Sequel to EVERYBODY BUT LAZARUS – LIVING DEAD GIRL

Dr. Rob Klein looked through the glass at the girl in the hospital bed on the other side. A patch of gauze the size of his palm was taped across her right eye and her limbs were strapped to the bedframe. An oxygen mask across her face obscured her expression, but her one heavy-lidded eye stared straight back at him.

“How is she?”

“The biggest challenge will be keeping an infection out of the eye socket, given the fact that she won’t eat anything not given to her intravenously. She doesn’t talk much, but the only time we’ve seen her sleep is under sedation. It’s creepy.”

“Is that a medical term, Beaoui?”

“In these times, it probably should be.”

“But she still hasn’t shown any signs of infection.”

“As far as we can tell? No.”

“Then why is she still restrained?”

“Can’t be too careful.”

“I’d like to go in and speak with her. Tell Roy to have that prosthesis we were discussing ready to go.”

“Sure, suit yourself. I’ll let him know.”

~ ~ ~

Klein walked into the room where the girl was lying. Her one eye tracked him purposefully as he took a chair from the corner of the room and dragged it to sit beside the girl’s bed. He pulled the oxygen mask down her neck and sat down. When he was certain removing the girl’s oxygen wasn’t going to kill her immediately, he spoke, looking down at the file in his hand.

“Angelica Holmes, is that correct?”

“Diver. Diver Holmes.”

“Ah,” Klein said, and made a note. As he did, the girl noticed the large gold ring on his hand flash in the light. It was imprinted with a square and compasses.

“As you can see, Miss Holmes—“

“Just Diver.”

“Diver…you have sustained significant injuries. Unfortunately, we were not able to save your right eye, and you’ve suffered a fractured clavicle as well, not to mention several contusions. Diver, can you tell me how you received these injuries?”

“Fell down a flight of stairs,” the girl answered with no sense of irony.

“Were you bitten by someone exposed to Lazarus?”

“What do you think?”

“That is our assumption, yes. But we’d like to have that scenario confirmed by you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Diver asked. Her voice rose an octave as she sat up, her body a tense angry line. “That I had to kill my father by stomping him to death after he tried to blind me and rip my throat out? How many of these stories have you heard? Do you get some kind of sick thrill out of it?”

Klein was nonplussed. “No, absolutely not. Diver, do you have any idea why you’re here?”

Diver’s eyes narrowed to cold, disdainful slits. She let out a snort of disbelief at his compassionate bedside manner. “Do you mean, ‘Do you have any idea why government officials kidnapped you from a hospital and strapped you to a bed and continually take vials of your blood while you piss into a catheter?’ Because the answer to that question is I have no fucking idea, but I’d be really happy for you to enlighten me.”

Klein took some notes.

“What are you writing?” she asked, then blew a piece of hair out of her face.

“That your belligerent attitude and lack of cooperation are likely symptoms of post-traumatic stress.”

“Belligerent, huh? I bet you kick ass at nine-letter Scrabble.”

Klein continued to write, and spoke with smooth amiability. “I hold my own. You do realize that what you’re doing right now is a coping mechanism, correct? Have you heard of the concept? I only ask because you strike me as an intelligent young woman.”

Diver raised an eyebrow at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, sir. In any case, intelligent people don’t cooperate with shadowy government entities holding them hostage, so you can see where we’re at an impasse here.”

“Do the restraints bother you?” Klein asked. “I can have them removed. You’re well beyond any recorded incubation period for Resurgumviridae.”

Diver’s guarded expression softened for a moment with fleeting relief. The mask of distrustful apathy melted away into a new calm, and beneath it, for just a second, Klein could see the young woman that Diver had been before Z Day.

“So I’m not turning into one of them.”

“To the best of our knowledge, no.”

“Then yes, I’d appreciate it if you would let me loose. I can’t promise not to rampage, but feel free to kill me if I do.”

Klein pushed the CALL button.

“Yes?” a tinny voice responded, full of static.

“Please have a pair of nurses come and remove these restraints.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Two male nurses in HAZMAT suits showed up to loosen the straps. Klein gestured at Diver

with impatience.

“Does she look the slightest bit infectious to you?” Klein asked the taller nurse as they removed Diver’s legs from the straps, removed her catheter, and gently freed her wrist, careful not to dislodge any of the IV needles in her arms.

“You don’t have to look infectious to be infected,” the nurse replied.

