by M. Van
“I suggest you revise that plan,” I said. Father Deacon shook his head with an amused expression.
“Unfortunately, we cannot do that,” he said. “The lab has an interest in you, and if we want our families back, we have to hand over all the infected, so they can be treated.”
“There is no treatment,” I said.
“And we are not infected,” Ash chimed in.
“Well, this here begs to differ,” Father Deacon said, holding up another piece of paper the young man had handed him.
I almost choked on my own saliva when he held up an old-fashioned wanted poster with a picture of Ash. The picture was in black and white, but I could clearly make out Ash’s tender features combined with the blond hair tied into a ponytail. It could have been one of those school pictures. Mine was a grainy smear that might have been me. It looked like a traffic cam picture. Not sure what this meant, I shifted my butt off a rock and held my ground. “Let her go.”
“I don’t think so,” he said and waved at his men. The two near me took a step. A quick head count told me there were eight, not including the padre and Hannah. I couldn’t remember the number of rounds left in the gun. Could I even shoot a human being? I eased my back away from the fence, where I felt foul zombie breaths caressing my neck. To my side, I saw that the Mohawk woman was watching Ash with concern. Her lips turned into a thin line when she glanced back at me. She tilted her head as if she were trying to tell me something and shook her head again. The gun started to shake in my hand as I looked around. There were too many of them.
“Please,” Father Deacon said, “put the gun down and no one will get hurt.”
“I will not let you take us to a lab,” I said through gritted teeth. The men stepped closer, their guns still aimed at me.
“Drop the gun or I will break her neck,” Hannah said. Chubby fingers gripped Ash’s head. The Mohawk woman took a step forward and gave me a hard look. What did she want from me? If I let go of this gun, we’d be dead anyway, and I didn’t even know her. Ash whimpered softly as Hannah used more force. I couldn’t let her die like that, or any other way for that matter. My fingers slackened, and the gun fell from my hand.
Father Deacon stepped forward, his brows furrowed, and grabbed a rifle from one of the men. As he marched toward me with firm strides, I scrambled backward, but I was halted by the fence. The last thing I saw was the butt of the rifle, barreling down.
Part Three
The Lab
| 27
It was hard to open my eyes. It seemed as if someone had used superglue to keep them shut. When they unstuck, they opened to a gray concrete floor. A sharp pain ran from my skull down my spine when I lifted my head. I used my sleeve to wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth and noticed the orange jumpsuit. I tugged at the collar. Great, I was naked underneath. My head felt heavy, consumed by a fog that wouldn’t wear off. I turned my head in slow motion, afraid to set off sensations I wasn’t ready to deal with. My eyes roamed the room. There were walls, a sink, a toilet, and bars. Rows and rows of bars made up two sides of the room. I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out I was in a cell. There was another cell connected to mine, with two more on the other side of the hall.
I crawled to the bars and wrapped my hands around them to pull myself up. The other cells were empty. My chest tightened as my eyes followed the hall to some steps that let up to a solid steel door. A desk stood next to the steps with two legs clad in green propped up on it. The rest of the person was hidden behind a wall.
“Why didn’t you shoot?” I jumped at the sound of Ash’s voice. I hadn’t seen her. She sat in the corner of the cell next to mine, her cheeks pressed against the bars. Her face looked gaunt, and her eyes were bloodshot as if she’d been crying a lot.
“Ash,” I said, relieved to see her, and took a step in her direction.
“Why didn’t you shoot?” she repeated. Unsure of the accusation in her voice, I hesitated. Would she rather have died at the hands of that rhino-woman?
“I told you, I can’t be a lab rat anymore, I can’t.” She shook her head as she repeated, “I can’t. I can’t.” The sight of the frightened girl grabbed me by the throat, just as it had the first time she’d broken down, sitting on that couch after we’d found the test tube filled with her blood. I moved to sit beside her on the floor. Thick iron rods separated our cells.
“My sister died so I wouldn’t have to go through that again,” she said. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to get the words out between strained breaths. She had never told me about her sister, and I didn’t understand the fear that evidently went beyond mine. Not that sitting in a cell to accommodate someone’s research didn’t scare the shit out of me. I stuck a shaky hand between the bars to touch her head, but she pulled back.
“You should have taken the shot,” she said. This time, it was anger that fueled her voice.
“I couldn’t watch you die,” I said. Tears threatened my own eyes. “Don’t you dare ask that from me.”
“You’ll get to do that, anyway.”
“Don’t you say that,” I fumed. “We’re not dead yet, and you don’t know what they want.” I raised my hand to her cheek and forced her to look at me. “We’re not dead yet,” I repeated. Seemingly resigned, her head tilted to the bars and rested against it. I touched my forehead against hers.
“Please don’t give up on us.” I weaved my arm between the bars and wrapped it around her.
We sat in silence for a while, our heads pressed together until Ash broke that silence. She didn’t look at me while she recited words that sounded rehearsed, although I didn't think they had ever been spoken aloud.
“My sister was sick. She was the only reason I was even born.” Her voice sounded distant but was soft, without resentment. I felt a pain in my chest that, if I didn’t know better, could have been a zombie clawing its way inside to rip out my heart. You hear these stories, and they never end well.
