Page 13 of Once Upon an Apocalypse

“Your genetics meet a certain criterion for a mutation I have been attempting on humans,” the doctor had said. He is trying to find a cure or make humans immune to whatever is turning us into zombies? I think that’s what he was explaining to me. I’m freaking the hell out about what kind of experiment he has planned for us in this cement box with no hope of escape.

What do the six of us have to do with this mutation? Why are we here in this windowless room with an alarm blasting into our ears? Everyone looks as terrified and confused as I must look. I try to catch their eyes, but no one wants to interact. It’s every person for themself I guess. But then I look at the kids. The boy and girl can’t be older than ten.

I push myself up to a standing position with my hands still placed over my ears to block out the unbearably loud alarm. If no one else will look after them, then I will. As I take a step forward, the alarm stops, making me lose my footing. I catch myself just as I hear a groaning sound to my left.

The older woman seizes, foam dripping from her mouth. Shit. If I hadn’t seen how Sarah turned, I would run to her and make sure she didn’t swallow her own tongue. But I have seen this before. She’s turning. She’ll soon be a flesh-eating monster with a five-course meal to feast on. Looking around, I don’t see anything I can use as a weapon. Nothing.

As if the walls read my mind, a panel opens up on the other side of the room, filled with weapons. Double shit. This is the experiment. Who will become immune and who will turn into a monster?Fight. Survive. Live.My new mantra. I chant this in my head as I sprint to the weapons cache, which is filled with a bunch of obscure items. I pick something that looks like a mace, perfect for smashing in zombie heads.

The little girl’s scream pierces the air. I spin around to see the older woman and the younger man—both zombies now—cornering the little girl. The little boy and older man attempt to stay still in opposite corners of the room. I run as fast as I can and swing the mace at zombie number one. Before it can hit the ground, I’m already swinging my mace at the head of the next zombie. I give them each another powerful smack right on the skull to make sure they are dead-dead.

Then I turn to the little girl to make sure she’s okay, or at least unbitten. She’s frightened of me at first, which I totally get because I just double-tapped two freshly turned zombies. Holy shit.How did I even do that?I mean, I’ve ended zombies before, but it took so much energy out of me. Maybe it’s adrenaline pumping through me, keeping me from losing my shit. I feel like I can go all day.

“Stay by me, I’ll protect you,” I say to the little girl. She nods shyly and follows me to the weapons cache.

The other two are still in their own respective corners, too afraid to move. Who will be next? What if it’s me? No.Fight. Survive. Live.I hand the little girl a crowbar, telling her, “Swing it as hard as you can if one of them comes at you. Okay?”

She nods a little more confidently this time, as if all she needed was a weapon. I hope that is a good sign she will not change, that she feels the same strength inside her to get her through today and every other challenge the doctor and his psychos throw at us. Our heads snap over to the corner on the left where the older man is groaning. The little boy wails and the panic glues me to the floor a second too long. The older man turns quickly, making the boy sob even louder.

I run, trying to intercept the zombie, but I know I won’t make it. I’m already crying as I run, hearing the horrific screams coming from the little boy as he’s being ripped open. Three strides away, I swing the mace back, letting it land with a thud on the back of the zombie’s skull. I swing again, and again, and again until the sounds of screaming, chewing, and groaning are all a distant memory.

The adrenaline has worn off, replaced by terror and a depression that will never leave my soul. I sink to the ground coated in blood and other stuff I don’t want to think about. No other doors have appeared. No sign that we are even being watched.

A loud sound, like metal falling on concrete, brings my attention back to the little girl. She dropped the crowbar I gave her. When I look into her eyes, they don’t see me. It takes everything inside me not to make a sound when all I want to do is cry, scream, bang on the walls.

I should just let it out, let her end me, but no.Fight. Survive. Live.She is not a little girl anymore. She is a monster. I need to put her down, but she is so little it doesn’t feel right. So I decide to wait, to see if there is someone on the outside watching. To see if my body has taken to this mutation. If it has, if I’m right, then I won’t become a zombie. I will be immune. And if I am immune, I can fight my way out of this hellhole and survive. Find Jonah. Maybe even find my mom and Hayden.

The little girl—no, zombie—snoops around the room. Attempting to remain quiet, I slide myself over to the wall, needing its assistance to stand. The squishing sound of my movement is enough for the zombie to hear and it changes course, heading straight to me. In my experience, I know zombies cannot see, at least not clearly, even in the bright, piercing light of this room. They hunt using hearing, or maybe vibrations. That’s my own scientific guess.

I tip-toe away from the slaughter scene as quietly as I can, stopping when I get to the next corner, where I had ended the first two zombies. As I keep my eyes focused on the little zombie, something pierces into my ankle. I look down to see zombie number one’s mangled head taking a large chunk out of my skin. Mace still in hand, I throw all my weight down on the zombie’s head until its mouth releases my ankle.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Don’t freak out. You are immune. That’s what the doctor said. Please be right. Please.

All the sounds I made attracted the attention from the last remaining zombie.That poor little girl.No. Zombie. I need to end this. I yell as loud as I can, drawing her right to me, and position my body as if I’m up at bat in a softball game, ready for the pitcher to throw the ball. When the ball is within my reach, I swing, hitting the zombie’s head so hard blood splatters everywhere. It falls on its knees before keeling over to the side.

I am utterly alone. Fear is my only friend. I need to hold on to the hope that I will survive. That I somehow will not turn. That the doctor was telling the truth about attempting to make me immune. That I won’t lose the last remaining shreds of my humanity if I do survive.

Not wanting to be near any of the carnage made from my rage, I limp over to an empty corner, fall against the wall and slump down to the ground where I stay for an eternity, staring at the bite wound on my ankle. Maybe it’s my imagination or perhaps this is what happens when you turn; your brain starts to reanimate and sees things differently. I don’t feel any different. In fact, I feel the best I’ve ever felt. Physically, at least. I’m a freaking wreck emotionally right now.

But my ankle is healing. The skin has already stitched itself back together. A few minutes later, and the only evidence that I was bitten is a rough scar on the side of my ankle.Holy shit.

The entire ceiling illuminates, blinding me for a moment. Then a door appears on the other side of the room and in walks the doctor with that menacing smile of his.

Chapter 9

“Dr.Tuwile,becareful,she could still turn,” a stout woman with rusty red hair and a southern accent says as she rushes in behind him.

Dr. Tuwile. Gabriel Tuwile. Now I remember his name. He crouches in front of me, ignoring the pleas of the woman who is now grabbing him from the collar of his coat. “Don’t you see, Angela? We’ve finally done it.”

Angela doesn’t seem impressed. She keeps looking around the room, horror written all over her face at the smashed up bodies. As if sensing her anxiousness, Dr. Tuwile stands up and orders two guards to escort me to the showers then turns to the other people in lab coats, saying, “Incinerate the remains of the other test subjects.”

Test subjects. So that’s what I am.

I follow one of the guards out of the room and another falls in step behind me. There is no remembering what direction we came from or where we are heading to. Perhaps the guards are walking me in circles so that I won’t be able to figure out where the exit could be. Not that I’ve gotten a glimpse of a possible exit anyway.

The guard in front finally stops to open a door, ushering me inside what looks like a small gym locker room. In the center of the room is a single section of lockers with three benches in the middle. On the right side are toilet stalls and sinks. We head in the opposite direction to a larger section where the showers are. Instead of single shower cubicles, the entire space is open and lined with showerheads and handles.

So much for privacy.

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