Graham hugged me again as he told me he thought he’d never see me again alive. It turns out, his suggestions were similar to mine, that they were likely trying to distract him at every inquiry about me. I described to him the bouts of what I called pain attacks that felt like every muscle in my body was being wrung like a dishcloth of its moisture, that it was only recently that my eyes had developed the red ring around the irises and that the doctors were giving me antibiotics and ample amounts of painkillers.
“I want to kiss you––badly,” I told him when as we looked into each other’s eyes. I was serious as the sun but he just chuckled and did this smirk thing with his lips that he knows appeals to my primal senses.
“Me too,” he responded.
Mia interrupted us and pardoned herself for having to end our little rendezvous. I made her promise that she’d bring him back to me as we held each other one last time.
“I’ll do what I can. Until then I’ll look for a roster with everyone’s name and see if I can find out where your parents are. They have to be in one of these buildings,” Mia said before going to the door, opening it and looking both ways to make sure they could leave unnoticed.
“I love you,” Graham said as he kissed my forehead and went near the door to wait for Mia’s indication it was okay to walk out. Within seconds they were both out of my room and Mia gave a quick wink and a smile at me. She pointed at him and gave me a thumbs up before she closed the door and they were both gone. She made my day and I didn’t know how I would ever repay her for that moment of selflessness. I was infected and because of that I could’ve caused a lot of trouble if something went wrong while they were here with me. Mia had to see the good in me and weigh that against the odds.
I quickly went back to my bed, groggy yet energized from seeing my Graham. It was as if I could still feel his embrace and feel the vibration of his voice in my ear. Though I certainly didn’t want to, if I changed into one of those things at least my last memory, for now, would be of my time with him and knowing the love for each other that we had newly reaffirmed in my heart and mind. Like the weights in the scales of justice, I felt sorrow in my heart still too, knowing that my parents were probably overwhelmed with concern for their children. I remembered my uncle saying they would attempt to search for my brother once they felt it was safe enough. I missed my brother and needed him just as much as I needed to see my parents, because he was out there, maybe even alone by himself to fight off those dead that were killing and eating anything with life in it.
After some time, maybe thirty minutes or so, I was able to calm down and drift into a state of rest. Though I felt only slight conflict, not because of the Valium being ineffective but because of a strange impulse that wrestled in my mind and beneath my skin. It was both intense and partially sexual in nature and attempted to correct itself from my dream before. It was another version of my memory of when I went to see Graham at his house after his trip from Spain. The same events took place true to form but instead of him turning into a dead one, he lay there complacent as I bit chunks of flesh from his body only seconds after we made love. He made no sound, as there was no indication of pain. After the height of our session, there was this silence as I kissed his shoulder and smelled his skin. I put my arm over him as we lay in his bed and I spontaneously bit into his arm and bit again, chewing, though I couldn’t recall what the taste of his flesh was, his blood spilled, into the sheets and onto me and I hovered back over onto to him and continued to take sections by the mouthful from his arms, chest and neck. I continued to bite until I hit bone, and sometimes not even bothering to chew, just swallowing and letting his tissue and skin satiate some unfamiliar desire. I knew in my conscious that this was bad; hell, I even bit into the part of his throat that contained his vocal cords and he was forced to whisper through bloodied lips when our eyes met, telling me he was okay with what I was doing.
When I realized that I was terribly wrong, I was one of them, a dead one, I jumped off of his bloodied body and ran toward his bedroom door where I opened it and instead of my hallway like dreamt before, I was still in his house. Knowing this was different and perhaps even real this time I ran out of the room, naked as a bird but managed to wake up as I was rounding the banister to head downstairs. I’d awakened again from this dream glancing at the clock on the wall where it was two o’clock in the morning. I was in reality and slept only about three hours.
I was nervous from the dream, or nightmare, it seemed. Sweat poured from me though I was experiencing chills and it felt like the arriving pain in my muscles was only a heartbeat away from going into a full attack. From the bed I looked over my head to see if there was a phone device so I could call someone. It was like everything was on cue because my heart rate and pulse, instead of going upwards, they fell quickly and I began to shake uncontrollably. I watched as the monitors responded by beeping loudly. I rolled to my back as the physiological processes took over. I couldn’t say how I felt, just that soon after I saw a few unfamiliar faces hovering over me and shouting words that I could see from their lips yet could not understand. I saw one of them yelling and in a seemingly slower motion point in a direction away from me.
Chapter Eight
Upon opening my eyes my vision was quite blurred at first. The lights of the room were much brighter than before. The shape of a person I couldn’t identify as a man or a woman approached me and stuck a needle in my arm. I felt a pinch followed by the sting of the fluid as it entered my bloodstream. My whole arm, shoulder and suddenly the rest of my body felt warmer as it circulated and saturated every artery and vein. I was lying flat on a bed, restrained yet again; this time at the arms, chest and legs, which I felt was secured very tightly at the slightest movement. Within seconds I assumed whatever I was injected with had traveled throughout my system because my eyesight cleared from its foggy presentation. Instinctively I blinked a few times and was able to see it was Dr. Strauss standing in front of me with a syringe in her hand, which she discarded immediately. I was now in a room I would guess was a part of the laboratory due to the partially tiled white walls and lack of all other essential comforts that surrounded me previously. The room had nothing else in it but the bed, me snugly secured to it and the doctor. Within seconds my eyes caught a few others as they observed me behind the glass from a smaller room attached. One set of eyes belonged to my uncle Lloyd who put on a nervous smile when our eyes met.
