Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel)

by Shana Festa

  "Welcome to Asylum," he said, sweeping his hand around the well-kept grounds.

  "This place is enormous," marveled a wide-eyed Meg.

  "Thirty-six thousand square feet of opulence."

  "That's eighteen of our house packed into one," deduced Jake. Our home had been 2,000 square feet under air.

  "What's going on up there?" I squinted up to the highest point in the building. A round tower with a domed ceiling was situated in the center of the mansion, and three men armed with, what looked like, scoped rifles stood under the open area.

  "Ah," Vance said, "that's the tower. Eighty-two feet high with panoramic views as far as the eye can see. At least three snipers are stationed in the tower at all times to keep an eye out for large groups of the undead. The gate is effective in keeping out a handful, but it's not strong enough to withstand any significant efforts." He noticed me eyeing the gate with concern and attempted to quell my fears. "Don't worry though. We haven't had any groups larger than twenty over this way, and the shooters culled most of the herd before they got anywhere near the gate. The traps pick up the stragglers."

  "Sign me up for the grand tour," said Meg, still taking in the view.

  "All in good time, little one. The good news is that there's room at the inn. The not-so-good news is that before you can enter, we've got to follow new arrival protocol."

  I groaned, knowing all too well the humiliation we were about to face. "Well, I hope you have some females on hand and someplace less public, because I don't care how charming you are, you're still not getting me naked."

  "Have no fear, Miss Emma. I'm just the doorman. This body," he jabbed a finger at his chest, "doesn't leave the gate."

  A smiling couple walked in our direction, hand-in-hand, waving at us. The welcome-wagon had arrived. I plastered on my best fake smile and waved back.

  "Well, hi there!" the bubbly woman chirped at me. "I'm Michele, and this is my hubby Mark. We've been tour guides here at the Ringling estate for the last decade."

  "Nice to meet both of you. I'm Emma, and this is my husband, Jake, and his sister, Meg." Meg flashed her pearly whites and wiggled her fingers in greeting. Jake, however, just nodded at them.

  "I'm sure good old Vance here told you about our new arrival procedures, so if you'll follow me, ladies, and, Jake, you can follow Mark, we can get the formal stuff out of the way and get you settled in. You must be exhausted and hungry."

  One look at Jake told me he was on high alert, which was to be expected. I wanted to talk with Meg alone about the subtle changes I'd noticed in his demeanor, but Michele was up our asses, shooing us toward a freestanding cabanalike structure by the water. I took note of the two armed men following behind us, and found Jake had similar stage-five clingers on his trail.

  Michele chattered on behind us, and I tuned into her commentary. "So, here at Asylum our number one priority is the safety of our residents. Every person behind these walls does their part in contributing to the betterment of the community."

  We moved around to the back of the cabana which, to my surprise, was open. Inside the little cove area was a massage table and storage space. Our guardians maintained a respectable distance, giving us privacy but maintaining proximity to act if necessary.

  Our guide patted the massage table and told us to take a seat before wheeling over a canvas padded stool and sitting in front of us with a clipboard.

  "If it's okay with you girls, I'll just ask you some questions before I check you over."

  "Sure," I replied. Personally, I found this option lacking in common sense, but I was more than willing to delay getting naked for a few more minutes.

  "Let's start with you, Emma. Can you spell your full name for me?" I answered her questions, which were pretty innocuous. Name, age, location, trade profession, and any other useful skills. "Do you cook?" she asked.

  I snorted. "I think the more appropriate question is should I cook. If it comes from a box and requires no skill, I'm your woman. If you want anything cooked without burnt edges, or food with flavor, I'm not the droid you're looking for."

  "Okay, great," she replied, and I could almost see my Star Wars reference fly right over her head. "Any kids?"

  "Nope."

  "Any life-threatening medical issues or communicable diseases?"

  "Nope."

  "Any history of serious conditions in your immediate family, either parents or siblings?"

  "My dad has heart disease, and I'm an only child."

