White Trash Zombie Unchained

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Braaaains,” Patricia rasped.

  A moan of huunnngry came from a patient in the next row, echoed by one of the Rucker twins. Patricia repeated, “Braaaains.”

  Kristi approached, gazing thoughtfully down at Patricia. “Interesting. We’ll see how they do with the ProSwoleGel.”

  Dr. Bauer looked around at the harried workers. “I’m sorry I don’t have anyone to assist you.”

  “Angel has that covered,” Kristi said. “We won’t disturb your—”

  An IV stand on the third row crashed to the floor.

  “Arm’s loose!” a nurse hollered.

  “Excuse me,” Dr. Bauer said and rushed over.

  “I wonder how that happened,” Kristi said as if she wasn’t wondering at all. “Come on, Angel. Hop to it. We have testing to do.”

  Chapter 27

  “There are twenty-one patients,” Kristi told me as she headed toward cot one, where Fritz waited with her briefcase. “Each will receive a packet.” She lowered her voice. “Six packets contain a proprietary blend of ProSwoleGel and brains. One is pure brains. And the rest, unadulterated ProSwoleGel. You will administer them, because you can’t get infected.”

  She was only testing the brain-food on a few of the patients, yet feeding all of them, not only to have a control group, but also to muddy the waters if anything odd happened with the test subjects. Since they all supposedly received the same food, any bad outcome would be considered an isolated incident, and certainly not the fault of a well-known nutritional supplement.

  At patient one’s cot, I tugged on gloves for the sake of appearance. “How did you choose who gets what?”

  Kristi retrieved her tablet from the briefcase Fritz held. “All you need to do is feed the patients the packets I give you. Let me worry about the rest.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “It’s not a complicated question, and I’m not feeding anyone anything until you give me a satisfactory answer.”

  “No need to make a scene.” She glanced around as if afraid someone would notice my grievous insubordination. “I selected two males, two females, one of the twins, and the youngest. Satisfied?”

  I shrugged. “It’ll do.” For now.

  Kristi consulted her tablet. “Cot one gets packet eight.”

  Fritz dug around in the briefcase then passed me a packet of ProSwoleGel with “8” written on it in permanent marker.

  As far as I could tell, it was the standard commercial ProSwoleGel packaging, similar to squeeze yogurt. I tore off the top, and the aroma of peaches with a hint of vanilla floated up, but not a whiff of brains.

  Patient one was a thirty-something woman wearing a face shield, her once-manicured nails ragged and broken to the quick. As I crouched beside the cot, she yanked against the restraints and growled low. I murmured softly, telling her it was going to be okay and we were working to find a cure. The words themselves probably didn’t help, but I hoped my tone might.

  Gingerly, I lifted off the face shield, ready to pull back if she snapped. But she simply bared her teeth, cloudy eyes fixed on me.

  “Braaaains.”

  “Well, I have some reeeeally nice protein gel for you.” I held the packet close to her mouth, gave it a quick squeeze when she bit at it. A good dollop of the goopy gel landed on her tongue, and she noisily smacked and swallowed it down.

  “Braaaains!”

  It took only three more squeezes to get the rest of it into her, though it didn’t seem to satisfy her hunger at all. Not surprising since I suspected she really wanted actual brains, and I knew all too well how sucktastic brain hunger was.

  While Kristi made notes on the tablet, I replaced the face shield, then we moved on to the next cot. Patients two, three, and four were also picked to receive plain old protein gel, judging by the scent. Two and three were moaning “hungry” and downed their whole packet, but four didn’t say anything and wouldn’t take the protein gel. Connor hadn’t ever said “hungry,” either. Maybe if he had, he’d have taken brains? But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Not with a deadly tranq in his ear.

  Though patients lunged and snapped at the medical workers, not a single one of them showed the slightest aggression toward me. Odd, yet . . . not. With every cot, my drive, my need to find a cure increased, as if these were people I’d known my entire life. People who needed my protection and were deeply important to me.

  A chorus of Braaaains Braaaaaaaaains Braains followed me to patient five: Rucker Twin One from the bowling alley. He lay on an extra-wide, extra-long cot, yanking non-stop against his restraints.

