by Tes Hilaire
John looks at me, then Roy as if concluding the same thing—at least about my abilities. “Sir, with all due respect—”
Convict cuts him off, addressing Roy with an outstretched hand. “And give me the decoder.”
Roy scoffs. “As if you’d know how to—”
“Now.”
Tense silence descends. I wait, the Jeopardy theme tickling the inside of my mouth. This would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
I sigh instead and swipe the decoder out of Roy’s hand. He yelps a “hey” at the abrupt move, but doesn’t shoot me so I figure I’m good.
Convict’s eyebrows rise. He wiggles his fingers. I ignore that too and jab the decoder into John’s chest instead. There’s a flicker in the impassive depths of his eyes, but he closes a hand around it and nods, confirming, in my mind, that I picked the right person. Out of all of the peeps here, John’s the only one level-headed enough to trust.
“What the…you little …. You think you can undermine my orders?” Convict makes a grab for me but I quickly scoot out of range. Just as quickly John is there, blocking his path.
“We doing this, or not?” he asks, offering the decoder to Convict.
I tuck my tongue behind my lips, unreasonably disappointed with John. Of course he would hand the decoder over. Convict may have been a bit of a jerk, but he was our quote, unquote leader and John obviously bowed down before authority. I’m thinking John must have been deep in training to be a “Sir, yes sir” grunt when the virus hit. Maybe I’m prejudice (having come from a family of scholarly sorts) but I’ve never understood brainless followers.
Sighing discontentedly I turn my attention back from my speculations. I don’t know if Convict actually answered or if the entire incident has just been brushed under the rug. He and John are bending over the decoder which is now plugged into the door Juanita was trying to get through earlier. Roy seems content to stand and watch, a sneer on his lips. The sneer falls off as the door lock clicks off.
“All right, Herbie.” Juanita pumps a round into her rifle. “Let’s lock and load ‘em.”
They disappear into the dim hall beyond, Juanita confident at point and Herb quickly falling further and further behind. I send her a dash of silent luck.
John moves to the back of the room and starts on the door to the service and storage areas. I note he has the decoder back in his possession and reevaluate the brainless label (though I still stand by the yes man bit). A few low beeps and the door clicks.
“You’re good,” he announces and moves over to the last door.
I shift my gaze to Roy. The skin around his nose is pinched, making the beak more pronounced. He’s also developed a twitch under his left eye as he looks longingly at the decoder in John’s hands. Oh yeah. Roy had been so ready to aid and abet Herbie on the skip town and lock us in down here plan.
If there is one thing I hate, it’s a back-stabbing coward.
I don’t even bother to wait for my “partner” but raise my Glock and reach for the handle. The door swings open, revealing the kitchen beyond. Something has gone down in here. Plates are scattered over the floor, various food stuff strewn across counter and tile, and though I can’t see it, somewhere a pot is still on its burner, as evidenced by the acrid smell of burnt vegetables filling the room.
I open my senses, blocking out the scent of scorched vegetable soup and tuning out Roy’s rasping breathing. No smell of blood. No decay, though it would be early for that. And the only heartbeats in the room are mine, Roy’s, and the fading pair of Convict’s and John’s as they move away into their own area to search. But there…
My feet pad silently as I move past a pair of tall kitchen carts, one standing, one not. The kitchen opens before me. Along the back wall are two doors. One looks like a vast walk-in freezer, the other I’m guessing is a wide door to the storage areas. There is nothing in the freezer. At least, nothing alive. But behind door number two: Pay day.
I glance over my shoulder at Roy. He’s yet to step into the room. In fact, he’s backed up slightly, his gun wavering between the three doors leading out of the mess hall.
I smile, tucking the Glock into my waistband as I cross the kitchen. One lone zombie and a chicken partner. What better opportunity will I have than this?
I don’t even have to pull out my card to see if it works, the handle depresses under my touch—someone’s going to have to talk to Marine about doing some maintenance on the systems down here. I push it open and stride into another hall lined with doors that lead to the various storage rooms, zeroing in on the source of the stuttering heartbeat.