  "Great!" she exclaimed, a little too happy for my liking. I think she was just going through the motions. Who in their right mind follows up heart disease with such an enthusiastic response?

  Michele asked Meg all the same questions, and I saw Meg's smile falter when Michele asked about her siblings. She was thinking about Vinny. She didn't have siblings anymore, she had sibling. Singular. Our chipper friend remained oblivious to her shift in mood and put her clipboard down.

  "Now for the not so fun part," she said, putting on a frowny face. I need to check you for bites. Which means you'll need to take off all your clothes."

  We complied, and stood in the open cabana shivering in the buff while she inspected us for wounds. She asked about the gash on Meg's leg, and we told her the truth; she'd caught it on a car. The cut was already healing and didn't show any signs of infection.

  Satisfied that we were free of bites, Michele clapped her hands together and said, "Yay!"

  I'm dead serious; she actually used the word yay; you can't make this shit up.

  "We've got one more female in our party," I said, laughing at the poor girl's expense when she looked confused. "Daphne." Upon hearing her name, the dog got excited and began whining to be let out. Michele gave her a cursory inspection and deemed her free of infection. The dog won her over with kisses and she squeezed her in a hug.

  "Is it okay if I leave her out of the bag? She's spent more time in there than I'd like lately. I'll keep her in my arms and won't let her down to roam around. Though I'd love to take her some place before we head back so she can have a potty break."

  "That would be fine, but I can't let you wander off. You can set her down outside the cabana to do her business." She gave Daphne another pat on the head.

  "Thanks, Michele. That would be great."

  "Go ahead and get dressed. I'll give you some privacy and wait for you outside."

  Now, she gives us privacy?

  "You may want to consider getting a tetanus shot just to be on the safe side," she offered to Meg. "Once you're out of quarantine, I'll have Dr. Chen come see you."

  "Wait. What? Quarantine? You just confirmed we weren't hiding any bites. Why would we need to be quarantined?" I asked, my patience was wearing thin and it was reflected in my tone.

  "Oh yes," she said, her exuberant facade not shaken. "Twenty-four hours in isolation. But don't worry; it won't be like prison or anything. We'll make sure you have access to food and drink and even a DVD player with a mountain of movies to choose from.

  As fate would have it, I finally had a moment alone with Meg, and as I pulled my clothes back on, I took advantage of our solitude.

  "Meg, have you noticed anything different about your brother?" I asked her.

  "Different how?"

  "I can't put my finger on any one thing, just a lot of subtle changes after—" I cut myself off, building up the nerve to bring up her brother and reopen the raw wound. "Well, like after Vinny. I feel like he checked out right after it happened, and I can't say for certain, but when he yelled at me, I don't think it was directed at me. If I'm being completely honest, it felt like he was yelling at himself. But you have the psych degree."

  I turned to face her, waiting for her to tell me I was dead wrong, but she didn't. "I kind of thought the same thing when it was happening, and I've reflected on it, a lot, and now I don't know. You're right, though, he's definitely different, but in little ways. His posture for one thing; he hasn't relaxed since Vinny died. He's always alert. And sometimes,
when he doesn't know anyone's watching, his eyes get so intense."

  "Should we address it? Let him know we see it?"

  She thought about my question, giving it proper consideration. "I don't think so. If he knows we're watching him, he may try to hide it more, and we won't see the warning signs of a stress-induced psychosis. For now, I think it's best if we just observe him from a distance."

  * * *

  Michele escorted us back to where Jake stood, waiting for us with a grumpy puss on his face. "So, they told you about the quarantine I take it?" I asked him.

  "Yup," he responded in a clipped tone. Pre-Vinny Jake wouldn't have been so angry about the annoying protocol. Post-Vinny Jake was seething and blowing it out of proportion. This was looking to be a long twenty-four hours.

  Michele and Mark walked in front of us, holding hands again. They took turns rattling off mundane facts about the grounds. Normally, I'd have loved to hear about the history of the mansion and surrounding museum, but today I just wasn't in the mood for it.

