by Dana Fredsti
I looked up at him, startled. “Huh? What's not true?”
“Matt wasn't coming back to save you.” He kept his voice low so no one else would hear him.
“What do you mean?” My volume rose slightly and Gabriel's hand tightened on my arm, eyes flicking back towards the General by way of warning. I lowered my volume and continued, “I heard him call my name when he was running back towards me.”
“Ashley, the only reason he was heading back in your direction was a half-dozen zombies were blocking his escape route.”
“You're lying.” Even as I said this, I knew Gabriel had no reason to lie to me, at least not about this. But I didn't want to believe him.
“Stay back from the bars,” Gabriel said loudly. “They can reach through if they try hard enough.” He dropped his voice back down. “I'm not lying. And you shouldn't think badly of him for running away. Not everyone can handle having his or her world turned upside down. He panicked. Wasn't thinking clearly. Otherwise he wouldn't have left you.”
I don't know if Gabriel really meant those words, but I'll never forget the moment because it showed me without question there really was a feeling human being underneath his gorgeous, self-righteous exterior. Something clicked over inside me; I could no longer dislike him—and no longer wanted to try.
“Why are you telling me this? I mean, what's the point?”
He looked at me. I mean, actually looked into my eyes, not at every other point on my face or beyond. “You deserve to make a decision this big based on the truth, not on lies and emotional blackmail. And the thing in this cage … it's not your boyfriend anymore. There's nothing left of him but a rotting shell. It won't know you, or thank you for saving it from being vivisected.”
I searched those denim blue eyes for any sign of hidden agenda or lies, but found only sympathy and sincerity. Either Gabriel was the world's best liar or he was being straight with me.
“Is it vivisection if they're already dead?” The words came out without thinking. Weird, the things that pop into one's head in times of stress.
Gabriel took it in stride. “Now you're getting into philosophy. But we'd be up shit creek if a zombie right-to-unlife group sprang up out there.”
I couldn't quite summon up a smile at his joke. I looked at Matt again, wondering if I'd have gone back for him if the situation had been reversed. I think I would have. Did that make me braver than Matt or just stupid? Either way, I still knew what I had to do.
“Well, Miss Drake? Like what you see?”
“Now that you're here, no.”
General Heald, obviously possessing the patience of your average two-year-old with ADD, had basically snuck up behind us, no doubt trying to catch me in tears so he could twist his blackmailing knife in a little bit more. Never mind I'd told him to stay the hell away from me; the asshat couldn't wait. Over his shoulder I saw Simone, who gave an apologetic shrug. Like she could have stopped him.
“Get used to my face, missy, because you'll be seeing a lot of it.”
I almost stuck a finger in my mouth and made fake barfing sounds, but that would have been childish. Instead I turned my back on him and stared at Matt, remembering our times together. It's not like I'd thought we'd end up married or anything. If asked if I loved him, I'd have to say probably not. But he'd been a decent boyfriend and I thought he was a good guy under the shallow frat boy exterior. He didn't deserve this.
“I'm sorry, Matt,” I said softly.
The zombie cocked its head as if it had understood me. It shoved one hand through the bars, ignoring or unaware of the skin sloughing off as it reached for me. Don't worry, I didn't get all sentimental and try to clasp hands with it. I knew better.
General Brasshole, however, did not. He reached past me and smacked Matt's—its—hand with his gloved fist. “Oh, isn't that sweet?” he sneered through his Plexiglas faceplate. “Your boyfriend wants to hold hands, Miss Drake. Aren't you interested?”
I'd had enough. I rounded on him, grabbing him the front of his Hazmat suit. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by being a total prick? Pissing me off?” He tried to throw me off, but I was too strong. Surprisingly so, although this fact didn't really hit me till later. I was too busy shaking Heald by his figurative lapels “Well, good job! But why the hell would I want to join your team?”
I don't remember what else I yelled; it was lost in my red rage and the ensuing confusion. Gabriel grabbed my arms from behind while the General helplessly but furiously thrashed in my grasp. I felt Gabriel's hard body against my back as he did his best to pull me off Heald without hurting me. Several techs tried to pry my hands from the General's Hazmat suit.
