Jane Zombie Chronicles Box Set Books 4-6: Crisis Cell, Ominous Ordeal, Running Rampant (Jane Zombie Box Set Book 2)

by Gayle Katz

  For a second, I get excited, but then I remember that he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the clone. He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to the clone. What the hell am I doing? I’m watching them together like it’s a romantic movie when it’s really a horror flick. What’s wrong with me? I need to find a way out of here. I have to get home. Anger is surging through my veins. Screw this!

  “AHHHHHH!”

  My frustration is off the charts when I throw the keyboard to the ground. The zombies around me go nuts when they hear me scream and the crash of the plastic keyboard crack against the floor. The monitor screen flickers and the video of Jack and the clone is replaced with a long list of video files. Are these all of the videos they’ve recorded of Jack?

  I stoop down and pick up the keyboard. Miraculously, only the plastic is cracked, but the rest of the keyboard is still intact and working properly. I use the up and down arrows to move the cursor from one video file to another. Not knowing their labeling nomenclature, I pick the first one on the list and hit enter. The video pops on the screen.

  Jack and the clone are at home, our home.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks.

  “A little off. I have this headache that just won’t go away.”

  “Didja take something for it?”

  “At first, no. But then the pain got worse so I had no choice. Unfortunately, nothing seems to help. My head is still pounding.”

  I see the fake Jane drinking tea and talking with Jack like she’s known him all of his life.

  “How long have these headaches been going on?” Jack stands up and grabs his briefcase, getting ready for work.

  “A while. Maybe a week or so?”

  “You’ve had this headache for a week straight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you. Plus, you just got back and things are going so well,” her hand stretches across her face, partially covering her eyes and obscuring Jack from my view.

  “Babe, I know you mean well, but if you’re in pain, you have to tell me so I can help you,” he says as he stoops down, takes her hands away from her face, and holds them between his.

  “I know.”

  “OK, well, we should make an appointment at the doctor as soon as possible. Get you checked out and make sure everything is cool.”

  “I’ll call today.”

  “Good girl,” Jack says as he kisses the fake me for much too long on the lips.

  She stands up and starts to walk him to the door to see him off to work, but then the camera abruptly falls to the floor. The video feed is cut off. What happened? Are we having connection problems?

  “Jane?” I hear Jack say. “Jane!” he yells as he tries to open her eyes. He looks down into the camera.

  She doesn’t respond, but, out of habit, I do. “I’m right here, Jack.” The video is gone again, but I can still hear the audio.

  “Crap!” I hear Jack shout as I hear the front door open and close and the car ignition turn on. “Hold on, baby. I’m getting you help as fast as I can. Jane? Jane! Stay with me, OK?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Talk to me! Jane!”

  Still no response.

  The audio ends. Is the clone having issues? Anxious to see more, I click on the next video in the list.

  I see Jack staring at the screen. He looks worried. From the camera angle, my clone is lying in a hospital bed.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Better, now that they’re done with their poking and prodding.”

  “Maybe for now, but I’m sure they’ll be back to run more tests.”

  “No more tests. I feel like a pincushion.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Listen, what happened back at the house?”

  “I don’t know. I had that pounding headache and I guess I passed out.”

  “Well, you were going to make an appointment with the doctor so here we are.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have any clue what’s wrong?”

  “No. I just know I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

  “That’s not good. With all the blood they took and all the tests they performed, I hope they’re able to figure it out.”

  “Me too.”

  “Just get some rest, all right?”

  “Are you going to stay?”

  “Of course! I’m not leaving your side. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  The video cuts off. Something is definitely wrong with her. Maybe her wiring is faulty? Maybe she isn’t as perfect as Brie thinks she is? I don’t know. You’d think she’d do whatever she could to stay out of hospitals. Wouldn’t she be afraid of Jack and others finding out she’s not who she says she is? It’s strange that she seems just as concerned as they are to find out what’s wrong. This doesn’t make sense.

