Serena Rogue (Book 1): Zombie Infestation

by Bushman, LJ

  She grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked straight up. I swear stars flew around her head after she cuffed my ear with her other hand. Andrea yanked my head back so my neck was exposed. The move shoved my head back into the hilt of my knife. I wondered if she could feel it and hoped with all my heart she didn’t take that last bit of comfort I had.

  From under her skirt, she pulled a knife. The blade looked impressive in my position. She scraped the knife down my neck. The pain of the cut burned across my skin. Blood ran down my neck to my shirt. I knew she planned to keep me alive. At least, I thought she did. I wasn’t looking forward to finding out how much torture my self-healing body could take before I died.

  She let my head go and it bobbed like a buoy on water. My headache exploded in colored fireworks behind my eyes. Great. A migraine to add to my list of pains. Thank you, super virus, for making me so fucking awesome.

  I stopped trying to focus on her. I didn’t want to see what came next.

  “You’ll be left here while we make our arrangements with our mole within the FBI. When I come back, I’ll take you to your first bathroom run. You’re our guest here. If there’s anything you want, you just have to ask.”

  “Let me go?”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” she replied.

  “Fine. How about a pizza delivery? Or is that against hostage etiquette, too?” My world still spun and my head bobbed loosely on my neck.

  She stepped forward and slapped me again with a quick snap of her wrist. My head jerked so far to the right, I was surprised my neck didn’t break. She left without saying anything else.

  “Great,” I mumbled. “Me and my mouth are cashing checks my body’s paying for.” I closed my eyes and tried to keep the dizziness at bay.

  I must have passed out. The next thing I knew, someone dumped cold water over my head. I came to sputtering.

  “What the hell you do that for?” I demanded.

  “You were asleep. It’s not time for you to sleep. You only sleep when I allow it,” Andrea said.

  “Well shit, Mom. Why didn’t you say so? I would’ve tried harder to keep the concussion at bay.” I braced myself for the slap this time. It didn’t hurt as bad. In her absence, some of the tenderness had receded in the wake of the healing. I was a fast healer. Even compared to the Infected.

  The straps clanked as she released them from my ankles and hands. I didn’t try anything. Andrea walked me to a door off my white-walled prison. My head still swam. As facetious as I acted, I was pretty sure I had a concussion. The bathroom was as Spartan as the room they held me in and smelled like a hospital bathroom—chemicals that screamed disinfectant, but left you wishing for fresh air. My focus came in and out as I tried to assimilate my surroundings. I unbuttoned my pants and sat down to make myself pee. God knew why she allowed it or when I’d get a chance again.

  I stood up slowly, waving off her help. I didn’t want her touching me anymore than I wanted to be tortured. Slowly, I found my focus again and made a production of washing my hands. There were no towels. Looking at Andrea, I raised my eyebrow. “The maids need to be told that I like big fluffy towels, and I would like three washrags in here by morning,” I said with a pompousness that would have done a princess proud as I stood with my hands raised and water dripping onto the tile floor.

  When no answer was forthcoming, I wiped my hands on my pants and walked out of the room ahead of her. She wrenched my arm back, twisting it. “Don’t try to escape. You’ll be shot.”

  “I thought you needed me.”

  “I do. You’re the best candidate—the only candidate—for what we need. However, you can be shot and not die. In fact, your rate of healing suggests you’ll heal as fast as I did.”

  Joseph is coming for me. Joseph is coming for me. I had to repeat this to myself and believe it, though it became harder by the moment. This woman was pathological. I needed to keep my cool until he arrived.

  Using my arm twisted behind my back as leverage, she shoved me into the chair again. I fell down into the seat. She jerked my arm onto the armrest and slammed home the locking mechanism. After securing my other arm and my legs, she gave me a good backhand blow. She backed up to the other wall and leaned against it. Andrea stared at me, studying me as one might a puzzle.

  “I don’t want to risk breaking your cheek or your neck, so our next round of lessons will be on your lower limbs.”

