Tales of Terror from Survivors (Zombie Apocalypse #3.5)

by Hoffman, Samantha

  She may be the head of things, but she’s never had her own projects backed and funded.

  He forced himself to knock on her door, waiting impatiently for her to open it. When she appeared, her eyes narrowed and she frowned. He noted that the action created wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and he realized that she was probably older than he had originally guessed. He had assumed she was a rather young woman at the start of her career, yet it seemed much more likely she had been in the game for quite a few years. If so, this would probably be her last chance to make something of herself.

  “What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I wish I didn’t have to be here as much as you, but I need your help with something.” The words nearly killed him to get out, but he forced himself to swallow his pride and get it done. Before she could give him some snide response, he continued. “I may have found a reliable shortcut for creating a cure.”

  She studied him for a minute, her face relaxing a bit now that she seemed to realize he was there for work, not for a personal jab. “What do you need?”

  “A certain blood type. As head of the medical staff, I was hoping you’d have access to any personal records for the staff here. If I can find just one person with the blood type I need, I can have a steady source of it. That will make my job infinitely easier. Unfortunately, it’s a rather rare blood type and not easily found, so the chances of finding someone here with it are slim.”

  She frowned. “All personnel medical records are meant to be confidential. It would be a breach of—”

  “You can either help me with this and get some of the credit when I perfect the cure, or you can force me to go around and ask every single person in this damn forsaken place if they know their blood type, delaying the start of my cure by possibly several days, if not longer.”

  Like he knew it would, the promise of partial credit was enough to tempt her into helping. She squared her shoulders. “Very well. I won’t give you access to the records, but I’ll help you find what you need.” She stepped aside and allowed him to enter her labs, and he was surprised by how organized her area was. From her frazzled appearance, he had been expecting a disaster zone that would warrant a response from FEMA. He hated to think it, even to himself, but he was mildly impressed by her meticulous record keeping and organization.

  He followed her to the next room, a medium sized white room with two examination tables, a blue screen for getting undressed, and several run of the mill posters you’d find in any doctor’s office in the country. She crossed the room to the computer in the corner and sat in the chair. She looked back at him. “Help me find what you’re looking for. I can set parameters to weed out anything you don’t need to make it easier.”

  He came up behind her, frowning as he got a whiff of her overpoweringly feminine shampoo. It was something flowery and it was very distracting, enough to make him wrinkle his nose and back away with a frown. Without a word, he handed her the notes he’d taken, and she looked through them, inputting something into her computer. As he watched, a list of over two hundred names was quickly whittled down to just one. He stared at the name in shock, amazed that there was actually someone in the lab with the type of blood he needed.

  “Oh,” she said. “If this is the blood you need, you better get it fast. He’s on the street research team. He’s one of the guys out gathering specimens and gathering information for field reports. We’ve already had to replace six people on that team. Chances are good he won’t be around for too long.”

  “Nonsense,” Dr. Richards said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “I’m going to tell him how important he is to my cure, and he’s going to retire from the street team. He’ll have to be switched to something far safer. He’s an invaluable asset that we can’t afford to lose. There’s no telling how much of his blood I’ll need while developing the cure, and without it I’ll probably be lost.”

  Dr. Abbott shook her head. “He’s former military turned man of science. I doubt you’ll convince him to give up his position on the street team to someone less capable. I suggest you get as much as you can and send him on his way. Just be responsible with your samples.”

  He sneered. “Even if I take as much as I can, there’s always a chance I’ll need more. There’s no telling how much blood I’ll go through in the first phase, and when it comes time to actually mass produce the cure, I may need even more of it. I’ll need enough to study on its own, enough to see how it reacts with infected blood, and how it reacts with the virus itself. Far more than can safely be taken in one or two sittings. If I need to, I’ll formally request he be forced to step down for the good of my research.”

  “Of course you will,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re a control freak and you can’t stand when anyone goes against your wishes. But since you’re the golden boy around here, I’m sure they’ll grant your request if it comes to that,” she muttered.

  Dr. Richards laughed, earning a glare from her. “You sound bitter, Dr. Abbott. I can’t help if the higher ups think my research is more important than yours. Perhaps if you chose a more worthwhile topic to research, you might get the funding you’re after. That is, if I don’t get it first.” He laughed again, taking the piece of paper she held out to him with the man’s name on it. He attempted to pry it from her fingers but she held onto it, refusing to let go. With a sigh, she released the paper, and Dr. Richards left her office with a smile on his face.

  “Don’t forget to credit me!” she shouted. “I won’t let this go, Carter. I’m your partner on this from now on. You won’t shut me out and take all the glory for yourself.”

  He tried to tune out her words, but her sharp voice was like a whip in his mind. The thought of working on the same project as Dr. Abbott was not a pleasant one, but he did have to admit that her medical knowledge may actually come in handy at some point. As much as he didn’t like the idea of sharing any credit for his research and development of a cure, giving her partial credit would be much better than not getting it done at all because he was stubborn and preferred working alone. She could be an asset if he let her. All he had to do was tolerate her presence for a short while and perhaps he could save his image.

