by Lori Devoti
“I do.” Allison’s hand moved again, faster.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Are you hiding something?”
“Me? No.” Allison held out her empty hands.
He angled his head, seemed to be studying her.
“It’s just…well, Mrs. Granville…she seemed okay yesterday,” Allison said.
“And she’s okay today. Didn’t you see her?” he asked.
“I…I did. A few hours ago. She…she looked like the others.”
“And how, Allison, is that?” His voice laden with warning, he shoved his visible hand into his coat pocket.
“Not well.”
“The patients who come here, they are very sick. You know that. If we didn’t take them in, offer them our treatment, they’d be dead. We give them an alternative. One they agree to in writing.” He gestured behind her, to where Samantha guessed a filing cabinet stood.
“But her vital signs…” Her voice quavering at the end, Allison paused. Samantha recognized the tone, knew her friend was afraid. Impotent rage surged inside her just like it did each time she saw the recording. She glanced at Caleb. He sat quietly watching the video with no expression visible on his face or in his posture.
“Vital signs? What are they? Just some human-created symbol of life.” The man stepped closer. It was here, this split second where Samantha, on every single viewing, thought he would move just an inch to the side, just enough that she could make out his face. As always she tensed in anticipation and as always he didn’t. He stayed cast in shadows. “Mrs. Granville is walking, isn’t she? Eating? Talking? Isn’t that life?”
“She isn’t breathing.”
He shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“Humans need oxygen.” The words were low, like Allison was saying them to herself, reassuring herself of their truth.
“Mrs. Granville doesn’t. You should be celebrating that fact, not worrying over it.” He sighed. “You watched her eat breakfast. She had a good appetite, didn’t she? That fits into your standard definition as a sign of good health, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Allison reached for something on a table beside her, a clipboard. She shuffled through the papers attached to it, her posture stiff and her movements harried. Her hands were shaking. Samantha couldn’t see it in the video, but she knew her friend, knew they were.
Apparently, finding the record she’d been searching for, Allison looked up. Her finger pressed against the paper clipped to the board, she asked, “But did you see what she ate? She doesn’t stop eating, and Marie’s cat… She left it with Mrs. Granville after breakfast. She thought it would soothe her, and now it’s missing.”
“Are you accusing Mrs. Granville of eating Marie’s cat?” The man chuckled. “Come on now. She’s an eighty-year-old librarian who served on the local animal shelter’s board for twenty-two years. She is hardly the cat-eating type.” He laughed again.
But Allison didn’t seem ruffled by his scoffs. “She attacked Jack.”
The man in the video made a huffing noise. It was obvious now he was losing patience. “She’s been through a lot. As you have pointed out ad nauseam, she flatlined. When she came back—when they all come back—they are confused.”
Allison moved the clipboard so it wasn’t visible to the camera. By the way she was standing, Samantha could tell she was holding it over her chest, like a shield. “Where is Jack? I haven’t seen him today.”
The man leaned back on his heels. “He’s…recovering. Another side effect of the treatment. A good one. People come back stronger than they’ve ever been, even at their healthiest. Mrs. Granville did a little damage to him, completely unintentional, of course.”
“What about looking for the others who esc—” Allison bit off the word. “Who disappeared. Jack was doing that. He was worried they might be…”
The doctor moved closer. Allison let her words fade.
“We have never lost a patient. If Jack said we had, he was wrong.”
Allison was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “I’d like to see him.”
“Would you?”
The tiny depiction of the room on Caleb’s computer screen went silent again. Samantha had to fight the need to scream into the laptop, to tell Allison to shut up, to tell the man whatever he wanted to hear and just get the hell out of that room.
“Maybe that’s a good idea after all.” The man turned and stepped out the door.
While he was gone, Allison stared back at the camera. It looked as if she was going to whisper something, but then the door opened and another man shuffled into the room. She turned to face him.
He was dressed in scrubs, green ones that accentuated the gray cast of his skin, and he was wearing a collar—the kind dogs wear when their owners have invested in underground fencing.
The man Allison had spoken with before waited for this new man to enter, then stepped back into the room. The first man held a square electronic device. “Jack was getting a treatment. You don’t mind being part of it, do you, Allison?” He twisted a knob.
The man called Jack bent at the waist and touched his toes. Another twist of the knob and he stood.
“Jack, tell Allison how you are doing,” the first man ordered.
Jack turned and stared at Allison. In the background the first man lifted the box to his lips and whispered something into it. Allison took a step back, but there was nowhere to go and no time. Jack, his hands held out in front of him, charged toward her.
Allison screamed and darted to the side, but Jack leaped into her path. Allison moved to the side, but the man did, too. They lunged back and forth like two kids playing a game of keep-away around a couch. Then Jack surged forward, too fast for any human. The camera seemed to zero in on him, on his gray face and the uncontrolled hunger in his eyes. It was that glimpse that had first put the word zombie into Samantha’s unbelieving mind.
With a crash the screen went black.
Samantha stared at it, afraid the video would start up again, that she’d be forced to watch her friend’s fate again.
“That’s your proof?” Caleb asked, startling her.
