White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

Chapter 14

Our route to the lab had been almost entirely back roads and seldom-used highways, though I wasn’t sure if that was the only way to get there or if it was on purpose to keep me from finding the place again. If so it worked, since I had no idea where the hell we were, other than in front of an incredibly uninteresting building. It looked nothing like a lab or secret outpost, or even a secret outpost cleverly disguised as a farm house, or anything far less boring than what it was—a cinderblock lump of a structure painted an institutional blue with a small gravel parking lot and only one door that I could see. Scraggly grass scorched brown from summer heat surrounded it, giving way to pine forest after a few hundred yards. Dust hung in the air from the Escalade’s passage, and I held back a sneeze, and a little disappointment, with effort.

Brian escorted me to the door and pressed a button beside it. I figured surely there were surveillance cameras, but I still hadn’t located them by the time the lock on the door gave a click. Brian pulled the door open, and I followed him into a room as massively unexciting as the exterior. Dull tan walls and a tired looking couch. A coffee table with corners that were worn down to the particle-board beneath the veneer. A single door on the far wall. It looked and felt like the waiting room at the public health clinic, right down to a scattered pile of ancient magazines on the table and a faint smell of antiseptic.

I ruthlessly fought back increasing disappointment and crossed mental fingers that the lab itself wouldn’t be so crashingly mundane.

Brian took a seat on the couch, snagged a magazine off the table as if expecting a bit of a wait. I went ahead and sat at the other end of the couch and picked up a magazine as well. Golf Digest from seven years ago. And a quick scan of the table showed me I had the pick of the lot. What I wouldn’t give for some Highlights and some good ole Goofus and Gallant. Yeah, that was more my speed.

Fortunately it was only about ten minutes before the door opened and an unimposing man stepped through. His brown, shoulder-blade length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A hint of grey at his temples added a sense of years to his unwrinkled face. In addition, my failure to smell an edible brain behind that face told me he was a zombie. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat, name badge, or anything like that, but I had no doubt at all that he was Dr. Nikas.

He confirmed it when he looked to me with a smile and said, “Hello, Angel. I’m Ariston Nikas.” He had an interesting accent, nothing I could identify for sure, but maybe a mix of various European influences.

I dropped the magazine back onto the table, stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” he replied with genuine warmth in his voice. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He released my hand and turned to the door. “Come this way.”

I could only imagine all the stuff that had been said about me lately. I followed him into a short corridor painted in the same drab tan as the waiting room, while Brian fell in behind. Dr. Nikas paused at a door at the end of the corridor, punched in numbers on a keypad, then swiped his thumb on a sensor. A second later the door unlocked with a click.

We entered a barren cubicle of a room that did nothing to raise my hopes for anything beyond boring and mundane. Dr. Nikas gave a smile and wave to the mirrored window of the right wall, where I suspected a security guard or two watched from behind it. He crossed to the single broad door on the far wall and did the keypad-thumb swipe thing again. With a click and hiss, the door, at least three inches thick, slid quietly into the wall on the left.

To my relief and utter delight, we left drab tan behind and stepped into an area that totally looked like a super cool zombie research lab straight out of a science fiction movie. Or rather we weren’t actually in the lab yet—I could see that awesomeness through the double glass doors ahead—but it wasn’t kill-me-now tan anymore. Corridors led off left and right, painted in graduated shades of rich blue and gold, lit by recessed lighting, and several panels of lights with associated digital readouts twinkled beside the door ahead. And it smelled fresh. Not like fresh-scent dryer sheets or anything fake like that, but more like the air right after a lightning strike.

“I’ll meet up with you later, Angel,” Brian said. I gave him a smile and nod, and he turned down the corridor to the right while I continued after Dr. Nikas.

“You are interested in the people I have in stasis—John Kang in particular, yes?” he asked as we passed through the auto-sliding glass security doors. Thick glass that I had no doubt could stop a bullet.

I liked that Dr. Nikas referred to them as people and not simply heads. “That’s right,” I replied, looking around and taking it all in, utterly fascinated. “Thanks for taking the time to show me around. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t have many visitors. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

We passed into what felt like the central hub of the complex—and it was definitely a complex. This room was large and circular with a high domed ceiling. Several passageways and doors led out, lending to the hub effect, and all sorts of shiny equipment lined the counters and walls. A semicircular central island housed several fancy computer stations and more equipment I couldn’t begin to identify.

