Having said that, he acts like a toad whenever any of the scientists or soldiers come to see us. I thought the others were exaggerating when they were winding him up that first day, but I soon see that they’re not. He’s like a fanboy when Josh or his team is on the scene.
Dr. Cerveris came this morning to run some routine tests on us, eyes, ears, that sort of thing. We get tested regularly, usually by nurses or low-level doctors. But today we were treated to a visit by the high and mighty one himself.
“Hey, Dr. Cerveris, how you been?” Rage beamed, running over to him like an eager puppy.
“Very well, thank you,” the doctor replied, then asked Rage how things were going. Once they’d dispensed with the small talk, Rage barked at the rest of us and ordered us to line up. He walked down the line with Dr. Cerveris, glaring at us, making sure nobody said anything untoward or threatened the doctor in any way.
“Are those okay?” Rage asked when Dr. Cerveris came to the Turk and paused to study his painted finger bones.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “I was just curious to see what he had drawn.” He smiled at Gokhan. “You have an artistic eye.”
“Art’s my favorite subject, innit?” Gokhan replied.
“We’ll have to give you oils and canvas, to see if your skills have been affected by your altered circumstances.”
“I dunno about that,” Gokhan pouted. “I’m not really into proper painting.”
“You’ll do whatever the hell the doctor tells you to do!” Rage roared, and shoved Gokhan in the chest.
Gokhan squared up to Rage and it looked like things were going to kick off, but Dr. Cerveris coughed politely and said, “Please, boys, no fighting.”
I think Gokhan would have ignored him, but as soon as the doctor called for peace, Rage took a step back and muttered an apology.
“Why do you suck up to them so much?” I asked once Dr. Cerveris had left. I thought Rage would prickle at that but he only shrugged.
“They’re the new masters now. If we’re to have any hope of getting out of this place, we need to play ball. Besides, they’ve taken good care of us. We should be thankful. They could have left us to rot with the zombies. They’re doing their best to look after us and make our lives easier. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
I haven’t seen much of the complex yet. Reilly never varies the route when he leads me to or from my cell. The others haven’t seen much more of it either, though they’ve been to the places where the reviveds are housed.
According to Mark, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies locked up in the pens. He thinks they’re being held for experimental purposes. This is a giant laboratory, not a prison.
The reviveds are a mix of adults and children. But nobody’s seen any grown-up zom heads. We’ve been segregated by age for some reason. There must be adult revitalizeds, conscious as we are, but they’re either being held in a separate part of the complex or in a different building. I don’t know why they’d want to divide us this way. Maybe they’re worried that we’d start a big zom head family if they let us mix together freely.
There’s no doubt that I’m an outsider–nothing personal, I’m sure it’s purely because I’m new to the fold–but I was getting along all right with most of the zom heads until a couple of days ago. Cathy was the only one who actively disliked me. She wouldn’t talk to me unless it was to say something critical. Then we had hairgate and I’ve been snubbed by the rest of them ever since.
I’d just finished filing down my teeth and was studying myself in the mirror. I ran a hand over the stubble on my head and muttered, “I hope this grows back soon. I fancy a change of style.”
Cathy laughed hysterically. “Did you hear what dopey B said?” she cawed to the others.
“What’s so funny about that?” I growled.
“You think your hair will grow back.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t…?” I stopped and groaned as I caught on.
“You’re dead, dumbo,” Cathy sneered. “Your hair won’t ever grow again. You’re stuck with that G.I. Jane look for life.”
She kept on mocking me until I lost my cool. With a bellow, I rushed her, grabbed her ponytail and dragged her down onto the floor. She squealed and slapped at my hands but I was too strong for her. The others crowded round, egging us on.
“They don’t let us have knives in here,” I said, “but these bones sticking out of my fingers are every bit as good. If they can cut through skulls, hair shouldn’t be much of a problem. I’m going to shave you even balder than I am, bitch.”
“No!” Cathy screamed as I started hacking at her hair. “Don’t, B, please!”