  Just like reality TV or a soap opera addiction, I can’t stop watching. I click on another video link further down in the list. Maybe these additional videos will give me some answers.

  They’re back at the house.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Jack sings, bringing a tray of food into the bedroom.

  “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “Of course I did. You’re my wife. I want to take care of you. Don’t worry though, there’s enough food here for two.”

  The camera moves to the left and I see Jack hop into bed. The camera keeps alternating between Jack and the food on the tray.

  “There’s that smile I love to see,” Jack says.

  “I love you,” the Jane clone replies.

  “You don’t love him,” I mumble to myself. “I’m the one who loves him. You don’t even know him. You’re just a fake. A copy.”

  “Right back at ya. I love you, too.”

  “Of course he thinks he loves you. He still thinks you’re me!” My voice grows louder. The frustration boiling inside of me is seething from listening to their conversation. I pause the video for a moment until I can compose myself. There’s no point in getting angry here. Besides beating up the keyboard, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the situation, at least not yet.

  I click the PLAY button to watch the rest of the clip. The camera is pointing down.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

  “More headaches?”

  “Yeah. Worse than before.”

  “Let’s get you back to the hospital. Maybe now they’ll be able to figure out what’s happening.”

  I wonder if this is the reason why Brie says we don’t have much time. If they sent a defective clone home with Jack, it’s just a matter of time before Jack figures out what’s going on. I can’t tell when these videos were recorded, but it seems as if she’s deteriorating pretty fast. “Jack, please wake up and realize that isn’t me,” I say, closing my eyes, on the verge of praying.

  Opening my eyes again, I stare at the screen. Forget it. I can’t binge-watch Jack living our life without me anymore. I turn off the monitor. Hoping the truth comes out soon and Jack is en route to rescue me, I lean my head against the bars.

  Chapter 7

  ________________________________________

  The door flings open. I look up. Brie points to me and her two lackeys come over, unlock my cell, and grab me again.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “We have to continue with our experiment.”

  They drag me out of my cell and down a hallway until we reach a dead end with two reinforced metal doors. Frightened about what’s behind these doors, I try to squirm out of their grasp.

  “Stop fighting. You’re only making this worse than it has to be. Listen carefully. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re gonna put you into this room. Just do your best to survive. Don’t let them crack your head open and don’t let them kill you outright.”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you listening? If you’re going to help us find th
e cure and eventually get out of here, we need you alive. Infected, but alive. Got it?”

  “Wait! What? What are you doing?”

  “You heard me. We’ll be watching you the entire time. After they bite you, we’ll pull you out.”

  “No. No. No. Please don’t do this,” I’m flailing around, trying to break free from their grip and beginning to cry. “There has to be another way!”

  “This is the only way. I’m sorry,” she says as she opens the door for her two lab coat lackeys. “Throw her in,” she instructs the thugs.

  As they toss me into the room, I lose my balance, stumble, and fall to the floor. I get to my feet as quickly as possible and look around with suspicious eyes. My heart is beating so fast that I can feel it in my chest. There’s no one else in here. With only a dilapidated wooden table and four chairs, this room gives me serious horror movie creeps. It’s got slightly off-white walls that are stained from… I don’t want to know what. As I keep turning, cold shivers run up my spine and the hairs on my arm stand up. The unnatural yellow light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminate the room as a musty, earthy, metallic smell invades my nose.

  Knowing that they’re setting me up as bait, I turn around and run back to the door to escape. I try the doorknob, but it’s no use. It’s locked. I’m stuck. I pound my fists onto the door. It’s solid metal. There’s no way I’m getting through it. I bang on the door again and scream, “Let me out of here!” No one comes to rescue me. There’s no way I’m getting out of here the way I came, but I can’t stop myself from trying to beat down the door. My hands become red and raw. I’m panicked and afraid of what’s going to happen next.