It’s noticed my presence, the heartbeat is not only getting stronger but I can hear the muffled shuffle of its boots across the aged linoleum. Taking a deep breath to settle my thudding pulse, I push open the second door on the right.
And there he is. Still dressed in his fatigues, he looks like any other soldier—buzz cut, chiseled features, sculpted muscles—but for the bloody chin… and the eyes. I hate their eyes. Some people say a zombie’s eyes are blank, devoid of all human emotion. The unresponsive pupils, the way they stare at a victim without seeing. I disagree. What I see when I look into them is a fixed madness. As if the person within is merely trapped. I almost believe that if I could delve deep enough into their brain, I could actually find the secret compartment their real self has been stuffed away within.
I see that now on this man. The crazed look that says he’s about to eat me… but somewhere deep inside he’ll be screaming the whole time.
Me first.
I reach out, grab his arm. Next second I have it behind his back, twisting it in such a way that he either needs to fall to his knees or let me break it. Only problem is that zombies don’t really seem to care about pain. The arm snaps out of joint, dangling uselessly in my grip. Sucks. As does the fact that the zombie is now able to twist back around. It rumbles an inhuman growl, its jaw spread wide as it lunges for me. I know I can get out of range, but my stomach has other ideas and I go for a flip move instead. It works. The zombie ends up on the floor before me, but not before his teeth graze the length of my arm.
“Ouch! Dang it.” Ticked off that I let it have a nibble, I yank the zombie back up and bite into the rotting flesh of its neck, sucking down a long swallow—Halleluiah, my hollow stomach rejoices—right as someone begins to scream. Roy. Must have followed after all.
Crapola. This isn’t good. Just what were you doing with that zombie, Eva?
I toss the zombie aside, reaching for my Glock to perform the double tap, when behind me explodes an eardrum crushing series of reports. Slicing agony slaps into my back, sending me to the floor.
Frig. A-hole is shooting at me.
I roll, pulling my legs under me and lifting into a braced crouch. Stabbing pain erupts along my temple, sending me to my butt. And now I’m going to have a massive headache.
My furious gaze hones in on the beak-nosed guy who is still screaming as he shakily attempts to reload his weapon. Of course I pulled the short straw and got the twitchy one, the one prone to muttering to himself and sweating bullets at any slight noise.
“Really, Roy. You can stop that now.”
Booted feet thud in the hall, coming closer. Convict and John appear, skidding to a halt as they see my trickling head wound. Thankfully it’s just a graze. Otherwise I’d be out cold. ‘Course, if I were out cold they’d probably just leave me for dead and then I wouldn’t have to deal with Roy’s hysterics.
“Fuck. Oh fuck! I can’t kill her!” Roy exclaims, his hands shaking as he attempts to jam in a new magazine.
Three sets of eyes now. Widen. Three guns. Lift.
“Go ahead, boys,” I say, curling my lips back to expose my pointy little fangs. “Just remember I told you it was a waste of ammo. ‘Cause you can’t kill what’s already dead.”
2.
Eighteen months ago…
I clutched the strap of my backpack in a two handed grip, my eyes on the tiled floor I was drag
ging my feet over. The bell had rung over five minutes ago but I didn’t care. I was hoping to be late enough to obtain a one way trip to the principal’s office. I was not a bad student. Far from it, in fact. I just really, really didn’t want to go to biology class today.
The wooden door with its reinforced glass window loomed up before me. I fidgeted with the end of the nylon strap, staring at it without going in. How much could I stall? My answer came when the teacher stepped into view, his eyes honing in on me immediately. Crap.
I sighed, pushing open the door and braced for the command to take my butt back out of the room and go to the office. Mr. Shepard didn’t tolerate tardiness, no matter the excuse. Not that I had one.
“Miss Harper. You’re late.”
I nodded.
“You’re lucky we haven’t gotten started yet.”
