CURE (A Strandville Zombie Novel)

by Frisch, Belinda

  Ben’s stomach fluttered, his nervousness causing him to shake. He clasped his hands together to keep Nixon from seeing.

  “Four children. That’s a large family.” Nixon smirked at Ben.

  Ben took a deep breath, the mounting pressure of the situation almost breaking him. How can you let Nixon do this to another family? He briefly debated stepping in. What if it’s him or you?

  Nixon drew up a syringe of infected blood and a twisted grin spread across his face. “Ben, will you get me a couple of empty vials from the lab please?”

  What if he said no? Ben tried to hide his hesitation, but could tell Clarence had noticed.

  “Ben, the vials, please.” Nixon’s tone was impatient.

  Clarence’s bulging eyes opened wider and he moved toward the door. “I can get them if you tell me what they look like and where to find them.”

  He’ll never let you leave. Ben backed into the hallway, his eyes fixed on the syringe in Nixon’s hand.

  Nixon gestured toward the infected man’s head. “No, no. I need you here. Hook that loop around his neck, would you?”

  “I think maybe we should call Reid. He knows how to handle these things,” Clarence said.

  “There isn’t anything to handle. Look, he’s barely moving. Do you think I’d be in here if he was a threat?” Nixon tugged the pole from Clarence’s hands. He slipped the loop around Toothless’s neck and scowled. “Pick up the pole.” He locked his eyes on Clarence’s. Reluctantly, Clarence stepped forward. “Tighten this down and hold onto him.” Clarence took another step. “I’m going to need you much closer than that.”

  Clarence looked between Nixon and Ben, his expression all but begging for mercy that Ben had no ability to deliver. I’m sorry. Ben looked away. He wasn’t sure why Nixon had condemned Clarence, other than for saying something he shouldn’t have. He picked up on that from Nixon’s comments. Secrecy was the key to personal safety at the center and everyone knew that. Ben held his breath and waited for the inevitable.

  “The pole,” Nixon said, annoyed. “You need to hold onto it.”

  Clarence picked up the end, cowering like a child from a spanking.

  “Sir,” Ben’s voice quivered. “I…”

  Nixon flicked his wrist, waving Ben away. “I asked you to go get the vials. Now, go.”

  There was no stopping him.

  Nixon’s demeanor shifted. A rattlesnake ready to strike. He positioned the syringe for injection, his face expressionless and his hand firm.

  Clarence tightened the pole on the infected man’s neck and when he moved one step closer, Nixon plunged the contaminated blood into Clarence’s thigh, infecting him before he could scream.

  Ben’s breath caught.

  Whatever Clarence did, it most likely wasn’t worth it.

  18.

  Scott rocked in the chair in his daughter’s nursery. The sunlight emphasized the dust on the delicate pink crib bumper and the cobwebs in the wooden letters of her name hanging on the wall. He closed his eyes and the image of her cherubic face, blue and expressionless, haunted him. She had looked so much like Miranda. A tear fell on the wedding picture he held in his hand and he set it on the side table next to a pair of pink booties.

  It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

  The ringing phone called him back from his moment of reflection. He darted down the hall, closing the nursery door behind him, and grabbed the cordless from the cradle.

  “Hello?”

  An elderly woman’s voice came through the line. “May I speak with Scott Penton, please?”

  “This is Scott.”

  “My name is Iris Hinkle. I’m calling on Miranda’s behalf. She listed you as an emergency contact.”

  Emergency. “Has something happened? Is she all right?” His pulse raced.

  “I’m not certain. She hasn’t come home from work and it’s been days. With so many women disappearing, I’m worried.”

  Missing women. How had his research missed that?

  Scott steadied the handset between his ear and his shoulder and opened his cell phone. His panic escalated as he texted Miranda while talking. “Are you sure about this? Maybe she just went for a run?” The excuse hardly comforted him.

  Iris sighed. “It’s been two days. I thought someone should know and yours is the only number she left me with.”

