Zach waited for him to step away and did the same, rubbing his hands together. His chest was heavy with anxiety and he feared the worst, more so when Nixon’s Hyde persona emerged.
“The news isn’t good, Zach. Allison’s kidneys are shutting down and she’s showing end-stage effects from the cancer.” Zach pinched his lower lip between his teeth to keep from crying. “I’m afraid if we don’t move up the timeline and introduce the new therapy, she might not survive until after the trials.”
Zach thought about the lab rat’s suffering and demise, the Ids conditions and treatment, and then about committing Allison to the stony earth next to his mother. Hope or no hope. He simplified the options to their most base terms. “What are the chances she’ll become infected? What are the chances you’ll find a cure for the infection in time to save her if she does?”
“We’ll start slow. We’ll introduce a weakened strain of infection to start working on the tumors to buy her some time. The lab experiments are working. The new subject is showing no side effects at all. No viral spread.”
Zach’s shoulders rolled forward and he lowered his head. This is what you’re here for. Admittedly, he didn’t know what he was agreeing to, not really. The treatment is Allison’s only shot. “And if she becomes infected?”
Nixon shrugged. “The hybrids are our best hope for a cure, but there’s a temporary solution. Ben developed an injection that inhibits virus replication. It’s meant for those who work in the lab in case of exposure, but no reason it doesn’t apply to Allison. Any treatment in her condition is to prolong her life until the full scope of the experiment, cancer treatment and infection cure, comes to fruition.”
Zach could prolong weighing the options forever and neither would be more appealing than they were right then. The nurse and two orderlies walked between them, the blood-soaked sheets hard to miss. “What do we tell her?”
Nixon shrugged. “Nothing we don’t absolutely have to.”
10.
The old F150 clicked and ticked for seconds after Billy parked in the Nixon Center parking lot. His nerves were frayed, but his longing to bring his sister--the last of his immediate family--home strengthened his resolve. He downed a swig of bourbon from the bottle in his lap and wiped the tears from his pimply cheek. Thank God his parents weren’t here to suffer this. He looked at the missing persons posters taped to the cracked dashboard, one for Penny Hammond and the other for his sister, Amy, who’d been gone almost a year. The creased paper flapped in the breeze from the open window.
What did the two have in common? What hadn’t he noticed?
The only similarity was the same lead he’d been chasing: the Nixon Center.
Amy ran with a pretty rough crowd, drug addicts and dealers, and everyone in Strandville knew it. Mitch, a Nixon Center security guard, seemed a blessing to her until neither of them came home. Investigators figured Amy was either in trouble and running or sick of the small town she’d been complaining about since she was fourteen. Neither of those things made sense to him. She left too much behind. He refused to believe she’d go without saying goodbye.
Penny Hammond was only eighteen, three years younger than Amy. She graduated from Strandville High the previous June and was college-bound in the fall after taking some time off to complete a mission with church. He’d done his research. The two couldn’t be more different except that Penny went missing after a visit to the Nixon Center clinic for her college vaccines and physical.
Billy looked at the benign appearing center and shook his head.
I know you’re in there. You have to be.
He sighed and peeled the posters off the dash, folding the tape to prevent it from sticking to anything else. Please, someone in there, know something. He was dry on leads and desperate. Willing to deliver himself into the lion’s mouth to get her back. It wasn’t his first time taking on the Nixon Center, but it was his first time alone. He took a last pull off the bottle of bourbon and sheathed his hunting knife.
One could never be too careful.
* * * * *
The soothing sound of a running fountain filled the meditation garden. Zach sat, head in hands, on the eucalyptus bench overlooking the koi pond yet to be stocked for the summer. The decision hadn’t been easy, but he had agreed to let Nixon start the treatment.
“Hey.” A soft, female voice came from behind and he turned around to see Miranda standing with her hands in her uniform pants pockets.
“Hey.” He checked for signs of Reid or Nixon.
“Mind if I sit?”
He pushed over for her to have a place next to him on the bench and tried to look less nervous. Everything he did against the center risked Allison. “How’s the reading going?” Small talk. That’s all this is. Reid had separated them once already.
She loosened her tight ponytail and rubbed her temples. “It’s killing me. My head hurts worse than my arm. “I don’t know how you got through it.”
He wanted to tell her that he didn’t do either the blood work or the reading, but was keeping out of it. Especially with Allison’s upcoming treatment.
“So, who is Allison?” Miranda asked.
Had he said her name out loud?
“Reid said that Dr. Nixon wanted to meet you in Allison’s room. You know a patient here?”
He’d forgotten that Reid had mentioned her. “Allison is my wife. She has cancer.” He hadn’t realized how much he needed to talk about it.
Miranda frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
Zach held up his hand. “…have any way of knowing. It’s okay.”
A palpable tension grew between them in the subsequent moment of silence.
Miranda’s expression grew sad and longing. “I lost my daughter almost a year ago.”
He hadn’t asked for a confession and didn’t want to get close to her, but something about her was genuine and he could see she needed to talk. “What happened?”
“She was stillborn.”
He resisted wiping the tear from her cheek. “Do they know what happened?”
