by Raye Larson
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be alive. She did, desperately. Her immune system was probably frantically trying to fight this. She wanted to cheer it on.
She’d also seen what happened to the people who’d been bit before him. No matter how much her body fought, she knew how this was going to end. In the meantime, she was cold and hungry and very, very thirsty.
On the bright–and horrible–side, she wasn't alone.
Olivia, a pretty African American software engineer, sat four feet from her. Eight feet away sat Jacob, a handsome balding accountant.
Forty minutes ago, they'd been very happy to be there. Judging by their expressions, Charlotte suspected they were looking forward to death just a little bit too.
“How long do you think they intend to make us sit out here?” Jacob asked.
“Until we die,” Charlotte said.
Jacob and Olivia looked at her.
Okay. Maybe Charlotte was the only one who was getting a little–just a little!–tired of waiting. Maybe they were cool with it.
When they continued to look at her blankly, Charlotte began to wonder if they weren't so much hopeful as unaware.
Charlotte stared at them. They’d been out there. Surely they knew...
Oh God. What if they didn't?
“The things outside are zombies,” Charlotte said. “They bit us.”
Olivia and Jacob paled.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. She wished she hadn’t been the one to have to break it to them. She didn’t know whether it was cruel of Weatherby to not have said it or kind. If Charlotte didn’t need to know she was going to die and become a monster, she would’ve liked that.
She also liked knowing what was going on, especially when there was a chance she might inadvertently hurt someone.
And, for better or worse, they all had that potential. Charlotte had the bite on her arm; Olivia had one on her hand; and Jacob’s shirt was torn, revealing the palest hint of an attempted bite on his shoulder. It was a matter of time before they changed.
“Shit,” Olivia said. “I’d hoped... are they sure?”
“Yes," Charlotte said. "From what I’ve seen, when it happens, it’ll be quick.”
“We might kill someone.”
“No.” Charlotte tugged at her bonds. “We won’t.”
“They don’t know we’re going to change, though,” Jacob said. “They can’t prove it scientifically. They need a larger sampling. I think they’re jumping the gun here.”
“Jacob–”
“Those people are sick, not... horror movie monsters.”
Jacob was going to make the last few minutes of Charlotte’s life annoying, wasn’t he?
“And what do you think they are?” Charlotte asked.
Jacob looked uneasy. “Rioters.”
Yup. He was going to make the end of Charlotte’s life annoying.
“The rioter that bit me was missing half of his face,” Olivia said.
“I accidentally took out the eye of the guy who’d bitten me,” Charlotte said.
Jacob looked ill.
“Look, Charlotte said, “I get that you’re scared. We are too. We’re safe, though. Whatever else happens–”
“Hello?” Jacob called out, turning towards the wall of windows. “I’m not like them. I only have a scratch.”
“It’s a bite,” Charlotte said.
“Scratch! The bastard tried to bite me but I moved. It’s not that bad. I shouldn’t be out here with you.”
Olivia smiled. It looked sad. “One of the people in my office came in with a scratch earlier this morning. An hour later, he ate someone’s face off.”
Fuck. That must’ve been...
Wait a moment.
When Chaucer turned, it’d been, what, within five to ten minutes of being bit? His bite was worse than Charlotte’s so that had to have some effect. Parker’s bite hadn’t been as bad as Chaucer’s and he’d died within, what, fifteen, twenty minutes?
Charlotte calculated the timing of her own bite. It’d been a couple of hours, maybe two and a half. If it took an hour for someone with a scratch to turn, she should’ve died by now. That she hadn’t...
She had no idea what it meant.
Crap.
This was probably one of those times when taking more than one biology class in college would’ve come in handy.
“Hello?” Jacob called out. “I only have a scratch. I shouldn’t be out here.”
“Are you married?” Olivia asked Charlotte.
“No. You?”
“Yeah. He’s out of town on business.” Olivia smiled. “I’m glad, you know? He’s out of the area.”