  Wow. I’d rather be slapped. Maybe. I refused to imagine what she’d do to my legs. Then again, I didn’t have to. A split second later, she kicked me, the toe of her shoe digging into my left shin. Sharp pain hit so strong, it took my breath away. Mercifully, I blacked out.

  Chapter 17

  My sense of time was way off. Between the concussion and broken leg, I felt like a regular human again. Getting beat up by a woman with super strength negated my enhanced ability to withstand pain.

  One good thing about getting knocked out cold, even from pain, I got some much needed rest. I cautiously tried to move my broken leg and realized something was different. I stretched and leaned forward as far as I could; someone had set my leg while I was unconscious. That was a relief. Never cool having to re-break a bone because I healed too fast and it mended in the wrong position.

  I had no idea how long I’d been out. I’d find out sooner or later. If it had been too long, I’d be in for a beating worse than the one I’d received last night. Or night before. Or however long it had been. I doubted it’d been more than a day. Andrea had sent me into a tailspin unlike any I’d ever seen before. Even before the accident, I’d never crashed so hard. The emotional highs and lows of the last few days already had me burning energy like a hundred-watt light bulb. The added pressure of keeping my mental barriers up from possible psychic attacks—if I could block an attack, I’d eventually meet others with the virus who could as well—without knowing where one might come from would have been enough exertion to make me pass out at full strength. The physical torture was the last straw for my power hungry metabolism.

  The bright spot being, however long I’d slept, I was that much closer to being rescued. Joseph would return and break me out. Right? He had to come before I became exhibit A in their drug testing trials. Or lost consciousness again. My stomach rumbled. Couldn’t it see I was a little busy? Plus, I was uncomfortable. The need to use the restroom pressed itself upon me, but the bell was gone. Perhaps I’d been unable to keep ahold of it in my unconscious state. I’d reached the point where I was willing to scream so I didn’t have to piss myself when Andrea walked in.

  “Good. You’re awake. We shall be doing more lessons today.”

  My anger smoldered and did a clash of the titans with my nicotine fit until they wound together into one being. I fantasized kicking Andrea’s ass for what she’d done and what I imagined she was going to do. I tried to talk; all that came out was a dry croak. I must’ve slept with my mouth open, but I had a funny taste in my mouth as well.

  “Having trouble speaking, I bet. Side effect of the serum, I’m afraid. Takes a few hours for the body to adjust after the first dose.”

  The foul taste in my mouth became unbearable and I gagged. Now that I’d noticed, I couldn’t focus on anything else.

  “Have to work on that aftertaste. It’s pretty nasty.” Understatement at its finest. It tasted like shit on an asshole rolled around in cow piss. It passed pretty nasty about three pastures ago.

  The gagging put severe pressure on my already overloaded bladder. I looked at her and tossed my head, trying to indicate the restroom. For a moment, she looked confused. She figured out what I tried to say and dismissed the two men with her. Andrea released my shackles and helped me to my feet.

  Standing turned my half-formed plan of escaping her clutches into a dud. Not only did my leg protest my weight despite the healing time, I was woozy. Oh shit. I needed to eat. If I didn’t refuel my body, it crashed. Kind of like a diabetic, only worse. The last meal I’d had was at the hotel restaurant and I’d only
picked at it. No wonder she’d knocked me out so fast. My expenditure far outweighed my input.

  “I need food. I have high a metabolism.” I croaked. If I hadn’t been looking, I would’ve missed the satisfaction flitting across her face. Great. Now she had more proof I was an Infected. Not sure which option was worse, her believing I was an Infected without concrete proof, or if she learned I was Immune.

  “Food’s coming. I don’t want you fainting on me again like you did last night,” she replied with a nasty bite.

  “I—” I nothing. I’d almost fallen for it. By protesting, I would have to admit she’d knocked me out, conceding defeat to the enemy. A good tactical move on her part. I grimaced and slowly continued the walk to the bathroom.

  After I’d relieved the pressure on my bladder, I leaned heavily on the sink for a moment, trying to focus. I turned on the water and splashed some on my face. I made a cup out of my hands to get water in my mouth, gargled for a minute, then spit. Much better. I gargled some more before drinking a little. Andrea watched me go through my bathroom routine with infinite patience.

