by Steven Booth
Miller backed up to the previous door. Her feet squealed on the clean tiles. She looked inside and focused her gaze. She spotted someone trying to sit up in the cot. He was a youngish man in the shadows. He had military tattoos on his arms. He struggled against the restraints that held him fast to the hospital bed.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” the man pleaded. “Please, just let me go.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone what?” asked Miller, quietly. She didn’t offer him freedom. She wasn’t going to commit to anything yet, much less easily believe anyone else’s story. This guy could have been a plant of some kind—or a genuine lunatic. He could have been an addict going through withdrawals or hallucinating. It was rehab of some kind, after all.
He could even be about to turn undead on her.
“The zombies,” the man said. “I swear to God, I’ll never tell a soul about them.”
“What?” whispered Miller.
“I don’t even know that woman,” the man said. “I was just trying to get a burrito. I had no idea what she was going to do when she killed him. Please let me go.”
“How long have you been in there?”
“Forever. Help me.”
“Let me think.”
“You’re… you’re not one of them, right? You gotta get me out of here.”
Screw it, Miller thought. At least he knows more than I do. She made a decision. She tried the door. The knob didn’t budge.
“I can’t open it,” said Miller. “You’re locked up tighter than a flea’s butt. What have they been doing to you?”
“They keep giving me shots of God knows what. It feels like I have ants under my skin. And I’m starving all the time. The hunger gets so bad.” The man’s face writhed in the shadows. He seemed truly terrified.
“Take it easy, friend. What’s your name?”
“Alex. Alex Dragan.”
“All right, Alex. I’m Penny. Try to stay calm. Hold it down. I’ll see if I can get the damned door open and get you the hell out of there.”
“Hurry!”
Miller considered her options. She didn’t know if freeing Alex was wise, even if she could figure out how to do that, but she wasn’t about to leave him behind. Forcing the door open was bound to set off an alarm and bring someone to investigate, though Miller couldn’t understand why she hadn’t already been discovered. She needed answers. She also couldn’t just leave this guy to his fate. Rubenstein had to be performing experiments on this guy Alex—and perhaps every other patient in the secret wing. But then what could she do about that, or anything else for that matter? She didn’t have keys, or lock picks, or a gun, or anything that would allow her to get past the door and get Alex out of there. Even if she smashed the glass, it was embedded with wire mesh that would prevent her from climbing through to release him. Miller chewed her right knuckle. She needed time to think.
“Hey!”
Someone was standing right behind her. Time’s up, Penny.
Miller turned just in time to see an orderly fumbling with his Taser gun. She had only one choice, so she charged like a bull with a sword up his ass. The man was surprised by the attack. He tried to step aside, tried to fire. Miller flat out tackled him while he was off balance, thus gaining an advantage despite the fact that he outweighed her by close to a hundred pounds. He went over backwards. The two of them slid across the floor, Miller on top. Miller pulled back and rolled off the man. She kicked his weapon out of the way. He was on his hands and knees now, fury darkening his features. Miller let him get close to position but timed her next move perfectly. Before he could center himself, she turned to the side and kicked hard. His body flew backwards. Miller got lucky. The orderly slammed his head into the far wall with a loud crack. He groaned, slid down the wall into a sitting position and went limp.
Miller looked around for the lost weapon. It had to be somewhere.
A second orderly appeared and saw his friend out cold. He wisely didn’t bother to shout a warning. Miller saw him coming but this time she did not run towards him. She was worried about the situation spiraling out of control. If she got killed, Scratch was surely a dead man. Miller raised her arms as if giving up. She crouched low near the wall. The Taser probes hit her, and she went down with a thump. Her body did the electric grid jig for a long moment. The damned thing really, really hurt.
Miller groaned and rolled over. The guard was surprised by her resilience. He seemed to expect her to have been knocked unconscious.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Miller moaned. “I’m a girl, you big bully.”
