A Plague on All Houses (7 page)

Which led to my next question. “So why are we the only ones
not
wearing protective gear?”

“Ah,” said Simone. “As Wild Cards, you and I don't have to worry about contamination.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Simone knew what it was like to be bitten by one of those things and survive. It raised my already considerable respect for her up another notch. But her answer left me with another question. “What about Gabriel?”

Simone hesitated. “Gabriel is … different.”

“That's one word for it.” I know, but I couldn't resist it. Gabriel shot me a look. “I mean, different how?”

“Well, Miss Drake?” Before I could be enlightened as to Gabriel's differences, General Brasshole stepped between us. He moved into my personal space, trying to intimidate me by towering all of two inches above me.

I gave him a deadly look, wishing one of my Wild Card abilities included inflicting death by laser glare. “Don't rush me.”

“It's not that tough a decision, missy. You do the right thing and your ex will be given a hero's funeral. After all, he died trying to save
you
.” He poked me in the sternum with a forefinger.

Oh, you total bastard,
I thought. But he was right. Matt died when he came back for me. If he hadn't, he'd still be alive instead of rotting in his Levi's.

Still, if General Heald poked me again, I'd break his finger.

I looked at the cages, wondering if one of them held what was left of Matt. A greenish-gray hand thrust its way between two bars. Was that Matt's class ring on one rotting finger? “Is … is he in here?”

“Oh yes,” Heald said smugly. “Would you like to see him?” The bastard was enjoying this and totally expecting me to say no.

Simone had had enough. “General, I don't see how this is—”

“Yes.” They both looked at me in surprise.

“Ashley, are you sure?” Simone put a hand on my arm.

I nodded. “I want to see Matt. Then I'll make my decision.” Part of me wanted to do this out of machismo, just to show Heald I could take it. Another part of me needed to say goodbye to Matt, even if he couldn't understand me. And I guess I hoped it would help me decide what to do, although I already had a pretty good idea what my answer would be.

“Fine, then. Right this way, Miss Drake.” The General waved his hand towards the cages. I slowly moved past him, once again looking neither left nor right so I wouldn't see the Mengele-esque experiments on either side of me. General Heald trailed after me, no doubt wanting to see my face when I saw Matt again. I held up a hand and said, “No way. You stay back here.”

His face turned red. “Miss Drake, you do not give the orders around here!”

“If you ever want me to obey
any
orders, you'll back off and give me my space,” I shot back.

Heald drew in breath for another round of bullying, but Gabriel stepped in front of him. “I'll show her, sir. It's safer for me.” His tone was nothing but respectful, but I got the feeling Gabriel wouldn't back down if challenged. If he kept this up, I might find myself actually liking him.

“Harrumph. I suppose you're right.” Brasshole sounded grumpy, as though agreeing with anything not his idea gave him indigestion. “Just make it quick.”

Choke on it, pal.

Gabriel took me by one arm, his hand right above my elbow, and led me to the back of the room. The warmth of his hand and the strength I felt in those fingers made me feel safe. Or at least as safe as possible under the circumstances.

We stopped in front of the cage farthest from the lab entrance and stood a good three feet away from the bars as agitated moans filled the air. A capture pole rested on the wall next to the cage, the hook end spattered with blood. “Is he in there?” Stupid question, I know. I just wanted to put off the moment of truth a few seconds longer.

Gabriel shook his head. “No.
It
is in there. It's not your boyfriend any more. Try to remember that. It'll make things easier on you if you can avoid humanizing them.”

I bit my lip and turned to the cage. The size of a large closet, it currently contained Matt and three other zombies, all male. The way they all focused on me, teeth gnashing, hands clutching between the bars, pupils what I'd come to recognize as Corpse Dead White—the latest Crayola crayon color—well, his point of not humanizing them seemed like a good one.

The Zombie Formerly Known as Matt stared at me with those dead eyes, no recognition whatsoever. Every bit of personality that had made him Matt had left the building.

And yet … even though his only expression was mindless hunger, Matt still looked enough like himself that it hurt my heart to see him.

It
.

Shit, I couldn't do this. No way I could let what remained of Matt end up on one of those cold metal tables. There may not be anyone home in his body, but what
had
been there had died trying to save me.

