by Steven Booth
Finally, they arrived at their destination. Ramon took them to an empty conference room with chairs all around the table. Strangely, the room was windowless. The florescent lighting seemed harsh and cold after their warm day at the beach. It was as if a fog was lifting.
“Dinner will be served directly after orientation,” Ramon said.
“Are we waiting for someone,” asked Scratch, “or is all this shit, like, automatic?”
“Orientation will begin shortly,” Ramon said. He left through a side exit and closed the door behind him. Miller was aware of a loud click as it latched. She and Scratch exchanged looks. The sound had puzzled him as well. Miller read the concern in her lover’s eyes, but in the end he just shrugged. They both acted bored. She and Scratch and took empty seats near the door. Miller glanced around the room. There was another door partially hidden by the sidebar. It had some kind of electronic combination lock on it. Winking lights beckoned. Miller yawned but watched that door closely.
“What’s the deal with this orientation, do you reckon?” Scratch asked, breaking the silence. He tapped her leg as if to telegraph a sense of urgency, but kept face blank and his tone calm. “You think they’re going to just leave us sitting here all night?”
“I don’t know.”
Scratch twisted back and forth in his chair. “Damn, I just realized that there ain’t even a TV in the room. I haven’t seen a football game since the beginning of the last pro season. You think they still have football?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Miller said. “Nothing stops the NFL.”
“Well maybe the news, too? It would be kind of nice to know what’s really going on out there in the world.”
“Something’s always going on,” remarked Miller. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Question is, what have they been told? Most of these people don’t know a thing about the zombies. Hell, if I hadn’t personally killed a few hundred of them, I likely wouldn’t believe in them either.”
“It’s weird, ain’t it? Nevada’s gone, Utah’s a mess, Colorado is about to become an enormous walking graveyard, and yet most of the rest of the world thinks zombies are just something you see in the movies or on cable TV.”
“Whoever the spin masters in Washington are,” Miller said in that low voice, “they sure as hell are earning their paychecks in Malibu. This has got to be maybe the biggest cover-up in world history.”
“Roger that.”
Then Miller heard herself say, “You know, this is exactly the kind of thing that Terrill Lee would have made into one of his incessant hobbies if he’d lived around here. Can’t you just see him collecting zombie artifacts and signing up for zombie conspiracy newsletters online?” Using her ex-husband’s name in context brought back the horror of the moment he’d first turned into a zombie, and when she’d realized that she’d have to shoot him. Miller flinched inside and the burst of emotion knocked her for a loop. She was surprised that her voice didn’t crack.
Scratch stopped twisting around. He turned to look at Miller. “Yeah,” he said carefully, “that would have been right up his alley.” He put his hand on hers. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve mentioned T.L.’s name in a long while.”
“I think maybe I need to let him go once and for all.” Miller didn’t look at Scratch, but she squeezed his hand hard enough to telegraph intensity. Hell, she stopped just short of breaking it. “After all, it’s our time, now.”
“Excellent! That’s the best news I could have hoped for.”
Someone else was in the room. Both Scratch and Penny reacted instantly. They turned to the main doors to the room, seeking the source of that strange and yet oddly familiar voice. There was no one nearby, yet someone had clearly been listening in on them. Miller’s eyes shot back to that special security door. It was opening. A portly, balding man entered the conference room, followed by Ramon. Miller gasped. Scratch grunted. The man crossed the room calmly, his expensive shoes whispering along the thick carpeting. He closed the gap and put his hand on the back of Miller’s chair.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Rubenstein?” Scratch managed. His voice was thick with rage, but he did not move.
Miller tried to keep Ramon in her peripheral vision, but Rubenstein kept moving.
“I’m sorry,” Rubenstein said, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, or to startle you. I’m just so pleased to hear that your short stay at our center has already reaped such positive results.”
“I knew something was wrong around here,” Miller said. “I just didn’t see how wrong.” She shook her head and as she stood up her chair fell over. “Scratch, I told you this was too good to be true. We’ve been set up by the Army.”
Dr. Rubenstein put up both of his hands. “No, please, Sheriff Miller, that is not true. Sit down and relax. Hear me out.”
Scratch rose to his feet as well. He let his irritation show. “Hey, look, we don’t take orders from you anymore.”
“It all makes perfect sense!” Miller licked her lips. “First the National Guard troopers taking us here once they knew our names. The military staff at the center, the free price tag for a luxury experience.”
“You haven’t been enjoying yourselves?”
“Shit. This is all just another zombie-related experiment for you, isn’t it, Artie? You are still working for those crooked bastards.”
“Truthfully, Sheriff Miller,” Rubenstein said, “if I’d wanted to experiment on you, do you think I would have revealed myself to you so soon upon your arrival, before any of my nefarious trickery wreaked havoc upon you?”
Scratch tilted his head to one side. “I’d dearly love to just kill you here and now, but somehow I have a feeling trying that stunt would get me shot.” He nodded to Ramon. “Am I right?”
Dr. Rubenstein just smiled. His calm was all the proof they needed. Now was not the time.
Miller didn’t have any other ideas, so she punted. “What do you want?”