  “Thank you for calling.” Scott clutched his cell, waiting for Miranda’s reply. The digital clock rolled a minute, then two, then five. Why had he let her go? Why didn’t he follow her? He had called twice since she left, but assumed their last talk strained their already tense friendship. He blamed their arguing for why she wasn’t calling back. Now he wasn’t sure. Seven minutes passed and he dialed Miranda’s cell. The call went to voicemail in two rings. “Miranda, please call me back when you get this. Don’t be mad, but Iris called me. She says you haven’t been home in a couple of days. I just want to know you’re all right.”

  Two rings meant she had voicemail.

  Miranda never ignored voicemail.

  He went downstairs, slipping from running so fast, and grabbed the handrail to keep from toppling. Why didn’t she ever listen? He warned her about the Nixon Center-- the bomb threats and break-ins. He fired up his laptop, located the main number, and dialed the switchboard.

  “Nixon Center operator, how may I direct your call?”

  His hands trembled. “May I speak with Miranda Penton in Security, please?”

  Instrumental music played through the phone and he pulled it away from his ear. The operator returned. “I’m sorry, sir. There is no employee here by that name.”

  “She’s only worked there a couple of days. Will you please check again?” The nervous pit grew in his stomach.

  “I’ve searched our directory by name and department, sir.

  “Are you spelling it correctly? P-e-n-t-o-n. Miranda Penton. Can you page her, please?”

  “Sir, I assure you if she is not in the global directory, she is not employed here.”

  He almost cried. There was only one thing to do. He hung up the phone to pack.

  * * * * *

  An air of resignation polluted the ward. The women were convinced that if they followed along with Nixon’s plan, whatever it was, they would be released. Annie not coming back from the delivery room bolstered that.

  “He’s going to let her go home to her family,” Penny suggested.

  Miranda knew better. “How could he let someone go after this? You’re kidding me, right? We can get out of here if we work together.” The restraints magnified her panic.

  Carlene shook her head. “Honey, some of us tried.”

  Terror knotted her insides. She couldn’t go through another failed pregnancy and that seemed to be what Nixon was bent on. He alluded to an unfulfilled purpose and she was desperate to escape before it came to fruition. “Then we have to try harder.”

  “Those who tried never came back.”

  “Annie didn’t come back.”

  The ward door opened and Nixon stepped inside, wheeling a cart of supplies. Ben, his intern, walked in behind him. The room fell silent and Miranda noted a look of panic on Penny’s face.

  Nixon rolled his eyes. “I hate to interrupt the rally, Miranda, but I believe you’ll find our security measures are bar none.” Shit! He heard everything. “No apologies necessary. I understand your situation, but you have to understand mine. I’ve done right by these women, as right as I can under the circumstances, which I’m afraid are born out of necessity. I can’t have you interfering with that, stirring up trouble. It’s not good for the mothers or the babies.”

  “What did you do with Annie?” she asked.

  Penny’s blue eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

  Nixon unsheathed a needleless syringe with a long tube attached to the end of it. “Ben, can you please tighten Ms. Penton’s wrist restraints and attach the stirrups to her bed?”

  Ben nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Miranda noted a hi
nt of fear in Ben’s eyes, like he would have done anything Nixon asked. Please, no. Not this. She started to cry. “Please,” she said. “Don’t do this.” Ben loosened her ankle restraint and fastened her legs to the stirrups. “No, please. Stop this.” She tried to kick, but the leather strap was so tight it felt she’d dislocate her ankle. There’s no getting out of this. She knew what they meant to do. Oh, God. No. Not that. She couldn’t lose another child, no matter how it was conceived.

  Nixon drew the blue and white curtain around them and spread her knees further apart.

  “Please, there’s been a mistake.”

  He smiled. “Just relax, Miranda.”

  Ben peeled back Miranda’s sheet, exposing her for Nixon. He held her legs harder the more she tried to close them.

  Nixon’s gloved hand probed at her flesh.

  Stop. Please. Don’t do this. It’s a mistake. “I can’t have children.”

