Pandemic
Title: Pandemic (Chapter 11)
Time/Location: June 1965. Hospital.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo (progressively). A bit of John/Brian in this chapter.
Warnings: Quite a long chapter. VERY bad language. Violence. And something bad.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
He pounded at the door, as though it were the freak that tore Paul away from him, or the monster that fucked up George’s ankle.
Authors Notes: I'm a terrible person. :(
The hospital was quiet. Too quiet. It echoed the atmosphere at the airport: even down to the bloody walls, and the abandoned bodies. But they tried not to look at that. Ringo had hold of John’s elbow, and the two of them lead the way, with Brian, Nel and Mal all following behind.
There was only one thing on their mind now: Antibiotics.
Paul and George? They could only hope, pray, and resort to the extent of their willpower to believe that the two of them were safe. Ringo continued to mutter words of encouragement to whomever needed it - and constantly to himself - that Paul had heard the warning, had run in good time, and was a far enough distance from the freaks that he and George could have gotten away no problem. He said it so much, he even started to believe it.
Behind them, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Christ!!” Nel hissed
“Okay, stay calm, stay calm.” Brian breathed. He turned, his arms outstretched in front of him, while beside him Nel withdrew the blade he’d snatched, and John moved forwards with the bat. The five of them were spookily withdrawn in their approach to self-defence. There was no screaming, no panicking - just a fight for survival.
But they never did see the culprit of footsteps. The sound faded, and they assumed the person had moved up to another flight. Hesitantly, they lowered their weapons.
“Okay…” Nel sighed, “Okay… so what is it we’re looking for?”
“Well we’re not gonna find a doctor.” John muttered
“We’re looking for medicine. Or antibiotics. Drugs.” Brian urged. “Anything we can find, we take. And we’ll read the labels when we get out of here.”
“Maybe we should split up?” Mal suggested, “We’ll get out of here quicker.”
Another loud noise from the first floor.
“I don’t think it’s safe.” he added, unnecessarily.
“I dunno…” Ringo bit his nail down nervously. “Don’t you think we’re already split up enough?”
“Well we’re gettin’ nothing done just standing here!!” Nel cried. “How bout me and Mal go up to the top floor… you guys stay on this floor… and we’ll meet in the car park in half an hour. Have you got a watch, Brian?”
“Yes, of course I have. Half an hour.”
“Guys, I really don’t think…” Ringo tried, but he was cut off as they began moving away, towards the staircase.
“Half an hour!!” Nel hissed back.
And they were gone.
Well there was no time to worry about that now. Ringo moved forward on auto-pilot, pushed open the first door and tore into the room. It was an office - or used to be anyway, although now the chairs were tossed across the floor, and the desk upturned, and blood sprayed sickeningly across the paperwork. Ringo resisted the urge to heave, as he began pulling open draws, and roaming through the cupboards, emptying machinery and hospital crap onto the floor.
“Richard!” Brian gasped, appearing in the doorway. “Do NOT run off! Anything could happen to you!”
“We need to hurry up Bri! What’s ‘appened to John??”
“He’s not in a good place emotionally.” Brian muttered.
“I don’t GIVE A SHIT! He can still help!!”
“Ringo!” Brian tugged at the drummers arm, “You’re not going to find anything in an office! We’re better looking in a patients room!”
Back in the corridor, Ringo was frustrated to find John leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides, and his face still glistening wet from hopeless tears.
“John!” He groaned, exasperated, “I’ve TOLD YOU! They’re gonna be fine! PLEASE! We need to look for medication!”
He pulled his band mate with him down the hallway, towards the next door.
“I don’t care what you think John; Paul is NOT stupid, okay?! They’re gonna be alright.”
“I don’t think Paul is stupid.” John spoke. “I just said it. It’s just words, Ritch.”
“Right, okay, exactly.”
“He’s the smartest guy I know, is Paul.”
Ringo stopped dead, and turned around to his friend. He looked him straight in the eye, holding him tightly by the shoulders.
“John…” he said softly. “I know you love ‘im. But we have to get this stuff, okay? And get them after. Please? Please, can you just pull yourself together John, please?”
Beside them, Brian squeezed by, and pushed his way in to the second door of the corridor.
John shook his head weakly. “I’m telling you, if anything has happened to them…”
“Nothing has happened. I know it, John. You think I’d be doing this if I didn’t? I love them too! And I’m telling you… nothing has happened.”
Ringo willed himself to hold his gaze, to hold eye contact until he broke through, no matter how long it took. And thankfully, it only took a couple more seconds. Slowly, John nodded his head. Ringo watched, as before his eyes, part of the spark returned to the eyes of his friend, and he squeezed John’s shoulder tightly, appreciatively.
“Come on then.” he smiled.
The second room was worse than the first. Brian was already stood there, completely horror struck.
It was a patient’s room. There was a bed, and an oxygen tube. A dressing gown still hung unused on the door. But the rest was nothing shorter than a bloodbath. The window was broken as well; smashed to pieces, glistening with red liquid, dripping from the mantelpiece like twisted raindrops.
“Search it.” Ringo ordered, dismissively.
With the support of the other two this time, they began pulling out any draws, lifting up any obstacles and disarming any locked cabinets.
“I found something!” John cried
“Wonderful. Keep it.” ordered Brian.
