by Steven Booth
“All right, cowboy.” Miller rested her hands on the crook of Scratch’s elbows. “You really want to stay here a while?”
“Right now, I do believe it’s our best option.”
She picked up her glass of wine and threw back a big swallow. “Then we will.”
Scratch leaned forward and kissed her. Miller was surprised by his tenderness. This wasn’t at all like Scratch’s usual passionate, forceful approach, a man on fire and full of need. He was trying to take care of her for a change. She let go. She could finally feel warm tears rolling down her cheeks, moistening Scratch’s perpetual stubble. Miller sagged into his large frame. Some of the erotic fog returned. The world drifted away.
When she felt Scratch’s hands untying her top Miller sobered up. She reacted immediately and pushed him away. “Hold on there. Calm your country ass down! Once is enough for today.”
“Come on, Penny. It’ll make us both feel better.”
“I said no.” She backed away from him before he could undo the last knot. “I’m sure it would feel nice, it always does, but having make-up sex just doesn’t appeal to me right now. I’m trying to adjust to a new reality.” She turned and headed toward the bathroom. “Besides, looks like we’ll have plenty of time for that, thanks to you.”
Scratch cocked his head. “So we’re really staying?”
Miller took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yes, we’re staying.”
“Okay then,” he said. “I guess I can wait a bit for seconds.”
Miller was unimpressed by his patience. She needed to think things through. Her head was a mess, and the wine wasn’t helping. “I’m going to go take a shower and get the salt off my skin.”
“I’ll join you.”
Miller frowned. “I thought we just settled that, Scratch.”
“I’m just going to wash your back. No funny business.”
Against her will, Miller smiled. “Yeah, well it is kinda funny when you do it!”
“Gee, thanks!” But Scratch was laughing too.
The shower was gentle, ultimately uneventful, and relaxing. Miller found the warm, dopey feeling had returned. Afterward, they ordered dinner, and had another glass of wine. They spent a few hours on the balcony talking about nothing and listening to the calming pulse of the ocean waves. It was the first relaxing night they had ever spent together, at least as a couple, and Miller was determined to enjoy herself. She did, but also couldn’t shake the uneasy truth that just beyond those sparkling lights in the distance, something hideous was lurking, and it meant to bring them an early death.
They went to bed early. Scratch fell asleep almost at once. Miller lay still but remained wide awake. Time passed slowly. She listened to the electric alarm clock flip through the minutes with a soft click—she didn’t even know they still made those kinds of clocks, and she let her mind focus on the incongruity of it. Moonlight streamed in through white curtains that rustled gently in the breeze. The air outside was crisp and carried the scent of the sea. Miller stared at the dark ceiling. Something deep inside her just didn’t want to surrender control. She wanted to keep her edge, to stay alert, despite the apparent safety of their current surroundings. Miller just couldn’t rest. She tried to count sheep, imagined floating on a raft, and eventually felt tired enough to sleep. When she finally dozed off, a terrifying dream took hold. Miller was standing on the hot sand in the little red bikini, gripping a bloody fire axe. Scratch had turned. He was a zombie now. He was closing in fast, foul mouth open wide, hungry to bite her. Miller raised the axe to decapitate him.
No…!
Miller sat up and snapped awake with an icy blast of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looked down at her man.
Scratch was snoring.
Miller quietly got up from the bed. She needed to calm down. She searched the bureau for some fresh clothes. Their latest had immediately gone to the laundry via an ever-discreet room service. She looked around. The drawers were stocked with unisex scrubs, all eggshell white. The garb reminded Miller of prison uniforms, or the traditional tunic outfits of a religious cult. The drab outfit also brought back an uncomfortable memory of her brief time in the medical ward at Crystal Palace. Still, this was the only game in town. And at least it wasn’t a gory, torn up, used wedding dress. Thank God for his tender mercies. She slipped into one of the garments and walked over to the window.
