“Yes, ma’am,” the other doctor said.
“Blood draw,” Kennedy said while snapping her fingers. “I want it in ten minutes. Text me your findings.” Kennedy took off her mask and goggles and tossed them into a waste can near the door. She swiped her card and stepped into the hallway before tapping the screen of her pink framed phone. She held it to her ear as she looked in through the glass at Mason, her eyes as sterile as her demeanor. Mason wondered what she was thinking. She looked lost in thought. Yes, her lips said. She looked down as she turned to leave. Halfway down the hall, she looked at him again and waved. It reminded Mason of the kind of nonchalant gesture two friends parting after sitting for coffee might give, and it was as phony as all hell. The one memory he did still have echoed in his head. He heard someone telling him, “I don’t trust that bitch.” And neither did Mason.
The other doctor rinsed his mouth with a water bottle and told him to spit it out, not to drink it. He was so thirsty, but he did as she said. She wiped the vomit from the table with a towel and let it all fall to the floor. She used the same towel with her feet to push it out of the way.
“Let’s get you on your back,” she said as she unhooked the strap around his left forearm. She let it fall away and Mason sighed while watching Chavez pick up a noose pole off the wall beside the fire extinguisher. The male half-breed slid to the back of his cell, his eyes never leaving Mason. He didn’t need to see Chavez or the pole. He must have known the routine.
The doctor unlatched Mason’s chest as well and he began to roll easily onto his own back, more thankful for the change of position than anything else.
“You’re going to have to slide toward me a little,” she said. Mason used his good shoulder to lift and slide himself closer to her. She eased the restraint at his chest again and removed the restraint around his right arm completely. “I’m going to need this arm,” she said, guiding it under her armpit as she sat down on the chair next to him. “Just relax.” She pulled a tray closer to him and took a rubber strap from it.
“This one is being uncooperative,” Chavez said jokingly. “Can I use a Taser on him?”
“No,” the doctor snapped.
Chavez drove the pole through the bars, extending it all the way. Mason turned his head to watch so as to avoid seeing the doctor draw his blood. He hated needles. As Chavez fished for the half-breed, it moved side to side, dodging the sweeps. Suddenly, the half-breed lunged forward and caught the pole, pulling it with a vicious tug. Chavez’s arm stretched straight and he fell forward. The half-breed pulled the pole hand over hand, stepping close to the bars as he reeled Chavez in, his right wrist wrapped in the catching rope.
“Shit,” Mason groaned as he tried to sit up.
“I haven’t even stuck you,” the doctor said. She put a hand on his chest to keep him down.
“Doc,” Mason wheezed in alarm.
Chavez’s arm was hauled between the bars and the half-breed jumped forward, turning it at the elbow to pin him as his other arm reached out to the back of Chavez’s head.
“Doc!” Chavez managed to yell just before the half-breed slammed his head into the bars. Chavez was stunned by the blow and his head wobbled when the half-breed released him. The doctor spun in her chair, saying, “Oh my God!”
Mason’s eyes widened at the sight of the half-breed’s actions. It pulled Chavez’s left arm into the air and pinned it against the cell as well, sliding it up and down over and over until there came a chirp and a sudden clack of the lock releasing. The half-breed pushed its cage door open and heaved on Chavez’s pinned right arm once more. Chavez yelled in pain as the bone cracked. The half-breed let Chavez go and Chavez used his left hand to reach for his pistol. He managed to rip open the holster and have the pistol out before the half-breed was jumping onto him. They spun and the pistol flung across the room, sliding toward the wall with the plate glass windows.
Mason began unlatching his restraints. The doctor was running across the room for the phone. The female half-breed leapt against the bar with hysteria. The restraints couldn’t be removed quickly enough for Mason, especially in his groggy and weary state. His fingers felt like clumsy sausages. The belt at his waist broke free and he leaned forward to work on the strap holding his legs.