  I’m alone. I close my eyes and lean my head against the unmovable door in front of me. As I take a moment to calm down and think about what to do next, I turn around and inspect the room a little more closely. I see what looks like a mirror, probably a two-way mirror to see what’s happening in here. They’re watching me. I know it. I can feel it. They’re on the other side right now. I pound on the mirror, trying to break it. While it vibrates, nothing else happens. I run to the table and drag one of the chairs toward the mirror. They’re heavy, but I manage to pick it up and smash it against the mirror. The mirror sustains no damage, but the chair is completely destroyed. It’s then that I hear loud groaning noises. I freeze in place and listen more intently. Something is getting louder, closer. I whirl around and look in the direction of the noises.

  As I’m trying to prepare myself for the crap storm that’s about to start, my neck and head start to hurt. Pound, really. I touch my neck and I can feel it throbbing. And it’s getting worse. These aren’t normal headaches. I have to get the tracker thing out of my body somehow. I start to claw at my neck, when the pain gets more excruciating. I close my eyes and try to focus on the task at hand. I have to be ready. It’s only pain. Just think about something else and fight through it. I inhale deeply and close my eyes. Rising above the pain, my eyes pop back open and the sterile room is gone, leaving me staring at our old kitchen back at home, complete with our pinkish linoleum floor and scratches from our dog, Rocky, on our stainless steel refrigerator. H-How? How is this possible? This can’t be real. It isn’t real.

  I look at the clock on the wall. 8:15 AM. Jack is at work and I’m finishing up breakfast, getting ready for work myself. Continuing to eat my eggs, I hear shouting and screaming from outside. Putting down my fork and walking over to the kitchen sink, I try to look out the window, but I don’t see anything. Suddenly, I hear a pounding on the door and turn around to investigate. “This isn’t real,” I mumble to myself. “Open your eyes, Jane.”

  Blinking and hoping to see what’s really in front of me instead of this fantasy, I walk to the backdoor of the kitchen and try to open it. It’s impossible. It won’t turn. It won’t budge. And then, as if I’m hallucinating, the doorknob vanishes. In its place there’s a flat surface where the doorknob should be. Our old kitchen backdoor is gone and replaced with a drab door, like something you’d find in a government building or an insane asylum. Frightened, I step back when the door vibrates from whatever is angrily thumping on the other side.

  I hear more noises and my attention is drawn to another door on the far wall. I run over to it, hoping for a way out. No knob on this one, either. I feel the door and push against it, but it doesn’t budge. Moments later, the door slides open to reveal a horde of zombies on the other side. With this horrific scene exposed, my adrenaline kicks in. I step back and run for the other door I just left. As soon as I approach it, I have to back away when it slides open to uncover even more fugly zombies. Damn.

  Why did I think I was back at home? And how am I supposed to survive these two deliberate attacks? There are at least twenty of them against one of me. It’s not even close to a fair fight. I back away, continuing to keep my eyes on the ones at the front of the pack, and quickly assess my situation. No weapons to fight back. No duct tape to protect my arms and legs. Nowhere to go, but… up! I hustle over to the rustic furniture I spotted in the middle of the room, stepping onto the seat of the wobbly chair to get myself onto the tabletop. Next, I grab the chair. Maybe I can use it as a weapon? As the zombies stumble forward and surround me on all sides, I swing the chair with as much force as I can muster, trying to hit them in the head and knock them down. It works in a few cases, but the chair is oddly-shaped, making it difficult for my hands to hold on to it. On top of that, the sheer weight of the heavy wooden chair zaps my strength and makes me tired fast.

  Still standing on the table, I throw the chair into the growing zombie mob forming all around me. I need to conserve my energy. I won’t last long if my stamina is gone, and they’re swarming the entire table. Some of them are leaning on the table, trying to take a swipe at me. I back away from one edge, but then I’m too close to the other. Getting off of the table and going down to their level isn’t an option if I want to live, so I look up and see if there’s anything on the ceiling I can grab onto. Nothing. Spotting the chair I threw, I see it’s still in one piece, very sturdy. What if I take the other chair, place it on the table, and try to grab ahold of a ceiling tile to pull myself out of this mess? It’s worth a shot. Still standing on the table, I’m only inches, maybe a foot, away from touching the ceiling. With the chair, I’ll be in a better position.

