Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Look, I don’t care about Bible prophecies… and your Chinese voodoo bullshit.” Fuller tossed the amulet onto the bed. “I don’t want his amulet or his tea. Just answers. I’m pretty jacked up right now and I need to get some friggin’ answers. What did he give me? Was the soup poison? Did he drug me?! Ask him!”

The granddaughter repeated the words in Cantonese to her grandfather. Yat-Sun laughed and mumbled a few words back to her.

“What?! WHAT DID HE SAY?”

“He say, he think you smell like pig shit. So sorry,” she respectfully interjected, with a quick bow of her head. “And he no drug you. He wants me to show you something.” The granddaughter indicated for Fuller to follow her. “Come.”

Fuller was hesitant. He looked back at the old man. Yat-Sun’s eyes started to close.

“HEY!” Fuller nudged him. “That’s not an answer!”

Yat-Sun’s eyes opened again. He spoke a few more words, then closed his eyes.

“He say, ‘To know the road ahead, ask those coming back.’”

Fuller wasn’t sure what that meant. Mai Ling motioned again to follow her. He slowly stood up from the chair, ready to leave, when Yat-Sun grabbed his arm. In broken English, he calmly said, “What you cannot avoid, welcome.” His eyes looked down, drawing Fuller’s eyes with his. They focused on the amulet at the foot of the bed. Fuller paused for a moment, not sure what to do.

Yat-Sun tightened his grip. Fuller, for the sake of some peace, conceded and grabbed the amulet.
Was that enough?
Yat-Sun’s eyes moved to the little tea cup in his hand. Fuller peered into the cup of tea. Bits of dried herb floated around on top.
What have I got to lose?
He touched the rim to his lip. The taste was not something pleasurable. Horrible. He wanted to stop, but Mai Ling pushed gently on the bottom of the cup, forcing him to gulp it down. Tea ran from the sides of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and chest.

***

The granddaughter led Fuller down into the restaurant. They entered a back door which led them into the kitchen area. In the back corner sat a large, walk-in commercial fridge. A large chain and padlock secured it closed. A bang rang out from inside the fridge.

“My grandfather was attacked by my cousin Tommy. He caught your disease and is now locked behind closed doors. It no safe for him to be among us.”

“I’m not diseased, okay?”

Fuller slowly moved towards the fridge. Another bang rang out, shaking the chains that contained whatever freak of nature Tommy had become.

Fuller’s curiosity kept him slowly edging forward, despite the possible danger.

“So, what’s your long term plan here? Leave him in the fridge until he dies?” Fuller still fixated on the prison fridge.

No response came from the granddaughter.

“There are faster ways to get rid of him you know?”

While Fuller fixed his attention on the fridge the granddaughter stealthily backed away from Fuller and the fridge. She slid a long knife from a counter. She advanced toward Fuller with the knife out in front of her.

Fuller looked over his shoulder at her. He saw the knife. “What are you doing with that?”

The fridge door banged again.

The granddaughter’s disposition changed. She became angry.

“You must get in fridge now.”

“In there?!” He pointed to the fridge. “I don’t think so.”

“You one of them. You must get in.”

“But I have the tiger claw!” Fuller tried to bargain.

“My grandfather will soon be one of you. He does not know the things he speak.”

The granddaughter advanced closer to Fuller, knife in front, forcing him back. She moved to the padlock and unlocked it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Fuller stepped forward to stop her. She slashed the knife across his chest. Fuller grabbed his chest and retreated. He could feel the rage kicking in as he lost control of his body. That psycho bitch. He paused, taking a breath.

Before he knew it, she lashed out again with kung fu kicks, kicking him in the head and face. It didn’t hurt on impact, but it rocked his brain. He backed up a little further. Then something snapped in his head. Killer instincts. His face changed from surprise and fear—to rage.

She lunged again, slashing at his chest. But with lightning speed he caught her hand and disarmed her. He shoved her backwards, knocking her to the floor. He advanced toward her to finish the fight. She quickly searched around for another weapon to use.

The fridge door burst open behind Fuller. Cold air poured out. The chain fell to the ground. Fuller turned to see what was about to step out of the fridge.

Light and smoke-like cold air poured out from the wide-open fridge. Tommy stood in the doorway, silhouetted by light and swirling fog. He was pale, with dry and broken skin—a dead man walking.

Where the cat had clawed and bitten him, huge black and bloody lesions had formed on his arm, face and nose. He looked gross and pissed off. Who knew how long he had been in that fridge.

Mai Ling bolted out of the restaurant, locking Fuller in with the beast. Fuller glanced back at the door. He knew it was bolted shut. He didn’t have too many choices here. He kissed the tiger claw for luck and rushed Tommy.