Samantha pulled her gaze away from the screen. Her heart was pounding and sweat had gathered on her upper lip and inside her bra, but Caleb sat there as if she’d just shown him a report on weed control. Bored and not the tiniest bit disturbed.
“She was attacked by a zombie, and that man, her boss, was controlling him,” she said.
“She was attacked, yes, but by a zombie? You have no proof of that. The guy could have been wearing makeup. The Internet is filled with frauds. Maybe your friend thought it would be funny to play a prank on you. When did you get it?” He glanced at the screen. “Uploaded the beginning of October. Perfect time for some Halloween fun at your expense.”
Samantha didn’t bother answering the insulting suggestion. Allison wouldn’t even think to pull such a prank on her. Instead, she asked, “Were the zombies last night wearing makeup?”
He shifted his jaw to the side. “That’s different. I saw them in person. There’s no missing a zombie in person.”
Samantha didn’t bother arguing the point. She grabbed the computer and entered another address. “Here. How about this one? Proof enough?”
It was another video, without Allison in it.
This video was shorter with no sound, but it was clear that it had been filmed inside the same building. The room had the same cinderblock walls and institutional paint job. The video opened on a man wearing a Texas college sweatshirt. He was sitting at a table next to two other gray-skinned men. All three had trays in front of them loaded with what appeared to be brains.
“Cow,” Caleb offered. “People do eat calf brains.”
Samantha didn’t acknowledge his interruption. He’d see soon enough.
One of the men picked up his pile of brains and shoved it into his mouth. His plate empty, he reached for sweatshirt-wearing Mr. Texas’s serving. Texas objected, throwing his body over his p
late.
The second man stared at him for a second then picked up his metal tray and whacked Texas over the head. Texas didn’t fight back, didn’t object at all, and his attacker whacked him over and over until Samantha thought he would never stop. Finally there was a cracking noise. The attacker stopped and stared as if surprised. Then he reached down and tugged at Texas’s ear, jerked at it until it came off in his hand. He stared at it, flipped it back and forth as if he had no idea what it was. Then he popped it into his mouth and with his mouth open began to chew.
From somewhere off screen a fourth man, wearing what looked like a padded beekeeper outfit, rushed into the room. He held the same type of box the man in the first video had carried. He twisted its knob, right then left, but the man chomping on the ear didn’t respond.
Instead, he shoved Texas out of his chair and onto the floor. Then he jumped on him. His hands around Texas’s neck, he smashed the comatose man’s skull into the ground over and over, kept going until blood spattered everything in view.
The beekeeper dropped the box and sprinted out of the room.
Still on the floor, the zombie slammed Texas’s head one last time into the floor. Then he shoved the dead man’s brains into his mouth.
At the table, the third man picked up his plate and threw it like a Frisbee into the camera.
Again, the screen went black.
There was silence for a second. Samantha pulled back. It was just as ugly every time she watched it.
“How about that? That happen at your family get-togethers?” she asked, her voice cold.
Caleb tapped his index finger on the keyboard. For a moment Samantha thought she’d said too much, that he wouldn’t reply, but finally, he lowered the laptop onto the mattress.
“There was nothing connecting the two clips.”
“The One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest decor?” She ticked off one finger. “The Texas sweatshirt?” She ticked off another. “The zombies?” She held up three fingers.
When he didn’t reply, she closed her eyes and counted to herself. Calm, or at least calmer, she opened them. “That was Allison in the first video and before you ask, I know it wasn’t an act because she gave me a sign.” Samantha repeated the hand signal she and Allison had shared. “It’s special. She would only use that to tell me what I was seeing was real, that she needed my help…” Her words trailed off to nothing. She was tired, exhausted actually. She’d never fought for anything as she’d fought for this, never wanted—no, needed—anything as much as she needed Caleb Locke to look up at her and say, “Yes, I’ll come with you.”
He stared at her through golden-brown eyes. They weren’t dark enough to be so cold; it made her wonder if he wore contacts that somehow hid his emotions.
He sighed and suddenly looked every bit as tired as she felt. “How’d you find me?” he asked.
Caleb still wasn’t convinced by the videos. As he’d told Samantha, it was impossible to tell from a recording if what you were looking at were zombies or well made-up actors.
In fact, while he sought out blogs for written tales of sightings, he had never acted on a video report. They were just too easy to fake for the amount of attention they created for the producer. It brought out the glory hounds, the charlatans.
But Samantha’s video was different. Whoever had uploaded it had kept it quiet, hadn’t posted links to it on every paranormal social network site that existed. Didn’t even have a cute name like Office Zombie or I’m Zombie Damn It.
No, just a name. Allison.
He pointed to the tiny two-point type that indicated who had uploaded the video. “Your friend?”
Samantha nodded, but her gaze dropped.
His suspicions were instantly alerted. “How’d she do it?” he asked.
Samantha’s eyes darted back to his face. “Do what?”
“Upload the video. If what we saw was real…” At the stricken expression on Samantha’s face, he let his explanation die off. But it didn’t change his question. If the video was real, her friend had been attacked by a zombie. So, who uploaded the video?
