Kristi shot me an exasperated look at my self-promotion from assistant to partner, but she could hardly correct me in front of Dr. Ingram.
“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “Quite the partnership.”
“And Mr. Griffin is my assistant,” I said cheerfully with a tilt of my head toward him.
Kyle said smoothly, “It’s good to see you, Dr. Ingram.”
Dr. Ingram shook his hand. “It’s been a while.”
While Kyle impressed me yet again, Kristi rolled her eyes behind Dr. Ingram’s back. “I believe you were going to take me . . . and my partners . . . to the patient?” She gestured to include Fritz in the partnership.
“Oh, yes. Right this way!” He bustled off toward the elevators, Kristi’s heels tick-ticking behind him. Up one floor and down the first corridor, a hospital security guard stood beside the door to room 202. A computer-printed sign proclaimed Authorized Personnel Only.
Dr. Ingram distributed face masks from an equipment cart near the door then led our little troupe of authorized personnel into the room. Harsh fluorescent light from the fixture above the headboard brightened the bed, but left the corners of the room in shadows.
Dreadlocks Man growled and jerked against his wrist restraints as we entered. He was lying on his back which struck me as odd, since his worst wound was there. Kyle and Fritz took up positions on either side of the door, while Kristi, Dr. Ingram, and I eased closer to the bed.
“What’s been done about his injury?” I asked.
Dr. Ingram shrugged helplessly. “Very little, to be honest. We’ve been unable to perform surgery due to the, er, violent nature of the patient and the utter ineffectiveness of sedation.”
“So he’s just lying there with a gunshot wound?” I asked, aghast.
His shoulders hunched. “Both entry and exit wounds have been treated and bandaged, but we can’t even scan him to assess the extent of the damage.”
Kristi nodded toward the mobile computer workstation near the foot of the bed. “I need to see his records, please.”
Dr. Ingram typed in his passcode, waited, then did it again. “Sorry, the system has been glitchy since a crash day before yesterday.”
“The day Beckett Connor was here,” I said. “Tuesday, right?”
“Yes yes, he was the first LZ-1 case.” He peered at the screen. “Quite a mess. Ah, I mean the computer system. Not the unfortunate Deputy Connor.”
Kristi raised an eyebrow. “I’ve always found ReliaFile EMR to be extremely dependable.”
“It is. I mean, it has been. This was the first major issue since it was installed years ago.” Dr. Ingram clicked the mouse a few times. “Ah, here we are.” He pulled up a set of records with the name “August Lejeune” at the top. The “Gussie” the girl at the bowling alley had referred to.
Kristi took over the computer, face intense as she scanned the info. “His blood counts are normal. No coagulopathy. Blood gases, urine. Normal.”
“That’s correct. It’s . . . completely unprecedented. He has an epigastric entry wound and an exit wound at the level of T7. The bullet went right through his liver. He should be bleeding out internally, but there’s no sign of it.”
“He’s not dying,” Kristi breathed, eyes alight.
“Yes, he is,” I pointed out with a scowl. “Maybe not from the gunshot wound, but this infection is killing people, and it will kill him.”
Kristi closed the file. “I’m aware of that. However, you must admit this is a fortuitous development for the patient. Otherwise, he would likely be dead before a cure could be developed.”
“I suppose, yeah.” Her logic did little to counter the mercenary glee behind the words.
Lejeune let out a hair-raising growl that trailed off into “Hunnnnnnngrrryyyyyy.”
Dr. Ingram sucked in a breath. “That’s the first time he’s spoken since he came in!” He started to lean close, but I grabbed his collar and hauled him back—right as Lejeune lunged to the limit of his restraints, teeth snapping.
“Hunnnnnnngrrryyyyyy,” Lejeune snarled.
Dr. Ingram collected himself and tugged his lab coat straight. “I, uh, yes. Thank you, Miss Crawford. We’ve started putting protection masks on the LZ-1 patients but, as you can see, Mr. Lejeune becomes very, ah, aggressive whenever anyone approaches. We feared he might aggravate his injury or succeed in biting someone during an attempt to put a mask on him.” He smoothed his hair down with trembling fingers. “There’s not much to be done about his hunger at this point, but he’s receiving adequate nutrition via IV for the time being.”
