Duality (The Hitchhiker Strain) (14 page)

"He's going to..." I think I'm going to be sick. "Alex. That thing didn't get his brain. He's going to rise."

Alex goes as white as a sheet as the realization hits him. It seems like a lifetime ago. And in a way, it is—Pierce's lifetime. But we all made a promise to each other. Alex, Zack, Pierce, and I. We swore that if something happened, we'd never let the others have to go through that. No matter what, we'd make sure to end it. I never thought I’d be the one who had to uphold my end. I was supposed to be the one reckless enough to die first.

Alex is bracing himself against the railing now, and I can't be sure that he isn't about to be sick into the living room below. "I'll do it." Alex straightens, coming back into himself a
little, like knowing that there’s something he can do for Pierce takes a tiny portion of the weight off his shoulder.

"No. It should be me." Whoever does this will have the image burned into their mind for the rest of their life. If I can spare Alex from t
hat, I will.

The two of us stare each other down for almost a minute, and I know we're wasting precious time. Neither of us says another word. What argument can you possibly make for something like this? None. Someone has to back down first.

I shouldn’t argue with Alex on this and I know it. I know how he thinks. He was the one who was here with Pierce this past month. Pierce was living in his house and had almost literally become a member of his family. For all those reasons, he’d be sure he should be the one to give Pierce this one final thing. But for me, those are all of the reasons why he shouldn’t have to do it. He’s given enough already. I was the one who left my friends. I was the one who abandoned him. I should be the one to carry this burden.

B
ut Alex doesn’t blink, and in the end I cave because I’m weak. I don’t want to remember my friend like that, with his throat ripped out, so I look down at my hands as Alex draws his gun back out of its holster and turns slowly back toward the bedroom that will be Pierce’s final resting place.

Chapter 19 - Chelsea

"Hi, Chelsea." A man I don't recognize approaches me quickly with his hands outstretched. The way he moves through the room suggests to me that this is his office I've been invited in to. I shoul
d be more put off by his sudden movements and unwavering eye contact than I am but something about him eases some of the tension in my shoulders. I'm still uncomfortable and dreading this little interview that I've been assured is not meant to cast judgment on me, but at least I can breathe again. "I'm Doctor Silvers.” He smiles. All I can mange is a grimace. "I'm so incredibly pleased to meet you." I take his hand and do my best to apply the right amount of pressure. I never thought I'd be worrying about manners again.

"This is Dorian Harris." Doctor Silvers indicates a polished looking man sitting at the large desk behind him. "And you know Doctor Nickleby." I don't really. If I had to guess, I'd say she was the one who injected me with their miracle cure
a few days ago. We've never actually been introduced. I smile anyway.

"It's nice to meet you all," I say, stuttering slightly. I pause as Doctor Silvers moves to take his place between the others behind the desk. "I really wanted to say thank you. Really,
thank you." The words don't feel like enough. "You've changed my life." I had more planned but my eyes are starting to fill with tears again. I thought I'd gotten them all out of my system. "You've given me my life back."

"You're entirely welcome, Chelsea.
Now please, have a seat so we can get to know you a little better." Dorian Harris... Mr. Harris, indicates the chair in front of him. He seems wary of me, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

I glance behind me before moving but Gregor has disappeared ba
ck into the hallway, shutting the door behind him so quietly that I'd had no idea he'd left already. I sit down and reach for the water jug in front of me. My mouth already feels like a desert and they haven't even asked me anything yet.

Doctor Nickleby sp
eaks next, her voice friendly but professional. "Please state your full name for us." She glances up briefly from beneath rimmed glasses before looking back down at the legal pad in front of her.

"Chelsea Louise Zimmerman." I wonder if they have access to
any official records from before the collapse. Does any of that stuff still exist or has everyone been given a clean slate? Not that there would be anything interesting on me, I'd kind of like to know if they can pop my name into a computer and learn all about who I was before. I hope not. No matter what happens from here on out, that version of me is gone and she's never coming back.

"And your age?"

"I'm..." still adjusting to the fact that I missed out on well over half a year of my life, "seventeen."

"An
d do you know when you were initially infected?"