“Ashley, let go!”
I registered Simone's voice even through the curtain of red that had descended on me. Don't ask me why, but for some reason I listened to her and dropped Heald as swiftly as I'd grabbed him. The techs caught the jerk before he fell against the cage. Gabriel pulled me backwards, arms linked through mine, holding me in case I decided to go for Heald again. He needn't have bothered; all my rage-fueled energy suddenly evaporated and I sagged against him, sick at heart and exhausted in mind, body, and spirit. Gabriel's grip changed from restraining to supporting almost immediately.
I know what you're thinking. That suddenly I felt all hot and bothered by the feel of Gabriel's taut and muscular bod cozied up next mine, his erection pressing against me. Well, sorry, but while I was hyperaware of my proximity to Gabriel's hunky self, I was too pissed off to be hot or bothered. And happy to see me or not, the only thing pressing against me was Gabriel's sidearm.
“Are you all right?” Simone put a hand on my forehead. “You're running a fever again. You need to be in bed.”
“Bed? The little bitch needs to be in one of these cages!” Heald quivered with rage as he shook off the techs trying to help him and straightened up, either ignoring or unaware of several pairs of zombie hands pawing at him through the bars. Fingers grazed his Hazmat suit without finding purchase.
“While I don't condone her attack on you,” Simone said with forced calm, “I also cannot say it wasn't provoked. This girl has been through hell and cannot be expected to adjust to the situation without some time.”
“Time is a luxury we don't have, Professor Fraser!” Heald glared at me. “Get it through your little Barbie head, Miss Drake. These things are a threat to the human race.” He seized the capture pole from its resting place against the wall, wielding it like an extra in a Jackie Chan movie before thrusting the business end into the cage and into the nearest zombie, which happened to be Matt. The wood and metal clasp penetrated Matt's chest about an inch before Heald pulled the pole back out, accompanied by a squelching sound that I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing.
“Do you see that?” Heald shook the pole at me. “It didn't feel a thing. It is not human any more. It is the enemy.” He gave a flourish with the pole, a poor man's Darth Maul, flipping it so the butt end now faced the cage. “And the sooner you get this through your vacuous brain, the more chance you'll have of surviving!” He punctuated his last sentence with another vicious thrust of the pole into the cage.
I don't know if what happened next was an accident or some dim recollection of motor skills past. As the pole stabbed towards its chest, what was left of Matt seized it clumsily with both hands and shoved back. The business end of the pole hit Heald's faceplate, shattering it as the bloodied hook and clasp went through to slice the General's forehead.
Heald yelped in surprise and pain, staggering back at the sudden impact. Bits of Plexiglas fell to the floor along with the pole as he reached through the broken faceplate and clasped one hand to the wound on his forehead. “Damn it!” He turned to one of the techs hovering nearby. “Get me some antiseptic for this, soldier!” He gave me a venomous look as if his stupidity had been my fault.
“Sir…” The tech didn't move, staring at the gash on Heald's forehead, then at the gore-spattered clasp on the end of the pole.
/>
“Well?” Heald snapped. “Get the lead out!”
The techs exchanged apprehensive glances through their respective faceplates. “Sir, you're infected.”
“What?” Heald shook his head. “Nonsense! It's a scratch from this—” he indicated the shattered Plexiglas.
The first tech shook his head slowly, almost reluctantly. “Sir, I saw the pole make contact with your face. It has hot blood on it.”
“Bullshit!” Denial rang loud and clear in Heald's voice. “None of the blood touched me. This”—he gestured furiously at the cut on his forehead—”is from the faceplate. Nothing touched me!”
The second tech surreptitiously drew his firearm while the first guy said, “Sir, we need to take you into quarantine.”
“That's ridiculous!” Heald blustered.
“No,” Simone said quietly. “It's protocol.” She turned to the techs. “Get Dr. Albert down here immediately.”
