My dreams fill the night with restless strangeness. A fire consumes me, perhaps a foretelling of things to come. Even in the sleep-induced images of flames, I feel cold. Too cold.
I find myself running, someone is calling my name. Burning pieces fall all around me.
The dream shifts and I am a child sitting in the back of the car, speeding away from ground zero. The driver turns around to peer at me huddled in the back seat. The driver is now Simeon, grinning at me, as if nothing is wrong. The car is on fire, licking at the locked windows.
I bolt awake.
It is daylight.
I am safe.
The fire is nothing more than embers now. After I find a place to tuck away and relieve myself, I build up the fire once more.
The air has a pretty good morning chill, and the warmth is nice once the flames start kicking up. I dig a can of sardines out of my bag and eat them with my fingers.
“Okay, gang,” I say, tossing the empty can into the flames. “Let’s get to work.”
After I rinse hands in the stream, splashing a bit of the cold water on my arms and face, I turn to face my horde. It takes a minute for me to engage the mental connection, but once I do, it all slips into place once more, tumblers in a lock, easy as anything.
All I ever sense from them is hunger. It reminds me of a character from a book I once read, ages ago, when I still lived in the library, but I could not remember the name. But I can tell the phenomenon only goes one way. I can feel them, but they cannot feel me.
I reach out, locating Penny in the center of the group and nudge her to come closer to the front. What would I do with her, I wonder? Especially after the incident at the farm, the unrest which would never be resolved.
Whatever human had been called “Saffron” was now just an empty shell called Penny. She cannot feel. Not with her heart. Not with her body. It would be prudent for me to remember that in the days to come.
I put all this aside and relax my mind, letting the connection strengthen, flexing my mental web until we become a hive mind.
I beckon one of them towards me, once upon a time a young man. He wears a red baseball cap with some kind of writing on the front. Little white threads remain where the lettering once existed. I can’t make out what it says.
He wears a once-white tank top with a button-up, short-sleeve shirt over it. I spot the name “Pete” embroidered on the left side of the shirt, just over the pocket. At some point his jaw had been broken, and the remaining bone hung at an awkward angle, making his face appear in a perpetual state of surprise.
He shuffles over to me, next to the fire. The others stay in place, shuffling in formation. I reach down and pick up a thick branch, partially burning from the fire.
“Okay, Pete. I’ll need you to take one for the team now, buddy.”
Averting my face, I place the burning end directly into the center of his torso, leaning hard into the motion to ensure the point of it sinks into his paper skin. He stumbles back, taking the burning log with him.
Within seconds, his torso lights up, flames laughing around his shoulders and face. The hat melts into his head and I turn away to try and escape the smell of burning flesh and hair.
It worked.
Pete has caught fire.
He stands still, a singular inferno. I focus my mind, stepping into his existence as he burns. He does not feel it, I realize. This is good. I don’t think I could handle it if this process hurt them.
As he burns, I nudge him toward the creek, one foot in front of the other, stumbling on a root and launching face forward into the water.
“Okay,” I turn to the others. “This looks like it might work.”
I managed to get one or two more on fire, just to make sure I can replicate the results. Each time one of them perishes in the creek, I feel a tiny snuff as the last vestiges of their consciousness flickers out.
Penny shuffles in place, a wisp of her once-blonde hair drifts in an errant breeze. What kind of life might she have had if not taken by the doctor’s goons? She and I could have been friends, perhaps in another life. “Don’t worry, Penny. When this is over, I’ll put you to rest.” I step back to take in the view of the horde. “I’ll put you all to rest. I promise.”
I meant it. We still had a lot of training and testing to do before I took them to confront the doctor. But I had a pretty good idea of what was to come.
The thought of returning to SeaHaven was nothing more than a hypothetical at this point. But I knew one thing for sure. Between myself and Dr. Donovan, only one of us would be walking away.
Twenty-One
Dousing them in gasoline proves easier than I thought. Largely they ignore me as I move among them, splashing the acrid liquid around their shoulders and torsos, walking molotovs waiting for illumination. At least they won’t feel any pain.
Not once do I take joy in the idea of facing Dr. Donovan again. The idea makes me sick to my stomach. This woman had raised me as her own, or so she claimed.
As much as she was capable, she had loved me. But her affections had always been nothing more than poison, a means to an end. My purpose in her life had always been as a killing machine. If she could not have me in that role, she would not stop until someone did it for her.
Every footstep brings us closer to the end game. The zombies walk along with me, feeling nothing of the trepidation within me.
All they feel is hunger. It never quite leaves them, regardless of how much they feed. This time, this one time, I hope it works in my favor.
Up ahead I spot the outer walls of the compound, recognizing the gaping hole from the day we liberated them. That was the day we lost Travis.
At least this time, there can be no lives lost.
Behind me, the creatures shuffle in place, keeping pace with my footsteps, stumbling into the fallen shelves and piles. Those who stumble are quickly replaced by the zombies behind them, filling in the gaps as deadly as the teeth of a shark.