The moon cast long fingers of shadows over the sea. The waves crashed on and on, undisturbed by the folly of man. The moon was bright and the stars clear and scattered due to a low, steady wind from the west. The beautiful site calmed her nerves.
I’ll just take a walk down there, Miller thought. Maybe I’ll try and look for a snack shop. I can go to sleep later…
It had been many years since she had walked along the beach at night. And that had been way back while on her honeymoon with Terrill Lee. Miller smiled a bit, remembering those dopey days. They had been so innocent. She and Terrill Lee had held hands and strolled down Santa Monica beach. They had been so much in love back then, so young and utterly stupid. She remembered loaning Terrill Lee her coat when he got cold—a gesture that had seemed funny at the time, but was also an odd portent of things to come. He had been such a needy and frightened person in so many ways, but Terrill Lee had also tried hard in his own way. He’d wanted to be a good man, Miller thought, despite all his weaknesses. He’d really meant well. He’d truly loved her. And she would always miss him.
He was also a jerk, sometimes.
She shook off the pensive mood. Moments later, Miller slipped out of room 329 and headed down the hall toward the elevators. Terrill Lee was still on her mind. Sure, he could be a complete baby, but he was also gentle and kind. He’d loved animals, and when it came to book learning, he was one of the smartest people she had ever met. That had been one of the first things that had drawn Miller to him. He’d wanted to know a little about everything. Of course, his countless hobbies and distractions had become major issues later on. The end had come when they’d learned that Miller couldn’t become pregnant. Terrill Lee, who’d always wanted a family, couldn’t handle that. That one sad fact of biology dug at him, somehow made him feel less of a man, and eventually undermined their entire marriage.
Think about the ocean again, Penny. You have enough bad memories to last a lifetime.
Miller realized she’d stopped moving. Puzzled, she stretched and yawned. She walked down the hallway barefoot, the carpet cool and plush beneath her feet. She heard no voices, no music. No one else was still up, apparently. The doors were all closed tight. Miller looked down the corridors in all directions. She saw no guards. She lazily noticed that the security cameras were on, their little red activity lights staring blankly at her, but that didn’t strike her as odd. She felt sleepy and yet wide awake, almost euphoric. She reached the elevator and hit the button. No movement, no sound. After a few moments she realized that the elevators had probably been shut down for the night. Perhaps those were house rules. Miller looked around and spotted door leading to a stairwell. She found it unlocked. The stairs were lit by emergency lights. She could see well enough to make her way down. The cement felt refreshingly cold under her bare toes. She started down the steps, trying to think only of the sea.
Until Terrill Lee crept back into her thoughts, spider quick and bittersweet.
He’d had an affair and later divorced her because she couldn’t give him a child, and then died without every having become a father anyway. Her feelings on that point were mixed, and tended to come down somewhere between sympathy and serves you right, you selfish bastard. Some part of Miller noticed the odd mix of emotions but didn’t offer comment. Her observing self seemed to be in a trance.
Miller found herself at the bottom of the steps. She was facing another door. She opened it and discovered she’d found the lobby. The immense room was empty but for a lone figure near the desk. Soft music came from the ubiquitous hidden speakers. Miller yawned and stretched again. Walking cl
oser, she nodded to a tall blonde security guard with a pleasant expression and sleepy eyes. He was dressed in the omnipresent scrubs, the same uniform everyone wore, though Miller could see a holster below his tunic. He was armed with what appeared to be a 9mm. That fact didn’t strike her as odd either. Rubenstein knew full well the zombies were on their doorstep. She expected to be at least questioned if not stopped, but nothing happened. The guard barely acknowledged her presence. He just looked up with a nod and went back to the mind-numbing duty of standing there waiting for something unpleasant to happen.