Tommy smashed back into the huge fridge. Fuller’s hands gripped his neck. Fuller’s knees followed, impacting Tommy’s midsection. It had little effect. Half-eaten food flew into the air and scattered across the fridge floor. The two men thrashed around in the food and against the fridge wall. They wrestled to the floor. Tommy forced his way on top and opened his mouth to take a bit of Fuller’s flesh. Fuller pushed back, both hands on Tommy’s chest.

Just inches before Tommy’s gaping mouth and gnashing teeth tore strips of flesh from his cheek, he grabbed Tommy around the throat. With a burst of rage that outmatched Tommy he forced him to his feet.

Both men continued to engage in raw combat, and where they lacked in fight coordination they were unmatched in pure strength. They thrashed each other around like rag dolls.

The fight soon spilled out onto the restaurant floor. The men fell over chairs and tables. Punches landed. Neither felt the pain of the blows. Fuller was stronger than the smaller and younger Tommy.

Fuller’s rage had overtaken him. He was no longer fighting to defend. He was fighting to kill. He grabbed Tommy and smashed him through the front barred windows. Tommy crashed onto the sidewalk in a shower of broken glass and twisted metal.

Fuller jumped up on the window ledge to pursue his foe. Two gunshots rang out, with two little darts hitting him in the neck. A black sedan was parked just off to the side of the restaurant. Two spooks in black suits stood by with a tranquilizer gun.

Fuller removed the darts and jumped down to the sidewalk, and ran. He spotted a doctor’s office not too far up the street. The tranquilizer quickly started to kick in. Blackness started to close in on his eyes. Another two shots rang out. But the shots weren’t for him. They were fired into Tommy, who was trying to get to his feet.

Fuller moved as quickly as he could to get to the doctor’s office. Another two shots rang out. One hit him in the shoulder. The other in the back. Fuller stumbled, falling to one knee.

He pushed on, running across the street. Out of nowhere he was hit by the black sedan. He rolled up onto the hood and smashed into windshield. The glass cracked on impact. The other spook was still on foot and running towards the scene.

Fuller slid himself off the car. The agent opened the car door. Fuller hobbled off towards the doctor’s office. The goal was in sight. Just another ten feet or so and he’d be in the safety of the doctor’s office. His body was shutting down. The bone in his leg most likely broken. He couldn’t feel the pain, but his leg failed. He dragged it behind him, almost hopping.

Another two shots echoed through the empty, dark, city street. Both darts sank into his back. Fuller collapsed to the cold cement. His battered, bloody face rested on the cement. Eyes started to close. The last thing he saw was a large, size-fourteen boot kicking him in the face. All went black.

Buzzing, dim, fluorescent lights whizzed past overhead as Fuller was pushed down a long corridor. He faded in and out of consciousness. He lay on a hospital bed, strapped down. Two men in blue hospital clothes, probably nurses, pushed him briskly along. No one else was around. A few doors lined the corridor. The footsteps of the men echoed, every noise amplified.

Finally the men came to an open door. They escorted Fuller into a room. The room was small, with faded-white, dirty walls. The room was empty, not even a window. The only light was from a single fluorescent light with a greenish glow and a small flicker.

The two men positioned Fuller against the wall, in the corner of the room. As they left, they slammed the thick, hardwood door closed. The door locked.

Fuller’s eyes frantically searched around the room. Empty. There was nothing to look at but dirty walls. His mouth felt very dry, tongue swollen, and his forehead beaded with sweat.

He wasn’t sure where he was or what these people wanted with him. But at least the hospital feel gave him hope that someone may be trying to help him recover from whatever was going on. Obviously they knew something was going on, or he would be in a prison cell instead of this place. His mind started to wander—life on the farm, what a different life that would have been. His plan was to return home after college. Take over the farm from his pa one day. But things didn’t go as planned. They rarely did. Instead, big corporations crushed the farm. They pushed their genetically modified corn. The Fuller family didn’t want anything to do with it. It got legal and ugly really quickly. Fuller didn’t really understand all the dealings. His parents didn’t want him to stress while he was at school. And in some ways it did help him focus on getting through business school.

The farm had to be sold. His father took up a job at the local hardware store and his mother worked part-time in the elementary school’s cafeteria. What he wouldn’t give to be back on that farm right now—the animals, trees, crisp air and open spaces. That was freedom.

Whatever drug they had injected had calmed him and was making him sleepy. He slowly closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.

***

A bright light flashed into Fuller’s eyes, waking him up. His eyes blinked fast to adjust. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. A slightly overweight man that looked like a doctor stood over his bed. He shone a small flashlight into each of his eyes. A beautiful woman, maybe a nurse or an assistant, placed a digital thermometer into his ear. But Fuller was more distracted by how good she smelled than what procedures were being conducted on him.