Ringo too found all bits and bobs; medicine jars, bottles of pills, bags of liquid he’d seen when he was younger, back when he was having operations. All of it was shoved into the pockets of his blazer, his fingers shaking with both triumph and nerves. Every now and then they’d hear a noise - freeze - and then get straight back to work. Brian found it astonishing they’d not yet been interrupted, but wasn’t going to ponder too much over the luck.
“OUCH!” he suddenly gasped.
“Oh… you alright Eppy?” frowned John
“Hmm… yes… I’m alright… something just fell in my eye, ouch.”
“It still hurts?”
“You want me to ‘ave a look?”
John moved forwards, placing a gentle hand onto the back of Brian’s head, and a soft finger just below his eye, moving forward to look.
“I can’t see anythin’…”
“Oh, not to worry John, it will be alright…”
“…hold on.”
John probed a bit further, stretching his managers’ eye in all directions to look for the source of the pain. Still, he could see nothing other than the tired bloodshot pupils.
“No, Brian, I can’t see ought.”
“That’s alright, thank you for looking.”
But Brian was still wincing, if not discreetly. John kept a concerned hand attached to the back of the older mans head, piercing into his eyes with concern.
“Really John.” Brian chuckled, finding himself self-conscious under such intense scrutiny. “It’s nothing to worry about, really.”
But before he could release himself, John’s lips were on his; pressing, giving and seeking condolence. And Brian found himself kissing back, his lips magnetically manifesting themselves against John’s desperate, hopeless grasp. It was short, but none-the-less serious… passionate even. And before Brian could comprehend the sudden motion or feeling, John had freed the stunned manager from his grip, and had moved over to assist an even more stunned Ringo.
“Come on Ritch.” he ordered, “We’re done in ‘ere.”
And he marched out of the door.
Ringo ran after him.
“What the bloody ‘ell was that all about, John??” he hissed, as he strode next to his increasingly irrational band mate. “What are you DOING here?!”
“Oh Ringo, come on, we ‘ave more important things to worry about than a quick peck, don’t you think?!”
“A quick peck?!”
“Yes a quick peck!” he challenged. “And not another word about it, alright?!”
Whether another word was coming or not, they’d never find out. For the next second Brian’s voice was screeching from behind them;
“BOYS WATCH OUT!!”
And John spun around just in time to catch it: another crazed attacker, tearing forward at them down the corridor, a syringe held menacingly in murderous hands. John swung the bat without hesitation, only in the nick of time catching the brute on the side of the head, with a thunderous crack. The man fell to the floor, writhing in agony at his head injury, the needle dropping helplessly to the ground where Brian kicked hastily aside. John threw the bat again, this time catching the assassin hard against his stomach.
“THAT’S for fucking with my FUCKIN’ friends!” he snarled.
“John come on…” Ringo pleaded, sensing another outburst and hoping, above all else, that John could keep it together long enough to find some more medicine. “Lets go John. Lets go!”
“Yes, John, leave it!” Brian urged, and he too began to pull at his kissers arm, leading the two band-members away, down the corridor.
“Come on,” he muttered as he dragged them along, “Come on, come on, come on, come on…” His hands were shaking, a visible nervous wreck, as he lead them down the staircase, back down to the ground floor. He didn’t tell them where he was going, and neither did they ask, racing along beside him as he sought out his destination.
“We need to find a store cupboard of some kind!” he soon explained. “Perhaps by reception. Did either of you see a reception?”
“I know where reception is!!” Ringo panted, “It’s……”
He looked around the blood-covered walls and upturned waiting room, trying desperately to gather his bearings, to think straight. He’d been in this hospital before… once for tonsillitis and another time to visit family. He’d known it well then - but amongst all the massacre and upheaval, the place may as well have been a bloody maze.
“I think it’s this way!” he tried desperately, “I think it must be…”
“Try and keep your voice down!” Brian hissed, coughing exhaustedly into his hand.
They ran down yet another corridor - another scene of cataclysm and former-terror. Ringo sped around the corner, checking back for the other two, and heaved open the double-doors at the end. Only to find a measly canteen.
“Shit!” he cursed. “I was sure that was it…”
“Ringo, you fucking genius!” John exclaimed, “FOOD!”
He raced forward, tugging open each cupboard and fridge and storage compartment, and was amazed to find that, indeed, his wishes were made true, as each cabinet was filled to the rafters with provisions. “Holy shit!!” he cried, shoving anything he could get his hands on into the inner pockets of his blazer.
“Okay, but hurry up John…” Brian warned, “We don’t have long.”
“Well give us a hand then, will ye?!”
After a couple of minutes of scooping up everything the hospital provided, Brian demanded they must now find the reception, and find the storage compartment. Ringo led the two, once again, out of the canteen, down a second corridor. It was wrong again, and he led them down a third, a forth. With each fail he became more and more distressed, his thoughts fixated on their half-an-hour-time-slot, and the even more painful fact that George was out there somewhere now; needing him. Needing the medicine.
“FUCK!” he shouted, hitting the wall hard.
“Ringo… Give me a lift up, will you!?”
Ringo obliged instantly, allowing John to climb onto his shoulders, and be lifted up to reach one of the signs hanging from the ceiling, unreadable due to blood. John used his sleeve to wipe the mess away, and squinted, trying to read the writing.
‘RECEPTION’ it read. He wiped more blood to uncover the arrow.
“LEFT!” he yelled. “Reception is left!!”
They didn’t even pause for breath.