“Seanna, can you hear me?” Dr. Strauss said in a commanding tone, which wasn’t different from any other time I heard her speak. I turned my head, a little startled from her abrupt voice. I should’ve said something but my voice and mouth were slow to respond.
“If you understand me, nod your head or speak,” she comm-anded again.
I turned my head again toward the group of people in the room with my uncle because one of them moved to write something down and it caught my eye. My uncle looked on, intent to follow my every movement too, just as everyone else was. I didn’t notice him at the first glance but Davenport was there in the tiny room as well, standing right next to my uncle. I’d guess they were about fifteen feet or so away from me but I could read every expression on his face as he stared at me. It looked as if he would kill me right this second if Dr. Strauss, or anyone for that matter, gave him the okay.
“Seanna, do you understand me?” Dr. Strauss said again, looking more intently in my eyes. She was about to turn toward the group observing me, perhaps to give up, but I startled her by trying to clear my throat. It could’ve been mistaken as a growl or a rumble because it startled the doctor and she turned to me, looking as if she didn’t know what to expect.
“I understand you. You don’t have to yell…You’re always yelling,” I said after clearing my throat a few times more.
“She’s verbally responsive,” she said to the relief of everyone else watching with her.
“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” she continued on, speaking clearly and with caution.
“I’ve felt better,” I replied. It was impossible to know for sure because everything seemed unfamiliar, my surroundings, my own body included. While the room was bright, sterile and different than before, my muscles along with the rest of my body felt delayed as if they were borrowed from someone else.
“How is your vision? Can you see my hands?” Dr. Strauss continued as she held her hands out away from both herself and me.
“I can see,” I mumbled before the door to the smaller room opened and my uncle came into the room. Davenport followed right behind him. I was able to see the handgun holstered on his right side. I attempted to clear my throat again. It seemed a little sore and was reminiscent to the time after I had surgery to remove my appendix when I was fourteen. It was on the verge of rupturing because I walked around for two days with a fever and side pains but didn’t tell anyone until I could barely stand up straight to go to my next class at school. I woke up from the emergency surgery experiencing hardly any pain except the feeling similar to a dusty barbed wire having been shoved down my throat.
“Seanna, my dear niece, how are you?” My uncle interrupted the doctor as she was continuing her verbal examination. Lloyd was excited and once again genuinely pleased at my consciousness.
“What happened?” I asked. “I remember waking up, not feeling well. I tried to call for someone but couldn’t move.” I omitted my rendezvous with Graham courtesy of Mia while describing the last hour I was last aware of.
“That was two nights ago. That was the day the virus took its course and you were found near death. We barely had the necessary medications to safely induce you into a coma but they were able to bring you back and maintain your life artificially until we could get a hold of the proper treatments,” Lloyd informed me.
“It took ten minutes of resuscitation efforts before you stabilized but you are here, sure as I am speaking to you. You were kept alive by machines for the last two days, but you, you came back. Our experimental methods worked!” He spoke with rising excitement.
I wish I felt the same way he sounded. I mean, he made it seem as if everything was okay and I could go back home and laugh at all of this like it was a game show or something. I didn’t respond because in truth, I was extremely weak. I don’t know if it was due to lack of nourishment or injury, or the fact that according to my uncle I was dead and brought back to life, sustained by machines for the last two days. Truthfully, it was probably all three.
While my uncle went on presumably talking about my own miracle revival, I saw Dr. Strauss respectfully giving him a chance to go on with his showcase because that was what my uncle was all about––his own grandeur and flair. Bless his heart, I believe sometimes he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a live audience or just his own mirrored reflection; it was all the same to him. I took the few seconds and inspected my arms, which besides the restraints were not covered. I saw the gray paleness that replaced my former healthy skin tone. It looked quite disturbing. I’m half black, I always looked sun-kissed, even in the dead of winter. The scar on my left arm from the bite was not visible from the angle at which I was lying but I was sure it was still there.
My uncle must’ve wrapped up his speech because he stopped speaking and there was silence. I answered with a half-crooked, weak smile. He smiled back at me, approached me and patted my head several times. After simply saying, “I’ll see you again shortly,” he walked back into the tiny room where I saw him shake a few hands and exit out of another doorway. Davenport stood there still in the room with the two of us where I tried not to even make eye contact. From what I did see briefly, he was noticeably freshly shaven and might even be considered attractive to someone who had not been shot, twice now via bullet and dart, whenever he was nearby. He also looked younger and more rested now than with the five o’clock scruff he wore the other times I’d seen him. I could tell that I was being inspected from head to toe by his guarded and doubtful glances. Davenport must’ve been bored with me because he stood there only a few seconds longer with his arms crossed and tough guy image, let out a sigh, and left the room also. Dr. Strauss was handed a clipboard while the door was open where she wrote down a few things and focused her attention to the questions from before.
