by Aline Riva
For now, Flint was unconscious. He was breathing without the aid of the ventilator now. A closer look at the scarring to his shoulder made him gasp as he noticed the once livid wound was pulling tight as it healed and beginning to fade. It looked like it had been healing for a year or more, yet this experiment had been running for a matter of weeks... He thought again about the serum and how he had shot way too much of it into Flint's body...
A thought had come to mind, it was one that chilled him to the bone:
The serum had ripped through zombie Flint's body like a wildfire, causing rapid changes before his eyes – comparing scans at the beginning to now, he had been able to map the path of the serum as it had flowed through him, undoing the damage, rebuilding his human body as it destroyed the damage caused by the bite virus. If it was reversing everything, would it restore his mind also? His latest scans had showed zero evidence of the virus anywhere in his body...
He took a step closer to the bed, guessing this next five minutes would either make him feel foolish or give him a real reason to be afraid.
“Harvey Flint?” he said cautiously, “Can you hear me?”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Harvey?” repeated Christian.
His lips parted and he took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he stirred but did not wake.
“Can you hear my voice?” Christian asked in a hushed voice as he looked in horror at Flint.
The man in the bed turned his head, breathing deeply again, then his eyelids fluttered a second time and slowly, his eyes began to open.
“No!” Christian said in panic, and he dashed over to a trolley, grabbed a syringe loaded with sedative and shot it into Flint's IV. His eyes closed once more and his breathing became slow and even as he slipped into a deep sleep once more.
As he disposed of the needle, Christian's hands were shaking as he broke out into a sweat : He had administered the serum incorrectly and now Flint was capable of waking. That was not meant to happen. He had had used him for the experiment partly out of convenience and partly out of revenge. That choice had been a bad one, because if he recovered fully from his ordeal, that would mean the name Christian Wells would forever be associated with bringing back to life the most hated man this town had ever known, their once feared leader...
He still did not know how much of Flint was still there, how much of his mind was intact or if he remembered anything at all of his life as the man who ran this town so ruthlessly. But soon he would have to find out... Not yet, he couldn't face that yet, to think that Harvey Flint could still be in there after the virus, after his transformation and then its reversal was too much to think about right now...
He wouldn't have to think about it until tomorrow. Flint was heavily sedated. Christian left the room, locked it, then left the isolation room by the outer door and locked that too, then he went off down the corridor, looking forward to leaving this place and going home, and banishing all thoughts of Flint and the experiment, at least until tomorrow.
Vicki was sitting in the garden with Marc, they were out in the rose garden where the low wall carried sea breeze that mingled with the scent of the roses and the force of the breeze made petals bob as beneath the bushes, flowers danced in their borders. They sat side by side on an old tree long that had been placed against the wall. Marc had said nothing as he remained deeply in thought, Vicki had stayed silent waiting for him to speak first. She didn't know what to say. She had told him she loved him, that she would take care of him, that she would never leave him. It seemed like the only things she could say, now all her words were spent. Marc finally broke his silence as he looked up from the lawn and met her gaze.
“I want to keep going for as long as I can. Don't treat me like a dying man. Let me live each day while I still can. And when the time comes...I'm not going to put a bullet in my head at the first sign of collapse. I'm going to die peacefully, naturally, with those I love around me. That's my wishes. I'm telling you now so you know, then you can tell the others. But I can't think about dying any more, I feel too alive to do that.”
“We should spend every moment together.”
“I'll spend every spare moment with you until I can't work any more. I want to carry on with the beach patrols. I'm still head of security.”
Confusion reflected in her gaze.
“But you're so very ill!”
“And Christian gave me some pills, he said they should help to stop the seizures, at least for now. It gives me a bit of time to carry on as normal. It buys me more time to live my life. Please don't make this hard for me, I know what I want to do.”
She blinked away tears.
“Okay,” she said as her voice trembled, “What ever you want, I'll support that.”
“Thank you,” he replied, then he kissed her softly, “This is all I need, Vicki – time to carry on a bit longer, time with you and everyone else I love – and the ability to keep my normal life, at least for now. That's all I'm asking for.” Then he fell silent, taking hold of her hand as they sat together watching the sun set lower on the horizon.
The sedative wore off much faster than Christian had estimated. By now the sky was dark and starlight glowed, the room was in darkness but as Flint woke up with a jolt and turned his head to the window, he saw the night sky. Memories flooded his thoughts, firing off rapidly:
Zombie jaws yawned close and snapped down on his flesh as he screamed... Greg Fitzroy had chained him in the zombie brothel, left him there to die... He recalled it all, how this town had been his until Greg and his crew had showed up. There had been a huge fight, his men against those who turned against his leadership... The living dead had been freed from their containment area, they had ripped into the fighters on both sides... who had won?
“I should be dead...” he whispered, then he looked about the room, realised he was surrounded by medical equipment and drew in a deep breath, preparing for pain as he sat up, flexed his arms and the restraints snapped, then he began to rip lines and tubes from his body as the machinery sounded an alert that no one could hear.