I wasn’t any sort of expert on labs, but it was pretty obvious no expense had been spared, not only on megacool equipment, but also on making it a comfortable workspace. Various screens and little flashy lights looked cool as hell, but the whirrs, ticks, and soft pings made the place feel alive. Dr. Nikas ran his hand lightly over a console as we passed it on our way toward a dark corridor on the far side, and I had the feeling he spent a lot of time here.

Lights came on automatically as we entered a hallway with walls covered in a tile mosaic of colorful abstract patterns. Dr. Nikas turned and walked backward as he spoke. “While you are here, would you consider giving some blood?”

I almost jerked to a stop and, in fact, stumbled a half step before recovering. “Um. What?” I asked, suddenly verrrry wary. “Why?”

He stopped, apparently sensing my alarm. “In general, I try to keep samples of everyone’s blood on hand for research or unique individual needs,” he said. “And, specifically in your case, to determine the reason Saberton wanted samples so desperately.”

It made sense, but still. “Can I say no?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but he didn’t hesitate before answering, “Of course.”

Dr. Nikas sure seemed nice enough, but right now there was too much of a yikes-factor going on with me to be cool about giving my blood away. “Um, lemme think about it, okay?”

A brief flash of disappointment touched his face, though it didn’t seem to be “Crap, I’m not getting my way,” and was more like “Darn, it would’ve been really nice to have that.” But he smiled and gave me an understanding nod. “Certainly. Not a problem.” He moved to a side door and unlocked it. “Come on in and see Kang.”

I followed, relieved that he wasn’t pushing the issue.

The chilly temperature and small size of the room reminded me of walking into the morgue cooler, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. A half dozen vats like oversized stainless steel crock pots lined a counter against the far wall, each with a white index card taped to the front.

Dr. Nikas twisted a knob on the wall near the door and increased the light level a bit. “They do best in low light,” he said, moving to the vat second from the left. “This is John Kang. You can look in through the glass lid, but remember that though he looks really bad, his brain is fully encapsulated by the parasite and is stable.” He paused, considering. “‘Hibernating’ might be a way of looking at it. Using minimal resources.”

Upon approach, I saw that the index card on the vat read “John Kang” in flowing handwriting that I had no doubt belonged to Dr. Nikas. Something about that personal touch gave me the feeling that he really cared about these heads as individuals and not simply as test subjects. Curiosity burning, I peered through the glass. Sure enough, it was Kang. Despite the head looking like a horror movie prop suspended in some sort of clear gel, I vaguely recognized his features. Like mummy wrappings, strips of cloth bound the stump of his neck, and his skin, though not falling apart in decay, was dark, ugly grey, and shriveled like a raisin.

“That is so gross. And cool,” I breathed.

Dr. Nikas smiled broadly. “Yes, I wholeheartedly agree on both counts,” he said. “I’m currently analyzing research data that may well solve my puzzle of the regrowth medium as well as boost our alternative brains research.”

I tore my gaze from the gruesome sight, looked over at him. “Alternative brains? You mean fake brains like Dr. Charish and Sofia were working on?”

“All of their data fed my research,” he said, nodding. A shadow of deep concern passed over his face. “I am close—so very close. But in light of some recent information, I am deeply troubled that Saberton may be near as well.”

I pushed away from Kang’s vat and moved to another. “Well what would be so bad about that?” I asked. “I mean, I know they’re assholes,” I paused, “serious major fucking assholes, but as long as someone develops an alternative, it’s all good, right?”

“Oh god, no,” Dr. Nikas replied, a hint of alarm in his voice. “Any non-zombie group developing them first would be bad. Saberton developing them first would be disastrous.” He shook his head. “A brains alternative is the holy grail for zombies—a salvation, the freedom to choose not to eat…people,” he continued. “In the hands of those who hold no love for our kind, it would be a means of control and manipulation.” He exhaled, ran a hand over his hair. “Saberton could use that to their advantage against us, and if they have a brains alternative, and we don’t, we’re, well, screwed.”

“But wouldn’t we still be able to get brains the old-fashioned way?” I asked. “I mean, the way we do now, at morgues and funeral homes?”

His eyes met mine. “Not if, or rather not when they go public with what we are—and who we are,” he said. “We manage to feed our people well with the network in place now. Enough people die to meet our needs.” His mouth pursed. “Yet do you think the public would allow any of us to work in the morgues and funeral homes, knowing that the brains of their loved ones would become our dinner? And that’s putting aside what the majority reaction would be to the knowledge that there are monsters in their midst.”

