Team Human (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Fun with Zombies

T
he waiting room was pretty much like every waiting room in the history of the world. Really, it could have been a dentist's, or a doctor's, or even a beauty salon. Magazines everywhere. Posters on the walls. Even a penned-off area for small kids to play in.

The only tip that this was not your regular waiting room was that the posters were all about zombies and vampires and the dangers of transitioning. Oh, and the doors leading in and out were made of lead and had more locks and security than Fort Knox.

I smiled awkwardly at the receptionists yet again. Though were they still just receptionists when they were armed and trained in zombie neutralizing?

Other than the receptionists/zombie neutralizers, I was alone. That made the waiting even worse. I couldn't help thinking about what would happen if one of the zombies got loose and attacked Cathy. Supposedly that was impossible. This was a secure facility, blah blah blah.

But it was a facility with
zombies
in it, and my best friend was currently being shown those zombies as part of her preparation for deciding whether to become a vampire or not. Along with Kit of the Unfortunate Kissing Incident, who I hadn't talked to since. Neither Francis nor Camille was with them. Something about bias and undue influence.

Kit had not smiled when he'd seen me this morning (the first time since the Unfortunate Kissing Incident). All I got was a brief stiff nod, which could mean “Oh, that girl who kissed me who I presumed was going to demand sex, how incredibly awkward this is” or “Oh, that girl who hates all vampires, including my mom, how incredibly awful she is.”

Not that it bothered me, not really. I was much more concerned about Cathy, who—though she wasn't admitting it—was very nervous about the whole morning. She'd never seen a zombie before. Neither had I. Or even Kit. Or anyone we knew, except for the vampires.

When a transition goes wrong and a zombie is created instead of a vampire, the Zombie Disposal Unit (ZDU) is called in immediately and all traces of the zombie are erased. They have to be. The minds of zombies might be gone and they may be slow moving, but they're highly contagious. If you get bitten, you have about a day to have the affected area cut out or off, or else you turn into one. Nasty stuff. These days, even the smallest cities have their own ZDUs. There hasn't been a serious outbreak in decades.

But still. Zombies.

Somewhere on the other side of those incredibly secure-looking lead doors, Cathy was within spitting distance of a zombie. Maybe more than one. I knew they kept several in some institutes, and replaced them when they fell to pieces.

I went to a protest once with my mom, for people advocating the erasure of all zombies. The other side says people need to see zombies to be fully prepared for all the potential consequences of transition.

Personally I think that the other side will reconsider their position if there's ever another zombie outbreak. But it'll be a little too late, won't it?

I went over to the water cooler and poured myself a cup.

“How long does it usually take?” I asked one of the ZDU receptionists/elite zombie disposers.

He looked up from his work and gave me a small smile. “Depends. Sometimes they're out within a few minutes.” He screwed up his face. “They tend to not look so good. You know what I mean? If you're hoping your friends will change their minds, you're in luck. Of those who do this tour, more than half change their mind.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “It's not pretty back there. For most people the risks don't seem real. They think to themselves, A ten-percent risk of zombification doesn't seem so bad. Forgetting that the chance is as good that they won't even be a zombie—they'll go straight to the being-dead part. Seeing an actual zombie and how we deal with zombies? That makes the two chances out of ten failure rate absolutely real to them.”

I shivered. “No need to convince me. I'm totally Team Human.”

He laughed, then said, “Uh-oh,” before coming to my side of the counter with a bucket in his hand.

The door that Cathy had disappeared through banged open. My heart did a metaphorical high jump into my throat.

Kit took a few unsteady steps forward with the woman beside him lending a hand. “If you need a bucket,” she began.

Kit bent over. The receptionist got the bucket to him just in time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Of Vomit and Kisses

“I
'm glad that Mom wasn't here,” Kit said. “Human illness kind of grosses her out.”

We were in the recovery room, which looked remarkably like a hospital ward, complete with curtains surrounding each of the six beds. Only one of the beds was currently occupied. Kit lay with an ice pack on his head. The doctor had checked him over, given him a clean bill of health, and decreed that he hydrate and rest for a minimum of half an hour before leaving. I sat beside him and tried to be supportive.