I should know this. It's difficult to pull out any exact details from the days before I changed, probably more because I didn't want to remember those last days than because of anything the virus did to my b
rain. "October, I think. Not long long after they started setting up the vaccination camps. Maybe November?" I say the last part like a question even though I know they have no way of knowing when I was infected.

"What city did you live in at the time?" Do
ctor Nickleby asks next.

"Greenburrow, North Dakota."

"You've traveled a long way. You must have built up an impressive level of stamina." Mr. Harris says, matter of fact. He hasn't taken his eyes off of me yet but I can tell he's not exactly threatened by me, simply curious. One of the benefits of being a medical marvel I guess. It still seems strange that everyone here is so much more focused on the facts and the science than on the way I was when they first brought me here—snapping and snarling, and so close to death that I could taste it. I wasn't exactly the type of girl that most people would want to invite into their home and ask to stick around for a while.

"I guess so." This is too easy. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop and the inquisiti
on to begin. I try to swallow down the lump in my throat but it refuses to move.

"Alright, Miss Zimmerman," Doctor Nickleby reaches out to take my hand which is sitting on the table in front of me. Instinctively, I yank it back before wincing apologeticall
y. I hadn't meant it like that. I want to explain to her that I'm nervous and a little jumpy, but my mouth stays closed. Fortunately, she doesn't seem insulted. "This next part will likely be more difficult for you. Are you ready?"

Next part? More difficul
t? I knew the interview had been far too easy!

Doctor Silvers
takes over the questions and I brace myself for the worst. "How much do you remember about your behavior as..." I want to tell him not to worry about the terminology, and that he's not going to hurt my feelings. Instead, I let him hang there. I don't know what to call it either but I'm sure they at least have a name for what I was, probably several. "How much do you remember from before you were cured? "

It's not a question I'm sure I know how to answer. There are days where I remember everything and days where I'd black out as soon as the hunger hit me. "There's not really a hard and fast rule. I rem
ember more of some days than others. I mean, I guess I remember a lot but there are chunks of time I can't remember at all. There’s probably a lot of boring, day to day stuff I remember but don’t really recall. Kind of like remembering brushing your teeth or what you had for dinner last night."

"Did you ever interact with other infected individuals?" Doctor Silvers asks before glancing down at his own legal pad.

"Sometimes other people like me. Not the ones who... not the dead. They're as likely to attack us as they are to attack humans." I hadn't meant to phrase that as though I'm still one of the monsters, and not a human. Too late now. Doctor Nickleby scribbles something down. "Sorry, what do you all call them? Zombies?"

"First generation and second generation is generally accepted," Doctor Silvers responds. "Sometimes Zs for both. I'm sure a lot of people say zombies as well, but we try not to use it here, especially for those who like you were still completely alive. In
fected is another term you'll hear a lot."

"Okay, infected. In a fight, people like me, like I was, would pretty much almost always win against a zombie. We had the edge in a fight every time because we were alive and more present in the moment. But I'd st
ill try to avoid them, it wasn't worth the energy." Even I knew enough not to try and eat rotting meat. But I'm not going to say that out loud.

“
I see. Teamwork.” Doctor Silvers nods enthusiastically, but I can’t help but be uncomfortable at the implications. It’s not like I was a willing participant. I know they probably don’t have that much to go on, but is that how they think of me? One part of a flesh eating tag team? If that’s the case, I can’t understand why they’re being so patient with me.

“
Less teamwork, more hostage situation. I didn’t have a whole lot of say in any of it.”

I expect a half-assed apology from Doctor Silvers, but all I get is an abrupt change of topic.

"Do you remember attacking humans?" Mr. Harris asks. I let myself close my eyes for half a second to try and center myself. My hands start to shake slightly so I hide them in my lap. This is what I’ve been dreading.

I try to nod my response but it comes out as more of a spazzy head shake. "No, I uh..." I feel sick. I didn't really think
they'd ask this. Not today, at least.

"Do you remember how many people you've killed?" Eighty-one, my brain answers instantly but I manage to keep my mouth shut. Oh God. He gets right to the point, doesn't he? Without thinking, I shake my head and instant
ly regret it. I didn't mean to lie, it just happened. Still, do they really need to know? They'll think I'm a monster. "More than ten. Usually when I was feeding there was no part of me still there, participating. It was entirely the beast." Of course, right up until the point when my victim's heart stopped beating, I was right there doing everything I could to make sure I won each fight. "What I could remember I tried to push out of my head. I never wanted to hurt anyone." I can feel the tears threatening again and I feel like an idiot. An idiot and a murderer.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

"Of course not," Doctor Nickleby says. She's being far too kind, but the other Doctor now seems far less concerned with niceties, and jumps right in to his next question.

