by Pippa Jay
"How much longer to the hospital?"
"Eight minutes approximately."
"Can't you go any faster?" Eight minutes could be too long.
"Intercity speed limits cannot be exceeded except in a state of emergency."
"Well this is an emergency. My friend here is...sick. Very sick. We need to get her to the hospital fast."
"Request acknowledged."
The sudden acceleration pushed him back into his seat, and the buildings whizzed past. Better.
He leaned back down to the girl. Funny, she looked kind of familiar now as he stared at her. But then, he'd seen her around for a while. Connor remembered her leaning on the glass window and putting up her hands to match his. The only sign he'd had that he wasn't completely alone in the world.
"Hey," he murmured, and wiped more of the blood away. "You can get through this. I know. I was dead to the world, but I came back. You can do it too. Okay?"
She didn't respond to either his words or his touch, her breathing shallow. It left him hollow. This wasn't going to work. Either she'd die, or she'd recover, but still be a zombie. He might be wasting his time and building up false hopes.
The car slowed, and his head jerked up. More zombies? But he sighed in relief at the recognizable sight of the hospital swinging into view.
"Almost there, Zombie Girl." He gathered up the corners of the blanket, ready for a final haul.
****
It had been two weeks. After signing in his zombie girl at the reception and listing himself as next of kin, the last he'd seen of her was an emergency treatment pod taking her away. The Mentor had assured Connor that he'd be contacted as soon as there was any news, but refused to let him stay and wait. She was going onto the coma ward, and he wasn't allowed in there.
But now he was back, and not just because the Mentor had called him. She'd made a request for him to come. She wanted to see him. He couldn't have been flying higher if he'd travelled here by plane.
Connor paced the reception hall, waiting for her to be discharged. The Mentor had identified her as Kristiana Mendez from her DNA—a name that he'd seen on his One-Dee—though he had no idea what she might look like for real. But he wasn't alone any more.
The door to the inner sanctum of the hospital opened, and he stopped breathing. Someone walked out of it, then hesitated as they stared at him.
The Mentor had reconstructed her brightly colored geometric dress, but if it hadn't been for that he wouldn't have recognized her as Zombie Girl. Connor did recognize her though. She was thinner than the picture he'd seen, and the shy smile was a step or two away from the big grin he knew her for. But it was her. The girl from his One-Dee, the one whose name he couldn't remember. And there she was, all fixed, her skin pale, but not that nasty green tinge, her brown eyes clear, the blood and bruises gone. She'd wrapped a patterned scarf around her head. The Mentor must have taken all that matted hair off her scalp to leave her bald, and it clearly bothered her by the way she kept putting up a hand to her head to make sure the fabric hadn't slipped.
He couldn't speak, the breath locked tight in his chest, his throat constricted. It didn't matter to him. He'd show her none of it mattered at all. He had her back even if he didn't have his memories of her, and now there was hope. Not just for them, but for the world. The hospital Mentor had cured her, and if it could cure one, it could fix them all.
Connor held out his hand to her, and she ran to him. Hugged him. Tears stung his eyes, and this time he didn't care.
"Welcome back, Zombie Girl," he whispered, and she laughed. It was the best sound in the world.
###
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Other titles by this author:
The Bones of the Sea
Reboot
Hallow's Eve
No Angel
When Dark Falls
Terms & Conditions Apply
Tethered
Restless In Peaceville
Gethyon
Keir (Book One of Redemption)
Keir’s Fall (Book Two of Redemption)
Imprint from Tales from the SFR Brigade
Coming Soon
Reunion at Kasha-Asor (Redemption side story)
Quickshot
Keir’s Shadow (Book Three of Redemption)
About the Author
After spending twelve years working as an Analytical Chemist in a Metals and Minerals laboratory, Pippa Jay is now a stay-at-home mum who writes scifi and the supernatural. Somewhere along the way a touch of romance crept into her work and refused to leave. In between torturing her plethora of characters, she spends the odd free moment playing guitar very badly, punishing herself with freestyle street dance, and studying the Dark Side of the Force. Although happily settled in the historical town of Colchester in the UK with her husband of 22 years and three little monsters, she continues to roam the rest of the Universe in her head.