Lejeune’s breath hissed through his teeth. “Hunnnnnnngrrryyyyyy.”
I had an ugly feeling it wasn’t cafeteria food he was craving—unless they’d recently put brains on the menu.
Chapter 26
If Kristi could have skipped in her Manolo Blahnik alligator shoes, she would have. As it was, she came perilously close to prancing as we returned to the car.
“My god,” she breathed. “Think of the possibilities.” She gave Billy a nod and smile as he opened the car door for her.
I exchanged a look with Kyle then got in on the other side while he took front seat again. Lucky bastard.
“Tucker Point High School, Billy,” Kristi said.
“You want to see the other shamblers,” I said.
“Sharp as ever, Angel.” She patted her briefcase. “I need samples, but it’s also necessary for me to see a number of LZ-1 patients in person for direct assessment. Samples alone simply aren’t enough. Not to mention, I want to test how this mutated parasite of yours—”
“Eugene.”
“Excuse me?” She frowned at the interruption.
I gave her a bland look. “The mutated parasite is called Eugene.”
Kristi held up her hand. “No. You and Ari can continue using that silly name, but I will not. LZ-1 serves perfectly well as a designation for both the condition and the mutated parasite that causes it.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Why LZ-1?”
“It was the CDC’s Dr. Lafferty who came up with it. Officially, it’s LZ-1, an ordinary file designation. But to her, it’s Louisiana Zombie.” Kristi tittered, the sound grating on every single nerve in my body. “Of course, Lafferty thinks it’s a little inside joke between us to reflect the mindless nature of the victims. Oh, if she only knew how close to the truth she was.”
“Yeah. Hilarious.” Kristi’s reaction made me want to punch her right in that perky nose, but even I could admit calling it Louisiana Zombie-1 was kind of appropriate. “So what did you want to test?”
“How the mutated parasite—LZ-1—reacts to brains. Dr. Nikas and I agree that brains are the most likely and logical stabilizer for the shamblers, but without a trial, it’s only a hypothesis. I don’t expect to find a difference in response between shamblers and normal zombies, but that confirmation in itself would be valuable information. I have with me packets of ProSwoleGel—a perfectly reasonable protein supplement to administer, though I’ve altered some to fifty percent brains. No one will be the wiser.”
“Kyle tried to feed brains to Connor, but he wouldn’t take them. We would’ve tried again—”
“But the poor fellow died before you could.” Kristi heaved an oh-so-sad sigh. “Terrible shame.”
My shoulders tensed. “Dying kind of happens when you’re murdered.”
“It was indeed a far too drastic measure.” She tsked. “Saberton.”
I sneered. “Yeah, you would never kill anyone for your own purposes.”
“Come now, Angel. Let’s not dredge up old grievances when everyone is cooperating so nicely. You don’t want to cause more problems, now do you?” Her smile turned vicious. “Wasn’t unleashing LZ-1 on the world enough for you?”
Kyle cast a dark look at her over his shoulder.
Fuck this bitch.
“Now you listen to me, Dr. Kristi Fuckface. I’ve been playing nice right along with the rest of the Tribe. And I’ll continue to do so as long as a treatment or cure is in the works.” I bared my teeth at her. “But it’s a fucking two-way street. Bitchdoctor snarkiness doesn’t fall under the play-nice umbrella. I’m not here for your amusement. I’m here for August Lejeune and all the victims in the hospital and the gym.” I leaned in. “If it weren’t for them, I’d crush your skull and eat your brain right here and now and worry about the indigestion later.”
It was Billy’s turn to glance back, though his look was more horrified than dark.
“My, aren’t we testy today,” Kristi said coolly, though the fury in her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
I gave her my best dazzling smile. “And proud of it.”
She flipped a page on her legal pad and pretended to work. Annoyance wafted from her in an acrid wave.
