Zombie Rehab (5 page)

Chapter 9

Institute, WV

H
enry wasn’t in much of a mood to party, but it was hard to ignore all the laughter he could hear roaring down the hall at his expense. If there were a door he would have closed it, but there wasn’t. Instead, he was standing inside an open office layout that was filled with outdated desks and cubicles that were actually made out of wood and plaster. There was a large series of plate windows; something like a press box, overlooking another one of the campus’s many courtyards that had his attention. He gazed below at a chain-link fence that enclosed an area that looked like an unkempt city park gone wild.

“BWAW-HA-HA-HA!”

It was Rod from the security team roaring with laughter down the hall.

“LOOK AT HIS FACE! LOOK AT HIS FACE! HENRY, YOU GOT TO SEE YOUR FACE! BWAW-HA-HA!”

Rod was so loud that it seemed like he was in the room with him, but he was almost over on the other side of the building. Myrtle was cackling like a hyena somewhere nearby, and about two or three others were guffawing among the throng. He blocked it out and focused on the morbid procession in the courtyard down below.

Six zombies were at work. One was pushing a lawnmower, and another was pulling a made-for-man plow as the other four stood and seemed to be watching in slack-jawed fascination.
Ridiculous.
Two men in black WHS camouflage suits armed with shot guns were in the area, while two other figures, in WHS issue lab-coats similar to his, were watching the zombies. They looked like figurines on a television screen from where Henry was standing.
What are they up to now?

Henry headed over to the computer station and looked up into the large monitors. Two small joysticks were pinched in his fingertips as he nimbly panned in and out of the images in the courtyard.
What? Weege and Alice?

“What are those two doing down there?” he muttered to himself.

“Dude, we have a skeleton crew. All of the complex big wigs are gone. Some big conference or something.” It was Rudy.
Great.
Henry could hear him gulping down something, but he didn’t bother to turn. “The director is still here, though, hiding somewhere in the other quadrant …”

Henry was panning in on the zombies now. They didn’t seem as horrifying in their forest green jumpers and white hardhats. If he didn’t know any better, they’d pass for people, from a distance. He zoomed the camera in for a closer look at the zombies that weren’t working at the moment. Each sagging gray face had a harness strapped around its mouth. To Henry, it looked more like a retainer, installed by a mad dentist. He could see that the metal brace was hooked inside the rows of rotting teeth, like a bit for a horse, and that it was tethered to a small battery pack that was strapped over the zombie’s shoulders.

“… so, are you still mad? We said we were sorry, Henry. You’re just so sensitive over the zombies. I mean, they aren’t going anywhere, and we have them under control. Come on, have a beer and relax,” Rudy said as he edged closer.

Henry didn’t even realize Rudy was still talking. His mind was somewhere else. It seemed there was always a surprise of some sort, a breakthrough, whenever he returned. The last time, his brother had been back and intent on killing them all. They had also started testing the XT Formula, without his consent, for what reasons he would never understand. Now, he was certain, and he checked every camera from every angle, certain that something had been done. Something they didn’t want to do while he was here, so they sent him away. This time, he was going to figure it out before the big surprise came.

“Hey Henry, quit pouting and get in here and watch this video!” Rod’s hulking frame had entered the room and cast a shadow over the top of Henry and Rudy.

He felt obligated to turn around. The two men were just staring at him as if they were waiting for him to say something. Rudy looked like he hadn’t shaved since the last time he left, and his Quantum Leap T-shirt had tightened around his belly. Rod on the other hand was a figure that would have made the local fans of John Henry proud. The big man was one of the few people that Henry enjoyed talking with, even though he did have a very boisterous standard of behavior.

“Okay, hold on.”

He glanced back over at the screens and almost laughed as he watched the zombie pushing the lawnmower almost run over the little man from India, Weege.

“What’s that fool doing now?” Rod sat as he stepped behind Henry.

