How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (5 page)

“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.”

Dr. Nikas entered carrying a tray the size of a cookie sheet, with Jacques right behind him pushing a cart full of electronic doodads, wires, and I had no idea what else.

“Ah, not there, Angel,” Dr. Nikas said as he spied me in the procedure chair. “I need you and Philip much closer for this.”

“How close?” I asked, then gave Philip an exaggerated wink. “Holding hands close or spooning close?”

Philip chuckled, but Dr. Nikas had already slipped into his intense focus and completely missed my attempt at humor. “Sitting back to back will do,” he said as he set the cookie sheet down on a counter. To my dismay there wasn't a single damn cookie on the thing. Nothing but syringes full of various colored liquids. Lots and lots of syringes. Yikes. Good thing I lost my fear of needles when I got turned.

Dr. Nikas moved to me and, without warning, firmly drew his index finger down my cheek, then stepped to Philip and did the same, this time with his middle finger. While Philip and I exchanged bemused glances, Dr. Nikas touched both fingers to his tongue, frowned, and looked off into space. Taste diagnostics, he called it, and the weird-as-hell process apparently gave him a ton of information in a few seconds. I didn't know how it worked, but I'd seen him do it a few dozen times, and it always yielded impressive results.

Dr. Nikas muttered something then proceeded to add incomprehensible symbols to the whiteboard. Jacques brought two ordinary rolling stools into the room, and I plunked myself down on one, gave it a good spin, and pulled my feet up. Once around. Twice. Three times. The thing had smooth action. Four and slowing. I caught a glimpse of the exasperated look on Jacques face, and slammed my feet down to bring my spectacular test drive to a stop then flashed him an innocent smile. Probably better not to piss off the Needle Vampire.

Without a word, he gestured for me to sit back to back with Philip, then lowered Philip's stool so we were closer to the same height. No way was I going to complain about having Philip as a backrest.

Once we were positioned properly, Jacques placed an IV catheter in Philip's right arm and then another in mine, which I assumed was so all of the weird stuff on the cookie sheet could be injected. Once that was done he began attaching monitoring equipment to us: EKG pads, straps around our heads, the little finger clampy thingies that measure blood oxygen and pulse, blood pressure cuffs, and several other things with trailing wires. I had
no
idea what the wire-thingies measured and was more than a little afraid to ask.

Lastly, he moved over to the cart and returned with a roll of duct tape. I watched him warily. “What's
that
for?” I asked.

He gave me a thin, triumphant smile as he crouched beside me, then proceeded to tape the wheels of my stool to the floor. The bastard
had
to have brought it in specifically for this reason.

“Aw, c'mon!” I said. “I only broke one little thingamabobby the other day.”

His face grew more grim than usual as he taped the last two wheels, but when he finished and straightened, his eyes told a different story. Large, hazel, and amazingly expressive, they'd become my best gauge for whether I'd amused him, annoyed him, or Really Pissed Him Off. Whew. I was still in the safe zone.

All the attached junk made it awkward to get comfortable while perched on a stool. I swiveled the seat a bit and shifted against Philip's back. “It's a good thing I like you,” I murmured to him.

“Of course you like me,” he murmured right back. “Only an idiot wouldn't like me. I'm dangerously likable.”

I began to snicker, but some monitor beeped, and Dr. Nikas's worried frown reminded me to behave.

After some fiddling with equipment, Dr. Nikas picked up two syringes with blue contents, passed one to Jacques, and then Dr. Nikas injected me as Jacques injected Philip. They repeated this process three more times with yellow, green, and milky pink. Finally just Philip received an injection of a colorless liquid.

“What exactly is this going to do?” I asked.

“We are attempting to remind Philip's parasite how to operate optimally by imprinting it on yours.”

I processed that. “Imprinting? Like ducklings?”

Dr. Nikas smiled. “In a manner of speaking. I'll be stimulating both sets of parasites into a bit of a frenzy, and as yours copes, Philip's will hopefully follow suit.” Dr. Nikas placed the empty syringes in a sharps disposal container. “How do you feel?”