In the pitch darkness, wearing just a surgical gown and a stolen coat he found draped over the reception area left behind by a patient, after opening up a window, Harvey Flint left the medial centre, then he stayed close to the shadows as he weaved in and out of back alleys and quiet roads, until he reached the field that led to the fairground. A smile played about his lips, making his teeth look perfect and dazzling by moonlight, softening his scarred features as his eyes lit up with joy at the sight of the largest caravan – his former home: Who ever was in it now was in for a big shock, because Harvey Flint was back...
Chapter 4: The Zombie Within
Flint crept up to the caravan, then slipped a hand beneath the step that led up to the door and retrieved the spare key. He went up the step, glanced about, saw and heard no one and unlocked the door, went inside and closed it behind him. Once inside he locked the door, then he stood there, feeling a strange, heightened sense of awareness... He threw off the coat and the surgical gown and breathed deeply, closing his eyes as in that moment he could feel something strange and powerful running through his blood. He could hear every heart beat of the living, feel the heat of their bodies, pick up every scent on the air...
The living? Where had that come from? He knew by now the caravan was empty, no other was in this place. He sensed his living space had been left undisturbed, but there was the faint remaining scent of another in the office area... he turned his head, sniffing like a zombie on the hunt for prey. Thoughts were running through his mind, his altered mind: Someone had brought him back. He recalled dying, being torn apart... yet here he was, and feeling so much more than human... He went up the narrow hallway, reached his bedroom and opened up the door. He found everything as he had left it, and went over to the wardrobe and pulled the doors wide open. Then he stopped, considering his showman's attire and the days of the zombie circus... He did not know what had changed around here in his
absence. If he was going to take back his rightful place as leader, he had to be smart about it... he grabbed a shirt, trousers and waistcoat and then his boots and quickly dressed in the dark. Then he left the bedroom, went through to the office and pulled down the shades to block out all light before snapping on a lamp on the desk.
His expression became one of silent rage as he looked to the notes and the paperwork and then glanced at maps... So Mundy was in charge now? That was all he needed to know to understand he faced a tough climb back to the top around here... he had to be clever about it.
That strange feeling was still flickering away in his veins. He recalled the zombies tearing into him, he remembered every bite... but someone had wanted him to live. How had he survived? He was sure those bites could not have been cut out, they were deep, fatal wounds. But he had woken at the medical centre...
A sudden memory flashed to mind through misty vision and he saw it all: Being locked in the cell, then he felt the pull of the chains that held him to the wall, he relived the need for the taste of flesh and blood - and suddenly a low growl came from deep in his throat. For a moment he had almost sounded like a corpse... his eyes widened in alarm, then he glanced down at the paperwork again, seeing new plans for the town, all of his world had been dashed away – there were no zombie containment areas, the fair was just a regular place of entertainment now.
He left the papers as he found them, then turned out the light and left the office, closing the door behind him. A plan was required. He couldn't just walk back in and claim his place here as leader. He also needed to know more. He needed to know everything... Somewhere at the back of his mind, that feeling of fire was flickering, like flames were dancing, not yet ready to become a raging inferno inside his mind. It was linked to the virus, he was certain because he felt it, that need rising and falling inside him to take a warm living human and rip and tear and devour...
He went back into the bedroom, saw the shade was down and turned on the light, then he went over to the mirrored dressing table and stared in alarm at his reflection: His long flowing hair was cropped short, making the scar that ran down one side of his face impossible to hide, another deep scar ran down his neck and halfway across his throat. And the fires in his head rose and his image flickered, he roared as his face turned to grey and his skin cracked and blackened lips showed sharp teeth. Then the zombie was gone, he had blinked, the flames had fallen low and he was looking at his scarred, reflected human self once more.
“What the hell?” he whispered, and heard his own voice as weak and hoarse. He wondered how long he had been unconscious – months? The plans in the office said the fair was about to re open...
Coldness reflected in his eyes as he considered all options. With his collected hordes gone, with his men gone, it would take time to work his way back into this town if he wanted to be accepted and trusted before he grabbed the right moment to strike...He turned from the mirror, took off his waist coat, then partly unbuttoned his shirt, as a plan was forming in his mind:
Whatever that thing was that had just taken him over, he could hold it down for now, even though it rose like flames at the back of his mind, demanding blood and human flesh. If he wanted to claim this town back, he would have to gain trust... starting with the one who had spared his life... He was going back to the medical centre...
He started to smile as he left the caravan and headed back across the field, striding over land that had once been his - land he would reclaim, with a little time and manipulation and eventually, brute force...
