Ryder puts his fingers under my chin, lifting my face until our eyes meet. In them, I see so much pain, but even more than that, I see understanding. He knows how I’m feeling right now. He knows what this kind of pain is like, and he understands that we sometimes do and say things we don’t mean when we’re in pain. But there’s something else I see in his eyes: hope.
He still believes in our goal here. He still somehow has hope for our future, even after the loss of one of our friends. I don’t know how he still feels that way, but I want to feel it too. I want to feel hope again. I want to feel something—anything—other than this pain deep in my chest. This ache needs to be chased away by something more pleasant, and I can think of only one thing that will get rid of my pain and loneliness, if only for a short while.
Leaning forward, I press my mouth to Ryder’s. He tenses under my touch, but I feel his body relax against mine and he kisses me back. He’s gentle at first, but that’s not what I need right now and he knows it. I need a distraction, a way to escape reality and pretend like everything is going to be okay, even though we both know it might not be. We both realize there’s no guarantee of a better future, but for the next few minutes, we’re going to pretend like there is, no matter what.
*****
In the morning, we have a quiet breakfast in bed, neither of us talking about what happened last night. I know that we both feel guilty for allowing ourselves to have even a moment of pleasure at a time like this, but deep down I think it was necessary. That feeling of closeness that comes with Ryder’s touch is enough to chase away any and all dark and threatening thoughts, if only for a short while. At the time, it was exactly what both of us needed, instead of wallowing in guilt and self-hatred.
When we’re dressed in clean clothes and fed for the day, we head down to the lab, joining the others. Everyone else is already gathered around the male test subject, and one glance at him tells me why. The change in him since the last time I saw him is simply astonishing, and I fully understand the palpable excitement in the room.
He’s no longer pale and corpselike. His skin has regained a healthy, pink glow to it, and many of the cuts on his face and arms have started to heal over, leaving behind pink scar tissue. There’s no real visible trauma that I can see, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think this man was never a zombie. He looks completely human, which I take to be a very good sign. His chest rises and falls, and when Dr. Richards examines his chest with a stethoscope, he smiles.
“We’ve got a steady heartbeat, and he’s breathing unassisted. This is truly wondrous.” He puts his stethoscope away and grabs his notepad. “In a matter of hours, I seem to have completely reversed the effects of the infection. I’ve managed to bring the dead back to life, and now the undead back to life once more. I’ve righted my wrongs.” He laughs, looking truly happy for the first time since meeting him. “This is truly amazing, perhaps the most important moment in history.”
Reese cuts him down immediately. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” he says flatly. “There’s still a chance this dude is gonna be seriously fucked in the head. Or he might die again in a few hours. It’s too early to be this excited.”
Dr. Richards’ ego deflates instantly, and he regains his serious expression. Adjusting his glasses, he nods. “You’re quite right. We’ll need to watch him closely over the next couple of days to make sure the process doesn’t begin to reverse. I would hate to mass produce and spread the cure only to find there were severe side effects later on.”
I can’t look away from the man on the table. Where there was a zombie earlier, there’s an actual man now. I get closer, staring at his face, completely transfixed by the transformation I’m seeing. He’s breath on his own, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. We’ve done it…
His eyelids quiver, and they snap open, startling me. I stumble back as he begins to scream at the top of his lungs, as if he’s being murdered or tortured. Ryder pulls me back away from the table as the man begins to thrash. His back is arched to the point I’m terrified it will snap, and his eyes are rolling back in his head until only the whites are showing. The veins in his neck jut out as he screams at the top of his lungs, shrieking like a giant bird of prey. His voice cracks and he goes silent, but his mouth is still open wide and I know he’s still screaming.
We watch him in horror. This is our first taste of the reversal process and how they react to coming back. If everyone reacts in a way like this, the world is in for some very frightening changes. Dr. Richards is furiously jotting down notes, and I glare at him, even if he doesn’t notice. “What is wrong with you? Sedate him or something!”
“Introducing any kind of drug to his system now could interfere with the reversal process. We can’t risk altering the outcome. Until we know more about how this cure works, we must be careful about what we do to him, and what we introduce into his system.”
It sounds like a plausible reason to not sedate him, but I’m sure Dr. Richards has other reasons for not wanting to calm him down and ease any pain he might be feeling. He reminds me of a nerdy kid that likes to burn ants with a magnifying glass or pull the wings off of butterflies just for fun. He doesn’t see this man as a human being, even though he’s well on his way to becoming one again. He’s just another experiment for him to take notes on.
The man relaxes, his back going flat against the metal table beneath him. His mouth is still open in a silent scream, but he’s no longer in danger of snapping his spine as he bucks against the restraints, and his eyes have rolled back down. The whites look a little jaundiced, but they appear to be clearing up and regaining their former color. His face slowly goes from red back to white, and finally his mouth closes and he stops screaming.
