This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

16. Any Doctors in the House?

"Who's Ana?"

Neither of us moved. Ana trembled slightly, eyes constantly moving between the man with the gun and Dr. Calvin. It was the first time that I realized they were a lot closer than most doctors to their patients; they probably had a history I wasn't even aware of.

The man barked, "Which one of you is Ana?" He moved his gun, jabbing it closer to us. "Huh? Which one of you is this Ana girl?" His hands shook—more than even Ana's did, and she was the one he was searching for. Although his hands trembled, it wasn't in fear; he was more angry-looking than fearful, and he was holding the gun properly—both hands on the gun, feet apart and knees bent, the whole shebang. He was older, maybe in his forties or late thirties, with tanned skin and some scruff on his neck. Really, he looked normal—not gonna-kill-for-no-reason type of material—like a dad that took his kid to football games and did honest work for a living. Average looking—with some gray hairs mixing into the brown peeking out of his hat; a bit stout, with a small bulge where his belly was; not too beefy with humongous muscles, but not a toothpick, either; strong jawline and thick nose, with small brown squinty eyes. A normal man no one would really notice while walking down the street. Completely average.

He didn't look crazy. Not like movies and books always said.

He looked desperate.

"ANA!" The man thrusted his gun farther out, closer to us. "Which one of you is it?" His eyes were shifting rapidly, checking all over the place. His finger began to squeeze the trigger.

Cautiously, Ana raised her hand; I jerked my head, trying—but failing—in sending a silent message: Don't be stupid!

It didn't work. Ana's raised her hand, meekly whispering, "I'm Ana." Gulping, she asked, "What—what do you want?" like a shy schoolgirl and not somebody in a Life or Death situation.

The man grumbled, eyeing her, checking for... something. Finally, he said, "Do you die?"

"What?" Ana stumbled back a step, bewildered. "I don't understand."

Growling, the stranger repeated, "I said, 'Do you die?'" He edged closer to her, lowering his gun slightly. "Simple question. Simple answer. Yes or no."

"N-n-no. I haven't— I guess I can't—"

The man lunged, gun aimed at anyone threatening to intercept him.

So, yeah, it was pointed directly at me.

"Get away from her!" I shouted, swinging the metal bat still in my hands. There was a crunch—quite satisfying, if I do say so myself—and the man howled, clutching his right hand to his chest; with his left, the stranger held tight to his gun, now off-balance, before firing.

There was a bang, loud, deafening. A ringing filled my ears afterwards, the echo of the shot reverberating in my skull. Then there was a searing pain by my shoulder, where the bullet had grazed the skin. Grimacing, I swung again, but I was clumsy from the pain and barely caught his leg. At least I could still say I left a bruise, for a nice farewell.

Another bang bounced around the hall, and Ana went down screaming. Blood spurted from her leg, flowing to pool in a puddle on the floor.

Using his left hand, the stranger yanked Ana to her feet, tucking her under his armpit, and went for it, pointing his gun around at any witnesses. Dropping my backpack with a thump, I took off after him, ducking and weaving around the obstacles left in my path, leaping down the steps, and nearly crashing through the door in my attempt to get out as fast as possible.

Except I didn't go as fast as possible, because there was a desperate man holding a gun to innocent people, including Ana.

We were outside, face-to-face, both breathing heavily. One desperate man. One desperate teenage boy. He wanted something unknown. I wanted to make sure Ana stayed here, if not completely safe.

And then the man fired again, twice. Once hitting my pinky toe. Another blasting down a big O hanging from the front of the hospital.

In the single moment where I dove away to keep from being smashed to the concrete like Sarah, pain throbbing in my shoulder and foot, he dragged Ana into an old green minivan, shoving her inside before jumping in the driver's seat. He gunned it, the old car jerking forward before squealing away. There were no license plates to identify it, not that it would do any good; I didn't know the man's name or incentive; and I didn't know where the heck he was going.

All I knew was that I had just lost the Other.

I just lost Ana.

And I had to get her back.