could the nurses desert me? I threw off my sheet in a huff, then took some breaths to calm myself. After all, I was okay, and other critical patients required attendance.

I pulled the IV from my arm and rose unsteadily, my body weakened by the ordeal of the virus. Garbed in a gown tied inadequately around my butt, I felt lightheaded and kept one hand on the wall as I edged along. My valuables and clothes had been placed inside the room’s closet, but my stuff was gone.

“Damn.”

I opened the door ready to confront the staff, but the ward was empty. In hospital slippers, I shuffled from room to room, my mind whirring. Had there been an evacuation?

I frowned at the mystery, then headed down the elevator to the lobby for answers, but eerily, there were no receptionists, and the desk phone was dead.

My pulse raced. Best, I just get home, but how? I had no money for a taxi and lived too far away to walk. Beg? In my ludicrous frock? What choice did I have? I stepped toward the exit, expecting the doors to open automatically, but they didn’t. I pushed and found them locked.

“What the hell?”

I fought the rising panic in my skull. There had to be some rational explanation. I spent a sweaty, stressful hour searching the building floor by floor, finding no one before returning to the lobby, plopping down, fighting the urge to scream.

Why had the hospital been abandoned, and why had they forgotten me? Might I be dreaming or hallucinating? After all, I’d conjured up some rather scary images. I shook that off. Everything seemed far too real.

I spotted a freight elevator and jumped up. I hadn’t investigated the basement.

Below, when the elevator doors opened, my optimism cratered. Nobody in sight.

Along poorly lit concrete block walls, boxes were stored on racks. A room at the far end was labeled, “Morgue.”

My legs trembling, I hesitated to enter, but I had to know.

I took a deep breath before pushing forward. An icy cold stink made me retch, then my jaw dropped at the sight of row upon row of staff and patient bodies stacked from floor to ceiling. The horrific images brought tears of dread.

A gray man with a silver beard wearing a brown security guard’s uniform emerged from a side room. Showing surprising strength for his age, he carried a cadaver over his shoulder, then tossed it atop a stack of bodies.

I froze, unsure if I should call him or run.

He straightened, and his eyes met mine.

My voice quavered. “Who are you?”

He ignored me, returning to the side room, then reappearing carrying another body for the pile.

I almost shrieked. “What happened here?”

He huffed before responding matter-of-factly. “The Theta variant. Almost always fatal.”

I gulped, finally understanding. The contagious infection forced the building to be sealed off.

My shoulders slumped. “I was lucky to survive.”

“Were you?” Without another word, he stormed out the morgue doors toward the freight elevator.

I sped after him, entering the lift. He ignored me. We both stepped into the lobby.

“You know a way out of here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

My face flushed, and I almost grasped him by the collar. “What the hell does that mean?”

He gave me an ironic smile.

I wanted to punch his smug puss. Instead, I asked, “What were you doing in the morgue?”

His tone was dismissive, “My job.”

My voice rose. “Are you really a security guard?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Who are you?”

Haughtily, he said, “I’m called Charon.”

“The ferryman for Hades of ancient Greece? Ridiculous.”

“If you say so.”

I was past playing games with this guy. “How do you get both of us out of this hospital?”

Squinting, he looked me over. “Do you have a coin for me?”

I nearly gasped. “You’re asking me for a bribe?” I splayed my gowned arms. “My wallet was stolen.”

“Too bad.” He turned and strode toward the exit.

I followed close behind, lest he try to get out the door without me.

He stopped and turned. “I’m leaving,” he said, “but you’re staying.”

“Bullshit.” I shadowed him to the exit.

He chuckled, then melted through the door and from outside, turned toward me.

I yelled with dismay. “How did you do that?”

“A job perquisite.”

“You’ll just strand me here?”

“No coin. No transport.”

I grabbed my head in frustration. “How will I survive with nothing to eat?”

He flashed me an evil grin. “There’s plenty of meat,” saying over his shoulder as he disappeared, “in the morgue.”