Heald whipped his head towards Simone, nostrils flaring like a panicked horse. This gave the techs the distraction they needed to move in, flanking the General on either side. They grabbed his arms before he could reach for his own gun.
“I'm sorry, sir,” said Tech Number One, “but you need to come with us.”
The expression on Heald's face as reality overtook denial would have been comical if the situation weren't so serious. I almost found it in myself to pity him. Almost.
As the techs manhandled him towards the door at the back of the room, he locked eyes with me, upper lip curling back from his teeth like a mad dog. “This is your fault, you bitch.” If he could have killed me at that moment, he totally would have. “I'll be back, and I'll take care of you once and for all.”
Wow. Talk about projecting. All sympathy I might have had for Heald vanished. “Yeah, you'll be back, all right,” I said coldly as a third tech punched in a code to open the back door. “On one of these tables.”
Heald lunged for me, breaking the grip of Tech Number Two. Gabriel immediately swung me around so he was between the frothing General and me. I'm not sure how he managed it so quickly, but one arm wrapped around my waist while his free hand now held a gun, pointed at General Heald. “That's far enough, sir.”
The second tech regained his grip and General Heald was dragged from the room, screaming curses at me even after the door shut behind them.
“I want a nap,” I said to no one in particular.
Simone gave a little shake of her head, as if clearing her mind. “I need to check on General Heald. Will you be all right, Ashley?”
I nodded. “I just want to sleep for a while.”
“Gabriel, would you take her back to her room? And get Doctor Albert to examine her again. I want to make sure the fever doesn't spike up.”
I felt rather than saw Gabriel nod. I tried not to feel guilty about liking the feeling of his arm around me while my boyfriend stood in front of us, literally rotting in a cage, holes punched in his body.
Simone turned to leave, then stopped and turned back to me. “Ashley, you don't need to make any decisions right now, no matter what the General—”
“I don't need any more time,” I cut her off decisively.
“You should sleep on it—”
I shook my head. “I'm in. It's what I want.”
Simone put a hand on my shoulder. “You're sure?”
I nodded and took a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah. I'm sure. I mean, what else am I gonna do with a liberal arts major?”
It took a few minutes for Gabriel's coughing fit to subside before he could escort me back to my room.
Chapter Eight
I slept for almost twenty-four hours after Gabriel took me to my room. He had stayed while Dr. Albert gave me a quick exam, leaving only after I'd crawled under the blankets to sleep. There could have been a full-scale zombie invasion in the building itself and I think I would have slept right through it.
When I finally woke up, I felt totally rested. I'd had the kind of delicious deep sleep I hadn't had since summer vacation in high school, when my parents had let me sleep in as long as I wanted.
I stretched like a cat. All the physical aches and pains were gone. I checked out the wound on my arm, now just a faint scar.
Sweet.
I was also voraciously hungry, the kind of ravenous I used to get after several weeks of banana-and-water dieting. I wanted food and I wanted it now.
As if on cue, the door opened and I smelled something savory and mouth-watering. Simone came in, immaculately dressed in a black trumpet skirt and hunter green blouse and bearing a tray loaded down with food. I briefly wondered if she used lacquer to keep her hair in that perfect upsweep or if it just didn't dare fall out of place.
I sat up expectantly as Simone set the tray on my lap, sat in the chair next to the bed, and poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on my tray. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in ages,” I said, trying not to drool at the veritable buffet of food and beverage set before me. “How did you know…?” I nodded at the tray.
Simone smiled. “If my own experience is anything to go by, you'll be ravenous about now. Eat up.”
I did. It was one of the best meals I'd ever had. I paused from devouring strips of bacon and asked, “Why does this all taste so good?”
“You'll find that all of your senses are elevated. Food will taste and smell better.”
I thought about that. “So does it work the opposite way too? Like, if someone farts, does that mean I'll be the first to smell it?”
Simone gave a shout of laughter. “I'd never thought of that, but unfortunately, yes. You're quite right. On the bright side, you'll also be alerted to the presence of the living dead because you'll smell them long before they're in range to attack.”