  Nixon slid the instrument inside of her. “We’ll see about that.” He set the syringe on the cart, the tube smeared with a milky fluid. “Ben, please take Miranda to a private room where she can’t cause any more problems.”

  19.

  Scott drove straight through to Strandville, his GPS leading him to the Nixon Center’s front door. He stowed his pistol case under the passenger’s seat and tried to convince himself he was being paranoid bringing it at all. He called Miranda’s cell a dozen times on the trip, and still, she hadn’t answered.

  He locked the truck, went into the lobby, and followed the signs to the Security Office where he checked in at the desk. A small man with dark glasses and a nametag that read Brian Foster greeted him.

  “I’m looking for an employee,” Scott said. “Her name is Miranda Penton.” He clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking.

  “She works where?” Foster bit his lower lip and kept his eyes downcast.

  “Security. She works in this department.” Scott slammed his palm down on the counter and Foster jumped.

  “I’m sorry, we don’t employ female guards.”

  His expression said otherwise.

  Scott leaned forward, regretting not coming in armed. “I know she’s here. Goddamnit, what’s with you people? Check. Would you at least check?”

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” Foster went into the private back room.

  Minutes passed without Foster’s return and Scott began to pace.

  He dialed Miranda’s cell one last time before the Security Office door opened.

  Finally.

  A physician and a tattooed guard appeared in the doorway.

  Dr. Howard Nixon.

  Nixon called over the counter. “Brian, would you mind doing a quick security check, please?”

  Foster came out of the small back room and glanced at Scott, warning him, before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.

  Scott sized-up the guard, recognizing his presence as an intended threat.

  Security and muscle.

  “Good afternoon, Mr…” Dr. Nixon put out his hand.

  “Scott. Scott Penton.” He didn’t return a handshake.

  “Dr. Howard Nixon. I’m pleased to meet you.” Nixon adjusted the stethoscope hanging around his neck. “This is one of my senior security staff, Max Reid.” Reid crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Brian tells me you’re looking for a female guard. That you’ve lost someone?” The concerned act was half-convincing.

  “I’m looking for my wife, Miranda.” He decided on the non-confrontational route, hoping to get a better idea what had happened to her. She was here, he knew it.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Mr. Penton.” A smug grin appeared on Dr. Nixon’s face and then vanished. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Scott moved in on Nixon, a much smaller man than he was. “You’re damn right there’s a mistake.”

  Reid stepped forward and Nixon raised his hand to hold him off. “We don’t hire female security staff. I’m sure you can understand the risks involved with that.”

  Scott took a deep breath. “You hired Miranda two weeks ago.”

  “I’m certain I know who I’ve hired at my own facility.” Nixon defended his position.

  “Then are you calling Dr. Michael Waters a liar?” Even if Scott wasn’t trained in questioning and reading people, he would have seen the shift in Nixon’s expression. “Are you going to deny knowing him, too? He worked here for years and recommended Miranda for the job.” He looked around for proof that Miranda had been there, her purse or a photograph. Anything. And then he saw it. Next to a pile of dusty binders, a familiar blue object caught his eye. Miranda’s favorite pen. He never understood why a free pen meant so much to her, but she never went anywhere without it. He shoved Nixon aside and grabbed it. “You just happen to have a pen from a dentist’s office two hundred miles away? Our dentist.”

  Nixon shook his head. “I have no idea where that came from. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’ve never heard of either of these people and I’m finished talking about it. Seems a husband would know where his wife is rather than be out looking for her. I can’t have you disrupting sick patients and causing a scene. Miranda Penton doesn’t work here. She has never worked here.”

  “I’m not leaving without my wife.”

  Somewhere in his frustration with Nixon he’d lost track of Reid.

  A loud crack echoed inside his head and a near bone-crushing jolt drove his skull into his spine. A hot trickle of blood ran down the back of his neck and his vision went dark.

  * * * * *

  “Scott!” Miranda woke up in a cold sweat, screaming his name. Sleep was her only escape from solitary confinement and the sterile, windowless room. From the dread of another pregnancy and of losing the baby. She drew several deep breaths and tried to shake the fear the nightmare left with her.