“With Lazarus you do,” Klein replied.

The nurse stood his ground. “No one has stopped you from coming in unprotected. She’s been definitively exposed. We prefer not to take any chances.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Diver said.

The nurse turned to her, his expression closed off. He looked down at the girl without feeling. “No offense.”

“None taken, I guess.”

When they were finished, the nurses left. As soon as they were out of earshot, Diver spoke.

“So who exactly are you?”

Dr. Klein shook his head. “Not so fast. I’d like you to verify some information as well. Question for question. Does that suit you?”

“I think you are overestimating your intrigue, doctor. My guess is you’re some zee think tank under Homeland Security or somesuch, and that you’re interested in using me to figure out how to stop the infection from spreading. Am I warm so far?”

“Close. I’m with the Federal Emergency Management Agency, Z.E.D. Division. My name

is Dr. Rob Klein.” He held out his hand to Diver, who ignored the gesture. After a few seconds, he dropped it.

“So how is that whole disaster management thing working out for you these days?” she asked.

“It would probably be going significantly better if I could somehow convince you to cooperate with us. The lives of a lot of people might depend on it.”

“You’re asking me to volunteer to be a human pincushion and take the very real chance that I might really get infected this time, only from some injection of serous fluid one of you assholes wants to introduce into my system on purpose, all on some hypothetical ‘savior of the race’ scenario. You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

“How old are you?” Dr. Klein asked.

Diver shook her head. “Nope, no more questions. Not until I get some answers.”

“Then answer mine and ask one of your own. I’ll do my best to answer.”

“I’m twenty-two. Are you a shrink?”

Klein laughed. “No. I have training in social psychology and human neuropathy, but I am not a ‘shrink’. Have you had any martial arts, Diver?”

The girl looked surprised. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“There were two of the infected found dead at the same residence where you were recovered. Were you the one that dispatched them?”

A thunderous look crossed Diver’s face. “I don’t want to talk about that. And don’t say dispatched, I hate it. That’s the word they used to describe slaughtering all the sailors on the U.S.S. Romero in San Diego. My brother was on that boat and he was not a piece of goddamned mail. You dispatch a letter, you don’t dispatch a person, much less two hundred and sixty-three of them. You kill them.”

“Fine. Did you kill the man and woman found with you?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about that,” Diver said. “You can’t make me.”

Klein was unperturbed at the outburst. “I know that. I only want you to know that these are important questions I’m asking you. And you will have to talk about the killings sooner or later. This denial you’re experiencing is a common reaction, but ultimately it must pass.”

“There you go, talking like a shrink again,” Diver said.

“Don’t change the subject.”

Diver looked away from him and faced the wall. Klein watched her reach up with a ginger touch to explore the bandage over the place where her right eye had been. Her low words came in a rush.

“I killed them, okay? The woman broke into our house and bit my father. I killed her and before she was even completely dead, my father was already turning on me. He ripped out my eye and tried to rip out my throat, but I  jerked back and he got my shoulder instead. He threw me against the wall and I must have broke my collarbone then. I picked up one of the chairs and clocked him with it. My arms still hurt from doing it. I knocked him down with the chair and kept hitting him while he screamed and gobbled up at me. Then the chair broke and I stomped on him until I knew he wasn’t going to get up again. Thanks so much for making me relive that in my head, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Klein was struck silent.

“I don’t feel any  better about it psychologically after ‘letting it out’,” Diver continued, her expression dangerously blank. “In case you were curious. I’m still wondering what all this has to do with me being in a martial art.”

Faced with the original question, Klein regained some composure. “What martial art have you studied?”

“Taekwondo. My father thought it might instill a respect for authority, sense of discipline, et cetera, et cetera…”

“Did it?” Klein asked, amused.

“No, but it came in surprisingly useful in the event of zombie attack, so I’m glad I stuck with it.”

“I’m glad you did as well. Without that training, you might very well be dead now. You’re very lucky to be alive, more so than you evidently realize.”

Diver gestured at her face with a bitter smile. “If you call this lucky. I’m so glad to be alive, now that there is so much to live for.”

“Life is in short supply these days. Suck it up and be grateful for yours. You have useful attributes that will serve you well for the rest of your life, however long that might be,” Klein replied.

“Now that was not a very shrink-like thing to say.”

