The Zombie Room

by R. D. Ronald

  The woman in beige walked toward the girl but there was no urgency or suspicion in her movements. She linked arms with her, and turned back towards the clinic. ‘Come on Tatty, time to go back inside and see Dr Chu.’

  Back at the bungalow Tazeem still sat dejectedly at the table with his phone pressed to his ear. He looked older than Mangle had noticed before; the added worry of each passing day had aged him.

  ‘OK, call me right away if you hear anything,’ he said and ended the call.

  Mangle sat down beside him and Decker went to fetch three beers from the fridge. By the time the beers had been drunk Tazeem had been brought up to speed about their trip back out to the clinic.

  ‘So she was right out by the fence and didn’t make a run for it?’

  ‘No. She didn’t even look like it had crossed her mind. And she wore no collar like the girl last time,’ Mangle said.

  ‘The attendant didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He barely looked up from his book. The girls were wandering around out there as if they didn’t have a care in the world,’ Decker added.

  ‘I’m getting nowhere. It looks like the one person who can give us some answers is this Dr Chu.’

  At just after 6 p.m. on Friday, Benjamin Chu was eager to begin his weekend of rest and relaxation. He climbed behind the wheel of his steel-grey Aston Martin, pressed the ignition button and waited as the seats, mirrors and steering wheel hummed into his pre-programmed position. He tossed his security pass onto the seat beside him, and followed the gravel driveway the mile towards the main gate. The evening had prematurely darkened and the gathering clouds began to shed a fine rain.

  The Saturday night of unadulterated pleasure he had planned at The Club, inaugurating the new girls, was a tantalising prospect. The Club had priced itself out of the market for all but the most lavish and frivolous of patrons. The delays and disappointments he had faced at the clinic in achieving the ladies’ cultural reform could be disheartening, but finally seeing them in their new environment, acting as he had instructed, was almost reward enough. The generous six-figure salary he collected in addition he considered to be a very welcome bonus. He smiled to himself as the gate opened allowing the car in front to proceed, and reached for his ID as he pulled into position at the security console.

  ‘Please present identification,’ a voice crackled through the speaker. Benjamin placed his hologramatic ID card with the neon green triangle against the scanner, and looked into the camera lens. These security measures were completely unnecessary in his opinion: considering the lengths he went to with the girls, there was zero risk of escape. Too much security might draw unwanted attention to the clinic from curious outsiders, but the ID scanner at the gate at least ensured there were no tourists.

  ‘You may proceed,’ the voice announced, and the gates parted for him to leave.

  Benjamin withdrew his ID and drove through the gate. The job at the clinic was a result of furthering research his father had begun many years ago in China. This work was intended to create an alternative to life imprisonment or execution, for the most serious and habitual offenders. His father believed that by curing the behaviour patterns that led to extreme anti-social behaviour, you could regulate and rehabilitate the individual, enabling their release back into society.

  The implications for other potential applications of his work were quickly realised. Benjamin’s father had been a good man, and when the government took control of his work, he destroyed as much of the research as he could and fled the country. He settled in Garden Heights as a political refugee, took on a menial position, and married. After some years his father had written memoirs of his time working in China that he absolutely refused to have published, but was pleased when his son took such an interest and happily answered his questions. His father died when Benjamin was a teenager, and when he announced that he wanted to continue his father’s work, initially his mother was delighted.

  But to have such capabilities, and not exploit them ambitiously and financially, made no sense to Benjamin. His growing expertise took him outside the realms of general decency and beyond his university’s tolerance for negative publicity, and he was subsequently expelled. His mother moved away, unable to tolerate the mistrust of the community after Benjamin was labelled a ‘Psychological Frankenstein’ in a newspaper exposé.

  Without the university’s resources Benjamin was left with a huge financial shortfall, and test subjects were hard to come by. He was in need of a sponsor. But the negative press from his research scandal had attracted the attention of an organisation capable of satiating his desires for wealth, power and, above all, knowledge.

