Zombie Rehab: Impact Series - Book 2

by Craig Halloran

CHAPTER 10

  Washington, DC

  “So, you're saying the WHS is trying to contract out the zombies to the federal government to handle grounds keeping services?” Don said, avidly watching the scene on Jack's computer.

  The colorful display was a video of over a dozen scientists trying to control the harnesses on the heads of the zombies. One zombie was lurching inside of its stiff joints as it tried to chop up a bush. Obviously fascinated by it all, Jack tapped at the screen and brought up more images.

  “Watch this, Uncle Don; isn't it amazing?”

  “I’m watching,” Don said, covering his mouth as he yawned.

  Jack pointed at the screen and said, “See, this is Doctor Milano, and she has the remote control that manages the head and neck. The retainer in the zombie’s mouth allows it to respond to signals. A heavy jolt of electricity sent from that battery pack into the bit in the zombie’s mouth will cause it to turn left or right, or go forward.”

  “What? How on Earth can it do that? Are you sure the WHS has approved this? I mean, that seems pretty cruel, running electricity through a dead guy.”

  Jack smirked and said. “Frankenstein liked it.”

  “Ho-ho, funny, Boy, funny. And we know how that story ended. Not exactly how I envisioned spending my retirement days, but I see where you are going with this. Seriously though, how does the zombie know where to go? I mean, just because you run some electricity in it, you shouldn’t be able to control where it goes. So does this have something to do with the XT Formula?”

  “No, not the XT, but I’m glad you asked. Experiments … Good old fashioned experiments. Once the zombies were subdued, we could strap them down on a table and run tests. As it turns out, there is still a living network of wires er … well veins … inside them. We just had to figure out how to manipulate them. Since the zombies are unconscious, so to speak, and they feel no pain, we were able to dig into their brains and rewire them.”

  Don refilled his coffee and brought it to his mouth as he said, “So, instead of killing them all, were are going spend millions of—”

  “Billions.”

  “Okay … Billions of dollars so that we can have 24-hour gardeners. Sheesh. So let me picture this: I’m driving to my office, and instead of seeing a human being watering the lawns and planting the flowers, I’m going to see a zombie that thrives off of a steady diet of Zombie Dew. I mean, people need jobs still, don’t they? Won’t this cost a lot more than just paying regular ole’ people?”

  Jack hadn’t really given it much thought. He only cared about what was going on in his little world in the WHS and not so much what was going on elsewhere. So far as he was concerned, the flowers took care of themselves. It had never occurred to him that people actually did it.

  “Well, I guess it’s hard to find people to do those types of jobs,” Jack replied. “Besides, the zombies can probably work at night, and no one will ever know that they are there. Right?”

  Don huffed as he got up off the bench and started pacing around it.

  “I like seeing people in the gardens. I like seeing people anywhere, especially since the Zombies almost ate all of us just a few years ago. Why would the WHS think that people want to see zombies doing what normal people could do? What else are you going to train them to do, be lifeguards?”

  “Uncle Don, this is just an early phase. I mean, we really have a long way to go before we replace people.”

  Don’s face began to whiten as his jaw dropped.

  Whoops. “I mean, the zombies are only going to do so much. The WHS just wants to show the world that the zombies aren’t such a big threat anymore.”

  Don shook his head.

  “Oh, I see, they want to put on a good show. A humanitarian effort. Put the zombies on display in some type of zoo so the world can see what a positive impact they can have on society. Seriously Jack, is this what the WHS has you doing? I thought they were trying to cure them, not turn them into appliances.”

  Jack watched his uncle pace back and forth, his face creased in deep thought. He figured it was a generational thing. Jack had grown up with zombies all of his life. There had been video games, festivals, television shows, and movies aplenty even before the zombie outbreak occurred. When the zombies came, it wasn’t a surprise for some, so much as it was an expectation. Jack even knew some people who had let the zombies take them, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t wish to encounter one that was someone he once knew. Still, he was more than curious as to where the zombies came from. The more he played along with the WHS and the harder he worked trying get up the ladder, the sooner he was certain that he would get his answer one day.

  His uncle sat back down beside him, shaking his head.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just that the more I know about what the WHS does, the less I understand what the WHS does. This is science fiction. Apocalyptic. I know history, and nothing, I say nothing compares to this,” Don said, rapping his knuckle on the computer screen. “We are talking about the dead walking among the living, and we are trying to act like it's normal. I’ve been acting like it's normal. It’s not normal.”

  “Big paychecks make a lot of things seem normal,” Jack commented.

  He could feel his uncle bristle at his side. Perhaps he had crossed the line. What’s going on with him? His uncle's current rambling was uncharacteristic, and he couldn’t ever remember seeing him pace before. Uncle Don was like a mighty dam that held back the flood waters in the most chaotic situations. Now the old man was carrying on like the world was going to end. It was making him a little bit nervous. Why would his uncle care if zombies pushed lawnmowers or not? So what.