Hearts pounding, heads throbbing, limbs aching, the three of them raced in the direction of the merciful arrow, following the longest corridor of them all towards the big recognisable desk that signalled they had finally reached their destination.
John was the first to throw himself over the table, skidding to a halt behind the counter, as he caught eyes on the receptionist; a lady, lying battered and beaten - lifeless on the floor of her workspace.
“Shit…” he mumbled bleakly, determined for his own thoughts not to return to Paul and George.
“Don’t look at her John…” Brian advised. “Look what you found.”
John glanced upwards from the body, to the large, victorious storage cupboard situated like a prize before him. He ran towards it, clasping his hands to the handle as he tried to wrench it open.
“It’s locked!!” he spat
“Use the bat!” Ringo urged, returning to his best friends side with a look of pure triumph masking his terror.
Without further ado, John slammed the bat against the door handle.
“Again, John! Again!”
He lunged again, and again. Beating, pounding, ruthlessly tearing at the door that stood between him and success. He striked it as if it were one of the fuckers that chased after those he loved. Pounded at though it were the freak that tore Paul from him, or the monster that fucked George’s ankle. He kicked and punched and smacked and belted as though the door were one of those deserving sons-of-bitches who had potentially made him lose Paul and George forever. Smacked it like it was one of those who could finish them, the way they finished the receptionist.
And eventually, the door fell apart, and crippled open.
And with it came the high-pitched death sentence, of a security alarm, ringing throughout the whole hospital.
“FUCK!” Ringo cried. “Oh shit, fellas, hurry up!”
He and John raced inside. But Brian couldn’t. He stood, frozen still in the reception, coughing and spluttering with exhaustion. But something was wrong. Every time he coughed, a small slithering of blood spat onto his hand… from his own insides. This didn’t go unnoticed by John, who watched him, eyes brimming with concern.
“Hurry up John!!” Ringo begged, as he emptied cases of pills and medicine once more into his overflowing pockets. “Hurry up, they’re coming!!”
The alarm rang, piercing and shrill against their roaring headaches, and the raging footsteps coming from the floor above were unmistakable.
“That’s enough! That’s enough!” John bellowed, “MOVE Ringo!”
“Wait, we need more….”
“We have PLENTY!”
“BUT PLEASE… HE’S SO SICK!”
“RINGO WE HAVE EVERYTHING! LET’S GO!”
John seized the drummers hand, dragging him from the inside of the cupboard, the bat held firmly in the other.
“WHAT ABOUT CLOTHES???” Ringo cried
“WE DON’T NEED CLOTHES!”
“But… but he’s been sweating…he might need…”
“RINGO, FOR FUCK SAKE MOVE!”
The footsteps were getting louder, coming closer, following the source of the alarm.
“BRIAN, FOLLOW US!” John screamed
He tore towards the window, Ringo and Brain in tow, and slammed a heavy, shattering swing of the bat, which shattered the glass instantly. He moved aside, pushing Ringo through first.
“Careful Ritch…” he urged, holding protectively to the drummers back as he climbed onto the ledge, and jumped down on the other side, in the middle of the car park.
“You go!” Brian demanded.
There was no time to argue. John lifted himself onto the ledge, and - with more of a tight squeeze than Ringo - threaded his legs, then body through the broken window, and threw himself off, into Ringo’s outstretched arms.
“I can’t see Nel and Mal!” Ringo hissed
“HURRY UP BRI!” John cried.
He saw Brian’s legs moving out of the ledge, and turned around, scanning desperately for the sight of their two friends. They were nowhere to be seen. He could hear other windows smashing, and other doors opening. The infected were coming, and coming fast. Into the carpark.
“FOR FUCK SAKE HURRY UP!” he wailed.
Brian fell with a thud onto the carpark ground, wincing in pain as a piece of glass caught him in the palm of his hand. But he had no time to complain, for the next second he and Ringo were racing after John, across the car park, towards an abandoned ambulance.
John had been planning to hide behind it… but something caught his eye.
“GET IN!” he cried, wrenching open the door.
“JOHN, YOU CAN’T HOTWIRE!” accused Brian
“SHUT UP BRIAN, AND GET IN THE FUCKING AMBULANCE!”
Ringo watched in awe, and surreal, overpowering gratitude, as John pulled the lifeless driver from the seat, and pointed briefly to the set of keys that were still hanging from the engine. He jumped into the passenger seat beside John, just in time to feel the vehicle race forwards.
The infected were running at them. Bloody savage fuckers. They were throwing things at the ambulance - bricks and hammers … any weapons they were bearing. The window beside Ringo shattered.
“FUCK!” he screamed, ducking to avoid another hammer that was lobbed their way.
“Bloody cunts!” John spat. He pressed down on the accelerator, heading straight towards the attackers.
“No John, don’t!!” Ringo begged, “Don’t hit them! You’ll wreck the engine!”
The ambulance swerved, sending the three of them flying to the side. John drove faster than ever before, racing around the car park, chancing one more look for Nel and Mal. They weren’t there. And there wasn’t time. And he accelerated towards the exit, through the open gates, onto the road that was sandwiched between the hospital and the woods.
“SHIIIITTT!!” Ringo screamed triumphantly. “YOU DID IT, JOHNNY!!”
They drove on for about only a mile, before grinding to a halt, and pulling up beside the edge of the woods.
Everything was quiet once more.
And they sat for a minute or two, in subdued, shocked and contemplative silence.
Ringo spoke first.
“So…” he muttered. “What now?”