  “Armell Rucker,” I said in a soothing voice. “It’s gonna be all right.” He wasn’t wearing a face shield, which allowed me to see his rictus grin relax as I spoke. In my periphery, I saw Kyle watching from several cots away.

  “Packet one,” Kristi said.

  This time, when I ripped off the top, the lovely scent of pure brains filled my nose. Not as tempting as fresh, warm brains straight out of a skull, but delectable nonetheless.

  Armell’s eyes stretched wide. “Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains.”

  “Yep, some good old protein gel for you.” I jerked back as he snapped at the packet. “Easy there, darlin’. This is some good stuff, but you have to take it slow.”

  Or not. When he opened his mouth to let out a phlegmy growl, I seized the opportunity and squirted the whole packet in. Tongue working, he swallowed the brains down with a gulp, growl fading to a low moan that sounded way too much like pleasure. Eyes already clearer, his head lolled as he breathed out, “Braaaaaaains,” in a long sigh, with an expression of pure shambler bliss on his face.

  Pleased, I moved on to Armell’s twin, Arkell Rucker. He took regular protein gel in the same no fuss, non-bitey manner as the first three, though with less satisfaction, to judge by his piteous moans.

  Cots seven and eight were empty, so we proceeded to the next row for patient nine, who looked enough like Dr. Leblanc to make my heart lurch uncomfortably before I realized it wasn’t him. When I opened his packet, I had no doubt it was the gel-brain blend. The concoction smelled of proteiny vanilla brains along with a subtle pungent quality, like dirty socks in a laundry basket. Not very appetizing, but then again I’d made some godawful mixtures in the past. Like the time I tried to make brain sushi. Or the disastrous guacamole incident.

  Nine ate the mixture just fine, but then kept sticking his tongue out, as if he was trying to get rid of the taste. Different. I sniffed the packet and was about to take a tiny lick when Kristi snatched it from my hand.

  “Would you behave?” she scolded. “We do not have time to dillydally.” Exasperated, she shoved the empty packet into the briefcase and pointed to the next cot.

  How the hell was she able to make me feel like a third grader who’d been caught eating paste? And why was she being so protective of the empty packets?

  Kyle continued to shadow me from a distance as I fed the next two patients ordinary protein gel. At patient twelve, I ripped open the packet. Peaches. Vanilla. Brains. And a sharp, chemical scent that reminded me of acetone and burnt sugar. I turned to Kristi. “What the hell is this?”

  She consulted her tablet. “Brains and gel.”

  “You do remember I have a much better sense of smell than you, right?” I kept my tone low and even. “Tell me what the fuck this is. There’s something in here besides brains and ProSwoleGel. It’s definitely not the same as the blend I gave to patient nine. That one had a different smell.”

  “Angel, you’re overreacting,” she said, jaw tense. “Can we please get back to feeding the patients?”

  “I thought we were over the lie-to-Angel bullshit.” I narrowed my eyes. She wanted me to shut up and not ask about the ingredients. “I’m feeling a might bit peckish. Maybe I should go ahead and down this packet of brains an
d protein.” I lifted the packet to my lips.

  “Stop,” she hissed. “Don’t eat that. I’m testing two possible cures! Use your head and imagine what that might do to your recently recovered parasite.”

  My little bluff had worked, and now I knew what she was really doing here. I lowered the packet. “Does Dr. Nikas know you’re testing cures now?”

  She hesitated for only an instant, but it was long enough to tell me he didn’t. “Angel, we can discuss this later. Right now, we have work to do.”

  There was no way Dr. Nikas would approve tests on live patients sight unseen. I could always refuse to feed any more patients, but that wouldn’t stop her enlisting the help of Dr. Bauer or even Fritz.

  In a zombie-speed move, I snatched the briefcase from Fritz and slung the strap over my shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the limo.”

  Kristi grabbed my wrist. I stopped, looked down at her hand then up at her face. “You don’t really want me to make a scene, do you?” I said, low and silky. “I’m really good at making scenes, and I have nothing to lose. Wanna try me?”