The half-breed lifted Chavez off the ground, carried him several steps, and slammed him against the other cell. The female half-breed’s arms drove through the bars and wrapped around Chavez’s throat and she leaned back, strangling him. The male forced Chavez’s left arm up and against the cell door, sliding it up and down as he had with his own cage until another chirp and clack echoed through the room.
“We have a breach,” the doctor was yelling into the phone.
Mason kicked his legs out of the restraints and reached across his chest to free his left arm while he spun off the table and stood unevenly on the ground. The room wavered as much as he did, but he managed to focus on the task at hand and steady himself enough to concentrate on his last wrist restraint.
The female zombie burst out of her cell at a greyhound’s pace, leaping and striding at full bore. The doctor hardly had time to hold her hands out to guard herself before the half-breed crashed into her. They slammed against the counter and tumbled over a line of chairs onto the ground.
Mason swallowed hard. The last restraint came off. The room still swam and he backed away from the table with the rigid, untested legs of a fawn taking his first steps. Mason watched the male half-breed let go of Chavez. He watched the sergeant slump to the ground against the bars. Mason took a step back, and then another as the male half-breed charged.
Mason glanced to his sides quickly, wondering where the pistol had fallen. He looked up again and saw only the eyes of hate hurtling at him.
Twenty
The pistol lay on the ground behind him. He had seen its black shell like a hole in the white tile flooring. The male half-breed took two last running steps before turning his shoulder into Mason’s chest. He gasped at the impact, clamping his arms around the half-breed as they both careened out of control and into the wall of tempered glass. Mason tucked his chin just before his shoulders struck. The glass burst into a thousand unmoving shards behind him, leaving a dent where he hit. Mason slumped over the top of the half-breed, gasping for air. His weight alone was enough to topple them both to the floor.
Mason rolled off the half-breed in an effort to escape. It moved quickly, scrambling on hands and knees before leaping onto Mason’s back. An arm wrapped around his neck before he had wits to stop it. The half-breed leaned back, choking Mason. Mason rose upright against the hold, grabbing the thing’s arm with his hands and pulling it away. He took in a deep breath and leaned forward again. The pistol was just a few feet out of reach.
As if sensing Mason’s intent, the half-breed reached its other hand over Mason’s eyes and nose, raking and smashing. The pain against his nose caused Mason to turn his head, and as he did, the half-breed swung to the side and tried to roll. Mason felt the pendulum effect tip him. He didn’t fight it. He pushed in the same direction, lifting himself off the ground in the process. As they turned, Mason’s body twisted so that he was above the half-breed, and with all his weight, he fell backwards onto the beast.
This time, the half-breed gasped. Mason slammed his head back, cracking its nose. It loosened its grip on Mason’s face and neck just long enough for Mason to roll sideways. He reached his arm out and felt the pistol. His fingers closed over it even as the half-breed dragged him back, pulling and hammering its fists on his arm.
Mason elbowed the half-breed in the chest while letting the pistol fall to the floor. It slid into his own chest and he curled his left arm to grab it, elbowing the half-breed with his right and guarding against its blows to his head. It reached after the gun, but Mason blocked it. The half-breed pummeled him mercilessly.
Mason worked the pistol into a proper hold. He aimed it haphazardly over his shoulder and pulled the trigger, not caring what he hit. Blam! He knew h
e missed, but he needed a second’s respite. He was still so weak and clumsy and light headed. The half-breed flinched at the sudden noise. Mason rolled toward the half-breed and fired over his shoulder again. Blam! He wasn’t sure if he hit the half-breed or not, but the thing pushed him away and Mason gladly rolled toward the glass wall, finally free of the thing’s grip.
Mason spun and aimed at it, but didn’t fire. It scurried away, diving behind the base of another operating table to avoid getting shot at. It must have thought the weapon only a Taser. If it had any idea that he could shoot it through the operating table, it would have kept fighting for its life.
