“Good shot,” said one of the soldiers with a smirk.
“Good push,” she replied without a pause.
“Thanks,” said Caballero as he brushed himself down. “This room looks empty. One left. It’s a double office. I’ve been there before, so be on your guard.”
Everyone nodded as their superior officer walked past them and opened the office door. Nerves of steel, thought Marla, considering what he had just endured. Walking into the room, the first thing she spotted was Jakob in the corner, gripping a chair and trying to keep one of the dead-lookers from biting him, but then everything suddenly shifted into simultaneous fast and slow motion as time seemed to slide like mercury. Somehow there had been a creature hiding, because the soldiers behind her now turned and commotion set in. Gunfire smashed out the background.
In front of Marla she noticed two shadows appear from nowhere and speed towards the group from the side. Seeing Caballero and the other two soldiers react simultaneously, she raced across the room to help Jakob, leaping on to an upturned table in the process. In that moment another two of the dead emerged from the back room, which had been out of everyone’s line of sight.
Stuffing the Glock in her holster, Marla fired the pump-action shotgun at one of them, but her real concern was for the dead-looker that had turned on Jakob. She could only guess how long he had held this one off, because he was weakening. She imagined he’d been hiding here as there was some kind of closet behind him. Firing at the dead thing, Marla cursed herself as she missed and it turned its deformed face on her. Perfect, she thought, as she caught it square in the forehead and it collapsed like a sack. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed that Caballero had finished off one of the other corpses and some other soldiers had appeared behind her, including Martinez.
A scream made her body run cold and she turned again as though in slow motion as a low growl surged through her ears; the growl of the dead. Where is it coming from? And then she spied it, writhing on the ground beneath her. It had been hiding there all along. A shot rang past her and she saw the head of the thing shatter into pieces, bloody fragments splattering in all directions. But then she realised it was too late. He had been bitten.
Nothing could be heard except Jakob’s tortured shrieks of pain and delirium as he gripped his shattered right leg. White bone stuck out cleanly where the flesh had been chewed off. The tatters of skin could not fold to conceal the muscle beneath. Hearing movement, Marla spun around and raised her hand, “No! Don’t fire!” she yelled. Martinez’s hand froze on the trigger. In one swift movement, she lunged for the cupboard that secured the fire axe and smashed the glass. Tossing her shotgun aside, she grabbed the axe in both hands and hurled it to the ground, smashing it straight through the bone.
“Marla!”
It was Caballero, but she ignored him, conscious of the fact that people were running towards her. “You have a chance now,” she told Jakob as she removed her scarf and made a tourniquet around his leg, which she pulled tight. “Stay awake.”
“Take him to theatre,” Caballero shouted to the two nearest soldiers. “Do it fast, before the virus sets in.”
“And necrosis,” muttered Marla, raising her hand to her mouth and stepping out of the way. “I’m sorry. He’s bleeding heavily.”
As the two men bent down to lift Jakob, Martinez turned to stare at Marla. Whether it was a look of amazement, condemnation or admiration, she could not tell, but he had listened and not shot Jakob. She nodded to him and then turned away as he opened the sealed door leading out into the square room between the laboratories A to F.
Caballero spoke into his radio: “Building secured. Clean-up needed in basement and adjoining labs. One of ours died; several casualties. There’s a wounded man coming down to theatre. It’s Jakob... yes, I know we can’t afford to lose him, but he was bitten and someone amputated his leg in a bid to stop the virus spreading. An axe… yes, I realise that. I was told there were fourteen undead in the basement, but there were a lot more than that. Someone got this bloody wrong. This should not have happened. My soldiers are coming. Keep this quiet and inform Seguno. Yes. No. I’ve no idea. Operate and then we’ll quarantine him. Thanks.”
When he finished speaking, Caballero turned to Marla. “That was quick thinking. You know he is the top scientist here, irreplaceable?”
She nodded, unable to speak. The name Seguno did not register with her and she didn’t even question it.
