How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

Chapter 4

I wanted a distraction from my worries about Saberton’s experimentation, and the universe happily obliged. I rubbed my arms against the frigid air of what I called the Head Room as I peered into the vat. About two feet across, the container looked like an oversized stainless steel crock pot, but I sure as hell didn’t want to eat what was cooking in it.

“That,” I said with a shiver of disgust and delight, “is seriously gross.”

Thick, dark pink liquid like blood-tinged mucus oozed its way around the vat, while something resembling a deformed fetus drifted below the surface of the snot. Stubby little hands curled up by its chest, and misshapen lumps like developing organs formed a weird pot-belly. Uneven legs splayed out in opposite directions. No umbilical cord, and the heart wasn’t beating, but I had the weirdest impression the entire thing was vibrating, like a buzz from a beehive.

From neck to butt, the fetus-thing was about two inches long, but the truly weird and gross part was the full-sized head. Wisps of dark hair clung to the skull, waving sluggishly in the thick liquid. The face had Korean features, though it was hard to tell right now with the blotchy grey and shriveled skin.

Kang. The first zombie I ever knew, besides myself. Or rather, the first zombie I ever knew who I knew was a zombie. Kang had taught me a lot about survival as a zombie: how often I’d need to eat human brains, how exertion increased the hunger, and how my mental faculties would degrade along with my body if I went too long without eating brains. But Kang hadn’t listened to me when it counted, and he’d ended up the victim of a serial killer who’d been targeting zombies and chopping their heads off.

And that was one hell of a seriously complicated story.

I pulled my gaze away from fetus-Kang. His vat was one of six in the dimly lit room. A pale and thin man with dark wavy hair crouched by a control panel as he made adjustments—Jacques Leroux, the lab tech and Dr. Nikas’s assistant. On the other side of Kang’s vat stood Pietro, the relaxed smile of earlier now hard and flat as he looked down at Kang.

Dr. Nikas stood next to Pietro, his arms folded loosely over his chest as he peered into the vat. Average height and unimposing, the director of the lab had light brown eyes set in a kind face, and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail that hung to his shoulder blades. I didn’t know exactly what Dr. Nikas was a doctor of, but I figured it was a lot of different things, especially since I had a strong suspicion he’d been around for more than a few centuries, even though he didn’t look older than late forties. While Pietro ran things, Dr. Nikas was the heart and soul of the lab and, from what I’d seen, had final say on what happened within it. On the outside, the lab was a drab industrial building smack dab in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana with nothing but pines and swamp for miles in any direction. However, within those boring walls was a high tech research lab and small medical facility, like something out of a science fiction movie.

“Kang grew that much in only one day?” I asked Dr. Nikas. “I changed the fluid yesterday morning and he was still a prune-skinned head. Same as he’s been for months.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Dr. Nikas said. “My theory is that he hasn’t been quiescent at all, but rather, preparing.” He leaned over the vat and peered with avid delight at the deformed thing that could have been straight out of a horror flick. “Assessing resources and checking the DNA blueprints one might say.” He lifted his head and gave me a warm smile.

The hard line of Pietro’s mouth flattened even more. “Ari, how long before you know if the memory is intact?”

Dr. Nikas straightened. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to determine anything about his memory or cognitive function,” he said, and I didn’t miss the emphasis on “his.” This wasn’t an impersonal lab experiment to Dr. Nikas. Each vat in here contained a severed zombie head, and every single one was a person with their name on the vat handwritten on a card in elegant script. Little personal touches like that told me Dr. Nikas gave a shit. “It may not be until he fully regrows,” he added.

“How long will that take?” I gestured at fetus-Kang. “I mean, this happened in less than a day.”

“It’s one of the many things we still don’t know,” Dr. Nikas said with gentle indulgence. “This growth happened very quickly, but he has been in stasis again for the last six hours.” He spread his hands. “It may come in spurts. Or it may not happen again until we move him into the full vat where he has ample resources.” He gestured in the direction of the new coffin-looking container on the other side of the room. “It’s all very new territory. Theoretically, the potential is there for full regrowth to happen quickly—perhaps within weeks. We’ll know more after he grows again.”

Jacques moved around the vat to check another control panel, and I stepped back and out of his way. “You’ll, uh, track the rate of growth over time and then make a projection from that?” I asked Dr. Nikas. A year ago—hell, six months ago—I wouldn’t have known what any of that meant.