I was practicing for when Cathy re-emerged.

“Well, vomiting is not high on the list of activities I like to witness either. Or partake in. Vampires are not alone in their vomit distaste.” I did not point out that my parents had never been grossed out by me when I was sick. Or if they had been, they hadn't told me about it.

“Right,” Kit said, looking dismayed. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“No problem,” I said, patting him below the knee. He shot me a strange look. “Um, no,” I told him. “My touching your knee does not mean I want to have sex with you.”

Kit blushed. “I didn't—”

“You know, when you're a vampire, you won't be able to blush anymore.”

He went even redder. “I may not miss blushing. Sorry again.”

“It's fine,” I lied. I hadn't told Cathy what had happened between me and Kit. Accused of nymphomania by a weirdo raised by vampires? I wasn't going to tell anyone
ever
. “I'm teasing you, Kit, which is probably not that nice of me, given that you just vomited your guts up multiple times after seeing a zombie.”

Kit grimaced. “Many zombies.”

“Many?”

“Okay, three. But one was more than enough. Way more than enough.”

“I'm sorry. It sounds awful.” Though this was the most he'd said about it. I was dying to ask for more details. What did they look like? Up close, I meant. Was it true they could remember what it was like to be human, at least for a little while? Did they talk? Or just groan? Did they smell as bad as everyone said?

“I can't imagine turning into something like that,” Kit said, reaching for his glass of water. “It's too …” He shuddered. “And there's two chances in ten.”

“Actually,” I said, repeating the receptionist's words, “I think it's one chance in ten of becoming a zombie. The two chances in ten are of winding up dead, either by just dying instantly or by becoming a zombie. 'Cause, you know, zombification leads to immediate eradication.”

“Right. Well, that's
much
better,” Kit said. He took a sip of water and sat up a bit more. He glanced at me and his mouth twitched. He seemed to be attempting a grin, even though he still looked shaken and pale.

He was always smiling and trying to get everyone else to smile. I guess you learn to be persistent about that around vampires, or you give up. Clearly Kit wasn't the giving-up type.

“Why do you want to be a vampire?” I asked suddenly. “I mean, you said yourself you don't even know what it's like to be a human.”

“I didn't say that. I said I didn't know much about humans. Why do you think vampires are things and not people?”

I bristled and then bit my lip. He looked kind of pitiful lying there, which wasn't surprising considering he'd vomited four times in quick succession.

“I shouldn't have said that,” I admitted.

“But you did mean it. Why?” Kit asked. “No vampire's ever hurt you.”

I felt my lip curl. “Well, I'm not sure about that. Vampires have hurt friends of mine,” I said, and hurried on because Anna's situation was none of his business. “Francis is trying to take away my best friend. Plus the way he talks harms me. And his poetry!”

Kit laughed. I smiled seeing him laugh.

“You haven't even heard any of his poetry!”

I punched his shoulder. “That doesn't mean I want sex either. By the way.”

“Oh, hush,” Kit said. “Answer the question. Vampires. Why are you against them?”

“Kit, I'm honestly not. I mean, I do think the vampire groupies are ridiculous.”

Kit looked away and coughed.

“But it's just that the vampires are over there.” I pointed in the direction I figured the Shade was. “We humans are in the rest of town. And that's the way I prefer it. Francis is the first vampire I ever really talked to. They're easier to deal with as an abstract concept, but I guess even the idea of them grosses me out. Alive, but not really. Dead, but not really. And they're like leeches or mosquitoes or those bats: They drink our blood. It's hard not to have a reaction to that, you know?”

Kit frowned. “Obviously I'm no expert—you're the only human I've ever had a real conversation with. I mean, beyond, ‘I'll have the thin crust with extra pepperoni.' Or, ‘Stop bothering my mom—she doesn't want to make you her sex slave.' But vampires are as varied as humans. They're people. Some are mean and selfish—Minty, for example. Some are caring and responsible—my mom. Some are annoying but mean well—Francis. They're all sorts. Some are good, some aren't. Some really would eat you if they could. Some want to study you. Some don't care about you at all. You can't tell me there aren't humans like that.”