“The same thing you want,” Rubenstein said. “I want you to fully recover from the severe post-traumatic stress disorder that resulted from your encounter with the zombie hordes in Nevada and Colorado.”
“I don’t have PTSD,” said Miller.
“Come now, Penny,” Rubenstein said. Miller’s head snapped up. She and her friends had been forced to attend counseling sessions with Rubenstein back in Las Vegas, before their disastrous return to Crystal Palace, where they had attempted to recover a cure for the zombie virus. It had always irritated her when Dr. Rubenstein called her Penny. He knew that. Rubenstein’s smile slipped a gear. “Let’s discuss anxiety attacks, paranoia, bad dreams, emotional withdrawal, being easily startled or set off, protracted avoidant behavior, violent fantasies and, of course, flashbacks to trauma. Do any of those symptoms sound familiar to either of you?”
Miller swallowed dryly. “No.”
Scratch said, “Yes.”
Miller turned to Scratch. “Yes? Are you saying you agree with him?”
“Now, wait a minute, Penny,” Scratch said. “I’m not exactly agreeing with him, okay? But I’m sure worried about you. I have been for quite a while.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, damn it. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but today was the first time I saw you relax in, well, shit, as long as I’ve known you. Today it is as if I finally met the real Penny Miller.”
“Scratch, Rubenstein is the enemy,” Miller insisted, pointing in accusation. “If you don’t believe me, just look at those creepy little eyes and that self-satisfied smile.”
“I’m not your enemy,” Rubenstein said, flushing. “No matter what you have been told in the past. I’m really not.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“Truthfully, after General Gifford was… uh…”
“After we killed him.” Miller finished the sentence. Her mind felt clear. They were in danger. She had to figure things out and fast.
Rubenstein cleared his throat then continued. “After that
happened, I lost my position. The pause allowed me time to think about my actions and consider alternatives. I began to realize the damage we had all done in the name of scientific research, not to mention the horrors we had unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. After that, I gathered my resources and decided to help people instead of cause harm. I am a psychiatrist, an M.D. So I set out to reverse the effects of the trauma of dealing with the zombies. So I came here to Malibu and bought a bankrupt rehab. I founded this center with grant money and donations, and we have been doing excellent work ever since.”
Miller felt a sudden wave of weariness pass over her. The shock of fresh adrenaline was gone. She felt herself deflating. Scratch was staring at her. Miller forced herself to concentrate. “Excellent work doing what exactly?”
“Healing people just like you, Sheriff.”
“You mean, there are other zombie survivors around here?” Miller began to feel a growing sense of panic. The foggy feeling inside lifted again. “Christ, Rubenstein then you know that any one of them could already be infected.”
Rubenstein cocked his head. “You mean, like you?”
“Not like me. I mean folks who’ve been bitten. Look, there may be residents about to turn into real undead zombie fucks, you supercilious little carrot-dicked city boy!”
Miller’s voice had turned from an urgent whisper into a strident scream. Miller reddened and struggled to gather her thoughts. He was getting to her, making her act and feel unstable. This shrink had helped to set her up for the horrific experience of returning to Crystal Palace to look for clues to end the zombie plague—which almost got her killed. And here he was pretending to be benevolent.
Scratch raised his hand. He looked like a schoolboy who had to go number two. “Hold on, Doc. If you’re not working for the government anymore, how come the National Guard brought us here instead of taking us away to some military prison? Answer me that.”
“I’m not working for the government anymore, I assure you,” Rubenstein said. He crossed his hands behind his back and tapped the toe of his right loafer on the carpet. “I may be a civilian now, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have some influence.” He picked up a pen and began rolling it around in his hands. “So when I got the chance, I put a request for your presence in the event of your… acquisition.”
“You mean capture.” Miller wasn’t buying any of this bullshit, but now she had little choice. She had to at least sit there and listen.
“All right, if you insist. Capture. There was a small but real chance that if you survived, you might come out to the West Coast. It was your only sensible option. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to… work with you again. When you were picked up in Santa Monica after your disturbing experience with the Zombie Walk, I was contacted at once. Evidently my gamble paid off.”
“And why would you have wanted us out here, exactly?” asked Miller. Her eyes bored into his. She willed herself to see through the lies.
“I want to reverse the damage I’ve done, Penny,” Rubenstein said. He appeared genuinely contrite. “I want to help you, and others like you, heal emotionally and psychologically from the damage I helped to cause. Isn’t that enough?”
This time, both Scratch and Miller spoke in unison, “No.”
“Listen, I can easily understand you may have some trouble trusting me after the chaos of our past relationship.”
Miller raised her eyebrows, wondering if she had heard him correctly. “Some trouble?”
Rubenstein raised a hand. “As a token of my friendship, I will make you an offer.”
Miller scoffed. “What would I want with a deal from you?”
“Will you please hear me out at least?”
Scratch shrugged. Miller shrugged back.
“Just stay for a while,” said Rubenstein. “Eat our food, sleep in our bed, swim in the ocean and play on our beach. Stay for as long as you like. Put the bad memories behind you. And if or when either one or both of you feel the need for some help in doing that, I will be in my office. And if you ultimately decide to leave, you will be allowed to go. No tricks.”