We all watch him closely, waiting for him to do or say anything. But he just lies flat on his back and stares up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes. It’s clear that nothing is going to happen right now, and I feel kind of strange standing around watching a man come back to life. A part of me wants to leave, but I don’t want to miss anything when it finally does happen. So I hang in the back of the room with Ryder, too nervous to get close to the table again in case he has another violent or terrifying reaction.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s almost three and a half hours later when the test subject finally speaks. His voice is hoarse, and I’m not sure if it’s from his screaming on and off over the last few hours, or if it’s from not being used to speak for however long he was a zombie. But it sounds dusty, like his throat is full of cobwebs and dust bunnies. His voice breaks when he speaks, but we can all clearly understand him.
“…water.”
Daisy rushes to the nearby sink and fills a clean glass beaker with water. Dr. Richards watches her closely, making sure she doesn’t accidentally do anything to mess with his experiment. We make room for her as she comes up to the side of the metal table. She’s surprisingly more fearless than I am, because she gets right up close to him, even putting her hand on the back of his head to gently guide his lips to the rim of the beaker.
He slops water all over himself, as if he can’t remember how to swallow properly, and he sounds like a dog lapping at a bowl. He does get some of the water down though and Daisy heads back to the sink to refill it again. This time, she goes slower, and he gets more of it down his throat than all over his chest and neck. He slurps desperately at it, trying to suck down every last available drop. Daisy has no problems being close to him, even stroking his hair gently as he drinks, trying to keep him calm.
“More,” he says, gasping as he finishes off the second beaker.
Dr. Richards watches as Daisy fills it for the third time, scribbling his observations down. I’m not sure that drinking so much water in one sitting is a good idea, but his body is probably dehydrated, like he’s spent the last year in hell, which he very well may have. I’m not sure how the body fully reacts to becoming a zombie since I’ve never been one and lived to tell about it. All I
know is that the body shuts down and you die. Now that he’s come back to life, maybe all of his nonworking bodily functions are starting up again, and he just has to rejuvenate his system, give it a little jump start until things are back to normal.
When the beaker is empty for the third time, Daisy steps away, making room for Dr. Richards as he stops by the edge of the metal table. He gets close and examines the man’s face, touching it and turning it side to side. The man looks freaked out at being touched by a complete stranger, but Dr. Richards pays no attention to his discomfort. He has no problems invading this man’s personal space, and even forces his mouth open to peer down into his throat with a small flashlight from his coat pocket.
When Dr. Richards is finished with his examination, he nods, seemingly satisfied with the results. Surprisingly, he undoes the straps around the man’s arms, chest, and legs, freeing him to sit up and rub some feeling back into his muscles. Without the straps holding him down, he looks a little calmer, but he still pulls away from Dr. Richards, trying to put as much distance between them as possible without actually getting off the metal table.
“What is this place?” He cranes his head to get a look at the rest of the room, and his eyes fall on our group. “Please, where am I? Who are you people? I don’t understand what’s going on. Where’s my husband?” he asks, playing with the golden band around his finger.
Dr. Richards sneers and makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, earning a scowl from all of us. “My name is Dr. Carter Richards, and you are currently in my laboratory, where I’ve been watching over you for some time now, making sure the transition went smoothly.”
“Transition?”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Dr. Richards asks, snapping his fingers at Daisy and motioning for his notepad once again. She rolls her eyes but grabs it for him, handing it over without a fuss. “I need you to think hard about this.”
“The last thing I remember?” The man closes his eyes, and we all wait with abated breath, wondering what his answer is going to be. As he racks his brain for his last memory, I see his eyelids begin to twitch, and his fingers start to tap rapidly on the metal table. His entire body jerks as if he’s just been jolted with a stun gun or something. Without thinking, I grab a fistful of Daisy’s shirt and yank her away from the edge of the table a split second before the man erupts into a violent frenzy.
He jumps off the table and attacks Dr. Richards, knocking a tray full of tools to the ground with a clatter. The man slams him violently against the wall, hard enough that there’s a sickening crack that might be his skull. The man’s fingers curl around Dr. Richards’ throat, choking the life from him. His eyes are wide and fierce as he applies more pressure, tightening his grip. Dr. Richards’ face is turning red as he scrabbles for the man’s hands, trying to pry them away from his throat.
Aaron is the first to react, and he and Todd rush forward, grabbing the man by the shoulders. They drag him away from Dr. Richards, bringing him harshly down to the ground. He fights and thrashes, trying to dislodge Todd and Aaron, but together they overpower him, forcing him to remain on the floor while Dr. Richards regains his breath. He observes the scene with cruel, analytical eyes, more like a true scientist than a victim.
It’s all taken place so fast the rest of us haven’t even begun to fully process it yet. I still have a tight grip on Daisy’s shirt, and I let go of her, practically prying my fingers apart when they’re slow to respond. She gives me a grateful smile, which I return a little shakily.
“How did you know he was gonna freak out?” she asks.
I shake my head, still surprised by his outburst. “He looked like he was having a mental freak out,” I say. “I could see his eyes twitching, and his fingers were tapping crazily. I wasn’t sure if anything was going to happen, but I didn’t want you that close to him in case it did.”
