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“Gus’s features twisted, wondering what in the hell he’d gotten into? The air traced the edges of his cuts, the cuts that Alice made, and he moaned at the fire in his poor belly. “You’re probably wondering why I cut you so many times?” She asked idly. Then, without warning, she yanked the scalpel out of his belly, getting a hiss out of him, and slashed open his right arm with one flick. That tungsten jolt of pain caused Gus to buck against his bonds. “It’s because, they smell you see,” Alice told him. She slashed the other white arm, as neatly as opening a fish. “That’s why they’re making a racket. My babies are hungry. Sooooooooo hungry. Am I bad for doing this? I don’t think so. I’m cleaning the”
― Keith C. Blackmore, The Hospital

“Big man, big man, coming in here. Didn’t know Alice was here, didja? Didja? God you weigh a ton. A ton. What have you been eating? The natives?” a cackle of icy laughter. “That’d be sumthin. The natives. Dead eat dog eat dead!” another eruption of frightening mirth. Gus retreated into the depths of his skull, drawing back from his off-line senses, away from the rant, and hiding in the comforting dark. He drifted, unborn, in a cold place where he could not see, unaware of pretty much everything, except that it was cool and without a sun. His consciousness floated close to waking, close enough that pain flashed through his night like an angry thunderbolts. His eyelids flickered and he moaned. Another cut of agony and his eyes opened. Ceiling. Dark, with stains upon it. He tried”
― Keith C. Blackmore, The Hospital

“been a big man, not the biggest, and not tall, but fat. He had lost an incredible amount of weight since the world went insane, perhaps ninety kilos or more. Enough that he could presently get into a waist-size of thirty eight. He still had something of a gut which, only a year ago, he would’ve joked that he had invested a lot of money in it. Excess fat clung to his frame here and there, especially across the upper back, but he figured that, as food became scarcer, his body would burn it off”
― Keith C. Blackmore, The Hospital

“pushed the hamper and cringed at the sound of a squeaky wheel. Well, Jesus, he thought and froze. He looked about, expecting gimps to come tumbling out of the nearby doorways any second, arms outstretched and moaning their shit, but they didn’t. Seconds went by and Gus realized he was wasting time. He pushed the hamper through the corridor, back to the outer door without incident, the wheel whistling its tune the whole way, like a high dwarf staggering home to see Snow White. Gus shoved the hamper through the door with a slight rattle, enough for him to glance”
― Keith C. Blackmore, The Hospital