My jaw dropped to the floor. He wasn’t going to send me to the office? Why the heck wasn’t he going to send me to the office! Please send me to the office.
“Come on now. No dallying.” He jerked his head toward the rows of black topped lab tables. “Find a partner and get your tools out.”
I looked around the room. Carrie, my normal partner had already partnered with the new girl. Carrie gave me a sympathetic look and a shrug. Yeah, I know. My fault. Carrie had warned me that my plan wouldn’t work. Even if I had gotten out of lab today Mr. Shepard would have insisted I make it up. She was right, only I’d planned to miss the make up too, no matter what it took. I continued my sweep, my chest tightening when I realized that anyone I would not have minded being partnered with was already paired up. The only one not was…
Kyle. Just my luck.
He smiled at me and winked.
I closed my eyes, swallowing past my constricted windpipe—was it possible for a person to develop asthma when they’ve never had it before? I thought so. For this I could. And then I could go to the nurse’s office. That was even better than the principal’s office. Which was still better than bio lab. And without a doubt better than working with Kyle.
“Miss Harper.”
I jumped, but obeyed the underlying command. Legs heavy and with my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs, I picked my way through the aisles to the back of the room. I dropped my book bag on the floor with a thud and scooted onto the tall stool. I didn’t look at Kyle, didn’t have to look at Kyle to know what he looked like. I was an expert on Kyle. Right now he would have on that cocky, white-toothed grin that stretched across his high cheek-boned face. His blue eyes, flecked with the faintest touch of gold, would be amused. And his hair, with its hereditary cowlick on the side, would have parted in its normal devil-may-care sweep over his forehead.
My fingers had toyed with that hair. That mouth had researched mine. If I’d been willing, I could have been an expert on the parts of Kyle under the clothing, too. The fact that I hadn’t been willing was what made this pairing so uncomfortable now. Kyle hated me. Or at least, he was pissed at me after the debacle last weekend. No one says “no” to Kyle. Not that you couldn’t, but who would want to? But I’d done so… in a very public and painful way.
Mr. Shepard droned on about the procedure we’d be adhering to. I didn’t listen. Nor did I look at Kyle even though I felt his eyes on me the whole time. Instead my gaze drifted around the room and settled on the live aquarium tucked in the corner between the window and the back of the room. Complete with lily pads, bottom feeders, turtles and frogs, it was the perfect little pond ecosystem, minus the bugs.
“You may begin.” Mr. Shepard’s voice drew my gaze away from the aquarium down to the cloth covered tray and the neatly lined up dissecting tools beside it. There was a dead creature under that little scrap of cotton. One I was supposed to cut open and poke around in. I shuddered, goose bumps breaking out on my arms.
Kyle leaned in close, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of my neck. “What are you afraid of, Eva, think that frog is going to jump up and getcha?”
And to think I’d dated the jerk. I stiffened my chin, picking up my scalpel. “No. I just hate the needless killing of defenseless animals.”
“No worries then.” He whipped the sheet away, exposing the ghastly green lump stretched out on the board. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
I gritted my teeth, holding in the acidic lump that rose in my throat. I could not cut into that thing. No way, no how. I couldn’t even cut into a steak. I was a vegetarian. Not so much by choice as by simple need. Just the thought that the food I was eating used to be a living, breathing, vital animal sent me into the bathroom to puke. And that frog. That poor defenseless frog had been killed for what? I somehow doubted the entire junior class was going to become surgeons. Text books and slideshows. Good enough for me.
Kyle laughed, taking the scalpel from my limp hand. I watched in horror as he pressed the scalpel against the rubbery skin and slid it down. The smell of formaldehyde became even stronger. I gagged, practically falling off the stool as I bolted for the door.
“Miss Harper? Eva!”
The door banged open as I stumbled through it. I was across the hall and leaning into the cool metal of the lockers on the opposite wall when the door opened again. The roar of laughter in the classroom pierced the silence of the hall for a moment before being cut off by the soft click of the door and quiet footfalls.
“Are you all right, Eva?”
