Dead Hunger III: The Chatsworth Chronicles (32 page)

I stared at him.  “I don’t see what this has to do with your family.  I’ve told you they are essentially dead.  Decomposition cannot be undone and death cannot be reversed.  Common sense should tell you that.”

Carville suddenly threw his
coffee
cup against the wall
, shattering it into pieces,
the coffee splattering over the textured finish like blood
from a gunshot to the head.
  He balled his fists at his sides and his voice shook as he spoke. 

“Common sense says this should never have happened in the first place!” he shouted, his features contorted in anger.  “You will see another side of me
Professor.  If
I don’t believe you’re doing everything in your power to cure
Raymond
and Veronica
, you will see a side of me you’ll wish you never had
.
”

“So now I’m a slave just like the rest of your minions.  Is that it?  Because I don’t work well under those conditions,
Mr.
Carville.”

Carville pressed a button on a wall intercom.  Coffee ran down its face, but it still worked.  “Come,” he said into it.

As the men came up the hallway, Carville said, “These people need me.  When this thing hit and they came to me, it was because they knew me.  I can’t tell you the relief they showed when they discovered I was still alive and unaffected.  I made arrangements with them, and they’re free to leave whenever they like.”

He looked down at the shattered coffee cup.  “I don’t like getting angry.  I’m a businessman, Professor.  It’s what I do.  These people work for me, helping me do what I feel I need to do in order to fix this mess, and in return I provide them food and shelter.  And safety.”

“It seems our arrangement is uniquely different,” I said.  “I can’t opt out of the tasks you want me to perform to
fix this mess
.”

He
shrugged and
nodded to the door and the guards opened it.  It wasn’t
Rory
and
Pete
this time, and I was glad.  I didn’t need to see their smug faces.  I stepped through.  Fighting would get me nowhere.  I needed to bide my time in the hope that my friends would discover where I was somehow, so if that meant passing the time by working in the most advanced lab that had ever been set up, then so be it.

It wasn’t as though I had much choice.

“Sorry for my outburst,” he said.  “I’m passionate, too.  “And I can’t begin to express how important they are to me.”

“I’m getting
some inkling
,” I said, walking toward the lab.  “Just a
touch
.”

****

Ryan Carville wasn’t a fool.  He was aware of the decomposition
of those affected
, and for that reason, kept the rooms in wh
ich his zombie charges were interned
the temperature of a
cadaver
storage drawer
at a morgue
. 
For this reason,
I realized I would need more clothing than I had been provided to withstand the cold.

Carville
was accommodating.   He immediately brought me
top of the line
thermal underwear – both top and bottoms – and his guards allowed me to put them on in a restroom down the hall.  The nitrile gloves I wore kept my hands
relatively warm and functional, so I still had the required dexterity to perform any tasks that required it.

I had decided not to tell him about the Brain Scent Neutralizer helmets, my theories on the beginning of the plague, or much else of anything else.  I would use this time to try to learn more, with the hopes that before long, all hell would break loose and Flex and company would come in to grab me back. 

I know.  It was a long shot, and I knew it even then, but as I said, what choice did I really have?  Even discoveries made here could be hidden in gobbledygook if I wanted them to be, so even if significant progress were made, I didn’t necessarily have to share it with Carville if I didn’t want to.

But an experiment had indeed been on my mind, and I figured I may as well get started on it.  The first thing I needed was the knockout gas that could only be provided by the zombies.

I wasn’t sure how they’d done it, but Carville’s crew, at my request, had strapped his brother and daughter to gurneys and they were now placed in the large, open area in the center of the lab area.  The various machines, the MRI, the CT scanner, the X-ray equipment – all was separated in their own partitioned areas, the control panels mounted on the clear acrylic walls.

There were stainless steel counters along two walls, and atop these were placed the incubators, centrifuges, shakers, microscopes, heaters, hotplates, and dozens of other pieces that all served to kick start my thirst for more knowledge about these things.  I had the means and the subjects.

As I looked the place over, Carville came up the hall.  He was alone.

“How’s it going, Hemp?” he asked.

He normally called me professor, so this familiarity was new.
  He stood before several perfectly round holes that had been drilled in the acrylic for the purpose of communicating with those inside.  I walked up to the wall.

“As well as can be expected,” I said.  “But I need something from you.”

“What?”

“I need
specimens
of the rats, both infected and uninfected.”

“My men told me about them,” he said, his face grim.
  “Why do you need them?  You have these two.”

“True, but any experiments I have will need to be done
on
the rat test subjects.

“Understood.  But why the normal rats?”

I didn’t mind explaining this stuff to Flex and the others, but this was my captor.  I sighed.  “The problem with the rat population is
potentially as serious as the human problem,” I said.  “So it’s equally as important that I have specimens
, and I can’t use uninfected humans in that way, because the tests could be harmful
. 
As for the specimens, I
intended to get them back in
Concord
, but I never got the chance.”

“What will you do with them?”