Early morning shone its sharp light through the barred window of his cell. Alex Caspar caught his breath, blinking to let in the stinging light. He was naked in this cell, with just a blanket on a hard bench to serve as a bed. He had been kept there for months, ever since he had set out in a fishing boat, leaving Circus Town behind. The pirates had seized the boat and he had been taken prisoner onboard the Apocalypse Queen. The captain had starved and beaten him to force him to reveal he was from a functioning, secure town named Circus. He had then descended into his madness and let it take over, making further questioning pointless. But as soon as the pressure was put on again, he had loosely revealed the location of the town. He had not wanted to do it, but they had beat him again, and he could only take so much.
He got up from the bench with the blanket wrapped around him, turning to the porthole and looking out to sea where the gulls flapped their wings and soared skywards.
“Take me with you!” he cried, flinging his arms wide as he flapped the blanket.
But he was still in the cell and could only watch as the birds flew off high into the sky, tasting freedom that he feared he would never know again.
“Oh to be free as a bird...I need my silver bird!” he exclaimed, recalling his days as an airline pilot, “I could fly away from here. Far away...”
His gaze was still fixed to the sky.
“Far away,” he repeated in a whisper.
Then the door burst open and he turned fearfully as two guards entered the room.
“NO... no!” he yelled in panic as the blanket was ripped away and he was forced up against the wall, his back jammed hard against a metal frame as his wrists were secured on the X shaped frame, then his ankles were also secured. A strap around his throat pinned him still. A second strap around his waist further immobilised him. They had put him on this thing twice before, when he had been beaten. He was weeping quietly as the guards left the room and the captain walked in.
“I'm here to ask some questions,” he said, “About this town of yours...” he leaned close to his ear as Alex trembled and tears ran down his face, “I want to know everything, Alex. And you will tell me.”
“That's my home! The woman I love is there! I won't help you destroy the place!”
“I don't want to destroy it. I want to take it over so my people can have a proper home at last.”
“Your people,” he said bitterly, breaking into a sweat as he looked side ways at Hazlewood, “Are a bunch of murdering, thieving lowlife scum!”
“As I said, my people,” he replied smugly, “Now tell me, Alex... How big is the town's defences? How many men, how many weapons? How many people live in the town? Who runs the place? How much defence do they have to stand up against an invasion of the zombie horde I keep in the cargo area?”
Alex was shaking as he closed his eyes, picturing the faces of those he knew in Circus. His focus settled on Emma. It was enough to enable him to draw up his defiance.
“I'll tell you nothing more!” he raged as his eyes flashed with anger, “Nothing! Fuck yourself, Hazlewood! Just send in your horde and see them taken apart, I'll live to see you executed!”
The captain stepped back.
“I shall leave you alone with the lovely Corallina. Most call her Cora. I'm sure you will soon be ready to speak to me.”
He left the room and a woman entered. She had short dark hair and long eyelashes that framed a dark green gaze. Her heels were high and spiked, her dress was short and wrapped about a curvaceous body. She carried a tray in her hand, it was covered by a cloth. As he reached the door, Hazlewood looked back and smiled.
“Have fun with her,” he said darkly then he stepped out, closing and locking the door behind him.
Cora set down the tray on a table beside the torture frame.
“You should have answered his questions,” she said, and her green gaze met with his frightened expression.
“He told me to make some holes. I always do what the captain says.”
She lifted the cloth from the tray and he looked down in horror to see long, thin needles in a glass of something that stunk like disinfectant.
She took a needle from the glass and stepped closer to him. As her other hand gently toyed with his right nipple, his breathing quickened.
“NO... please... don't do this, please don't hurt me! Please, I'll do anything!”
He was begging out of terror and desperation, but she ignored all he said.
“You can talk later,” she assured him, pinching his nipple again as it hardened and he could not control his reaction, “Just be quiet now and think about your answers for the captain. Or I'll have to come back and do this all over again.”
She slid the needle through his nipple and Alex screamed.
He had barely recovered his breath as the pain throbbed and he fought against the beckoning darkness as he came close to passing out, but she had already set to work on the left nipple, sliding it through as burning agony filled his chest and he screamed again. A trickle of blood ran down from the second wound.
“If you think that hurts,” she told him, “Wait till I heat them up...”
Then she took a chair and to his horror placed it in front of him and sat down, positioned between his legs. She was gently feeling his balls. He screamed again, then as the needle went through the sensitive skin and out the other side, his screaming became high pitched. Cora ignored his pain and reached for another needle. His screams echoed beyond the locked door and down the corridor, as the torture continued and his pleas for mercy were ignored.
Emma was on beach patrol. By now news had spread about the lone zombie on the beach. The news of Marc's devastating diagnosis was still secret – few knew, but Emma had been told. Marc had told her everything as he passed by on the way to the fair to visit John. Christian had already informed him. He knew he wanted to speak with him about it. But he took time out to talk to Emma, that poor woman's heart ached every day for Alex, he could see it in her eyes as she watched the waves wishing for something that wouldn't happen. She just wanted him to come home.
“That's terrible news, I'm so sorry for you,” Emma said as they stood on the beach together.
