Zomb-Pocalypse 4

by Megan Berry

  The guards look Silas up and down and then nod their heads. “You need to be more careful, this is your last warning,” they tell him and then turn to go. I nearly collapse in relief.

  Silas shuts the door and I jump into his arms. “You big idiot, why did you take the fall for me? You didn’t even know what was going to happen!” I lecture him, but I’m not really mad, just relieved.

  Silas squeezes me back and then sets me away and flashes a rare smile. “I’d never sell you out to the five-o, Blondie,” he tells me with a wink that makes my heart flutter. “Now let’s go to bed and keep the lights off this time,” he says mock sternly as he plants a brief kiss on my lips and then walks away. Dad motions for me to precede him, obviously no longer trusting me to my own devices around a light switch, and I head back to my bedroom.

  I thought it would be so nice to stretch out and sleep alone—but I was wrong. I toss and turn and can’t seem to find a comfortable position. I close my eyes and really try, but it’s impossible. As much as I always say that I hate being squished in between Megan and Abby, now I miss it.

  Finally, after a couple of hours, I give up. I tiptoe out of my bed and sneak across the hall. The curtain is open and moonlight spills into the room so I’m able to see. Ryan and Silas are on one bunk bed. Ryan is on the bottom and Silas is on the top. My dad has laid claim to the remaining bottom bunk. I try not to make a sound as I creep forward and climb the ladder leading to the empty top bed above my dad. It creaks and I grimace, but I keep going because I’m already in too deep now to turn back. I settle on the mattress with a small sigh and then turn and find Silas staring over at me. I give him a small wave and he flashes me a smile and my world shifts into its proper place and I can barely keep my eyes open. I have no idea what time it is now, but I know 5:00 a.m. probably isn’t that far off and I’m going to pay for my restless night tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By 8:00 a.m. I’ve vowed to never complain about chopping wood ever again. I pull my hands out of the burning hot dish water and adjust my horrible hairnet for the hundredth time. For the zombie apocalypse, these people sure have a lot of rules about sanitation in their kitchen. Although, I guess that could also be because of the zombie apocalypse.

  I didn’t mind the prep work that started at 5:00 a.m., even though I probably only managed three hours of sleep. Dad and I arrived on time after I hugged both Silas and Ryan goodbye and told them to be careful outside the city’s fortified walls looking for supplies. I hate the idea of us getting split up, but I guess it’s the price we have to pay if we want to try to find a vaccine. We can’t exactly leave without Jack, and these people aren’t letting us catch a break.

  We’ve been kept busy washing eggs, boiling oats, and I was even put in charge of flipping the pancakes. Which, as it turns out, wasn’t that big of an honor. It was pretty easy work. People started trickling in around seven, and Dad and I were put to work in the serving line, handing out our pancakes with a limit of two per customer.

  Next came the not-so-fun part: the cleanup. Everything has to be hand washed, and that isn’t easy when you’ve just served over two hundred and fifty people. “We need to have everything gleaming for the next shift,” a deceptively matronly looking woman, who’s been bossing me around all morning, shouts out to all of us workers. I haven’t seen her actually lift a finger all day though, and it causes my annoyance level to increase ten-fold.

  “Just keep your head down,” Dad murmurs in my ear. I glance up in surprise, and he smiles at me. “You think I don’t know you?” he demands, and despite my annoyance I have to smile back.

  “Less talking, more working!” the boss lady shouts in our direction, and Dad and I wipe the smiles off of our faces and get back to work. My mind wanders as I finish up the dishes, and I can’t help but wonder what Silas and Ryan are doing right now. Unless it’s being chased by a hoard of zombies, it’s got to be better than this! I should’ve put up a fuss when we all got assigned to different jobs. If nothing else, we should stay together. I stare around the kitchen. With the exception of my dad, everyone in here is female. It’s totally sexist, I fume to myself, wondering if the zombie virus somehow transported us all back to the early nineteen hundreds.