  She released me and muttered to Fritz to stand down. I turned away and strode down the row toward the entrance. I still had the full-yet-open packet in my hand, and since I was tired of holding it, and feeling more than a little ornery, I shoved it into the briefcase and gave it a good squeeze.

  Clickety-clickety-click. Her heels behind me. “Angel?” she said sweetly, for everyone else’s benefit. “We need to discuss that procedure a teensy bit more.”

  I kept walking. “We can do it on the way back to NuQuesCor.”

  Behind me, a mighty voice roared, “BRAAAAAAAAAINS!”

  I spun to see Armell Rucker bucking so hard his cot was inching along the gym floor.

  “BRAAAAAAAAAINS!” he bellowed, triggering moans and howls and hisses of braaaaaains and hunnnnnngry from what seemed to be every patient in the place.

  Kyle angled toward me, and I shoved the briefcase into his hands. “Keep that safe and call Dr. Nikas.”

  With smooth efficiency, he grasped the handle and pulled out his phone. “On it.”

  Leaving that concern behind, I rushed to the swarm of nurses, doctors, assistants trying to hold Armell and cot in place. Kristi watched from a few yards away, expression a combination of curiosity and shock.

  “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!”

  He fought the restraints, warping the cot frame with every fierce yank. Heart thudding, I shouldered in next to Dr. Bauer, grabbed Armell’s head, and hung on for dear life as he thrashed. I tried talking to him to maybe soothe and calm, but my voice was lost in the racket of the other patients.

  The cot frame gave way with a groan of metal and tipped to the side. One arm restraint came loose, and Armell swung the liberated limb, clocking a worker in the side of the head. It would only be a matter of seconds before he ripped completely free of the twisted frame. If that happened, a bullet to the head would be damn near the only way to stop him from hurting others.

  No way was I going to let that happen. There had to be a way to calm him without anyone having to die. I scrambled back and looked around in a desperate search for a miracle.

  My gaze stopped on patient four. That was it. I tore the face shield from her and hollered, “Status epilepticus!” like it was a magic spell.

  Dr. Bauer looked at me as if I was crazy, then her eyes lit up in understanding. “Everyone! On the count of three, grab him and hold tight!”

  On three, I dove into the fray. They wouldn’t be able to hold Armell for more than a few seconds, but that was all I needed. With zombie speed, I fixed the shield over his mouth and tightened the strap. He clacked his teeth together hard then let out a bellow worthy of a bull elephant with a rosebush up his ass. A violent twisting move sent three people crashing back on their asses, but before I could rip the shield off as a bad idea, he went limp. A second later his fingers started twitching as his unrestrained forearm moved in a lazy arc.

  “That’s it!” Dr. Bauer cried, as if she couldn’t believe the tactic had worked. “Get the restraints off and put him in the recovery position.”

  The cacophony of the other patients died back to earlier levels, with the occasional braaaaains or hunnnnngry, as if in sync with Armell’s state.

  Breathing hard, I sat back while four workers disentangled Armell from the wrecked cot and rolled him to his left side. “How long is it safe for him to seize like this?”

  Dr. Bauer knelt beside him, checking pulse points. “We’ll get him back on the monitor in a sec. For now he’s breathing. All we need is enough time to set up his restraints again.”

  Within a few minutes the assistants had a new cot set up and restraints in place. They rolled Armell onto a blanket, then heaved him up onto the cot.

  Dr. Bauer, armed with her Kevlar sleeves, cautiously removed the face shield while the assistants worked swiftly to tighten restraints. Armell sucked in a snotty breath and let it out in a low moan. No thrashing. No biting.

  I rested my hand on his shoulder. “There you go, sweetie. It’s going to be all right.” But what the hell? My intuition told me it was no coincidence he turned into a zombie berserker not long after eating pure brains. Which meant my hopes that brains could be a shambler stabilizer were now dust.

  On the other row, a patient abruptly let out an eerie, piercing whistle-cry that didn’t sound like it could come from a human throat. Number nine—the one who reminded me of Dr. Leblanc. His back arched and his head thrashed as if he’d been doused in burning oil. He screamed then. Loud. Guttural. Horrific.

