Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (7 page)

The dial was turned up further and further. Fuller’s muscles cramped all over—a full body flex. The pads attached to his body started to burn his skin and body hair. The pain now started to become unbearable. Not to mention he could smell burning flesh. His flesh. This shit could scar him for life. He let out a deep scream of pain. His body stiffened. Veins in his neck ballooned. Sweat glistened over his body. No one in the room seemed to care.

Fuller’s bloodshot, desperate eyes caught sight of Santiago. She had discreetly turned her body to avoid witnessing the brutality of the experiment. She vigorously scribbled notes into her book, in an attempt to distract and disguise her emotions.

Johnson nodded to the doctor on the machine to increase the power.

“Please, no more,” Fuller pleaded. The doctor turned the dial to the max.

Fuller started to shake all over, on the verge of a seizure. Indescribable pain racked his entire body. Like a man on fire, his scream echoed throughout the observation room. He felt as though he was going to explode. Just as he felt his heart might stop, the suits upstairs, shielded behind the glass, gave the nod to Johnson. The machine was switched off.

Fuller lay still. Eyes half closed. His body relaxed. His breathing slow but deep. Muscles randomly twitched. His fingers and toes jerked individually. He couldn’t speak. Not that it mattered. Pleading his case any further wouldn’t work anyway.

Tears streaked down the corner of his eyes, absorbed by the pillow. Tears not from crying, but from life being squeezed from him.

The men in the glass booth engaged in conversation. Their voices silenced by the glass. They appeared excited with the results.

These experiments weren’t over. This was just the beginning. They weren’t going to let him go. Not now. Not after this.

He was going to have to escape. Disappear. Become a fugitive. If he didn’t, he would die in there—eventually. And it wouldn’t be a quick death. His parents would never know what happened. He would simply disappear, never to be heard from again. If they ever did find out it would be a lie. Reports would come in that his body was found in a dumpster in the city. Just another city boy who o That’s what they would say. That’s how his life would end (in his parents’ minds). His parents would never reconcile it. They would never understand. He would have to do something.

What you cannot avoid, welcome.
Fuller’s eyes rolled back into his head. He wasn’t going to be treated like this.

His switch had been switched.

He gripped the sides of the bed. He commanded all of the strength in his right arm. The strap started to twist. The steel bed squeaked under extreme pressure.

Johnson put both his hands on Fuller’s chest. “Give him a shot. Quickly,” he instructed a co-worker.

The strap snapped.

Doctors ran around the room in a panic. Some headed for the door to get out as fast as possible, others froze with fear. Johnson tried to pin Fuller’s free arm with both hands. “Someone get the friggin’ tranquilizer.” Several doctors scrambled for the syringe on a nearby operating table.

Fuller broke his other arm free. Johnson retreated in awe. Fuller snapped his chest strap.

Before he could go any further a doctor stabbed him in the chest with a syringe full of sedative. One wasn’t enough. Fuller kept on going, trying to break free, with the syringe still stuck deep in his chest.

He reached to snap his legs free. A few more syringes were stabbed into him. All in the back. His strength started to leave him.

He drifted in and out. Everything blurred. He fought it. Once, sitting back up and then flopping back onto the bed. He fell into unconsciousness.

***

Water rushed into a large glass tank. It was big enough to fit a grown man and then some. A human fish tank. Fuller was seated inside, slumped over. Cool water filled around his feet and rose quickly. He awoke as the water ran over him. Water gushed in through a large grill-covered hole in the top. He was in a different observation room. He wasn’t strapped to the chair. The doctors stood around the tank with clipboards and pens in hand, ready to take notes. The pale-faced suits stood further back in the room, observing.

Fuller got to his feet. The water soon reached his waist. He started to panic. He stood on the chair and shook the thick, stainless-steel grill. Water rushed over his face as he pulled, making it hard to catch his breath. He choked on water. He looked around to see if there was a way out. Trapped.

This was another game put on by his new hosts.

