Left for Dead

Chapter 7

Quick A/N: This chapter is not for the faint of heart, nervous, or squeamish. This is part of the reason why this story is rated R. But for the rest of you, enjoy!

Left for Dead Chapter 7

GABE’S POV

I needed Z one last time, and she was going to help me escape Smith’s Grove.

I mentally yelled to her, with desperation. “Z! I need you one more time!”

‘I knew this day would come, and I was in the back of your mind the whole time, and you never got rid of me. Can I tell you how lonely I got? It wasn’t fun, asshole! And by the way, you better listen to me, or you really will go fucking crazy, bitch!’ she said to me.

Damn, who knew there was so much rage in just a voice?

Okay, Z, what do I do? I thought.

‘Use that plastic knife you had from a few months ago. Pull it out, and use it to pick the lock on the door.’

I listened to her instruction, and pulled it out from under the mattress and put it into the small lock on the inside of the door.

I jiggled the knife’s handle around a bit and heard a small click.

I was out.

I opened the large door, and with it being in the middle of the night, the odds were in my favor.

I crept down the long corridor, and turned a few times, being extremely cautious, and saw the small office the nurse was filing papers in.

That’s when sirens started blaring, and metal barriers dropped in front of all the exits.

Shit, they caught on to me! A few doctors ran out of the office the nurse was in, and started running in all directions.

I turned around and started running toward the back of the building.

‘Hide in this closet around the corner, and wait for approximately twelve minutes.’ Z said to me.

Okay, how the fuck will I know when twelve fucking minutes are up? I swear, damn voices don’t know shit.

‘Look, if it makes it easier, I’ll tell you when to go.’ Z said to me.

As soon as she finished saying that sentence, a doctor burst in, and yelled, “I got him! Supply closet 4A!”

With an animalistic roar, I lunged upward, and lodged the plastic knife deep into his jugular vein. I ripped the plastic across his throat, and pulled the now red plastic out of his body.

He dropped to the white tiled floor, and his chest stopped rising, so I knew he was dead.

With that last thought, I ran out the door, and made my way around a corner.

I slammed into a nurse, and it knocked the wind out of me. She fell to the ground, and screamed with all the power she could. I yelled out, and brought the plastic knife down into her abdomen, and she screamed one more time, before going limp.

I ran back to the front of the building where the office was, locked the door, and then hid in the office, under a desk.

The sirens still pierced the air, and it was blaring loud enough to be heard for miles. My ears rang, and I was sick of this shit.

I brought my head up, on accident, and bumped my head pretty hard. I heard something fall off of a rack behind me, and I found a shotgun on a holder under the desk. What the fuck? I counted the shells in it. Five. There was another pistol behind the shotgun, which I grabbed and put in the waist band of my pants.