Scratch looked at Miller. He seemed inclined to take the deal.
“Thanks, but I don’t want or need your help,” said Miller. She glanced at Scratch. He looked like a dog about to be forced outside to crap in a wet snow bank. Miller guessed he wanted to stay, at least for a time, but he didn’t quite know how to oppose her.
Rubenstein said softly, “Penny, please reconsider.”
“I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m getting out of here.” Miller stood and turned to Scratch. “Are you coming?”
Without a word, Scratch rose too. Miller stopped to watch Rubenstein, their jailer, and Ramon, his guard dog. Rubenstein sighed and waved his hand. Ramon relaxed. When Miller was satisfied that Ramon wasn’t going to take them down, she turned and opened the door. Whatever she did next, she was going to get the hell out of Rubenstein’s lair.
CHAPTER FOUR
MALIBU SERENITY CENTER
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“I’m what?” demanded Miller. “How can you say that?”
They stood arguing near the balcony doors of their spacious suite. They were both still in their swimsuits. The lights of Santa Monica and the coast sparkled brightly in the distance, twinkling like ornaments on a tree. They seemed from another time and place. Their cheerful indifference made Miller angry. She felt weird—headachy, nervous, tense, a little dizzy, as if she were going through withdrawals of some kind. That afterglow of sex she had been feeling since they’d first arrived had long departed, leaving her cranky and pissed off.
And incredibly hungry.
“Look, I know that Rubenstein is a psycho,” Scratch said, “but there are no strings attached here. Maybe this is the deal we’ve been looking for since Las Vegas—most certainly since we beat feet out of Hope Springs. This ain’t a burning lodge in Colorado. Why can’t you just relax and enjoy life?”
“You’ve got to be kidding! What happened to Live Free, Ride Free, or whatever that biker code crap was that you used to be so into?”
Scratched frowned. “Hell, I never said anything like that.” His features softened into a wry smile. “You must be thinking of your other bad-assed biker boyfriend, Penny.”
“This isn’t one bit funny!” Miller shrieked. “The longer we stay, the more we get our butt cheeks sucked into Rubenstein’s odd little world. The deader we become inside. This is all wrong, I can feel it. Why can’t you?”
“Okay, Sheriff,” Scratch said, stepping back. Miller blanched. Scratch only called her Sheriff when he’d really lost his temper. He chewed his lower lip. “Enlighten me. What’s the plan then? We got no money, no weapons, no ride, no clothes of our own, and we’re completely out of friends to call. Oh, and we got no place to sleep, and no food of our own, neither.”
“Scratch…”
“Let me finish. We’re out of gas, honey. We’ve got absolutely nowhere to go and it could take us forever to get there. There it is, right? So enlighten me, girl. What exactly are you proposing as a constructive alternative to hanging around here for a few days?”
The question brought Miller up short. She didn’t really have a plan, did she? She was reacting to her instincts again. Sure, they were usually right, but sometimes… Damn.
“All I know is that we can’t stay here.”
Scratch set his jaw. “Yes, we can. At least for a while.”
“So you just want to cave in, give up the last of our rights and maybe our freedom, just for a soft bed and free food?”
“This isn’t about freedom anymore, Penny. Not this time or any other time, and you damn well know it. This is about survival. The way I see it, we’d have to be damned fools to give up an opportunity for food and shelter at a time like this, with the world rapidly going to hell all around us. And let me point something else out, something I think you’re overlooking for some reason. There ain’t no zombies up here yet!”
“I do remember.”
“Well?”
“We saw some zombies, but what I also remember is that you flipped out and blew our cover. We wouldn’t even be in this gilded cage if you hadn’t tried to be a hero. Again.” As if sensing he’d gone too far, Scratch stepped forward and put his hands on Miller’s shoulders. “You need to hear this, Penny. I think you kind of wanted us to get caught.”
“What are you saying?”
Scratch turned to the bar. He poured them each a glass of red wine. Scratch downed his drink in one gulp. Miller held hers, not wanting to lose control.
“I’m waiting, Scratch.”
“Look, it’s just that I think Rubenstein has a point, even though he’s bat shit crazy his own self. I think the stress of all this has been getting to you.” Scratch softened. “Hell, you’ve been assaulted and blood splattered, drugged up with all sorts of weird shit, lost a boatload of good friends, and had to shoot your own ex-husband in the face. Can’t you at least admit you might be a little… off balance, after all that? Anyone would be.”
Miller looked up. She stared deep into his eyes. He was serious and sad for her. The combination of her topsy-turvy emotions and the loving look on Scratch’s face brought her as close as she had come to crying in a long, long time. Miller felt herself weakening, but then the old sense of duty kicked in one last time.
Miller looked down at her feet. She whispered. “If we give up, we die.”
“This ain’t giving up, sweetheart. This is nothing but a strategic retreat.”
“I’m having a hard time seeing things your way.”
Scratch said, “Then you ain’t trying hard enough.” His eyes were kind but serious.