  Dr. Richards made his way to the room number written down on the paper in his hand, and he knocked. The door opened almost immediately, and he found himself face to face with the man from the file he’d seen on the computer. Dr. Richards didn’t believe in wasting time when so much was riding on his success, and he cut to the chase immediately.

  “I need your help to save the world,” he said, hoping his broad, sweeping words would influence the man to be as cooperative as he needed him to be. The man stood there, speechless, and Dr. Richards continued. “If there’s a way to create a cure and stop all of this, it’ll be with the help of your blood. I found that your blood type is immune to the virus and its affects, but unfortunately I only had a small sample to use and I need more. A few vials from you could go a long way.”

  The man in front of him—DJ something, he recalled vaguely—looked as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. He shook his head and a big smile grew on his face as his eyes lit up. Dr. Richards nearly smiled to himself, knowing that nobody like this man could ever pass up the chance to be a hero. People like him were so easy to manipulate, like putty in his very capable hands. The only question left was what did he want to mold this man into?

  “I’ll do it! Take as much as you need,” DJ said, shoving his arm towards Dr. Richards.

  He frowned, gingerly pushing the outstretched hand away from him. “I don’t have the stuff necessary to take it right here in the hallway,” he said, his voice flat and his eyes not exactly amused.

  DJ looked bashful and pulled his arm away, but he was still smiling. “Sorry, I got a little overexcited thinking about it. When can we do this?”

  “Right now,” Dr. Richards said, motioning to the empty hallway. “My lab isn’t too far from he
re. I can take a few vials to tide me over for right now, and then I can get more as I need them. We can’t take too much from you right now, or else there are risks to worry about. And your blood is too precious to risk by being hasty.”

  DJ followed him down the hall, a look of wonder on his face. “It’s weird to think that my blood is precious. I’ve never really been anything special before, and yet here I am, the savior for mankind.”

  Dr. Richards felt a rush of contempt for the man beside him, but did his best to hide it. “Potentially,” he said, delighting in deflating DJ’s ego and joy. “I’m not sure how well this is going to work yet, and it’ll be awhile before we get any real results. For now, we just have to hope for the best. But ideally, yes, your blood is going to save mankind.” He nearly smiled, knowing that DJ was never going to be credited as the savior of anything. That honor would go to himself and nobody else. Anyone else involved would be nothing more than a small footnote at the bottom of a page in a history book years and years from now, reduced to an obscure trivia question on a game show.

  They reached his lab, and Dr. Richards wasted no time in setting DJ down and grabbing his supplies. He was eager to begin working on the cure, as well as to get DJ out of his company. He found the younger man’s cheerful attitude obnoxious and nauseating, and he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. He may have needed something from DJ that only he could provide, but that didn’t mean he needed to be spending anymore time with him than necessary for his work.

  While he was drawing DJ’s blood, Dr. Richards noted with interest that his free hand was playing with a silver chain around his neck. Upon closer inspection, what he had first assumed were dog tags was actually a cross. He didn’t personally believe in God and thought those who did were fools of the highest degree, but he was intrigued at the thought that someone’s faith could be so strong it would last even through a nightmare such as this.

  DJ noticed him staring and pulled the chain further out of his shirt, letting the shiny metal catch the artificial light from the ceiling above them. “Do you believe in God, Dr. Richards?”

  Dr. Richards scoffed, but DJ didn’t seem all that offended. He may have even been a little amused, as a smirk twisted his lips. “I’m a man of science, always have been. Of course I don’t. It’s foolish to believe in something that can’t be proven.”

  “Can’t be disproved, either,” DJ said, a tiny smile on his lips. “It’s okay that you don’t believe. He loves all of us, no matter our race, gender, or beliefs. As long as you do your best to always follow his teachings, you’ll always have someone looking out for you, even when you’re at your worst and feel like nothing is going right. Like right now,” he said, looking up to meet Dr. Richards’ curious stare. “I fully believe that He’ll guide me through this crisis, and my faith will be even stronger at the end of it all.”

  Dr. Richards was intrigued despite himself. “What makes you so sure He exists? And even if He did, what makes you think any being as powerful as that would care about lowly people like us?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I guess that’s part of what makes faith one of the most powerful forces there is.”

  “Science is the most powerful,” Dr. Richards said stubbornly. “Science has made advancements that are more powerful than anything God could have done. Science improves the lives of everyone.”

  “Not always,” DJ said, motioning to the room around them. “Science got us here, and faith will get me out of it.”

  “I will get us out of it,” Dr. Richards corrected. “I have the knowledge, the resources, and the desire to make it happen, and it will have nothing to do with your God.”

  DJ narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re the one who created this mess. You’re responsible for countless deaths. If I were you, I’d be worried about my soul. It’s never too late to confess your sins and be forgiven, Dr. Richards. You don’t wanna be facing Him years from now with a dirty slate, do you? This may be hell now, but the real thing is going to be a thousand times worse. And that’s where people like you are going to end up, suffering in misery for eternity. You’re a doubter, as well as a butcher. I’m sure you have plenty to atone for, and this cure won’t get you a free pass into heaven alone. Where will you be when the time comes, Dr. Richards?”