He could see Weege screaming and smacking his hand on the remote control box. Alice had a similar one; much like the ones you would see at parks where folks would fly remote control airplanes. She was laughing under a pile of wavy black hair and over-sized glasses.

Rudy stuck his pudgy finger on the screen and said, “That tool is going to get himself mowed over by a zombie. It’ll be the first death of its kind.”

“BWAW-HA-HA-HA!” Rod roared, holding his gut as he did so.

Henry slapped Rudy’s fingers away from the screen, saying, “Quit touching it. When are you ever going to learn?” he said as he walked away.

“Hey, where you going?” Rod asked.

“Down there,” Henry replied.

“Why?” they both asked.

Henry turned around, pulled off his glasses, and said, “Because I’m going to figure out from them what you’re not telling me. Unless you want to tell me now?”

Rod and Rudy looked at each other and then back at him. Something was wrong, but if they actually knew about it, it didn’t show. Maybe he was paranoid, but everything in his body told him something was wrong. Where was everybody? This wasn’t like the day care. This was a full blown operation with racks of shotguns still mounted along the walls. The ammo was in good supply. Even though the complex was run down and not perfectly ideal for their operations, it was still well equipped for any emergency.

“Bawk, we’re all good here. It’s not like the daycare, not like last time.”

Rod got a funny look in his eye and said to Rudy, “What are you talking about? What day care?”

Henry glared at Rudy.

Rudy reached up and slapped Rod on his back and said, “Sorry, Dude; it’s classified.”

“Classified my ass. If it’s something I should know, ya’ll better tell me, because if something bad happens and I live to tell about it … I’m coming after you.”

“It’s nothing to do with anything here, Rod.” Henry said. “Just a bunch of crap we had to go through at our last WHS assignment. Audits and paperwork up to my chin—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Henry. I don’t like it. Now, I’m going back to the party,” Rod said, punching Rudy in the arm as he went.

“OW! Geez, my arm’s going numb.”

“Good,” Henry said as he walked away.

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

Henry pulled his phone out and checked the text message with a sigh.

COME TO OUR ROOM NOW. WE HAVE TO TALK.

It was from Tori. Henry knew that storm was coming, and it clearly had his name on it. Casting his head down as he pushed his way into the stairwell, he made his way down to their quarters with a dozen unanswered questions roving around in his mind. His interrogation of Weege and Alice would have to wait.

Chapter 10

Washington, D.C.

“S
o, you’re saying the WHS is trying to contract out the zombies to the federal government to handle grounds keeping services?” Don said, avidly watching the scene on Jack’s computer.

The colorful display was a video of over a dozen scientists trying to control the harnesses on the heads of the zombies. One zombie was lurching inside of its stiff joints as it tried to chop up a bush. Obviously fascinated by it all, Jack tapped at the screen and brought up more images.

“Watch this, Uncle Don; isn’t it amazing?”

“I’m watching,” Don said, covering his mouth as he yawned.

Jack pointed at the screen and said, “See, this is Doctor Milano, and she has the remote control that manages the head and neck. The retainer in the zombie’s mouth allows it to respond to signals. A heavy jolt of electricity sent from that battery pack into the bit in the zombie’s mouth will cause it to turn left or right, or go forward.”

“What? How on Earth can it do that? Are you sure the WHS has approved this? I mean, that seems pretty cruel, running electricity through a dead guy.”

Jack smirked and said. “Frankenstein liked it.”

“Ho-ho, funny, Boy, funny. And we know how that story ended. Not exactly how I envisioned spending my retirement days, but I see where you are going with this. Seriously though, how does the zombie know where to go? I mean, just because you run some electricity in it, you shouldn’t be able to control where it goes. So does this have something to do with the XT Formula?”

“No, not the XT, but I’m glad you asked. Experiments … Good old fashioned experiments. Once the zombies were subdued, we could strap them down on a table and run tests. As it turns out, there is still a living network of wires er … well veins … inside them. We just had to figure out how to manipulate them. Since the zombies are unconscious, so to speak, and they feel no pain, we were able to dig into their brains and rewire them.”