  Taking us through a side entrance, the couple led us down a narrow hall and stopped in front of one of the doors. Mark spoke in his sing-song voice. "Jake why don't you take this room, Meg in the next one, and Emma you and the pup take the third."

  "Wait a minute," protested Jake. "You mean we're being separated?"

  Michele chimed in. "It's for your own protection. If one member of a party is infected and turns, well, I'm sure you can figure out why that would be very bad for the others. Give me your bags, weapons, too. I'll set them down in the hallway for you once everything has been cleaned, and you can get them back in the morning."

  "Its fine," I said to Jake, handing over the bag. "We'll all be next to each other and it will only be one night."

  "And," Mark added, "each of your rooms have a comfortable bed with clean sheets, and you'll have your own bathrooms to clean up."

  They ushered us into our respective rooms, and let us know they would bring us some fresh clothes and some dinner. I stepped into the room and heard the door close behind me. A distinct click of the solid wood entry sounded. The room wasn't bad. It wasn't the Ritz Carlton, but it looked lived in and comfortable. A small rectangle, about two-inches by twelve-inches, had been crudely cut from the door at chest level, presumably to pass food and other items through.

  I didn't want to sit down with my dirty outfit, so I waited in place for Michele to return with the promised clothes. Either I zoned out, or she rushed back down to us. She was back before I could get impatient and slid a tray of food and a set of cotton pajamas through the hole. The tags were still on the clothes, and she'd guessed my size perfectly.

  "Well," I said to Daphne, "time to shower I guess. And don't think you're weaseling out of it. You stink worse than me."

  I washed Daphne in the sink, towel drying her as best I could before tending to my own hygiene needs. A long, hot shower was exactly what the doctor ordered. Even though the room was small, the shower offered ample space. Layers of grime, built up from days spent in filthy spaces, swirled into a muddy brown and circled down the drain.

  When the water ran clear, I slid to the floor of the shower and hugged my knees to my chest. Without the distraction of external stimuli, I was left with nothing but my own thoughts and they weren't good. Each time I closed my eyes, Vinny's face popped into my head. Only, it wasn't Vinny, it was the monster that took control of his dead body. As if on a constant loop, Jake's final act of compassion for his brother replayed.

  I sat there until my fingers were pruned. Despite the expensive conditioner someone had graciously left for me, getting the knots out of my hair required elbow grease and a lot of time. At one point I would have considered taking a pair of scissors to the long mane just to stop the torture, not that I had access to any scissors at the moment. Finally, the wide-toothed comb slid through my nearly dry hair without resistance and the trash bin looked like a reddish-brown animal had died in it. To my extreme annoyance there was no clock in the room. When the hell did they stop putting a clock on DVD players?

  Cheap bastards.

  When Michele and Mark broke the news that our quarantine sentence would be served in solitary confinement, I felt a pang of fear. I thought I would go crazy without distractions to keep my mind busy and would spend the evening crying for lost loved ones. Sure, there was crying at first, but soon my mind did something wonderful. It began to heal. Instead of aching for those friends and family, I began to remember them not as dead, or undead, but as the special souls they were, and what qualities made them so important to me.

  Kat, beautiful and kind, always put other's needs in front of her own, and she did it quietly, never flaunting her good deeds or claiming credit. As her friend, I knew the lengths she went to for others, but she was satisfied to play the role of anonymous benefactor on more than one occasion for less fortunate students. If you've attended college, you know textbooks are ridiculously expensive, sometimes costing hundreds of dollars for a single book. Kat donated all her books back to the program for future students, and several times she provided the funding so students in our class could have new uniforms. When we found out a particular student's family couldn't afford a Thanksgiving turkey, she went out and bought the biggest bird she could find and delivered it to their home with all the fixings.

  Olivia radiated positive energy. It was infectious, and people naturally gravitated to her. Now that girl could make me laugh, and I'm not talking about your average laugh. I'm talking a laugh so hard that tears would stream down my face and I'd have to clench my pelvic muscles for fear of peeing in my pants.