The doorway to the hallway stands open, revealing darkness beyond. As soon as I step through, I see we are not alone.
Three zombies stand blocking my path toward the East wing. These creatures are different from the ones following me. They move in quick choppy motions, milky, seamy eyes, teeth chattering.
The middle one moves toward us with grasping, outstretched arms. He misses me as I step to the side, but not by much. The herky-jerky creature falls into the fray. Those behind me consumed him, ripping him to shreds with an unexpected vengeance.
The other two hang back, shuffling from one foot to another with unnatural movements. I make an attempt to connect my mind with them. I am met with a stabbing headache which pushes me to let go.
I can’t read them.
That makes them dangerous.
With my right hand, I remove the knife from my belt. The canister of gasoline in my left hand, I slowly lower it down, tipping it forward to allow the contents to splash onto the ground between us.
With nothing more than a mental nudge, my zombies surge forward, flowing around me like water around a stone. I keep my eyes ahead, locked on the creatures in front of us.
The Herky-Jerkies backpedal, to no avail. Their awkward movements do not take them far before my horde overtakes them, finishing them off in a bloodbath.
We have the numbers in our favor, at least. I step forward, placing my feet carefully to avoid the black, viscus pools of blood on the floor and splashed against the walls.
Further down the hallway, I begin to get a vague recollection of where I am. Up ahead to the left would be the room in which I stayed.
The hallway veers, opening up to the right, which would lead to the elevators and the stairs, and, of course, the laboratories where I learned the truth of Dr. Donovan’s work.
We move slowly in the darkness, making our way through the seemingly abandoned building. As we move forward, I let my mind go, giving myself over to the ever-present desire, the hunger which constantly flirts around the edges of my psy
che.
Every moment I have spent among them has brought me a little bit closer to that part of me, but not until this moment, when I return to the place of my capture, do I accept the truth.
I am human.
And I am zombie.
Other than the undead horde walking step by step behind me, I am alone. So different from the first time I had been there.
The place had been teeming with them, white coats scurrying up and down the halls, scritching at their clip boards, hanging on Dr. Donovan’s every word.
Once we reach the open area in front of the laboratories, I pause. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans draws me back to the present.
I turn to face my undead. They seem to be waiting, as if their eyes are on me, seeking out some sort of direction from me, as impossible as that may be.
“Alright,” I mutter. “Hold your horses. We’ve got to find the doctor first, okay?”
Blank stares from unblinking white eyes are the only response. The acrid scent of gasoline mingles with the dense odor of rotting flesh.
They part as I walk among them. I realize I feel something once again, the strange tickling in the back of my mind. I raise my hand absently, scratching at the skin at my hairline.
All at once, I realize what this is. I thought I was feeling the call of the creatures, but here I am surrounded by them in close quarters.
If they were the cause, then I would be overwhelmed with it. I would be crouched in a corner, unable to move from the connection, from their pain. This feeling is something different, and I think I know what it is.
“I can find her,” I say, addressing my undead army. “I know where she is. And when I find her, you will all be put to rest. That much I can promise you.”
They follow me with their eyes as I move among them.
“I’ve always felt your pain,” I continue. “I’ve always felt it. That constant hunger that never goes away, and that distant knowledge that the hunger will never go away. I’m going to set you free. And don’t ever think I will forget your sacrifice today.”
My gaze lands on Penny, a few steps from the front of the group. For a moment, I see her as she might have been, before she was taken from her life, kidnapped by Dr. Donovan’s goons. I see her as a girl, only a bit younger than myself, not too different from myself had she had a chance to live.
She simply stares, as she always has.
I don’t speak again. But I turn back to the lab doors. Dr. Donovan stands with her hands folded at her waist, surrounded by vials, Bunsen burners, beakers, piles of charts, and scribbled notes.
Her coat, once white, now appears dingy gray. Her hair had been pinned back into a low bun, but here and there, fly away hair stuck out in wiry, unkempt tendrils. Her face contains a wildness, a brokenness which I had not seen in her before I left here.
“Doctor Donovan,” I say, evenly meeting her gaze.
Her eyes appear bright with madness as she smiles at me. “My prodigal child,” she whispers. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“What are you doing?” I ask. “What is this?”
She approaches me, arms extended, as if to give me an embrace, with a crazed grin on her face. I allow her to do so, taking in the details of her unkempt appearance, the dark matter under her nails, the acrid stench of her breath, and the sourness of sweat emanating from her body. She curls her arms around my shoulders, but I do not return the embrace.
“Oh, you’ve come back to me, Ashley.”
“No, I’ve come back, but not for you. I’m here to end this.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” She takes my hands in hers, cold and clammy. “You don’t understand. I did this for you, Ashley. All of this, for you. I found a way to make everything better for you. To make a world where you would fit. Where everyone would be like you. Come and see.” She scurries over to the cabinet, picking up a vial filled with a bright blue liquid. She holds it out in front of her, as if presenting a prize. “Look, here it is. We’ve already tested it so many times.”