“Hey, hey! Get me out of here!” Fuller desperately banged on the glass with an open hand. “What’s wrong with you people?”

The doctors just took down notes, ignoring his requests. Fuller scanned the room looking for Santiago. She wasn’t present, but Johnson was.

“Johnson? Is this what you call help, you fat bastard?!”

The water was getting deeper. It reached Fuller’s chest. It slowed his movement. He breathed quickly and shallowly. Fear overcame him. This was more terrifying than the electric shock treatment. Pain he could deal with—tough it out. Not breathing; you couldn’t tough that out. The water rose. The water licked his chin as he stood on tiptoe to gasp at the remaining air.

The water covered his head. He swam to the top. The water filled to the grill. He pounded and kicked the thick glass. It was like kicking and punching in slow motion.

With a terrified look and thumping the glass he pleaded with the doctors. They simply took notes and silently discussed things amongst themselves. What was their objective? Were they trying to see what triggered a reaction like the one witnessed at the end of the first trial?

He was running out of air. His eyes grew wide. Was this the end? He was going to die in a man fish tank. His lungs felt like they were going to explode. He had heard that it burns when you breathe in water. Like sucking in fire. He wanted to breathe. He didn’t know if he could stop himself. He needed to suck in sweet oxygen. He needed to breathe. But he didn’t want to die. They just stood there watching him. No one to help. He was all alone in a room full of doctors. Doctors, the ones who save people’s lives. Johnson cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief.

Bubbles escaped his mouth, even though he fought to keep it closed. His air now gone. Eyes became heavy. He became still. He prepared to inhale. To inhale for the last time.

Through blurred vision, he saw one of the suits at the back of the room motion with his hand. He heard a click and felt a vibration resonate through the water. The water rushed out the bottom of the tank, through another large grill, faster than it had entered. When his head cleared the water, Fuller immediately sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold.

Heaving and coughing up water, he lay on the cold, wet, glass floor beside his chair, like a half-dead rat. His cheek rested on the cold glass. He could smell the water. It had never felt so good to breathe.

His fear started to turn into anger. He clenched his fists. His knuckles turned white. He punched into the glass hard. Not hard enough to break it or to break his fist, but he wanted to make a point. He then picked up the chair and repeatedly rammed it into the glass wall.

A mist swept over Fuller’s body. It came from the same opening in the top as the water. His eyes stung. It got into the back of this throat, making him cough. It choked him, crippling him. He didn’t want to breathe it in, but he could only hold out for so long.

He became dizzy. His eyes focused in and out. He started to wobble. He rested both hands on the glass wall with his head down. Darkness started to close in around his eyes.
Not again.
His unconscious body smashed to the glass floor.

***

Fuller awoke back in his small room. The sweet scent of Santiago’s perfume was nice to wake up to. She was dressing the burns on his chest and other parts of his body. He was dry, so he figured he must have been out for some time. His straps had been replaced and a few extras added. Fuller tried to catch Santiago’s field of view, but she never looked up. She deliberately stayed focused on his wounds only.

“This isn’t right! What do you people want with me?”

Santiago acted as though Fuller hadn’t spoken. Continuing to work.

“What, you don’t talk to your specimens? You don’t want to get emotionally involved?” His sarcasm obvious. “You think it won’t affect you as much if you don’t know the guy you’re torturing?

Santiago finished up the last bandage on his chest. She pushed her little medical cart toward the door. Fuller was getting exasperated that she ignored him.

“Hey! Hey! Do you speak English?” Fuller didn’t want her to leave. He needed answers and nothing was stopping her.

“YOU COLD-HEARTED BITCH!”

Santiago stopped. She looked back over her shoulder and for the first time looked directly into Fuller’s eyes.

Her stare pierced Fuller so much his stomach twisted. He had never spoken to a woman in that way. His mama had raised him better than that, but he was glad he got her attention. If anyone was going to help him out of this mess, she would be his only chance—and that was not much to count on.