John shrugged, discouragingly. “You’re the one that said they’d be okay.”
“They WILL be okay. Just… where do you think they’ll be?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
Ringo slumped back in the chair. His head was pounding so hard he thought it might implode at any minute. But now, the daunt of their separation was beginning to overcome him. Where the hell could Paul and George be?? They could be anywhere!! Christ… how would they EVER find them!?
“Maybe we should…” he tried desperately, “Maybe we should… go back to the woods… where we left them… and walk from there.”
“Too dangerous, isn’t it? We saw the freaks go in there. Who’s to say they’ve left?!”
Ringo bit his lip, trying desperately to fight back the tears.
George. His George. Who was so unwell, and broken. And he could be anywhere - fucking anywhere! And anything could have happened to him! And Paul, who was so frightened ANYWAY. How much were they asking of him here?? To take himself AND George to safety from two-hundred of those fuckers!? What if John was right? What if this really was hopeless? What if he and Ringo really had fucked everything up?
His hand reached inside his blazer pocket, to a small bottle of medicine he so needed George to consume. But George wasn’t here. He was gone.
“What do you reckon Brian?” John sighed.
“I think they’re going to be dead.”
Ringo spun around so fast that his neck cracked, and a pain soured through him violently. But he didn’t pay attention to that.
“WHAT??!?” he shrieked. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?”
“I think you boys may have given your friends a death sentence.”
John stared incredulously at Brian in the back of the ambulance. “What the FUCK are you on about Brian?!”
“Oh, think realistically boys! One of them can’t walk, and the other one can’t even comprehend any of this shit. They have no chance.”
John’s eyes widened in disbelief. That didn’t sound like Brian Epstein talking at all.
“You’re a son-of-a-bitch, Brian.” he said darkly.
“Oh, go on John. Stand up for Paul, like I knew you would.”
“Brian please…” Ringo begged, his eyes filling with tears, his mouth quivering and his heart hammering with the agony. What was he saying?? Dead? No! Not George… not his George. Not Paul.
But Brian continued. “I know about you and Paul, John.” he sneered. “You have the arrogance to think it’s been going on all this time, right under my nose?”
“Yeah? And so what? What the FUCK is it to you?!”
“It is EVERYTHING to me!” Brian spat. “I’m supposed to know EVERYTHING! But you boys - you shut me out, you close yourselves off - you always have!!”
“Brian…” Ringo whimpered, “P…please tell me this is a joke.”
“I LOVE YOU JOHN!” Brian shrieked. His voice was high, and damn-near hysterical. He sounded…… but he couldn’t sound like…… “I LOVE YOU! BUT YOU JUST FUCK OFF WITH FUCKING PAUL WHO DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE SENSE TO GIVE IT BACK TO YOU!”
“Brian!” Ringo pleaded again. He reached an arm out, trying to comfort, console… to calm him down and make him see sense. But John’s snatched the drummers arm back.
“Don’t touch him!” he warned. He watched Brian intensely. There was no mistaking it now. There was no other explanation. The truth fell upon him like a unpitying tower of bricks. In a low voice, he sighed. “He’s infected, Ringo.”
Ringo’s eyes widened in horror. “NO!” he wailed.
But suddenly, Brian jumped up, and lunged towards them. In a shot, both John and Ringo had opened the car doors, and threw themselves out onto the road. John ran for his friend, standing in front of him, his arm held protectively around him.
Brian followed them out of the ambulance, stepping towards them.
“Stay away from me Brian!” John warned, holding the bat tightly out in front of him. “Get - the fuck - away.”
“Oh John!” Brian chuckled, “You don’t have the guts.”
Brian moved forwards, quicker this time, and John swung the bat in dazzling demonstration that he was not kidding around. The manager reared back, eyeing the bat with sudden caution. Ringo gripped John’s shoulders tightly.
“Don’t hurt him John!”
But Brian had heard enough. He took another step backwards.
“Yeah that’s it!” John threatened, “Keep the fuck away!”
He expected Brian to shout at him. Scream, and wail and threaten like the knife-bearing fan-girl. But Brian did no such thing.
Instead… he smiled.
“Oh, I’ll keep away John.” he stated calmly. “I have more important people to attend to anyway.”
John took a deep, uneasy breath. “What’s that supposed to mean, eh?”
“Well, I think I owe it to the two youngest members of our group, don’t you? I think I ought to try and find the poor lads. All may not be lost just yet.”
“No…” John breathed uneasily, Brain’s words slowly dawning on him. “No… NO BRIAN!”
“I’m sure, given the circumstances, they’d be very grateful to be saved by their dear manager.”
“NO!” John cried, “Brian, you stay the FUCK away from them!!!”
“I just want to ask Paul why he doesn’t love you, John…”
“SHUT UP!”
“I just want to make him see how wrong he is for leading you on the way he does.”
“BRIAN, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“And I suppose, if I’m feeling really merciful, I could put young George out of his misery.”
John lunged forward, the bat flying menacingly from his hands. He was ready to kill, ready to draw blood. But Ringo stopped him, pulling him back desperately.
“John, don’t kill him!!” he sobbed. He turned to Brian, his eyes drenched and pleading, “Please Brian!” he tried. “Please don’t go near them!”
Brian said no more.
He turned away, and ran into the woods.
“FUCK YOU BRIAN!” John screamed, his whole body shaking with rage and unprecedented terror. “YOU STAY AWAY FROM THEM!! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM!”