“I was a lab rat from the moment I was born,” she said. “The strange thing was, I didn’t even mind. Alison, my sister, she was the best and my only friend—I would have done anything for her.” Her lips curled up at the mention of her sister. “She was the one who started to call me Ash, because of the color of my skin. She did it to spite Mom and Dad.”
“Your sister didn’t agree,” I asked tentatively, when Ash fell silent.
“Yeah, it was her way of protest.” Ash’s eyes brightened at the memory of her sister’s brazenness toward her parents.
My throat tightened. “Is that the reason you’re in the chair?”
“Ally lost it when she found out,” she said as her voice caught. “She killed herself shortly after. I was around twelve, and it was the worst moment of my life.”
My hand found hers. She looked up with tears glistening her eyes.
“Turns out her illness was a genetic trait that ran in the family. I was next in line. My parents couldn’t take it. They ended up divorced, and I ended up in foster care. They blamed me, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter because the only one I cared about was gone.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” I whispered and squeezed her hand. “But I’m not sorry I didn’t shoot,” I said. “If I had, we’d both be dead by now.” I gripped her head on both sides and forced her to look me in the eyes.
“You’ve survived it before, and if it comes to that, you can do it again,” I said. She looked at me, unsure.
“Dammit, Ash, you’re the toughest kid I’ve ever known. Don’t give up on me. We’ll find a way to get out.” She pulled away from my grasp, for a moment returning to that thousand-mile gaze. Then she wiped the sleeve of her orange jumpsuit along her snotty nose and nodded. I let out a small breath and slumped against the back wall.
We hadn’t moved from our spots when two soldiers stepped into the hall. I didn’t look up at them when they opened my cell. Ash squeezed my hand. The iron rods that made up the door clanked against the wall when they hau
led me off the floor. The fear I saw in Ash’s eyes as I looked over my shoulder sent a rush of anger through my veins. I yanked my arm from the grasp of one of the soldiers. The man, shorter than me, looked up in surprise. He probably looked more surprised after I slammed my elbow into his cheek. The other soldier tugged on my other arm so hard, I was afraid he’d pull it out of its socket, and I missed the short man’s expression. The soldier wrenched my arm behind my back. I fought to free myself, but the soldier’s grip didn’t relent.
Before the shorter soldier composed himself and straightened to his full height, I caught a glance from Ash, who looked at me as if I’d gone nuts. I might as well have. What was I thinking? The shorter man stepped forward. I didn’t even see his fist coming until I felt it in my stomach. I doubled over, forcing air into my lungs. In a haze, I could hear Ash, but couldn’t make out the words.
They half-dragged me up the steps and through a metal door. Some type of medical facility loomed before me, a pristine white hallway similar to the ones I had seen at the hospital where I’d met Ash. Green scrubs and white laboratory coats betrayed their purpose. Square box-like rooms with glass walls lined the hall. Medical equipment and other electronic devices were placed around stainless steel tables in each of the rooms. Figures in army fatigues stood like statues next to the glass doors of the box-like rooms. Beyond the doors, men and women worked in blue rubber suits and masks. Whatever it was that they were doing, it needed full biohazard gear. Were they attempting to find a cure like Father Deacon had said? How far would they go to get it? I shivered.
My guards led me past a box with a shaking, naked body strapped facedown to a table. I couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. Several figures in blue suits stood around the table, obscuring the person on it. Blood-soaked rags cluttered the floor. He, or she, turned and shifted toward me. Milky-white eyes bore into mine, raising the hairs on my neck. I diverted my gaze with a shudder when those eyes seemed to follow me.
Pain-filled screams of what sounded like regular people mixed with the ravenous moans of zombies. A knot formed in my stomach at the thought of what they were doing in this place. It became the focal point of a panic, ready to lash out with every step I took.
We stopped in front of one of the glass rooms. A blue suit inside the box waved, and the door whooshed open. I stood in one of the tiny rooms with a metal table in the middle. Medical equipment I couldn’t identify surrounded it.
“Strip and table,” the muffled voice behind the mask of the blue suit said. Panic set in. I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt dry.
As I was wearing only the orange jumpsuit, they had me naked in two seconds. I refused to cover myself with my arms. I wouldn’t feel ashamed for these assholes. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I clenched my teeth and balled my fists. My nails dug into my palms. The mask, who stood a foot shorter, seemed to leer at me. I couldn’t see past the tinted visor. It threw my own reflection at me and made staring at it even more difficult, but I was determined. I clenched my teeth until my jaw started to hurt. Hate fused with fear, and I wanted it to overtake me. I wouldn’t show my fear to these bastards, even if it were only a ruse.
“Feisty one,” the voice said, gesturing to the table.
The two soldiers who had escorted me placed me on my stomach and pushed my face through a hole at the end of the table. I was spread out, and they secured my arms. It made me feel as if I were nailed to a cross. Cold air made my naked skin run with goose bumps as the door whooshed open and closed. My head had room to move, but through of the hole in the table, my vision was limited to the white-tiled floor. Blue feet stopped next to the table.
