(Room 306: The Children of Ward Zero) CHAPTER 1
(Room 306: The Children of Ward Zero)
CHAPTER 1: THE DOG WHO WOULDN'T LEAVE THE BASEMENT
The rain had been falling over Blackwood City for three straight days.
Cold rain.
Relentless rain.
The kind that turned streets into mirrors and made old buildings look haunted even in daylight.
At the edge of the city stood Mercy Hills Medical Center, a hospital with a reputation for excellence—and secrets.
Most people knew it as one of the oldest hospitals in the region.
Few knew that beneath the modern glass towers and renovated patient wings lay an underground section built more than sixty years earlier.
A section that no longer appeared on official maps.
A section nobody talked about.
Not because it was forbidden.
Because it had been forgotten.
Or so everyone believed.
On a Thursday evening, the hospital administration requested a routine security inspection after several reports of strange noises coming from maintenance areas.
The task was assigned to Officer Daniel Brooks and his K9 partner, Atlas.
Atlas wasn't an ordinary police dog.
The four-year-old Belgian Malinois had helped locate missing children, detect explosives, and uncover hidden evidence in dozens of criminal investigations.
His instincts were legendary.
His accuracy was nearly perfect.
Daniel trusted Atlas more than most humans.
The inspection began shortly after 8 p.m.
The upper floors were uneventful.
Emergency department.
Surgical wing.
Pediatric unit.
Everything normal.
Everything quiet.
Until they reached the basement.
The moment the elevator doors opened, Atlas froze.
Daniel noticed immediately.
"What is it, buddy?"
Atlas didn't move.
His ears stood upright.
His muscles tightened.
His eyes locked onto the dark hallway ahead.
Daniel followed his gaze.
Nothing.
Just fluorescent lights and empty corridors.
Still, Atlas remained motionless.
Then a low growl emerged from his throat.
Daniel frowned.
That wasn't normal.
Atlas only growled when something genuinely concerned him.
"Let's check it out."
They walked down the hallway.
The farther they went, the more agitated Atlas became.
His breathing quickened.
His tail stiffened.
His paws moved faster.
Suddenly he stopped outside an old steel door.
B-12.
No department name.
No signage.
Just faded paint and rust.
Daniel checked his inspection list.
The room wasn't listed.
Odd.
He knocked.
No answer.
Atlas immediately began barking.
Sharp.
Explosive.
Urgent.
Hospital employees nearby looked over in surprise.
A maintenance worker approached.
"What's going on?"
Daniel pointed to the door.
"What's inside?"
The worker shrugged.
"No idea."
"You work here."
"Not down here. That room's been locked longer than I've worked at the hospital."
"How long?"
"Seven years."
Daniel looked at Atlas.
The dog was scratching at the metal door.
Hard.
Desperate.
As if someone was trapped inside.
"Atlas. Easy."
But Atlas wouldn't stop.
Within minutes, the hospital's evening supervisor arrived.
Her name was Rebecca Mills.
Forty-eight years old.
Efficient.
Professional.
Clearly irritated.
"What seems to be the problem?"
Daniel explained.
Rebecca folded her arms.
"That room is empty."
"How do you know?"
"It used to be storage."
"When was it last opened?"
She hesitated.
"I don't remember."
Atlas barked again.
Louder.
Rebecca flinched.
The dog suddenly pressed his nose against the bottom gap beneath the door.
Then he whined.
Not an aggressive sound.
A distressed one.
Daniel felt a chill run through him.
Atlas only made that sound when detecting human scent in unusual situations.
"Can you unlock it?" Daniel asked.
Rebecca looked uncomfortable.
"I'll need authorization."
"Then get it."
Fifteen minutes later, authorization arrived.
A ring of old keys was brought down.
One by one they tried them.
The fifth key worked.
The lock clicked.
Everyone fell silent.
The door slowly opened.
Dust drifted through the beam of Daniel's flashlight.
The room appeared empty.
Shelves.
Boxes.
Broken equipment.
Nothing unusual.
Several staff members laughed nervously.
"Told you."
"False alarm."
"Dog must've smelled rats."
But Atlas didn't relax.
Not even slightly.
Instead, he entered the room.
Slowly.
Methodically.
His nose moved across the floor.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Then he stopped.
Directly in front of a large metal storage cabinet.
The cabinet stood against the far wall.
Old.
Heavy.
Unused.
Atlas stared at it.
Then barked.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Daniel walked over.
The cabinet looked ordinary.
Yet something felt wrong.
He grabbed the handle.
Locked.
"Key?"
Rebecca shook her head.
"There isn't one."
"Then how do we open it?"
"We don't."
Daniel looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
Her expression tightened.
"It wasn't supposed to be moved."
The room became quiet.
"Who said that?" Daniel asked.
Rebecca didn't answer.
Instead she looked away.
Atlas suddenly lunged forward.
His paw struck the cabinet.
A loud metallic sound echoed through the room.
CLANG.
Everyone froze.
The noise sounded strange.
Hollow.
Far too hollow.
Daniel knocked on the cabinet.
Then again.
His heartbeat accelerated.
Because the sound wasn't coming from the cabinet itself.
It was coming from behind it.
There was empty space inside the wall.
A hidden space.
Rebecca's face turned pale.
And for the first time that night, she looked genuinely afraid.
"Officer," she whispered.
"I think we need to call the hospital director."
"What aren't you telling me?"
She swallowed hard.
"My grandfather worked here."
Daniel waited.
"He used to talk about a lower basement."
"A lower basement?"
She nodded.
"He said parts of the original hospital were sealed after an accident in 1972."
"What kind of accident?"
"I don't know."
Atlas barked again.
The loudest bark yet.
And this time...
something barked back.
Not a dog.
Not exactly.
A strange sound.
Faint.
Distant.
Coming from behind the wall.
Every person in the room heard it.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Because whatever had made that noise...
May you like
wasn't supposed to be there.
And it was still alive.