Dr. Nikas’s smile widened. “That’s right, Angel,” he said. “Jacques can show you how to access the charts and raw data on one of the workstations. You can see our current projections and watch as they adjust with additional data.”

Pietro frowned in obvious impatience. “Can’t the EEG give you some indication of what memory or cognitive function Kang will come back with?”

Annoyance whispered across Dr. Nikas’s face. “It shows us nothing more than it did before the growth,” he stated. “With the parasite fully encapsulating his brain, this is what we get.” He nodded toward a screen that showed flat lines alternating with wild spikes every few seconds. Even I could tell it was screwy. “Until the parasite activity returns to baseline, I can’t tell what Kang’s functional level is.” He exhaled. “Remember, he came in from Kristi, and her initial preservation and handling was far from optimal.”

I didn’t bother hiding my sneer. Dr. Kristi Charish was the neurobiologist who’d kidnapped me then used me for her psycho zombie experiments. She’d been under Pietro’s house arrest ever since he’d captured her after the secret lab fiasco and, like Dr. Nikas, lived at the lab 24/7. However, unlike the good doctor, she wore a tracking anklet and had round the clock supervision by one of her three assigned guards. Kristi had shown herself to be an unstable, reckless, and treacherous bitch, and had broken more laws than I could count, but we couldn’t exactly turn her over to the cops. Yes, officer, this respected scientist kidnapped me and made me chew on a couple of almost dead guys. Why? Oh, y’see, I’m a zombie and eat human brains, and she . . . Wait, what are you doing with that Taser? Hey, stop! Ow!

It would only go downhill from there.

She was currently working with Dr. Nikas to develop a nutritional substitute—a.k.a. fake brains—that zombies could survive off of instead of human brains. I had little doubt that if Kristi wasn’t such a sharp researcher Pietro would have made her disappear rather than keeping her, and I suspected that was the only reason Dr. Nikas tolerated the outright slavery under his roof. Setting her free simply wasn’t an option.

Dr. Nikas gave me a nod. “You can close it now, Angel.”

Pietro backed away from the vat as I replaced the lid, but his gaze lingered on fetus-Kang for another few seconds before shifting to Ari. “I want to be kept apprised of any changes,” he stated, then pivoted and briskly exited the room.

Dr. Nikas and I followed him out, leaving Jacques to finish his adjustments.

“Angel, I’ll meet you at the central lab in about five minutes,” Dr. Nikas said tightly as we reached a cross-corridor. “I need to have a brief chat with Pietro.”

“Gotcha.” I didn’t mind being left out of that particular chat. I continued straight while Dr. Nikas turned left, but when I passed the door to the lounge off the central lab, I spied Pietro’s head of security, Brian Archer, sitting on the couch and flipping through a decade-old magazine.

“Hey, you missed the freak show,” I said, ducking into the lounge. “Kang’s head is way gross.”

Brian set the magazine aside. “I think I get enough freak show without an extra dose,” he said with a casual smile. Brian didn’t have the kind of looks that turned heads, but he made up for it in presence. He looked like he was in his forties, but he once told me he’d been a zombie for a little over fifteen years, and I’d never worked up the nerve to ask him his age. I’d never seen him looking sloppy or dressed casually, and today was no different. Dark navy suit, cream-colored shirt with a tie that coordinated without calling attention to itself. Short brown hair and deep brown eyes. Nails neatly trimmed. No jewelry of any sort. Not a man to be fucked with.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” I said with a laugh as I flopped into a chair. “What are you doing out here? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I have a security meeting not far from here in a little while,” he explained, then tapped his upper chest. “I figured now was a good time for Dr. Nikas to check out my port and test a new mod.”

I’d only found out about ports and mods a few months ago, but I was seriously considering putting them on my Christmas list. Mods—modifiers—were specialized drugs that revved up or toned down parasite activity as needed. The port itself was implanted beneath the skin and provided an easy way to get a mod into the body. With a port, mods could either be delivered quickly, dumping into the system all at once, or the drug could be stored and set to release slowly. Mods could have some pretty awesome effects, such as more efficient brain usage, or better senses, or resistance to the kind of tranquilizers that worked on zombies. All sorts of useful stuff.

The drawback was that only one or two mods could be used at the same time, and some couldn’t be mixed at all without big side effects. They were a lot like regular human drugs in that respect.

