Your thirst won't be a problem for now, even if you do have a bit of an uncomfortably dry feeling now and again. Really, if you needed to, you could probably survive decades without blood, but you'd need to be spending all of your time huddling in a dark cave without a hint of sunlight, and the Devil help you if your mind so much as crosses the thought of anything holy. To put a needlessly complicated theoretical thought to rest, feeding can wait for the time being. Instead, you'll put your considerable bedside manner to the test and simply sit at the bedside of one James Anthony Ryan until he gets up or the sun goes down, whichever comes first. After you announce your intentions to do so, Jackson offers to take a good while to tell the story of just how things went down while you were sleeping, just so as the two of you aren't merely sitting around and wasting time. Eager to avoid boredom as much as possible, you readily agree, and for a while, the two of you speak. You can't help but notice he looks rather extraordinarily tired as well, and wonder just how long it's been since he slept. Ignoring this for the time being, you take in what he has to say.
Right now, it's 7:45 AM, October 15th, 2018. You went to sleep at nearly midnight, October the 7th, 2018. On the 8th, the first reports were heard on the news of some sort of rioters, panic in the streets, or perhaps some unknown disease. At the time, it was unknown which, but citizens were advised to have caution when moving outdoors. Police were often seen outdoors, and gunshots could be heard periodically. Early in the morning of October the 8th, this very hospital had been visited by a wealthy citizen of the town, who had brought in, rather restrained and well-guarded, a member of his family who'd been unexpectedly bitten and turned on the streets. Hearing of the nearly miraculous ability to cure wounds and disease that you boast, he had brought in the afflicted party in the hopes that they could be restored to full health. Upon learning you were not present, he carted her away in a huff. Clearly, he didn't understand the true extent of the "madness" that had claimed her. No one did, at the time.
It was only a few hours after that man left that one of them was first spotted from that building. In light of the context and in the hope of safety, all those currently inside the facility at the time deigned to stay there until they could be more sure of the danger outdoors. That was the time at which the occasional crack of gunshots morphed into a nearly constant volley, coming from all directions. More of the "zombies" were seen outside, though none approached the facility. The doors were safely locked, contact was made with both the authorities and the Hunters, and assurances were provided that this plague would blow over swiftly. The creatures were slower and stupider than they were strong or resilient, and they simply couldn't advance on lines of police or the National Guard. At the time, the army had not been sent to town. They were also informed that similar outbreaks had appeared all across the rest of the American East Coast, as well as, inexplicably, a few much smaller ones in the Midwest, quickly quelled.
Upon hearing this news, about a third of the group still within the hospital made the decision to leave and drive home. Few of them were heard from again. That night, of October 8th, the group remaining at the hospital went to bed, leaving a few of the more nervous up them awake to keep watch. The rest of them were awakened by a sudden crescendo of distant gunfire. Unlike before, where most of the fire had been coming from lower-caliber handguns with only the occasional heavier weapon, the sounds of much higher-caliber weapons could be made out in the hail of gunshots. A few of those experienced with such things even swore they could recognize the chaotic timbre of mounted weapons, and it was impossible for any to ignore the telltale chopping of helicopter blades.
By the morning, the morning of October the 9th, most of the gunfire had subsided, at least most of the nearby gunfire. The occasional report of a very distant heavy weapon could occasionally be heard over the deafening silence. Radio silence, that is to say, as it was suddenly unduly difficult to make contact with either the authorities, the Hunters, or even other civilians. The undead traveling the streets had become a near constant sight- it was rare to be able to look out a window without at least one being visible, shambling along. This was also the point at which vehicles became unduly rare, and questions started being asked about why an evacuation order had never been issued. Phones still worked at the time, and the electricity was still on through most of the town, so many were able to contact distant friends and relatives- those who were not directly affected by the sudden plague revealed that very little about it was being reported outside of the areas directly affected. They were assured that while making contact with those in afflicted areas was difficult, that those in those areas were still alive.
The constant walking corpses travelling the streets seemed to belie that claim. It was then that a second wave of those within the town decided to leave, as they found it foolish to stick around in a place that only seemed safe when many other locations appeared to be completely devoid of this place. With another few dozen leaving for the West, several of them "carpooling," the numbers of those remaining at the facility were reduced to about half of where they started. This was also the only point at which they accepted civilians searching for refuge from the undead. The accidental admission of one who'd been bitten served well to teach them both of the manner of the disease's spread, and to prevent them from foolishly assisting any more innocents- they merely had to protect their own. Thankfully, that one mistake resulted in no other casualties, though it came "damn close" when one poor fellow was nearly bitten- only his tacky leather jacket saved him.