Ha! I’d shut her up and gotten under her skin. Wasn’t much, but I’d take it. Allowing myself a mental fist pump, I settled back into the cushy comfort of the seat.
A few minutes later, we piled out in front of the Tucker Point High School gym—the same gym where my dad and I stayed after the flood swept our house away, and not far from the football field where the mass fight scene for High School Zombie Apocalypse!! had been shot.
A deputy and a Tucker Point cop chatted near the double doors. Kristi, Kyle, Fritz, and I showed ID, but it was Kristi’s name that earned us the Yes, ma’am, right this way, ma’am treatment. The deputy handed us surgical-type masks and waited for us to put them on before ushering us into the gym.
Déjà vu hit me as I took in the scene. Cots with people on them, like after the flood. But the similarities ended there. Then, the cots had been clustered in family groups, and refugees slept or commiserated or played cards. The smell of fresh coffee and hot pizza had filled the air, and soothing music had played over the PA. Now, the cots were numbered and lined up in orderly rows. Thirty-two of them. Four rows of eight. Around two thirds were occupied—far too many for my liking—and close to a dozen gloved and masked medical personnel tended equipment and the restrained patients. The heavy stench of blood, sweat, urine, shit, and disinfectant blanketed everything. Growls, moans, and wails were the only music.
About a third of the patients wore the plastic face shields Dr. Ingram had mentioned, designed to protect the people tending them from being bitten or spit at. Each occupied cot—and a few of the empty ones—had an IV stand and a mobile vitals monitor at the head.
A woman in black scrubs with sleek grey hair pulled back into a ponytail adjusted the IV flow for a patient in the nearest row. The doctor I’d seen on the news when the epidemic first went public. She made a final tweak, disposed of her gloves, and approached in brisk strides.
“You must be Dr. Charish,” she said. “Dr. Ingram told me you and your associates were on the way over. I’m Dr. Maureen Bauer. Epidemiologist.” Her tone was crisp and professional, with zero Dr. Ingram-style fawning.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Kristi shook the other woman’s hand. “Perhaps you could get me up to speed on what you have here?” Her manner was equally no-nonsense, a far cry from her I’m-very-important attitude at the hospital. Was that a conscious thing for her to change her bearing depending on who she was talking to? Or did she have a natural ability to adjust to fit the circumstances? Either way, I couldn’t help but envy the knack.
Dr. Bauer swept her arm to encompass the gym. “We have two other doctors, four RNs, and four patient care assistants on duty now. More personnel and more equipment are expected to arrive by morning.”
I gestured to the pale yellow mitten-sleeve things she had on. Like flexible arm casts, they covered her forearms and hands, leaving thumb and fingers free. “What are those for?”
She flexed her fingers. “Kevlar fiber sleeves. Best protection against bites. We found that the majority of the patients can’t tolerate having their mouths covered. It sends them into recalcitrant status epilepticus, perhaps triggered by panic, and is relieved only by removal of the face shields.”
“Excellent observation and workaround,” Kristi said. “What can you tell me about LZ-1?”
“It’s fatal,” Dr. Bauer replied, expression grim. “We lost two yesterday and three this morning. Their deaths were all very sudden, as if their bodies simply gave out.”
“Fascinating,” Kristi said, then she and Dr. Bauer dove into an epidemiology discussion that sailed over my head by the second sentence. I gave up trying to comprehend it and headed for the first row of patients. Kyle remained within earshot of Kristi, much better able to absorb the conversation for Dr. Nikas. Hell, for all I knew, he was recording it.
Though Dr. Nikas couldn’t come here to assess the victims, I could make my own observations and report back to him. Every medical worker was deeply engaged in patient care, and I did my best to stay out of their way as I walked slowly past the cots. Some patients were bound with standard medical restraints, but the rest with straps fashioned from duct tape. Great minds think alike.
There were several familiar faces among the patients without bite shields. Nurse Patricia’s dead-white eyes tracked me. A barista from Dear John’s snapped and howled as I passed. The Rucker twins lay on adjacent cots, moaning and writhing. A subtle flutter rose in my gut. I stopped and reached toward the foot of the nearest twin.