I ignored her and severed her ponytail. As it came free, I held it up in the air and whooped.
“Now for the rest of it,” I jeered, waving my hand in front of her eyes, letting her see what I’d already cut away.
The fight drained from her when she saw her hair, and she started making loud moaning noises, the closest she could get to crying. I paused uneasily and watched her shaking. She reached out, took the hair from my fingers, clutched it to her chest and wailed, a dry, choking, wretched sound.
“Nice going,” Tiberius snarled. “That won’t grow back. She can never replace it.”
“You didn’t do much to stop me,” I challenged him, and glared defiantly at the others, who were all looking a tad too self-righteous for my liking. “You just stood there, cheering.”
“Yeah,” Danny snorted. “That’s right. Blame us. You cut off her hair, but we’re the guilty ones.”
“It’s not that bad,” I muttered. “I didn’t scalp her.”
They only stared at me with contempt until I turned my back on them and stomped away. Then they all crouched around Cathy and sympathized with her, conveniently forgetting the fact that she was the one who started the fight.
So much for my friends. Hypocritical jerks! I think I prefer being in my cell on my own.
TEN
In zom HQ. The others are still giving me the cold shoulder because of what I did to Cathy. I’ve tried apologizing but the snooty cow just ignores me. Sod her, the rest of them too. I don’t care. Real loneliness is when your dad beats up your mum and you’re lying in your bedroom, listening to her weep in the room next door, and it feels like the whole world’s against you. A bunch of petty zombies giving me the evils? Doesn’t bother me in the least.
The door opens and Reilly enters, Josh Massoglia just behind him. “You guys ready for some fun and games?” Josh roars.
“Damn right!” Rage bellows, rallying the others and shooing them towards the door. I haven’t seen them this excited before.
“What about me?” Mark cries. “Can I come?”
“Sorry,” Josh says. “We gave you the once-over a few days ago when we had you in for a checkup. The burns are still really bad. It’s best you sit out this one.”
“Don’t worry, Worm,” Rage chuckles. “We’ll tell you all about it when we come home.”
Mark looks crestfallen. If he could cry, he’d be blinking back tears.
As the others gather by the door, Josh looks over at me. “You just gonna sit there or do you want in on this too?”
“I’m invited?” I ask suspiciously, thinking it might be a trap.
“Of course,” Josh says. “Why wouldn’t you be?” He raises an eyebrow at Rage. “That’s not a problem, is it?”
Rage smiles quickly. “Not at all. The more the merrier. Come on, B, hurry up, you don’t want to make us late.”
I’d like to tell the big lump to get stuffed, but I don’t want to miss out on this. So I say nothing, only line up with the rest of them and follow Josh and Reilly out of zom HQ and into the heart of the complex.
Cathy cuddles up close to Josh as we’re walking—well, as close as he’ll let her, worried as he must be that she might accidentally scratch him and condemn him to living death. She makes cow eyes at him and actually asks if he’s been working out. Give me strength! Jo
sh laughs it off and pretends he doesn’t know that she’s got a crush on him.
We come to a door that requires a security code as well as the usual finger and retinal scans. Reilly opens it and we step into a room packed with weapons of all description. They’re locked away in padlocked, thick steel cages, and I don’t see any keys on either of the soldiers. Doesn’t look like they want to take the chance of us going wild and getting our hands on a full arsenal.
Some of the weapons have been laid on a table in the middle of the room. “Take your pick,” Josh says grandly. “Girls first.”
I approach with Cathy and cast an eye over the loot. Flamethrowers, stun guns, spears, large knives, axes and small chainsaws. Two of each.
“Wow!” Cathy exclaims, rushing to grab a chainsaw. “These are new. They’re awesome.”
“Have you used a chainsaw before?” Josh asks.
“No.”
“You’d better be careful. They’re nasty if you swing them the wrong way. Maybe you should leave that to the boys.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cathy smirks, pulling a cord to turn it on. She scythes through the air with the buzzing saw a couple of times, then turns it off and hangs it by her side. I hate to admit it, but she looks cool as hell.