The guard looked down. He was not amused. The leads were still attached to his Taser unit. He didn’t try to replace the probes. “You stay right there, miss.”
Miller lay still.
The guard fumbled for some other kind of weapon at his belt, perhaps Mace or pepper spray. He was apparently very serious individual.
“Relax, cowboy,” Miller whimpered. “Jesus, I ain’t about to get up and do-si-do.”
“I mean it, don’t move,” the orderly said. He walked closer with one hand on his can of Mace. He was calming down now, and apparently convinced that he had the upper hand. “I don’t want to have to hurt you again.”
“Can you at least pull these things out of me?”
The guard was perhaps a yard away when he took his eyes off Miller to take out his walkie-talkie and call for reinforcements. Miller swept his legs with her own feet. Her body complained, but she got the job done. He fell heavily, the wind knocked out of him, but then was already groping for the can of Mace. The radio slid her way and Miller shoved it aside. She closed the gap. The guard raised the can of spray.
Miller was on him like a duck on a June bug. She grabbed his head and slammed it against the hard flooring. His eyes rolled back. Miller checked his pulse and was relieved to find him still alive. He was just out cold. She searched him for keys. She found nothing. Just the damn spent Taser and a pair of nylon cuffs. She rubbed her sore muscles.
“Penny? You okay?”
The guy locked inside the room. Alex. Miller went to Alex’s door. She leaned against the door, stroking her sore arms and legs, and considered what to do. The adrenaline rush was wearing off and she felt the electric ache down deep in her bones, although she knew it would soon pass. She had been Tased twice at the Western Nevada State Peace Officer Academy back in the day, and tended to take it well.
Miller considered her situation. She put her hand on the doorknob. She had just begun to pull on it when she heard another sound. A door closed and footsteps approached from directly behind her. Miller sagged. She was running out of gas.
When she turned she saw another one of the tactical soldiers. His weapon was raised. Miller smiled coyly, hoping to charm this one long enough to figure out an escape. She opened her mouth to speak. Something hit her in the back. It wasn’t another Taser, it was something else. It stung like a hornet.
Miller looked around. Yet another tactical soldier was pointing a weapon of some kind at her. It wasn’t a pistol, because she would be dead if it was, and she’d heard no sound, not even the chuff of a silencer. Miller felt dizzy. She reached back and found a small cylinder. She plucked the tranquilizer dart from her shoulder. “Ah, shit.” She chuckled just as she blacked out.
CHAPTER FIVE
MALIBU SERENITY CENTER, HOSPITAL WARD
“Hey, she’s awake!”
Miller had a nasty headache. She slowly opened her eyes. She was looking up at a golden-colored faux ceiling. The air reeked of a strong, pine-scented cleanser. She could hear something beeping softly up behind her head.
Miller groaned. She felt pretty beat up. Every part of her hurt, some in surprising new ways. Her head was in a vise. Her back felt like a truck had hit her low and from behind. Her elbows and hands prickled with some kind of odd heat. Her ears hurt with every little sound. And even her groin complained, feeling like she had been violated in some way. She tried to shift her position, but she
was stuck in place like an insect on flypaper.
Something came into her vision. A blur that slowly became a person. A Black woman in nurses’ scrubs looked down at her with a soft, neutral smile. “Hello, Penny. You’ve been out a long time. Can you speak?”
“Yes,” Miller managed. Her tongue and throat felt like a Nevada sidewalk in August.
“Would you like some water?”
Miller nodded, but immediately wished she hadn’t. Her head throbbed again. Despite the fresh pain, she slowly turned her head so that she could see the rest of her body. She was connected to IV tubes at her hands and inner elbows on both sides of her body. That seemed strange, though her mind couldn’t quite process why. There was another tube hanging at her side. It was connected to a urine bag. That told her that she must have been catheterized while she was out.