  As my mind woke, what she’d said it hit me. The bad taste in my mouth wasn’t morning breath, it was a side effect of the serum.

  “What’d you give me?”

  “The happy drug—it’ll make you happy to obey my every whim,” she said in a Mary Poppins- type voice. “Which will make me extremely happy.”

  I rolled my eyes at her false, cheery voice. I’d no doubt it would make her pleased as punch, but she knew I hated her high-pitched cheery voice. It made my headache screech at me like a train suddenly braking on the tracks. I wondered for a moment if I could reach the knife in my necklace. No way, I couldn’t stand upright on my own yet.

  A towel appeared in my vision and I looked up at her, surprised. “I had them bring you a towel and a washrag. Three’s a little excessive in my book.”

  Her consideration shocked me. As I dried my face, I swayed on my feet, which put pressure on my healing leg and sent my headache into a deeper hell. I dropped the towel and grabbed the sink for support.

  “I really need something to eat. Now. High carbs and protein.”

  She took my arm and gently steered me back to my chair. I couldn’t figure out her conflicting actions. Break my leg, then be solicitous in helping me to and from the bathroom? Was I supposed to be grateful? Maybe she didn’t like people pissing on her special chair. Maybe she wanted to make me go all Stockholm syndrome. Wouldn’t work. I was made of tougher stuff than that. The only reason she hadn’t killed me or ordered my execution yet was because she wanted to use me for something. I really hated being used. Then again, getting killed wasn’t high on my list of likes either.

  I drifted in and out of consciousness after she left, waiting for someone to come in and start the torture. I felt so weak, one hard hit would knock me out. It was better than going through a whole round with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. I’d just fallen asleep when someone came in.

  I didn’t recognize him, but he carried food on a cafeteria tray. My stomach growled. Not only had my eyes recognized the sustenance, but I smelled it. I looked up at the face of my delivery guy. Huh. Something didn’t fit, but I was too hungry to think about it.

  He looked back at the door, then up at the camera. Suspicious behavior. I was so groggy, it felt like I’d missed things I wouldn’t normally. My mind wouldn’t concentrate on why I felt so disconnected.

  “Here’s some food for you,” he said.

  I looked longingly at the big juicy burger—was that bacon sticking out the side of the bun?—to the fries and macaroni and cheese. I salivated. How embarrassing.

  He leaned forward and took off the arm straps. “I’m supposed to inform you, there are two guards stationed outside your door. If you take off your leg straps and try to escape, you’ll be shot.”

  I jerked my head up in a quick motion, which brought back the dizziness. I eagerly grabbed the food, as I questioned him. “What?” I said around the hot French fry.

  “Your hand braces are off for ease of eating. You have exactly twenty minutes. You’ll be monitored.”

  Oh. That would suck. I nodded and stuffed four fries into my mouth. As I moved my grip on the plate, I realized there was a paper on the bottom of it. I looked at him questionably. He did a small hand movement with his hand on the far side from the camera. His body blocked the camera’s view.

  I watched his hands and kept eating the fries as fast as I could. Well I was glad I hadn’t asked him out loud what the note was about. I was too busy stuffing my face. I grabbed the plate with my other hand and slowly pulled the paper out, palming it as I did so. Snagging more fries, I shoved them in my mouth. I really wanted a bite of the burger, but I needed two hands for that.

  I made a big production of trying to get the plate to settle in my lap and opened the note.

  Tonight. Rescue will come. Be ready. Be ready? Really? What was I supposed to do? Make sure my shoes were on? Geez. Or maybe I was supposed to keep my mouth shut so the torture went easier on me. Yeah, if the message was from Joseph, that’s probably what he meant.

  Folding the note, I put it in my pocket. I looked forward to being rescued, but needed to get samples of the so called vaccine, the knock-out drug, and the new one Andrea called her “happy drug.”

  “Is my food drugged,” I asked the man who brought me my food. “And what’s your name?”

  “I’m Raphael,” he replied. “I cooked your food. There are no drugs in it.”

  Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate before supplying his name? “Thanks, Raphael. The food is delicious.” I’d taken two huge bites and talked with my mouth full. Miss Manners might have had an issue; I was too hungry to care.

