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                “Pack it up, pack it in,
                Let me begin, I came to win,
                Battle me, that’s a sin.”

                                House of Pain, Jump Around

                I find a small backpack stuffed into one of the personal shelves beneath the counters that line the lab. I pull out the black backpack, considering its sturdy design. But when I open it up, all I find inside is a handful of women’s magazines. I discard them onto the table and keep looking.

                I go around the room, clockwise, checking in all the drawers and underneath all the tables. Inside the almost-white doors, I find shelves and shelves of material. Most of it’s useless to anyone but a chemist. But as I look, I find some distilled water.

                It seems strange to me to be so delighted over water, but I open the container and hoist the bottle up, letting the water dribble out into my mouth. The wet goodness suddenly explodes my thirst and I start to gulp at the water as I pour it onto my face. The stale, but clean water drives away many of my worries.

                I have some trouble filling up Anton’s water bottle, dealing with the different sizes of the two containers, but I finally cap off the small sports bottle, throwing it into my new backpack. I look around a bit more, finding nothing more useful than some peanuts.

                I grab up the metal tin and pull back the plastic cover. I grab up a few of the nuts and pop them into my mouth, grimacing. I check the tin again, groaning when I see they’re cashews. I take them just the same.

                I put the tin with my backpack and the jug of water and keep searching. “There has to be one somewhere.” I say to myself as I search. And as if to answer my prayers, the next door I open reveals it. Hanging from the white door is a small, red and white plastic box.

                ‘Emergency Kit’.

                I yank the box from its holders and open it up. I find the usual assortment of bandages and gauze, but it’s lacking anything truly useful like matches or a map. But as I shift through it, I decide that it’s unreasonable to expect that in a lab medical kit. I throw it with the other stuff and keep looking.

                After what seems too long at searching, I don’t find anything more. So I pack up all my stuff into the backpack and sling it over my shoulders. I help myself to another unnecessarily gluttonous dose of the distilled water, then open the door from the lab.

                The cold, wide air of the hallways greets me again. With my bloody crutch in hand, I start to head to my right. I decide to just pick a direction and keep going that way. Whether it’s the front door or not, I’ll find a way out along the farthest wall. Eventually.

                I hurry down the corridors, making my way past intersection after intersection, pursuing the distant edge of the facility. I make good time, the soft echo of my stolen loafers keeping me company as I rush.

                And as I rush past what has to be my tenth intersection of monotony, I realize the danger of my rushing.

                Halfway to the next hallway, I come to a halt.

                A monster steps out in front of me.

                He’s dressed in a blue suit, his tie torn free. His lips are stained with blood, while his receding hairline is just as marred. His fresh, intent eyes are locked on me as he starts to growl and hiss, rushing at me.

                Unlike the other, when he gets close, he swings at me. His open hand flashes through the bright, cold air like a blade, then he comes around from the other side, flailing badly with all he’s got. I step back from the second swing, then move in from the side, catching him in the side of the hip with the crutch. The blow buckles his hip and he falls to one knee.

                I turn, spinning around for a typical finish, but he lunges at me as I’m spinning. I don’t have time to dodge it as he tackles me around my waist. I throw my hands at him as we both fall to the ground, holding his head. He snaps like a rabid dog at my skin while he tears and scratches at me to get at my innards with his hands.

                I thrust my left leg between his head and his right arm, digging my boney knee into his shoulder. Holding his head and his other arm, I smack my right leg into the back of his head, jostling him a bit. It doesn’t seem to do any good. He grabs my knee and tries to bite into it. I pull back on his bloodstained hair, nearly tearing his scalp right off. With the hold on his hair, I twist his head around a bit, then slam the bottom of my fist right into his face, hearing and feeling the crack of his nose. I hit again, blood spilling out over my hand, but I follow up with a third hit, then shove him from me.

                He goes skidding across the ground and I get back up to my feet. He rushes at me and I bring my crutch down like an axe. The elbow support drives him down into the marble floor and bends the aluminum frame even more. But he’s on the floor, gasping as he tries to recover.

                I take my cue. I turn to run in the direction I had been heading.

                She’s maybe my height, but a good thirty pounds lighter. She’s at least four intersections away. And yet, as I blink, she nearly clears a single hallway. For a moment, the terror of a monster running at me is forgotten and I stare in disbelief that something the size of a human being could clear that distance in so short a time.

                The woman barrels into me, but I loop her hand like I had done in class time and time again. I pivot on my foot and send her flying back behind me. But as I send her skidding, he comes at me. Up and refreshed, he takes another swing for my head.

                I duck under the swing and catch him in the stomach with my bent crutch. The blow doubles him over and I slam down onto his back from behind. That blow does little, though, and he whirls around at me. I narrowly duck underneath the swing, and drop down to grab his legs. With a fast yank, I pull his legs out from underneath him and he falls flat on his back.

                I loop my arm around his shin and bend my other arm around his foot, holding his ankle in a debilitating hold. But he keeps struggling. I force his ankle farther into the lock, but he keeps fighting. I finally yank the ankle all the way out, hearing the snap.

                He doesn’t stop fighting for a second.

                I throw his leg down and step away. He starts to fight up, mindless of his broken ankle. He hobbles towards me now instead of running.

                And just before she jumps at me from behind, it occurs to me that I forgot the woman.

                Diving out of the way in the nick of time, the woman barrels into the man, both of them falling to the ground. I stumble back from the two of them, holding by crutch ready. The woman’s up instantly and she swings at me. I catch her in the stomach, and then follow-up with a strike to the back of the head. But even as she falls, I keep hitting her head with the palm of my left hand, driving home the injury.

                She doesn’t notice.

                On her knees, she whirls around, hissing at me and swinging for me. I leap back and the sudden distance makes her fall over.

                Behind me, the man grabs me. He holds onto my head and tries to pull me over, his jaw snapping at my neck. I reach back, holding his forehead at bay with my hand. I fight against being pulled off balance and slide my finger into his eye socket. Blood sprays out over my hand as I dig my thumbnail into his eyes, but he keeps fighting me.

                The woman is up and comes rushing at me. I throw myself back against the guy, falling over on top of him as the woman falls next to us. I roll over fast enough and am able to position myself next to the guy rather than behind him. I wiggle may hand between his arm and my head and grab his face. I push both my fingers into his eye sockets and keep pressing. I can feel my fingers pass through the eye ball and into his brain. And I keep pressing.

                The woman grabs onto me, her teeth coming just inches from my skin. I elbow back on her, connecting right to her face, but I lose my grip on the guy. He snaps up at me, twisting both my fingers against the bones of his face. I punch him in the forehead which does nothing. But then I grab onto his exposed eye sockets with my other hand and yank.

                With all my might, I pull against my grip with both hands. And the ashen skin that hangs tautly against his bones and muscles gives.

                And then the skull gives.

                There’s a loud crack like a newspaper being torn as the top of his head rips from the edge of his hairline. He hisses in agony, the first time I’ve heard pain from one of them, then keeps biting. But he’s slowed enough.

                I get up as the woman comes at me. I let her get close, then slide my arm inside hers and kick her legs out from underneath her. She lands on her chest and I drop down on top of her. I grab what had once been long blonde hair, then I drive her face into the marble. I keep throwing her face into the rock-hard floor until I hear it give.

                And then I keep going.

                I see blood.

                And I keep going.

                The texture of her face changes as I feel it flatten.

                And I keep going.

                Her body goes limp.

                And I keep going.

                It’s not until I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel her move that I finally stop.

                I scramble up and grab my crutch away from the blind monster. But even as I stand, I look down the hall.

                I see what has to be at least six more coming running at me.

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