“Good work,” Caballero added. “If that man lives it’s down to you.”
“If...” she muttered.
He smiled awkwardly. “Return to your rooms, soldiers. I’ve ordered clean-up. They’ll be here shortly. Just get some rest. You all did good, thank you. Marla, will you be alright?”
She nodded and backed away, shocked at what she had just done.
Everyone trailed out quietly, back to the lift. The only possible route out was to go through the basement to avoid any of the scientists on this floor, and then back up the stairwell that was inaccessible to anyone but the guards. Marla gritted her teeth and focused on walking, even though her mind was racing with thoughts she did not wish to acknowledge. All she wanted to know was whether Jakob would live and if he was infected. The wait would seem like an eternity.
Wednesday, 10
The guard accompanied Marla into the hospital room. “Don’t go too close,” he warned, moving his arm in front of her. She eyed him warily, to which he added, “Just in case.” Nodding, she took a step towards the bed and paused, clasping her hands behind her back. The sparsely furnished room was dimly lit, the curtains almost drawn. Through the gap in the middle, she noticed bars across the window. A low groan came from the bed as the patient turned his head slowly and opened his eyes. When he saw her, his expression shifted into a slow smile.
“Jakob?”
“Marla. Y-you saved my l-life,” he muttered in a raspy voice as the machine beside him aided his breathing. “Thank you.”
The heart line on the monitoring system looked normal to her relief. “Well, I had to get you out of trouble,” she joked.
“Always the f-funny one,” he said, coughing.
“Take it easy, Jakob,” Marla remarked. “I just came in to check on you. I’ll come back when you’re feeling more up to talking.”
“I like it when you say my name.”
“That’s the drugs talking, Jakob. You have to watch those. I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“You do that.”
“I will. I’ll pop in every day to check on you,” she said with a smile.
As she walked away, Marla’s cheerful expression was replaced by one of concern. It had been a relief that Jakob was not infected with the virus, but now she hoped his recovery would be swift and as painless as possible, and that he would find the strength to begin this new stage of his life. Marla tried to imagine how afraid he must feel, but she couldn’t. She could not imagine herself in that bed at all.
Friday, 12
Ellen stared around the Sleep Study room while Doctor Grice read through his notes; painfully slowly, it seemed to her. Eventually, he looked up and tapped his pen on the desk. “I would like to try something new. I wish to see you sleep for a longer period of time.”
Ellen grimaced. “I don’t know about that. Won’t my nightmares be longer?”
“Not necessarily. I have a theory I wish to throw into the mix. Let me explain: in most of your sleeping state you are in REM. Owen explained this to you before – did it make sense?”
“Yes. In REM we dream, but I’m not going into deep sleep, which is not good for me.”
“That is true, in theory, but judging by the results of your blood tests, etcetera, there is nothing wrong with you, Ellen. Your immune system is fine and you are in good health. So, aside from the fact you are having nightmares and feeling tired, I can see nothing wrong with you physically. However, emotionally, we need to keep an eye on things.”
“I guess I’ve been feeling more emotional sin
ce the whole thing started,” Ellen confided.
“That’s perfectly understandable,” said Doctor Grice. “I imagine I would too, and I’m a very logical person.” He smiled. “But, returning to this idea of mine. Deep sleep is important for the development of memory and cognitive thought, as we explained, for which you have scored extremely highly in our tests. You also score highly on empathy and emotional response. We expected otherwise as nightmares suggest disturbed sleep, and you spend all your time in REM and do not experience NREM, during which the body heals itself. All this fascinates me, Ellen. You’re a unique case. I want to turn science on its head, if you will, and see if you can control what you see in some way.”
Ellen blinked. “Control my nightmares, you mean? How? You can’t control dreams.”
“Ah, yes, that is what science tells us, but could we, if we tried?” asked Doctor Grice, his eyes lighting up. “This could be an interesting thing to approach in a different way, if you are game. As I said, you are unique.”
