Escape
Michael Youngberg
BANG, BANG, BANG!!!
WHAT THE …!!!
I look to the left and right and everyone is acting oddly, some are yelling and screaming; while still others seem to be oblivious, or just frozen with terror. The man in the doorway looks at me; he smiles, and squeezes his trigger. I don’t feel the first one, but the second one hits a nerve. My left shoulder goes slack.
The world goes red, then black. I’m still moving I can feel it. The gun is in my hands now. I don’t know how it got there, but its there. The world goes back closer to normal, but the room still glows red. The gunman is on the ground and bleeding, I see his smile is gone; the bastard. His magazine is empty.
My classmates look at me from their places in awe, but some seem almost oblivious to what’s happened; this is not exactly a normal day. “Does anyone in here know First Aid!” I holler. The frightened old nurse in the back of the room looks at me and quickly nods to the men in the back. I tell her to tend to the wounded, and I tell one of the more composed people to call for an ambulance and tell them that we have one dead with a high possibility of more to come. She gives me a frightened and puzzled look, so I yell, “I’m going to go see if there are more of them out there.” The men in white begin to come towards the dead Gunman. I eject the old magazine, and slam a full one into the AK-47; the bastard had a few spares on him. It looks like he, or they, were planning on quite a few deaths today.
I take a deep breath and let the adrenaline take over. Walking through the hall I hear muffled shots and screams. I run, the gun raises and fires, and then he’s down. No time to establish order though, I yell to them to call for paramedics. I’m gone before they are able to respond.
There are a few more situations to deal with and I, well, I survive; which comes as a surprise to all being that I’m out-numbered, out-gunned and wounded. The medics arrive flanked by cops, but the situation is already safe, if not exactly sane. The wounded, myself included, are carried off to another hospital; where most are treated for mainly low-grade gunshot wounds. Apparently the one I was in couldn’t treat a hero like me properly. I had taken one in the shoulder and one had grazed my thigh, that one hurt the most. They’re gonna hurt a lot worse when the morphine wears off; but until then its time to rest.
* * *
Four hours later I wake up to the click-clacking of some unsympathetic cop’s shoes. Apparently he doesn’t he know that this is no time to wake some one like me. Damn drugs only last so long, after-all. Officer PORKINS needs a statement from me before he goes; it seems he’s been here since they let me rest, waiting to come in. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused him. He looks so damn familiar to me, I don’t know why. His white uniform matches the rest of the room giving off the impression that the dark skin of his head is floating around as he continues to pace; back and forth. So I asked him if we knew each other, he quickly (almost too quickly) responded, “No I… I don’t think we’ve met before, and if you can just tell me what happened today, I can be on my way.” Man, is he ever the jumpy one, and pushy too. I told him what I knew about what had happened, with a few embellishments to take care of the missing frames in my mind (I didn’t want to hold up the dough-nuts any longer). No reason to tell him that the movements, the ones I did remember, felt so natural, almost fluid; like muscle memory or something. No, he definitely doesn’t need to know that.
When he finally left I tried to get back to sleep, but I couldn’t. The events kept replaying in my mind, and the story is getting more and more shaded. The less I remember the more I need to know. I’m gonna have to ask the others what happened in that room. Even though I don’t think that they can tell me what I need to know.
How could I do what I did? I don’t regret it, that’s not what I mean. It just doesn’t make any sense. Especially since the last time I held a gun it was a .22 and I was a freaking boy scout, and not even a particularly good shot at that (I didn’t get the merit badge). That was more than ten years ago. Almost half of my life, I’m only twenty-one after all. Yet here I am, some how able to use an automatic rifle under extreme circumstances. The only time I’ve seen one of those guns was in the movies, and movies aren’t that effective of training tools. I mean the last time I played ‘soldier’ I was like nine, so that’s not how I was trained. “Screw it I’ll have plenty of time to figure this one out tomorrow,” I think as I finally allow the night (and drugs) to take me.
* * *
I can’t breathe all of a sudden. The world is totally black, and smells like the industrial laundry detergent they always use in places like this. I hear the muffled sounds of someone laughing, or maybe just talking. What is pressing on my face? I reach up to take it away and someone grabs my hands, oh shit. “This is it,” I think, “this is how I’m going to die.” Then the darkness tints red and I’m not struggling any more, about five seconds later neither do they. The next thing I know I’m standing and they… aren’t. Blood stains their Doctor’s coats where the scalpels landed. The pillow they tried to snuff me out with is on the floor next to them, the blood seeps into and up the threads, I feel sick. The blood is making me nauseas. So I run. (Admittedly it’s not the best choice; but the most obvious one at the moment.) This is the second time in the same 24 hours that someone has tried to kill me. It’s the second time I’ve been saved by something, some training from a previous life, like a survival mode. One thing’s for sure, someone is out to get me.
Why are these people after me? What have I done to them? Who are they? All I know is, I’m not safe here.
Once I come to my senses, I find an orderly and tell him what has happened. He looks at me like I’m some kind of drug patient. He assures me it was just a dream and he takes me back to a room, I don’t think it was my room, no dead bodies. No blood. Maybe they already cleaned them up. It’s probably a new room but who can really tell in a place like this. Everything is white wherever you look, it’s disorienting. At least it appears sterile, a small comfort.
Everything is in order in this room and that makes me feel a little safer. I try to rest but due to my previous experience, sleep does not come easy.
* * *
PORKINS came back for another visit in the morning, He said he heard about the ‘development’ he says it’s ‘very troubling’ to him. He sits down and asks me about my day and how I’ve been feeling lately. You know all those bullshit small talk questions that people ask, just trying to be polite. I don’t buy it.
“How the hell do you think I feel? Why are you here again PORKINS, I gave you my statement, what do you want from me?” I snarl.