I waved a hand toward the gurneys where I’d covered the former
Raymond
and Veronica with sheets.  “
Just as I can’t test on uninfected humans,
I can’t very well experiment on these two,” I said.  “
You don’t want them hurt.  For that reason,
I need the uninfected rats for a baseline, and I need to first try any potential cures I formulate on the infected ones.”

Carville nodded. 
“Understood.  I’ll send them out today.  Any suggestions on where to find them?”

“I’d say they’ll find you, but they’ve been running in fairly large numbers, so it will require caution on the part of your men.  I’d try setting up a regular rodent trap.  Perhaps of the paddle variety.”

“Yeah,” said Carville.  “I’ve seen them.  Kind of sweeps them inside and traps them.  Bait?”

“Raw meat, preferably bloody.  If you’ve got access to any livestock – and I’m sure you’ve got something going in that department – use a
piece of
brain.”

Carville’s face revealed his disgust, but he said, “Okay.  We’ll work on that today.  How are we going to know which are uninfected?”

“I don’t h
ave firsthand knowledge of this
Mr. Carville.  I am making a scientific guess that
because there are immune humans,
there are also immune rats.  That being the case, I would think th
ey’d be confused, to a degree, because
what is happening in our society is also happening in theirs.  The
affected rats
are likely attacking and eating them, too, as long as there is nothing more enticing around to draw their appetites.”

“Such as?”

“
Something larger, like a
human.”

“So again, how do we know which are uninfected?”

“If you see a group of them, the rats that aren’t
charging
toward you will be the uninfected rats. 
Unfortunately, if we are successful trapping them and have infecteds and uninfecteds in one cage, our uninfecteds won’t last very long.”

I stopped to think about it.  Ten seconds and it hit me.  Sometimes stress can make me less than sharp, so I have to pause my mind for a few seconds and walk around the problem to see it briefly from all sides.

“Okay, I’ve solved it.  Set up s
ome humane rodent traps in places you’d ordinarily find rats
, and use the traditional cheese bait in those.  The
zombie rats won’t be drawn to those traps.
   If there’s any kind of latch to disable the trap after one entry, then activate it.  Otherwise, the trapped rat might act as bait for the
affected rats
.  The other traps can be put anywh
ere you’ve seen the zombie rats in good numbers
.  Just use a piece of bovine brain.  I’m pretty certain you’ll catch what I’m looking for.”

“Okay,” he said.  “We’ll get the traps and set them out.  There’s a farm supply nearby where we can probably find them.”

“Good,” I said.  I didn’t
like
being
civil to the man who had kidnapped me
, but
I didn’t know how else to be.  Logic dictates that being obstinate never succeeded in helping anyone out of a bad situation.  Not before a judge, a jury, or an executioner.  I wasn’t sure which Carville was to me, but I had the sneaking suspicion that if pushed too far, he could be all three.

I wasn’t interested in testing my theory.

After he retreated down the hallway, I nodded to the two guards left to keep tabs on me.  The
y gave me a brief nod back,
even a
respectful
smile. 
I concluded that they were told I was the only person who could cure this condition, and if I succeeded, their world could start to return to normal.

The only
guards
that irritated me
were
Pete
and
Rory
, and if I never saw either of them again, it would be too soon.
  They were smug, wielding their granted power like a battle axe, and in my mind, they were far more dangerous than Carville.

I decided to take a look around the sizable lab and find areas I could conceal myself without looking suspicious.  But as I moved to the various areas, I saw there were tiny cameras, probably very high definition, in the ceiling. 

The drop ceiling.  Nearly eleven feet high, but suspended, acoustic ceilings that if accessed, could allow me hidden concealment as I made my way out of here.  It was something I should have noticed long ago, but I’d never been held prisoner more than I had since this zombie epidemic had begun, and I wasn’t used to searching for escape routes.

It’s not like I was James Bond or
Jason
Bourne.  I was geeky
P
rofessor Hemp
hill
Chatsworth’s latest incarnation.  A bit more gun-totin’ badass than the previous incarnation, but
still more brains than brawn.

The cameras might be blown out by some intentional voltage reversal in the electrical lines, which is something I could arrange, given the amount of equipment in the room.

I looked again at my zombie patients lying on the cart.  I pulled the sheet off
Raymond
Carville, and looked at him carefully.

Five straps held him down; one on his head, another over his chest, another directly over his waist, the next just above his knees, and the last at his ankles. 

His wrists were secured
in
thick, leather
straps designed for the purpose.  He was as immobile as they come.

I had a sudden desire for music.  I don’t know why, but now I had to hear The Who’s ‘Goin’ Mobile.’
  It’s funny how thoughts can jump from one place to another.

I looked at the guard, then walked up to the communication holes.  “Hey,” I beckoned.

The taller of the two – Frank, I believe his name was – nodded.  “Yep?”

“I know there’s an intercom.  Is there a music selection?”

“Hell yes, there is.  What you got in mind?”

“
The Who,” I said.  “
Who’s Next.”

I hadn’t heard it since
my ill-fated drive
to the
Kennedy
Space
Center
.  It was time.

“Kickass record,” said the
man
who I was
now
pretty sure
went by
Frank.