She thought about it for a moment. The man was definitely eccentric, but on the other hand, she was curious and open to trying anything, or almost anything, to get a normal night’s sleep again. “What do you have in mind, exactly?”
The doctor looked her directly in the eye. “You say there are two characters in this dream, besides the zombie?”
She nodded, her curiosity piqued.
“One is the laughing man and one is the man who warns you.”
“Yes, though I’m not totally sure they’re guys as I can’t see them, but they sound like it. I’m also not sure how many voices I can hear as they overlap,” Ellen explained.
“Mmm, but I think this may be the key. In our nightmares we are usually running away from something that represents a threat; the thing that frightens us. It is often a representation of what we are afraid of in our own lives, but our nightmares manifest it into a solid thing, often a person. You understand?”
“Yes, Marla mentioned this once when I first told her about my dream. She had a dream dictionary…”
The doctor laughed. “I don’t really put much faith in those. However, Marla did experience the nightmare after you told her about your own experience, so perhaps she adopted your own fears, albeit subconsciously. A sisterly thing, as you are close. Perhaps she took on the thing you fear as a way of protecting you. Or maybe she began to worry about you, leading to her sharing the dream.”
Ellen frowned. “I dunno. With exactly the same details? How is that possible?”
“Oh, yes… hmm, perhaps I’m going off the point a bit. What I wanted to say is that the key to ridding you of your nightmare could be to confront the thing you fear in it.”
“If you mean the creature, I am confronting him. He’s attacking me,” said Ellen, “and he’s very strong.”
“Yes, I want you to try to find a weapon and fight back,” stated Doctor Grice. “Even more importantly, I want you to try to see the other man in your dream.”
“Which one?” Ellen asked.
“The one who is laughing.”
“Why him?”
Doctor Grice tapped his pen. “Because he represents a threat – he’s laughing, not helping you. This could go back to a moment in your life when you felt ridiculed or belittled by someone; perhaps recently or in your childhood. Did you ever feel belittled by your sister?”
Ellen thought for a moment. “No, I felt weaker, but she never put me down, if that’s what you mean. I was a shy child, but I changed at university.”
“Hmm, well, have a think on it. This can be your homework. Try to think of some examples where you might have felt this way, along with whom or what inspired it. And when you dream, I want you to try to fight back. However frightened you feel, I want you to reach down and feel your inner strength, and fight him. Then, if you can, I want you to turn around to see the laughing man.”
“That’s impossible, useless. How can I do this, doctor? I mean…” Ellen bit her lip and glanced down at her hands in her lap.
“Just try. We will see how it goes. As I mentioned, you are perfectly healthy. I don’t think these nightmares pose a risk to you physically. And your scores for memory, empathy, etcetera, are off the scale, so I think there is potential. This is an unusual case, so your behaviour in your dreams could be just as unusual. The only thing I am concerned about is your emotional wellbeing, so if we see anything different happening to you, we will try to pull you out of your sleeping state.”
“Would you notice? You and Marla have both told me I look dead to the world while dreaming.”
Doctor Grice smiled and tapped her on the arm, which surprised Ellen as it was the first time he had made any effort towards physical contact. “Please relax, Ellen. We are only going to try this. I will be honest with you – your case has me flummoxed, but I will endeavour to solve it. I have been wracking my brains for something to try and this will be a first. I have never requested a patient try to see something hidden in their dreams. I always advise them to try to confront their fears, but as for this unknown man, I think we should try to see his face, don’t you? Then we will have a clue as to whom or what is scaring you. I know there must be a solution. There always is. And it usually lies in the patient’s past.”
“So you don’t believe in this mass dream of the dead being a warning?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, Ellen, I don’t believe in the paranormal. This is something physical and logical; something of the real world – your reality. And you need to confront it.”