"So you're saying that you were still somewhat aware of what was going on around you? You were still capable of conscious thought that was separate from those driven by the virus?"

"Sort of. There was more to it than that. It's like we both existed within the same body. She—the beast—was the one in control, but I was there too to help us survive."

"Please explain," Doctor Silvers speaks again, his eye bright with excitement. I can't imagine how long he's been waiting for an inside scoop like this one. A
s horrifying as it all was for me, it's fascinating for him. He’s hanging on to my every word.

"It's like I was running on instinct. But more. Instinct and hunger. I could use the knowledge and skills I have and what I noticed along the way to give us an e
dge." I launch into the story about how I'd tried to bandage myself up after I'd been bitten by that first generation Z, leaving off the part about sitting alone and trying to see if I still had the ability to speak. It's crazy how far I've come in such a short period of time. Through my entire story, both doctors take furious notes.

Once I get to the part about feeling myself dying and am about to reach the point where my story converges with theirs, I steel myself to veer off topic before I lose my nerve.
"I was wondering..." I pause until everyone finishes what they're writing and look up at me again. "Do you mind if maybe I ask you all some questions. There's so much I'd like to know."

The three people sitting in front of me look back and forth between o
ne another. I have no idea what they're communicating but eventually Doctor Nickleby turns back to me and nods. "That's perfectly understandable. I'm sure you have a lot of questions. We'll do what we can to fill in the gaps for you."

"We want you to be co
mfortable here, Chelsea." Doctor Silvers interrupts. You're special to us and we hope to learn a lot from you."

"Will learning from me involve sticking me with more of that stuff?" Three blank expressions stare back at me. "The needle from the other day,"
I clarify.

Doctor Nickleby grimaces apologetically. "I'm sorry about that. It was a onetime thing, I promise. What we injected you with is officially called R-17b. The most recent version of the Veritas serum."

"Veritas?"

"A cure. For the infection that ro
bbed you of your identity. There is more to it than the initial injection, but the rest of the regimen is mild by comparison."

"Please, don't be sorry about that!" Still, it's nice to know it's not something I'll have to endure again. "It sucked, but it wa
s worth it."

"What else would you like to know?" Doctor Silvers asks. His pen taps slowly against the side of the table and I suspect he'd prefer to be the one asking the questions.

"Right. So, this cure. When did you come up with it? How many others have you used it on? Are there others like me I can talk to?" I know I'm throwing a lot at them at once, but I can easily accuse them of doing the same thing to me. They're supposed to be smart. They'll keep up.

Doctor Nickleby flips through her notebook briefl
y before answering. "We've used it on two hundred and ninety eight of the infected so far." I’m not sure what to make of her expression. That doesn’t seem like very many attempts compared to the number of infected people I know are out there. “But you’re the first one to have such an incredible turn around.” Oh. “You’re the shining star of our program which is why we have such high hopes for what we can learn from you. The serum you received was identical to that which was given to sixteen others and none of them have regained even a fraction of what you have.”

“
What happened to them?”

The doctor breaks eye contact to glance at the others. I think Mr. Harris is about to jump in but she continues herself. “
Some died.” My mouth must drop open slightly because she hurries to add, “Our survival numbers get better with every round. I’m sure you noticed, but the initial injection can cause severe reactions.” All I can do is nod dumbly. I don’t know what the exact numbers are, but I could have been yet another dead zombie to add to their statistics. I guess I’m not surprised. I had been sure that the pain was going to be too much for my body to handle.

“
And the others? What happened to them?”

“
After a month long treatment cycle the infection has been completely irradiated from their bodies.” I watch her throat as she swallows slowly, pausing for time. “They are virus free, but so far we haven’t been able to rehabilitate them.”

I
’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean and no one elaborates. Another question comes into my mind so I focus on that instead. “A month… So that means I’m not actually cured yet?”