Page 85

“Good, good. Page Doctor. Willis, tell him we’re ready for subject X.” Mom says, not bothering to look away from Reed. I don’t like the way she’s looking at him. I’m helpless.

Reed lies strapped to the table, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His eyes flutter open weakly, pupils sluggish.

“145 over 90, heartbeat rising,” the nurse calls out. Mom lifts her head, scanning over the monitors before the main door hisses open. I watch in horror as a doctor in a lab coat enters, along with a guard, gripping a leash hanging onto a zombie. The thing stumbles forward; its rotting flesh hanging from its decaying body.

“Oh fuck,” Mallory mutters behind me.

Mom peers over Reed, reaching across and unlatching the restraints. She backs up, eyeing the other doctor. A rattling groan escapes from the zombie's lips, hunger gleaming in its eyes.

“Patient X shows signs of fatigue, increased heartbeat.” Mom announces, letting the other doctor make notes.

Reed’s eyes flicker all around the room, unable to stay focused on anything clearly. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he shifts forward, planting his feet on the ground.

“What are they doing?” Mallory whispers. I want to tell her to shut up, but my mouth doesn’t move.I don’t move.

“Release him,” Mom orders the guard.

I watch in terror as the zombie moves towards Reed at a horrifying speed. Its decaying finger makes grabs towards him. Reed holds his hands out, trying to keep the zombies snapping teeth away from him. The sound of his heart monitor starts beeping, showing an increase.

The zombie jerks and snarls, trying to take a bite out of Reed.

I can’t stand here any longer, watching Reed try to fight off that thing, especially in his weakened state.

Pushing off the glass, I trip backwards, barely catching myself.

“I—he needs to be saved,” I mumble.

“We will, but we need to wait for Maverick. We have to wait for him, Noah.” Mallory's words make sense. And while I had planned to get us inside, I didn’t have one as far as getting out of here. I doubt my parents are going to let me just walk out of here with him?—

I hear Reed crying out in pain. Snapping my head towards the glass, the zombie claws at Reed, who is lying on the ground. I’m out of the door before I can think clearly. Mallory yells at me to stop moving, but I don’t. Racing down the steps, I slide into the wall panel. My fingers shake as I type the code in, the door hissing open.

“Who are—” The nurse curses as I race inside. Grabbing the metal chair from the corner, I hurriedly moved towards the zombie and raised it. Slamming the chair down, the zombie growls, but his attempts at grabbing Reed are stalled.

Rushing to his side, my knees nearly buckle at the sight of him. His eyes squeeze shut, pain lacing through his face.

“Reed,” I mumble. “What did they do to you?”

“Noah,” I hear my mother’s voice. Peering over, the guard has the zombie chained up to the leash again, holding him steady. Mom huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing? You’ve been told before about coming into my work.”

“What areyoudoing? What is this?” My voice shakes. I wave a hand at the zombie, clearly not understanding what she would be doing with a dead guy.

“I don’t have time for your childish problems, Noah. Get your hands off Patient X.”

“P–Patient X? If he’s a patient, he shouldn’t be trying to f—fight off this zombie! He–he has a name, mother.”

Mom rolls her eyes, but nonetheless she remains calm, untouched by the words coming out of my mouth.

“Enough of this.”

“He’s not some experiment for you!” I scream, holding his arms in my hand.

A flicker of irritation tightens around her mouth, the slight twitch of her fingers even as she crosses her arms.

“Do I need to call your father?” She threatens. Of course she won’t acknowledge me; she’s going to dismiss everything I’m saying. I’m nothing but a buzzing insect to her.

Mallory comes rushing in, breathing heavily as her eyes land on me. I peer down at Reed, his blinks sluggish, his breathing shallow. The beeping echoes around the room, wires still taped to his temple and chest. My breathing is still uneven, my hands shaking from the chaos against his.

It’s then that I catch it. The jagged, raised white scar on his bicep—a bite mark. Something in my stomach drops, the world around me seeming a blur. Sounds fade into a distant hum as I stare at it. It’s clear as day what it is, but my mind struggles to catch up. It’s not a new bite mark—it’s old and scarred.