“That want to eat me?”

“The Donner party?” Kit pointed out. “Jeffrey Dahmer?”

“Okay, but humans eating humans happens in extreme circumstances involving a very few individuals, unlike with vampires, where it happens on days ending in
y
!”

Kit stopped looking smug about his brilliant historical point. “I'm only saying that they're people,” he mumbled. “They're just different.”

“They're very different,” I told him. “It's hard not to be scared of that. It's harder to understand that my best friend wants to be one of them.”

“Well,” Kit said, “maybe the zombies will make her a bit less keen?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Did they make you less keen?”

Kit looked away, lashes lowered, at the suddenly fascinating hospital curtains. “It's different for me,” he said. “They're my shade. They've always expected that I'd become one of them. I don't know how to be anything else—I don't want to be anything else,” he added defiantly.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” said Kit, his hackles going down. “I can see how you might want something different for your friend,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “She's got a lot of options. It's a big decision to make. Also, and I say this with, like, affection and everything, but risking being a zombie for Francis's sweet sweet love does seem a bit crazy.”

“A bit?” I said. “You think?”

I grinned, and, still pale and a little shell-shocked, Kit grinned back. Just like that, I had an ally.

“Do you think you could talk to her? Tell her what you told me?” I asked.

If someone besides me said it to her, maybe it would sink in.

“Sure.” Kit smiled at me. Not a pay-attention-to-my-wit smile. This smile was slow and warm, and made me want to kiss him again. Not that I would. I coughed and changed the subject. “How was Cathy doing back there with the zombies?”

“Not getting sick,” Kit said, his smile turning wry. “Which makes her tougher than me, at least.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Don't worry. I'll talk to her. She's not going to transition without hearing all the pros and cons.”

I sighed and bowed my head. “She's so in love.”

“Mel,” Kit said suddenly. “I know this might not be the perfect moment to mention this, since you just saw me get sick four times and all, but I liked that kiss.”

My head jerked up so fast, I almost bit my tongue. (It occurred to me that biting your tongue was probably very painful for vampires. Another thing to point out to Cathy.)

Kit was blushing again. “When you and I kissed the other day at the beach, I mean.”

“I know which kiss.”

“Right, of course. I'm trying to say it was nice and, um, I don't think I told you that. I wanted you to know that I liked it. It was warm. And, um, oh, Cathy!” He turned. “How are you doing, Cathy?”

I turned too. Cathy was possibly a bit paler than usual. The overly bright lighting made it hard to tell. She did not look anything close to as shaken as Kit had.

“Are you okay, Kit?” she asked.

“I'm fine. I'll be up and ready to go in a few seconds. The doctor said quite a few people respond to the smell like that.”

“It was bad,” Cathy agreed sympathetically. “Nobody could blame you for losing it. That was quite possibly the worst thing I've ever smelled.”

“Or looked at.”

“Oh, yes.” Cathy shook her head. “The poor things are all old and withered. They can barely move. It seems cruel to keep them alive just to look at.”

That was so Cathy. Not overcome with horror, not swearing she would never risk becoming such a thing. No, she'd decided that she felt bad for the zombies.

“The pamphlets say that zombies don't feel anything—that part of their cortex is the first thing destroyed by zombification,” I pointed out to her.

There had been a lot of pamphlets in the waiting room.

“But their eyes, Mel, their eyes! They were so full of pain.” Cathy shuddered, more upset by the horror she could imagine than the horror she had seen. “Francis has promised me that if that happens, he will end my suffering himself.”

My hands clenched. Kit caught my eye, his own eyes steady. “No second thoughts, then?” he asked, very lightly. Much more lightly than I would've been able to.

“Of course not,” Cathy said, sounding surprised. “It was terrible, of course, but we haven't learned anything we didn't know already.”

So the zombies' eyes were full of suffering? There was a lot of suffering going around.