“Becky?” Josh asks.
“I don’t know.” I study the weapons glumly. I’ve never used anything like this before. I’m worried that I’ll pick something I can’t use and end up looking like a mug. Maybe I should have stayed in zom HQ with Mark.
“We normally insist on pairs,” Reilly explains. “Now that Cathy’s chosen a chainsaw, somebody else has to choose one too. Usually, if you picked a flamethrower and Rage stepped up next and chose a knife, the final three would have to make their choice from those weapons, one each.”
“But now there’s seven of you,” Josh says. “So there will have to be an odd one out. Tell you what, since this is your first time, you can have dibs on the exclusive weapon. So unless you fancy a chainsaw, pick from any of the others and we’ll remove that choice for the rest.”
I walk around the table, studying the weapons. I run a hand over a flamethrower and remember my introduction to life in this brave new world. I see Rage’s eyes narrow–he wants a flamethrower–and I nearly pick it just to spite him. But I don’t like fire.
“I’ll take a spear,” I decide, keeping it simple. The others make their choices. When we’re ready, we carry our weapons through to another room, where leather suits and helmets are hanging up for us.
The trousers feel strange as I tug them on. I was never much into leather. I owned a couple of jackets in my time but no pants or shirts. The clothes feel tight on me, uncomfortable even with my less sensitive skin.
“Are these really necessary?” I grumble.
“They’ll help protect you,” Josh says. “You saw the way Rage was bitten. Leather can be penetrated, but not as easily as regular clothing. You’ll be glad of it if a revived sinks their teeth into one of your legs or arms.”
“But they can’t infect us now, can they?” I frown. “We’re zombies already.”
“They can still hurt us, you idiot,” Cathy snaps.
“A bite or a scratch stings like a bitch,” Tiberius tells me. “And though moss will grow around it, you’ll carry the wound for the rest of your life.”
“Fair enough.” I start to pull my T-shirt off, then pause. I don’t have anything on underneath. I was never shy about my body, but I didn’t go about flashing my tits to one and all. I glance around the room. The others are taking off their clothes and pulling on the leathers without any worries. The boys don’t cover themselves, and Cathy doesn’t either. They don’t gape at one another or make suggestive comments, just get on with things, as if they’re too grown-up to worry about a little nudity.
I shrug and pull off my T-shirt.
“Bloody hell!” Tiberius gasps and everybody looks up. At first I think he’s staring at my boob and I prepare a hot retort. Then I realize it’s the hole in my chest that caught his attention. “That’s incredible.”
“Not as incredible as your ginger hair,” I mutter, but I feel oddly proud. The others can boast a cool variety of scars and bite marks, but nothing as outlandish as this.
Cathy comes closer and stares deep into the gaping hole. “That must have hurt like hell,” she whispers.
“I can’t remember,” I lie, suppressing a shiver as I recall what it felt like when Tyler ripped my beating heart from between the shattered bones of my chest.
Cathy reaches out to put her hand in the hole, then pauses. “Do you mind?”
“Of course I bloody mind,” I snort. “That’d be like me asking if I could stick my hand up your arse.”
Everyone laughs and I tug on a leather shirt.
“It’s an impressive wound,” Cathy says grudgingly, then winks at me. “But the breast wasn’t so hot.”
“Get stuffed,” I grunt, but we share a grin and I think she’s finally forgiven me for cutting off her hair.
“Right,” Josh says when we’re ready, weapons in one hand, helmets in the other. “Most of you know the drill but I’ll go through it again for Becky’s sake. We’re going to put you in with a group of reviveds. There’s a speaker system inside each helmet. We’ll be issuing orders as you go.”
“Let’s hope nobody breaks rank this time,” Reilly huffs, looking pointedly at Rage.
“I’ve said sorry for that already,” Rage groans. “I lost my head. It won’t happen again. Promise.”