On the next day, October the 10th, the sight of moving vehicles stopped almost altogether, and, as Alice had told you before, the undead seemed to be out in great force- it wasn't at all a rare sight to see a group of several dozen or more of them shambling around, each seemingly following the footsteps of those in front of them, the "leader" moving apparently aimlessly. That day they fired off their first few cursory shots at the undead below, which seemed to attract more of them than it killed. Thankfully for them, the undead seemed incapable of tracking gunshots to rooftop shooters, and thus seemed mostly uninterested in the building. Nevertheless, their modus operandi swiftly shifted to more silent ways of eliminating the undead, including, as Jackson previously noted, dropping bricks and other heavy objects onto their heads from above. It was also that day that their electricity finally failed. You had, of course, ensured that they were prepared for this, but it most certainly made life more difficult for them, and did nothing to dissuade dark thoughts. The in-house psychologist spoke to several on their bleak thoughts, and consideration of suicide.
On October the 11th, the group awoke to the smell of smoke. To their relief, the scent didn't come from their own building- to their horror, it came from many others. An entire city block or more, less than a kilometer away from them, had apparently ignited- and though fire couldn't spread far in a town of mostly brick and concrete, the thought that part of the smoke filling their nostrils may very well be the scent of charred flesh did little to calm their nerves. Speaking of charred flesh, they caught sight of one of the "biters," as they'd taken to calling them, walking almost casually through the streets, heavily charred and still bright with fading embers. That taught then two things- the first was that the monsters were even more damndably durable than they'd previously believed. The second was that they most definitely felt no pain. On that day, phone service ceased altogether. With it, left both all contact with the outside world, and many's hope of escape. Gunshots had largely died down, and it seemed that any authorities had been just as overrun as most civilians. Many were uneasy as they went to sleep that night.
October the 12th opened on the delightfully cheerful note of the group's first suicide. All were awakened by a muffled gunshot, and near the body was found a note simply explaining that they were certain their family had already been killed, and that they didn't want to lose their mind alone. The woman who first found the body, on account of her proximity to the man who'd killed himself, had vomited upon seeing the gristly scene. There was no joy to be found in cleaning the mixture of brains and bile from the bathroom floor. Moods dropped yet lower. Several others very likely planned to do the same as the first poor man had.
None of them got the opportunity. It was that night, shortly before the scheduled lights-out, that a horrible crash was heard as the front door was torn inward on itself. Very swiftly, the main floor of the building was a hellscape. Where one moment there had been seemingly none of the undead, moments later there were dozens, hundreds, all storming into the building. Those who could took up weapons, but ammunition lasted for less than an hour, and attempts at lowering their numbers were futile. Any time it seemed the building had been cleared of the "biters," a dozen more stormed in, led by the promising noise of the gunfire. The survivors began retreating upstairs, locking the doors behind them, and that actually seemed to work for a while. Despite the hordes downstairs, the top floor was empty of the undead- even clean. Sleeping in shifts the best they could, and getting dangerously hungry without the chance to get food- as they'd have to get through the horde to reach the kitchen- they waited.
They weren't sure what they were waiting for. For rescue? For death? One or the other seemed near inevitable now. One man fell from a window, shattering his legs. He was quickly swarmed and devoured. To this day, Jackson couldn't say if he fell in a failed attempt to escape the seemingly doomed building, or if he had tried to kill himself in the jump.
It was some time on October the 13th that they first heard one of the creatures smack against the door separating them and it. It'd managed to make its way up the stairs, which proved a more than troubling trend. Over the course of the next few hours, they heard more and more hard, unforgiving fists and bodies smash against the door. Though no one said it out loud, all knew that this door wasn't nearly as strong as the front door- which the monsters had managed to break through already. It was soon afterwards, late that night, that the unspoken fear proved more than valid, and the doorjamb failed with a horrific crack. The creatures stormed in, but if nothing else, the twenty-some survivors were prepared. They fought back with any weapon at hand, but slowly were pushed further back, losing one after another to scratches, bites, or even being completely swarmed by the creatures. It became an unspoken rule that when one was wounded, if possible, they were to present themselves to be killed quickly, and as painlessly as possible, by one of the others.
They survived this way, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, facing near imminent collapse, until soon after sunset on October the 14th. Jackson still saw it as a miracle that any of them were standing by then, much less five of them. Either way, that was where his half of the story ended. After you arrived, you saw the most of the rest of it-
"And for the record, nothin' serious happened while you were out pickin' up this guy."
He gestures at James.
"Except that Alice walked out of the shower in nothin' but a towel. Wasn't even tryin' to hide, uh-"
He unsubtly gestures at his upper chest. "Does she do that regularly."
You resist making a joke at such an inopportune time, before shaking your head. "But to be fair, she doesn't typically bathe at my house."
He shrugs, before the motion turns itself into a deep yawn. "Well, I'm still hangin' in there, but I think I'm gonna get a bite of somethin' to eat and then hit the sack. Barely slept since you got here, barely slept before that. Must be adrenaline poisoning or somethin,' but all of this is finally catchin' up with me. You have a good day, Zel. If I'm not awake by sunset, do everybody a favour and chuck my ass out the window."
