Dead (A Lot)

by Howard Odentz

  “GET THOSE MONITORS up immediately,” ordered Dr. Marks, but no one in the room moved. They were like a bunch of little kids who accidently dropped a drinking glass and let it shatter beneath their feet. They all stood still with their fingers up their noses.

  “Did anyone hear me?” he bellowed even louder. His face turned red, and little beads of sweat erupted on his forehead.

  My father stood in front of me, blocking me from everyone.

  “You’re not touching him, Diana.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said. “Right now we have more pressing concerns.”

  Diana left her tea on the table and stood up. “Cheryl? Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “Great,” yelled Dr. Marks. “That’s just great. The com is down, too? Chapdelaine, Jacques, Walls, go see what’s happening with Cheryl.”

  Two of the tightly wound women stared at each other like they had just been slapped in the face. Dr. Chapdelaine just looked nervous.

  “What if the power is off in that part of the building?” he chirped.

  “What if it is?”

  “The doors could be open.”

  “So?”

  “Doors with . . . things behind them.”

  Dr. Marks looked like he was going to tear his hair out. His face turned another two shades of red, and his sticky hair plastered itself to his head.

  “Doctors,” said Diana with such presence that her voice sounded as though she was speaking through a megaphone. “Please go check on the monitoring system. This equipment is vital to our continued work and safety.”

  The three of them looked from Dr. Marks to Diana then back to Dr. Marks. They were scared. I could almost smell waves of fear rolling off of them.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” she snapped. “Private Norris. Please accompany the doctors to the medical wing.” That got them moving, and in seconds they were gone, accompanied by soldier guy.

  The two remaining white coats sat down at computer terminals and began madly typing. That just left me and my dad, Dr. Marks and Diana, staring at each other.

  She focused on my father but cast a disapproving glance my way.

  “Is his friend really unable to walk?” she asked him.

  My dad didn’t say anything at first. He was still tensed up like a prize fighter right before the bell goes off for the next round.

  “Doctor Light, I asked you a question.” She sounded like a kindergarten teacher scolding a naughty child. I wasn’t used to anyone talking to my dad like that.

  “His friend, Jimmy, is unable to walk,” he said evenly. Diana visibly sighed with relief—so did Dr. Marks—but their relief was short-lived. “But I think he’s just fine the way he is,” added my dad. He looked back at me and smiled. “As a matter of fact. Jimmy is perfect.”

  Dr. Marks and Diana gaped, wide-eyed, at my father. I especially enjoyed the part when the dawning comprehension seemed to color their faces.

  “Is he even ill?” she said thickly, like her tongue was swelling inside her mouth.

  “Define ill,” I said.

  The four of us stood there, my dad still blocking me from Dr. Marks, who, along with Diana, was quietly going mad. I don’t mean angry mad, because they were certainly that. They were descending into crazy mad, like their carefully constructed house of cards was about to tumble.

  “Do you want to be responsible for the destruction of the human race?” Diana screamed. Her words echoed in the cavernous great room.

  My dad stood his ground. “It seems to me that people like you have already accomplished that,” he said.

  “People like me are going to save it,” she seethed.

  “By experimenting on anyone who’s left?”

  “Yeah,” I added from behind my dad’s massive shoulders.

  “No,” she said as she pointed at me. “By experimenting on the rare few like your son who are immune.”

  “The hell you are,” I said.

  “We will find out whatever it is inside of him that protects him from Necropoxy, and we will synthesize it to rebuild our race for those who are worthy enough to call themselves a part of it. And I don’t care if we cut him into teeny tiny bits to do it.”

  My father and I both didn’t know what to say. I’m not sure which part of what came out of Diana’s mouth scared me more—the fact that she wanted to draw and quarter me until I bled an antidote or the fact that she just indicated that not everyone left alive would be good enough to be administered a dose once it was created.

  “You’re nuckin’ futz, lady.” Sorry. It came out before I could stop myself. My dad snorted—just a little.

  “How dare you,” roared Dr. Marks, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything else.

  I never thought I would actually say this, but it was a welcome relief when I heard a loud crash followed by gunfire in another part of the building.

  75

  “WHAT ON EARTH?” gasped Diana.

  Dr. Marks’s world had obviously titled on its axis. He spun around in circles as though he didn’t know quite what to do. Finally his eyes landed on the last two white coats typing away at their computers.

  “You and you,” he screamed, pointing his slimy finger at them.

  “But . . .” said one of them.

  “Did I ask you to speak?” he roared.

  She stopped talking, her fingers frozen in place above the keyboard.

  “You have exactly two minutes. Go find out what is going on and report back to Diana and myself.”

  They immediately stood and rushed out of the room. When they were gone, he turned back to us, his chest heaving up and down like he had just run a marathon.

  “Now that wasn’t very smart, Dr. Marks,” said my father.

  “No it wasn’t,” murmured Diana, nervously. The only people left in the great room were an old lady, my muscle-bound dad, his amazing son, and the grease-ball with the comb-over. Dr. Marks reached into his lab coat and pulled out a small pistol, the kind that ladies probably carry in their pocketbooks. “Don’t worry, Diana,” he said. “I have this.”