  Since the kitchen doesn’t serve lunch, we are released at 1:00 p.m. when the next shift arrives to start preparing for supper. I step out in the chilly air and suck in a deep breath. My hands are all pruned up from the dishwater, so I shove them into the pockets of my coat as we walk.

  We are walking down the middle of what most people have been calling Main Street when I see Dr. Ruppert up ahead in the crowd. I elbow my dad and point her out before I take off jogging to catch up with her.

  “Dr. Ruppert,” I call, and she turns around in confusion. “Hi,” I say when she stares at me blankly, not saying a word. “I was wondering about my friend Jack?” I ask her, and recognition finally flickers in her eyes.

  “I met you yesterday,” she tells me, and I nod.

  “How’s Jack doing?” I ask again. “He didn’t come back to us last night,” I press.

  Dr. Ruppert’s expression becomes shuttered. “He decided to stay in one of the dorm rooms near the lab. It’s much more convenient for when we need to draw blood and tissue samples,” she says with a sweet smile, but something about it makes me suspicious.

  “Can we see him?” I ask, and she nods.

  “Of course, very soon,” she promises.

  “How about right now?” I ask, pushing her, and Dr. Ruppert frowns at me.

  “I’m afraid that now is actually not a good time.” she tells me. “He is recovering from general anesthetic and he’s still a bit groggy—why don’t you ask me in a little bit?” I open my mouth to demand why she was giving him surgery, but the doctor turns and walks away without another word.

  I turn and look at my dad and frown. “Did that seem suspicious to you?” I ask, and my dad shrugs.

  “I’m not sure. Some people just don’t have very good social skills,” he tells me in an obvious attempt to distract me.

  “I don’t trust her,” I tell him, and my dad frowns.

  “It’s good not to be too trusting these days, Jane, but you also don’t want to cause problems for yourself where none exist.” He looks at the stubborn expression on my face and sighs. “Why don’t we head back to the house and catch a nap?” he suggests, and I’m torn between wanting to play Nancy Drew and the sleep deprivation I’ve been feeling all day.

  “I guess we could, but just until the boys get home,” I tell him, and he smiles at me approvingly.

  We get halfway home when a shrill alarm starts to sound, just about giving me a heart attack. “What is that?” I yell to be heard over the noise, but Dad shakes his head. All around us the once calm street erupts into chaos.

  People are running in terror. Even though I have no idea why, I know that it isn’t good. The alarm cuts out and is replaced by a voice over a loud speaker. “This is not a drill. Seek emergency shelter now, there has been a breach. Shoot to kill.”

  Dad grabs my arm and starts tugging me in the direction of the house. But we are still a couple blocks away, and I don’t want to go into blind panic mode like the rest of the crowd. That kind of shit will get you killed! I jerk my arm away and pull out my gun instead. I keep it in my hand, pointed down at the ground as we move through the terrified crowd. It’s what I imagine being in a school of panicked fish must feel like. I see a lot of panicked adults scooping up their kids and running for their lives, and it makes me feel sick with worry for them. I’m sure that is exactly what my dad would like to do to me right now if I wasn’t so big.

  A scream up ahead has the entire crowd yelling and turning to run in the opposite direction. I resist the flow and am bumped and battered as people push me out of the way to get to safety. Dad’s grip on me is broken and I find myself alone in the middle of the crowd.

  Finally, the crowd is gone and I’m left standing in the middle of the street. Without
the wall of bodies, I can see the grisly scene ahead of me. There appears to be only two zombies. They have a woman down on the ground and are chewing open her stomach cavity. I quickly look to the left and right to make sure there aren’t any more biters in the area, and then I lift my gun and walk right towards them.

  The first zombie spots me and looks up from its prey with a rope of intestines hanging from his lips. The zombie hisses at me and tries to stagger to its feet. My hands are shaking. This is such a Silas move to walk right towards the danger, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around to deal with it. I fire and put a bullet right in the center of his forehead as he’s getting up. He crumples at the knees and falls face down onto his victim.

  The second zombie turns at the noise and I step a little closer, only five feet or so away now. It would be almost impossible to miss, and I hit him in the temple. He slumps down dead as well.