But Brian was gone.
Time/Location: June 1965. Hospital.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo (progressively). A bit of John/Brian in this chapter.
Warnings: Quite a long chapter. VERY bad language. Violence. And something bad.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
He pounded at the door, as though it were the freak that tore Paul away from him, or the monster that fucked up George’s ankle.
Authors Notes: I'm a terrible person. :(
The hospital was quiet. Too quiet. It echoed the atmosphere at the airport: even down to the bloody walls, and the abandoned bodies. But they tried not to look at that. Ringo had hold of John’s elbow, and the two of them lead the way, with Brian, Nel and Mal all following behind.
There was only one thing on their mind now: Antibiotics.
Paul and George? They could only hope, pray, and resort to the extent of their willpower to believe that the two of them were safe. Ringo continued to mutter words of encouragement to whomever needed it - and constantly to himself - that Paul had heard the warning, had run in good time, and was a far enough distance from the freaks that he and George could have gotten away no problem. He said it so much, he even started to believe it.
Behind them, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Christ!!” Nel hissed
“Okay, stay calm, stay calm.” Brian breathed. He turned, his arms outstretched in front of him, while beside him Nel withdrew the blade he’d snatched, and John moved forwards with the bat. The five of them were spookily withdrawn in their approach to self-defence. There was no screaming, no panicking - just a fight for survival.
But they never did see the culprit of footsteps. The sound faded, and they assumed the person had moved up to another flight. Hesitantly, they lowered their weapons.
“Okay…” Nel sighed, “Okay… so what is it we’re looking for?”
“Well we’re not gonna find a doctor.” John muttered
“We’re looking for medicine. Or antibiotics. Drugs.” Brian urged. “Anything we can find, we take. And we’ll read the labels when we get out of here.”
“Maybe we should split up?” Mal suggested, “We’ll get out of here quicker.”
Another loud noise from the first floor.
“I don’t think it’s safe.” he added, unnecessarily.
“I dunno…” Ringo bit his nail down nervously. “Don’t you think we’re already split up enough?”
“Well we’re gettin’ nothing done just standing here!!” Nel cried. “How bout me and Mal go up to the top floor… you guys stay on this floor… and we’ll meet in the car park in half an hour. Have you got a watch, Brian?”
“Yes, of course I have. Half an hour.”
“Guys, I really don’t think…” Ringo tried, but he was cut off as they began moving away, towards the staircase.
“Half an hour!!” Nel hissed back.
And they were gone.
Well there was no time to worry about that now. Ringo moved forward on auto-pilot, pushed open the first door and tore into the room. It was an office - or used to be anyway, although now the chairs were tossed across the floor, and the desk upturned, and blood sprayed sickeningly across the paperwork. Ringo resisted the urge to heave, as he began pulling open draws, and roaming through the cupboards, emptying machinery and hospital crap onto the floor.
“Richard!” Brian gasped, appearing in the doorway. “Do NOT run off! Anything could happen to you!”
“We need to hurry up Bri! What’s ‘appened to John??”
“He’s not in a good place emotionally.” Brian muttered.
“I don’t GIVE A SHIT! He can still help!!”
“Ringo!” Brian tugged at the drummers arm, “You’re not going to find anything in an office! We’re better looking in a patients room!”
Back in the corridor, Ringo was frustrated to find John leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides, and his face still glistening wet from hopeless tears.
“John!” He groaned, exasperated, “I’ve TOLD YOU! They’re gonna be fine! PLEASE! We need to look for medication!”
He pulled his band mate with him down the hallway, towards the next door.
“I don’t care what you think John; Paul is NOT stupid, okay?! They’re gonna be alright.”
“I don’t think Paul is stupid.” John spoke. “I just said it. It’s just words, Ritch.”
“Right, okay, exactly.”
“He’s the smartest guy I know, is Paul.”
Ringo stopped dead, and turned around to his friend. He looked him straight in the eye, holding him tightly by the shoulders.
“John…” he said softly. “I know you love ‘im. But we have to get this stuff, okay? And get them after. Please? Please, can you just pull yourself together John, please?”
Beside them, Brian squeezed by, and pushed his way in to the second door of the corridor.
John shook his head weakly. “I’m telling you, if anything has happened to them…”
“Nothing has happened. I know it, John. You think I’d be doing this if I didn’t? I love them too! And I’m telling you… nothing has happened.”
Ringo willed himself to hold his gaze, to hold eye contact until he broke through, no matter how long it took. And thankfully, it only took a couple more seconds. Slowly, John nodded his head. Ringo watched, as before his eyes, part of the spark returned to the eyes of his friend, and he squeezed John’s shoulder tightly, appreciatively.
“Come on then.” he smiled.
The second room was worse than the first. Brian was already stood there, completely horror struck.
It was a patient’s room. There was a bed, and an oxygen tube. A dressing gown still hung unused on the door. But the rest was nothing shorter than a bloodbath. The window was broken as well; smashed to pieces, glistening with red liquid, dripping from the mantelpiece like twisted raindrops.
“Search it.” Ringo ordered, dismissively.
With the support of the other two this time, they began pulling out any draws, lifting up any obstacles and disarming any locked cabinets.
“I found something!” John cried
“Wonderful. Keep it.” ordered Brian.