“Everything go okay with that?” I asked.

“Some kinks with the mod still, but it’s looking promising,” he said. “It’s designed to be a short term turbo charge of zombie abilities. Speed, strength, reflexes, senses, that sort of thing. Would be nice to have for emergencies.” He stretched and stifled a yawn. “But right now I’m simply waiting to see if Mr. Ivanov has anything for me before I take off.”

“Don’t let the excitement of it all overwhelm you,” I said with a grin. “How’s everything else going?”

“Business as usual in the zombie security world,” he said, which I figured was his way of saying he couldn’t talk about anything. “Never a dull moment with the Tribe.”

The Tribe. Pietro Ivanov’s organization was actually a number of corporations—a chain of funeral homes, real estate, construction, and even health care clinics that disguised the zombie research. And probably a ton I didn’t have a clue about as well. Up until a couple of months ago I’d privately referred to the whole deal as “The Zombie Mafia,” yet after some time working steadily in the lab, I discovered that the people in the organization—humans and zombies alike—referred to it as “the Tribe.” After some thought—and with the greater knowledge I had of Pietro, his people, and his goals—the reality of the whole common-ties-common-support thing settled in, and I grudgingly agreed that Tribe was a better nickname.

Most of the time, at least. There were reasons the whole Mafia tag had come up in the first place, and that undercurrent was still alive and kicking.

I peered at Brian. “Don’t you ever get to go off and play on your own?”

Brian’s eyes widened in exaggerated wonder. “You mean . . . not be on call?” Then he laughed. “I have down time, sure, but I’m never truly off duty.”

“Well, that sucks,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “When do you get to be your own person?”

“I’m doing what I want to do,” he said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I have a couple of hobbies to fill in the gaps. I can’t imagine a different lifestyle.”

I wondered about the gaps. As far as I knew, he didn’t have a girlfriend. At one time he’d seemed seriously interested in my best friend, Naomi—formerly known as Heather—but that fell flat when she hooked up with Kyle Griffin, one of Brian’s top security guys.

Brian seemed content enough, though, and I knew it really wasn’t any of my business. Not that I’d ever let that whole “none of my business” thing stop me from being a nosy buttinsky before.

“Well,” I said, “if you’re okay with your schedule, I guess I won’t need to have strong words with Pietro after all.”

Brian grimaced, obviously not entirely sure I was teasing. “Not on my account.”

“I’ll behave,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

He wiped his brow in mock-relief, though maybe not totally mock. “Don’t go getting me into trouble,” he said, then stood as a tall, black woman with braids that hung to mid back entered the room. Radiating ultra-confidence with a dash of scary calm, Rachel Delancey was Brian’s second in command, and one of the few female zombies Pietro had working for him.

Her gaze slid over me as if I was a steaming pile of dog shit on the carpet before it came to rest on Brian. Yeah. We weren’t going to be best buds anytime soon. Her idea of security probably didn’t include a new zombie like me hanging around at the super secret lab. But I had a niggling feeling there was more to it than that. She’d seemed okay with me at first, then gradually went colder than a polar bear’s ass. I’d tried a few times to be friendly but got nowhere. The only thing I could figure was that she’d found out about my loser past and thought I was a security risk. Or maybe she thought I was going to take advantage of Marcus or Pietro or Dr. Nikas. Whatever the deal was, I couldn’t see any way to change her opinion of me. Oh, well. Her loss.

“Everything set for Dr. Charish’s transfer?” Brian asked her, and I realized he was referring to the mental health breaks that Dr. Nikas insisted be provided for Kristi. Pietro would’ve been fine with Kristi chained to a lab station and locked in a cell at night, but that shit wouldn’t fly with Dr. Nikas. At his insistence, and despite Pietro’s grumbling, Kristi was allowed to spend two days every few weeks at one of Pietro’s remote hunting lodges.

Rachel shot a quick and disapproving glance my way as if she really didn’t want to say anything with me in the room. I kept my smile on my face and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Who the hell did she think I’d blab to?

“We’re good to go,” she told Brian. “Simon is driving Chris and Dr. Charish, then the other two on her guard rotation will meet them at the lodge after the security meeting.” She passed him a paper. “Here’s the full schedule.”