“My teeth are buzzing,” I said with a grimace. “Like they're full of bees.” It didn't
hurt
, but it was mighty unpleasant.

“Mine too,” Philip said, his voice rough. “And my throat is getting scratchy.”

Dr. Nikas pursed his lips and moved back to the cookie tray, mumbled distractedly as he picked up a syringe with red contents, then shook his head and replaced it. His expression grew thoughtful but after a moment it cleared. He retrieved two syringes that contained what looked like chocolate pudding and passed one to Jacques. Apparently the consistency was pudding-like too, because the needle looked more like one of those turkey baster injector things. Except about twice as big.

Dr. Nikas crouched before me. “Lift your shirt, please?”

Wary, I lifted it to right below my boobs. Apparently that was high enough, because Dr. Nikas placed a cool hand on my stomach and set the needle about an inch above my belly button. “This might be a bit uncomfortable,” he said and then drove the needle into my gut.

A tiny yelp escaped me, and it was with some small relief that I felt Philip stiffen behind me as Jacques did the same pipe-to-the-gut move. It took at least a minute to inject the substance, during which I breathed in shallow pants against the pain.
A bit uncomfortable, my ass.
“Dr. Nikas, this
sucks
. I'll stick with the buzzing teeth.”

“Give it a moment, Angel,” he murmured.

About ten seconds later the bee-teeth sensation faded. “That's better,” I breathed. Unfortunately, rather than echoing my sigh of relief Philip groaned and jerked against my back.

Monitor wires caught at me as I tried to twist to see what happened. Jacques slapped the intercom on the phone and shouted, “Reg!” to call in the other lab tech, then moved to us and wrapped an arm around Philip to keep him upright. Philip twitched and let out a shuddering cry. I swiveled the chair, not caring that clips and patches pulled off, and stared at Philip.

“Angel!” Dr. Nikas said with urgency. “Turn around. Stay
still
.”

I didn't. I couldn't. Not with the side of Philip's face looking as if a billion ants crawled under the skin. In seconds, the flesh split as an ugly patch of rot formed and deepened, exposing bone and teeth. Zombie stench, distinctively heavier and sweeter than cadaver stink, rolled over me in a sickening wave. I stared, shocked. We'd had trouble during treatments before, but this—

Dr. Nikas took me firmly by the shoulders in an unexpectedly strong grip and turned me with the stool until I faced away from Philip again. He pressed me back until I could feel Philip jerking and shaking against me, and held me there.

“Angel, I need you to stay right here,” he said, voice calm and reassuring. “He's going to be fine, but I need you to help me by remaining still and keeping in contact with him. It's important. You have it?”

Gulping, I met his eyes and nodded. “I got it. Sorry,” I said. “That was seriously freaky.”

He squeezed my shoulders, then released me and turned away to work with the vials and syringes on the tray. Dr. Nikas always fixed things, but that didn't keep my heart from trying to thump its way out of my chest. Philip gurgled and twitched, and I held my back against his. “You're gonna be okay,” I said, as much to reassure myself as him.

A tall and angular man with close-cropped red hair slid to a stop in the doorway—Reg, his head swiveling this way and that as he took in the scene. Jacques barked out a couple of orders for an ice pack and “brain formula ninety-nine,” and Reg disappeared again.

My cheek started itching, and I fought the urge to scratch it—partly because I wasn't supposed to move and mostly because of the fear it would be gross and rotten like Philip's.

Dr. Nikas returned to us with three syringes in his hand then injected them, one after another, into Philip's IV. I waited anxiously for them to work and let out a breath of relief when Philip relaxed about a minute later. Reg entered with the needed items in hand and passed the ice pack to Jacques.

“Philip, count backward from one hundred. Odd numbers only,” Dr. Nikas said.

“Ninety-nine, ninety-seven, ninety-five,” Philip responded, voice a little rough but steady.

“Good,” Dr. Nikas said. “Reg has brains for you with additives. Eat both packets and hold the ice pack on your jaw for about ten minutes, and you should feel much better.”