Ringo too found all bits and bobs; medicine jars, bottles of pills, bags of liquid he’d seen when he was younger, back when he was having operations. All of it was shoved into the pockets of his blazer, his fingers shaking with both triumph and nerves. Every now and then they’d hear a noise - freeze - and then get straight back to work. Brian found it astonishing they’d not yet been interrupted, but wasn’t going to ponder too much over the luck.
“OUCH!” he suddenly gasped.
“Oh… you alright Eppy?” frowned John
“Hmm… yes… I’m alright… something just fell in my eye, ouch.”
“It still hurts?”
“You want me to ‘ave a look?”
John moved forwards, placing a gentle hand onto the back of Brian’s head, and a soft finger just below his eye, moving forward to look.
“I can’t see anythin’…”
“Oh, not to worry John, it will be alright…”
“…hold on.”
John probed a bit further, stretching his managers’ eye in all directions to look for the source of the pain. Still, he could see nothing other than the tired bloodshot pupils.
“No, Brian, I can’t see ought.”
“That’s alright, thank you for looking.”
But Brian was still wincing, if not discreetly. John kept a concerned hand attached to the back of the older mans head, piercing into his eyes with concern.
“Really John.” Brian chuckled, finding himself self-conscious under such intense scrutiny. “It’s nothing to worry about, really.”
But before he could release himself, John’s lips were on his; pressing, giving and seeking condolence. And Brian found himself kissing back, his lips magnetically manifesting themselves against John’s desperate, hopeless grasp. It was short, but none-the-less serious… passionate even. And before Brian could comprehend the sudden motion or feeling, John had freed the stunned manager from his grip, and had moved over to assist an even more stunned Ringo.
“Come on Ritch.” he ordered, “We’re done in ‘ere.”
And he marched out of the door.
Ringo ran after him.
“What the bloody ‘ell was that all about, John??” he hissed, as he strode next to his increasingly irrational band mate. “What are you DOING here?!”
“Oh Ringo, come on, we ‘ave more important things to worry about than a quick peck, don’t you think?!”
“A quick peck?!”
“Yes a quick peck!” he challenged. “And not another word about it, alright?!”
Whether another word was coming or not, they’d never find out. For the next second Brian’s voice was screeching from behind them;
“BOYS WATCH OUT!!”
And John spun around just in time to catch it: another crazed attacker, tearing forward at them down the corridor, a syringe held menacingly in murderous hands. John swung the bat without hesitation, only in the nick of time catching the brute on the side of the head, with a thunderous crack. The man fell to the floor, writhing in agony at his head injury, the needle dropping helplessly to the ground where Brian kicked hastily aside. John threw the bat again, this time catching the assassin hard against his stomach.
“THAT’S for fucking with my FUCKIN’ friends!” he snarled.
“John come on…” Ringo pleaded, sensing another outburst and hoping, above all else, that John could keep it together long enough to find some more medicine. “Lets go John. Lets go!”
“Yes, John, leave it!” Brian urged, and he too began to pull at his kissers arm, leading the two band-members away, down the corridor.
“Come on,” he muttered as he dragged them along, “Come on, come on, come on, come on…” His hands were shaking, a visible nervous wreck, as he lead them down the staircase, back down to the ground floor. He didn’t tell them where he was going, and neither did they ask, racing along beside him as he sought out his destination.
“We need to find a store cupboard of some kind!” he soon explained. “Perhaps by reception. Did either of you see a reception?”
“I know where reception is!!” Ringo panted, “It’s……”
He looked around the blood-covered walls and upturned waiting room, trying desperately to gather his bearings, to think straight. He’d been in this hospital before… once for tonsillitis and another time to visit family. He’d known it well then - but amongst all the massacre and upheaval, the place may as well have been a bloody maze.
“I think it’s this way!” he tried desperately, “I think it must be…”
“Try and keep your voice down!” Brian hissed, coughing exhaustedly into his hand.
They ran down yet another corridor - another scene of cataclysm and former-terror. Ringo sped around the corner, checking back for the other two, and heaved open the double-doors at the end. Only to find a measly canteen.
“Shit!” he cursed. “I was sure that was it…”
“Ringo, you fucking genius!” John exclaimed, “FOOD!”
He raced forward, tugging open each cupboard and fridge and storage compartment, and was amazed to find that, indeed, his wishes were made true, as each cabinet was filled to the rafters with provisions. “Holy shit!!” he cried, shoving anything he could get his hands on into the inner pockets of his blazer.
“Okay, but hurry up John…” Brian warned, “We don’t have long.”
“Well give us a hand then, will ye?!”
After a couple of minutes of scooping up everything the hospital provided, Brian demanded they must now find the reception, and find the storage compartment. Ringo led the two, once again, out of the canteen, down a second corridor. It was wrong again, and he led them down a third, a forth. With each fail he became more and more distressed, his thoughts fixated on their half-an-hour-time-slot, and the even more painful fact that George was out there somewhere now; needing him. Needing the medicine.
“FUCK!” he shouted, hitting the wall hard.
“Ringo… Give me a lift up, will you!?”
Ringo obliged instantly, allowing John to climb onto his shoulders, and be lifted up to reach one of the signs hanging from the ceiling, unreadable due to blood. John used his sleeve to wipe the mess away, and squinted, trying to read the writing.
‘RECEPTION’ it read. He wiped more blood to uncover the arrow.
“LEFT!” he yelled. “Reception is left!!”
They didn’t even pause for breath.
Hearts pounding, heads throbbing, limbs aching, the three of them raced in the direction of the merciful arrow, following the longest corridor of them all towards the big recognisable desk that signalled they had finally reached their destination.
