Head Full of Ghosts

Chapter 19 - Next in Line

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but it felt like an eternity of burning pain.

His ears were roaring with the most intense persistent ring he'd ever heard, an endless, constant, high-pitched drone with no change in volume or tuning as it continued on it's impossibly long sustain.

Every fiber of his being screamed with pain at the slightest movement, though most of his reacted the same way with no movement required. Dimly he was aware that the pain meant he was alive, that he had survived, but it also made him feel that he wished he wasn't. That he hadn't.

His eyes were squeezed shut, but they were filled with an unending tunnel of bright lights flashing in every color. Something wet poured down his cheeks and pooled against the side of his face and he realized he was sobbing. Unwillingly, uncontrollably sobbing.

Was he on fire? Had the explosion caught him? Was this the horrible sensation of slowly burning to death?

But it couldn't have been the case. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, sensation that wasn't pain crept back into his body. He tried moving, just a tiny amount, but it sent such a bright bolt of new pain rippling across his body that he nearly blacked out.

He returned to lying motionless until it felt like burning agony had settled to smoldering embers before he finally dared moving once more, but this time, only risking the small step of opening his eyes.

The sky had darkened significantly noticeably from when he had entered the hospital. Beyond that, he could see a stretch of pavement and some greenery that must have been the line of bushes walling off the parking lot. He could see nothing else, so he closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing and letting the hurt subside further.

Again he lost track of time, but a shuffling sound followed by the scrape of something brushing against concrete sent his eyes flying open again. He saw the same sight as before, but this time he lifted his upper body enough to rotate his head. Claws of pain scratched at every articulating part of the movement, but he pushed on anyway. He managed to maneuver just enough to make out a few pairs of shoes and pants, and then rested his head back down on the concrete.

"About time you guys got here," he choked out, his voice dry and cracked.

Suddenly hands were grabbing him, lifting him up, and he unwittingly screamed out from the rough treatment. His vision darkened, globs of light dancing and spinning in his vision.

After a moment, as the world swam back into a degree of focus, he began to make out figures around him.

But something was wrong with the figures. Something he couldn't quite place. He blinked emphatically and shook his head - an action he was forced to do slowly or else risk toppling over again from blacking out.

The blobbish figures cleared into slightly more discernible shapes, and he tried counting them. He got a few too many figures along and started the count over again, but again got to too high of a number.

He repeated the attempt to clear his head, but it was interrupted by a shove to his back that sent him stumbling forward down to his knees.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" Eli asked, annoyed. He blinked rapidly, clearing away more of the blurriness, until he could see that this wasn't Joe and the others.

He was surrounded by zombies.

Eli let out a yelp and fell backwards, only to be shoved again from that side. This time the shove balanced him onto his feet, and he turned around to find that there were more zombies back in that direction, cutting off his path to the inside of the hospital.