I finish the back without anymore mishaps and I move on to the sides. He wants it kept longer on top and closer on the sides, but we don’t have a razor in our first-aid kit. Maybe we can find one in one of these rooms, but for now, I just cut it as close to the scalp as I can without accidentally stabbing him with the scissors. I can feel him tense up every time I bring the scissors close, and if I weren’t so terrified of screwing up myself, I might be insulted.
But I force myself to take some deep breaths, and I can hear Ryder doing the same. Who would have thought that after battling legions of the undead, my scariest experience this week would be cutting a man’s hair? This is so nerve racking, I feel like I might pass out at any minute, but the deep breaths are starting to help. They steady my hands enough to finish one side and move on to the other. I’ve noticed that Ryder is ignoring the mirror above the sink, like he’s too scared to see the work in progress.
I don’t blame him for not looking.
After the other side, I move on to the top. The sides are cut down as far as I can possibly get them, but the top is still long and shaggy. I’m not entirely comfortable with these scissors in my hand, but I seem to have found a decent rhythm, and I go with it. I can feel Ryder begin to relax as well, but he doesn’t stop flinching when the scissors come near him. We’re almost done though, so he won’t have to suffer for much longer.
After evening out the top, I take a step back and admire my work. Ryder’s eyes are fixed on my face, looking for any sign that I’ve screwed up his hair beyond repair. When I finally smile, satisfied with my work, his shoulders visibly relax. He gets up and brushes any loose hair from his shoulders and the front of his chest while I get his back. Then he turns to the mirror and examines his hair closely, looking for any spots I might have missed or screwed up.
“Well?” I ask, anxiously awaiting his reaction.
“Not bad,” he says with a small smile. “Could be a little tighter around the back,” he says, craning his neck to see it a little better. “But it looks nice. Now I don’t have to stop what I’m doing to flip my hair out of my eyes like an emo high school kid, kinda like Todd.”
I laugh, and so does he.
“So, what now?” I ask. “It’s too late for a nap. If I take one now I’m gonna be up all night and I’ll be exhausted tomorrow. What can we do to pass the time?”
“Hmm, I think I saw a stack of movies in the bedroom. We could bring some out here and binge watch some stuff. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a movie, it’d be a nice chance to relax and reminisce. Reese and Todd have been playing video games since we found that room, why shouldn’t we have a little relaxing fun as well?”
I smile and follow him to the bedroom and find two short stacks of movies near a dresser. We sit on the floor and look through them, immediately tossing aside Dawn of the Dead without a second thought. Ryder holds up a romantic comedy, and I wrinkle my nose. He laughs and sets it aside, and we continue to look through them. I find an action movie with a huge cast of people I used to love, and Ryder nods.
The two of us head back out into the living room and curl up on the couch together as the movie starts. I lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me closer. A movie night is such a good idea. A chance to relax and spend some quality time with Ryder? What could be better?
Chapter Fifteen
A weight presses down on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. My eyes feel thick and heavy, and it takes all I have to force them open. When I look down I find a leather strap across my chest, anchoring me to the cool, metal table beneath me. My whole body is tied down, unable to move. I try to struggle, but my limbs feel like dead weight, and every movement is like trying to swim through molasses.
I have no idea how I got here, or why I’m strapped to the table, and my mind goes into overdrive, creating dark scenario after scenario. As I start to panic, the blood rushes between my ears, creating a dull roar that nearly drowns out everything else. My heart hammers away in my chest, each beat so hard I’m afraid it’ll break through my ribcage and the skin. Each breath I take sounds like a dying gasp as I struggle to control myself. Slowly but surely, the room comes into clearer focus, and my breathing mellows out as the roar in my ears dies down.
I’m alone in this room, and the loneliness is nearly suffocating. I can hear buzzing from the lights above me, whirring from the computer on the desk to my left, and even water dripping from the sink faucet behind me, though I can’t see it with my body strapped down. The sounds are so loud in the otherwise totally silent room, bearing down on me and making my head hurt. Each droplet of water in the sink makes me flinch, and I start to struggle again, desperate to silence this room before it drives me crazy.
I hear the door slide open, and I look down past my feet. Dr. Richards stands in the open doorway, wearing his white lab coat as always, along with his thick-rimmed glasses and ever present notepad. He doesn’t say anything as the door slides shut behind him. He just sets the notepad down on the counter and heads to the sink behind me to wash his hands. I hear the sink start and hear the splashes, and when he turns the knob, the droplets continue as they did before.
He returns to the counter and grabs a pair of disposable gloves from a box. They make a snapping sound as he settles them into place on his hands, and I can hear the sound of plastic rubbing together as he flexes them excitedly. He’s fidgeting like he can’t wait to get his hands on me, and my mind flashes back to the poor woman on the tapes and the awful things he did to her. She was strapped to this very table…
Dr. Richards reaches out for me, and I cringe, trying to pull as far away from his touch as I can get. But the straps halt my escape, and Dr. Richards’ fingertips gently brush the hair back from my face. He looks down at me with a strange tenderness I would never have expected from a man as cold and distant as him, almost like he cares for me.