  “I’ll be right back with something to drink,” he said before disappearing again behind the white wooden door.

  Geez, he was quick. I inhaled my burger and fries and eyeballed the mac and cheese. How exactly am I supposed to eat it without a fork? If I hadn’t taken care of the worst of the hunger already, I would’ve lapped it up like a dog or used my fingers. I’d abated the worst of my hunger pains, although I still wanted to eat more. Working out the logistics of eating the mac and cheese without utensils turned out to be a useless exercise when Raphael returned with a spoon, and a paper cup with a lid and straw. Soda? Oh, I hoped it had caffeine and sugar in it.

  “Raphael, you’re a life saver. Happen to have any cigs on you, and I’d think I’d died and dreamed you up,” I said as I snagged the spoon and drink. I took a long draw on the straw and closed my eyes in appreciation. A cola drink. The caffeine moved through my blood, entering as if through osmosis and some of the need for nicotine even abated for a moment. I looked back up at his snort. He grinned at me.

  “What?”

  “You’re a prisoner, yet you drank the soda like someone from a commercial. I’ve never seen that before, and it struck me funny. That’s all.” By the time he finished explaining, he looked discomfited.

  “It’s okay, Raphael. I’m sure it’s strange to see anyone in this position enjoying any part of it.” If he was the one they’d sent in to encourage the Stockholm syndrome, they might succeed.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” he said, suddenly going stiff and formal. Ah, he’d remembered his p’s and q’s. Best not become too friendly with the prisoners. Andrea might take exception to it. He turned and left. I doubted I’d see him again. But I was grateful for the small piece of humanity he’d offered.

  I felt immensely better after getting some fuel in my system and my brain started up again like the slow start of a train that had been running without enough coal, but now someone stoked her fires. This engine was ready for full steam ahead. If only I had a cigarette.

  Andrea probably kept the new drug close at hand if she planned to give me more. It shouldn’t be too hard to find when rescue arrived. I reached up and pulled my hair off the back of my neck. My hands were free; I could reach my knife. I froze. Was it a purposeful overs
ight by Raphael?

  I started to feel for my knife. Gone. I slumped in the chair. There were guards at the door and without my knife, I didn’t have a chance. I reached down to my ankles and with the intention of practicing taking them on and off, checking for any tricks. Shit. They’d added Masterlock locks to the braces. I looked to the door Raphael had so recently departed through. So his warning was a meaningless threat? What difference do the guards outside make if… Damn. I was slow today. The warning about the guards was so I wouldn’t ask questions regarding the note. Duh.

  I hoped the food kicked my grey matter into gear, at the moment it felt like it was running in reverse. Now what? I had a plastic plate, a paper cup, and a plastic spoon at my disposal. If I were MacGyver, I could probably do something.

  I wasn’t. Frustration mounted as I sat there waiting for inspiration. I could throw the plate, piss off whoever it was, have them rush me, and dump the pop. Then when they got closer to strap my hands down, I’d carve their heart out with the spoon. Yep. That would work. Fuck.

  Andrea’s voice came from outside the door, talking to the guards. Despite the fact that I’d gotten some carbs in me, my fear escalated. Having fuel just meant I’d have to stay awake for more torture this time.

  “Good afternoon, Serena. I trust you enjoyed your meal.”

  I stared defiantly, hating the fear I felt. It made me angry. The only retaliation I had was silence.

  “So you didn’t enjoy it? I can call off the food orders, if they displease you.”

  Damn it. She was too good at this. I shuddered to think how many people had been put in my position. “The meal tasted great,” I said, resentment clear in my voice. I didn’t want Raphael in trouble and didn’t want to lose my source of fuel. It grated on my nerves to have her elicit a response when silence was my chosen form of rebellion.

  “Good girl. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, time for your next lesson.”

  She waved to the door. Tweedledee walked in with a syringe on a silver tray. I narrowed my eyes. Damn, double damn, and shit on a cracker. They were going to drug me again. I struggled against the ankle braces, like I’d be able to break a Masterlock.