“It is for the greater good, you know,” a voice said close to my ear. My head shot up when I recognized the voice of the man who had come to Ash’s rescue when a zombie had ravished her leg.
“You son of a bitch,” I bit out at Dr. David. Up close, his mask didn’t reveal much, but I could make out his features, and could see his shapeless eyes stare at me.
“Now, now, there is no need for such foul language,” he replied. The soft-spoken voice of the supportive physician was gone and replaced by a masked voice that reminded me of a cross between Darth Vader and Dr. Doom.
“I’m sure you want us to defeat those things, but that means sacrifices must be made, and our preliminary examinations have revealed some interesting things about you,” he said and paused. Then his mask came even closer when he said in a low voice, “How did it feel to have the teeth of my creation sink into your skin?”
“You’re crazy!” I said. He clucked his tongue as if he were addressing a child and continued his spiel.
“The only problem is that I can’t find you in any of our databases, nor Canada’s. I checked,” he said as he leaned in. I could see a row of teeth mimic a smile. “So, who are you?” My jaw tightened, and I raised my chin, determined not to answer. He shook his head, murmuring under his breath, “It would have been nice to have all the variables, but it won’t matter.”
Taking advantage of his distraction, I snapped my head sideways and slammed it into his facemask. The impact probably hurt my head more than his, but I still felt satisfied. Surprised, he stumbled until he fell backward onto the floor. Annoyed, he swung his arm when another of the suits tried to help him up. When he got to his feet, he shoved my head down, hard.
“You ungrateful little bitch. After all the time I’ve spent keeping you alive. You think you would have fought off those hicks in that yellow truck on your own?” he said, close to my ear. His voice was low, filled with anger. “You think many others had the privilege of water and electricity?”
The thought of him watching over us all this time made my body shudder. He had been the one to draw in the zombies after those three bastards had cornered us. He was the reason we had water and power. I felt so stupid as I remembered the lack of power on our trip into town. All the buildings around us had been drenched in darkness, except for the church, of course. But how did he know where to find us? Why had he let us think we’d been relatively safe? His hand held my head down.
“We’ll have to do some tests to figure out what’s happening inside you. I’m sure you’re familiar with them. Blood, some tissue samples for a biopsy, some bone marrow. I have a whole bunch of invasive procedures I’ve been meaning to try on you,” he said. “Unfortunately, these are desperate times. Everything is rationed, and because of a certain deal I’ve made, we are not allowed to use anesthetics on the infected.” The bastard chuckled at that. A strap went around my head to keep it in place. I couldn’t move. His mask grazed my ear.
“Tell me,” he said, “when did you realize there was gold in your veins? Why else would you run?”
I wouldn’t tell him who’d planted the seed of doubt. I couldn’t. He might go after Mars if he found out, I gritted my teeth.
“Fuck you!” I said.
His hand eased from my head when he said, “Let’s begin.”
I felt something poke at my back. My jaw clenched, and my muscles strained. I pulled against the restraints. Something else stung at the back of my neck, and I winced. Tears streamed down my face. Thick drops fell on the shiny metal foot that supported the table. I had learned to endure these procedures in the past years. I had a strategy for it. My mind would retreat into the farthest, deepest, darkest corner it could find. The straps around my wrists dug into my skin. My jaw started to hurt. I forced my mind to seek refuge in those dark corners. I held on for as long as I could, but when the pain set every nerve in my body on fire, I screamed. Pain in my throat bore witness to the fact that the disembodied screams were mine. They continued until darkness swallowed me whole.
| 28
I opened my eyes to the familiar concrete floor of my prison cell; except for the rank smell, nothing had changed. I pulled my face from the pool of vomit I was lying in. The sight combined with the smell made me gag, forcing out another rush of bile. It splattered my hands, but I was afraid to move, fall over, and take a n
osedive in the fresh vomit. For a moment, I remained motionless. I couldn’t breathe. The sensation of endless paper cuts on my skin overwhelmed the ache in my head. My skin felt as if it was on fire. A general sense that something was very wrong inside me added to the nausea. I inhaled deeply to stop the spinning in my head.
I sat up to look around. The cells were empty with no sign of Ash. They had taken her. My heart sank at the thought of them doing to her what they had done to me. Ash was a tough kid, but considering the fear I had witnessed in her eyes with the stuff she had gone through for her sister, I was afraid this might break her.
With painful effort, I crawled to the sink, which I used to raise myself off the floor. My body ached in places I didn’t know possible. I rinsed my hands and face. Convinced the vomit had gone down the drain, I dared a look in the small mirror above the sink. A self-conscious hand examined the shaven head that appeared to be mine. Dark circles accompanied bloodshot eyes. I still had a bit of color from sitting in the sun with Ash on the roof terrace. That seemed such a long time ago. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of days, could it? A bruise covered the left side of my face from when Father Deacon had knocked me out.
Abandoning my reflection, I stumbled to the bars, from where I couldn’t see any feet propped up on the desk. For some reason, it made me feel desolate. I sank down the wall with my eyes on the steel door.
