by Dana Fredsti
“What is this?” I countered. “Psych 101?”
“No. I’d just like to hear your take on what happened to you.”
“My take?” I so was not in the mood for head games. “My boyfriend and I were having a picnic and...” I stopped short, flashing back to the sound of screams. Ohmigod, Matt. What happened to Matt? I started again, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
“Matt and I were having a picnic, and we were attacked by... zombies.” The word just hung there.
“Zombies?” She continued to study me, and for the life of me I couldn’t tell if she was taking me seriously, or ready to have me committed. Hell, even I couldn’t decide whether or not to have me committed.
Too bone-weary and sick to be defensive, I shrugged, then immediately wished I hadn’t. I had another swallow of ginger ale before I tried to talk again.
“Yeah. Zombies. Unless you have a better word for people who look dead, smell dead, and act dead, except for the whole walking-around-and-trying-to-eat-flesh part.” I blanched at the all too recent memory of teeth sinking into my shoulder and arm. My chest tightened as delayed panic started to set in.
I forced myself to breathe.
“No, that works,” Professor Fraser said, “though traditionally zombies were thought to be created through a combination of voodoo and a special powder containing textrodotoxin, the same poison found in pufferfish. This combination was said to create a state of living death in its victims. The etymology of the word ‘zombie’ is in and of itself absolutely fascinating, and—”
I stared at her and she stopped.
“Erm, yes. Zombie is an adequate term to describe the creatures that attacked you. Although,” she couldn’t resist adding, “ghoul is another popular word in the nomenclature assigned to the reanimated dead.”
Uh-huh. Mercifully, curiosity was replacing the memories. Professor Fraser’s calm, academic observations were as soothing as Valium.
“So you’re telling me these things are real. You’re not gonna tell me I’m crazy or on crack or whatever?”
Professor Fraser shook her head.
“No. You experienced something outside of the norm... but unfortunately, not outside of reality.”
“And those were really dead people walking around? Hungry dead people.”
A hesitation.
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
I lay back, taking a deep breath. Looked at my bandaged arm, felt the throb in my neck and shoulder. I had enough pop culture savvy to know what that meant.
“Am I... that’s going to happen to me, isn’t it?” She didn’t answer right away. I reached out and grabbed her hand. “You’re going to have to shoot me in the head, aren’t you?”
“No,” Professor Fraser said, “but that’s a very good response on your part.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Professor?” It was official—I’d entered the “anger” stage. “I’ve been bitten, so whatever infected those people, whether it’s voodoo or puffer fish toxins or whatever—it’s gonna happen to me, too, isn’t it?”
“Simone.”
“Huh?”
“My name is Simone.” That took me by surprise. Professor Fraser gently extracted her hand from mine, but then took my hand in hers and peered at me steadily. “We’ll be working together now, and probably for the foreseeable future. There’s no need for things to stay so formal.”
“Working together?” I had no idea what she was talking about. My head suddenly pounded to the rhythm of my heartbeat, my arm and shoulder throbbed, and I wanted more painkillers. “I’m not dying?”
Professor Fraser shook her head, and I didn’t think she was bullshitting me any longer.
“No,” she answered. “You need to rest and let your wounds heal. That’s all.”
“But how do you know?” My face flushed with fever heat as my anxiety ramped up another notch. “How can you be sure I’m not gonna die, and try to eat you?” I struggled to sit up again, but she placed a firm hand on my uninjured shoulder.
“Trust me, Ashley, I’ve seen this before—”
Of course you have, I thought furiously. Nothing to see here, folks, ’cause this happens every day!
Then I stopped myself.
What if it did, but most people were lucky enough to never know about it?
“And you exhibit none of the clinical indications we’ve come to associate with reanimation,” she continued.
Clinical indications?
I searched Professor Fraser’s face for some sign that she was lying, and saw nothing but certainty there. She was so calm, it was both disconcerting and yet oddly comforting.
I lay back down.
“What... what about Matt?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer. “Is he here, too?”
Was it my imagination or did she hesitate before replying?
“Yes,” she said. “He’s in another part of the lab.”
Oh, thank god... I’d thought for sure he’d been ripped to pieces.
“Is he okay?” There was a definite hesitation this time. My skin began to crawl. So much for comforting.
“He’s still alive,” she said.
“Can I see him?”
Professor Fraser... Simone... shook her head.
“Not right now,” she said, and I thought I saw cracks appearing in that composure. “You need to rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” I protested. “I’ve been resting. I want to know what’s—”
“I know you do,” she said, and she pressed a small button next to the bed. “We’ll explain everything to you when you’re more up to it.”
We?
The pulsing in my head increased. I was about to force the issue when the door opened to admit a skinny, ginger-bearded, and vaguely rodent-featured man in his early fifties.
“Doctor Albert?”
He jumped a little, as if startled.
“Oh, hello, Ashley.”
“What are you doing here?”
Dr. Albert smiled soothingly.
“I’m the head of University Medical Services,” he said, as if that explained everything. Before I could respond, he took something out of his pocket. A syringe. “Now Ashley, this will help you with the pain, and let you sleep a bit more.”