Her long, brunette hair brushed the side of his face. And while he struggled to see what beauty was hidden beneath the hair, the obese doctor continued to block his view with his ongoing meddling. Only glimpses of her face were revealed, but Fuller was rewarded with views of her toned and shapely legs while she worked.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Fuller?” the doctor asked.

Fuller let out a grunt. His mouth was too dry to attempt to speak. And even if it wasn’t he was too groggy to bother trying.

“My name is Dr. Johnson. You’ve been unconscious for some time now. You have some injuries that we’ve addressed. You were in quite a mess and still have some recovering to do.”

A large bandage across his chest covered the knife wound he had suffered at the hands of the Chinese granddaughter. A drip was also hooked up to his right arm, pumping life-sustaining fluids into his broken body. He was naked, with only a pair of shorts covering his bits. At least he was now clean. Someone had bathed him. On this occasion he was hoping it wasn’t the beautiful nurse (he would prefer that when wide awake), considering his condition. He looked how he felt—like shit. He knew he had stunk of rotting trash and his body was covered in purple bruises and deep scratches. Maybe she was thinking he was a homeless person.

“Water,” mumbled Fuller.

“Excuse me?” Johnson leaned closer to understand him.

“Water… WATER!”

“Relax!” The doctor placed his chubby hand on Fuller’s chest. “Dr. Santiago, would you mind getting Mr. Fuller some water.”

The beautiful woman—Jennifer Santiago—left the room. She soon returned with a small paper cup full of water. She walked tall and confident. Her Cuban or South American skin looked glowing and flawless as she walked, with beautiful brown eyes to match. Perfect.

She gently scooped Fuller’s head up with her left arm and poured the cold water into his mouth. Just her touch made him feel better. But the water eased it the most. It wasn’t nearly enough for Fuller, but it wet his lips and softened his throat.

“Thank you. Where am I?” questioned Fuller.

Santiago shot a look at Johnson. He interjected, “This is a medical research facility.”

“Research facility?” he parroted, confused. “What do you want with me?”

“Approximately four or five days ago you were exposed to an animal-like microorganism. A mutated parasite that has invaded your body.” Johnson’s voice was slightly strained. “We believe your exposure was minimal compared to other recent cases, as your reaction to the parasite has been... not as severe. We weren’t even sure you had been exposed until our security team observed your behavior and we saw the police report. You made quite an impression at your place of work.” Johnson briefly snort-chuckled. His big belly giggled at his own inside joke.

“Parasite?! What the hell are you talking about?” Fuller tried to move his arms. The straps locked him down. “You have to help me! What kind of a parasite does this to people?”

“Relax Mr. Fuller.” Johnson spoke calmly. “We won’t know for sure what the parasite is doing to you until we run some tests. Parasites like to multiply in their hosts—”

“Multiply! What the—”

Johnson interrupted, “We plan to kill it before it goes much further. From what we can tell, it appears to be a mutated
T. gonii
parasite. Or at least similar to
T. gonii
.”

“I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Why am I strapped down? What facility am I in? I need to call my folks.” Fuller’s voice was stressed.

“Suggested evidence appears to specifically link
T. gondii
to schizophrenia and human behavior changes,” Dr. Santiago added. “You can Google it some time. But with this strain, we’re unsure. The straps are for your own safety. Get some rest.” The statement coming from her was somewhat reassuring. “We’ll take good care of you.”

The two doctors left the room and closed the door. Fuller heard the lock turning. It had a heavy, well-lubricated sound. The sound of precision. The sound of a lock that would keep him in, even if he wasn’t strapped down.

Fuller pulled hard to snap the thick, black straps. He strained hard again.

***

The day seemed to last forever. Minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed like days. Fuller had no idea what time of day it was. The only thing he had to look forward to was the beautiful Dr. Santiago coming into his room periodically to take his temperature and check other vitals. They still wouldn’t remove the straps from his arms and ignored his requests to phone home. On one occasion she took some blood.

He enjoyed getting water from her and asked for water every time she came into his room. He enjoyed smelling her sweet perfume and having her lean in close to him. She had a soft touch, and for some reason Fuller felt comfort when she was around.

Maybe it was just because she was one of the most smokin’ hot women he had ever seen and didn’t seem to fit into this rundown, strange place he found himself in. Or maybe she was a decoy to make him feel comfortable. Was all of this just some kind of jacked up trick or conspiracy? His mind started racing. Why wouldn’t they let him contact anyone?