Charlotte nodded. She knew. She wished Derek and Faith had been as well. She...
She wondered when she’d start to die. If it was happening now. If it’d hurt.
If Jacob would be complaining the entire time.
Twenty minutes later, Olivia jerked violently in her chair and died. A minute later, her eyes opened and she thrashed about, trying to reach Charlotte.
“Hello,” Jacob called out, catching Olivia’s attention. “One of them died and–”
“Came back as a zombie?” Charlotte asked.
Olivia snarled at her.
“Sorry,” Charlotte said. “Living impaired.”
“Hello!” Jacob shrieked. Behind them, the zombies’ moans grew. “I’m out here with someone who should be dead and an insane woman! Please let me out!”
Charlotte hmphed. She might be insane but at least she and zombie-Olivia had a grasp on the situation.
The glass door to Spencer’s office opened and Weatherby and Spencer stepped out. In Weatherby’s hand was the baton.
Jacob went quiet.
Weatherby walked over to Olivia, raised the baton, and struck.
One strike, she went still.
Two, her hair became matted with bone and pulp.
Three, her head caved in.
Weatherby was getting good at this.
Spencer approached Charlotte. “How’re we feeling?” he asked, looking from Charlotte to Jacob.
Jacob threw up.
Charlotte seconded the sentiment. She didn’t vomit but she didn’t feel good. Safe-good, not sick-good.
Not yet, anyway.
“Charlotte?”
“Great. Never been better.”
“Good.” Spencer studied Olivia’s remains. “This is, what, an hour from when she said her co-worker had bitten her?”
“Fifty-two minutes to be exact, sir,” Weatherby said.
“And Charlotte was bitten before then?”
“Three hours and ten minutes.”
Yikes. More time had passed than Charlotte had been aware of. Time flew when one was tied to a railing, it seemed.
Spencer studied her. “And yet you look quite fine.”
“No different, at any rate, sir.”
Charlotte thought she could count on Weatherby to ensure she didn’t get too sure of herself.
“Excuse me,” Jacob said.
Spencer and Weatherby looked at him.
“I didn’t get bit.”
“Nothing bit me,” Charlotte said.
“But something did bite you.”
“Your sentence was passive. It’d be more active if–” Charlotte grimaced. “Sorry.”
Spencer chuckled. “Ever the reporter.”
“My point is,” Jacob said, “I’m not going to become... whatever it was she became. Or what her majesty there will become. I just need some iodine and a Band-Aid and I’ll be okay.”
Charlotte also wouldn’t mind some aspirin. She suspected Spencer’s position hadn’t changed from before, though. Since nothing had changed...
Hadn’t something, though? She wasn’t dead yet. That had to mean something. Maybe her immune system was fighting it. Or...
That was it. That was all Charlotte could come up with.
That, sadly, meant a lot of awful things were possible, and she just didn’t know
about them.
“While I would love to play doctor,” Spencer said, “I’m afraid that giving you any of our supplies would be a waste. You understood, I hoped.”
“No, I don’t,” Jacob said. “It rained and we’ve been sitting out here, cold and exposed. If we come down with anything–”
“Besides zombie-ism,” Charlotte said.
Jacob scowled. “I’m tempted to sue you.”
Spencer smiled. “Okay.”
Jacob blinked. “What?”
“Okay,” Spencer said. “I’m open to that. In fact, let’s make a deal. If you’re fine in two hours–”
“I’d be more comfortable with four,” Weatherby said.
“Four hours, I’ll release you. I’ll write you a huge check to compensate for your time and have Mr. Weatherby look into your wounds.”
“He’s a bodyguard, not a doctor,” Charlotte said. “With all due respect, Mr. Weatherby.”
“That's quite all right.”
Holy shit. The guy answered her. That meant...
Charlotte had no idea. She just doubted it was good.
“Mr. Weatherby studied premed prior to finding his calling,” Spencer said. “He can reset bones, do stitches, and write terribly.”