  “Jane!” I hear Dad yell out, and I spin to see him running towards me. “What are you doing?” He demands as he gets closer. I turn my back on my dad and examine the woman. She looks dead. You’d pretty much have to be with your stomach ripped open, but I know how the zombie virus works. She’ll be up soon if I don’t take care of it. I move closer and fire a round into her forehead.

  Men in riot gear are suddenly running up and surrounding me. “Leave her alone!” my dad shouts as I’m jostled. They strip me of my gun and zip tie my hands behind my back.

  “What are you doing?” I scream at them, feeling dizzy at the flurry of sudden activity. My dad is yelling at them to let me go.

  “Calm down,” a man instructs me, and I snap my mouth shut, not because I’m calm but because I realize nothing will be accomplished by freaking out. The men part a little and I see that they also have my dad’s hands cuffed behind his back.

  “Were you in contact with the zombies?” the man asks, and I nod at first but then shake my head.

  “I didn’t touch them. I shot them!” I tell them, and the guy asking the questions looks skeptical.

  “You took out those two zombies all by yourself?” he asks with a snicker, and I glare at him. “A little girl like you?” I resist the urge to spit in the idiot’s face. I am handcuffed after all, and Silas isn’t here to save my ass.

  “Yes,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I’m not completely useless. I haven’t lived in a fortified city since this whole thing started,” I say, making the guy frown.

  “Walk me through it anyway,” he tells me with a dark look on his face.

  “Do I really need to tell you how a gun works?” I demand. “I saw a zombie, I had a gun. I pointed and pulled the trigger and bye, bye zombie,” I practically yell in frustration.

  “Jane,” Dad cautions me to cool down, and I take a deep breath to try to do as he asks.

  “Lyle, quit messing with that kid,” another guy says, coming up and grabbing my arm to pull me away from Lyle. I have to resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “Were you bitten or scratched?” the man asks, and I shake my head.

  “No.”

  “You will still need to be cleared by the doctor,” the man tells me as he starts leading me toward a dark-colored SUV parked nearby. He tosses me in and my dad joins me, and then two men sit on either side of us, squishing us into the middle so we can’t escape.

  The zip ties cut into my hand, and I squirm against the seat, trying to alleviate some of the pain. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I tell him, truly meaning it, but Dad shakes his head.

  “You did the right thing,” he tells me. “There could have been other casualties if you hadn’t stepped in. I only wish I hadn’t gotten pushed back with the crowd so I could’ve helped you.” My dad turns and glowers at the men beside us. “And if these people think it’s wrong, then they deserve to have zombies roaming their streets.” The men in the SUV don’t say anything back to him.

  “Where are you taking us?” I demand, and the guy that rescued me from Lyle frowns.

  “I already told you—the doctor,” he says before turning away and ignoring me. I bite my lip to keep from screaming, or crying. I’m not really sure which emotion might come out right now.

  We drive for another five minutes and then the SUV turns into a huge parking lot. I crane my neck and see a huge red brick building with a circular green dome on the roof and six gleaming white pillars standing at attention in the entrance. The enormous sign reads University of Louisville, and it looks like there used to be a fountain, but it’s bone dry now.

  I’m marched through the front door and up a flight of steps, down a long hallway, and finally Dad and I are separated and placed in rooms across the hall from each other. The room was obviously once a classroom, though all the desks have been cleared out and a medical examination table has been placed in the very center of the room. Everything is still hanging on the walls though, and I wander around and stare at the maps and timelines as I pace with my hands still tied behind my back.

  The clock on the wall ticks away for half an hour before the door finally opens and Dr. Ruppert comes in. “You?” I say, unable to stop myself, and Dr. Ruppert nods.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” she asks, and I shrug.

  “I don’t know.”