Miranda nodded. “They tell me it was a genetic disorder, some CR something or other that I’m a carrier for. It’s rare.”
CRA-3. Shit.
Zach recalled his conversation with Nixon. Miranda was the key to the cure, CRA-3 deficient. She’d never see more than those binders. The job was a fake. A way to get her here. How did Nixon know? He wanted to tell her to leave, to run and never look back, but his protective instinct for Allison wouldn’t let him warn her. There were too many unanswered questions. Too great a personal risk.
“Zach, are you all right?”
He’d done a poor job at hiding his thoughts and didn’t know what to say next. Reid stepped out from behind the bushes and Zach was relieved not to have to say anything at all.
11.
Reid shook his head and clucked his tongue most of the way to the basement. “You have a knack for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Keller.”
“I wasn’t looking for her. She found me.”
Reid held up his hand. “Take it up with Nixon. He told me from now on you’re in charge of the ward.” He swiped the magnetic stripe on his badge through the key card reader and entered.
The large room embodied his worst fear. Human captivity. The darkest side of Nixon’s experiment. Twelve beds, six on each side, jutted out from the walls with nothing separating them except for blue and white curtains hanging from tracks in the ceiling. Five of the beds were occupied. Miranda, the sixth victim, likely on her way. Four-point leather restraints held them all in their places.
Reid pulled a plastic food service cart from behind the door. “I had Ben do the honors of whipping up lunch, but in the future, you’ll handle it. You know where the microwave is.” He laughed and lined up four plastic bowls of gelatinous, brown mush.
Zach wrinkled his nose. “They’re expected to eat that?”
“They get the same meal, three times a day, except for the two post-ops
. They get what they need intravenously or through a feeding tube. Neither of which are our problems. Nursing staff handles that. You can start on that side.”
Zach wheeled the first bowl of food on a tray to a woman late in her pregnancy. He avoided eye contact, but could see from her slumped posture that the fight had long gone out of her. He pushed the tray close enough for her to reach it.
“I can’t eat that again. Please, I’m going to be sick.” The mid-thirties woman held her engorged belly. “I need some crackers or something to settle my stomach.” She raked her fingers through her strawberry blonde hair and when she tucked it behind her ears, he noted the faint scars of a woman who had seen more than her fare share of stitches.
He wished he had something to offer. He wasn’t cut out for this.
Reid shook his head disapprovingly. “She knows better, Zach. She’s testing you. No refunds, no substitutions.” An eager grin spread across his face.
No surprise.
“Annie, you have to eat.” The brunette in the next bed tried to coax her, a southern drawl coloring her sweet voice. “If you eat, you’ll stay healthy. You’ll have this baby and be able to go home to your girls.”
No way was Nixon ever letting any of them out of here, not for their sakes or anyone else’s.
Zach turned to see Reid fidgeting with his two-way radio.
“Hello, this is Reid. Do you hear me?” The basement played havoc with cell phones and radios. “Hello, do you hear me?”
Zach went to the next bed and when he was sure Reid was busy he turned back to Annie. “Hang in there. I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered.
“Thank you.” The brunette answered on Annie’s behalf and took her food without complaint. “She’s had it rough since the beginning.” Zach read the name Carlene on the chart hanging from the foot of the woman’s bed. Not quite as old as Annie and certainly not nearly as world-weary, he guessed she was in her late twenties. Her pregnancy barely showed.
“Hello, what was that last part?” Reid was still shouting into his radio. “Keller, you’re going to have to handle this. We have a problem upstairs. Meet me in the Security Office when you’re finished.”
Zach nodded, half relieved to have Reid away from him and half worried that with him gone, the instinct to let every one of these women free would take over.
A sour smell came from one of the sedated patients. Her light brown hair was matted and her ragged nails were broken like she had, at some point, tried to escape. The other was less neglected looking, but only slightly. Her hair was greased back into a low side ponytail that wrapped over her shoulder. Her splotchy skin was scarred as if by a bad case of teenage acne.
“Holly is sick. Someone needs to look into that smell.”
Zach’s breath caught in his chest. The girl could have been Allison’s much younger sister six months ago, before the cancer treatments turned her skeletal.
“Name’s Penny,” the girl said. The soft shape of her round, pink cheeks were those of a girl far too young to be having a baby. Nixon’s depravity knew no bounds. Penny radiated innocence from her deep, blue eyes to her bob-length, black hair styled plainly like a schoolgirl’s.
Zach considered the introduction. Do you answer her? Tell her your name? No. Don’t get involved. This isn’t personal.
“Did you hear me? My name’s Penny Hammond. I’m eighteen and an only child. I went to the clinic for my college physical and ended up here.” She was trying to humanize herself, a smart play under other circumstances. He slid a bowl of food over to her and refused to engage her. “Christmas is my favorite holiday. My parents probably still have presents under the tree. My Mom couldn’t take it down without me opening them. I’m my parents’ whole world. What you’re helping them do to me in here is nothing compared to the pain and suffering they’re surely going through. All you have to do is let me out of these straps. Help me get home.”
He wished she’d stop talking. “I can’t do that,” he answered, owing her no explanation. He was following orders. Doing what needed to be done for Allison.