Miller walked between the couches and chairs and soon discovered that she was no longer alone. There were other insomniacs, semi-dazed residents out wandering the halls. She thought she recognized one or two—a television star and a thin, aging rock singer with myriad tattoos and long, black hair. Apparently celebrities were still coming to this celebrity rehab, but then they had no idea what was really going on one city away. No one bothered her. They did even not meet her eyes, just kept their own counsel. Miller spotted a woman who looked a lot like one of her favorite country singers. She almost said hello, but the lady turned and fled when Miller approached. Jesus, I wasn’t going to ask for your autograph… Miller shrugged off the incident. She continued to explore. One hall led to the next, one staircase to another floor of rooms. Time crawled by.
Miller wasn’t even aware that she’d gone off the reservation, not at first. She just noticed that the other people were no longer standing around. No one was there. Miller spun in a circle. She was alone in a large hallway. There were doors, but all of them were closed. An uncomfortable tension washed over her. She’d gotten completely lost in featureless surroundings that may as well have been a maze.
Miller pondered. She had four alternatives, points of the compass. Frustrated, she chose one arbitrarily. She walked straight forward, through double doors, and found herself going down another set of spiraling steps. Lower and lower into the bowels of the building, the safety lights fading away, the atmosphere turning rapidly into nothing but shadow and gloom. Miller paused in the darkness. Something was wrong. The fluorescent lights were completely off down here. It was almost pitch black and uncomfortably cold. People weren’t expected to be down here… or weren’t allowed.
Miller’s stomach growled. She went through the next metal door and walked into another empty seating area. There has to be a break room or kitchen somewhere. Still hoping to score a snack, she wandered down the next hall, turned a corner and abruptly ran into a locked set of automatic double doors. She stepped in front of them but nothing happened. They were the kind you need a wireless key card to pass.
“Fuck a duck.”
Miller squinted and leaned down. There was a window in the door, but it was blackened and she couldn’t see through. A creepy feeling jogged up her spine like a daddy long legs on steroids. The same old feeling returned. This was wrong, all over again. She’d somehow gone from bad to worse. This whole wing seemed to scream go away. That fact alone was enough to make Miller feel very, very uncomfortable. What are they hiding down here? After so many experiences with government labs and their secret passages, she did and didn’t want to know. Her training nagged at her mind, but deep hunger gnawed at her belly. A distant voice in her brain told her to leave. It also whispered something far more sinister: Curiosity killed the cat.
Miller examined the card reader—it was basic solid-state RFID technology, nothing to jimmy. Now what? she thought. Just then the door clicked and began to swing open. Miller panicked for a second. She looked around for a place to hide. The slow speed of the electric door gave Miller just enough time to tuck herself between the door and the wall. She was visible if someone looked the right way. All she could do is hope they wouldn’t.
Two men emerged. They both wore black tactical combat gear. She watched from the slit in the door. The duo walked out casually, semi-automatic weapons down at their sides. Were they coming off shift? That raised the question, what were they doing here in the first place, armed to the teeth? Were these Special Ops guys? Mercenaries? And what was it that they would be coming off shift from? This was supposed to be a rehab center, not an Army base. There should have been no need for weapons in the building—outside, perhaps, but not down here.
Unless…
The two men walked past Miller without looking back in her direction. She took a deep breath and licked her lips. Common sense told her to wait a few minutes and try to sneak back upstairs. Her law enforcement instincts told her that there was something important to learn by staying behind. Once again, the rush of adrenaline seemed to clear her mind. The door began to close, moving as slowly as it had opened. Miller heard the faint metallic whir.
Once she decided, Miller didn’t hesitate. As soon as the two soldiers were around the corner, she ducked in through the slowly moving double doors before they could close and lock. Her heart was pounding. She felt excited, nervous, and fully alive. When she walked forward, soft lighting came on automatically.
This new wing was very different from the others. It lacked the soft carpet and soft colors of the main building. This was a medical facility of some kind—perhaps not too surprising to find one at a rehab center—but there was something odd about it. Something that felt heartless and artificial. She’d had many bad experiences with secret facilities already, so this was something that made Miller feel both queasy and angry. That bastard Rubenstein was up to something after all.
