Female POV
CMNF
***
Space zombies had to be one of the worse weapons ever devised. Combat drugs were normally designed with serious safety protocols in place to give someone a boost for a few minutes, perhaps an hour, without long terms negative effects. It was truly amazing and terrifying what those drugs were capable of when the user's long term wellbeing was no longer a concern, I thought with clinical detachment as I watched that thing that had been Corporal Taylor reach its arm stump through the shattered fragments of the door. He had taken his own lower arm off with a vibo-blade in his final moments as Corporal Taylor in some desperate last attempt to stop the spread of the infection from where his hand had been bitten.
I could clearly see its radius and the ulna, the two bones of the forearm sticking out of the stump as it howled in rage, unable to reach me for the time being. The wrist and its bones were missing from the left hand. No scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, or hamate. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I realized my subconscious mind was trying to force me to think about my medical training, force me to think about anything other than the things on the other side of that door, force the terror out before it got me killed. I tried to take a deep breath. Hold it for a few seconds, slooooowly breath out my nose. 'Be calm or be dead', those words echoing into my head, the first and last days advise spoken by the orientation instructors back in the day.