A shiver ran through me. I’d seen enough redneck prejudice to know exactly what the outcome would be. “Well, that sucks.”

“Yes, it does,” he agreed, then gave me a faint smile. “Come on,” he said, heading for the door. “It’s freezing in here, and the conversation topic doesn’t help.”

He dimmed the light before exiting with me into the warmer hallway. “Fortunately I’ve made some breakthroughs with respect to conducting research on non-zombie test subjects. Which is important since it doesn’t risk crippling or disrupting the parasite in a true zombie.”

“That’s what happened to Philip!” I said, smugly pleased that I’d guessed correctly back when Charish messed him up. I even told Philip so at the time, but he was too busy trying to kill me to listen.

Dr. Nikas nodded. “Experimental food combined with parasite stimulants. A very ugly cocktail for a zombie. Long-term effects on the parasite.”

“What does that mean for the two he made?” I asked. “Tim Bell and Roland. I, uh, ran into them at the Gourmet Gala.” I made a sour face as I remembered that fun encounter. “Bell was screwed up and confused,” I continued. “At one point he grabbed cake instead of brains, and then it got ugly.”

“I don’t know, Angel,” he said, looking sincerely troubled. “I’ve never seen a case like it, and I don’t have much to go on other than Brian’s report of the incident. Bizarre, erratic behavior. I would need to run tests on them.”

I bit my lower lip as I thought. “You know, I had to maul the hell out of Philip to turn him,” I said, remembering how horribly natural it had felt. “The whole thing took a while—maybe fifteen minutes at least, and Marcus told me that’s the way it is supposed to be.” Dr. Nikas gave a nod of agreement, and I went on. “But Philip turned those two in a couple of minutes with one or two deep bites. Did it have something to do with the parasite stimulant Charish gave him along with the fake brains?”

Dr. Nikas smiled. “Exactly what I concluded based on what I knew. I am quite certain their parasite is crippled.” Then he exhaled, smile fading. “Impulsive creation of zombies, especially damaged ones, is not good for our kind. Very risky on many levels. Those two are poster children for why I don’t test alternative brains on true zombies.”

That reminded me of Dr. Nikas’s earlier comment about breakthroughs using non-zombie test subjects. “Wait. You have regular humans eat fake brains?” I made an eeeeew face.

“Oh, heavens no,” he said, and made just as much of an eeeeew face. “At least I would never do that. There is a way to cause a regular human to adopt various aspects of the zombie biochemistry, mimicking zombie traits for short periods without actual introduction of the parasite. Quite fascinating really. I have a small number of volunteers from our people with whom I work. Some employees, some family members of zombies.”

“That’s pretty damn nice of them to volunteer for a study that won’t directly benefit them,” I said.

“It is,” he agreed. “But they all truly believe it’s for everyone’s benefit to find an acceptable alternate for brains.”

Made sense. I could totally see myself volunteering if it was my dad who was the zombie.

“However,” he added, “it’s important that they be monitored closely, since it can be dangerous to mimic the parasite activity for too long. It limits our work somewhat, but I would have it no other way.”

Yep, I definitely liked Dr. Nikas.

We re-entered the main lab area, and I continued to shamelessly gawk at everything. Maybe after I got my GED I could start taking some college classes in biology or something like that? I mean, why the hell not? I needed to start looking beyond the next decade or so.

“Pietro told me you were tranquilized last night, but that it was different from your previous experience of being tranqed,” Dr. Nikas said. He peered at me with naked curiosity. “Would you mind sharing your experience?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” I said, then proceeded to tell him everything, including how I’d gone completely unconscious, the brains tasting awful for a while, and the injuries not healing at first.

As I spoke, Dr. Nikas’s eyes took on a faraway look as if he either wasn’t paying attention or was deeply processing what I’d told him. I was fairly sure it was the latter, and I remained quiet after I finished.

After a moment, his gaze came back to me. “This is new. It seems as though Saberton has found a way to efficiently tranquilize the parasite without damaging it, hence the lack of healing even with brains available, and the temporary revulsion to brains.”

“That’s bad, huh?” I put the pieces together. “Bad mainly because you can’t do it too, and also probably because you don’t have an antidote since it’s new.”

He gave me a sharp look, and I had the feeling he liked that I’d put it together. “Yes. Exactly. The ability to tranquilize the parasite could be extremely useful in research or even ongoing zombie care,” he said, expression going grim. “And if Saberton or others have this tranq, and we don’t have an antidote, well, it’s extremely dangerous.”