You finally see fit to chuckle, and nod. "Sleep deep, Jackson. Who knows how long until you get another chance to?"
On that grim note, he strolls out of the room and you begin your silent vigil over James' bedside. You keep track of his heartbeat, bloodflow and pressure, rate of breathing, and anything else you can think of that could potentially give away an impending surrender to the disease. You remain there, silent, unbreathing, and unmoving for well over four hours. To anyone observing the room, you might as well be a corpse for all that you do to show otherwise.
Deep into that fourth hour, though, something finally happens. His breathing becomes suddenly arrhythmic, his heartbeat accelerates, and his previously-peaceful slumber is replaced by tossing and turning. His blood still smells normal, though, and your well-honed senses give you no hint of seizures or other signs of damage to his brain, and his stomach is mostly still, despite what Alice told you about the infected vomiting before turning. It takes you a while to realize that his eyelids are flickering open and closed incredibly quickly. That is, as you recall, rapid eye movement. REM. He's dreaming. But judging from the expression on his face, the subject of the dream isn't exactly pleasant.
Thankfully for his mental state and your nerves, he doesn't have to dream for very long, as it's only a few minutes after he began dreaming that he suddenly sits up, ramrod straight, gripping his legs and gasping for air. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath, his eyes flashing around the room in a panic, and it's only then that he notices you, still unmoving, and nearly jumps. "Jesus Christ, Zel, what the Hell are you doing in here?"
You cringe. Well, there's that name again. As obnoxious as the Middle Ages were, what with everyone and their mother's first response to a vampire being to curse you away with holy words, at the very fucking least they didn't use the name of their god so damned flippantly. "Again. That name. Why?"
"I don't... how do I... Zel, I'm sorry, but... fuck."
You raise an eyebrow. "Are you alright? I've been watching to see if you... turn. I saw you were having a dream, obviously not a pleasant one, but I decided not to wake you."
He spends about a full minute catching his breath, before finally replying. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. And yeah, you're right, I was having a pretty nasty dream. Just... all of that over again. Just hearing them. Crunch. Just like that. It's too much."
You nod. "It's fine. Are you at least thinking straight?"
"I mean, if I'm not, can I really answer that question? I guess I feel like my head's on a bit more straight than it was when I first showed up. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed, y'know."
He hazards a chuckle, and you reply awkwardly in kind. A further awkward silence lasts for what feels like hours, and what probably does last at least a few minutes, before you finally speak again. "Alice was talking to me, about you. She made it incredibly clear that she was making your... continued existence as not a reanimated corpse my complete responsibility. I hate to consider her opinions so deeply into my own, but she brings a good point. If you turn, that isn't my fault- but if you do it here, that's on my shoulders."
"So you want me to leave?"
"No. You already look like you're doing better compared to last night. I just... want to be careful. For your sake, theirs, and mine."
He nods. "I understand. I guess it goes without saying that I'll do my best to keep from turning." Again, he nervously chuckles. "I'm not used to not thinking right, Zel. It was bad last night, but maybe it was so bad I didn't quite realize it. Even now, it's like I'm looking at everything through a fog. Like I'm drunk, but without the nice buzz. It feels like, just trying to come to a conclusion in my mind, I'm walking through molasses. I want to be through this. Right now, if I found out that I would never turn, but that I'd have to stay like this for the rest of my life, I think I'd probably ask you to kill me now. I really am hedging all my bets on the full moon getting this all out of my system. I really don't know what I'll do with myself if it doesn't."
"Well, I can promise you one thing. If you need me to put you out of your misery, I will not hesitate."
He actually snorts. "Goddamn it, Zel, trust me, you failing to rip my heart out isn't even on the list of things I'm worried about- and believe you me, that is one long list."
[] "I'm heading out after dark tonight to look for that... thing that attacked you. I can't feel comfortable leaving everyone here knowing it's still out there.
-[] "Don't tell them about it. I don't want to cause more panic. As far as they're concerned, I'm just looking for "answers."
-[] "Tell them your story. They deserve to know. Whether to reveal you're a lycan is entirely your choice."
[] "I'm heading out after dark tonight to look for a source of blood. I'm worried that the bite I received before I rested last week might cause complications on anyone I feed from, so I want to try to avoid starting with anyone here."
[] "I'm heading out tonight to find food for the group. I know how you eat, so we'll probably have to restock quickly. Speaking of which, there's stale bread and cold porridge on the bedside table."
[] "I'm heading out tonight to search for weapons. I want to make sure that you lot can defend yourselves as best as possible during my absence."
[] "Do you... have any advice? As much as it pains me to ask you, I feel I could... use your input. On what to do for the rest of the day, but moreso after sunset."
[] Write in...