Calm and collected as though nothing happened, Jacques moved to me and began reattaching the wires I'd pulled loose. All in a day's work. Reg efficiently tidied the counter top and straightened the remaining syringes, then departed as silently as a ninja. A zombie ninja.

“What happened?” I asked.

Dr. Nikas released a breath. “An overreaction by Philip's parasite to the stimulation by your parasite,” he explained as he took a syringe from Jacques. “With the imprint link between you two, Philip's parasite reflected the reaction of yours but, because of its damaged state, it responded inappropriately. That said, the whole episode helped me understand better how to assist his parasite to normalize.”

“You mean the whole face falling off thing was good?” I asked doubtfully.

“Not much fun,” he replied with a slight smile, “but, yes, it was good since it was under controlled conditions and gave me a great deal of information. I've made adjustments and suspect it will be smooth sailing through the remainder of the procedure.”

“I'm all for smooth,” I assured him. “That was enough excitement for one day.”

“I understand completely, Angel,” Dr. Nikas said. “The good news is that there's nothing you need to do but be still for about half an hour while the parasites commune.”

“What's the bad news?”

“You'll need to be still for about half an hour while the parasites commune.” His eyes flashed with amusement.

“Are you accusing me of being fidgety?” I made a show of trying to roll my duct taped chair. “Jacques made sure I wouldn't break anything this time.”

Dr. Nikas laughed and shook his head, then moved off to check the monitoring equipment. “Philip, how are you feeling now?”

“Good. I had a killer headache during the procedure, but now I feel better than when I came in,” he said, his voice clear again. “The leg pain is gone, and I'm not as tired.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Nikas made notes on the whiteboard and muttered to himself. “Excellent,” he repeated a moment later as he stepped back to take in the whole of what he'd written. “Thank you, Jacques. That's all I need for now.” The lab tech nodded and departed, and Dr. Nikas glanced our way. “Everything appears stable, so at the moment we're simply waiting. Philip, keep the ice pack on your jaw.”

His cell phone rang, and he answered with a simple “Yes?” then listened for a few seconds. “Now?” He frowned, glanced back at us, then to the whiteboard. “Are you—? Yes, all right.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket, glanced at us and gave a vague smile, then departed.

“You sure you're okay?” I asked Philip.

“Bright and shiny, Zombie Mama,” he said. “I wouldn't want to do that every day, but if it helps me, I'm not going to complain.”

“Good deal,” I said, truly relieved. “You sure are full of surprises.”

He snorted. “If I heard right, it was
your
parasite that overreacted.”

“And
yours
that couldn't cope,” I teased. Laughing at the horror of it made it easier not to freak about it.

“Angel, you need to hold still,” Philip reminded me, and I realized I'd started fidgeting and swiveling the seat. I needed something to distract me.

“Damn,” I muttered. “I left my phone with my audiobook in the central lab.”

“What are you listening to?” Philip asked.

“Uh . . .” I racked my brain for something that didn't sound as stupid as what I was actually listening to. “Moby Dick,” I blurted.

There was a moment of pregnant silence before Philip spoke again. “Really?”

I groaned. “No. I lasted about five minutes into that book before I gave up on it. Now I'm listening to
Passion of the Viking
.”

He made a strange cough that I knew damn well was him choking back a laugh. “Is his helmet
horny
?”

“Shut up.”

“Does he go all
berserker
with her?”

“I swear to god, I will cut you.”

He snickered, but wisely held back any more commentary.

I busied myself by counting tiles on the floor, then tiles on the ceiling. Thankfully, Jacques entered right about the time I was trying to figure out how many speckles each floor tile had. I gave him an expectant look, but his full focus was on the readings on the computer screen. Not that I expected him to be all chatty. He wasn't exactly known for being overly talkative. But it was still better than counting tile specks.

“Almost done?” I asked hopefully.

“Forty seconds,” he murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“Good,” I said with a sigh of relief. “I'm starving for some real food.”

I felt Philip shift at my back. “You want to grab a bite?” he asked. “There's a great cafe in Tucker Point, and I'm heading that way.”

“Sure thing!” I replied.

“Time,” Jacques said and began to turn off and disconnect the various monitors.