Zombie High Chronicles (Book 1) (3 page)

“I will try.”

As I approach the white tent with the large red cross on the side, the soldier pulls aside the tent flap and allows me access. Inside I am greeted with the sight of a doctor dressed from head to foot in a hazmat suit.  His oxygen pumps in from a filtered tank fitted into the floor, allowing him a ten-foot radius to walk. He has a clipboard in hand and a needle laid out beside three vials on a rolling metal cart.

Each vial has a different color and a label on them. The code MONE-982 is used in place of my actual name. No one here cares that I am an actual person. I am just a number in a very long line and right now I am holding it up.

“Move your ass or I’ll move it for you,” the soldier threatens as he steps away from his post at the tent door.

My scowl deepens as I chuck my bag onto the floor beside the bar top seat and roll up my sleeve. My inner arm is a patchwork of bruises, some older than others. If there is one other thing I know about the military, it’s that they aren’t the least bit concerned with my pain tolerance. Nor are they willing to apologize when they blow a vein and ruin my day.

“Number?” The man in the hazmat suit asks. His voice sounds weird inside his mask and I have to stop myself from cracking a Darth Vader joke.

“Roan Sterling.”

He turns his entire body to look at me over the tops of his rectangular frameless glasses that perch near the tip of his nose. “I asked for your number, not your name. Please stick to only the pertinent information.”

“Why bother? It’s on the vial right in front of you.”

A small tic appears under his eye and I have to smother a smile. For the past few weeks that I have been coming here, he has never once cracked a smile. That might have something to do with my winning wiseass personality and grating humor. It truly is a gift.

“For verification purposes, you are required to provide this information.”

The soldier over my shoulder shifts into my peripheral vision to make his presence known and I sigh. Playtime is over.

“982”

“Age?” His pen scratches against the paper as he refocuses on business as usual.

“Seventeen.” At least I am for another three days.

“Address?”

The doctor never even bothers to look at me again. I am just another one of his rats in a lab the size of a football stadium.

“Address?”

I kick out my legs, sad the discover that the tray holding my vials is just out of reach. “Quadrant 7, House number 11.”

He nods and turns away. That is it. There is no acknowledgment of who I am or any hint of compassion for the guy he is about to turn into a human pin cushion. Just facts and data to be retrieved for whatever sicko government that still exists.  

I want nothing to do with my blood aiding in a second attempt at a MONE vaccine reboot but I have little say in the matter. The steroid popping soldier over my shoulder makes that message clear.

“Is my mom here?” I ask.  It is the same question that I ask every day. The responding silence is as predictable as it is infuriating.

“She’s a shrink, not a nurse,” I try again, speaking to the doctor’s hunched back as his assistant appears from behind the frosted plastic draped between the examination rooms and sets to work wrapping a rubber band around my upper arm. When she motions for me to pump my fist, I am already in mid-pump. I know the drill. We all do by now.

“Your friends over there in the camo gear took her when I arrived weeks ago. I just need to know that she's ok.”

When the doctor turns to face me again, he holds the needle aloft and grips my forearm. He gives no warning before the needle pierces my skin and I grit my teeth as he digs for the vein that he just missed thanks to the scar tissue that he didn’t bother to take the time to look for.

The dog tags hanging around my neck jingle as I jerk at a spike of pain. “Hold still, please.”

I open my mouth to tell him where I think he should shove that needle next but the soldier to my right tightens his grip on his gun and I know that I am about to get cracked in the skull...again.

It has been three days since my last outburst and I am still nursing the knot on the back of my head. Instead, glare at the soldier and force myself to relax.

“All done. Report back at 0700 tomorrow.”

That is it. I am free to leave and return to life as usual, not that there is anywhere to go.  Tossing a bird finger at the doctor, I snatch up my bag and walk out of the curtained room.

I could have asked the guy to go easy on Short Stack but I know it was wasted breath.  

When I emerge from the other side of the lab it is completely barren. There is no need for lines here because no one sticks around longer than they have to.

I follow the exit signs and blink when I step out into the sunlight. Early spring in the south does have it’s advantages. I can easily get away with a t-shirt most days without losing a limb to frostbite.

“Yo, Roan! Over here.”

I looked up at the call and saw Flynn waving at me. His unruly brown hair falls into his eyes before he sweeps it aside again. He isn’t a bad guy. In fact, if we hadn’t been stuck together I might have liked him a bit more.

Three people stand beside him. Coleman Rhodes, a guy with thick black rimmed glasses, skin pale enough to betray the avid gamer in him and a nervous twitch that I am pretty sure means he is still going through sugar withdrawals. Rationed supplies suck for a guy like him.

The girl beside him is Ember Rothschild. She is a year younger than me and looks like she might have been a dancer judging by those sexy long legs and fiery red hair. The final person to round out the foursome is Vaughn Eister, an all-around ladies’ man extraordinaire and the only one yet to realize that he has no game. I am pretty sure that he has a bit of Asian in him somewhere but when he opens his mouth to speak he is American through and through.

Tugging the straps of my bag hard over my shoulder, I force myself to walk over and join my classmates. You would think that after moving as often as I do that I’d be used to starting over, but I’ve never really been one to play well with others. I like my personal space.

The only upside about the Zone is that all of us have  come from somewhere else. Some of the small towners are having trouble adjusting. As for me...I don't even try.

Flynn sticks out his fist and bumps mine when I stop beside him. “That was brutal,” he says, but he says it with a contradictory smile.

I absently rub at my arm. That guy definitely left a mark today.

“You seem to be all grins and giggles now. You see Meran on the way out?”

“Yeah,” Flynn grins and a small blush rises along his cheeks. “She's a little shook up but she's good. They kept her overnight for testing.”