  The rain fell heavier and Benjamin’s Aston Martin automatically increased its wiper speed. He chose to believe that his father would be proud of his accomplishments, whatever his mother had said. His father’s research had been limited to psychological manipulation, and environmental control, but with the added chemical element that Benjamin had perfected, he believed that given time, there was nothing he couldn’t coerce a patient into willingly doing.

  A set of flashing hazard lights up ahead caused Benjamin to ease off the accelerator. Some idiot had broken down and left their car jutting out, blocking most of the road. Benjamin steered towards the grass verge, planning to drive onto it to pass by, but the stranded motorist was now walking towards his car waving their arms to flag him down. Great, he thought. A chunk of my weekend wasted already. But a quick phone call to roadside assistance and he’d be on his way. Five minutes he’d give, tops. His window purred down only a couple of inches to prevent any rainwater invading the interior, as the soaked motorist walked around to the driver’s side.

  ‘Hi, thanks for stopping. Could you help me get the car going?’

  ‘I know nothing about cars, you should phone for assistance,’ Benjamin said irritably, and looked forward again, indicating his desire to leave.

  ‘It’ll just take a moment, I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘If you don’t have a phone, I’ll make a call for you. Other than that you’re on your own, friend,’ Benjamin said impatiently and revved his engine.

  The passenger side window exploded inward, showering Benjamin with shards of glass. He panicked and stamped on the accelerator, sending the Aston Martin skidding forwards on the greasy road surface. Through the rain-streaked glass of the car in front, he saw a head pop up in the driver’s seat, and the car reversed into his path. The front of Benjamin’s car crunched into the rear bumper of what was clearly not a broken-down car. The Aston Martin stalled. Whoever had smashed his window caught up and reached through the shattered pane, grabbing a fistful of Benjamin’s jacket and screaming threats of violence if he tried to move the car again.

  When the doctor refused to get out of the car and help, Mangle was at a loss. He hadn’t contemplated somebody who wouldn’t get out and help in a similar situation. He saw Decker sneak out and around the side of the doctor’s car, and when Decker smashed the window, Mangle was almost as surprised as the doctor. Tazeem saw things weren’t going to plan and slid over into the driver’s seat of the Volkswagen. Mangle regained his senses and ran towards the cars. Decker was already ahead of him, yelling and attempting to haul the doctor from the Aston Martin. He snatched away the doctor’s cell phone before he could call for help.

  ‘Throw him in the back,’ Decker said, pulling the doctor through the shattered window.

  He rushed around and restarted the doctor’s car. They had picked the spot carefully and Decker drove towards a dense clump of fir trees and manoeuvred the car behind them. Running back to the road, Decker kicked away the broken glass, leaving no evidence of the collision.

  Mangle hopped into the driver’s seat of the Volkswagen and once Decker, Tazeem and their captive were all on board he accelerated away.

  The lock-up wasn’t the ideal location to interrogate someone, but their only other alternative was the bungalow, so it would have to do. Tazeem pulled down the shutters and locked t
hem. Decker dragged the terrified doctor to the chair they had prepared, and taped his arms in place. He didn’t know how far they would have to go to get the information they needed.

  ‘What do you want? I have money, I’ll give you all I have,’ the doctor said in a shrill voice.

  ‘We don’t want your money,’ Tazeem said bitterly. ‘I want to know where my cousin is.’

  ‘What?’ The doctor stammered.

  ‘Is Ermina at the clinic?’ Mangle demanded.

  ‘I don’t know the name of every girl there,’ the doctor protested at what he considered to be an absurd notion.

  ‘So how do we find out if she’s there?’ Tazeem asked. His voice raised an octave, and a note of pleading had crept in.

  ‘It’ll be in the records, if she’s there now or if she’s been there. They’re in the office next to mine.’

  ‘You can’t think if we let him go he’ll just gonna call us up with what we want,’ Decker said, as Tazeem looked to be contemplating the possibility. The doctor’s immediate claim that that’s exactly what he’d do if they freed him went unheeded.