Don refilled his coffee and brought it to his mouth as he said, “So, instead of killing them all, were are going spend millions of—”

“Billions.”

“Okay … Billions of dollars so that we can have 24-hour gardeners. Sheesh. So let me picture this: I’m driving to my office, and instead of seeing a human being watering the lawns and planting the flowers, I’m going to see a zombie that thrives off of a steady diet of Zombie Dew. I mean, people need jobs still, don’t they? Won’t this cost a lot more than just paying regular ole’ people?”

Jack hadn’t really given it much thought. He only cared about what was going on in his little world in the WHS and not so much what was going on elsewhere. So far as he was concerned, the flowers took care of themselves. It had never occurred to him that people actually did it.

“Well, I guess it’s hard to find people to do those types of jobs,” Jack replied. “Besides, the zombies can probably work at night, and no one will ever know that they are there. Right?”

Don huffed as he got up off the bench and started pacing around it.

“I like seeing people in the gardens. I like seeing people anywhere, especially since the Zombies almost ate all of us just a few years ago. Why would the WHS think that people want to see zombies doing what normal people could do? What else are you going to train them to do, be lifeguards?”

“Uncle Don, this is just an early phase. I mean, we really have a long way to go before we replace people.”

Don’s face began to whiten as his jaw dropped.

Whoops.
“I mean, the zombies are only going to do so much. The WHS just wants to show the world that the zombies aren’t such a big threat anymore.”

Don shook his head.

“Oh, I see, they want to put on a good show. A
humanitarian
effort. Put the zombies on display in some type of zoo so the world can see what a positive impact they can have on society. Seriously Jack, is this what the WHS has you doing? I thought they were trying to cure them, not turn them into appliances.”

Jack watched his uncle pace back and forth, his face creased in deep thought. He figured it was a generational thing. Jack had grown up with zombies all of his life. There had been video games, festivals, television shows, and movies aplenty even before the zombie outbreak occurred. When the zombies came, it wasn’t a surprise for some, so much as it was an expectation. Jack even knew some people who had let the zombies take them, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t wish to encounter one that was someone he once knew. Still, he was more than curious as to where the zombies came from. The more he played along with the WHS and the harder he worked trying get up the ladder, the sooner he was certain that he would get his answer one day.

His uncle sat back down beside him, shaking his head.

“Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just that the more I know about what the WHS does, the less I understand what the WHS does. This is science fiction. Apocalyptic. I know history, and nothing, I say nothing compares to this,” Don said, rapping his knuckle on the computer screen. “We are talking about the dead walking among the living, and we are trying to act like it’s normal. I’ve been acting like it’s normal. It’s not normal.”

“Big paychecks make a lot of things seem normal,” Jack commented.

He could feel his uncle bristle at his side. Perhaps he had crossed the line.
What’s going on with him?
His uncle’s current rambling was uncharacteristic, and he couldn’t ever remember seeing him pace before. Uncle Don was like a mighty dam that held back the flood waters in the most chaotic situations. Now the old man was carrying on like the world was going to end. It was making him a little bit nervous. Why would his uncle care if zombies pushed lawnmowers or not? So what.

“Money doesn’t give you peace of mind, just temporary comfort. Jack, I’m in the position I’m in for one reason … to protect the only thing that is dear to me … my family. I’m …,” he grabbed Jack by the shoulder, “
We’re
lucky ones, to still have our family. But there is no guarantee we’ll still have them with us tomorrow.”

Jack patted his uncle’s hand and said, “Thanks. I appreciate all that you have done for me and Angie. But, really, what’s the big deal about using some zombies for cleaning up around here? I mean, we can’t just kill them.”

His uncle began pulling at his chin hairs and started taking deep breaths through his nose as he watched a flock of ducks heading south. Jack had never been farther south than he was right now, but the stiff winds prompted some thoughts about sunny beaches in Florida.