She marched back to Fuller, drew her hand high and laid a hard, sharp slap across his battered face. She knew Fuller couldn’t feel it but it gave her satisfaction to slap him anyway.

“Oh, so you do feel emotion,” Fuller said mockingly.

Santiago realized she was out of line and regretted that she had lashed out at him in anger.

“I’m not a lab rat! I’m a human being.”

“You’re not.” She turned her head away from him. “Not anymore.”

Santiago grabbed her cart and rushed out of the room, closing and locking the door behind her. Fuller yelled out after her.

“I’M MORE HUMAN THAN YOU! I’m more human than you.”

“Have you always had a high pain tolerance?” Dr. Johnson asked.

Johnson, Fuller and Santiago sat around a small steel table. Fuller was strapped into a heavy chair that was bolted to the floor. The room seemed very sterile. It smelled like a hospital room. Johnson had a file and a bunch of papers with him. Santiago was slightly removed from the table. She had her clipboard and pen and only seemed to be there for observation. She avoided all eye contact, keeping her eyes only on the clipboard. The wench looked beautiful in her white coat, red top, black pencil skirt and high heels.

A tall jug of water and a few clean, empty glasses sat in the center of the table. Fuller licked his lips. He was more interested in the water than the company. He wanted that water. The drip wasn’t doing it for him.

“Mr. Fuller?” Johnson said. “Concentrate.”

Fuller looked under his eyebrows at Johnson. “How can I trust you people?”

“I need you to answer my questions carefully and truthfully.”

“I’m not some friggin’ lab rat!” Fuller yelled. “Do you have a cure? Am I going to die?”

Fuller was overwhelmed and distressed. He didn’t know whether helping these white coats would gain him freedom, or more torture. From what he had already been through, there wasn’t anything left to trust. He wasn’t sure what sick game they were playing. But he was done with the prodding and poking. His eyes were fixated on the water. That’s all he really cared about right then, besides getting as far from there as possible. He might have a better chance with the old Chinese man and his herbs.

“You like that, don’t you?” Johnson said as he poured a glass of the cool water for himself. Water beaded on the side of the glass. He slowly drank it—teasing Fuller with it. He then poured a second glass and slid it toward Fuller. Fuller went to snatch it up, but his hands were secured.

“You can have as much water as you like, as soon as I get my answers from you.”

Fuller didn’t speak. He stared at the glass of water. He watched the beads slip down the side of the glass and settle in a small pool on the gray, steel table. Hypnotized.

He wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to give them information they could possibly use against him. Or would they find other means of extracting what they wanted from him anyway? Something Fuller didn’t want to find out.

Johnson flipped open the file, waiting for Fuller to give him what he wanted. Fuller’s eyes didn’t stray from the glass. Johnson shot a look to Santiago. He realized it was pointless trying to deal with the animal without giving a small treat first. Santiago stood up and lifted the glass of clear water to Fuller’s dry, cracked lips. His head stretched to meet the glass before he could even reach it. The cool water immediately soothed his lips and wet his tongue. He wanted the whole glass, but she tortured him by only giving him a sip. The sip didn’t even make it to his scorched throat. He stretched his neck again to follow the glass as she quickly pulled it away and returned it to the table.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Fuller pleaded. “I need it. Give it to me. Please.”

Santiago looked for confirmation from Johnson to have mercy. Johnson didn’t break his stare on Fuller. In a curious way he was fascinated by Fuller’s reactions.

Fuller jolted forward with a burst of anger, trying to free himself and reach the water.

“You’re dying, Mr. Fuller,” said Johnson in a low, almost calm voice.

That got his attention. He looked into Johnson’s eyes. Was he lying? Why would he lie about something like that?

“Your body is working at an accelerated level. You have a high temperature, high blood pressure, a rapid heart rate. Large amounts of adrenaline are being produced and then dumped into your body. This is what gives you such great strength and pain tolerance. However, you’re body can’t maintain this high level. I’m assuming you get exhausted very quickly and stumble, barely able to hold yourself up.” Johnson poured himself another glass of water, but didn’t drink.