Brian looked over the schedule then passed it back to her. “You’re aware that Mr. Ivanov will be heading up there as well?” She replied with an affirmative, and he glanced at his watch. “Everything looks good then. I’ll see you in about half an hour for the meeting.”

Rachel gave a crisp nod and threw one last disapproving glance my way before sweeping out.

I made my best Bite Me face at her back. “I can’t get over how warm and fuzzy she is to me. The constant adoration is getting a little embarrassing.”

Brian stifled a laugh. “She’s opinionated but efficient as hell and damn good at what she does.” He abruptly stood, eyes on the doorway. A few seconds later a scowling Pietro stepped in. Damn, Brian either had a super-senses mod working or was seriously tanked on brains. I hadn’t heard, seen, or smelled whatever Brian had. But in the next instant I remembered the dude had a wicked sense of smell. Like, crazy good—he could even tell by scent alone if someone was lying.

“Any changes, sir?” Brian asked Pietro.

Pietro shook his head. Whatever the chat with Dr. Nikas had been about, it hadn’t left him in a sunny mood. “I’ll meet with Kristi at the lodge as usual, then go out to dinner with Ari. I’ll call you after I leave Kristi, as we need to discuss some matters.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be clear of the security meeting before you leave the lodge.” Brian checked his watch again. “Speaking of which, I should get going unless you have anything else for me, sir.”

Pietro responded with a vague wave of dismissal. Brian gave him a respectful nod, shot a quick smile my way, then departed.

Pietro wiped the frown from his face as he shifted his focus to me. “Angel, we didn’t have a chance to speak earlier,” he said. “Ari tells me you’re doing very well here at the lab. Is it something you want to continue with?”

“Yeah, totally!” I replied, doing my best not to grin like an idiot at the praise from Dr. Nikas.

“Good. We’ll talk in a few days about making your position here more permanent, though in an arrangement that will fit in around your morgue work.”

“That would be awesome,” I said fervently, though I clearly heard the unspoken reminder that I was allowed to work at the lab only because Pietro allowed it. I worked for him, not Dr. Nikas, and he didn’t want me to forget that. “And, um, I’m going to be taking a couple of college classes next term. Is it okay to work my schedule around that too?”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s excellent, Angel. We’ll certainly discuss that as well.”

“I really appreciate it,” I said in relief, meaning every word. Not only did I enjoy the hell out of the work, but I also had a fairly hefty loan from Pietro to pay off. When my dad and I lost everything in the flood after the spillway collapsed, we only recovered because I was able to borrow money from Pietro to buy a new place, along with cars, clothes, and all the other shit that comes in handy when dealing with Life.

“You’re welcome,” Pietro said with a slight nod as if I’d said exactly what I was supposed to say. “I’ll call.” And with that he turned and headed out.

I wandered back to the central hub of the lab to see if Dr. Nikas was ready for me, but found it unoccupied and quiet other than the soft ping of one of the workstations with an analysis in progress. This domed circular room formed the heart of the complex, with several corridors and doors going off in different directions, and thick sliding glass security doors that led toward the exit. Fancy equipment lined the walls, and a semi-circular island in the middle of the room held even more machines and computer workstations.

Not more than half a minute later, Dr. Nikas stepped out of the hallway that led to his office, looking somewhat harried. I had a strong feeling he’d waited for Pietro to leave first.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He blew out a breath. “Forgive me. He gets to me sometimes,” he said, then shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. My full focus is now on you and Philip and the parasite-balancing procedure I wish to attempt.”

“If this is a bad time to, er, balance my parasite we can always do it tomorrow,” I said.

“It isn’t a bad time.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Philip will be here any minute, and he needs this,” he added. “I have a few things to get ready, but I won’t keep you two waiting long.”

“It’s cool.” I held up my phone. “I brought a book.” Well, an audiobook. My reading speed was somewhere between garden-slug-slow and oh-my-god-glaciers-are-faster, but thanks to the local library’s audio lending program I was gradually catching up on all sorts of books that were “should” reads, as well as a good number that were just plain fun.

“Excellent,” Dr. Nikas murmured as he turned to leave, though I wasn’t sure he actually heard me. Already he had the familiar unfocused look in his eyes that told me he was sorting through a new research problem.

I dropped into a chair at one of the computer workstations, stuck my earbuds in and settled down with the book—a purely fun one, and a few minutes later Philip Reinhardt entered through the glass doors. He had a smile on his face but also a heaviness in his step as though the movement took effort. Philip was a good looking guy, with blond hair cut close above a ruggedly handsome face, but his blue eyes revealed the pain he tried to hide. I hit pause on the book and yanked my earbuds out.

