Through the Zombie Glass - Showalter Gena - Страница 40
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A hand penetrated my line of sight, and I glanced up. Gavin stood in front of me, offering me assistance. I twined our fingers, and he tugged me to a stand. I wasn’t as strong as I’d thought, because my knees almost buckled. He wound his arm around me and held me up.
A chair skidded. I saw Cole stand, brush Mr. Ankh aside and stalk into the locker room. The door slammed shut with a loud bang.
Of course, Veronica followed him.
* * *
I fell asleep thinking about ways to disable Z.A. Cut off my hands? Remove all my teeth? Then I’d live, and she’d have no way of hurting anyone.
Let’s make that plan B.
The ring of my cell woke me. From the bed, I blindly reached out, patting my nightstand. “Hello,” I rasped when the phone was at my ear. What time was it?
“You missed our appointment, Miss Bell.”
Dr. Bendari?
I jolted upright. The fancy wall clock said it was 5:59 a.m. I’d set my alarm for six, and—my phone vibrated, right on cue. I needed to get ready for school.
“Something came up,” I said. “I tried to call, but you shut off your phone.”
“A necessary precaution.”
“And why is that?”
“Do you expect me to believe you don’t want your slayer friends to capture me?”
Reverse psychology? Please. “I’m the one with doubts, Dr. Bendari. You could be planning to murder me.”
“I guess we’re going to have to trust each other. Are you still interested in meeting?”
“I am.”
“Good, because I’d like to hear about the trouble you had last night.”
Had he sent the spy...his source? “How do you know about that?”
I imagined him shrugging as he said, “How else?”
“Well, the only way your source could have heard about last night’s activities was if he was at the scene.”
A chuckle devoid of humor crackled over the line. “Is that so? Well, you should check the morning news reports.”
The news? I scrambled for the TV remote, pressed Power. Colors filled the screen. I switched channels and came to—
“—awoke to find twenty-six people had died from antiputrefactive syndrome,” a reporter was saying. She stood on a street, the address of a neighborhood close to Cole’s scrolling across the screen.
Antiputrefactive syndrome: when the human body was infected with zombie toxin. Although civilians had no idea that was the cause.
The reporter continued. “Last year, two local high school boys died of this rare disease, and citizens were told it was not contagious. Just a month ago, an elderly man died. How and why are so many infected? The CDC has arrived, and the houses of the affected have been quarantined.”
Dr. Bendari sighed with regret. “People were killed, Miss Bell. People who will rise again. Zombies entered their homes and ate every bit of their humanity, leaving only evil behind.”
“Why?” The moisture in my mouth dried. “How?”
“Not every home has a Blood Line.”
That would change, I thought, fisting the comforter. Soon.
For once, the C word actually empowered me.
“The zombies are mutating,” he explained. “Just like you are mutating. They’ve become hungrier. They’ve become stronger. They—”
My door burst open and banged against the wall. Mr. Ankh and Mr. Holland strode inside. Both were scowling with a fury they’d never before directed at me. My heart drummed inside my chest, nearly cracking my ribs.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “What are you doing?”
Dr. Bendari said something, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“Come with us, Ali,” Mr. Holland said. “Now.”
Dr. Bendari went quiet.
Last night, Gavin had dropped me off and I’d showered, dressed in a tank and boxer shorts and fallen into bed. The men weren’t seeing anything they shouldn’t, but I was still embarrassed. “What’s going on?” I repeated. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”
Mr. Ankh popped his jaw. “There’s something you need to see.”
I severed the connection with Dr. Bendari and stood. I was led down the hall, down the stairs, down another flight of stairs and into the basement. The air grew cooler and danker with every step, and I felt a layer of ice glaze my skin—one that matched the layer growing inside me. At the end of a hallway, we paused at the only door. It was closed and locked. Mr. Ankh pressed his hand against a new ID box, and a bright yellow light flashed.
The hinges on the door loosened, the entrance opening under its own steam.
We swept inside the laboratory. The floors were concrete, with drains in several locations. There were multiple curtained stalls, each containing a gurney with wrist and ankle straps.
I gulped.
Mr. Holland motioned to a chair in front of a TV screen.
Shaking, I sat. “I’ve already seen the news.”
“That has nothing to do with this moment. Now, I’m going to check your vitals.” As he poked and prodded, he asked me one question. Only one. “Are you working for Anima?”
“No! Of course not.” I had to tell him the truth, didn’t I? Another to-do list: Talk. Admit everything. Pray for the best.
So, I did it. I poured out every Z.A. detail I’d been hoarding.
When I finished, Mr. Ankh shook his head. “Impossible. You’re still human.”
“For now.”
He stared at me a long while, silent. Then he grimaced and pressed a button on a remote. Bright green colored the entire TV screen and—the forest! I saw the forest.
“This was taped through a night-vision lens,” he said. “I have more cameras out there than any of you realized. I don’t always check them, but the gash in Cole’s cheek was strange, something I’d never seen before. When I asked him about it, he refused to answer.”
I watched as a red line dove at another red line, knocking it to the ground. The two stayed in that position for several minutes, as though...talking. Cole and I, I realized.
“We’re spirits. How did the camera pick us up?” I asked, dazed.
“Special camera. Special equipment.”
“Did you happen to see the guy I was following?”
“Yes. But like you, he’s just a line.”
On the screen, Cole sat up. We talked some more. Stood. Walked around. A brighter red consumed my hands and I struck him. He fell. Stood again. We faced off. I came at him. He dodged.
Brighter pricks of red appeared at the tree line. The zombies?
A line—me—crashed into the ground.
That was when I’d fallen and blacked out. When Z.A. had taken over.
I watched myself stand and angle toward Cole. Oh, no. Please, no. I walked toward him. He ignored me and ran to the zombies, attacking with a vengeance. I followed him. Rather than helping him, I struck him from behind.
I clutched my stomach, feeling as if I’d swallowed shards of glass. The zombies converged on him, yet still he managed to fight them off, working his way to his feet. I came at him again, obviously intending to hurt him, but he sidestepped me, putting his body between me and the zombies. He could have punched me, knocked me out, or even thrown me to the wolves. I’d left myself wide-open. Instead, he returned his focus to the zombies.
In that moment, I truly hated myself. How could I have attacked Cole in such a way? At such a critical time?
The zombies encircled him, reached for him. I grabbed two of the creatures by the arm, ripping them away from him, my target, and tossing them into the trees.
Wait. Maybe I’d been helping him, after all.
The red flames spread from my arms to the rest of my body, engulfing me. I grabbed two other zombies, repeating the toss. When they recovered, they paid me no heed, keeping their sights on Cole. I closed the distance and flattened one hand against a tree—the leaves turned to ash in an instant—and collared one of the zombies with the other. He didn’t turn to ash but flopped around. I leaned down...and bit into his neck.
In the here and now, a scowling Mr. Ankh stepped in front of me. I stuttered around for the right words—found none. The horror of seeing myself do something like that... To know I’d ingested zombie rot...
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