  My father picked up a candlestick that was sitting on one of the nicely polished, dark wood tables and whipped it at Dr. Marks with amazing accuracy. The gun popped out of his hand and went skidding across the floor. He yelped in pain.

  “And now you don’t,” growled my father and charged him like a bull. Dr. Marks squealed in surprise but didn’t have a chance to get out of the way. My father grabbed him around the waist and threw him to the ground.

  “Where’s my wife?” he screamed at him. “You lock me in this chamber of horrors and tell me I’ll never see my wife again unless I get used to administering cold medicine and wiping your noses?” My father grabbed him by the shirt collar and shook him so hard that I thought his head was going to break off. “Just who in the hell do you people think you are?”

  I even cringed a little when my dad started punching him in the head—over and over again.

  I was so amazed at my dad’s utter coolness that I didn’t even realize that Diana had pulled out an equally tiny pistol from her perfectly pleated jacket and leveled it at him.

  “Good show. Good show,” she said. “But I’m afraid we’ve had enough.” She pulled the trigger and winged my dad in the arm. I saw a little spray of blood spurt out. Some red splatter even landed on greasy Dr. Marks.

  “No,” I yelped.

  “Hmmpppf,” groaned my father but didn’t stop his full on throttling of Dr. Marks.

  “I said ENOUGH,” Diana screeched and shot the gun again, but this time, she aimed straight up in the air. A few chips of plaster fell to the floor at her feet.

  You would think a bullet in the arm would have been enough to stop my dad, but the second shot was the one that ma
de him stop.

  I ran to him. “Are you stupid?” I yelled. “I came all this way for my father. Not for a dead dad.”

  My father’s back heaved up and down. There was almost a week’s full of rage and hatred built up inside of him. I could tell he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to smear Dr. Marks into the floor. Finally, he leaned back on his knees and absentmindedly looked at this arm.

  “Dad?”

  “It’s just a scratch,” he said.

  “Like a tough guy scratch or a wussy scratch?”

  “Wussy scratch,” he said and winked at me, but his face turned deadly serious when he locked eyes with the old witch and her teeny tiny gun. She’d maneuvered into his line of vision.

  “I was taught to dissuade with a gun, not, excuse the pun, disarm. I’m assuming, Dr. Light, that the bullet only grazed you?”

  “You’re a good shot,” Dad said.

  We all heard another few bullets fly from somewhere in the building. They seemed a lot closer this time.

  “Get off me,” ordered Dr. Marks. His face was bloodied, and I think his nose was broken. It looked awesome.

  My father stood up and admired the devastation he rained down upon the greasy doctor. He smiled. I bet it felt good. I wish it had been me who pummeled the guy.

  Diana spoke with a steady, even voice. “You will tend to yourself and your wound, after which you will tend to Dr. Marks. He is important to me.”

  “I won’t,” said my father. “Not until you let me see my wife.”

  “She’s unharmed,” said Diana.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  “Ask your clever boy,” she said.

  I nodded my head. “Before the monitors went, I saw her.” My throat tightened. “Someone beat her up a little.”

  My dad half-smiled. “That happened when the solders took us on our way to find you,” he said. “Never corner a Light woman. She’ll come at you swinging.”

  I could only imagine what happened between my parents, Luke and Cal. If they treated my mom anyway like they treated Trina, she could have easily gotten hit once or twice. That would have been enough for my dad to put his hands in the air and surrender. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, he would have done anything to make sure she didn’t get hit a third time.

  We heard gunfire again. This time it sounded as though the shooter was practically on us. The next thing I knew, the door flew open, and a blur of people came streaming in. They were led by Jimmy, who was madly pumping the wheels on an old wheelchair that had nothing on his sleek, tricked out, modern one.

  “Poxers,” he cried. “Right behind us.”

  His words didn’t register—not at first. Instead, my eyes landed on one of the women running in behind him.

  She was my mom.

  76

  “WE NEED TO CLOSE the door,” she ordered. “Throw me a keycard.”

  Jimmy took one of those plastic doodads out of his pocket, just like the one I had seen Dr. Marks use to open doors, and tossed it to my mom. She pushed the door closed and swiped the card. There was an audible click, followed by sighs of relief from at least a dozen people who had come in with them.

  Unfortunately, that was followed by loud banging as the poxers who had been on their heels, hit the door.

  Been there, done that, but most everyone else started to squeal.

  Amidst the chaos, my dad took a step forward.

  “Molly?” he whispered. My mom turned and saw my dad and immediately rushed into his arms. Touching, right? My parents were cool like that. Jimmy flashed a grin and gave me two thumbs up. Then he saw bloody, bloody Dr. Marks and Diana, who still had her pistol in her hand. Her face had turned to granite. Jimmy’s expression turned grim.

  “Be quiet, people,” she said, but no one even heard her.

  My mother saw me and threw her arms around me. I was taller than her by more than a little, but it still felt great to be getting a hug from my mom.

  “They think Trina’s dead,” I whispered to her. “She’s fine. Don’t let them think otherwise.”

  She nodded and hugged me again.