  All she could think of was the black amniotic fluid leaking from Annie. Nowhere in any of her pregnancy books was that ever mentioned.

  What had Nixon done?

  Her stomach cramped and her cell swung open, the creaky hinge drowning out her groan.

  “Music to my ears.” Reid wheeled in a tray with a steaming bowl on top of it.

  Miranda clenched her jaw when a second wave of pain hit.

  Reid lingered at her bedside, moving his eyes over her body and staring at her breasts. All that separated her naked flesh from him was a thin, cotton gown. She squirmed at the idea of him touching her and could see what he was after. His thoughts were all but spelled out in drool on her sheets.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said, snarling.

  “I bet you’re hungry.” He smiled and lowered the bed rail, drawing her restrained left wrist down with it. He sat on the side of her bed and his weight flattened the mattress, leaning her against him.

  She shivered. “Get the fuck away from me.”

  “Or you’ll do what?” he asked. “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you, Miranda?” His words dripped with sex. “I better not take any chances.” He leaned over her and pulled her right wrist restraint until the back of her hand was flush with the railing. His chest pressed down on her and his breath was hot on her ear.

  She turned her face away from his, scooted over in the bed, and yanked against the solid, binding restraints. Fighting him was useless.

  Reid took the lid off a bowl of dark brown mush that looked like oatmeal and smelled like pureed meat. Her already upset stomach turned and she wrinkled her nose.

  “Oh, God. I’m not eating that.”

  Reid filled a spoon halfway. “We can do this the easy way or my way, your choice.” He moved it in front of her like a mother with a toddler. “Open up the hangar.” He was clearly amused.

  “I’m not eating whatever that shit is,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Reid grabbed her face and pushed her cheeks toward each other until her lips were forced apart. “Eat the fucking mush, Miranda. Nixon’s orders.”

  The hard plastic spoon pres
sed against her front teeth and slid into her gums, compelling her to open her mouth.

  The metallic mush mixed with the taste of fresh blood. Her gums ached and she wanted to vomit. She spat the mouthful at Reid, peppering her gown and blankets with the soggy refuse.

  Reid wiped his face and his cold expression held a new intent. He pulled her blanket off and a chill swept across her causing a gooseflesh eruption.

  She shivered and her nipples grew hard, pressing against the thin gown.

  Reid’s eyes narrowed and his grimace turned to a grin. “We’re going to need to clean you up.” His finger traced a line from her chin to the neckline of her gown, slowly drawing it into a “V.”

  “Please stop.”

  “Stop what?” he asked. “You’re the one who made the mess. You’re lucky I’m willing to clean you up.” His hand moved slowly over her right breast, pinching her erect nipple.

  He was going to rape her, she knew it. “Please, don’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  “Reid, knock it off.” Foster appeared in the doorway, a pile of clean linens and a gown folded over his right arm. “I’ll take care of her. Nixon’s orders.”

  Oh, thank God.

  Reid slammed the food on the cart hard enough that it aerosolized the mush, spattering two of the cell walls. “Fine, you get her to eat this shit. I’m out of here.”

  Miranda let out the breath she’d been holding and sniffled, a tear of relief rolling down her cheek. “Thank you.” She swallowed and tried to steady her nerves.

  He was the last person she expected to save her.

  Foster waited until Reid was out of earshot, closed the door, set the change of bedding at Miranda’s feet. “I don’t have a lot of time. Listen, don’t talk. In that pile are clean scrubs and a tee shirt. Put on the gown for now and keep the other clothes hidden under your blankets. There’s some food, crackers, mostly, but it beats the shit Reid was trying to feed you.” He released the wrist restraints from over her head and allowed her a stretch before refastening them lower on the sidebars. “You should be able to get out of these with no problem.” He left the cuffs loose enough for her to pull her hands through. “Wait for me here. I’ll get you out of this, but do not leave this room. Do you hear me? No matter what, do not leave this room.”