My mouth is paper dry, and I can’t get my lips to move. My throat screams in agony as I try to force anything to come out, but all I can manage is a tiny whimper. Dr. Richards smiles at me. “You’re awake! I’m glad. I was starting to wonder if you would be out the whole time, and that’s certainly no fun.”
What was he talking about? What did he think I would be out for?
There’s a small mobile tray that he moves closer to the table, and I catch a glimpse of shiny metal. I try to scream, but my throat still isn’t working, and even if he could hear me, I know he won’t care. But I can’t give up without a fight. As he examines the various tools on his tray, I buck as hard as I can, trying to break or dislodge the straps. Dr. Richards ignores my feeble attempts to escape and I begin to lose hope. It’s clear I’m too weak to break leather straps, and even if I managed, I’m not sure where I’d run.
I’m naked from head to toe, and I don’t know where my clothes are, where my weapons are, or where any of my friends are. As far as I know, I’m alone and naked and vulnerable. I’m at the mercy of Dr. Richards, and unfortunately for me, mercy is one thing he isn’t capable of…
Dr. Richards grabs a tool off the metal tray and I strain my neck trying to see what it is. When I see the harsh artificial light glint off the razor blade of a small scalpel, my stomach drops to my feet and I feel like I’m going to be sick. He grips it tightly, his fingers curling around the handle as he slices the air, adjusting his grip when he needs to. As I watch, my stomach begins to twist painfully. I try to even out my breathing, but my breaths come in short gasps, and I can’t seem to get enough air to my lungs, making me feel dizzy and a little lightheaded.
Dr. Richards advances on me. The scalpel is touching my stomach, lighter than a lover’s kiss. The cold steel makes me shiver, and Dr. Richards smiles, finding joy in his experiments where the world around him causes him disappointment. “This will only hurt for a minute,” he promises.
The blade bites into my skin, tearing easily through skin and fat. As he opens my stomach, I crane my neck and scream…
I
wake up in bed, echoing the scream from my nightmare. Ryder jerks, startled awake by my cries, and he sits bolt upright. Instantly his hand goes for his weapon, until he realizes that we’re alone in the room. It takes me a second to stop screaming, and when the room is finally silent, I stare in wide eyed terror at the wall at the foot of the bed, just so I don’t have to see Ryder’s terrified reaction to my screams.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and the two of us sit in silence while I get my breathing back under control. I’ve had vicious night terrors before, and Ryder is used to hearing me wake up crying in the middle of the night, sweating and gasping for air, but this is the first time that I’ve actually woken up screaming in a very long time, and I know that he’s freaked out and concerned.
He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me and encasing me in his warmth. I can feel the harsh beating of his heart through his chest, and together, our hearts and breathing slow until they’re back to normal. When I’m finally okay to talk, he lets go of me and looks down. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, eyes searching mine in the darkness.
“I was tied down to that metal table and Dr. Richards was coming at me with a scalpel. He used it to cut into my stomach, and I could feel his hands moving around inside of me, searching for something or maybe just playing around for fun. It all felt so real,” I say, trying not to shiver in his arms. “I swear I could actually feel the blade cut through my skin, and when I screamed in the dream, I guess I screamed in real life, too.”
I look over at him to find him watching me intently, and I hope he’s not wondering if I’m going crazy.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I say quietly, looking down at my hands.
“It’s okay. People have nightmares, Sam. It’s not that big of a deal.” He hesitates. “Do you wanna try and go back to sleep?”
“No,” I say instantly. “I don’t think I can handle it. But you should get some more shut eye if you can. I’ll go sit on the couch and try to calm down some more.”
Ryder wraps his arms tighter around me and pulls me down until I’m lying on his chest. He pulls the blankets up, draping them over my shoulders until they’re covering both of us. “I don’t want you to have to sit out there by yourself. It’s already five in the morning; I’m not getting back to sleep anytime soon. Stay here and I’ll keep you safe.”
I curl up against him, letting myself relax a little more. Ryder is warm and familiar, and I never feel safer than when I’m in his arms. “Thank you,” I say, burying my face in his chest.
“Don’t worry about it. Just try to relax and get some more rest.”
I close my eyes, trying to do as he says. I know I won’t get back to sleep, but he might be able to, and I want him to be able to get as much rest as he can before we’re forced to leave this place. I know that when we’re back out on the open road again, Ryder will make sure to take care of all of us before taking care of himself. Ryder’s breathing starts to slow beneath me, and I listen to his quiet breathing as he slowly nods off again.
“I love you,” I say, my voice lower than a whisper. Ryder shifts beneath me and I can feel him smile.
*****
A couple of hours later, Dr. Richards invites us to join him in the lab to check on the progress of the zombie test subject. We all gather in the kitchen to make a hasty breakfast. We can hardly contain ourselves. We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, before we even knew there was a possibility of a cure. And now we finally get to see the fruits of our labor. I just hope we’re not disappointed.