  “Money doesn’t give you peace of mind, just temporary comfort. Jack, I’m in the position I’m in for one reason … to protect the only thing that is dear to me … my family. I’m …,” he grabbed Jack by the shoulder, “We’re lucky ones, to still have our family. But there is no guarantee we’ll still have them with us tomorrow.”

  Jack patted his uncle’s hand and said, “Thanks. I appreciate all that you have done for me and Angie. But, really, what’s the big deal about using some zombies for cleaning up around here? I mean, we can’t just kill them.”

  His uncle began pulling at his chin hairs and started taking deep breaths through his nose as he watched a flock of ducks heading south. Jack had never been farther south than he was right now, but the stiff winds prompted some thoughts about sunny beaches in Florida.

  Don spoke:

  “Jack, with government, it always starts as something small; an alleged act of sympathy and compassion in the name of some noble cause. But when you plant an evil seed—and you water it—it grows like a weed and spreads as fast as a forest fire.”

  “How can a mindless thing be evil?”

  Don almost gaped as his statement.

  “Anything that takes a human life without fear or remorse is evil, Jack, especially when it eats them. What did they teach you in college, anyway?”

  “I’m just looking at it from the zombie’s point of view.”

  Don laughed out loud as he held his hand to his head and said, “Their point of view? They don’t have a point of view. They don’t have a mind.”

  His uncle was becoming winded as he spoke, and he began waving his arm overhead. Jack's heart jumped in his chest.

  “Uncle Don!? Uncle Don, are you alright? Is it a heart attack?”

  Oliver, the bodyguard, was at his uncle’s side and holding out a small plastic canister. Don grabbed the inhaler and sucked the mist into his mouth.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Jack said as he scooted over closer. His own heart was thumping behind his temples. He had never seen his uncle in such bad shape before. His uncle took another puff and waved him off. Then a fit of coughing followed. “Do something, Oliver!”

  “He’s fine. It’s just an asthma attack. Just give him a few seconds. What did you say to him, anyway?”

  Jack wasn’t paying Oliver an
y mind, though; his thoughts were only on his uncle.

  “I’m fine,” Don managed to croak out. “I’m okay; it happens. Thanks, Oliver,” he said, handing the man back the inhaler.

  “Shouldn’t you keep that in your pocket?” Jack suggested.

  “No,” Don grinned, “I like to live dangerously. Now where were we? Oh I remember. Hey Oliver, Jack was just telling me about the zombies' point … of … view. Care to listen in?”

  Oliver glared at Jack, shook his grim face in disgust, and walked away. Jack began to feel uneasy.

  “Ah … he probably wouldn’t understand, seeing how zombies killed his wife and children. You see, it’s going to be very hard to convince someone that a zombie had a good reason to do that.”

  Jack felt himself shrinking underneath the twinkling gaze of his uncle. He was only reiterating what he had learned from the zombie psychology courses he took in college and from the training he had received from the WHS. He felt like a fool at the moment as he looked away from his uncle.

  “Sorry, Uncle Don. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you okay now?” he said, finding the courage to look back. He’s getting old, but I’ve got to be tougher than him. Shake it off. He’s weak.

  “Of course, and so is Oliver. Now, honestly Jack, do you really think that zombies can actually do good things? I’m not talking about with our help. I’m talking about doing good things of their own free will?

  “I suppose not. But, they’re making progress. Maybe. The XT Formula is allowing us to do some amazing things.”

  Don huffed, coughed a little more, and took another drink of coffee.

  “Well, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been hearing about things with the XT and —”

  “You have? When?” Jack said, sounding disappointed.

  “Easy now, I’ve only heard that you’ve been overseeing some breakthroughs. I don’t know what they are because I wanted to hear it from you first. That’s why we’re here. Now show me what you got.”

  Jack was excited. It was something like the first time he took his favorite toy, Buzz Lightyear, to school for show and tell. His nimble fingers were quick at work when an image emerged. It was a view of a room full of zombies that panned back and forth in a quirky pattern. It seemed as if the person holding the camera wasn’t really paying any attention to what they were doing. The picture on the screen slowly rolled to the left or right, up and down, back and forth. The slack-jawed faces of the zombies—men and women of all sizes and colors—filled the hangar-like room, at least a dozen of them, each just as fascinating to Jack as the other.

  “This is making me nauseous. You need to fire that camera-man,” Don said, taking another slurp of coffee.

  “It’s not a camera-man; it’s a zombie,” Jack said with a smile.

  “What? Are you telling me the WHS is spending money to create zombie paparazzi?”

  Jack bursted out laughing.

  “No, no, Uncle Don. The zombie isn’t holding the camera. The zombie is the camera. What you are looking at is the view through the eyes of a zombie.”

  All Jack heard was his uncle’s coffee cup clattering on the pavement.