Dr. Bendari went quiet.
Last night, Gavin had dropped me off and I’d showered, dressed in a tank and boxer shorts and fallen into bed. The men weren’t seeing anything they shouldn’t, but I was still embarrassed. “What’s going on?” I repeated. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”
Mr. Ankh popped his jaw. “There’s something you need to see.”
I severed the connection with Dr. Bendari and stood. I was led down the hall, down the stairs, down another flight of stairs and into the basement. The air grew cooler and danker with every step, and I felt a layer of ice glaze my skin—one that matched the layer growing inside me. At the end of a hallway, we paused at the only door. It was closed and locked. Mr. Ankh pressed his hand against a new ID box, and a bright yellow light flashed.
The hinges on the door loosened, the entrance opening under its own steam.
We swept inside the laboratory. The floors were concrete, with drains in several locations. There were multiple curtained stalls, each containing a gurney with wrist and ankle straps.
I gulped.
Mr. Holland motioned to a chair in front of a TV screen.
Shaking, I sat. “I’ve already seen the news.”
“That has nothing to do with this moment. Now, I’m going to check your vitals.” As he poked and prodded, he asked me one question. Only one. “Are you working for Anima?”
“No! Of course not.” I had to tell him the truth, didn’t I? Another to-do list: Talk. Admit everything. Pray for the best.
So, I did it. I poured out every Z.A. detail I’d been hoarding.
When I finished, Mr. Ankh shook his head. “Impossible. You’re still human.”
“For now.”
He stared at me a long while, silent. Then he grimaced and pressed a button on a remote. Bright green colored the entire TV screen and—the forest! I saw the forest.
“This was taped through a night-vision lens,” he said. “I have more cameras out there than any of you realized. I don’t always check them, but the gash in Cole’s cheek was strange, something I’d never seen before. When I asked him about it, he refused to answer.”
I watched as a red line dove at another red line, knocking it to the ground. The two stayed in that position for several minutes, as though...talking. Cole and I, I realized.
“We’re spirits. How did the camera pick us up?” I asked, dazed.
“Special camera. Special equipment.”
“Did you happen to see the guy I was following?”
“Yes. But like you, he’s just a line.”
On the screen, Cole sat up. We talked some more. Stood. Walked around. A brighter red consumed my hands and I struck him. He fell. Stood again. We faced off. I came at him. He dodged.
Brighter pricks of red appeared at the tree line. The zombies?
A line—me—crashed into the ground.
That was when I’d fallen and blacked out. When Z.A. had taken over.
I watched myself stand and angle toward Cole. Oh, no. Please, no. I walked toward him. He ignored me and ran to the zombies, attacking with a vengeance. I followed him. Rather than helping him, I struck him from behind.
I clutched my stomach, feeling as if I’d swallowed shards of glass. The zombies converged on him, yet still he managed to fight them off, working his way to his feet. I came at him again, obviously intending to hurt him, but he sidestepped me, putting his body between me and the zombies. He could have punched me, knocked me out, or even thrown me to the wolves. I’d left myself wide-open. Instead, he returned his focus to the zombies.
In that moment, I truly hated myself. How could I have attacked Cole in such a way? At such a critical time?
The zombies encircled him, reached for him. I grabbed two of the creatures by the arm, ripping them away from him, my target, and tossing them into the trees.