Fuller’s stare didn’t break from Johnson.

“Your cells are dying faster than your body can create them.” Johnson sipped his water. “You drink so much water to try to replenish yourself and your cells.”

“Can you stop it?” Fuller said. “Why is this happening to me?”

Johnson removed some photos from his file. Slid them across the table for Fuller to study. The photos were from a microscope. They showed different microorganisms. Something Fuller didn’t understand. It looked like a multicolored bowl of oatmeal to him.

“The parasite is slowly taking over your body. You’ve probably already noticed times where you didn’t have control, and something else was in control,” explained Johnson. “A similar parasite,
T. gonii
—you’ve heard me mention it to you when you were first admitted—causes a rat to sacrifice itself to a cat, so that the parasite can pass itself on and multiply in the cat’s intestines. It’s out of the rat’s control. The parasite is driving the body.”

“You need to cure me,” Fuller said in a stern, almost angry voice.

Johnson looked over at Santiago and then back to Fuller. “We don’t have a cure.”

Fuller could hear his heart pounding. Blood rushed through his entire body.

“The good news is,” Santiago said, breaking her silence, “we can slow it down. It’s not a long term solution, but it will reduce its effects on your body and keep you in control longer. I’m prescribing you an antipsychotic drug to assist you in controlling the parasite.”

“Antipsychotic?”

Fuller let Santiago’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure whether he could believe all that he had heard.

“Can I have some water?” he said in a subdued, almost defeated voice.

“First, I want you to answer some of my questions,” Johnson said.

Fuller closed his eyes. Too much information. It was like he could feel the parasites scratching around in his brain. Eating his cells. His upper lip started to quiver.

“NO!” Fuller’s eye started to twitch. “You answer some of mine first.”

Fuller gripped his chair. He was pissed and he wanted answers. He flexed against the straps. They groaned under the pressure. Johnson gave Santiago a nod. She stood up, removing the water jug and Fuller’s glass from the table, and headed for the door. She stopped at the door, waiting for Fuller’s compliance.

“You’re not in charge here, Mr. Fuller.” Johnson closed his file and stood up ready to leave.

Fuller’s breathing was heavy. His eyes darted around. He wanted water almost as much as he wanted air when they tried to drown him. “Okay,” he said desperately.

Santiago returned the water and sat back down, ready to take notes again.

Johnson opened his file. In the file were a variety of different photos. He held up the first picture, which was a photo of a war-torn part of the world. A few people dead in the street. Soldiers stood over the bodies, guns in hand.

“What do you feel when you see this picture?”

“Anger.”

“What about this one?” He held a picture of a baby.

“Cute.”

“What about this?” A piece of meat.

“Hunger.”

“Good.”

Johnson removed another photo of a couple holding hands on the beach.

“Romantic.”

Johnson pulled out another photo. Fuller was getting tired of the psych evaluation.

“Give me my water now.”

Johnson nodded at Santiago. She complied and gave Fuller another drink. Fuller’s eyes followed her back to her seat. Johnson observed Fuller’s interest in Santiago.

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

Santiago flashed a look of “what the hell are you doing” at Johnson.

Fuller was caught off guard. Embarrassed and not sure where to look, he gave a half-assed smile. Santiago glared at Johnson. Not impressed.

“Mr. Fuller, answer the question. Do you think Dr. Santiago is attractive?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you feel any urges?”

“That’s enough!” interrupted Santiago.

“Urges? Who the eff are you? Dr. Phil?” answered Fuller.

“Do you want to cause her any harm? Bite her?

“No.”

“Now, how do you feel about me? Do you have any urges toward me?”

“Is that a proposal?”

“Joking aside, Mr. Fuller. Do you like me, hate me, want to hurt me?”

“If these straps weren’t here... I’d twist your friggin’ head off!”

Johnson and Santiago quickly jotted down some notes. Johnson gathered up his papers and photos as though he was done with Fuller.

“It’s time for you to answer some of my questions now.”

