To Outlast Your Never-Ending Career

Chapter Twentyseven

The corpse-littered hallways painted the path, boundaries set to keep from going astray; all this for the moment a doctor and reporter gingerly make their way past many a suspicious few. 

“Do you doctors just print your emails and leave them around for fun?”

Miles held the upteenth document to the woman. She only rolls her eyes as they continue down the hall, just passed the man sticking his nose in bloodied words. Down the hole in the floor, over a hurdle, and into the dimly lit room of cells. Y/N placed an arm out, stopping the man beside her. 

“Just shut up! Let me think for a minute!”

Leading the two into a squat, Y/N raises a finger to her lips. Blood splatters against the pane of glass directly above their heads. Of course, a nosy journalist can’t help but point their camera in the voices direction as they turn the corner.

The doctor had just managed to sneak by the doorway when he was caught.

“I’d like you to stay quiet.” The patient released a shaky breath. Her heart ached for a moment. It was quickly gone, now, as she was decidedly focusing on survival at this point. 

She signaled for Miles to hurry, who dipped his head in obedience to the bloodied man before him. 

The end of the dark hall was a security room. If it still worked, maybe, she thought, she could find some news of her true partner in all of this. Hope was foolish, she knows, but what else could she do?

“...rip our blood out like a damned firecracker. Have you shut down the gates? …Tried to trap us in here, but not a lot they can do about it, laying in their own steamy guts, is there?”

“Maybe we should sit this one out, doc.”

“I need to get in there… Maybe we could distract him?” Miles face fell in disbelief.

“In this tight space? How do you propose we do that?”

“We run for it, then loop back around? Obviously?”

Miles eyes wandered about the doctor. Torn uniform, blood staining her skin, a limp in her step; there was no way he’d let her tired form risk getting caught. She was his exit ticket, after all.

“That isn’t going to work,” looking around, Miles pulled an irritated Y/N to a nearby mess of curtains and furniture, “Stay put.”

“What are you saying? Why would I–”

“You want in, right? I’ll give him the loop around, you do your business, and then I’ll come get you.”

“Alone?” Y/N was frightened. She hadn’t expected to separate so soon. “Why would we do that? I won’t allow it.”

“That’s too bad. Anyway,” He shoves her into a hiding spot, bringing a finger to his mouth telling her to be silent, “Here’s my camera. Get a few good shots for me, okay?”

“Mr. Upshur, I said–”

Miles shushed her, waltzing his way up to the security room. He slammed the door open. “Come get me, asshole!”

As he’d planned, Miles ran off, tailed by the other man. Amidst his shouting, Y/N was left to the dark hall alone. Almost in disbelief, she raises the camera, inspecting it. It was practically the same as Waylon’s, only with a few more technical options. It’s red, flashing light catches her attention. She stares into it for a moment, as if she had forgotten herself.

“Right, the security room…”

A few screens show only static. Attributed to the distaste for surveillance, surely. Briefly she could find Mile’s figure darting on and off screen. She should be quick, for his sake.

Though no genius with computers, she hoped she’d be able to work everything out. There was no possibility of outward communication within these rooms. Perhaps an intercom or way of speaking to other areas of the asylum, but that was it. And the unit she was in would only show the camera’s within that area. But if she still had that key card she found back then…

She had it! Y/N’s fingers fumbled with the item, trying to read the small numbers under dull lights. Tapping away at the keyboard until she got what was needed.

“Where are you, Waylon…”

She scanned each screen, hoping to find any movement. 

There was nothing, save for the wandering patients. Maybe it was a good thing, she thought, maybe he already left that place.

Then she saw it. On one of the only working camera’s was Gluskin transporting a locker. The locker. The very one she had told Waylon to hide in. Her breath caught in her throat. She points the camera at the screen, light sobs escaping her. It auto-focuses, barely able to pick anything up. 

“I don’t know what I can do,” She lets out, compelled to speak before the camcorder. It watches on in indifference.

The loud clicks of the keys amount to nothing. She can’t magically fix the other cameras nor zoom in. She can’t find a way to stop him. She can’t even plead with him, as the microphone of this room was broken into a guards dead body. 

“We have to get there soon. I have to. I won’t live without him.” She stutters out. She was shaking. Perhaps in anger. All Miles saw was her crying.

“I shook him off, we should get going. Everything work out on your end?” He didn’t want to push her. It was just instinct that brought his arm up to her shoulder. He felt awkward.

“Not really,” Y/N sniffles, quickly putting on a brave face, “But thank you. I’m sorry to say I’m in a bit of a rush, now.”

Miles took the camera back, noticing a slight pull from the woman before him. She acted like it was no bother, but the device must have been somewhat comforting to have. He glanced up at the monitors, trying to see what she was looking for. There wasn’t much going on that he could see. Just one or two patients stumbling around. And an oddly centered locker. Those really were scattered about, he wondered why there were so many in such random locations.

Y/N reached out, pressing a button. The glass before them cleared out.

Follow the blood

A message was painted onto the inside of the glass with an arrow on the other wall. The decontamination hall stop was now unlocked.

“The only way out is forward.”