Pippa Jay is a dedicated member of the Science Fiction Romance Brigade and Broad Universe, blogging at Spacefreighters Lounge, Adventures in Scifi, and Romancing the Genres. Her works include YA and adult stories crossing a multitude of subgenres from scifi to the paranormal, often with romance, and she’s one of eight authors included in a science fiction romance anthology—Tales from the SFR Brigade. She’s also a double SFR Galaxy Award winner, been a finalist in the Heart of Denver RWA Aspen Gold Contest (3rd place), the 2015 EPIC eBook awards, the 2015 RWA LERA Rebecca (2nd place), and the GCC RWA Silken Sands Star Awards (2nd place).
You can stalk her at her website, or at her blog, but without doubt her favorite place to hang around and chat is on Twitter as @pippajaygreen.
Website – http://www.pippajay.co.uk
Adventures in Scifi - http://www.pippajay.blogspot.co.uk
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Romancing the Genres - http://www.romancingthegenres.blogspot.co.uk/
SFR Brigade - http://www.sfrcontests.blogspot.co.uk/
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Restless In Peaceville
A YA zombie novella
Where the hell am I?
Not the most original question, I know, but it's the best place to start. The only place. I don't know where I am. I can't remember where I was. What I was. But nothing about this place is familiar, and some part of me didn't expect this.
There's a line of people all the way to infinity. I'm not exaggerating—I do mean infinity. And it hurts to look at it because the human mind can't handle that. Not completely. You think you know how that looks? You don't. You can't. Try to imagine the whole of creation. Can you see every last ant, every last star? No.
Around us—well, it's a big gray hall. A really, really huge space, like an aircraft hangar kind of place, only no planes and no doors. In fact, no walls or roof either. The edges just blur into the darkness, as though none of it exists except the floor we're standing on, and I'm not even sure about that. Looking up makes me giddy. You know when you're dizzy from spinning around, and you lay down, but you feel as if you just keep on falling? That. So I don't try it again. I keep my eyes away from the endless line of other people waiting. Instead, I stare at the back of the person in front of me and try not to think about where I am and what may be going on. Because now I have a nasty suspicion about it and what might have happened. My mind scurries awa
y from the thought. This ain't good.
Oh, by the by, my name is Luke Chester. That much I do know. I can't be that old—my hands aren't wrinkled or calloused, although there's a cool scar across my left palm. My skin is pale gray. So are the long sleeves of my T-shirt. In fact everyone and everything is gray, just like the room. I stare at the guy in front of me, hoping for some clues. He has dreadlocks and his skin is so dark as to be almost black. He's wearing a tank top, torn and covered with dark streaks that something tells me should be red, but, like everything else here, have no color. There are two deep slashes in the back of his neck, and more on his arms. They aren't bleeding though. I guess they've all dried up, or maybe he's all bled out. His jeans are ripped too, although that could be a fashion thing. I can't see any wounds on his legs.
I look down at myself. My jeans are in one piece, but my feet are bare. I wriggle my toes and watch them dance like I've never seen them move before. I can't feel the ground. I don't feel warm or cold, just kind of numb, and distant. It's as if I'm not really here, but clearly I am. What happened to me? How did I get here? That bothers me. I shouldn't be here. Then again, I'm not sure where else I should be.
There's a disturbance up ahead. I can hear someone talking. A voice, so deep and growling it sounds like Morgan Freeman after smokin' a hundred a day. I half expect to see a movie trailer playing off in the distance, full of explosions and actors being brooding and serious.
I lean out of the line, but duck back in quickly because I can't believe what I just saw. There's a fucking demon walking down the line. I'm not kidding. An actual demon, with glowing red eyes, horns and all, dressed in a suit. Shit, an actual suit, with a shirt and tie, and huge ruby cufflinks at its wrists. Like the devil went shopping in Armani. And the suit fits so perfectly the damn thing must have got it special ordered. For an instant I imagine that scene, trying to pull myself away from what must be insanity. No way did I just see that. I've gotta be hallucinating or something.
The demon starts talking to the guy in front of me and I can't tear my attention away. This is some weird shit dream.
"Welcome to the afterlife, I'm your check in assistant for eternity. Name?"
****