  His fingers trembled and his mind raced. Strangely, he hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about his morality or the end of his life. He had always assumed he’d end up in a pine box somewhere with nobody to mourn him, but what if there was more? The thought was preposterous to him, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling creeping down his spine. It settled like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, and he felt the urge to be sick. For the first time, Dr. Richards was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, something he couldn’t see or feel or even prove. Yet the fear was there, and it began eating away at him like a ravenous beast, feasting on his insecurities and his desires.

  What if I am doomed? I’ve destroyed countless lives and it’s only going to get worse until this cure is perfected. Do I really have something to fear, or are these the ramblings of a delusional follower? Another thought came to him, one that stopped him in his tracks. Do I dare take the risk?

  Did he risk casting aside DJ’s nonsensical ramblings, or did he take them to heart and take precautions now? How did it all work? Did you ask for forgiveness and have it granted to you? Did you have to prove that you were worthy of it? Surely fixing all of this would be a good start, even if it wasn’t enough to give him a clean slate when the time came. He still had time. He still had time to fix his wrongdoings and set himself on the right path.

  It’s not too late for me…

  He shook his head, a frown twisting his face. This is preposterous! I’m a man of science. Science has always been my pillar of strength, not some bearded man in the sky that doesn’t exist. I’ve made a mess of things, but I’ll be the one to get us out of it, and people will praise me as a hero, not a butcher. I’ll show this fool, and when the time comes and he dies, he’ll know in his last moments that he was wrong and I was right.

  He took the full vials and marked them with printouts from the nearby computer, making sure the time and date were both correct. “Thank you, DJ. This is all I need from you at the moment. I’ll call for you if I need more, but it shouldn’t be for some time. Until then—”

  The door burst open, and Dr. Richards nearly dropped the vials of precious blood in his hands. Before he could demand to know who would enter his lab unbidden—not that many had the clearance to do so—his question was answered when Dr. Abbott strode in, walking quickly to keep up with the gurney that was beside her. There were two military personnel with her, and a third lying across the stretcher. He was unmoving, and it didn’t take a genius like Dr. Richards to see why. Half of his face was missing, probably chewed off by one of the creatures they’d been sent to capture.

  Idiot shouldn’t have gotten so close.

  “DJ, get out!” Dr. Richards snapped, his eyes blazing. He glared at Dr. Abbott as DJ took his leave, rushing out the still open lab door. “What is this?” he asked, whirling on Dr. Abbott and the two military personnel with her.

  Dr. Abbott glared back at him, refusing to back down. He hated women that didn’t know their place, and this one was quickly getting on his last nerve. Where he had been slightly amused by her pathetic behavior before, there was nothing left but contempt. How dare she walk into his lab like she owned the place? He didn’t know who had given her the clearance to his lab, but he was going to find out and he was going to make sure they paid dearly for it.

  “I brought you another toy,” she said snidely, her lips twisting into a harsh snarl. While the military personnel struggled with the binds, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “And since we’re now partners, I figured this would be as good a place as any to bring him. Dr. Peters gave me his card to gain access to your lab, but don’t worry, it’s only temporary. By the end of the week I’ll have my own and I won’t need his anymore. T
hen I’ll be able to come and go whenever I please, and I’ll have complete access to your records and your research. Your funds, too.” She smiled, but it was far from pleasant. “Get used to seeing me around, Dr. Richards. I told you I wasn’t going to let this go.”

  He shook with rage, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He’d never been so angry in his entire life, or so blatantly disrespected. Everything vanished from his mind, leaving him a seething blank slate. When Dr. Abbott turned to tend to the new creature, he nearly grabbed the clipboard on a nearby table and struck her in the back of the head with it. But he was a man of science, not a man of violence, and he forced himself to take deep breaths until he was calm enough to function properly once more.

  The military personnel had fumbled with the binds, and Dr. Abbott shooed them away so she could do it herself. The two of them stood miserably together in the corner, talking to one another and refusing to look that way, in case they caught a glimpse of their fallen comrade. Dr. Richards studied the body lying on the gurney. He noted with interest that the body had already begun to twitch, a sure sign that any moment now it would be active, an unstoppable killing machine.

  Dr. Abbott better hurry and get it strapped down…

  He saw his chance as she was leaning over the body, and he took it. When the creature’s eyes snapped open—unfocused and blank—he shoved. Dr. Abbott fell forward with a startled cry, and the creature dug its nails into her shoulder, tearing through flesh and a thin shirt to reach the skin underneath. She screamed and flailed as it drew her to its open mouth and sank its teeth in, cutting her off. As it chewed on her throat, one of the military personnel drew his gun and swiftly put a bullet in the creatures head.

  Blood splattered Dr. Abbott’s white lab coat, and it released her. She staggered backwards, holding her throat as if her mere hands could staunch the flow of blood. It seeped through her fingers as the color drained from her face. The two soldiers rushed to her side, trying to help stop the bleeding, but it was obvious from the resigned looks on their faces that they knew it was a lost cause. They’d probably watched friends die of blood loss before and would know the limits of even the best doctors. Even if they could have stopped the bleeding, they would know she was doomed to become another monster like the one they had just put down.