Samantha shook her head as if shaking off a bad dream. “I don’t know. I guess she uploaded the video after… Maybe they left her alone, didn’t realize what she was doing.”
Caleb stared at her for a second, hard. She was lying to herself. If the video was real, the woman shown on it was dead, or worse, undead.
When she didn’t waver, didn’t seem willing to admit to that truth, he shrugged. What she believed didn’t matter. What he believed did. And if he believed these videos were real, it meant somewhere in Texas there was a zombie manufacturing plant.
He’d often wondered where the zombies came from. He’d guessed they were like werewolves, some rare DNA-mutating virus or bacterial infection that was passed from person to person. But if Samantha’s video was real, there was more to it than that. There was a person behind the zombies, creating them, a person he could blame for his parents’ deaths, a person he could kill.
Which meant he really couldn’t send Samantha away—not until he knew for sure.
Still, though, he wanted to know how she had found him. Her appearance, her perfectly created video, it was all just too perfect. Too much of a zombie hunter’s dream.
He nodded as if accepting her answer and repeated his earlier question. “So, how did you find me?”
“The Internet.”
A quick answer, too quick, and it wasn’t a complete answer, wasn’t even the beginning of a complete answer.
“I’ve been hanging out on blogs and bulletin boards where they talk about zombies. Your name was mentioned. In fact, it was the only name mentioned—at least in a way that made me think you might be real.”
“And how is that?”
“Understated. You weren’t online telling everyone how many zombies you have slaughtered, posting pictures and stats.”
He grunted. Posers. There were a lot of them. A lot more than there were legitimate hunters.
“Then I e-mailed one of the bloggers and asked about you.” She hesitated. “I may have acted like I already knew you.” She glanced at him, unsure. He ignored the unspoken apology. He didn’t care what lies people told about him, as long as they left him alone.
Licking her lips, she continued, “He was all over it, wanted me to get you to make a guest appearance. I told him I would, but I needed to locate you first…that I’d lost my cell phone with your number during an attack. He gave me the tip on what was happening here. Said you’d show for sure. And you did.”
Her story nagged at Caleb. He hadn’t considered before now that the same bloggers who tracked the zombies might also track him.
But it also rang true.
He snapped his laptop shut and shoved it back into its bag. Time to get moving.
“Aren’t you going to help me?” she asked. “I can pay. I have money with me.” She reached for her coat.
He turned to look at her, a “no” forming in his throat. He’d slipped up, been too comfortable. If this woman could find him, a thousand other zombie groupies could, too. And that was the best case scenario. Worst, she was an actress, hired to lure him out. Hell, some blogger might be lurking outside the motel right now, salivating over the footage he’d already given them back at the alley. He glanced at her, sure of his answer now.
Her eyes glimmered. She held on to her silver coat like a child clutching her teddy bear during a storm.
She looked desperate. Damn her.
Chapter 5
C aleb stalked around the side of the dark motel, Samantha dogging his steps. If she was legit, he couldn’t leave her here, and if she wasn’t, what better way to find out than by keeping her with him and tricking her into revealing the truth? Then he would scare the Internet rankings out of her and whoever had hired her.
Scanning the area for any bloggers bearing cameras, he stopped next to the beater he’d stolen in Milwaukee before heading north to this town. The undeveloped lot next to the motel
seemed empty.
He motioned for Samantha to climb in and retrieved the screwdriver that served as his key from under the seat. Then he joined her in the vehicle.
Her eyes widened as he wiggled the ignition.
“Lost my key,” he offered with zero intention of her believing him.
He could tell by the way she shifted in her seat she didn’t, but she didn’t object, either. But then if she truly needed his services as a zombie hunter, she couldn’t be splitting hairs about his morality.
He didn’t say anything else, not until he’d steered the vehicle onto the state highway and felt confident no one was following.
“Tell me what you know,” he said, glancing at her and considering where if anywhere she could have hidden a recorder. He’d washed both her clothes and her coat. Of course he’d only rinsed the outside of the coat, and he hadn’t noticed the paper hidden inside its thick lining. He could have missed a recorder, too.
She twisted the coat’s belt and started talking. “The lab is in Texas. Somewhere near Waco, I think.”
“Your friend tell you that?” he asked.
She stared down at the strip of silver cloth in her hand. “No, we shared a computer. I went into the history. She’d researched Waco a lot. Either her job was there or she was planning a trip there.”
“And who plans a trip to Waco?” he added.
Samantha relaxed a bit against the upholstery; perhaps she took his light response as a sign he had relaxed, too. If she had, she was wrong.
“It isn’t the first place that would pop to mind for a vacation—even if Allison would have had time for a vacation, which she didn’t. She was supposed to start the job immediately. That was one of the conditions of getting the position. She was hired one day and had to start three days later.”
“Didn’t leave her much time to tie things up.” It started to rain. Caleb turned on the wipers.
“Like I said, she was supposed to live at the lab and since she was in research, she didn’t even need much clothing. They provided scrubs and lab coats. She packed a few things in the trunk of her car and left with maybe four suitcases. The job paid well. She said if she needed more clothing, she’d buy it there.”