  ‘You’ll have to get us in there,’ Tazeem stated.

  ‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t just walk into the clinic, they have security.’

  ‘How many guards are on duty at the weekend?’ Tazeem persisted.

  ‘Right now, just one. This is a very busy weekend, a lot of the girls are being moved into the club environment,’ the doctor said, pride evident in his voice. It made Tazeem feel sick.

  ‘Will he be armed?’

  ‘Yes, the security staff are always armed. But the attendants aren’t armed as they chaperone the girls between sessions, in case anyone sees them.’

  ‘We’re going back there now. No one will know he’s missing yet. This will be our best chance to get inside,’ Tazeem said.

  Mangle and Decker exchanged looks but said nothing. The doctor protested enough for them both. Tazeem peeled off the tape holding the doctor’s arms to the chair and ushered him back toward the car, pushed him into the back seat and slammed the door.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Decker asked.

  ‘No, but what else am I left with? There’s been no word from Ermina in over a week. I have to know if she’s been forced onto this … conveyor belt of sex slavery,’ Tazeem said, shaking his head as he reached for the right words. ‘If there’s even a possibility of her being there, I have to try. I appreciate all the help you’ve both given, but you shouldn’t come with me. We don’t know if anything he said is true; there could be a dozen guys back there. Get a cab back to the house and if I can I’ll meet you there later.’

  ‘After seeing that girl in the club, the way she looked at me and not being able to help her, I’d rather come too,’ Mangle said.

  ‘What about you, Decker?’

  ‘Alright, let’s go. But you both owe me way big after getting messed up with all this shit. I’d have had a safer life if I’d gone into dealing drugs.’

  The plan was for the doctor to drive his Aston Martin through the gates as they crouched down out of sight. They’d keep both front windows down so there’d be no evidence of the smashed passenger side, and the doctor could use the prang on the front of the car as an excuse for returning if the security guard mentioned it. Although they had no firearms, all three picked up sharp implements from around the garage that would act as makeshift weapons if necessary.

  The doctor’s car was parked behind the trees where Decker had left it. They pulled the Volkswagen alongside and transferred over.

  ‘This screwdriver is up against the back of your seat,’ Decker warned after tunnelling through the padding, ‘and if you try to alert the guard, I promise you I’ll ram it into your spine.’

  Benjamin nodded and swallowed, but said nothing. He looked pale and his hands shook slightly as they gripped the steering wheel.

  The rain subsided as they drove the few miles to the clinic in silence. The doctor picked his ID card off the floor where it had fallen after the collision, and held it as he drove up to the scanner outside the gates.

  ‘Please present identification,’ a disinterested voice announced after a few moments. Benjamin held his card to the scanner and waited.

  ‘Hello, Dr Chu. I wasn’t expecting you back tonight.’

  ‘Hi, Tom, I forgot some files I need to look at over the weekend,’ he said, and smiled thinly. Decker pushed the screwdriver through the fabric and Benjamin could feel the steel tip pressing against his lower back.

  ‘OK, Dr Chu, you may proceed.’

  Benjamin dropped the card onto his lap and drove through the gates. The gravel grumbled beneath the Aston Martin’s tyres as the doctor navigated the driveway, unfurling through a thick stand of pine trees. The road was unlit; the only illumination came from the one remaining headlight on the Aston Martin. Benjamin kept the car at a sedate speed and after several moments the clinic came into view.

  ‘Where do you normally park?’ Tazeem asked, peering above the dashboard.

  ‘Over there,’ Benjamin said, indicating an empty patch of gravel 50 yards from the main entrance, with room to park around a dozen cars.

  Tazeem scanned the area. A security camera protruded from the second storey on a metal arm, perusing its automated arc.

  ‘Park under the camera,’ he instructed.

  Benjamin pulled up where he was told and killed the engine.

  ‘Will we pass by anyone on the way to the office?’

  ‘No. The guard’s station is on the south side of the building next to the girls’ living quarters. The offices are in the other direction.’