As though he read my mind, Gabriel suddenly leaned in close and spoke quietly in my ear. “It's not true, Ashley.”

I looked up at him, startled. “Huh? What's not true?”

“Matt wasn't coming back to save you.” He kept his voice low so no one else would hear him.

“What do you mean?” My volume rose slightly and Gabriel's hand tightened on my arm, eyes flicking back towards the General by way of warning. I lowered my volume and continued, “I heard him call my name when he was running back towards me.”

“Ashley, the only reason he was heading back in your direction was a half-dozen zombies were blocking his escape route.”

“You're lying.” Even as I said this, I knew Gabriel had no reason to lie to me, at least not about this. But I didn't want to believe him.

“Stay back from the bars,” Gabriel said loudly. “They can reach through if they try hard enough.” He dropped his voice back down. “I'm not lying. And you shouldn't think badly of him for running away. Not everyone can handle having his or her world turned upside down. He panicked. Wasn't thinking clearly. Otherwise he wouldn't have left you.”

I don't know if Gabriel really meant those words, but I'll never forget the moment because it showed me without question there really was a feeling human being underneath his gorgeous, self-righteous exterior. Something clicked over inside me; I could no longer dislike him—and no longer wanted to try.

“Why are you telling me this? I mean, what's the point?”

He looked at me. I mean, actually looked into my eyes, not at every other point on my face or beyond. “You deserve to make a decision this big based on the truth, not on lies and emotional blackmail. And the thing in this cage … it's not your boyfriend anymore. There's nothing left of him but a rotting shell. It won't know you, or thank you for saving it from being vivisected.”

I searched those denim blue eyes for any sign of hidden agenda or lies, but found only sympathy and sincerity. Either Gabriel was the world's best liar or he was being straight with me.

“Is it vivisection if they're already dead?” The words came out without thinking. Weird, the things that pop into one's head in times of stress.

Gabriel took it in stride. “Now you're getting into philosophy. But we'd be up shit creek if a zombie right-to-unlife group sprang up out there.”

I couldn't quite summon up a smile at his joke. I looked at Matt again, wondering if I'd have gone back for him if the situation had been reversed. I think I would have. Did that make me braver than Matt or just stupid? Either way, I still knew what I had to do.

“Well, Miss Drake? Like what you see?”

“Now that you're here, no.”

General Heald, obviously possessing the patience of your average two-year-old with ADD, had basically snuck up behind us, no doubt trying to catch me in tears so he could twist his blackmailing knife in a little bit more. Never mind I'd told him to stay the hell away from me; the asshat couldn't wait. Over his shoulder I saw Simone, who gave an apologetic shrug. Like she could have stopped him.

“Get used to my face, missy, because you'll be seeing a lot of it.”

I almost stuck a finger in my mouth and made fake barfing sounds, but that would have been childish. Instead I turned my back on him and stared at Matt, remembering our times together. It's not like I'd thought we'd end up married or anything. If asked if I loved him, I'd have to say probably not. But he'd been a decent boyfriend and I thought he was a good guy under the shallow frat boy exterior. He didn't deserve this.

“I'm sorry, Matt,” I said softly.

The zombie cocked its head as if it had understood me. It shoved one hand through the bars, ignoring or unaware of the skin sloughing off as it reached for me. Don't worry, I didn't get all sentimental and try to clasp hands with it. I knew better.

General Brasshole, however, did not. He reached past me and smacked Matt's—its—hand with his gloved fist. “Oh, isn't that sweet?” he sneered through his Plexiglas faceplate. “Your boyfriend wants to hold hands, Miss Drake. Aren't you interested?”

I'd had enough. I rounded on him, grabbing him the front of his Hazmat suit. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by being a total prick? Pissing me off?” He tried to throw me off, but I was too strong. Surprisingly so, although this fact didn't really hit me till later. I was too busy shaking Heald by his figurative lapels “Well, good job!
But why the hell would I want to join your team?
”

I don't remember what else I yelled; it was lost in my red rage and the ensuing confusion. Gabriel grabbed my arms from behind while the General helplessly but furiously thrashed in my grasp. I felt Gabriel's hard body against my back as he did his best to pull me off Heald without hurting me. Several techs tried to pry my hands from the General's Hazmat suit.