“Are you feeling any anger or hostility right now, Seanna?” she walked over to me saying.
“Not particularly,” I responded.
“My team and I are trying to assess your aggression levels, particularly the need for those restraints on you right now, so as much detail as you can give would be helpful to us and beneficial to you,” she went on.
“No, I don’t feel any hostility or anger. I can speak, I know who I am!” I spoke up with all my strength.
Dr. Strauss stood motionless, almost as if she didn’t believe a word I was saying.
“Really, I mean it. The last thing I remember was another one of those pain attacks coming on and I wanted to call for someone, but I guess I didn’t have a chance to... I remember someone trying to help me. They stood over me… That was it, now I’m here,” I said as I paused for a second to go over the moments as I recalled them. I was telling her the honest truth about what I remembered.
“I don’t know if I am one of those things or not, you tell me, but I know I don’t feel like killing or eating anyone––okay?” I added, for the record.
“Hold still,” Dr. Strauss said as she pulled out a penlight from her pocket and examined my eyes, looking into each one twice.
“There is still only slight pupil restriction with the light and evidence of hemorrhaging around both the irises and corneas,” she reported out loud before turning the light off and returning it to her pocket.
“You’re thinking the other shoe hasn’t dropped, aren’t you?” I asked her as she stepped back and inspected my arms and the rest of my body.
There was no answer but she returned to the rest of the group in the tiny room, leaving me there awkward as ever on this bed that I figured had to be designed for the criminally insane. I lay there looking up at the lights wishing yet again to be in another place, any place other than this fish bowl circus of which I was the main attraction. After a few minutes and she hadn’t returned, I thought about yelling out but then I thought about how it would look to them. It would look like I was being hostile or aggressive and thus would cause more speculation to my status of whether or not I would attack at the first opportunity. I also thought about begging and crying, letting them see a little emotion––which would be easy because––well, because I was in the perfect scenario to beg but then how would they expect me to act if they decided not to pay me any attention? I’d probably get aggressive and seem hostile. For now, I was faced with a dilemma I had no choice but to go along with being silent and submissive until another option presented itself.
I closed my eyes, still fatigued from everything that was going on. I kept them closed too because the bright light shining on me from the ceiling was annoying and with my head basically forced to look straight, I focused on taking breaths of air. That dialogue was a blessing, I realized, coming from where I’d been.
Dr. Strauss returned into the room with a man that I recall seeing from my first night here. I opened my eyes to look at them both, not knowing what to expect. I remembered being told that he was from Administration. With his plain white shirt and slacks, sans blazer, he flashed a quick smile when our eyes met. It was quite obvious now that I was the fascinating new science project. It would likely be in my best interests to accept that I would probably have a long line of visitors and gawkers who would be filing past the glass wall to get a look at the sole “zombie” survivor. While Dr. Strauss briefed the man using some medical terms I was familiar with, my imaginative side surfaced as I thought about all the little things I could impress them with. Besides memory and intelligent conversation, I could show them I could still do math, read and perform my old job, same as before, if they’d give me someone to work with. I could dress and groom myself in front of a mirror and they�
�d clap and sigh in awe, especially if I pointed at someone, batted my eyelashes and smiled.
I chuckled to myself before the doctor saw me and said, “What’s got you so fascinated?”
She waited for me to say something but resumed her agenda after a few seconds of silence. She briefly went over her last conversation with me as chairs were brought in and the two sat and while Dr. Strauss began to gather information from me about the events of the day that brought me to the research facility, including how I initially became aware of the viral outbreak. They asked me background questions, which I was sure they knew the answer to but had to be stated by me, for the record. They asked me a few general questions about my upbringing as well as my current living situation and occupation prior to the outbreak. Part of me knew that they were testing me as well as gathering information, noting any delays in my responses and mood changes during the questioning. I tried to stay at an even emotional level with my responses.
What was difficult for me was to stay involved in the conversation because it seemed my concentration was hard to maintain. I wouldn’t ordinarily be described as a chatterbox; I was used to being observant, but after a number of questions my mind fluttered back and forth from past to current events. I kept going back to the moment the dead man’s teeth went into my arm. Every few seconds I’d get a refreshed image, only in more detail, about the very instant when his teeth made contact with my skin and tissue. After a few times I could recall his yellowish-gray, clouded eyes, and the bloodstained suit he had on. I could remember his receding hairline and the open, unhealed gash on his face. I remembered his filthy fingers and hands, which had cuts on them but were covered by dirt and bit of glass from the window he’d just fallen through and crawled over in order to get to me. None of those details, however, were as disturbing as his odor as it was similar to the smell of fresh clay and rotted meat.
Affliction Page 12