I stared down at the brown wing-tip shoes as they came into view. Mr. Shepard’s lined hand came down to rest on my shoulder. I liked Mr. Shepard. I did. He reminded me a lot of my father. Strict, a tad bit obsessive about their passion—both were biologists, ironic, that—but good men nonetheless. I often thought Mr. Shepard’s rigid set of rules was because under the deeply grooved face and outdated suit jackets he wore, there beat a kind heart. As apparent by the fact I had not been sent to the principal’s office. Today, I wished his kindness had stayed wrapped up under his corduroy jacket.
“I’m okay. Just need a second.” Or a millennia. That would be about right. I’d be long in my grave by then.
The hand on my shoulder tightened, then released as he stepped back. “You have a perfect score this semester, Miss Harper. I’d hate to see that ruined. Especially with Nathanial William’s equally perfect score.”
I closed my eyes, barely aware of his receding footsteps or the brief blast of noise as he re-entered the room. I breathed through another couple minutes, concentrating on fighting back the rolling waves that crested the top of my hiatal sphincter and splashed acid into the base of my esophagus. Finally, when I had my stomach under control, I straightened, and, squaring my shoulders, turned toward the room. Mr. Shepard was right. I couldn’t let a weak stomach come between me and my chance at valedictorian next year.
My determination faltered a bit when I pushed through the door to the bio room and smacked into a wall of formaldehyde. I gasped, covering my nose with my hand and made my way back to my table. The towel was back over the dissecting tray, covering the gaping chest wound. I was glad, but still kept my gaze averted as I sat back down in my stool. Twenty minutes. I only had to get through twenty more minutes.
“You okay, Eva?” Kyle asked, his blue eyes searching my face. As if he actually cared.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder, white knuckling the edge of my stool. “I’m fine.”
He frowned but nodded. “Okay.” His eyes darted up to the front of the classroom where Mr. Shepard was helping another pair of students. Kyle leaned in closer. “While you were gone I got it all ready. All we have to do is label the parts and I can do that if you help me figure out what’s what.”
I blinked at him, surprised at his consideration. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe all the snide comments and sneering looks since our public break up were a defensive strike from his male ego.
I tried for a tentative smile though I figured it came across more like permanent rictus.
“Whoa, Kyle, my man. What are you doing to make that girl so happy? Not getting her
off. You know she doesn’t like that shit.”
I snapped my head around, leveled a glare at the two linebackers the next table over. They were friends of Kyle’s and some of my current worst nemeses. All part of the same team they stuck together, they considered my public humiliation of their star quarterback to be below the belt—both figuratively and literally. Maybe they were right. Kneeing Kyle in the balls might have been overkill, but no one seemed to care that his hand had been down my pants after I’d asked him twice to remove it.
“Shut up, dick-wad,” Kyle said, laying a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about them, Eva. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel.” He smiled, lowering his voice. “We won’t mention what mine is.”
There was a loud thud—my jaw breaking through the floor into the one below. Had Kyle just poked fun at what I’d done to him? I looked around to see if anyone else had heard and found more than half the class watching. Determined to not give them more gossip, I turned back to the dissecting tray in front of us. Maybe after this was all over I’d catch Kyle after school, thank him. Maybe even apologize for overreacting last weekend.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said.
Kyle smiled and reached for the cloth. A quick snap and it fluttered off. There on the tray was a frog stretched out on the black wax… but with no hole in its chest. Instead, terrified pain-ridden eyes stared up at me as it tried to squirm against the dozen steel pins holding it down.
I screamed.
3.
Okay, then.… I stare at the barrels of three locked and loaded guns. Maybe I am lying just a tad. Truth is enough well-placed bullets can kill me, just not in the instantaneous kind of way. I will heal… as long as my body possesses enough energy to do so. And since my only meal in the last four days has been a quick suck on the zombie lying dazed on the floor, I am pretty darn weak.
“Mind if I finish him off before you kill me?” I say, gesturing to the zombie as it pushes itself up off the ground.