“Hey, Zombie Mama,” he said with a grin. “Ready for another day of excitement?” He rubbed his arm. “Jacques just stuck me about a dozen times. I think half of them were just for fun.”

“I feel ya! He got me earlier. I’m starting to think he’s more vampire than zombie.” I rubbed at the itchy place on my arm.

“A vampire zombie.” He laughed softly. “Now that would be a rough life. He’d need blood and brains.”

“Well, Jacques is in the right place for it.” I gave Philip a thoughtful look and made a point of stroking my chin. “Coincidence? Hmmm . . . got a stake handy?”

“I could probably find a pencil around here, but if the parasite heals the stake wound, it could get ugly.” He did his own thoughtful chin-stroke. “You’d need a stake to the heart and a bullet to the brainstem at the same time.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

He gave me an innocent smile. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Most normal people?” I suggested.

“That counts us out.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Together we headed into the treatment room to wait for Dr. Nikas. Power lights glowed on several of the devices on the counter, and Dr. Nikas’s odd shorthand covered half the whiteboard on the wall beside the cabinets. A near-empty glass of sparkling grape juice beside a stack of computer print outs told me he’d already been working in here this morning.

The procedure chair looked like a cross between a recliner and a torture device, but I plopped into it anyway. Its position gave the best view of the awesome mural that covered the entire far wall—a scene of a rolling grassy meadow and a distant mountain with brilliant blue sky above. Philip leaned against the exam table, and I surreptitiously studied him. Adjusting to life as a zombie wasn’t a breeze under the best conditions, and his had been pure crap. His parasite was damaged from the bad fake brains Kristi had fed him shortly after he was turned, and as a result he suffered excruciating chronic pain, muscle spasms, and other unpleasant symptoms—a mess of afflictions we simply called the Plague. Much of that had been brought under control or was improving with the treatments, but he still wasn’t anywhere near a hundred percent.

“Your color is better,” I remarked. “But you look worn out.”

He nodded, unoffended by the observation. “My sleep has been off, and the leg pain hasn’t let up,” he admitted, “but otherwise it’s been a decent week.” He snorted and quirked a faint smile. “I puked my guts out after the last treatment, but luckily it didn’t last long. I’m all for no puking this time.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, that sucks. I wish there was more I could do.”

“I’m not complaining,” he assured me. “I promise. Without you helping I doubt I’d have made it this long.”

“Gotta take care of my zombie baby,” I said with a smile that masked a persistent sick fear. After eating the bad brains Philip had turned two of the Saberton guards into zombies, and both had died within three months of being captured by Pietro’s people, despite Dr. Nikas’s best efforts to save them. My blood helped in treatments for Philip, but I still worried. What if the treatments stopped working? What if my blood stopped making a difference?

I took a deep breath and tried to focus my worry into anger at the one who’d done this to him. None of this would have happened without Kristi Fucking Charish.

Philip’s gaze went to the door as it opened, and he pushed off the exam table. Speak of the devil. “Good morning, Kristi,” he said with a pleasant smile to the slim, auburn-haired woman who entered.

She gave a slightly tremulous smile in return and kept her eyes away from me as she moved closer to Philip. “You’re waiting for the new treatment?” she asked, reaching toward him as if for reassurance.

He took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We are indeed.” He glanced toward the door again as Rachel entered, then he returned his attention to Kristi. “This must be an outing day,” he noted.

“Outing weekend,” Rachel stated, tone brisk but pleasant enough with Philip. “Chris will be leaving with Dr. Charish in a few minutes, but she wanted to see you first.”

Philip gave a low chuckle and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind Kristi’s ear. “Of course you did.”

I watched in stony silence. Philip had no reason to like Kristi, and every reason to hate her fucking guts. Yet they sure as hell looked buddy-buddy.

No, not like buddies, I decided. More like . . . a master and his dog. I didn’t have the warm fuzzies for Kristi either, but this docile version seriously creeped me out. I’d seen her like this before and had assumed she was medicated, but now I realized that wasn’t likely. After all, Pietro kept her alive because she was useful and clever, and she wouldn’t be either if she was drugged to the gills.