“To start with, stand still,” Josh goes on. “Let them mill around you. If they attack, defend yourself, but don’t stir them up until we tell you. And when you do, follow orders as closely as you can, as long as you can, until things get chaotic. When we think the situation’s getting out of hand, we’ll drop the nets and bring proceedings to a close. Any questions?”
“What’s the point of it all?” I ask.
“We’re testing the reviveds,” Josh says. “Their reactions, what they respond to, what they ignore, how much they remember on an instinctive level from their old lives. We’ll also be checking if they show signs of revitalizing, but that’s not the main goal of the experiment, since it happens so rarely.”
“How far can we go?” I press. “Do we draw the line at dismembering them, killing them, what?”
“You can’t kill them,” Josh laughs. “They’re already dead.”
“You know what I mean. If we destroy their brains, we’ll finish them off. That’s killing in my book.”
“Well it shouldn’t be,” Josh snaps, losing his smile. “Don’t think of these as people. Not even animals. They’re walking corpses, monsters who would rip apart everything we know and cherish. They slaughtered friends of yours, maybe family members too, and one of them even killed you. There should be no room in your heart for sympathy, not where these beasts are concerned.”
“Tear them to pieces,” Danny snarls. “They’d do even worse to you if they had the chance.”
“Well said.” Josh is beaming again. “Now, if you’re all ready and willing, let’s do some business.”
Everyone cheers and roars like gladiators. Reilly opens a door–not the one we entered by–and we pass along a short corridor, just us seven zom heads, leaving the soldiers behind.
We enter a bare room like the one I found myself in the first time I recovered my senses. White walls, lots of windows, soldiers and scientists crowded behind them.
Rage clomps to the middle of the room and the rest of us follow. We form a tight circle. I’m nervous and I can tell that the others are too. They’ve been looking forward to this–it breaks the monotony–but in the quiet moments before it kicks off, they tense and wonder what will happen if it goes wrong.
Each of us tests our weapon, flexes our muscles, prepares for battle. I start to wish I’d chosen something more substantial than a spear. I don’t feel as protected as the others. I wish I could swap it for a chainsaw.
Then three doors click open
at the same time, in three different walls. There’s a short pause, flickering shadows, the smell of blood in the air. Then about thirty zombies slip into the room, spread out, shake their heads and fix their snarling, ravenous sights on us.
ELEVEN
I instinctively raise my spear. Josh’s voice comes crackling through the speaker in my helmet. “Easy, Becky. Remember what I told you. Just stand still for the time being and chill.”
“Chill my arse,” I mutter sourly, but I lower the spear and watch nervously as the zombies draw closer.
The first to come within striking distance is a woman. She’s dressed in a filthy, tattered green blouse and a matching skirt. There are bite marks up and down her arms, as if her boyfriend got out of control when they were making out. Her eyes have a gray, cloudy film over them, like a blind person’s, but by the way she focuses on me, I’m sure that she can see well enough.
The woman pauses in front of me and sniffs the air. Her mouth is open and her long, sharp teeth are bared. She makes a growling sound and I think she’s getting ready to attack. My fingers tighten on the spear. But then she reels away to sniff the others.
I’m not sweating inside my helmet–I can’t–but I feel hotter than normal. I keep a close eye on the zombies as they shuffle around, staring, sniffing, fingers twitching. I keep expecting one to realize that we’re different, attack and set off the rest of their undead pack. But they don’t. Because we’re not that different, not in the most important way—like them, we’re dead. Zombies clearly only have a taste for the living.
“That’s good,” Josh murmurs. “Let them get used to you.”
“This is freaking me out,” I croak.
“No,” he says. “You’ve adjusted faster than the others did. You’re the first to hold your nerve when making primary contact with reviveds. Even Rage lashed out the first time he was exposed.”
That makes me feel smug. Of course it could be a load of bull and Josh might be saying it just to settle me down, but who can resist flattery like that? I treat myself to a self-indulgent chuckle, imagining Rage in a panic. I’ll tease him about that later.