“This loss of brain function reverts their instincts back to the absolute basics, such as hunger. They feel little pain and they seem to have difficulty identifying and opening most manmade food products but respond best to meat. Their bodies don’t seem to require as much sustenance as before, with many of them going days without eating, and seem to desire protein. They direct their hunger on humans who are, to put it crudely, a fresh source of meat. There may be some smell factor as well, as we can see strange stimulation in their brains which seems to increase when non-infected humans are present,” she continued.
“In conclusion, the subjects we call ‘zombies’ are not, in fact, dead, and are rather brain damaged people who have survived infection with the side effects of heightened aggression and lowered intelligence. They are simply people who have recovered from the infection with a severe, but stable, mania. In some cases of encephalitis such as this, people are known to recover some brain function over time. Within 8 to 12 months we will have a better idea of the maximum capacity, but it is my belief we can improve outcomes through rehab….” She trailed off, taking in the looks she was now receiving.
Around the room, people stared at her with expressions varying from confusion, to disbelief, to outright anger. That last one she didn’t quite understand.
Laughter floated from one corner of the room, where Captain Wolfe had been leaning against the wall with an angry sort of smirk on his face.
“Whether they are dead now or not, they are vicious killers and a threat. You’re talking about, what? Treating zombies? Zombie therapy?” Wolfe finished on another laugh. Several others joined in with him.
Rachel frowned at this reaction, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Whatever you may think, this means they are still people,” she retorted. “If we can help them, we should.”
Wolfe walked forward to address the room. His confident swagger immediately put Rachel on edge. To her, he seemed more like an animal than a man, trying to demonstrate his superiority and dominance. She thought back to a program she had once watched on National Geographic about predators and establishing dominance. It was this posture she was seeing now.
“I don’t know how many of you have been out there recently, but it’s the bloody apocalypse. People are dying and coming back, attacking other people. There is only one appropriate response to this situation, and it is not,” Captain Wolfe stopped for a moment, shooting a glare in Rachel’s direction, “teaching the fucking things.”
Around them conversation erupted as people stopped to discuss the implications of Captain Wolfe’s words. From the bits that Rachel was hearing, the overwhelming majority seemed to agree with his speech.
“Dr. Samborski,” he finally said, halting all other conversation in the room, “please continue your research. We need to know more about what we are dealing with. However, in the meantime, anyone showing signs of aggression or attacking others will be dealt with accordingly…whether they are alive or not.”
Downstairs, Clara sat with her new friends while those around them slept. It had been two days since they were placed into the metal cage, and since then the humans outside of it were vigilant in keeping watch other than the few moments on the first day when the single guard had fallen asleep.
This was the first time they had been left completely alone since then, and while they welcomed the opportunity to speak to one another, there was a certain wariness among the group.
During this time, unable to test her new understanding of speech, Clara listened to the advice of her new friends.
So she watched, and she listened.
Meaningful glances had been exchanged between her and some of the others, but it was also apparent that not all those among them had any remaining comprehension. She looked upon them with something akin to pity.
The light bulbs overhead buzzed and flickered, casting a somewhat ominous glow on the three as they congregated on one side of the cage. There was one other man who sat close by, apparently listening, but seemingly not entirely present either.
“Seventeen here tells me you can understand,” the grey-haired man said to Clara. It was not so much a question as a statement of what he believed.
Clara nodded in return, somehow nervous about trying speech for herself.
“Y-yes,” she replied simply a moment later, pleased with herself for the clarity of her voice.
The grey-haired man nodded towards the one who was listening.
“This is Nine. He understands a bit but can’t speak”
Clara turned to Nine and nodded in greeting. Although he looked back at her, his stare was absent, and he grunted in reply but didn’t say anything further.
“Do you remember what you are called? Your name?” Seventeen, her dark-skinned friend, asked her. Clara thought for a moment. Although she understood the question, she didn’t know the answer. While words were coming back to her, memory of anything before waking up in the house was still fuzzy. Without being obvious about it, she reached her hand into her robe to assure herself the picture was still there.
“No, do you?” Clara asked as she subtly stroked the picture in her pocket.
The woman shook her head on behalf of both of them.
“No, we don’t either. We were both taken many days ago. We were being sent here when you were picked up. But in the other place, they called me Seventeen and him Three. I don’t think those were our before names, though.” Seventeen shrugged. “I don’t mind. Until I remember more, I don't care what I am called."
Clara could understand that sentiment. She also wished to remember more.
Walking through the house after she woke up, she had felt vague parts of memories but couldn't pinpoint them with any accuracy. But really, she mostly wanted to remember who the man in the picture was. For a moment, she debated showing Three and Seventeen the picture, but for some reason hesitated. He was just for her, at least for now.
"Where were you before?" Clara asked, changing the subject and gesturing to the cage around them. Hesitation from both of her new friends.