  Before I can grab the other chair, I kick a few of the closest zombies in the face to stun them temporarily. I summon all of the strength I can muster to pick up the chair. Then, I place the chair on top of the table, hoping it doesn’t collapse under the increase in weight. I step on the seat of the chair and now I can touch the ceiling. Here’s my chance!

  As the horde continues its assault on the table, it gets wobbly. I do my best to kick back the attacking zombies in the head with as much force as I can muster, and I carefully move one of the ceiling tiles. Grabbing ahold of the metal air duct, I can feel my endorphins surging. I can do this! As I’m hanging there, trying to pull myself up, my muscles start to burn. Beneath me, zombies are climbing on top of each other to get at me. Desperate to stay out of their grasp, I reach further into the duct to pull myself up, but the duct starts to move. Crap! Within a split second, the air duct and the ceiling start to give way from my weight. I try to pull myself up further into the ceiling, but I’m losing my grip. I do my best to climb up and pull my entire body into the ceiling crawlspace. Maybe I can stabilize the ceiling by not having half of my body sticking out of it? As I try to disappear into the ceiling, I can hear the metal air duct begin to creak and move erratically. My hope of escaping through the drop ceiling is crushed immediately.

  As gravity reasserts itself, I fall down from the ceiling onto the pile of zombies forming beneath me. I knock them over and we all come crashing back down to the table. The weight of our bodies is too much and the table collapses under the pressure. Not only that, but a pair of the table legs snap in two. With the partially broken table underneath me, I slip and fall down, my body twisted like a broken pretzel on top of
the rubble of the table. With the zombies somewhat breaking my fall, my feet hit the floor while my back and head clonk against the mangled tabletop. Dazed, I shake my head and get up as quickly as possible. I’m as good as dead if I stay there.

  Not accepting this as failure, my last and only other option is to beat the crap out of them, point-blank. Using my hands wouldn’t be smart – that’s just asking for them to bite me. Instead, I grab one of the broken table legs. I start swinging at anything that gets close. I know I’m doomed. There’s nowhere to run and I’m not going to be able to decapitate them with this lame weapon, but they’re not going to take me down without a fight. No way!

  As the horde stumbles closer toward me, I start to freak out and my hands begin to ache from holding onto the bulky weapon. How am I going to do this? I decide to use my hands to fight. However, the zombies are infected. And even if I only have so much as a small scratch on my skin, there’s a chance I could be infected too, if these monsters have a different strain or mutation. Or even worse, they could straight out bite or eat me, but I guess that’s the point of this sick experiment.

  I try the leg. I smash one of them in the face with the table leg, but it’s so large and unwieldy that it slips out of my sweaty, clammy hands. That leaves my feet. I lean over and use my foot to kick one of them square in the throat. It knocks the wind out of him and he falls to the floor, toppling over a few others in the process, stalling them for a moment. The problem is that his “friends” are relentless and, after a few moments, he gets back up and continues to lurch forward, getting closer and closer.

  I back away to keep a safe distance, trying to kick those that get too close. After a couple of times of backing up, though, I feel the cold wall press against my back. There’s nowhere else to go! Crap! As they close in, I make a fist, pull my arm back as far as it’ll go, and throw a punch to a zombie’s neck. Gasping, the zombie falls to the floor. As it starts to get up again, I grab his chin and give it a good yank. I hear what sounds like bone crack. Hoping that I killed at least one of them, I watch as the zombie continues to get back up. On a positive note, his head is flopping around like one of those blow-up tube men. If he can’t control his limp neck, maybe he can’t bite me. Success. I think. One down. About a dozen more to go. This isn’t going to turn out well for me.