  ‘What about cameras?’ Decker asked. ‘There’s one on the main door. That’s the only door that can be opened from outside.’

  ‘How are we to get past without the guard seeing us then?’ Mangle asked.

  ‘You’ll have to find something for him to do that will distract him for a few minutes. Just enough time to get us through.’

  ‘Well?’ Decker said, leaning forward towards the doctor. ‘Think quick.’ And again he pressed the sharp point of the screwdriver into his back.

  ‘Alright … we have had some issues with one of the girls. She’s in one of the isolation units. I could ask him to make an extra trip down there.’

  ‘Isolation unit? Jesus, it’s worse than prison,’ Decker said.

  ‘Is that anywhere near the offices?’ Tazeem asked.

  ‘No, it’s close to the guard’s station so he would only be away a few minutes.’

  ‘OK, do it,’ Tazeem ordered, and handed back the doctor’s phone.

  He watched carefully as Benjamin scrolled through the phone’s contact list and highlighted ‘Clinic Security’.

  ‘Tom?’ Benjamin said into the phone after it rang a few times. ‘Could you go and check on the girl we have in L2? … That’s great, but if you’d just have another look I’d feel a lot better … No, just call if there are any problems. I’ll be in and out in just a few minutes … OK, Tom, I’ll see you Monday.’

  Tazeem took the phone back and counted to 60, which he hoped was long enough for the guard to have moved away from his post by the monitors.

  ‘OK, let’s go,’ he said, and got out of the car.

  Benjamin, Mangle and Decker got out and followed him to the entrance. Benjamin tapped in the five-digit access code, a beep sounded, then a green light flashed announcing that the door was unlocked.

  ‘It’s along the hall to the right,’ Benjamin said, walking through the dimly lit reception area. He turned right and passed by six identical wooden doors before stopping outside the seventh. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a key ring and unlocked the door.

  The room was dark. Mangle pressed the light switch and four fluorescent tubes flickered into life, casting the room in a cold blue glare. Filing cabinets were lined up along two of the walls, and the windows were obscured by closed venetian blinds.

  The doctor handed the key ring to Tazeem.‘This key will unlock th
em,’ he said. ‘Take whatever information you want and then please leave.’

  Tazeem unlocked the first cabinet and began flipping through the folders inside. ‘There must have been hundreds of girls through this place,’ he said, disbelievingly.

  Decker stepped forward and pulled out a folder at random. A photo of a dispirited girl in her early twenties looked back at him when he opened it. Name: Alenka, and a reference number written in black marker.

  ‘What are these numbers for?’ he asked, flipping through the pages.

  ‘The girls are rated,’ the doctor said, taking a seat behind the desk.

  ‘Rated for what?’ Mangle asked.

  ‘Lots of things: receptiveness, obedience, ability.’

  ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘It’s just organisation. A way of finding which girls are better suited to which tasks.’

  ‘There’s no mention of her so far,’ Tazeem said and moved onto one of two remaining cabinets.

  Mangle opened the last one. ‘What do you do to them to make them so subservient?’ he asked.

  ‘We work with what is known as the BITE method: “Behaviour, Information, Thought and Emotion”. A dependency is created by controlling stimulus through all channels. We strip away all distractions and begin their thought reform from scratch. The process can be both invigorating and rewarding for the patient.’

  ‘What do you mean by strip away?’

  ‘We take away their identity, their individuality. Keep a tight grip on information, no outside influences. Show them that independent thought is responsible for the bad situations they found themselves in, in the past; that by following the programme they are positively moving towards a new life for themselves and all the rewards that it can hold.’

  ‘You make it sound like a liberating experience,’ Mangle said bitterly as he continued flipping through countless profile folders. ‘These girls are sex slaves. Their lives are worthless after you’re done with them.’

  ‘The reconditioning helps them get past any moral or societal boundaries imposed upon them during their upbringing. Sure, some of the girls work in the sex trade for a while to pay for the treatment; this is a very expensive business. But afterwards, they move on to new lives and leave their past behind them.’