Don spoke:

“Jack, with government, it always starts as something small; an alleged act of sympathy and compassion in the name of some noble cause. But when you plant an evil seed—and you water it—it grows like a weed and spreads as fast as a forest fire.”

“How can a mindless thing be evil?”

Don almost gaped as his statement.

“Anything that takes a human life without fear or remorse is evil, Jack, especially when it eats them. What did they teach you in college, anyway?”

“I’m just looking at it from the zombie’s point of view.”

Don laughed out loud as he held his hand to his head and said, “Their point of view? They don’t have a point of view. They don’t have a mind.”

His uncle was becoming winded as he spoke, and he began waving his arm overhead. Jack’s heart jumped in his chest.

“Uncle Don!? Uncle Don, are you alright? Is it a heart attack?”

Oliver, the bodyguard, was at his uncle’s side and holding out a small plastic canister. Don grabbed the inhaler and sucked the mist into his mouth.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jack said as he scooted over closer. His own heart was thumping behind his temples. He had never seen his uncle in such bad shape before. His uncle took another puff and waved him off. Then a fit of coughing followed. “Do something, Oliver!”

“He’s fine. It’s just an asthma attack. Just give him a few seconds. What did you say to him, anyway?”

Jack wasn’t paying Oliver any mind, though; his thoughts were only on his uncle.

“I’m fine,” Don managed to croak out. “I’m okay; it happens. Thanks, Oliver,” he said, handing the man back the inhaler.

“Shouldn’t you keep that in your pocket?” Jack suggested.

“No,” Don grinned, “I like to live dangerously. Now where were we? Oh I remember. Hey Oliver, Jack was just telling me about the zombies’ point … of … view. Care to listen in?”

Oliver glared at Jack, shook his grim face in disgust, and walked away. Jack began to feel uneasy.

“Ah … he probably wouldn’t understand, seeing how zombies killed his wife and children. You see, it’s going to be very hard to convince someone that a zombie had a good reason to do that.”

Jack felt himself shrinking underneath the twinkling gaze of his uncle. He was only reiterating what he had learned from the zombie psychology courses he took in college and from the training he had received from the WHS. He felt like a fool at the moment as he looked away from his uncle.

“Sorry, Uncle Don. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you okay now?” he said, finding the courage to look back.
He’s getting old, but I’ve got to be tougher than him. Shake it off. He’s weak.

“Of course, and so is Oliver. Now, honestly Jack, do you really think that zombies can actually do good things? I’m not talking about with our help. I’m talking about doing good things of their own free will?

“I suppose not. But, they’re making progress. Maybe. The XT Formula is allowing us to do some amazing things.”

Don huffed, coughed a little more, and took another drink of coffee.

“Well, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been hearing about things with the XT and —”

“You have? When?” Jack said, sounding disappointed.

“Easy now, I’ve only heard that you’ve been overseeing some breakthroughs. I don’t know what they are because I wanted to hear it from you first. That’s why we’re here. Now show me what you got.”

Jack was excited. It was something like the first time he took his favorite toy, Buzz Lightyear, to school for show and tell. His nimble fingers were quick at work when an image emerged. It was a view of a room full of zombies that panned back and forth in a quirky pattern. It seemed as if the person holding the camera wasn’t really paying any attention to what they were doing. The picture on the screen slowly rolled to the left or right, up and down, back and forth. The slack-jawed faces of the zombies—men and women of all sizes and colors—filled the hangar-like room, at least a dozen of them, each just as fascinating to Jack as the other.

“This is making me nauseous. You need to fire that camera-man,” Don said, taking another slurp of coffee.

“It’s not a camera-man; it’s a zombie,” Jack said with a smile.

“What? Are you telling me the WHS is spending money to create zombie paparazzi?”

Jack bursted out laughing.

“No, no, Uncle Don. The zombie isn’t holding the camera. The zombie is the camera. What you are looking at is the view through the eyes of a zombie.”

All Jack heard was his uncle’s coffee cup clattering on the pavement.