This is a load of crap, I thought. I wanted to know what happened to me. I wanted to know what happened to Matt! But I was too weak to resist as he administered the shot and my protests died before they’d begun.
The effects hit almost immediately, and a wave of numbing drowsiness washed over me. Without a word, I drifted back off to sleep.
Josh lay on the ground, mouth opening and closing in mindless hunger. Footsteps crunched on pine needles and dirt a short distance away.
“Any sign?”
“Piece of terrycloth. Dried blood on it.”
Cartridges were slapped into place and rounds chambered as the footsteps sped up to a slow jog, heading in Josh’s direction. He moaned again, the sound rising up and echoing through fog-shrouded trees.
“Think I’ve got a zed over here, sir!”
Footsteps crunched on pine needles.
“Oh, man, that is seriously fucked up...” Someone coughed, almost dry heaving. Josh moaned, clawing hungrily at the dusty black boots a foot or so away from his head.
“Zed identified, sir!”
“Fire!”
“On the way!”
There was a clap of thunder and Josh’s second life disintegrated, along with his head.
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
I don’t know what the doctor shot me up with, but whatever it was, I slept like the un-reanimated dead—a long and dreamless sleep.
Waking up was better this time; I could open my eyes without sending ground-glass pain shooting into the lids and sockets. In the nasty glare of the fluorescent lights, everything looked much as it had before, except the chair where Simone had been sitting was unoccupied.
The door to my little room
was closed, but I could hear an occasional voice and the sound of footsteps. My anxiety, although muted by the lingering effects of the sedative I’d been given, rose a notch. A borderline claustrophobic, I didn’t much like the closed space.
Was I a patient here, or a prisoner?
I pushed myself up to a seated position with much more success than my last attempt. My shoulder and arm still throbbed under their bandages, but other than that, I felt pretty damn good... which in itself was pretty damn weird.
I was wicked thirsty—probably dehydrated from the drugs, not to mention the hundred-yard zombie dash I’d done—but I actually felt rested. It was like the first good sleep-in of summer vacation. Except I usually didn’t start my summer vacation with chunks of flesh missing from my body.
That’s gonna suck come tank-top weather.
A glass sat on the bedside table, condensation frosting its sides. I reached for it with my left hand, wincing when the move put pressure on wound.
The pain was totally worth it, though, once I took a swallow of cold ginger ale. The taste reminded me of childhood and being home sick, with my mom bringing saltines and glass after glass of soda to settle my stomach.
My mom...
Was this zombie thing happening all over the place, or just around Redwood Grove? My parents were up in Lake County. Would they be safe on their ranch?
I needed to call them, but my iPhone was gone, probably lying somewhere in the woods or the field, covered with blood and intestines. I fought the urge to leap out of bed, mainly because I’d likely collapse if I tried to do anything that quickly. So I pushed the blankets off me and very slowly and carefully swung my legs over the side of the bed, pausing to see what the rest of me thought of this movement.
My head felt a little woozy, and I doubted my bite wounds would like anything at this point, but... not too bad.
Better living through drugs.
Encouraged, I set my feet on the ground and stood up.
Whoah. Suddenly I knew how Dorothy felt. I held onto the rickety metal bed frame and waited for things to stop spinning, or at least slow down a bit. Closing my eyes helped.
“What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
The voice came out of nowhere: male, angry and horrifyingly familiar. My eyelids flew open and I let out a startled yelp, letting go of the bed frame.
Bad move.
Things started to go gray and my knees went wobbly. My face and the floor were on a collision course, but strong arms stopped the fall just before impact, scooping me up like I weighed five pounds instead of, well, whatever. My visitor carefully set me on the bed while cursing under his breath.
I lay there for a minute until I was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, and then took another look. I prayed this was just another nightmare, or the after-effects of the drugs.
Gabriel glared at me, arms folded. He wore green fatigues and a black T-shirt, and looked about ten pounds lighter than the last time I’d seen him. The weight loss didn’t harm his good looks; his cheekbones were more defined than ever.
“What are you doing here?” I said, shooting for authoritative. But my voice sounded feeble and kind of petulant, even to my own ears.
“Stopping you from falling flat on your face, it would seem,” he replied with that familiar holier-than-thou attitude. I would have rolled my eyes if I didn’t think it would hurt. Instead I settled for a glare of my own.
“I only fell because you startled me.”
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Gabriel said as he plunked himself down in the room’s only chair. “Professor Fraser sent me to check on you.”
“But why are you dressed like Rambo?” The dizziness passed, and I started to sit up, only to have him put a restraining hand on my shoulder. He ignored my admittedly snarky question.
“You need to rest,” he said.
“I’ve been resting for...” Then I stopped, realizing I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. “Gabriel, I need to call my parents. I need to find out what happened to Matt. I need to find out what happened to me.”
An unreadable expression flashed across his face, but was quickly replaced by a stoic mask.
“No phones,” he said flatly.