John was the first to throw himself over the table, skidding to a halt behind the counter, as he caught eyes on the receptionist; a lady, lying battered and beaten - lifeless on the floor of her workspace.
“Shit…” he mumbled bleakly, determined for his own thoughts not to return to Paul and George.
“Don’t look at her John…” Brian advised. “Look what you found.”
John glanced upwards from the body, to the large, victorious storage cupboard situated like a prize before him. He ran towards it, clasping his hands to the handle as he tried to wrench it open.
“It’s locked!!” he spat
“Use the bat!” Ringo urged, returning to his best friends side with a look of pure triumph masking his terror.
Without further ado, John slammed the bat against the door handle.
“Again, John! Again!”
He lunged again, and again. Beating, pounding, ruthlessly tearing at the door that stood between him and success. He striked it as if it were one of the fuckers that chased after those he loved. Pounded at though it were the freak that tore Paul from him, or the monster that fucked George’s ankle. He kicked and punched and smacked and belted as though the door were one of those deserving sons-of-bitches who had potentially made him lose Paul and George forever. Smacked it like it was one of those who could finish them, the way they finished the receptionist.
And eventually, the door fell apart, and crippled open.
And with it came the high-pitched death sentence, of a security alarm, ringing throughout the whole hospital.
“FUCK!” Ringo cried. “Oh shit, fellas, hurry up!”
He and John raced inside. But Brian couldn’t. He stood, frozen still in the reception, coughing and spluttering with exhaustion. But something was wrong. Every time he coughed, a small slithering of blood spat onto his hand… from his own insides. This didn’t go unnoticed by John, who watched him, eyes brimming with concern.
“Hurry up John!!” Ringo begged, as he emptied cases of pills and medicine once more into his overflowing pockets. “Hurry up, they’re coming!!”
The alarm rang, piercing and shrill against their roaring headaches, and the raging footsteps coming from the floor above were unmistakable.
“That’s enough! That’s enough!” John bellowed, “MOVE Ringo!”
“Wait, we need more….”
“We have PLENTY!”
“BUT PLEASE… HE’S SO SICK!”
“RINGO WE HAVE EVERYTHING! LET’S GO!”
John seized the drummers hand, dragging him from the inside of the cupboard, the bat held firmly in the other.
“WHAT ABOUT CLOTHES???” Ringo cried
“WE DON’T NEED CLOTHES!”
“But… but he’s been sweating…he might need…”
“RINGO, FOR FUCK SAKE MOVE!”
The footsteps were getting louder, coming closer, following the source of the alarm.
“BRIAN, FOLLOW US!” John screamed
He tore towards the window, Ringo and Brain in tow, and slammed a heavy, shattering swing of the bat, which shattered the glass instantly. He moved aside, pushing Ringo through first.
“Careful Ritch…” he urged, holding protectively to the drummers back as he climbed onto the ledge, and jumped down on the other side, in the middle of the car park.
“You go!” Brian demanded.
There was no time to argue. John lifted himself onto the ledge, and - with more of a tight squeeze than Ringo - threaded his legs, then body through the broken window, and threw himself off, into Ringo’s outstretched arms.
“I can’t see Nel and Mal!” Ringo hissed
“HURRY UP BRI!” John cried.
He saw Brian’s legs moving out of the ledge, and turned around, scanning desperately for the sight of their two friends. They were nowhere to be seen. He could hear other windows smashing, and other doors opening. The infected were coming, and coming fast. Into the carpark.
“FOR FUCK SAKE HURRY UP!” he wailed.
Brian fell with a thud onto the carpark ground, wincing in pain as a piece of glass caught him in the palm of his hand. But he had no time to complain, for the next second he and Ringo were racing after John, across the car park, towards an abandoned ambulance.
John had been planning to hide behind it… but something caught his eye.
“GET IN!” he cried, wrenching open the door.
“JOHN, YOU CAN’T HOTWIRE!” accused Brian
“SHUT UP BRIAN, AND GET IN THE FUCKING AMBULANCE!”
Ringo watched in awe, and surreal, overpowering gratitude, as John pulled the lifeless driver from the seat, and pointed briefly to the set of keys that were still hanging from the engine. He jumped into the passenger seat beside John, just in time to feel the vehicle race forwards.
The infected were running at them. Bloody savage fuckers. They were throwing things at the ambulance - bricks and hammers … any weapons they were bearing. The window beside Ringo shattered.
“FUCK!” he screamed, ducking to avoid another hammer that was lobbed their way.
“Bloody cunts!” John spat. He pressed down on the accelerator, heading straight towards the attackers.
“No John, don’t!!” Ringo begged, “Don’t hit them! You’ll wreck the engine!”
The ambulance swerved, sending the three of them flying to the side. John drove faster than ever before, racing around the car park, chancing one more look for Nel and Mal. They weren’t there. And there wasn’t time. And he accelerated towards the exit, through the open gates, onto the road that was sandwiched between the hospital and the woods.
“SHIIIITTT!!” Ringo screamed triumphantly. “YOU DID IT, JOHNNY!!”
They drove on for about only a mile, before grinding to a halt, and pulling up beside the edge of the woods.
Everything was quiet once more.
And they sat for a minute or two, in subdued, shocked and contemplative silence.
Ringo spoke first.
“So…” he muttered. “What now?”