“Ashley, let go!”

I registered Simone's voice even through the curtain of red that had descended on me. Don't ask me why, but for some reason I listened to her and dropped Heald as swiftly as I'd grabbed him. The techs caught the jerk before he fell against the cage. Gabriel pulled me backwards, arms linked through mine, holding me in case I decided to go for Heald again. He needn't have bothered; all my rage-fueled energy suddenly evaporated and I sagged against him, sick at heart and exhausted in mind, body, and spirit. Gabriel's grip changed from restraining to supporting almost immediately.

I know what you're thinking. That suddenly I felt all hot and bothered by the feel of Gabriel's taut and muscular bod cozied up next mine, his erection pressing against me. Well, sorry, but while I was hyperaware of my proximity to Gabriel's hunky self, I was too pissed off to be hot or bothered. And happy to see me or not, the only thing pressing against me was Gabriel's sidearm.

“Are you all right?” Simone put a hand on my forehead. “You're running a fever again. You need to be in bed.”

“
Bed?
The little bitch needs to be in one of these cages!” Heald quivered with rage as he shook off the techs trying to help him and straightened up, either ignoring or unaware of several pairs of zombie hands pawing at him through the bars. Fingers grazed his Hazmat suit without finding purchase.

“While I don't condone her attack on you,” Simone said with forced calm, “I also cannot say it wasn't provoked. This girl has been through hell and cannot be expected to adjust to the situation without some time.”

“Time is a luxury we don't have, Professor Fraser!” Heald glared at me. “Get it through your little Barbie head, Miss Drake. These things are a threat to the human race.” He seized the capture pole from its resting place against the wall, wielding it like an extra in a Jackie Chan movie before thrusting the business end into the cage and into the nearest zombie, which happened to be Matt. The wood and metal clasp penetrated Matt's chest about an inch before Heald pulled the pole back out, accompanied by a squelching sound that I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing.

“Do you see that?” Heald shook the pole at me. “It didn't feel a thing. It is not human any more. It is the
enemy
.” He gave a flourish with the pole, a poor man's Darth Maul, flipping it so the butt end now faced the cage. “And the sooner you get this through your vacuous brain, the more chance you'll have of surviving!” He punctuated his last sentence with another vicious thrust of the pole into the cage.

I don't know if what happened next was an accident or some dim recollection of motor skills past. As the pole stabbed towards its chest, what was left of Matt seized it clumsily with both hands and shoved back. The business end of the pole hit Heald's faceplate, shattering it as the bloodied hook and clasp went through to slice the General's forehead.

Heald yelped in surprise and pain, staggering back at the sudden impact. Bits of Plexiglas fell to the floor along with the pole as he reached through the broken faceplate and clasped one hand to the wound on his forehead. “Damn it!” He turned to one of the techs hovering nearby. “Get me some antiseptic for this, soldier!” He gave me a venomous look as if his stupidity had been my fault.

“Sir…” The tech didn't move, staring at the gash on Heald's forehead, then at the gore-spattered clasp on the end of the pole.

“Well?” Heald snapped. “Get the lead out!”

The techs exchanged apprehensive glances through their respective faceplates. “Sir, you're infected.”

“What?” Heald shook his head. “Nonsense! It's a scratch from this—” he indicated the shattered Plexiglas.

The first tech shook his head slowly, almost reluctantly. “Sir, I saw the pole make contact with your face. It has hot blood on it.”

“Bullshit!” Denial rang loud and clear in Heald's voice. “None of the blood touched me. This”—he gestured furiously at the cut on his forehead—”is from the faceplate. Nothing touched me!”

The second tech surreptitiously drew his firearm while the first guy said, “Sir, we need to take you into quarantine.”

“That's ridiculous!” Heald blustered.

“No,” Simone said quietly. “It's protocol.” She turned to the techs. “Get Dr. Albert down here immediately.”

Heald whipped his head towards Simone, nostrils flaring like a panicked horse. This gave the techs the distraction they needed to move in, flanking the General on either side. They grabbed his arms before he could reach for his own gun.