“Stereotype,” Charlotte said.
“Nevertheless, sadly true.” Spencer walked between Charlotte and Jacob and then back. “Now, if you survive, I will be devoting time and money to your protection, for obviously the future of humanity depends on your miracle blood, which allowed you to live where others had died.”
Charlotte stared at him.
She suspected Jacob was staring too.
“Of course,” Spencer added, glancing at Charlotte. “You will need to sign some forms. We’ll be entering a symbiotic relationship. You’ll get the medical attention, food, water, whatever you need. You’d also get to see behind the scenes here at Blake Tech. I need to know I can trust you.”
“You’ll personally bash my head in, right?” Charlotte asked Weatherby.
“Sparing the right side, which is your best,” Weatherby said.
Spencer chuckled. “You’re alive when you shouldn’t be, Charlotte. You don’t know what the next few hours will bring.”
Charlotte rather thought she did know what the next few hours–or however long she’d be alive–would be like. She’d grow pale. She’d have a seizure. Then she’d die.
Before then, she'd have to listen to Jacob and be really, really uncomfortable.
“If you’re hoping one of us might be immune,” Charlotte said, “it would be a good idea to give us some medical attention and a change of clothes. It wouldn’t do for us to survive the bites–”
“Scratches.”
“–and then die because of infection or exposure.”
“Interesting point. Mr. Weatherby?”
Weatherby left.
“Wait,” Jacob said. “You’ll take her argument but not mine?”
“When we let you in,” Spencer said, “one of the creatures got in with you. You hid behind others and didn't help us take care of him.”
“I’m not a murderer. Wait, you’re saying she’s killed someone?”
No, though Jacob tempted her.
Spencer glanced at Charlotte. “Are you still thankful we let him in?”
Charlotte frowned. “Him? No. Olivia, yes.”
Spencer knelt in front of Charlotte. “When you cast out your aid, you don’t get to choose who you’re benefitting. Your effort might only aid both of them. It could only help one.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Olivia just to spite Jacob.”
“My hero,” Jacob said, his tone annoyed.
He was welcome. Asshole.
There was a whisper of movement, drawing Charlotte’s attention to the glass doors. Zach held one door open, allowing Weatherby to step outside. In one hand, Weatherby held a tall plastic bottle; in the other was a bundle of white rags.
“Wow,” Zach said, studying Charlotte. In his arms were a couple coats. “You’re still alive.”
“I’m glad to see you too,” Charlotte said dryly.
“I’m sorry.” Zach inched closer, letting the door slip shut. “I didn’t mean any insult. It’s just, the odds of you still being alive are astronomical.”
Yeah. Charlotte knew.
What she didn't know was what it meant.
Weatherby stepped up beside Spencer and undid the cap on the bottle.
Spencer glanced at him. “Where did we get the rags?”
“Theo volunteered his gym shirt. He said he washed it yesterday and hadn’t had a chance to work out.”
“He might miss it in a few days.”
“Were you hoping for some used rags that the cleaning staff thought were too torn up to keep?” Jacob asked.
“You’ve spent time with them,” Charlotte said. “You know the answer’s probably yes.”
Spencer snorted. “All right, all right. The shirt’s already torn up anyway.”
Jacob looked ill. It could’ve been the scratch. It could’ve been the situation.
Whichever it was, Charlotte understood. The pain was bad but their host’s bedside manner wasn’t that great either.
Weatherby approached Charlotte. The scent of iodine grew, subtle and unpleasant, and all the more wonderful for it. “This might sting, Ms. Stevens.”
Considering the painful throbbing it was now, Charlotte wasn’t certain she’d feel it.
Weatherby poured the liquid on Charlotte’s arm.
Cold swept over Charlotte’s arm. When it touched the wound, the throbbing became a heavy pulse, sending a wave of agony through her.
“Fuck,” Charlotte cried out.
“A screamer,” Zach murmured. “I’d wondered.”