“I’m afraid our time with you is done for now,” Johnson said.

Fuller started to shake uncontrollably. His eyes glazed over. He was no longer there mentally. With a burst of strength he busted the straps holding him to the chair and lunged across the table. Files scattered and papers flew into the air. The jug of water and glasses smashed on the floor. Johnson gasped, terrified. Santiago screamed, jumped to her feet.

Fuller grabbed Johnson around his chubby neck, lifted him to his feet and smashed him against the wall—pinning him with one arm. Johnson choked for air and wrapped both of his hands around Fuller’s wrist in failed defense.

“Take a seat, Doctor.” Fuller indicated to the frightened Santiago with the nod of his head. “It’s my turn to do the psych evaluation and the pain tolerance—oh, and the fear evaluation!”

Santiago reluctantly sat back down, trembling. Johnson still gasped for air, face beetroot red. Fuller tore Johnson’s keys from his belt and tested the door was locked. He slid Johnson’s chair over and positioned it against the door, barricading it, maintaining his death grip on Johnson’s neck. He knew the barricaded door probably wouldn’t last long, once security found out, but long enough to get answers. He dragged Johnson across the room and slammed him into the chair he had been strapped to.

“Where did this parasite come from?” Fuller stood over Johnson, still gripping his throat.

Johnson gave a quick glance to Santiago. Mascara-colored tears streaked her face. She didn’t speak. Her lips quivered. Fuller grabbed Johnson’s pen and held it at his throat. “Someone better start talking!”

“We created it,” Santiago said nervously.

“Stupid girl!” interrupted Johnson. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Fuller stabbed the pen through Johnson’s upper ear. Johnson screamed and clutched his bloody ear and the impaled blue pen. Santiago screamed and turned away. She couldn’t watch.

She took a deep breath and stared at the floor. She had to get control of the situation.

“Michael, the parasite is trying to control you,” she said softly, turning to look Fuller in the eyes. “Your mind has shut down to a primitive state... one of survival...”

“How did I get it?”

“We don’t know.”

“Why did you whack jobs create it? What’s its purpose?”

Santiago looked over at Johnson. He shook his head “no” the best he could, still cradling his pen-speared ear. Fuller slapped his blood-filled ear. The pen twisted. Johnson wailed.

“Our aim was to create a new breed of parasite. A mutated
Toxoplasma gondii
,” Santiago continued.

“I don’t understand.”

Santiago looked at the floor. She didn’t want to say any more. Fuller ripped the pen from Johnson’s ear—he screamed. Fuller pressed the pointed tip hard against his round cheek. Johnson gripped both of Fuller’s wrists. It was pointless, but an automatic defense to protect himself. The pressure of the pen verged on puncturing the skin. Blue-purple blood under the skin formed around the tip.

Johnson tried to speak. The choke restricted him. Fuller eased up to allow him to talk. “She doesn’t know any more. She has told you all she knows.”

Fuller released his grip around Johnson’s neck. He moved the pen to just under Johnson’s eye. The pen imprint remained on his chubby cheek.

“I’m only gonna say this only once. Someone better give me a damn answer.”

Johnson gripped the chair and grimaced. He anticipated the pain. He broke into a sweat and shook from the wound he had already received. He started to cry.

“We don’t know anything!” Johnson whimpered.

Fuller gripped his throat again, ready to puncture his eye. The pen tip almost touching the pupil. Santiago stared at the floor, shaking. “It has military applications.”

“STOP! Jennifer, think about what you’re saying. This is classified information!” Johnson blurted.

“You’re the closest specimen… example... of what we want to achieve: superior strength, pain tolerance, and in control. Well, most of the time.” Santiago looked back up at Fuller. “And you were an accident.”

“What does that have to do with the parasite?”

“Jennifer, they’ll kill you,” Johnson warned. “You know that.”

Fuller squeezed tighter to shut Johnson up. His head flopped forward. Unconscious. Fuller held him upright in the chair, stopping him from crashing to the floor.