A strange man appeared. He stared down at her. Miller flinched back. He was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. The man looked like some corporate executive who had been left out in the sun way too long. His presence frightened her. Miller wanted to close her eyes again, but the man’s gaze was too intense. He seemed to be trying to communicate something.
“Hey, darlin’,” the man said, finally.
Miller squinted. “Scratch?”
“Hi there.”
Miller swallowed. She croaked out a sentence. “Scratch, what the hell happened to your hair?”
“Oh, this?” Scratch ran his hand across light-brown, newly close-cropped hair. “I got it cut. Do you like it?”
Miller was too drugged up to lie. “No.”
His face fell.
“You look like some crooked old city politician eyeballing babes at a church fundraiser.”
Scratch was hurt. “Thanks.”
Dazed, Miller looked around. A shaded window overlooked the ocean. She could tell that it was late afternoon, because an intense pallet of sunset made the far wall look like it was on fire. A pair of seagulls swooped past the window outside. Miller surveyed the hospital room. An x-ray was clipped onto a machine attached to the opposite wall, but the light was off so she couldn’t quite make out what it looked like. Above her head was a vital signs monitor, though she couldn’t read it either from that angle. She struggled to make sense of her situation. She had only vague memories of the previous night, having trouble falling asleep, having a terrible dream. She’d gone for a long walk and somehow ended up getting into trouble. Everything was a blur.
Scratch had stepped back from the bedside. He looked a tad upset. Miller felt bad about that, but her concern about his feelings lasted about as long as a goose fart in a snowstorm. She needed to remember why she was here, but somehow couldn’t.
The nurse came back with a tiny cup of water. She slipped the straw between Miller’s lips. Miller drank greedily. Her throat was parched, and soon she was slurping the bottom of the cup like a kid with a milkshake.
“More.”
“No, that’s enough. Wait until your stomach gets better. How do you feel?”
“Like a slice of ass pie. What the hell happened to me?”
Scratch answered before the nurse could respond. “You went swimming in the ocean on your own, and they say you had a seizure. One of the guards saw you struggling and pulled you out just in time. You were lucky to be rescued.”
“Swimming?” Miller searched her memory again. She remembered slipping out of bed, looking for something to eat, walking down the stairs. She remembered some men… soldiers? That was all she could recall. The slate had been wiped clean. All she knew is that she felt awful.
The nurse quickly examined her and the equipment leading to the monitors, checking this and adjusting that. “Well, it seems you’re going to be okay, Penny, despite everything that happened. The doctor will be here shortly. In the meantime, please try to relax.”
“Uh, okay…”
The nurse walked out of the room without closing the door. Another nurse hurried by carrying a clipboard. A voice spoke from a loudspeaker down the hall, but the words were muffled. Someone rolled a tray past the door, but by then Miller was looking at Scratch and his new haircut. She didn’t know what to make of it.
Scratch slipped his hand into Miller’s. He squeezed. The IV needle made her hand sting. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Miller tried to pull her hand away from his, but she couldn’t get it to move—or anything else, for that matter.
“I’m in restraints?”
“You’ve had a couple more seizures since they brought you here. The restraints are to keep you from ripping out the IVs and hurting yourself again.”
“Take them off.”
“I can’t.” Scratch straightened up. “I’m worried about you, sweetness. I saw you have one of those seizures earlier this morning. It scared the living crap out of me. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“No, it’s this place that’s wrong, Scratch,” insisted Miller. Her mind began to clear, though the details remained hazy. “I don’t think I went swimming. I couldn’t sleep, so I just went for a walk around the building.”
Scratch frowned. Miller moved her eyes, asking him to lean closer so she could whisper. Scratch brought his ear close to her lips.
“I remember what happened now. I stumbled across a prison ward. Hospital beds with people strapped down, sort of like I am right now. I spoke to a stranger who asked me for help. It was a horror show, Scratch. They’re doing experiments here, I’m telling you. Rubenstein is lying to us. We need to get the hell out while we still can.”