Seventeen was visibly upset at the question and stood up and paced a bit. The behavior worried Clara, and she turned to Three, a small crease in her brow.
"We don't know where it was," Three began haltingly. "But it was much darker than here. There started off being about this many of us,” he gestured around the cage, “but by the time we left only a small number of us remained, including me, Seventeen, and Nine here. They would take us away one by one. We heard… " he trailed off as though trying to formulate the words, but Seventeen picked up the conversation, anger in her eyes and voice.
"There was screaming. Not like these dummies do when they are upset," she pointed at the sleeping forms around them. "They were hurt. On purpose. By them!" Three stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, and she immediately visibly deflated.
"Seventeen has been through a lot already. We tell you more in time, but for now know that in the place before, the ones who spoke or showed they were smarter…well, they weren’t in the van with us. And that is why you shouldn’t speak around Them.”
chapter 10
Silence greeted them when they first walked into the hall, although Max had grinned to himself when he opened the door with ease. They wandered down the corridor, not quite creeping, but keeping a slow pace. Up ahead a few noises could be heard, although it wasn’t yet obvious what they were.
Frowning, Max looked back at Jay, who stood closely behind him as if waiting for further instruction. While Jay had woken up, he had yet to communicate beyond the occasional grunt, and had a slightly glazed over look in his eyes that hadn’t faded. Max was delighted that he had woken up at all.
While receptive to basic commands and needs, he was still in that familiar fog that Max himself had experienced until only a few days before and did not miss. Even though Max didn’t know if the boy could totally understand, he explained to him that they needed to leave. They had no food there, and they needed to
find Clara. He showed Jay the picture from his wallet by way of explanation. Jay seemed to understand what food was and quickly followed Max after that.
Max had high hopes that, like his own recovery, he would regain more of himself in the coming days. He thought back to the days after he woke up and the haze that had clouded his brain, and how it was Jay's words that really set the switch to bring words back to the front of his brain. He had tried speaking to Jay in the room, but had not received any responses, and barely any recognition at all until the mention of food.
Remembering back to the food under the tray when Max first woke up, he decided they should see if they could find some food in the building before leaving. While practical, there was also a part of Max that was afraid of what they might find in the outside world. As much as he had hated being stuck in that room, with that stupid doorknob, this place was all he knew of the world outside his still-foggy memories.
Walking to the top of the stairs, Max looked down to survey the area. On the carpeted landing below, there was an infected man sitting and leaning against the wall, eating the last scraps of a body he had clearly liberated at some point earlier. The faint but familiar smell of the uninfected living still hung heavy in the air along with the metallic scent of blood.
Slowly, but with a sense of purpose, the infected man got up and started walking up the stairs towards them, blood dripping off his chin as he grinned at the two newcomers. Max took a step back instinctively, putting his arm and body out in front of Jay, who looked at the other infected with curiosity. As the bloody man walked up the stairs towards them, Max felt an angry possessive feeling come over him.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is trying to intimidate me, Max thought as he unconsciously planted his feet and opened his shoulders and body. Growling slightly, he addressed the now-stopped zombie in front of them.
“Fuck off whadyawant,” Max growled at him.
Cowed by the domineering approach, the man immediately stared at the ground and hunched down in fear and shame. Seeing this exchange, Jay walked around him, keeping a distance, but obviously curious about the body in the corner. Max remembered The Smell, faint but true, emanating from the corpse and immediately understood the desires that Jay was feeling.
“Jay-man, wait,” Max said, stopping the boy before he reached the corpse. Turning his attention back to the infected man in front of him, he resumed his growl and increased a few decibels.
“Go. NOW!” Max shouted, causing the man to scramble down the stairs, almost tripping on his feet as he exited through the doors at the back of the lobby. He watched him leave before approaching Jay slowly. Max honestly didn’t really know what to say or feel in that moment.
The last week or so of being a zombie, or whatever he was, and in particular the last thirty-six hours waiting with Jay, had given him enough time to notice the differences between first waking up and now. In particular, memories of being…not this.
While still a bit physically slow, and even though he couldn’t remember a lot of his life, he was starting to recall overall concepts like social structure. Max also knew that before this, he hadn’t been tempted to eat people, and the vaguest idea of this being wrong stayed his head. The idea of guilt, as opposed to the actual emotion, plagued his mind.
Max looked at Jay and remembered how he had savored and craved that scent when he was first locked up. The scent that Max hadn’t understood at the time he now knew to be uninfected people. It was the smell of hot, live blood and flesh, and of pure, uninfected brain. It was almost euphoric, and even now Max could feel that familiar pull, although he was capable of resisting it.
Trying to break it down logically, he looked down at the very, very dead body in front of them. Clothes were ripped and torn to shreds to make easy access and looking down he thought he could see the dead man’s heart through a missing piece of his ribs.