Of course, they did. The doctors around here are nothing if not annoyingly overly cautious.

“Hot girls almost make me look forward to school.” Vaughn leans back to stare at a girl’s short skirt as she bends over to pick up her bag off the ground when the squeal of a school bus brakes announces its arrival. “At least the view is much better there.”

Ember punches him on the arm. “Do you think girls like when you mentally undress them in public?  Paislee is actually really nice and doesn't deserve to be treated like some pinup model on your wall.”

“Yeah.” Vaughn takes another look at the perky blonde as she bounces lightly on her toes to stay warm in the chilly morning air and nods. “I bet she is real nice, both in public and private.”

Flynn swings his bag around to smack into his friend. I watch the two and feel a temporary a pang of regret. Some of the Zoners were lucky enough to come in together. Flynn and Vaughn have been friends since Jr. High and when things went south their two families joined up to hit the road.  There was safety in numbers, at least until you had the misfortune to run into a group of raiders looking to increase their supplies.

Their bro love is a bit much at times but it seems like a good enough distraction as I follow them onto the bus, but not before sending my own glance toward Paislee. Vaughn is right. That girl is nice on the eyes and no true blood nice girl wears a skirt that short.

“I saw that,” Flynn says as he steps aside to allow Vaughn a chance to chat up Ember as they climb on board.

“So?”

“So I’d be careful. Vaughn might seem like an ok guy but he’s got his moments. He'll fight you for her. ”

“Trust me if I wanted her, he wouldn't stand a chance.”

I find myself grinning as I grab hold of the metal bar and swing myself up after him but the smile wipes clean the instant I come face to face with Sargent Bo Tompkins. He is your classic meathead with a trigger finger that makes me twitch more than Coleman. A guy like that should never be given a gun.

“Sterling.” He makes sure to bump his shoulder hard into mine as I pass. Ember turns to look back at me over her shoulder and gives a slight warning shake of the head. I glare back at her for butting into my business but release my fisted hand and moved down the aisle.  

“Roan, you came back!”

I close my eyes at the high pitch shout of joy and sigh. Sammy Reisman is my shadow and a certified menace.

“Yell it a bit louder, why don’t you?” I slump into the seat at the back and throw my leg out across the seat to make sure he doesn't see the open space as an invitation.

“Sorry.” His double chin jiggles as he flops into the seat across the aisle with about the same amount of grace as a walrus flopping onto the shore. “That was a secret, right?”

“No, Sammy,” I rub my hands over my face and count slowly to ten instead of throttling him. “I actually want the Stars and Stripes to know that I’m breaking out.”

Despite the cool morning air, Sammy’s navy blue shirt already shows signs of underarm sweat and it is growing by the minute. Word around school is that he was found a week ago on a back road somewhere near Orangeburg, SC running away from a Dead Head that we claimed was trying to eat him. I seriously doubted that the kid could jog ten feet without breaking into an asthma attack. The kid actually wears his inhaler on a chain around his neck.

“Well, you sure are all sorts of cranky today! Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” He huffs and tries to pull his backpack up from the floor, managing only to get it lodged between his stomach and the seat.

I grin and leaned forward. “Yeah, your mom kicked me out just before you woke up.”

“That’s not funny.”

Maybe it isn't all that funny. Momma jokes lost their edge long before the outbreak left far too many kids as orphans but Sammy knows just how to get under my skin. I shouldn't let him get to me.

I turn to look out the window and wave when I see Short Stack marching by with a soldier. He's been changed into actual clothes and been given a camo backpack that bounces when he walks and matching hat. There is a hint of fear in his eyes when he looks up at me, squeezing his teddy bear tight, but also a hell of a lot of bravery when he smiles. Too bad some of these other kids don't  have his guts.

Short Stack will take a different bus to school with other kids his age. Even though the lower grade school sits just across a small courtyard from ours, it is separated by its own fence and therefore, the bus entrance is on the opposite side.

Just before he moves out of sight I spy the tiny black numbers on his forearm, a red and slightly swollen tattoo number assignment that will soon replace his name. We all have them. I can just imagine the look on the face of the unlucky bastard who was assigned to the bookkeeping department to keep track of us.

I should have warned Short Stack about the tattoo. I just didn't want to scare him. The kid has obviously been through a lot.

I turn to look out of the opposite window and focus on the steady rumble of the diesel engine. It's hard not to wonder why we are wasting such precious resources on an old school bus when it's obvious the refineries are all shut down. Eventually, there won't be any more gasoline or diesel to be had.

Three more students board before the doors close and we pulled away from the lab. Poppy and Willow Manson are living examples of the definition free spirits. With long flowing skirts, fake flowers in their braided hair and a grating tendency to finish each other’s sentences it makes me grateful when they take a seat up front.

The third person holds slightly more interest. Her name was Teegan Saunders and she looks to be around my age as she waddles down the aisle with her hand propped firmly against her back. I don't know much about pregnant girls but she doesn't exactly have that glow that you hear people talking about. In fact, this morning she looks more like a grizzly bear someone woke from hibernation a month too early.

“Whatcha looking at Teegan for?”

I glare over at Sammy when he shouts his question loud enough for the girl to look up and see me staring.

“Smooth, Sammy. Real smooth.”

Finally getting his bag dislodged, with the help of the swaying of the bus I am sure, I turn away and let my thoughts return to my parents. Some of the kids I spend my days with have the luxury of returning home to loved ones but I am all alone.

After the CDC went into full lockdown I figured my Dad would at least send word that he was safe. Landline access required high-level security, which my dad had, but he was a stickler for the rules. When the government said jump he was already in the air before he asked how high.