He assures me, “I don’t want anything from you, I just want to make sure you are doing O.K. here.”
“We’d hate to have to transfer you to a more intensive clinic. We aren’t going to need to do that are we?” He adds almost too nicely.
Coyly I respond, “No sir, I don’t think we need to do that.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, is there anything else I can do for you today.”
“No sir, I’m fine now.”
After a little more chit-chat, PORKINS got up and left. Finally some peace. The nerve of that man though, coming back after what happened yesterday, and acting like I was at fault for the ‘incident’ last night. Threatening me with transfer, how can he do that? He’s not in charge, is he? He’s a damn cop after all, a probably just a rent-a-pig. Though it might be a good thing; this is not safe terrain for me. I seem to be a wanted man here; I’ve got to keep on the move so that they don’t get to me. They’re close, I can smell ‘em, and they’ve proved I’m not safe here. I’ll have to disappear. Go somewhere they’ll never find.
But how am I supposed to escape this god awful place, it’s built like a labyrinth. They planned this place to trap all the germs inside so that the outside world would be safe. But , I’m trapped in this cesspool of disease and despair. All night long I hear people screaming and hollering because they’ve been infected, they scream and yell until the cops and paramedics show up, all dressed in white, and give them drugs to kill the disease and make them okay again. It’s just a matter of time before they get to me too. Maybe that’s their plan, kill me with disease. This place reeks of them. They must have penetrated the hospital before I got here, just in case. I need to get out; they won’t be prepared for that. If I’m gonna escape it will have to be at night. Yeah… that is when they sleep, they can’t watch me then. Then I can be free… Free.
What is free?
I can’t remember much from before, I remember my childhood: The long nights camping with my father and sisters, the smell of mom’s home-cooked meals when we would come home. The birds chirping outside the window while I did my home work, the taste of my First Love’s kiss on my lips…
I miss those days so much.
After I graduated high school I don’t remember much. I remember my parents were very proud of me, and then I felt very scared and alone, but nothing else… My family was so distant and I don’t know why. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals like this one. I must be constantly injured, even though I can’t find the wounds. I guess I heal quickly. They let me go to school, and I get to learn so that I can be productive when I get better. But every time I get close to getting out… they come after me.
They won’t let me get out!
They won’t let me be free!
I have to get out!
I’m suffocating here!
This place is going to get to me soon and then there will be no hope left. They keep attacking me. They’re trying to keep me here so I’ll get sick and go crazy; and some days, I think they may be winning.
NO!
They won’t win, they can’t. I’ve got to escape, but how. I don’t have a lot of time before they come after me again.
* * *
After spending a long time on my bed huddled up in deep thought, I get up and begin to pace the room like an expectant father. I can’t think of any way out of this hell hole. This place is all so seemingly perfect, and clean, but I know the dirty truth and I need a way out. Less thought and more action. That’s the only way out. I’ve got to wait until the time is right, then I’ll make a run for it.
* * *
The men in white come by to help me to class, I assure them that I‘ll be able to make it on my own but they don’t let go. They keep walking me forward. Forcing me forward. I use all the force I have to get them off of me, and it works.
Holy Shit it worked!
No time to celebrate though, I hit the ground running. And they can’t catch me, the alarm starts blaring. I turn left and right, but I can’t find a way out of here. I feel like a rat in a maze this place is all too similar to figure out where I’m going, no landmark. I feel like I’ve been running forever, my heart pumps battery acid.
Finally some luck, PORKINS appears at the door of what looks like a stair-well. I get to the stairs right as PORKINS walks out in his sparkling uniform, he tries to grab me but he fails, ha damn pig. Its too late, I’m in the stairs, I can get out.
They’ll be guarding the bottom, so I run up, up, up the stairs to the roof. I narrowly dodge orderlies and foul-looking nurses as I tear up the stairs.
No!
No it can’t be!
There is a large man blocking the door. There’s no way, how could he have known I would come this way. I try to get past him but it’s no use. He grabs me and slams me down on a bed in the hallway; his friends strap me to the bed with leather bands while he holds me in place. At some time during this, Officer PORKINS head floats into the room.
“I’m sorry Oliver, but you’ve left us no choice. Don’t worry you’ll be all better soon,” he says calmly.
“You!?! You’re one of Them! How can you do this to me? What did I ever do to you, you Bastard! LET ME GO, DAMMIT! LET ME GO! I’M A HERO!”
One of the men slips a needle into my arm, world begins to swim peacefully.
“I’M A H e r o……………”
Incident report # 1138
Patient: Oliver C. Deitrich
Reporting Clinician: Dr. P. Orkins; M.D.
Date: November 1st, 1966
Patient # 327:
Patient was suffering from paranoid delusions, due to “Battle Fatigue” linked to his service record. His time served in the recent Vietnam Conflict appears to be the central cause of his disease. Patient #327 also displays symptoms of retrograde amnesia. He does not seem to remember his military training, or much of his life afterward leading to his court-martial or his commitment to this facility.
Patient had one outburst at 8:50 am during free-time on Tuesday the ninth of October, and had another episode later the same day at 10:30 pm where he claimed to have been attacked, and that he defeated his attackers. Patient displays classic signs of Paranoia.
The following day Patient #327 attempted an escape from this facility on the way to get his morning medication. He sprinted up the stairway but was promptly stopped by the Guard at the top of the stairs. He was then restrained on a gurney, and given an anesthetic. Shortly after which the patient was treated with our Electro-shock therapy equipment. I believe that the therapy has been successful. All of our nurses have reported a significant improvement in the #327’s behavior. I firmly believe this treatment is still very useful, I suggest we practice it more often in the treatment of our patients.
Signed,
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