Mason looked over at the opposite wall. The female half-breed had the doctor pinned and was leaning on the doctor’s neck with her forearm as the doctor flailed at the half-breed’s shoulders. Mason took aim and fired. Blam! The shot cracked a hole in the cabinet above their heads. The female half-breed looked across the room with a fiery gaze. Its eyes didn’t register the danger. Blam! Mason fired another round which splintered the cabinet, breaking the wood in half and causing it to fall.
“Off,” Mason warned, waving the pistol.
The half-breed growled but let up on the doctor. The doctor choked for air as the female half-breed leapt off her and bounded on hands and feet toward the other operating table to hide with the male. The doctor rolled on her side, coughing and taking in deep wheezing breaths. The two half-breeds cautiously peered around the wide bases of the operating table. They weren’t mindless like normal zombies.
Mason used the wall to help him get to his feet. He staggered across the room, switching the pistol to his right hand to keep it aimed at the two hiding half-breeds. The doctor didn’t try to get up. Her breathing was raspy and uneven. Mason reached down and grabbed her by her lab coat and shirt collar to drag her across the room. He pulled her nearly limp body to the far door and plucked her badge off her chest to swipe it over the locking mechanism. The door opened with a clack and Mason dragged her out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind them. He leaned against the glass on the opposite side of the hall, breathing hard, short of breath, light-headed, and feeling like he was going to throw up. His head swam and the world moved even though he didn’t.
“Doc,” Mason sighed. “Doc?” He looked at her badge. O’Farrell, W. It triggered nothing.
“Huh?” she replied, rolling onto her back, still gasping for air.
Mason dropped her card onto her chest. She put a hand over it.
“Doc, who did you call?” Mason managed to ask between breaths.
“Ken,” she wheezed. “Kennedy.”
He thumped the back of his head against the glass.
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve got to get up. Come on.”
“Where?” she managed to ask as she pushed herself to a sitting position.
“Nobody’s coming,” Mason told her. “Nobody’ll come.”
“What?”
“We’ve got to go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
Mason took a deep breath to fend off his nausea. He gulped down a lump in his throat before holding a hand out to the doctor. She reluctantly took it, and he hauled her to her unsteady feet. He put an arm around her waist to help steady her and they both looked in at the lab. Chavez lay on his back next to the cells, but otherwise the room looked empty.
“What about Chavez?”
“He’s dead,” Mason said.
“How do you know?”
“Because he deserves to be.”
“We’ve got to go get him.”
“He let them bite me,” Mason said, glaring at her. “He did it on purpose.”
“Chavez?” she asked, appearing horror struck as she looked up into Mason’s eyes. “Why?”
“I’m a liability,” Mason said, pointing at his head. “They’re gone, the things she said, but they’re still in there. I feel it. They’re there.”
“Lieutenant,” the doctor objected.
Mason held the pistol up and waved it toward the exit. “Just go,” he said, grimacing at the pain in his head that came with trying to dredge up the memories of what he knew. They had sent him here. That much he remembered.
The doctor led them down the hall. Mason watched her and wondered what a pretty woman like her was doing in a place like this. She was a scientist, but why would anyone volunteer to be here? Maybe, like him, she wasn’t a volunteer.
“I was sent here,” Mason told her.
She looked over her shoulder with a questioning gaze.
“Someone gave me intelligence on everything. I know things I shouldn’t. I met with Kennedy, I can’t remember why or when, and she…I know it’s in there. I know it’s why they put me to work with Chavez. He killed his own men in Egypt. He shot them himself.”
“Jones,” the doctor said softly, trying to calm him with her soothing tone.
“Open the goddamned door,” Mason said, pointing the pistol at her.
“Then what?”
“They told me not to trust her. I didn’t listen,” he said, shaking his head. “Open the door.”
The doctor swiped her badge and the outer door blipped. Mason pushed her through it and they left the laboratory. Mason had her swipe her card at the stair access as well. As he walked under the rush of fans, he felt a jolt of recognition. The wind blew over him and he remembered his orientation with Chavez, how he called him names. No, that was someone else. Matty. Matty with the duck. The tattered pieces were maddening.