Klein underlined something in his records, then pointed the pen at Diver. “The point is, you have some traits that make you particularly hardy against the undead. FEMA recognizes your unique abilities and would like to offer you the chance to assist us in eradicating the zombie hordes.”

Diver stared at him a moment before letting out a grating sound that could have been laughter or frank disbelief.

“Are you offering me a job? Is that what this whole windup is about?”

Klein put down the file and pen on the sidetable. He steepled his fingers and looked at Diver solemnly. “Do you have any other prospects? The position would come with benefits. You’d get to travel, of course.”

“Yes, tour the vast American wasteland! Take advantage of the light traffic!” Diver said.

“This is a serious offer. You’d be wise to consider it carefully.”

“What’s my alternative.”

Klein shrugged. “We can detain you indefinitely while we continue to run medical and genetic tests to determine the source of your immunity, and whether that trait can be passed onto others.”

“And your offer involves what, exactly?”

“Work in a small hands-on combat unit, trained specifically to hunt the infected.”

“Just what exactly makes you think I’d be capable of doing something like this?” Diver asked.

“You took on two zees with a kitchen knife and a chair and came out on top. Those are the kinds of skills that are in the demand in the workforce these days.”

“In what sick twisted world are you living that you consider being busted up and minus one eye coming out on top?”

“You survived. The zees didn’t. That’s a win in my book. And if you train for this unit, your eyesight will no longer be an issue.” Klein pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“May I have one of those?” Diver asked.

Klein handed one over with a Bic. She lit the cigarette while it was still clamped in her teeth, then passed the lighter back to him.

“Look, I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I can do this. I got lucky, and barely that. I can’t fight these things for a living.”

“You could, with the proper equipment and training.” Klein pressed the CALL button again.

“Yes doctor?”

“Please send in Beaumont with the prosthesis.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Prosthesis?” Diver asked.

Klein lit his own cigarette and spoke again. “I told you that if you took this opportunity, there would be benefits. One of the benefits available to you is a prosthesis that will restore your vision. Not exactly as it was, of course, but with a few bionic modifications. I think you’ll approve.”

Diver’s hand rose to touch the gauze again.

“How much?”

“On the house. After all, if you’re going to be using a gun or bow, we can’t have any loss of depth perception. Consider it one of the tools of the trade.”

The door to the quarantine room opened. A short, sparse man with scruffy sienna hair and a goatee entered the room. Aquamarine eyes stood out vividly behind square black frames. He smiled when he spotted Diver.

“Sitting up? I reckon you’ll survive.”

“This is Roy Beaumont, our medical officer in the field,” Dr. Klein said. “Under present circumstances, he might also be the most brilliant prosthetics engineer alive.”

“Rob, you’re layin’ it on a little thick.”

Roy held out his hand, and Diver set her cigarette on the edge of the sidetable to accept it.

“Roy, this is Diver Holmes. If you choose to accept our proposal, you will eventually be working alongside Mr. Beaumont in the field, with a few others.”

“Welcome aboard, perhaps,” Roy said. “Hope you decide to join.”

“Seeing as my other option is indefinite captivity, I don’t see how I have much of a choice.”

“Die or survive is always a choice. You do what you gotta do, you know?”

“Nothing personal?”

“Just business.”

“I like that,” Diver said. She closed her eyes, smiling. “I think I have some business with the zees.” She turned and looked at Klein. “I think I might be doing business with you.”

Klein brightened considerably at this. “A most excellent choice.” He motioned to the messenger bag. “Show her the prototype.”

Roy sat the bag at the foot of the bed and unzipped it. Inside it was a small leather box with stainless steel clasps. He opened it to reveal a plush gray padded interior that held a round iridescent object that looked like a cyberpunk pearl. Roy held the open box out to her.

“Careful,” he said, lowering it into her lap. “You’re holding about thirty thousand dollars worth of technology right there. Easy does it.”

“What is it?”

“The EOS. Electro-Optic Sensor. It’s the most sophisticated intraocular implant outside of Boston Dynamics,” Roy said, with a trace of pride.

Diver popped the spherical prosthesis out of the carrying case. Inside was also a wireless transmitter and what appeared to be a pair of aviator style sunglasses.

“How does it work?”

“Basically, we put a chip in your brain and use an ultra-thin wire to send images from the camera in the glasses directly to the visual processing center of your brain. The system only has thermal and night vision installed right now, but I’m still playing with it.”

“You want to put a chip in my brain?”

“Won’t feel a thing.”