Captured by the Chimera Zombie-Master

by Veronica Sommers

  "Well—do you have a plan?"

  "Not yet. And if I did, I wouldn't want to talk about it here. He said there are no cameras, but that doesn't mean they're not listening somehow."

  "How long is he letting you stay?"

  "I'm not sure." My hands drift over the triangle of soft gray boxer material showing through the opening of his pants. "Are you in pain, here?"

  "A little. It's healing."

  I move closer, looking up at him from under my eyelashes. "Can I see?"

  His sharp intake of breath is all the permission I need. I slip my hand over the material, hiding a smile because he's rock-hard already. With a little tugging and shifting of the cloth, I gently bring out his length. There are five red cuts along the base, deeper than I expected—but at least they're not bleeding any more.

  "Open your mouth," I tell him, and when he does, I slip two fingers over his tongue, wetting them with his saliva. Then I trace the cuts Reuel made with my wet fingers. "Maybe this will help with the healing."

  Atlan shudders. "God, Trouble. As if the scent of you wasn't enough—"

  The very wicked idea writhes through my brain, refusing to disappear even though it's horribly inappropriate given our situation. I back a step away from Atlan, leaving him exposed and wanting; and I plunge my hand beneath my own waistband, into the damp crevice between my legs. He stares, eyes wide and mouth open, as I withdraw my fingers and place them against his mouth, under his nose. "You mean this scent?"

  He growls, panting, pulling against the neck rope as hard as he dares without choking himself. "When I get free, I'm going to take you so hard—I'll make you come so many times you won't be able to move."

  Now it's my turn to gasp. "Promise?"

  "I vow it."

  I kiss him again, gripping his rear with my hands and forcing his hips against mine, writhing against that delightful hard length.

  And then, with a quick glance at the door, I sink to my knees.

  I have terrible memories of being in this position, of servicing a fat, smelly man so my ex-boyfriend Heath could have cigarettes. It happened right after the Gorging, when cash was a doubtful form of currency, and I only did it because the man threw in a few other crucial supplies along with the cigarettes, as payment for his use of my mouth. I have regretted doing it ever since. The hideous memory flashes into my brain at the worst possible moments—like now. But I push it away, and I focus on reality, on the present. On my sweet vampire, and the ridges of his hips, and the beautiful planes of his stomach, surging with his rapid breath.

  This is Atlan. I love him. He never expects, or takes, or traumatizes me. He is gentleness and love, a protector, a healer, and my best friend. He has suffered today, and probably will suffer more before we make it out of this—if we ever do. I will give him this gift, and give myself this beautiful memory in place of the old terrible one.

  When I put him in my mouth, Atlan gives a choked cry. I withdraw for a second to say, "Hush! We have to be quiet, or someone might come in."

  They might come in anyway. I'll have to be quick.

  I work over him for few minutes before his whole body convulses and he lets go, writhing with the effort of keeping himself quiet. A series of short, harsh gasps break from him.

  I barely have time to wipe my mouth, tuck him back into his pants, and zip them up before the door behind me opens. Atlan is still flushed, his breath a telltale staccato.

  It's Dr. Gwan Beom-Seok who enters, not Reuel.

  "You are needed, ma'am," he says, his voice tinged with a delicate Asian cadence. "I am to take you for some tests."

  "Tests?" Alan lunges forward and gags as the rope cuts into his throat. "What tests?" he croaks.

  "Nothing harmful. Right?" I glance at Dr. Gwan for confirmation, and he nods, but his eyes drift away from mine.

  I swallow hard to quell my rising panic. I don't want tests. I don't want to be here at all. I want to be back at Deathcastle, snuggled in bed with Atlan. His blood-slave, but freer than I've ever been.

  "Wait." I halt before following Dr. Gwan out the door. "What does Reuel want with Atlan? What's his plan for the two male vampires?"

  He hesitates. "I can't tell you that." His expression is half eagerness, half guilt. At least he still seems to have a conscience, which is more than I can say for Dr. Corbin or Reuel. "Now, come with me please."

  Gwan's hand closes over my wrist, and he draws me toward the door.

  I could fight him, but what would it accomplish? He has no weapons or keys on him that I can see, so I still wouldn't be able to free Atlan's hands—and I refuse to leave this place without him.