“Up,” he said, pointing his pistol ahead of her, another wave of nausea striking him. He leaned forward and felt an upheaval.
“You’re still sick, Jones,” she told him. “You need to rest. We’re safe here.”
Mason vomited onto the wall, heaving repeatedly as the doctor held him around the waist so he wouldn’t fall. Mason spat the taste from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Am I really cured?” Mason asked.
“That was what the blood test—”
“Am I a half-breed?” Mason snapped.
“No,” she replied directly.
“Then why test me?”
“Your testosterone levels may inhibit some of your recovery. We’ve found in some cases that the subject regresses.”
“So I’m not cured.”
“No, you’re cured. You won’t become one of them, but….”
“But, what?”
“Several subjects died for no apparent reason,” she told him softly, calmly. “That’s why we haven’t announced the cure. We’re still trying to isolate the cause.”
Mason said nothing. He struggled to remember the things he had known, to piece together what fragments of his past that could hold meaning to him now, to help him figure out why this was happening. It was infuriating to know he should know a thing but be unable to recall it. What did Kennedy tell him? He struck his head with his palm, closing his eyes, hoping to jar something.
“What’s wrong?” the doctor asked. “Are you in pain?”
Mason opened his eyes to see her concern. She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t part of their conspiracy—and it was a conspiracy, he knew it, although he couldn’t remember why or how he knew. “I’m fine,” he lied, waving the pistol toward the stairs leading up. “Move. We don’t have much time.”
Twenty-One
Mason staggered up the stairs, leaning against the railing and the wall, dragging his good shoulder along the smooth, cold concrete. The chill revived him and the solidity of the wall helped ground him so the spinning in his head didn’t deceive him.
“How long will it take?” Mason asked the doctor.
“For what?”
“Until this fatigue wears off.”
“Look, you need to lie down and rest. Your body has been through enormous trauma. The logistics of how long and—”
“Logistics!?” Mason echoed. A thread of memory appeared and he snatched it, yanking it in a frenzy of desperation, haulin
g the thought closer and closer…this isn’t the time to get into a discussion about logistics, Lieutenant, Kennedy had said. Entire states can be restored. “Why didn’t I see it?”
“See what?” the doctor asked.
“Can the cure be administered another way, like an airborne pathogen or gas or something? Something big like cloud seeding or…or…or with rats or deer or something.”
“Probably. The original strain mutated from an airborne transmission pathway.”
“What happens when you give the cure to normal people?”
“It doesn’t give you an immunity, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Does it kill normal people, too?” Mason asked as the doctor reached the landing.
“You’re not going to die,” she assured him, stopping to face him.
“Does the cure harm normal people?”
“We haven’t encountered any cases,” the doctor said. She backed up to lean against the door to the cell block.
Mason reached the top of the steps, still using the wall for support.
“You look terrible, Jones.”
“Matches how I feel,” he replied. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out his card. The door sensor beside him, the one that led to the interior offices, was blinking yellow. He swiped his card over it anyway. The sensor went red and chirped, then started blinking yellow again.
“Shit,” he said, stuffing his card back into his pocket. He looked across at the door leading to the cell block. The sensor was solid red. “Open it,” he said with a wave of the pistol. She looked at the door, then at Mason as though the idea were absurd.
“Help is on its way,” she argued.
“Really?” Mason asked skeptically. “How long ago did you call Kennedy? Five minutes?”
“It takes time to get into the facility.”
“There are guards already in the facility, on the roof, on the outer wall, at the gate tower. Where are they? Where did Johnson go? Why isn’t the alarm going off?”
“Let’s calm down,” she said. “You’ve had significant brain trauma because of the consumption pathogen. Things that seem perfectly reasonable to you right now are not necessarily reality.”
The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment Page 9