A man with bright green eyes and about a billion freckles stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Philip, you’re hogging all the beautiful women,” he said with an infectious grin. Chris Peterson, another member of the security team.

“Can you blame me?” Philip replied. Kristi turned and gave Chris a bright and genuine smile.

“Not one bit!” Chris stuffed his hands into the pockets of a faded leather bomber-style jacket and gave me a nod and Kristi a quick wink, but the smile he turned on Rachel had a lot more heat behind it. To my surprise her expression softened, and she responded with a look that could only be described as sultry. Hot damn, tough as nails Rachel wanted to get nailed?

A laugh tried to escape me, and I jerked my attention back to Chris. He wasn’t handsome, but he was kind and funny and light-hearted. Nothing at all like Rachel—but maybe that’s what she liked about him? He kept himself in good shape, and though he wasn’t Mr. Suit And Tie like Brian, he dressed well. Today he had on a dark red oxford-style shirt and pressed khaki pants, and of course the awesome leather jacket. He shifted, and I noticed a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into the front pocket of his shirt.

“Do you fly?” I asked. “Or do you just like the accessories?” I abruptly realized that my second question could be taken as a bit snide. “Crap, I mean—”

Chris simply laughed and held up his hand to stop me from digging myself any deeper. “Both!” he declared. “Been flying for close to twenty years. I actually had to stop about eight years back. Developed Type 1 diabetes, and they grounded me.” What seemed like grief briefly shadowed his eyes, and I realized that being unable to fly must have been a devastating loss. Then he brightened again. “I got back in the air as soon as possible after I was turned, trust me.”

“That’s so cool,” I said fervently, ridiculously pleased that the zombie thing had given that back to him. “I’ve never been in a plane,” I confessed.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head. “I’ll take you up sometime. I fly a couple of times a week.” He shifted his gaze back to Rachel. “You ready to go up with me yet?” he asked her, the double meaning practically screaming through the room.

Briefly flustered, she dropped her eyes to the papers in her hand and began to shuffle needlessly through them. “I, um, would need to check my schedule.” She cleared her throat and recovered her bearing, straightening her shoulders. “Is your driver ready? You need to get going soon.”

He pushed off the door frame. “Simon has the car ready and waiting.”

Rachel nodded. “I’ll probably be up there later this evening for a security check.”

Security check, my ass, I thought with ridiculous glee.

“You got it,” Chris replied. “And then you can take a day off next Tuesday and fly with me.” He gave her a teasing chuckle. “Maybe we can join the mile high club.”

Her mouth dropped open, and a flush climbed up her cheeks, visible even beneath her dark skin. A pained expression came over Chris’s face as he no doubt realized he’d gone too far with the flirting, especially in front of us.

“I . . . need to get to the security meeting,” Rachel blurted, then hurried out of the room.

Chris winced as he watched her go. “I shouldn’t have said that. Rachel takes this job really seriously.” He heaved out a sigh. “I’ll buy her a big box of chocolates to apologize.”

I snorted. “A gift card to a boxing studio might be better choice, and not quite as sexist.”

“Oh. Yeah. Your idea is better, especially since I kind of sexually harassed her just now.” He grimaced, clearly annoyed with himself.

“Y’think?”

“Not often enough, obviously!” He glanced to Kristi. “You ready, Doc?”

Kristi gave Philip a questioning look, as if seeking permission. Philip nodded. “You go and have a nice time off, and I’ll see you when you get back,” he said, then released her hand. Kristi gave him another hesitant smile, then left the room with Chris.

I waited until the door had closed again before clearing my throat. “You and Kristi are awfully, um, friendly,” I remarked.

He dropped into a chair, face scrunching as if he smelled rotten eggs. “I’ve done a lot of work with her,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of work?”

“The kind that encourages compliance.” He looked briefly pained. “She’s a risky asset.”

Compliance. I shuddered. Some sort of conditioning, probably, and I had zero desire for details about how that worked. I knew Philip had some sort of military or special ops background, but I didn’t know any specifics, which was fine with me. “She’s lucky Dr. Nikas insists on the mental health breaks.”

“Her living arrangements here are comfortable, but none of the rooms have windows.” He made a face. “I’ve been crashing here since you extracted me from Saberton, but at least I get to go outside when I want. I’d go nuts if I couldn’t feel the sun on my face.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing I made you a zombie and not a vampire.”