“How?” I ask. “How have you tested it?”
“In the early trials, we used horses.”
“Why horses?”
“They have the closest genetic makeup to humans related to the other animals in this area.”
That explains where Mare came from. “And?”
“And we have found the ability to manipulate the very DNA of the living.”
“Dr. Donovan,” I say. “How many of you are left? Who helped you with this?”
She laughs, her mouth extended into a ghastly grin. “There’s no one left,” she replies. “That’s how I knew you would come back to me.”
With these words, she reaches for a syringe from the prep station, filled with the same blue liquid and already affixed with a hollow needle.
“Doctor, no!” I reach for her, but my feet move in slow motion. She is too far away. She plunges the needle into her arm, directly into a vein suppressing the plunger before I reach her. I catch her, just as her knees buckle.
“Now I’ll be just like you,” she whispers.
“What did you do? What’s in the syringe?”
Her face becomes ashen as I cradle her head in my lap. “It’s you, Ashley,” she says in a weak, shallow voice. “This is the serum I was able to draw from your blood. I gave it to them. I made them like you, so you would have a place to come back to, a place to belong.”
My view grows blurry as tears fill my eyes. As much as my rage burns inside me, her words cut me to the core. Her body convulsed, her eyes rolling back in her head, teeth clenched. All I can do is steady her, until she calms once more.
“Ashley,” she says as her mad eyes search wildly around the room.
“Here. I’m here,” I choke out the words, overcome with anger and sadness, threatening to consume me.
“Ashley, I want to tell you…”
“Okay, yes. What is it?” I say. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it, but it is unclear if she will survive the injection. Already, I see a blueness creeping into her lips and around her eyes.
“I want you to know,” she continues in a rasping voice. “I want to tell you about your mother. May I tell you?”
I do my best to suppress an audible wail at the mention of my mother. “Fine,” I whimper, nothing more than placating a madwoman.
“She wanted you.”
“What?” Tears stream from my eyes.
“She wanted you so much. That’s why she signed up for the experiment. She couldn’t afford any care for you otherwise. Of course, we didn’t know about you at first. She had already been through the first series of injections. When she started showing symptoms, she came to me and told me about the pregnancy. By then it was too late.”
Once more her body seizes, her back arching against the cold laboratory floor.
“Doctor!” I shout, rocking her in an attempt to revive her. Her eyes clear, returning their focus back to me.
“At the end, she made me promise…” Her voice cracked, breaking up her words. “She made me promise to save you. To take care of you.”
“How far?” I ask. “Before she turned. How far along was she before she turned?”
“Six months,” the doctor replies. “You were perfect when we got you out. Just perfect, all pretty and pink. The perfect little girl. The other doctors wanted to… dispatch you, but I had made a promise to keep. And I intended to keep it.”
“What would have happened?” Tears stream down my face, landing in little splashes on my fingers.
“They wanted to study you, dissect your body. But when I looked into your face, your perfect, pink little face, I knew I had to save you.”
“Is that what you did?” I say in a choked voice, my whole body trembling with unspent emotion. “You saved me? The closest thing you did was keep me alive. But you didn’t save me. How do you justify the childhood you gave me? Making me walk through rooms full of zombies when I was no more than a child! You didn’t save me any more than you saved
my mother. You made me as much of a test subject as any of the other scientists would have done. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you treated me any better. You didn’t save me at all!”
“Ashley, I did. And I always knew you would come back to me.” With these words, she convulses once more in my arms, so hard that her body lurches out of my grasp onto the floor.
Her skin is now fully blue, spreading outward from the injection site on her arm, the veins beneath popping out against the flesh on her arms and the base of her neck. Her body shakes so violently I can hear the sound of her head hit the hard floor with a loud crack. It is time to go.
“The beacon,” I say desperately, trying to reach her before it is too late. “Doctor, where is the beacon?”
She turns toward me, still in control of her faculties, for whatever that means. The grin across her face bears the stamp of madness.
“The beacon, Doctor!”
With one trembling hand, she points to the computer console at the far end of the counter. Leaving her convulsing on the floor, I hurry to the console, glancing at the controls, a series of one word controls and a screen perched over a keyboard.
Scanning the words, I find one labeled “home.” I return my gaze to the doctor, still quaking on the floor. Squeezing my eyes closed, I flip the switch.
“Ashley,” she calls, her voice distant and weak. I make my way to her, trying to steady her to her feet.
“Come with me,” I say. “Come back with me. We could use a doctor at SeaHaven.”
“I won’t leave, Ashley,” she whimpers, even as her body continues to shake. “I won’t leave my work.”
“Doctor please. It’s time to go now,” I cry once more, but I know she is already lost. I pull on the lapel of her lab coat, trying again to get her to her feet. “Come on, we have to go now.”
With one last flash of clarity, she meets my gaze, offering a languid grin. “They won’t hurt us, Ashley,” she says with eerie calm. “They won’t.”
The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers Page 15