John shrugged, discouragingly. “You’re the one that said they’d be okay.”
“They WILL be okay. Just… where do you think they’ll be?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
Ringo slumped back in the chair. His head was pounding so hard he thought it might implode at any minute. But now, the daunt of their separation was beginning to overcome him. Where the hell could Paul and George be?? They could be anywhere!! Christ… how would they EVER find them!?
“Maybe we should…” he tried desperately, “Maybe we should… go back to the woods… where we left them… and walk from there.”
“Too dangerous, isn’t it? We saw the freaks go in there. Who’s to say they’ve left?!”
Ringo bit his lip, trying desperately to fight back the tears.
George. His George. Who was so unwell, and broken. And he could be anywhere - fucking anywhere! And anything could have happened to him! And Paul, who was so frightened ANYWAY. How much were they asking of him here?? To take himself AND George to safety from two-hundred of those fuckers!? What if John was right? What if this really was hopeless? What if he and Ringo really had fucked everything up?
His hand reached inside his blazer pocket, to a small bottle of medicine he so needed George to consume. But George wasn’t here. He was gone.
“What do you reckon Brian?” John sighed.
“I think they’re going to be dead.”
Ringo spun around so fast that his neck cracked, and a pain soured through him violently. But he didn’t pay attention to that.
“WHAT??!?” he shrieked. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?”
“I think you boys may have given your friends a death sentence.”
John stared incredulously at Brian in the back of the ambulance. “What the FUCK are you on about Brian?!”
“Oh, think realistically boys! One of them can’t walk, and the other one can’t even comprehend any of this shit. They have no chance.”
John’s eyes widened in disbelief. That didn’t sound like Brian Epstein talking at all.
“You’re a son-of-a-bitch, Brian.” he said darkly.
“Oh, go on John. Stand up for Paul, like I knew you would.”
“Brian please…” Ringo begged, his eyes filling with tears, his mouth quivering and his heart hammering with the agony. What was he saying?? Dead? No! Not George… not his George. Not Paul.
But Brian continued. “I know about you and Paul, John.” he sneered. “You have the arrogance to think it’s been going on all this time, right under my nose?”
“Yeah? And so what? What the FUCK is it to you?!”
“It is EVERYTHING to me!” Brian spat. “I’m supposed to know EVERYTHING! But you boys - you shut me out, you close yourselves off - you always have!!”
“Brian…” Ringo whimpered, “P…please tell me this is a joke.”
“I LOVE YOU JOHN!” Brian shrieked. His voice was high, and damn-near hysterical. He sounded…… but he couldn’t sound like…… “I LOVE YOU! BUT YOU JUST FUCK OFF WITH FUCKING PAUL WHO DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE SENSE TO GIVE IT BACK TO YOU!”
“Brian!” Ringo pleaded again. He reached an arm out, trying to comfort, console… to calm him down and make him see sense. But John’s snatched the drummers arm back.
“Don’t touch him!” he warned. He watched Brian intensely. There was no mistaking it now. There was no other explanation. The truth fell upon him like a unpitying tower of bricks. In a low voice, he sighed. “He’s infected, Ringo.”
Ringo’s eyes widened in horror. “NO!” he wailed.
But suddenly, Brian jumped up, and lunged towards them. In a shot, both John and Ringo had opened the car doors, and threw themselves out onto the road. John ran for his friend, standing in front of him, his arm held protectively around him.
Brian followed them out of the ambulance, stepping towards them.
“Stay away from me Brian!” John warned, holding the bat tightly out in front of him. “Get - the fuck - away.”
“Oh John!” Brian chuckled, “You don’t have the guts.”
Brian moved forwards, quicker this time, and John swung the bat in dazzling demonstration that he was not kidding around. The manager reared back, eyeing the bat with sudden caution. Ringo gripped John’s shoulders tightly.
“Don’t hurt him John!”
But Brian had heard enough. He took another step backwards.
“Yeah that’s it!” John threatened, “Keep the fuck away!”
He expected Brian to shout at him. Scream, and wail and threaten like the knife-bearing fan-girl. But Brian did no such thing.
Instead… he smiled.
“Oh, I’ll keep away John.” he stated calmly. “I have more important people to attend to anyway.”
John took a deep, uneasy breath. “What’s that supposed to mean, eh?”
“Well, I think I owe it to the two youngest members of our group, don’t you? I think I ought to try and find the poor lads. All may not be lost just yet.”
“No…” John breathed uneasily, Brain’s words slowly dawning on him. “No… NO BRIAN!”
“I’m sure, given the circumstances, they’d be very grateful to be saved by their dear manager.”
“NO!” John cried, “Brian, you stay the FUCK away from them!!!”
“I just want to ask Paul why he doesn’t love you, John…”
“SHUT UP!”
“I just want to make him see how wrong he is for leading you on the way he does.”
“BRIAN, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“And I suppose, if I’m feeling really merciful, I could put young George out of his misery.”
John lunged forward, the bat flying menacingly from his hands. He was ready to kill, ready to draw blood. But Ringo stopped him, pulling him back desperately.
“John, don’t kill him!!” he sobbed. He turned to Brian, his eyes drenched and pleading, “Please Brian!” he tried. “Please don’t go near them!”
Brian said no more.
He turned away, and ran into the woods.
“FUCK YOU BRIAN!” John screamed, his whole body shaking with rage and unprecedented terror. “YOU STAY AWAY FROM THEM!! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM!”
But Brian was gone.