  Our nursing program took place in the evenings, and every night after class Ollie and I would stand by our cars engaging in what we liked to call the sewing circle. We'd gripe about the classes, things happening in our lives, and crack jokes. Before we knew it, time would get away from us and an hour would go by. That was my favorite thing about our friendship; it was just effortless.

  I think that's the hallmark of a good thing: when hours go by in the blink of an eye. We never knew where exactly the time went, and we were certain the space-time continuum was fucking with us. I smiled just thinking about our adventures, but I couldn't stave off the sadness that crept in when I wondered what had become of my pint-sized friend. Not trying to find her was a huge regret I lived with daily since dead people started walking around.

  With no clock and no windows in the small room, I had no way to tell time. Was it still today? Or had today become yesterday and been replaced by tomorrow? I tried knocking on the wall and calling out to Meg, but she was either fast asleep or the walls were insulated well. I didn't hear any sound coming from her room, not even when I pressed my ear to the wall and strained to hear.

  I thought I heard the sound of feet stop outside my door, and a tray was slid through. Before I could call out, the feet receded down the hall. I picked at the breakfast but fed most to Daphne, who happily ate every last morsel.

  Did I sleep? I think I fell in and out of consciousness, but the only indication that any length of time had passed was the location of Daphne. She was restless and moved around a lot, but she never left the bed I lay upon, and she never broke physical contact with me. I, too, started getting restless, and I thought about putting on a movie but decided against it.

  When I couldn't take the monotony any longer, I took another shower, and like the last time, I didn't emerge until my toes and fingers were wrinkly. My mind was more present this time, and I winced at the forest my legs and underarms had become without regular access to a razor. That was another thing to add to the list of must-haves. I was betting that Meg had similar interests, but I questioned Jake. He'd always liked healthy stubble on his face, but lately he'd stopped complaining about not having a good set of grooming tools. He still showered whenever possible, but had no interest in maintaining his appearance.

  A lunch tray and fresh set of clothes were stuffed through the hole in the door when I came out of the bathroom. At
least I wouldn't be walking around in flimsy cotton pajamas. After pulling on the new clothes, I sat on the edge of the bed eating and waited for the door to open.

  The scent of freshly baked bread set my salivary glands into overdrive, and I lifted the turkey sandwich to my face and breathed the aroma, letting out a sigh of pleasure. The turkey was chopped, not sliced like deli meat, and it was still warm from the oven. I tore open a packet of mayonnaise and squirted its contents into the sandwich. Savoring the first bite, I closed my eyes and groaned with appreciation. Food was not something Asylum scrimped on. I washed down the sandwich with a can of cold orange soda—that's right, cold soda—and finished off the meal with a gooey chocolate chip cookie.

  I was in Heaven, and I was just fine with drinking the Kool-Aid, but a small part of me kept thinking about Striker's warning. What was Asylum hiding that could have been so bad that he wouldn't step foot behind the gates, but not bad enough that he wouldn't deter us from entering.

  Then again, he barely knew us, so why would he even care enough to keep us away?

  Chapter 17: A Three Hour Tour

  I felt emotionally refreshed when the door finally opened, like I'd spent the night in a sweat lodge doing Native American rituals and smoking peyote.

  "Wow," admired Meg when I stepped into the hall where she and Jake stood with Michele. "You look like you've been relaxing at the spa for the last twenty-four hours."

  "I feel like it, too." I greeted Jake with a kiss and searched his face for any hint of madness. I was appeased to see him looking relaxed and clearheaded. "How about you? How was your night?"

  "Pretty uneventful," he replied, returning my affection. "I missed you, though. I don't like being separated from you."

  "Me too," I admitted honestly. Even before the world took a nosedive our preference was to do things as a team.

  "So," said Michele, "ready for that tour?"

  I looked to my husband and sister-in-law who nodded their heads in approval before answering. "Sure, why not."