Sam's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Sam needed something that belonged to Dr. Reinhard. He paced the cabin, thinking through what he remembered from Sunny Meadows. The doctor's laminated procedure cards were probably still at the asylum. His color-coded charts too. Sam stopped mid-step, remembering the white coat Reinhard always wore. The bastard had left it draped over a chair the day Ash broke everyone out. Sam had seen it there, smelling like disinfectant and ash. If he could get back to that asylum, find something with Reinhard's touch on it, the tracking spell would lead him right to the doctor. Then the real work could start. Sam grabbed his coat and headed for the door. The asylum was two hours away, maybe three on foot. He'd walked farther for less. Blue flame crackled around his deadite hand as he thought about those white hallways. About the examination room where he'd died seventeen times in the beginning. About Reinhard's careful notes and color-coded schedules. The building would be empty now, abandoned after the outbreak. Sam could slip in, grab what he needed, and get out before anything noticed. The forest stretched ahead as Sam walked. His boots crunched on dead leaves. He practiced the protection spell quietly, whispering the words until they felt smooth. Five seconds wasn't much time, but it was enough to grab something and run. The asylum loomed in his memory—that big sign out front, those barred windows, that smell of bleach and fear. Sam's jaw tightened. Going back there made his skin crawl, even the dead half. But revenge required tools, and Reinhard's coat was the best tool he had. Sam kept walking, keeping his breathing steady. The tracking spell would work. He'd find the doctor. And then Dr. Reinhard would learn what three hundred and twelve deaths felt like. Sunny Meadows Asylum rose from the tree line like a tombstone. The big sign out front hung crooked, letters still visible in the fading light. Sam stopped at the edge of the grounds, his deadite side sensing something wrong. That ice pick feeling crawled up his spine—Kandarian demons, maybe more than one. The building's windows stared back at him, dark and empty. Then the ground in front of him exploded. A deadite burst up through the dirt, its twisted face shrieking. Sam's protection spell left his lips before he thought. Blue flame wrapped around him as clawed hands raked where his chest had been. Five seconds. He dove past the creature, rolled, and sprinted for the asylum's front entrance. The deadite's scream followed him, joined by two more rising from the earth. Sam hit the doors hard and they gave way. He stumbled into the lobby, gasping. The smell hit him immediately—bleach, rot, and something chemical. Home sweet horrible home. Behind him, footsteps scraped across gravel. Sam ran deeper into the building, toward the examination wing where Reinhard's coat was waiting. If it was still there. If the deadites didn't tear him apart first. Either way, he'd started. No going back now.