  So I move with the doctor, turning back for a last look at my beautiful vampire. His blue eyes burn with the torment of letting me go, and from the strain of his shoulders and arms I can tell he's trying to break out of his bonds.

  "I love you," he says, his voice shaking.

  "Love you back," I tell him.

  As Dr. Gwan and I leave the room, Atlan's roar of rage and agony follows us. "If you hurt her, I will kill you all!"

  8

  Atlan

  When Finley leaves the room with Dr. Gwan, I feel as if my heart is ripping itself out of my chest trying to follow her.

  "If you hurt her, I will kill you all!" I bellow, and it sounds over-dramatic but I mean it with every fiber of flesh, every drop of her blood in my body. Those fiends must know what will happen if they dare to harm my girl. Just the thought of her in pain, terrified, helpless—I roar again, frustration and regret. Why did I try to protect Chandra from the scorpion monster? If I'd let her get stung, maybe I could have gotten away, could have snatched Finley and escaped the bunker somehow.

  But if I hadn't saved Chandra, if I'd grabbed Finley and we had fled, leaving all the others behind—that choice would have joined the ranks of many poor choices, crowding the back of my mind, whispering and clawing at my brain, gnawing at me with "what ifs," with the possibilities of the lives I could have saved, if only I had done things differently—had been smarter or braver or quicker in the moment.

  No use thinking about what could have been. Finley would tell me that it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is what I do next.

  I'm stronger now, with her blood flowing through me. It's miraculous, that blood of hers. The best I've had, so pure and powerful.

  I close my eyes for a moment, relishing the memory of her silky fingers, her mouth, and her wicked, wicked tongue. I hadn't expected her to do any of that, but damn was it amazing—and it didn't feel dirty either, just beautiful, and right. She gave me that moment as she has given so much of herself—with a sweet generosity that breaks my heart.

  I'm going to give her everything. Every damn thing, until the day I die or she does.

  With her blood in me, I have a chance. I'm getting out of these restraints if I have to break my wrists to do it.

  I close my eyes, focusing my strength, centering it in my wrists and arms. Then I snap my arms apart, quick and powerful. A bone cracks, and pain spikes up my left wrist. I breathe and swear through the pain, then gingerly test my bonds. As far as I can tell, I broke through two of the zip-ties. I ready myself for another effort.

  One. Two. Snap.

  The third tie pops in a white flash of blinding pain, and I bite my tongue so hard one of my fangs nearly goes through it. Something trickles along my wrist—blood. The bone must have popped through the skin. I'll need to reset it myself, or get someone else to do it, so it doesn't heal crooked.

  But—first things first. The handcuffs are the last restraint I need to escape.

  I fold my thumb under my right hand as far as it will go, and I pull, trying to squeeze my hand through. I pull until I can feel skin and flesh starting to split from bone. The pain roars in my head, savage red and white pulses. Sweat washes over my body from the effort, from the agony.

  I can't do this. My hand is too big to fit through to opening of the cuff, and with my broken wrist, I don't think I can snap the
chain between the cuffs.

  I sag against the neck-rope, panting, tears trickling from my eyes.

  My healing abilities only go so far, and I won't be of any use to Finley if I mutilate myself so badly that I can't fight.

  The door opens, and Dr. Corbin breezes in. "Hello there, Handsome. I heard you had a visitor." She pauses, eyeing my sweat-bathed chest and tear-streaked face. "Oh, sweet love, what is going on?" She lays a palm against my face, and I cringe away. She freaks me out. I don't want her touch, or her attention.

  She circles me to check my restraints, and gasps. "Oh my. You've made quite a mess of yourself, haven't you?" She tweaks the splinter of bone protruding from my wrist, and a scream breaks from my throat. I've never felt such pain, not even when dozens of zombies tromped over my back out in the Hordelands. This is pain that bursts from my body and fills the world. I can't think. I can only slump, and sob, because I'm tired of standing upright and I just want to sit down, lie down—I need to help Finley but I am exhausted and pain pain pain.