We find Dr. Richards in his lab, and my eyes go to the patient the second I enter the room. His skin has already started to regain some of its pink coloring, making him look less like a rotting corpse and more like an actual person. He’s naked from head to toe, and his body is covered in cuts and bite marks. Blood leaks from them all, but it’s not the thick, congealed blood that we’re used to seeing from zombies. Instead, it’s lighter and thin, and it flows from the wound.
“His heart has started beating again,” Dr. Richards says triumphantly. “The serum is making its way through his blood, returning it to normal as it wipes out the infection. I have very high hopes for the outcome of this experiment. We may very well have the answer to our problems, even sooner than expected.”
It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, and we’re already making progress. There’s hope for the human race yet. But, I’m not sure if this cure will do only good. I hate to bring Dr. Richards down when he’s basking in his accomplishment, but I have to ask, and I have to ask now.
“What happens to the zombies that are missing limbs? What about the ones that have been lying in the sun until they’re a melted puddle? Or the ones submerged in liquid until they’re a bloated, gelatinous mass? Do they just get to come back from this like nothing happened? Or are they going to die an even more horrible death than they did the first time around? How much suffering are we going to cause with this?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Richards admits. “I’ve been theorizing about the effects on those too far gone, but until we test it, there’s no way to no for sure. Perhaps the serum will heal them; perhaps it will just turn them human and let them die again. As long as they don’t reanimate craving flesh, I’m fine with however this turns out.”
“Of course you are,” Aaron mutters.
Dr. Richards narrows his eyes. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of our situation. The world is gone. It is not coming back, not in its current condition. More than ninety percent of the world’s population has been decimated. Even if every zombie returns to normal, we’ll still be at a fraction of the population we had before. So many of them have been put down by the military, by other survivors, or have been eaten before they had a chance to reanimate.”
“How much do you think is left now?” Naomi asks.
He doesn’t even look at her, and I remember his racist comment about sand brats. “I don’t have the exact numbers. But based on my observations, I would say we’re hovering at around five percent, maybe a little more or less.”
Ninety-five percent of the world…just gone. Men, women, and even children…all lost forever. He’s right, too. Not all of the people lost can come back. How many people were swarmed in the cities until there was nothing to even reanimate? How many have we put down with a bullet to the head? Probably hundreds. And that’s just our little group. There are thousands of other survivors out there that have probably killed just as many, if not more than us.
“So you’re gonna need a decomposing one to test your serum on too, aren’t you?” Madison asks.
Dr. Richards nods. “That would be ideal. I’d like to test the effects on complete ones and incomplete ones as well. It’s for—”
“Science, we know,” Ryder says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re saying you want us to go out and find one that’ll just bleed to death as soon as we heal them.”
“Ryder, if that is what’ll happen to them, they’re all gonna die anyways when we perfect the cure,” Madison says gently. “At least this way, we’ll know for sure what will happen to them. And who knows, maybe they do heal and we’ll end up saving another person.”
“We can worry about that at another time,” Dr. Richards says, waving his hand. “For now, the main focus should be on those we know for sure we can save. I’ll require another specimen, preferably a female this time. I’d like to see if there are any differences between the sexes.”
“Why would there be?” Reese asks, frowning.
Dr. Richards doesn’t answer. His nose is buried in his notes once again, but I know he can hear us. He’s choosing to ignore us, and it’s probably because he doesn’t want to answer Reese’s question. I know why he doesn’t, too. Dr. Richards is a creep, and he enjoyed torturing that poor woman—his second human subject. He’s practically leaping for joy at the chance to test on another woman. My mind flashes back to my nightmare from earlier and it takes everything in me not to shudder in front
of Dr. Richards.
Do we dare cross him though? Is it better to just give him what he wants? He’s a sadistic, racist creep, but he’s our only chance to right the world. If we say no, he may decide to do it without us, or he may just try to drag his feet, or intentionally mess up. He’s happy here with his notes and his new test subject. And he knows how important he is.
Apparently Ryder is thinking the same thing because he says, “When do you want her?”
“Immediately. I will head for the control room and open the gate for you. It doesn’t matter to me which of you goes and which of you stays. Do it however you see fit, just make sure she’s in good shape, and bring her back here to join the male subject.”
Reese frowns at the words “good shape”, but none of us argues with his orders. We look at one another, and Ryder is the first to speak. “Who wants to go and who wants to stay?”
“I think we should do it,” I say. “Aaron, Todd, and Madison did it last time. They shouldn’t have to go out there again. You, me, Reese, and Naomi are capable of handling this, I think. That leaves a strong group outside and a strong group inside to watch over Dr. Richards and make sure he doesn’t lock us out.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Madison says. “As long as you guys are all okay with it?” She looks at Ryder, Reese, and Naomi and finds no objections.
Naomi looks a little uncertain, but she doesn’t back out. She gives me a nervous smile, but she has nothing to be nervous about. She knows that Ryder and Reese are going to be with us, and they’ll never let anything happen to anyone in our group. They’ve got near perfect aim, and they have the training and senses to spot danger coming a mile away. This collection is going to be a piece of cake, just like it was for Madison’s group.
Zombie World (Zombie Apocalypse #3) Page 20