“What do you mean, no phones?” I knocked his hand off my shoulder and struggled up to a sitting position. “There are always phones!”
“Not here, not now there aren’t.”
“That’s a shitty answer!”
“It’s all you’re going to get.” He crossed his arms again and stared straight ahead.
Bedside manner? Epic fail.
Maybe he’s pissy because Professor Fraser doesn’t let him call her Simone. Whatever the reason, I matched him, glare for son-of-a-bitch glare until he stood up.
“I’m going to get the professor,” he said. “Now that you’re awake, she’ll want to talk to you.”
Way to pass the buck.
“Wait!” I said.
Gabriel paused, hand on the doorknob.
I opened my mouth to ask about Matt, but that wasn’t what came out.
“I need to use the bathroom.” Was it just the light or did Gabriel’s face just turn red?
Yup, definitely some embarrassment going on there.
“Professor Fraser said you needed to stay in bed.”
It was like talking to a call center in Bangalore. He couldn’t deviate from the script.
Resistance is useless...
“Look, that’s all well and good, but I need to pee, okay? Unless you have a bedpan handy, I really need to get to a bathroom—like now.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, came to his senses and snapped it shut again without further discussion. When I started to stand up, he helped me to my feet. And for just a moment, the strength of his arm around my shoulders was a momentarily safe haven against the uncertainty rocking my world.
He opened the door and led me out into a hallway which was lit by the same unforgiving fluorescent bulbs. Down at one end a pair of double doors swung open and I could see the makeshift medical ward. People in hazmat suits and others dressed like Gabriel were bustling around, and a low hum of continual conversation was clearly audible. I also heard moans, and some screams. Disturbing splashes of red were clearly visible on the floor and bedclothes.
“Come on.”
Gabriel steered me in the other direction. The hallway was lined with doors sporting little view-panels like the one in the door to my room. We reached the restrooms, clearly marked with the ubiquitous man-in-pants and woman-in-dress outlines. Gabriel stopped outside of the women’s room.
“Will you be okay on your own?” He sounded suspiciously sincere.
I nodded and stepped away from the security of his arm. I wobbled slightly, but used the door handle to steady myself before he could grab me again. I didn’t care if I passed out; no way was Gabriel coming in with me. There are some things a girl has to do on her own.
I did my business as quickly as possible and washed my hands thoroughly, as if to scrub away what had happened. Splashing water on my face, I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. A ghastly pale face with hollowed eye sockets stared back at me, total “heroin chic.”
The bandages on my shoulder were flecked with red at the point of the wound. Not too badly, though. Just a few dots of blood soaking through the gauze to remind me of what lay beneath.
I poked experimentally at the still pristine dressing covering my forearm. Ouch! Yes, it still hurt, but no blood came through. I flashed back to the moment when the fat zombie had sunk his teeth into my flesh. At the time it’d felt like he’d torn away half my arm, but maybe it wasn’t so bad.
I shivered, and noticed that my backside and legs were colder than the rest of me. That brought the realization I was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns that tied at the back, leaving the butt hanging out when the two sides inevitably flapped open. And at some point or another someone had removed all of my clothes, leaving only my pink lace thong.
Great.
A fist pounded on the door, sending a surge of adrenaline through me.
“You okay in there?” Gabriel’s voice, sounding more impatient than ever.
Jeez frickin’ Louise, can’t a girl pee in private?
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Give me a sec.”
I had a perverse desire to take my sweet time. But I really needed to lie back down, so I stifled my petty impulse and rejoined Gabriel in the hall.
He put an arm around my shoulders again, but any hint of warmth was gone. If I hadn’t needed his arm for support, I would’ve shoved it off.
Before we reached my room, the double doors at the end of the hall crashed open and a gun-toting, hazmat-suit-clad soldier burst into the hallway. He called out to Gabriel.
“Captain! We have a situation!”
Captain? Since when did a teacher’s aide earn a rank? I filed this away for later.
Gabriel’s arm immediately dropped from my shoulders.
“I’ll be right there.” He turned to me. “Ashley, go back to your room.” Not bothering to wait for an answer, he took off after the soldier, leaving me swaying unsteadily in the hallway.
I wanted to lie down, and really should have gone back to my room. But I’ve never been much for following orders, especially with so many questions left unanswered. So I waited a moment, and then followed him into the makeshift medical ward.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
The screams I’d heard from the hallway hit me like a wave of sound the instant I slipped into the ward. Eerie moans echoed above the screaming, a real life chorus of the damned. The smell in the room was thick, coppery, and rancid. I did not want to know what the source was.
There were a dozen or so cots, all occupied by thrashing people. None of them looked good. Sallow, greenish-yellow skin tone, like jaundice with a bad case of mold. Blood and other fluids leaking from their mouths, noses, and ears. Some had raw wounds on their arms or legs while others had bandages seeping through with blood—or in some cases, nasty, foul-smelling blackish ooze. Most of them had restraints strapped across their arms, waists, and legs, along with metal collars around their necks. The straps were totally disturbing, and the collars were strangely decorated with a bunch of rings. It was just plain creepy.