  "Shh," says Dr. Corbin, wiping sweat from my shoulders and chest with the corner of her lab coat. "Shh. I think I have just the thing for this. I've extracted several vials of Reuel's paralytic toxin in the past; it's just down the hall in storage. I'll run and get it, and then once you're nice and paralyzed, I'll set that wrist so it heals nicely, so nicely, wouldn't you like that? Lovely."

  She skips out of the cell.

  I must have blacked out for a minute, because the next thing I know she's back, thrusting a long needle into the side of my neck. In seconds my limbs go stiff and immoveable. A blessed numbness creeps through my body, softening the pain of my left wrist and my torn right hand.

  "There now." Clarice Corbin sets the syringe aside. "We'll have to hurry now, Handsome. This stuff won't last long on you." She unlocks the handcuffs, and my hands swing free to my sides. Next she clips through the noose at my neck and eases me down, until I'm lying full length on the floor.

  She sets my left wrist quickly and brutally, the pain stabbing my nerves even through the numbness. "This is a rough splint, but it should do until you heal." She slaps a bandage around my right hand, taping it down roughly. "Now that that's out of the way—any other wounds you want me to look at?" Her fingers walk up my thigh, toward my crotch. "I'm so glad Reuel decided not to maim you. It would have been such a waste. Not that you're useful for reproduction, but there are other benefits to a rod like this—oh yes." She rubs my groin, and I realize with shock that I'm hard.

  "The toxin can have that effect," she says, as if she knew what I was thinking. "The rigidity applies to soft little tissues like this, too."

  She crawls over me, relaxing her body against mine, and begins kissing my mouth. She doesn't seem to care that I can't reciprocate—not that I would. I'd throw her against the damn wall if I had the power of movement.

  "No one will mind if I have a little fun with you," she whispers. With her thumb and finger she tilts down my lower jaw, opening my lips. Her tongue slides into my mouth. "I'm not wearing underwear, you know. I never do. What's the point? It's the apocalypse, sweet boy. Why shouldn't we do, and take, and break, whatever we want?" She traces circles around my nipples, then licks each one.

  No.

  This doesn't happen to men like me. Can't happen. I'm powerful, I'm a damn vampire warrior—I don't have to fear molestation and rape like women and kids and weaker men do—like Finley does. She told me that when she was in the lineup at the slave market, she was terrified of being sold to someone who would use her body. I knew that it was a horrifying, sickening possibility—but now, with acid burning in my gut and every helpless muscle straining to move, and every bit of my will screaming No, no!—now I get it.

  Now I understand.

  A prickle of sensation starts at my fingertips, spreading up my arms. I remember this feeling—it's the first sign that my body is fighting off the toxin. It happened faster this time, probably because I've been exposed to it before, and I'm developing resistance—or maybe because the stuff she used was the refrigerated kind, not fresh from the scorpion's stinger.

  I can't let her know that I'm becoming mobile again, not until I have full control of my limbs. So I lie still while she kisses me again, and licks my neck, and pulls up my lip to prod the tips of my fangs.

  "I'd love to pull out one of these and keep it as a souvenir," she says. "Such a pretty specimen it would make! If Reuel's little experiment with you doesn't work, maybe he'll let me have you for parts. If there are any recognizable parts left." She giggles. "This is going to be so much fun—I just can't keep it in any longer. Wouldn't hurt to tell you, right Sweetness? It'll all be over soon anyway. Our first test was mostly successful, so your injection has been scheduled for tomorrow."

  She traces my lips with her finger. "I made a few tweaks to the formula myself, like the Kudu antelope horns—so sexy. And I'm really curious to see how the pit viper and octopus DNA affect you. You should theoretically have heat vision and camouflage abilities afterward. But it's all a guessing game, really, since your genetics have already been tampered with. Adding more to the cocktail might just kill you." She grins, sitting up astride me. "Now let's see what you're packing, Handsome."

  I still don't have control of my arms and legs. Inside I'm yelling, begging—I try to buck, to writhe, to do anything but lie here.

  Her fingers fumble over my crotch, finding the zipper, and I stare upward, helpless. You'll be fine, you'll be fine—think about something else. I'm going to be sick. Is it possible to vomit while paralyzed? This isn't really happening. Pretend it's not happening—why is that grate in the ceiling moving?