Saturday, 13
Ellen’s dream
Icy fingers seem to snake around her shoulders as she steps forwards, her feet making not a sound on the ground. Light is escaping, slipping away from this place. A lone bulb swings from the ceiling, back and forth, back and forth. This motionless quiet prevails while in the distance shadows dance in flickering patterns up and around these decaying walls, their history flaking away like unwritten pages. Something lies there, silent as the grave, upon the rusting iron bed that fills the space between them.
Timidly, she creeps, her tiptoes not touching the floor as though she is gliding through air. Looking down she realises her feet are making contact, moving, propelling her forwards. The bed slides closer and its occupant shifts ever so slowly as she drifts, approaching the place where the misty outlines play in the failing light. Immediately above her head, the single bulb continues to rock soundlessly, keeping time with her movements. The old, hooped chain should creak and yet all is quiet. She shivers as the temperature drops.
He sleeps, this man. His delicate features, almost beautiful, seem at peace, yet his face is so very pale, almost ghostlike, in striking contrast to the deep ebony of his hair. She listens to his breathing, low and regular; the only thing to break this monotonous silence. Opening his eyes, he gazes upon her and she smiles, watching his full, sensual lips curve upwards. He raises his body.
As she pushes the fine strands of her blowing hair out of her sleepy eyes, his grin widens, welcoming her, but then the perfect white teeth begin to tumble out, one by one, floating in slow motion like petals on the wind. They make not a sound. The blood rushes to her face. A wave of nausea floods over her.
So hypnotic, the man’s eyes draw her in, but they too are different. White in colour, their irises erased; translucent, staring globes of nothing, with lines of red etched across them. He offers this grim smile as bile slides out from between his now cracked lips, once so full and sensual.
It drips upon the surface of her hand, burning into the skin, searing, and she withdraws it quickly, but it remains there, stuck on top of the bed. Why doesn’t it move? She stares down at her skin, turning red from the liquid, bubbling. A stinging pain spears itself all the way through to her palm and fear grips her senses, squeezing.
Turning, she wills her body to run in the direction of the exit, stumbling into a wild sprint, not daring to glance back. She feels the movement, slow but sure, like gliding through a thick fog, yet her body
is still there; she can see it, frozen by the bed as the thing gapes at her, his eyes fixed on her face, the mouth opening wider to reveal a black endless nothing.
She screams, but its existence snaps quiet in the silence. Out of the corner of her eye she notices the tick-tock sway of the bulb flickering its last, and she senses she is doomed; knows it as surely as the fact that the rusting chain will swing again, back and forth, forever.
His face moves closer, the skin flaking like old paint curling away from a wall, the edges creeping up. Then it disintegrates altogether. Beneath, the muscles continue to ebb and flow like water as he smiles. Blood oozes, dripping.
Dread ravages her as fright caresses her body like an icy lover, passionless. Forcing herself to turn once more, she races in panic towards the exit, and yet seconds later, nonsensically, she finds herself in the exact same place by the bed, her feet rooted to the ground like the trunk of a tree, her arms the branches stretching out. She imagines her tussled hair as the leaves, blowing in the breath that he now turns on her, sickening in its putrid scent of death.
Flies swarm around the bloodied mess that barely resembles a face anymore as he opens his mouth wider. The yawn seems to swallow her whole into darkness as a jagged, ripping pain overwhelms her; the sharp teeth scraping, gnawing at her neck, plucking at the strings inside the skin.
From the far distance creeps the incongruous ripple of laughter and a man’s voice echoes all around.
“This is a warning. This will be the last warning before the end.”
***
The scream rapped against her eardrums as her body jolted. Gasping, she opened her eyes.
“Ellen, I am here. You are alright now, completely safe.”
Rita’s comforting smile came into focus, gazing down, and Ellen blinked as she gradually regained her senses. She struggled to swallow.
“Don’t try to move yet, honey,” said Rita softly as she set about removing the bands and sensors from Ellen’s body. The nurse then walked away and returned with a glass. “Water,” she stated simply.
I Dream of Zombies (Book 2): Haven Page 13