The man on the floor bursts into tears, ugly crying until there’s snot running down his face. His back heaves with each harsh intake of air as he tries to breathe through the tears. Aaron has his legs pinned, and Todd is sitting on his lower back, forcing his shoulders to the ground. The man makes no move to get up, he just lies on the ground and continues to cry, breathing raggedly, and I get the distinct impression he’s as clueless about what just happened as the rest of us.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Todd asks, leaning around the man’s shoulders to get a glimpse of his tear-streaked, pitiful face. “Can we let you up or are you gonna freak out on us again?”
The man doesn’t say anything. He just sniffs and nods his head, looking like a child in the process. Todd and Aaron share a quick look, and Aaron nods his head. He counts silently to three, mouthing the words to Todd. On three, they both get up, freeing the man to stand if he wants. Instead of getting to his feet, he just curls up on the floor, holding himself while he cries more.
My heart twists painfully just looking at this man. There’s obviously something wrong with his mind. His emotions are wildly out of control if he’s having this bad of a reaction, and there’s no telling what kind of permanent damage has been done to his brain. There’s no way for us to know yet if this angry outburst is a one time thing, or if it’ll be a recurring problem we’ll have to deal with.
“Are you okay Dr. Richards?” Daisy asks. I’m surprised she’s even bothering since he won’t care for her politeness but I guess it hurts Daisy to be impolite.
He nods, his face slowly returning to its normal shade. “I’ll be fine,” he gasps, rubbing the red marks on his throat. “I see it was a mistake to unbind him so early. Next time, we’ll wait another twenty four hours, until the subject has time to process what is going on around them.” He picks up his notebook from the floor near the metal table and flicks dust off of the top page. He jots something down quickly, and I assume it’s something like patient exhibits extreme aggression.
Dr. Richards tucks his notebook away into a large coat pocket and crouches down to examine the man again. “Let’s try this again. We’ll start nice and easy this time. What’s your name?”
“Dustin,” the man says meekly, not looking up from the ground where he’s still curled up and holding himself.
“Okay, Dustin. How are you feeling right now?”
I gape at Dr. Richards. “Are you serious?”
He doesn’t even look up at me, never taking his eyes away from Dustin. “I need to assess his current condition. I need to know what he’s feeling and what he’s thinking. This is one of the most important moments in history.”
Dustin moans. “I don’t understand.”
I crouch down, putting myself closer to his level without getting near enough to be at risk. He looks up at me with red eyes and sniffs. “Dustin, you died.” His eyes close and his entire body shudders. “A lot of people did, all around the world. They got sick, they died, and then they came back as something else. Something dangerous and contagious.”
“I—I think I remember that,” he says, opening his eyes. “I remember my neighbor down the street running his daughter over with their jeep when she attacked him. I remember my office building burning to the ground with people still inside, and nobody coming to help.”
“First responders were a lot of the initial victims,” Reese says. “Police, firefighters, EMT’s…they all responded to incidences involving the undead, and ended up infected themselves because we didn’t fully comprehend what was going on yet. A lot of places burned, and a lot of people got hurt, all because there was nobody left to protect them.”
“I was one of those things?”
“Yes,” Dr. Richards says. “You were a zombie. You came back to life from the dead, and I cured you with my serum. I reversed the effects, turning you into a human again.”
He looks so confused right now. “Jonathon, my husband…” Dustin slams his balled up fists against the floor hard enough to split the skin of his knuckles. “I—I…It was me…”
“Most likely,” Ryder says, not unkindly. “A lot
of people were killed by the ones they trusted and loved the most. We have a habit of putting the safety of others above even our own wellbeing, and many people couldn’t bring themselves to harm someone they loved, and were killed for their hesitation. I saw a lot of friends die by the hands of their spouses and children because they couldn’t understand that they weren’t the same people anymore.”
“Jonathon probably couldn’t stand the idea of hurting you because he loved you so much,” Daisy says. There are tears in her eyes as she watches Dustin’s reaction to his surroundings. “
“No, you don’t understand,” Dustin says, his voice so soft that I can barely hear it. “It wasn’t a question. I killed Jonathon. I know I did.”
“Dustin, you can’t possibly know that,” Daisy says gently. “It could have been anyone.”
“No. It was me. I remember the look on his face. I remember beautiful gray eyes wide and unblinking as he stared up at me, accusing me.” Dustin moans. “Oh, God! I can still taste his blood in my mouth!” He doubles over, puking all over the floor. Thick, dark red chunks splatter all over the floor, getting flecks of it all over the fabric of my pants. I don’t want to look, but I can’t close my eyes, I can’t back away. I see partially digested blood, tiny pieces of cloth, like from a shirt or something…and a gold band that matches the one on Dustin’s finger…
Dustin sees it and his eyes go wide. Bloody spit dribbles down his chin and his hands are shaking. His breathing is erratic, so light and fast that he’s going to make himself pass out if he doesn’t calm down soon. But how can he? He’s remembering the terrible things he’s done while not himself and there’s the proof of his crimes staring him right in the face, lying in a puddle of human blood.
They remember. They remember everything…
Zombie World (Zombie Apocalypse #3) Page 23