  “There are other doctors in the city, but I am the only one with an extensive background with the CDC—the rest are all private practice, ER doctors, and surgeons.” She scoffs a little, like only being a surgeon is beneath her. “So I get all the possible exposure cases,” she finishes as she pulls out a scalpel and cuts away the arm of my jacket and shirt. The blade strikes my skin and I wince in pain, making her smile a little. She uses a long piece of elastic to tie off the top of my arm just above the cut. For a minute I think she’s trying to stop the bleeding, but it’s just a superficial cut. It doesn’t make any sense. She pulls it so tightly that my arm aches and all the veins pop up on my arm. I realize then that she’s going to take blood.

  “I wasn’t exposed,” I tell her, but it doesn’t stop her from pulling out the needle.

  “I guess we will see about that,” she tells me matter-of-factly as she stabs me in the arm without making an attempt to be gentle. She doesn’t remove my restraints, and when I don’t react she presses it in deeper, making me wince again. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of hearing me whimper, so I bite my lip and stubbornly watch as she takes three vials from my arm.

  “What are you going to do with that?” I ask suspiciously, and she shrugs.

  “You wouldn’t understand the process,” she tells me, popping off the last vial and turning to go, leaving the needle still hanging out of my arm.

  My eyes bulge as she actually leaves the room without another word. I stare down at the needle still hanging out of my flesh, and I want to scream. I shake my arm a little and the needle wobbles. What in the hell is wrong with this woman? I feel tears prick my eyes as I stare at the needle, and suddenly I NEED it out of my body. I stand up and jump up and down until it un-sticks from my flesh and falls to the ground. I kick it away and crane my neck so I can see the puncture wound; it’s bleeding. She didn’t even remove the elastic from around my arm and it squeezes painfully. I think the elastic is why my arm is still bleeding, and I start to panic that I shouldn’t have taken out the needle.

  She leaves me sitting like this for a full hour. My arm quits bleeding after ten minutes, thank God. Finally, one of the men that brought us here comes in. He pulls a large knife from his pocket as he’s walking towards me, and my eyes bulge in fear. “Relax. I’m just cutting your ties,” he tells me, and my racing heart slows slightly. The way I’ve been treated today, I wouldn’t be surprised if he just walked up and stabbed me for no reason. He doesn’t though. He keeps his word and cuts the ties and then motions to the door. “You’re free to go, we’ll give you a ride back home,” he tells me, and I resist the urge to snap at him. This place isn’t my home!

  The first thing I do is reach up and pull the rubber band off my aching arm. Then I rudely drop it right o
n the ground as I head for the door. Dad is waiting in the hallway and gives me a big hug as soon as he sees me. “Are you okay?” he demands, and I nod, resisting the urge to sob in his arms.

  “Are you?” I ask, worried something happened to him because of me, but he shakes his head.

  “I’m fine,” he promises, and I stare up at him, worried that he’s hiding the truth.

  We’re given a ride back to the house in silence. As soon as the SUV pulls up, Silas and Ryan burst from the house and run towards us. They don’t say anything in front of the men, but I can practically feel Silas’s body shaking with anger as he stands so close behind me that our bodies are touching.

  “You still have my gun,” I tell Lyle flatly.

  He shoots me a sour look like he’s going to ignore me and keep it. But then his gaze flicks to Silas and he changes his mind and pulls it out of his bag and hands it over. I slam the door as hard as I can, without another word to the men, and turn into Silas’s hug as the SUV speeds away.

  “What in the hell happened?” Silas demands as he rubs at my exposed arm with the missing sleeve. The elastic has left a bruise in a complete circle above my upper arm, and the needle hole is still caked in dried blood and has a bruise as well. I feel like I’m going to freak out so I take a deep breath and breathe in Silas’s scent. It helps to calm me.

  “I think we should talk in the house,” Dad suggests, and Silas keeps his arm around me, practically pulling me along with him as we go, but I don’t complain. I was so strong during this whole ordeal, but now that I’m back and Silas is here, it’s all I can do not to give in to my weaker impulses.

  Dad and I finish telling Ryan and Silas what happened and they both look pissed. Dad doesn’t look happy either when I tell him about the way Dr. Ruppert treated me when we were alone in the room.