I pursed my lips. “Would it really help you to have some of my blood?”

Surprised relief shone in his eyes, and he gave me a simple grave nod. “Yes, it would. At the minimum, we are currently at a disadvantage because they have samples of your blood and I don’t—and I don’t know why they wanted your blood, which puts us at even more of a disadvantage.” He exhaled. “Plus, if there is even a trace of the tranq remaining, it could be invaluable.”

“All right then,” I said. “I’ll give you some. Because I really don’t want those fuckers to have any advantage.”

“Angel, I know you don’t know me,” Dr. Nikas said, face and voice serious, “but I give you my word that I won’t use your blood against you in any way.”

“I appreciate that,” I said.

“Thank you for offering it.” He smiled, then looked up as Brian came in.

“Angel, come with me,” Brian said, expression locked in fully-professional, with an added hint of grim.

“Okay, sure thing,” I replied. The grimness bothered me, and I had a feeling it didn’t mean good things for Heather. I returned my attention to Dr. Nikas, even as Brian pivoted and headed back down the hallway. “Thanks for showing me around,” I said. “This has been really neat.”

“It was my pleasure, Angel,” he replied. “I’ll have one of my techs take your blood before you leave.”

With a last quick nod, I turned and hurried after Brian.

I caught up with him easily, then followed him into an area that was obviously set up for medical purposes. A crash cart sat against the wall in the corridor, and a glass-doored cabinet containing drugs and various supplies stood beside a long, built-in desk. A pale, thin man with dark hair and wearing faded blue scrubs, sat at a computer workstation making notes from a series of graphs on the screen. An intricate origami dragon perched atop the monitor.

The man lifted his head as we approached. I watched as Brian met his startlingly expressive hazel eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before continuing on. A muscle in the other man’s jaw leaped, and his lips pressed together before he returned his attention to the computer, typing with greater than necessary force.

“Brian? That guy didn’t look very happy,” I said as soon as we were further down the hall. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever seen Jacques look happy, but he has reason today.” He opened a door, stepped into a small wood-paneled office, and gestured me in. A compact computer sat on a side countertop with a chair tucked under it. A second chair at the end of the counter gave me the impression that this was a consultation room of some sort. I entered, and he closed the door behind me, still maintaining the stoic and professional air, though I thought I noted a few more cracks in the surface.

Then I saw the hole in the wall with fresh blood on splinters of wood. My gaze went to Brian’s hands, and I spied flecks of red on his right cuff. No sign of damage to his hand now, but there were two empty brain packets on the desk. Brian didn’t seem at all the type to have wall-punching as part of his normal response to dealing with captives. This situation with Heather really seemed to be messing with him.

“I guess it’s not looking so good for her,” I said.

Leaning back against the desk, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “She’s lying. What info she’s given us checks out, but she’s sticking to the story that she’s just a photographer with the Saberton PR department.” Brian’s expression went even more grim, though I hadn’t thought it was possible. “That matches what’s in their official employment records.”

“So what’s the problem?” I tugged a hand through my hair. If it checked out, why was her being Saberton PR a bad thing? “She was sure as hell taking pictures of me.” Then again, for a photographer, she handled herself pretty damn well in the highway fight. “I don’t understand. Who do you think she is?”

Brian exhaled forcefully. “All I know for certain right now is that she’s not just a PR staffer and she’s not coming clean about it.” Frustration colored his voice. “I had a talk with her while you were with Dr. Nikas. Played her a bit and found out she knows a little too much about the late Richard Saber.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You see, he was a recluse in his last decade. However, Heather let slip about an eye patch the man wore after a bout of cancer. That’s something no lower echelon employee would know, and I only know of it because of a single photo one of our operatives managed to get of him.” He flexed his right hand, mouth tightening. “Damn it, Angel, it’s not definitive, but when I put it together with the info she’s dribbled and what I smell from her, it’s pretty damning.”

I could see his point, and my heart sank. “So this whole thing was a ploy to infiltrate Pietro’s operation?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he said. “She kept her cool after her comment on Saber, but I smelled the fear on her. She knew she’d screwed up.”

I had no doubt he’d been tanked on brains when he talked to her, which means he’d be able to smell a flea fart. “What did she say to cover herself?”