I knew it.
The lights were set down low, and the security cameras seemed directed at the center of the room. Noting that, Miller clung to the wall. She never had been a much of a cat burglar. She generally preferred to kick in doors and clear a room with shouts and a loaded weapon. Still, thanks to the zombie plague, she was also no stranger to staying under the radar when absolutely necessary.
Something made a soft clicking sound somewhere above her head.
Miller froze. One of the security cameras was pointed in her direction. She was not certain if it had moved, or she’d just not noticed it before. She slid down the wall a bit surprised that no alarms had gone off, that no one had come to find out what the hell she was doing down here. She came to yet another four-way corridor. She chose a direction and crept forward.
There were rooms on either side of the corridor. Miller peeked in through the windows. She saw small exam rooms of some kind, with tables and trays and locked cabinets full of pill bottles. There was nothing that suspicious or worrying about them. No evidence of wrongdoing. Furthermore, no alarms had gone off. No one was upset or rushing down the stairs to arrest her. So maybe there was nothing to worry about after all?
A quote popped into Miller’s mind: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing man he doesn’t exist.
She continued down the dimly lit corridor. She slipped around the next corner. There was another set of double doors down there, but they were motion activated and opened smoothly just as she approached. Spotting something out of the corner of her eye, Miller looked up as she stepped through. The sign over the door read Custodial Ward. The floor was tiled and clean as a baby’s conscience.
There were even more cameras located in the new area, and this time it featured solid locks on each and every door. It looked like a dead end. Miller told herself to turn around, while she could still remember how to find her way back upstairs to her room. This was not worth it. She told herself to leave. Then she willfully ignored her own request. Slowly, carefully, she tiptoed across the tile and looked in through the small, high window of one of the locked doors.
What she saw made her stomach clench with terror.
Miller backed away in horror. She went to the next room, looked in. She checked another, and then another.
Each room held a man or a woman strapped to a bed. Each of those patients appeared to be asleep, but their mouths were open, and some were moaning. They were almost certainly drugged. Miller worked her way down both sides of the long corridor, up and down th
e entire row, and discovered that every room was exactly the same. People locked away from the others at the Serenity Center, all of them sedated and apparently held captive.
Something was very wrong here, all right, and now Miller knew what, though she didn’t know precisely why. Someone was experimenting on these prisoners. None of them looked as if they’d been exposed to the zombie virus, much less turned, but there was no way to be sure of that. This had to be stopped. Miller needed evidence to show Scratch, something they could take with them to share with the world. She hit the file cabinets, found them locked, and tried to get into one of the computers. The wall socket power was turned off, possibly as a security precaution. Frustrated, Miller spun in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings.
Unfortunately there were no documents lying around anywhere, no handy brochures describing the evil practices of the custodial wing, nothing that obvious to aid her urgent investigation. If she hadn’t seen the soldiers coming out of the wing, Miller probably wouldn’t have noticed the place, much less visited this floor or even thought much of it. The lights brightened a bit. The air conditioning clicked off and the air immediately felt warmer. Miller was panting. No other sounds entered the room. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and hear the blood rushing through her ears.
She heard something. A muffled noise. It was probably time to get the heck out of Dodge.
Still, Miller continued down the hall, looking in through the tiny windows. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she wasn’t willing to give up yet. The drugged feeling had faded away. She was running on stimulating rush of endorphins and adrenaline. Something was off, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Miller felt like she hadn’t since the first days of the apocalypse, like the zombie virus was active and operating in her system. Her nagging hunger bothered her, but other than that she felt clear-headed for the first time in quite a while.
“Hey!” A muffled male voice called from somewhere nearby. Perhaps someone who had seen her peeking through the window? “Hey, let me out. I can’t take this shit anymore.”