“Hey!” a man’s voice called out.
I jerked my hand back.
“Glove-up before touching.” The voice belonged to a portly assistant the next row over.
I bit my lip. “Sorry!”
He shook his head at my stupidity and resumed adjusting the restraints on his patient.
The click of Kristi’s heels warned me of her approach. “Ooooo. Twins can be quite useful in research.”
A sliver of unease crawled down my spine at the creepy elation in her tone. “I’m sure they’re thrilled to be here.”
She ignored my comment. “Dr. Bauer is on board with trying to nourish these poor souls with the ProSwoleGel. I’m going to take a quick peek at all of them, then you can administer it. For now, run along.” She waggled her fingers in a shooing gesture then turned her back on me and strode toward the first cot.
“For now, run along,” I mimicked, complete with an exaggerated derpy expression. Cuz I was mature like that.
Fritz joined Kristi as she peered at the first victim, ready to guard her precious body if the shambler got rowdy. In the next row, Kyle crouched beside cot twelve, attentive to everything around him.
A shambler behind me let out a piercing wail. I spun to see Dr. Bauer trying to check the pupils on an elderly woman. The patient wore a face shield, but it didn’t stop her from lunging and trying to bite.
“Need a hand?” I asked. “Looks like everyone else is busy.”
“I’d love a hand,” Dr. Bauer said. “If you could hold her head still for a moment.” Once I had the thrashing woman in my grasp, Dr. Bauer did the light shine thing with each eye, then gestured for me to release my hold. “Thanks for the help. You would think eleven staff for twenty-one patients would be adequate, but we’re at the bare minimum for safety and maintenance. God forbid we fill the empty cots.”
“Can’t you call more workers in?”
“Screening is being done. We’re not allowing anyone with children at home to work with these patients due to the uncertainties about transmission. Finger crossed, by morning we should have a decent pool from the surrounding parishes. But at the moment, we’re fairly shorthanded.”
“That’s probably the right call, though,” I said. “The part about workers with children.”
A moan from the next cot over interrupted the doctor’s reply. “Huunnngry.”
It was Patricia, her eyes fixed on me and slightly less milky white than before.
“That’s the first time
any of them have spoken,” Dr. Bauer said, frowning.
“One of them did at the hospital a little while ago.” I went on to tell her about August Lejeune and his gunshot wound.
Patricia let out a keening wail. “Huunnngry!” She shuddered. “Braaaains.”
Dr. Bauer gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear god. It’s true.”
Not the reaction I expected. “What do you mean? What’s true?”
Dr. Bauer dropped her hand to her stomach. “A paramedic told me about a woman he took to the emergency room an hour or so ago.”
“One of these LZ-1 cases?”
“No, but connected. The patient—I’ll call her Miss L—told the authorities her uncle had been bitten last night by a neighbor—number twenty-one over there—but the incident hadn’t been reported because her aunt wanted to treat the uncle at home.” Dr. Bauer let out a sigh. “No insurance and didn’t want to lose everything to medical debt.”
I winced. “All too common.”
“Indeed. This morning Miss L woke up to her aunt’s screams from downstairs. She went down with a gun and found her aunt with her head bashed in and her uncle . . .”
“Eating her brain?” I gently prompted.
“That’s what Miss L said when the police questioned her. The uncle came at her, and though Miss L shot him multiple times, it didn’t slow him down. He clawed her up, but she managed to shoot him in the head and run for help.”
Great. The monsters were getting more monstrous. “Let me guess. No one believes her story,” I said sourly. “Or if they do, they won’t admit it.”
“Of course not. That would be crazy.” Dr. Bauer’s gaze rested on Patricia. “But I’ll be quite interested to see what shows up in the uncle’s stomach contents during the autopsy.”
“The Coroner’s Office pathologist is Dr. Leblanc. I’m sure he’d be glad to share his findings with you.” I had no need to find out what was in the uncle’s stomach. I already knew.
White Trash Zombie Unchained Page 25