  Crack. Diana let another bullet fly into the ceiling.

  “I said, be quiet,” she screamed. More plaster fell to the ground. Maybe, if we were lucky, the whole thing would rain down on her.

  People settled down enough for me to notice that none of the doctors, the soldier, or Cheryl the It was with them.

  “Where are our people?” barked Dr. Marks as he got to his feet.

  “Hey, you,” yelled a big guy with tattoos all over his arms. “You’re the one who laced my cookies and milk.”

  I snorted when he said that because, well, it was sort of funny. What was even funnier was when Tattoo Guy stepped forward and punched Dr. Marks square in the face. He went stiff and fell straight back like a tree falling in the forest. The big guy shook his hand and grunted like he just got a boo boo.

  I think it was worth it.

  “Yo, Dude,” barked Tattoo Guy. Your ‘people’ aren’t even people anymore. With any luck, they’re monsters, and they’re on the other side of that door with the rest of the freaks you collected along the way.”

  Dr. Marks got to his feet again. He was definitely getting the well-deserved beating of his life.

  The banging on the door became more insistent. Everyone started to panic, except for Diana, the queen of the dead. She still held her pretty little gun in her old lady hands.

  Jimmy reached around his back and pulled out one of the handguns we had brought with us. He must have shoved the piece into his pants before we were let into this insane asylum. He pointed the muzzle straight at her.

  “Hey, lady. I’m not the violent type, but if you don’t let us out of here, and now, I think you’re going to have a red hot mess on your hands.” He cocked the gun. “Don’t try me. I’ve been through worse crap than this in the past week. Knowing you are connected at all is reason enough.”

  She pointed her gun right at Jimmy.

  “And why is there a possibility that my people are now among the afflicted?”

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “Your midget soldier thought I wasn’t as handi-capable as I am,” he said. “I cried. She came to check on me. I took her swipe card, opened some doors, and the rest, as you say, is history.”

  I take back thinking that Cheryl the It had anything on Jimmy. He rocked.

  The color in Dr. Marks’s face drained as much as I could tell through his growing mass of purple and yellow bruises.

  “You opened our holding cells?”

  “I set human beings free,” said Jimmy. “The zombies? Well, let’s just say I may have opened a few wrong doors along the way.”

  Diana’s face tightened. “I suppose we’ll have to start over,” she said, staring directly at Dr. Marks. He only nodded his swollen, bruised head. Then Diana brought her other hand up to steady her gun, which was aimed directly at Jimmy. “It’s too bad you won’t be here to help us.”

  The people in the room gasped. Someone yelped, “Hey lady. He’s just a kid.”

  As for me, I did the only thing I could think of doing. I pulled away from my parents and stood directly in the middle of her line of fire. If she was going to shoot Jimmy, she’d have to shoot him through me, and she wasn’t going to shoot me. If I understood everything correctly, she needed what was flowing through my veins, especially if she was going to, as she put it, rebuild.

  “Move out of my way,” she screeched at me.

  “Put the gun down, you fossil.”

  “You have ruined everything.”

  “I’ve ruined everything?” I had to repeat it again because I was sort of shocked. “I’ve ruined everything? You people are the monsters. This is just Site 37. How many others are there?”

&
nbsp; She didn’t say anything. I could tell she wanted to shoot someone, but she couldn’t shoot me, and she couldn’t get a bead on Jimmy, because I was standing in front of him. I suppose she did what she thought was the next best thing.

  She turned and leveled the gun at my parents.

  77

  DO YOU KNOW when everything slows down, like when you take a spill on your bicycle or you drop a bottle of pop? You know what’s going to happen, but time just seems like forever to get there. That’s how I felt when Diana pointed the gun at my parents. She didn’t need my mother, and my dad was only a medical doctor, not a scientist. I was her Holy Grail. My parents were just pawns.

  I could practically see Diana’s brain coming to the same conclusion, and I didn’t know what to do. The banging of the poxers was getting louder. The people in the room were understandably freaked, and as soon as that old biddy stitched the most likely scenario together in her head, she was going to shoot my mom, my dad, Jimmy, or all three—and everything was happening in slow motion.

  Dad stepped in front of Mom, shielding her. My legs began to shake. My whole life had brought me to this moment, and in this single instance in time, everything could change.

  Was I wrong to come here? Should I have just left my parents with Diana? Maybe she would have kept my mother alive as long as my father did what she asked. What was I thinking? I was just a kid—a stupid, reckless, pain-in-the-ass kid, and now I was going to get someone killed.

  Everything was so senseless and the one that made the least sense of all was Diana.

  My legs started shaking more. I could feel them way down deep, like a rumble coming straight through my feet and up my calves. The vibration hit my stomach, and I could even feel the trembling in my chest—but it wasn’t coming from me—it was coming from somewhere outside, beyond the glass wall in the back of the great room. All of a sudden, the back yard lit up, and I could see everything through the windows—giant fir trees, and birch, and oak. The lawn was neatly trimmed, and the trees hugged the edge of the grass like great sentinels, protecting the forest.

  People started screaming, and for the first time, Diana’s hand faltered, but only a little.