This person is already dead, Max reasoned with himself. We didn’t kill him. He won’t be any less dead for us having a few bites. I’m just getting us a good meal for the road.
Smiling to himself for thinking of it, he looked around once more to ensure there were no more visitors and then extended an arm in front of him, inviting Jay to dinner.
“Okay zombie Jay-man,” Max said, “eat up.”
Jay practically pounced on the remains, obviously famished. Max hung back for a moment, intending to let the boy have first dibs. Just as he began leaning down to take a taste of the tantalizing meal in front of him, he heard a commotion down the hallway coming from the direction the bloody man had run. Instructing Jay to stay put, he walked down the hall to investigate.
While Jay had been ill he had watched out of the window and, based on the awkward movements, he could now deduce which people below were infected like himself. Pale skin seemed to be the easiest distinguishing factor, plus the infected tended to be slower and less coordinated. From what he had seen so far, they were also generally more laid back and not as aggressive compared to what he was hearing from down the hall.
Turning down the corridor, he saw the bloody fiend he had just chased off along with two others pounding on a doorway. He could hear noises coming from the other side as he got closer. The group saw Max coming, but seeing his alabaster skin they quickly ignored him. The one he had scared off earlier stared at Max momentarily, unsure if he was about to be run off from yet another meal. He quickly turned his attention back to the door once he realized Max was merely watching them.
Whimpers and cries came from the other side and the noises immediately struck deep in Max's heart, causing it to pound. Even though Max didn't know how he knew, he could tell the noises were from a child. The first instinct he had was what he knew was driving the others into a frenzy; The Smell, combined with those noises, indicated that a meal was on the other side.
Max's humanity was recovering along with his memories, and sorrow filled him as he listened to the child’s obvious struggles and fear. It didn't take him long to decide what to do, and he quickly recalled the reaction of the infected man when he had taken a dominating approach earlier.
Puffing up his chest and putting on the most intimidating face he could muster, he started stomping down the hall towards them. "Mine!" he yelled as the halls shook with the force of his steps. His old ‘friend’ quickly ran off the other way, leaving the other two behind. The remaining infected were a man and a woman who had paused their assault on the door at Max’s approach, taking a slight step back.
After a moment, the man growled, stepping forward to challenge Max. Even though Max was not expecting this, he held his ground, continuing his loud approach, determined that the child would be his.
The other infected man rushed towards him, and Max immediately noticed the disjointed, awkward movements which indicated the man was recently turned. Max dug his feet in and growled, preparing for the attack. Once a few feet away, the infected man stopped, still growling at Max, who didn't flinch or move but instead remained steady and solid in the center of the hallway. His eyes narrowed at his opponent and the steady low growl stayed in his throat. The woman behind him looked on with curiosity.
"This. One. Mine." Max repeated, calmly but sternly.
Before he could say any more, the man rushed towards him, tackling Max. Seeing him go down, the woman immediately started shambling over towards them. The two men grappled on the ground and, while the other infected man was slightly bigger, Max was obviously the more coordinated of the two. Punching the other man in the face, Max stunned his opponent and rolled up, preparing himself for the female to hit.
With zero finesse, she ran towards him. Max saw his opportunity and decked her so hard she fell to the floor, dazed for the moment. As the other man began to rise, Max's instincts took over as he growled and jumped on him, hitting him again and again. Time lost meaning as he continued his assault, the absence of pain giving him no indication that he needed to stop.
Over and over Max kept punching the man’s head, pulverizing it u
ntil it was no longer recognizable as a face. Blood and offal covered Max, and his chest heaved as he sat on the other now very dead man. He looked up and realized the woman had run away at some point during the one-sided brawl. His knuckles gleamed with redness.
It took a moment for his senses to come back, and he noticed the small noises coming from the door had stopped except for a few very quiet whimpers. Wiping his arm across his face, Max stood up.
He walked up to the door tentatively, not quite sure how to handle the situation from here. He looked around, and when he didn't hear or see anyone else, he knocked quietly on the door. The whimpers stopped. "Hello?" a small girlish voice asked through the door.
"Hello. I chase off other guys," he started, unsure of what to say. Max thought back and remembered the struggles he had with Jay in trying to convince him to leave the bathroom. The difference here was that this child didn't know what he looked like, whereas Jay had. He didn’t want to scare her when she did come out. If she came out. He coughed slightly to clear his throat.
"What your name? You alone?" Max asked, as he pressed his ear to the door.
Small shuffling noises could be heard on the other side as if someone was getting closer to the door, and the small voice responded.
"I'm Joan," she sniffled. "I-I left the room that my daddy was in and I k-knew I wasn’t supposed to but then these mean guys started chasing me." Halfway through the sentence, she started sobbing. "I r-ran into this c-closet and closed the door and now you're here. Are you sure they’re gone?" Joan kept on, speaking rapidly, her sobs seeming to stop as quickly as they started.
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