  A second later he collapsed to the cot and didn’t move again. His heart monitor went from normal looking blips to a wavy line, like a series of steep hills and valleys close together.

  Dr. Bauer raced to his side. “Code on nine! Sustained V-tach. Move it, people, move it!”

  I stayed beside Armell, hand still on his shoulder, staring in shock as the medical team scrambled in organized chaos. Too much like Connor. Sharp orders flowed together in my ears, but the team reacted and acted smoothly with chest compressions and ventilation and medications.

  Only a few minutes ago, I’d given that man Kristi’s dirty-sock-smelling cure trial. I glanced over and saw that she hadn’t moved from her spot. She watched the team work on patient nine, forehead puckered and mouth tight as she slowly pulled on gloves. Definitely didn’t look happy.

  I dragged my attention back to the frenzy of activity around cot nine.

  Charging to one-twenty joules. Clear. Shock. More chest compressions. Epi.

  I couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but judging by the serious focus of the team, it wasn’t good. I remained beside Armell, talking to him, soothing. There was nothing I could do for patient nine except hope for a miracle. But deep down, I knew he was gone.

  I didn’t even know his name.

  V-fib. Compressions. Shock at two hundred. Cursing. Asystole.

  More compressions. Epi.

  Nothing.

  Dr. Bauer stepped back, wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “Shit . . . shit. I’m calling it. Time of death 18:22.”

  Kristi started toward Dr. Bauer. I followed, stomach churning after witnessing the man’s death.

  Dr. Bauer’s eyes were haggard over her mask. “The others we lost. No screaming. Nothing like this.”

  “I’m so very sorry to be brusque in this difficult moment,” Kristi said, “but I need to take postmortem tissue and blood samples from the deceased immediately, along with random samples from some of the others.”

  Dr. Bauer waved a weary hand. “Take whatever you need if it will help put an end to this nightmare.”

  Kristi murmured a quiet thanks then gestured for me to follow her. At the end of the row she spoke through clenched teeth. “I need my damn briefcase.”

  “If it contains sampling equipment, sure.”

/>   Kyle glided over as if on cue, briefcase over his shoulder. To my chagrin, he passed the briefcase to Fritz then held his phone out for me. “Angel, there’s a call for you. I’ll help Dr. Charish collect the samples.”

  I took the phone with a nod of thanks. Kyle would not only collect samples, but also keep an eagle eye on what she was doing.

  While the two of them got to work, I speed-walked to a far corner beside the bleachers, out of earshot of anyone except maybe Kyle.

  “Hello?”

  “Angel.” Dr. Nikas’s gentle voice, rough with tension. Kyle must have filled him in on everything, including Armell’s awful reaction to pure brains and the death of patient nine. “Are you all right?”

  Not “tell me what I need to know.” Or “do this do that.” I let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I was the one who gave that patient the gel stuff with the test cure, but I know it wasn’t my fault he died.” I had plenty of other shit to feel guilty about. No sense taking on guilt that didn’t belong to me.

  “Precisely.” He sounded relieved that he didn’t have to talk me off the ledge. Again. “You may have delivered the means, but his blood isn’t on your hands. Kyle said Kristi planned to test seven patients with three of one cure trial, three of another, and one of pure brains. Your quick thinking and bold intervention to stop the trials likely prevented more deaths.”

  “Thanks, doc. But it doesn’t change that she used me, and an innocent man died.” I shot a furious glare across the gym at Kristi. “I really want to wring her neck. Now would be a really sweet time.”

  “I know.” He sighed softly. “I can’t make this right. Nothing can bring that man back. I can only ask that you give me a chance to deal with Kristi myself tomorrow, after analysis is complete on the samples Kyle took from the open packets. And, after I have the full story from you, along with whatever information I can get from her. She has little trust for us, with good reason, but I need to hear her rationale for conducting these cure trials without consulting me. We need her, but I can’t abide games—especially those that kill. Will you give me that time?”