“Okay, then.” I attacked a chocolate croissant. Buttery goodness melded with rich, dark chocolate in an almost orgasmic experience. If food tasted this good, the downside would be totally worth it. I'd just avoid chili cook-offs in the future.
When I finished decimating the food, I settled back with a cup of coffee laced with cream and honey. “So what's next?”
“Ah,” said Simone. “Training. You and the rest of your team have a lot of work to accomplish in very little time if we're going to contain this outbreak.”
“Couldn't we just do a montage?” I wondered if I could blame the Wild Card effect for heightened smartass tendencies. Probably not.
“Unfortunately it's not that easy.” Simone sipped her coffee. “But I'm sure you're more than up to the task even without endless replays of Eye of the Tiger. When you're done eating, you can have a quick shower and I'll take you over to meet the team.”
“Is the … is the outbreak still contained in this area? I mean … it hasn't gotten to Ukiah yet, right?”
“Your parents are still safe,” Simone assured me without actually answering the question.
“And Matt? Is he…”
Simone nodded. “Gabriel told me to tell you he took care of it himself.”
I absorbed that for a few seconds, trying to sort how I felt about Gabriel putting Matt down like a rabid dog. Gratitude warred with a grief I couldn't even put into perspective, so I gave up trying to work it out and moved on.
“What about General Heald?”
Simone shook her head. “All signs indicated typical progression of the Walking Death virus before he was Medivaced out of the red zone a few hours ago.”
“In other words, not our problem, one way or the other.”
Simone smiled. “You have a way of cutting to the quick of things, Ashley. I have a feeling it will serve you well in the days to come.” Setting her cup on the side table, she stood up and brushed some invisible lint off her skirt. “Are you ready to meet the rest of your team?”
“Only if I can get dressed first.”
* * * *
A half hour later, clad in yoga pants, red baby-doll T-shirt, and expensive running shoes (and oh, did it feel goo
d to be wearing something other than hospital chic), I followed Simone into a large gymnasium-style room under the main floor of D.B. Patterson Hall, where five other people, including Gabriel, were seated on folding chairs in a semi-circle.
There were three males and two females: a tall, dark-haired punk-looking kid in his late teens, piercings in uncomfortable places and legs far too long for the chair he sat in; a Will Smith-type-of-cute black guy I recognized from my creative writing course; a man in his fifties with a face like a sweet yet mournful basset hound; a girl barely out of her teens, if that, face mostly covered with a long swath of thick, shiny light brown hair; and a skinny blond woman in her thirties, reminiscent of a Hollywood trophy wife, right down to her sunbed tan and brittle demeanor.
They all stared at me when I walked in and I immediately wondered if I had, like, a hole in my shirt or food between my teeth or something.
I hate being late to a party.
“This is Ashley,” said Simone like a good hostess. “Ashley, you already know Gabriel. And this is Tony—” The punk kid gave me a bored nod. Simone continued to call out names, a teacher taking roll call.
“Kai—” The cute black guy waved with a smile that said, “Yeah, I know I'm good-looking and I know you know it, so let's just both agree I'm the hottest thing since the iPad and move on.”
“Mack.” The mournful-looking man smiled sadly.
“Lily.” Bright green eyes peeked at me from behind the curtain of hair and a shy hand gave a quick finger wiggle.
“And Kaitlyn.” The blonde looked at me suspiciously, as though expecting me to try to sleep with her husband or something.
“That's Kaitlyn with a ‘k,’“ she informed me as if I was a secretary taking a message.
Stifling a retort and stiffening my spine, I gave what felt like a totally pasted-on smile and joined my fellow Wild Cards. Gabriel shifted his chair to make room for me between him and Kaitlyn, earning me an immediate death-glare from the latter.
Jeez, whatever, lady, I thought. Like this was really not the time to go all green-eyed, especially over someone she probably just met in the last ten minutes. Although, granted, Gabriel's looks made an immediate impression. Or maybe she just didn't like me.