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asked.
    "Yeah. The abscess had become inflamed and swollen. The guy was complaining of fever and body aches. He was shivering. Doctor Grant assumed it was because of the infected abscess."
    From behind me, Drake asked, "What the hell is an abscess?"
    "It’s like a boil," she answered.
    "Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that."
    "He actually had a few of them," she continued. "A couple on his arms and some on his torso. To lance them, you inject a local anesthetic into the boil and wait for the area to become numb. Then you make a small incision with a scalpel and drain the puss and the fluid from the wound."
    "Gross," Franco said.
    "But something happened. I heard screams. Not just from the patient but from Doctor Grant and the nurse as well. Something is wrong. I know there are a lot of rumors circulating about the virus outbreak in the immigration center. Do you think this is related?"
    The receptionist looked scared. Actually she looked down right terrified. Her hands were shaking.
    We told her not to worry. Just relax. Just breathe. We told her that everything would be all right.
    We were lying.
    We moved over to the back room. The receptionist had jammed a chair up against the handle. Gordon moved it out of the way and knocked on the door. He called out to Doctor Grant. But there was no response.
    "Is this door locked?" Gordon asked the receptionist.
    She shook her head.
    Drake moved up alongside Gordon. They didn’t say anything. They gave each other a quick look and Drake gave a slight nod. They didn’t need to say anything. They know each other so well, it’s like they can read each other’s minds. Gordon opened the door and Drake stepped into the ‘operating’ room with his rifle shouldered and ready.
    We all followed him in.
    And here’s where it gets weird. And messy.
    In the far right hand corner of the room was the patient. He was leaning over Doctor Grant, who was lying down on his back.
    The doctor was lying down in a massive pool of blood. The patient was kneeling in the blood, leaning over Doctor Grant. He was oblivious to the mess.
    I can’t be totally sure but it looked like the patient was digging his hands into the doctor’s torso, into his stomach. And it looked like he was shoveling the contents of the doctor’s torso into his mouth.
    But I can’t be sure.
    The reason I can’t be sure is because I couldn’t see clearly. And because it sounds so crazy. A patient, a person, eating another person’s intestines? There has to be some other explanation right? There just has to be.
    The patient heard us enter the room. He turned to face us. Blood stained his mouth, his chin. Flesh was stuck between his teeth.
    He was chewing.
    We were stunned into silence. We stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly.
    The blood was everywhere. It was all over the patient’s face and his chest. He was totally covered in it.
    A few more seconds ticked by. But no one said or did anything. We were definitely in shock.
    There was no way this was a robbery. A junkie looking for some pain meds? No freakin way.
    Gordon took a small step forward. He was about to say something. But then the patient charged at us. Gordon raised his rifle and put two bullets in the patient’s chest and one in his head.
    And here’s another thing I can’t stop thinking about. Gordon shot him in the chest. He shot him in the chest twice! But the patient didn’t react. The bullets tore right through him but he kept coming. He kept charging. It was only after Gordon put a round in his head did he finally drop.
    But he fell forward. Not backwards.
    Usually, taking a point blank round from an M4 carbine will send anyone or anything flying back. But not this guy. It defied logic. And thinking about this has kept me wide awake tonight.
    The patient’s momentum sent him crashing into Gordon and knocked him off his feet. Gordon was pushed back into the wall. He cracked his head.
    I reacted immediately. I wasn’t thinking. It was just a reflex. I