Scratch shook his head. He had a look of sadness on his craggy face. Without the beard and long hair, he looked younger. How old was he, anyway? She had never asked. “They said you would be paranoid when you woke up.”
“I’m not being paranoid.”
Scratch sat back and patted her hand condescendingly, but Miller could tell he was torn. They knew each other far too well. He studied her face.
“Please,” Miller said. “You have to get me out of this bed.” She pulled on one of the restraints, but it held her fast. “Scratch, believe me. I’m fine.”
Before he could answer her, Scratch turned his head. His expression alone told Miller that someone else had entered the room.
“Well, how’s my patient?” Dr. Rubenstein asked cheerfully. He approached the bed, an unctuous look of concern on his pudgy face.
Miller stared up at him. He held all the cards. She wasn’t sure if she should just continue to play dumb or unload. Caution won out. She was tied down, and Scratch was unarmed. She decided to give Scratch some time to process what she’d said.
“She’s about as good as you could expect,” said Scratch.
Miller momentarily felt relieved. Maybe Scratch had believed her. At least he hadn’t thrown her under the bus. Rubenstein picked up her medical chart. He perused it, nodding thoughtfully. He made a few notes with a pen.
Scratch stood up and planted his feet. “What’s the story on these seizures, Doc? Penny never had them before.”
“Understandable, actually.” Rubenstein looked up from the chart. “A condition like Penny’s doesn’t always present itself right away.”
“And what condition is that?” asked Miller. She wanted more water but was too proud to ask Rubenstein for anything.
Rubenstein put the chart back on the metal table near the bed. His expression shifted to become stern and professorial. “It’s the virus.”
Miller felt her stomach do a back flip. “Wait, the virus?”
“The zombie virus you were exposed to so unfortunately months ago has managed to mutate again. You have something brand new inside you, Penny. Something we’ve never quite seen before.”
“Jesus on a jet ski,” Scratch whispered. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Let me see if I can explain this in lay terms,” Rubenstein said. “In the same way it helped you heal from the gunshot wound to your shoulder back at the beginning of the troubles, the zombie virus has now recklessly ac
celerated some precancerous cells that were buried in your brain.”
“Just what does that mean?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Penny, but you now have a large tumor in your brain. And it’s growing bigger by the day. That’s why you’ve been feeling so off, hearing and seeing things, not sleeping, perhaps even hallucinating”
“I don’t believe you,” Miller whispered. “You did this to me somehow.”
Rubenstein shrugged. He glanced at Scratch with a sad expression. He walked over to the x-ray light box and turned it on. The picture there showed a skull and a brain with a large white blob on the right side. It was the size of a golf ball. Miller’s insides turned to ice and fire. Her entire system reacted with a burst of adrenaline that erased all the aches and pains. This couldn’t be true, could it? Had she been slowly going crazy?
“Bullshit,” Miller said. “You’re lying. How do I even know that’s really a picture of me?”
“Scratch, as you can plainly see, I was also right about the growing paranoia,” Rubenstein said. “She won’t trust anyone by the time this is over.”
“Easy, Penny.” Scratch stepped close to Miller. He held her hand again. “What are we going to do about this, Doc?”
“I’m not certain that there’s much we can do. The cancer has already invaded several important structures, including the hippocampus. I’ve consulted with some of the best oncologists in California. If we operate, the likelihood of survival is low, and if she did survive, Penny’s ability to form new memories would most likely be severely impaired. And because of the presence of the zombie virus in your system, Penny, we also would have no way of knowing that the cancer wouldn’t just as rapidly return. In short, all we can do for now is try and make you comfortable.”
“So you’re saying I’m going to die,” said Miller. The room was spinning.
“Everyone dies, Penny,” said Rubenstein. He seemed sincere. “What I’m saying is that your prognosis is… troubling. We are not sure it makes any sense to operate, because even if you survive the surgery, your quality of life will be diminished considerably after. So it really doesn’t look good either way.”
