Word Count: 663
My head was full of white noise. I couldn't think. I couldn't see properly. When I moved, my stomach emptied itself. I had no idea how long I was in that bathroom, but let me tell you, man, it was grim waking up on the floor of a bathroom in some pretty serious withdrawals from whatever they'd been dosing me with. The way I was reacting, I guess it was opiates of some kind.
When I was done throwing up all over myself, I shakily forced myself to my feet. I was sort of hoping that what I'd heard before I fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom had just been a bad trip, but my gut instinct was telling me to be careful.
It was deathly quiet now. I was still on my own, which wasn't exactly a bad thing, but my door was still locked. I looked around my room. There wasn't much to the room - a bed, a bedside table, the IV bag and its hook, and the bathroom. So it didn't take me long to find the keys in the drawer of the bedside table. I wasn't sure whether I should be relieved that I had a way out or terrified of what was out there. I felt a horrible mix of the two, I think. It felt like I was going from one nightmare to another - from the horrible testing unit, to... well, whatever was out there that caused the soldiers to come inside and start shooting.
There was more than the key for my own room - there was a set of them, and a swipe card. Someone wanted me to be able to get out. There was a piece of paper wrapped around them, too, and it had something written on it, but I had no idea what it said.
"Fuck," I muttered, "fuck, fuck, shit." I tucked the paper in the pocket of my pajama pants and silently thanked whoever had thought to put me in something more covering than a normal hospital gown. I swallowed, not sure if I was ready to get out of there. I mean, I wanted to get out, I was hungry and I was covered in my own vomit and surely anywhere else would be better than trapped in a hospital unit full of patients that were infected and dying, or basically zombies the last time I saw them. That's what they turned into after this virus was finished with you. It made you a fucking zombie. It was like all those horror movies you stayed up to watch as a kid, every fear that somehow, someone somewhere would fuck up and kill us all. It was all happening, wasn't it?
Maybe it was just in this compound. Maybe everywhere else was okay now. I mean, I had no idea how long I'd been in there. A week? A month? Longer? I had no way of telling and barely any memory of it all, just white walls, white clothes, white sheets over white faces.
I licked my lips, feeling the cracks in them and the skin peeling away when I moved them. I looked down at myself, pulling up the hem of my shirt. Was I skinnier? I was definitely paler. It didn't help me figure out how long it had been, though.
Drawing in a few rattly breaths, I looked at the door, turning the keys through my fingers anxiously. What was I doing? This was insane. I pretended this was stil a film set. I was still an extra with no lines, I just got lost on the super creepy part of the set, and passed out from taking too many drugs. It'd be okay, I'd fine a PA and they'd laugh at my stupidity. I'd lose my temper, but it'd be okay because I'd be back with a real human being, not hallucinating or freaking out over a bad trip. I’d be okay. I’d be okay.