What?
Okay. That was it. Charlotte might not be a zombie but fuck it, she wanted to bite that guy.
The bonds around her wrists, sadly, said no.
“Zachariah,” Spencer said. “Inside.”
“Seriously?” Zach asked.
Spencer frowned. “If you make me repeat myself–”
Zach turned and headed back into the building.
Spencer looked back at Charlotte. “I’m sorry about that. I think he meant it as a joke. A poor one, certainly, but I don’t think he meant any ill.”
“Yeah, you know the great thing about jokes like that?” Charlotte asked. “Sometimes the jokester just has a crappy sense of humor. Sometimes he’s testing the waters, seeing if the people around him agree with him, or will just laugh and ignore what he’s saying.”
Spencer’s frown grew thoughtful. “In a normal situation, I’d recommend filing a complaint. Considering the circumstances, all I can do is tell you that I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Keep an eye–
Fuck.
That might be the best that Spencer could do.
Okay. Fine. Zach was being watched. Maybe he just had a terrible sense of humor or maybe he was a jerk or maybe the stress of the situation had made him say something he otherwise wouldn’t. Charlotte couldn’t say she’d never done that.
Whatever it was, she wanted to believe it would be okay. Nothing else was okay. Let this one thing turn out to not be so bad.
Weatherby pressed cool cloth against Charlotte’s wound. The pain deepened, sending a circle of black around Charlotte’s vision.
She blinked and tried to focus. She didn’t want to pass out. If she passed out, she might never wake up.
God help her, though. It hurt.
Once Weatherby had cleaned Charlotte’s wound, he wrapped a strip of cloth around her arm. He secured it with a small metal clip, draped one of the coats over Charlotte, and then went over to Jacob, where he revealed that the man was a grunter.
“Let’s hear it for first aid, right?” Charlotte said.
Jacob gave her a look that, if his hands had been freed, would likely have been accompanied by a profane gesture or two.
Whispers approache
d, grew louder.
Charlotte looked over to the door. Through the glass, he saw Theo moving closer. Behind him was another man.
Theo slid the glass door open. “We have another survivor, sir.”
“Please have him join us.” Spencer turned to Weatherby. “If you’ll please clear a seat for our new guest?
Weatherby set the iodine and remains of the rags on a small iron table and then headed for Olivia.
“That chair is bloody,” Charlotte said.
“If I had to be talked into any medical attention at all,” Spencer said, “do you really think I’d bring out another chair? Not unless there was more than one survivor, actually.”
Spencer Blake: humanitarian of the year. Truly he was a man of their time.
That that time sucked was just a coincidence.
“Four hours?” Jacob asked.
“Four hours,” Spencer said.
Weatherby began untying Olivia’s corpse from the railing.
By the doors, there was a hush of movement, and then Theo brought out a dark haired older man.
“Welcome,” Spencer said. Behind him, Weatherby tossed Olivia’s body over the railing.
“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man said, cradling his bandaged left wrist against his chest.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Charlotte said. It wasn’t the eulogy Olivia deserved but it was better than the wet sound that was her striking her last resting place.
Spencer motioned toward the empty seat. “If you’ll please have a seat, Mr...?”
The man stepped back. “You can’t be serious.”
“Unless you’d prefer to go back out there.”
The man glanced out at the lot.
Whatever he saw had him pale and then approach the newly vacant seat.
“Hi,” Charlotte said as the man passed.
The man glanced at her, grimaced, and moved on.
It seemed Charlotte had a new friend.
“She’s insane,” Jacob whispered to the other man.
“I’m beginning to see that.”
Charlotte frowned. Like any of them were dealing with this well.
Later, when Jacob and the unnamed dark haired man were dead, Charlotte had to wonder how well she was dealing with this.
Charlotte slouched back in her seat. Her hands were numb and the pain had softened into the hellish throbbing she hadn’t realized she would miss until it was gone. She was cold and thirsty and...