  The square vent cover in the ceiling shifts aside, its scrape disguised by the sharp sound of my pants being unzipped, and by Dr. Corbin's moan of pleasure as she slips one hand between her own legs.

  A dark figure drops from the ceiling, and Dr. Corbin opens her mouth to scream—but her cry is cut off as Chandra plunges bared fangs into her throat. The vampire from Bastion drags Dr. Corbin off me, drinking deeply all the while.

  "Don't kill her," I manage to whisper hoarsely between my teeth. My lips and vocal chords are loosening, becoming functional again. "Need her—leverage."

  Chandra gives me thumbs-up, her fangs still sunk to the hilt in Dr. Corbin's neck. Dr. Corbin is gasping, thrashing—but her paltry scientist's muscles, so long unused here in the bunker, are nothing compared to Chandra's strength.

  Another moment, and then Chandra finishes her drink and licks the wound carelessly, sloppily. She snatches my handcuffs from the floor nearby and snaps them onto Dr. Corbin's wrists before gagging her with a couple of bandages. Then she scoots over to me on her knees. "You okay, Atlan?"

  "Yes," I manage. "Except—people keep unzipping my pants today."

  It's a lame attempt at humor, to brush off the gravity of what just happened, and she doesn't buy it. Her full lips press tightly together for a second, and then she says, "I'm sorry. I would have interfered sooner, but then she started telling you about their plans, and I had to let her finish talking. We needed to know."

  "It's okay." My words are less slurred now, and my fingers twitch.

  "I won't lie—it's healing to my pride to be able to save you," she says wryly. "You put me in the role of 'damsel in distress' back there, the other night—when you jumped in to save me from the big nasty scorpion monster. I ain't been no distressed damsel in a lot of decades, and I didn't enjoy the feeling. Now we're even."

  After gingerly re-zipping my pants, she helps me sit up—actually she folds me into a sitting position, with my top half supported against her shoulder.

  "The others," I grit out. "Sergeant Perez, the soldiers—"

  "I think they're all alive. Who knows what he'll do to them, though. Judging from what I've seen, creeping 'round this place—they might be better off dead."

  "Finley—" I begin, but Chandra cuts me off.

  "Your girl was with me for a while, 'til she got herself caught
."

  "I know. They're going to do tests on her, and the big guy, Reuel—he talked about breeding or some sick crap like that."

  Chandra shakes her head and whistles, low. "These people been locked up underground too long. Sounds to me like they're mad horny and just looking for a place to put it."

  "Why not get it on with each other? Why call for help? Why now?"

  "Because they're sick of screwing each other?" she suggests, with a shrug. And then, more seriously, "Because they've got stuff to test, and they needed new subjects. Strong ones, smart ones. The kind who would be sent out on a mission into the Hordelands."

  "What do you think she meant by 'the first test being mostly successful'?" I ask, rolling my shoulders.

  Chandra's face sags with dread. "I don't know. Can't be good."

  I can move almost normally now. The pain in my splinted wrist is like fire, but I grit my teeth against it and rise, fighting the urge to kick Dr. Corbin's prone form in the stomach. Looks like she has fainted from blood loss and fear.

  "Let's see if we can't use this one to bargain with the monster boss," I say. "I think she has a thing going with Reuel."

  "Whatever the doc and Reuel had, I'm thinking Finley might be his new obsession," Chandra says. "From the bit of talk I overheard, he thinks she can help him with some kind of zombie mind-control project he's got going."

  Cradling my damaged wrist against my chest, I head for the door. "Then we need to find her as fast as possible."

  Chandra hauls Dr. Corbin up, dragging her along. "Slow down, Atlan. You're not the only one with people you care about in this place. I need to find my blood-slave, Angela. I haven't seen her since that first night."

  "Right." As desperate as I am to help Finley, I've got to remember the others—like Sergeant Perez, and the other vampire Darius, and his blood-slave Bob. Chandra's supplier, Angela, a curvy girl with soft brown eyes and a quick laugh. Corporal Andrews. The other soldiers from Deathcastle, Bastion, and Slaygate, many of whom I know by name.

  "Okay. Okay." I press the heel of my bandaged right hand to my forehead. "So, strategically, who should we free first?"