“But you want to,” she said. “I can see it. You look at us differently than the others do, like we’re still people.”
Zach collected the few empty bowls. “I’m not the savior you think I am.”
“If you weren’t,” Penny said, choking down a spoonful of the mush, “you wouldn’t have bothered to answer me.”
12.
Four shots of bourbon gave Billy the courage to stand on the chair in a semi-crowded waiting room and hold up the posters. “Have any of you seen either of these women?” He teetered and nearly fell.
This is the only way. He prayed someone would answer him.
A tattooed security guard appeared and reached for his wrist. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” His polite tone contradicted the brutal hate in his eyes.
Billy read the guard’s nametag. Max Reid. The murderer his Uncle Jack warned him about. He brushed hair away from his pimply face with the back of his hand. What could he do in public? “Anyone?” He stepped down and stumbled sideways. “How about you?” He held the poster in front of an older woman. “Have you seen my sister, Amy. What about Penny? You see her?” He persisted even as Reid grew more annoyed.
“I’m only going to ask this one last time. Will you come with me, please?” He was clearly not used to being polite.
“I have every right to be here.” Billy went from one chair to the next showing the posters to anyone who would look. Some took an interest, others turned to ignore him.
“All right, I’m done asking.” Reid grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry for the disruption, folks.”
Reid’s grip tightened as he steered Billy away from the others and toward the security office.
Shit! This is bad. Billy’s head swam from the booze, his body shuddering with fear. He shouldn’t have drank. This was a big mistake.
“I’m not doing anything wrong.” He tried to pull away, but Reid’s hold didn’t budge. Got to get out of here. Get your knife. The leather sheath rubbed on his leg, but there was no way he was getting to it.
Reid pushed Billy inside the Security Office and kicked the door closed behind him. “Foster, you can stay or go, but don’t get in my way.”
Stay, please stay. Billy didn’t figure Reid would commit public murder.
The thin man in the dark framed glasses looked up from a stack of papers. “Whatever you’re up to, Miranda will be back any minute.”
Yes, good. Tell him reasons why he should let me go. Another witness.
Reid locked the door. “I’ll be quick.” He pushed Billy hard into the split section of counter.
Billy doubled over, the hit to his gut making the bourbon rise in his throat.
Reid lifted the counter and shoved Billy into a chair behind it.
Billy willed his hand to his concealed knife, but his ribs hurt too much to bend. He’s going to kill you. His brow was coated in sweat.
“You were warned--all of you-- to stay away from here.” Reid’s brick of a fist connected with Billy’s jaw and knocked him to the floor. Billy’s vision blurred and he felt the disorienting sensation of being lifted. “When are you going to learn?” Reid hoisted him back into the chair. “Foster, give me that tape.” He pointed at a roll of duct tape behind him.
No, not that. There was no shot of him escaping being bound.
“I’m not having anything to do with this, Reid.” Foster stood up, went into the back room, and closed the door.
So much for an audience. Billy didn’t like the odds of being alone with Reid. You have to get out of here. He grabbed the edge of the table and managed to stand up, but he couldn’t run. He could barely walk.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A second blow to Billy’s chin nearly put him out. The sound of ripping tape broke through the fog. Don’t let him get that on you. Run!
Reid had Billy’s hands bound behind his back before he formulated his next thought. His expr
ession a mix of rage and pleasure. He was enjoying this. Billy pulled hard against the tape, but it was immovable. Reid’s tattoos blurred together, a fury of jabs connecting with Billy’s torso and head. The severe pain turned to numbness even as Billy’s eye swelled and blood ran from his mouth and nose.
“Please stop,” Billy whispered. “All I wanted was to find my sister.”
A knock came at the door. “Reid are you in there?”
Reid paced, his clothes blood spattered and his knuckles split.
“Goddamn bullshit.” Reid kicked over an empty chair.
“Reid, hello. Open the door.”
Please open it.
“Come on, open up.” The pounding continued.
Reid growled. “What?” He stood in the open doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Billy listened to the fast approaching footsteps and braced for another hit. A hand gently lifted his face.
“You don’t know anything about this, Zach. Leave it alone.”
“Did Nixon tell you to do this?” Zach grabbed a pair of scissors from off the counter and ripped them through the tape holding Billy’s hands.
Finally someone sensible.
Billy slumped forward, his shoulders, like the rest of him, stiff and aching. He coughed and tasted blood.
“Reid, he’s a goddamned kid. What the hell is the matter with you?”
Reid clenched his teeth. “He’s one of them. Look.” He opened a manila file folder and Billy saw his high school picture. “Billy Porter, Mark Wittman, Leonard Holtz, John Malkin, Frank Krieger.” He dealt the rest like cards.
Billy listened as Reid listed off everyone he knew who lost someone. Those that were willing to fight. Nixon collected information on all of them.
Zach flipped through the files. “What were you going to do, kill him? We hand him over to the cops. That’s how these things get handled.”
Reid sneered. “What do you know about how things get handled?”
The door opened and Miranda walked in.
CURE (A Strandville Zombie Novel) Page 5