Brian shook his head. “She didn’t. I walked out to, uh, do some remodeling,” he said with a glance at the hole in the wall, “then went to find you. No more talking for now. I’ll let her sweat.”

I frowned, remembering my conversation with Heather in the diner parking lot. “It doesn’t make sense,” I insisted, though I knew that it was more that I didn’t want to believe it. “Can I talk to her?”

“I’m sorry. The situation has changed, Angel,” he said, voice tight. Frustration tightened the skin around his eyes. He didn’t want to believe it any more than I did, but what the hell else was he supposed to think?

“Yeah, I know, but—” I paused, took a deep breath. “She saved my life. And she didn’t have to. I’d already taken out the two humans, and she could’ve waited for the zombie to blow my head off before taking him out. She’d have been home free then. But she didn’t.” I scowled. “And on a totally personal level, if she’s bullshitting us, I’d kinda like to confront her, because I killed a guy for her.” I wasn’t a wimp when it came to fighting. I’d had to do plenty to survive. But killing took it to another level. “I’m not real happy about that. I just want to know why.”

“It’s not an if she’s bullshitting,” Brian stated. “She is and she called you into it.” He shook his head. “She’s a pro, Angel. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to get personal information from Dr. Nikas, Jacques, Reg—Dr. Nikas’s other tech—and me. Stuff we don’t talk about, ever. But each one of us spilled it in conversation and didn’t—” He stopped, exhaled. “Add that to what’s stacked in the infiltration corner, and I’m not sending in a visitor right now.”

“Brian, there has to be more to it!” I said, not at all willing to leave it like this, despite the evidence against her. “You didn’t see her out there.” I met his eyes. “Please. Maybe I can get through to her.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by not seeing her out there?”

I hesitated, trying to think how to put it. “It’s tough to explain. We were a team. I mean, it wasn’t just me helping her out of a fix,” I said with a shake of my head. “Brian, I just can’t believe she’s a bad person. I saw her after she killed the zombie. She looked really torn up about it.”

He seemed to be willing to let me keep talking, so I took that as a sign I might be getting somewhere. I tilted my head. “Look, what do you have to lose by letting me in to see her? It’s not as if she can ferret out any super secret info from me.” I gave him a small smile. “We all know I don’t know shit.”

He regarded me for a long, silent moment. I braced myself to be all kinds of stubborn when he said No, but when he finally spoke he wore a hint of a smile. “I suppose I have nothing to lose and maybe everything to gain.”

“Exactly!” I said brightly as relief flooded in. “Thanks, Brian.”

“She’s a con artist, and a good one,” he said. “I hate to see you getting—” He stopped, visibly rephrased. “I hate to see you waste your time.”

I had a feeling he was going to say something about getting more attached to her. “It’s my time to waste,” I said, then grimaced at the magnitude of the whole thing. This whole deal sucked. “She knows what’s at stake, right?”

“I have no doubt.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. He couldn’t hide his anger at Heather for putting him in a position to have to deal with her. “She’s playing a big game. If her intention was to infiltrate, or some other scheme, she knows the consequences.”

He likes Heather, I realized with a bit of surprise, though at the same time I could totally see it. She was tough and capable and pretty damn likeable. He didn’t want to lock her up and do ugly things to extract info. And it was clear he didn’t want to kill her.

But I also knew that he wouldn’t let that get in the way of whatever he had to do to ensure the security of Pietro’s organization.

Brian leveled his impassive, professional gaze on me. “You budge her, Angel, and I’ll kiss you.”

I gave a surprised bark of laughter. “I’m gonna hold you to that, you know.”

“I’m not putting on the ChapStick just yet,” he said as he pushed off the desk, “but I hope it comes down to that.” He hesitated, then continued with a tightness in his voice that sounded a lot like worry. “Angel, if she doesn’t open up, it won’t be pretty.”

I winced, sighed. “Yeah, I kinda gathered that.” And I was the one who’d talked her into coming over to our side. Or had I? Anger flashed. If she really was trying to infiltrate, I’d been a convenient patsy. One who opened the damn door and invited her in. That stirred more questions, but there was only one person who could answer them. Whether guilty as all sin or hiding some other reason for her behavior, I wanted to know. I’d killed for it.

For Brian’s sake as well as to bolster my fading conviction in her innocence, I said, “Maybe it will all work out.”

He gave a slow nod. “See what you can do.” He paused. “Please,” he added, almost like a prayer.

“Gotcha,” I said and flashed him a tight smile. “Lemme at her.”