He would try to get information out of her, but she remained professional in her responses and simply dodged his questions: of where he was and what they wanted with him. She would just come back to the same thing. “We need to observe and treat you.” The best he could do was to steal a brief but warm smile whenever she unlocked the door and came in. Whatever was going on, Fuller was happy to have her tend to him throughout the day.

The time was ticking. Fuller was alone once more. It seemed like it had been quite some time since Dr. Santiago last came to check on him. Finally he heard the familiar jingle of the keys inserting into the lock. The door flew open. Fuller was excited to see Santiago—instead, a large, male nurse entered. He wasn’t as careful as Santiago (or as attractive). He ripped the drip from Fuller’s arm and wheeled him toward the door.

“Hey, guy, where are we going?!” questioned Fuller.

The emotionless nurse gave no response.

The nurse led Fuller down many corridors. All the corridors looked the same, with no numbers on any of the doors. It was a maze. At one point Fuller thought the nurse was lost in the corridors and was going around in circles. Maybe that was his plan, to confuse him, so he didn’t know where he was. A few murmurs and screams rang out from behind some of the closed doors, unnerving Fuller. Other doors seemed as though no one was there.

The corridors were quiet and still. The bed wheels squeaked.

Maybe they were releasing him. He could go home. Back to life. Back to work (if he still had a job). Or maybe back to his hometown.

Finally the bed came to rest in a large observation room. It seemed much brighter than everywhere else. A few pale-faced, serious suits sat high above in a small room behind a glass panel looking down on Fuller. All older men—most likely the guys who ran this place.

A few doctors, dressed in white coats, readied different equipment scattered around close to where Fuller had been positioned. Fuller surveyed the room, trying to see what they were going to do to him. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead. His palms clammy, even though the room was cold. He could feel the cool air from the air conditioner as it crept over his sweaty head and strapped down arms.

The male nurse slipped some sort of headgear onto Fuller’s head. Metallic pads were attached to different parts of his body, mainly around his chest. Cables ran from all the pads and headgear to a machine at the side of his bed. The gray machine was covered with different knobs and dials, and a small monitor. Nothing he had seen before. Not that he had been in hospital much, except for one time as a teenager; his leg had to be stitched up from a small accident on the farm plow. Four hours of waiting and seven stitches later, he and his dad were ready to go. That was his only experience in hospital, until now. That’s if you could even call this hole a hospital.

Fuller breathed deeply. He wasn’t sure what these whack jobs were going to do to him. His heart rate increased. Again he flexed to see if he could burst the bands strapping him to the bed. Nothing.

Dr. Johnson and Dr. Santiago soon entered the room. Fuller’s eyes were immediately drawn to her. The sight gave him a brief but intense feeling of relief. A familiar face. Someone who had at least helped him earlier. The only thing that concerned him was that she avoided all contact with him. Like she wanted to be emotionally disconnected. Not even a brief smile. He wanted the smile. Something to just indicate to him that it was going to be okay. Nothing about this seemed right. Dr. Johnson did a quick look over to ensure Fuller was hooked up to the machine correctly. Even he avoided eye contact.

Don’t they do this kind of thing in medical school, where students watch on as doctors perform operations? Maybe they are going to fix me and these guys are observing to make sure everything goes correctly. Shouldn’t I already be under?
Fuller thought.

Johnson cleared his throat and took hold of a microphone. He addressed the men in the windowed box above.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for joining us,” welcomed Johnson. “Today’s experiment—we’ll be exploring pain resistance of a newly acquired specimen, patient one-nine-six-eight.”

Johnson stood to the side of his bed, so all could observe. Fuller’s eyes darted around. “Wait! What are you doing to me?” With limited head movement, he searched for Dr. Santiago. She stood several feet back behind the head of this bed. “Please don’t let them do this to me.” He couldn’t stretch back far enough to see her face, just her shape. She said nothing.

Johnson gave the nod to proceed. He braced for impact. One of the doctors standing by at the machine flicked some switches. The flick of the switch made him jump.

The doctor slowly turned a black dial.

Small electric pulses ran through Fuller’s body. One of his fingers twitched, with no other visible reaction. He felt no pain. That wasn’t so bad.

A few doctors in the room, including Santiago, took notes as they observed.

After a moment the dial was increased. More current ran through his body. A few more muscles twitched. Over and over again, the dial was increased in increments. Fuller’s chest, leg and arm muscles would tighten, almost cramping. He felt his muscles knot, but there was no pain. All the doctors in the room were emotionless. This was just an experiment to them and Fuller was just like any other lab rat—disposable. At least that’s what it felt like. Not even Santiago came to his rescue. Bitch.

Fuller withstood all of the pain put through his body. Although he could now feel the pain, it was like his pain tolerance had dramatically increased.