One of the orderlies tore himself away and ran for the back of the tent. I took his place and threw myself on top of the thrasher to hold him down.
“How did this happen?” I gasped, pushing all my weight down on him. All those push-ups I’d been doing since the brig were finally coming in handy.
“He just lunged at me,” the remaining orderly puffed.
“Want me to stab him?” Alyssa asked.
She didn’t look capable of poking him with the scalpel, much less stabbing him. Fortunately, the second orderly came back before I had to ask her to do anything. He held out a needle. I snatched it, jammed it into the patient’s neck, and pressed down on the injector.
He snapped his head to the side—right into my face.
My vision clouded, then filled with stars. I toppled off him, but my hands caught the side of the cot. I hauled myself back up, and he jerked his head toward me, his jaws snapping.
The orderlies latched onto him again, preventing him from ripping my face off. “How long does that shit take to kick in?” one of them puffed.
“A few more seconds…” I stuck two fingers out against his carotid artery, searching for the elevated heartbeat he surely possessed.
Nope.
Nada.
Oh, fuck.
I jabbed my fingers against another spot on his neck, hoping I’d just grossly misjudged the artery’s location. His head snapped from side to side, and his mouth dropped open, revealing beautiful white teeth and rapidly graying gums.
Well, there went my morning.
“He’s dead,” I said. “He’s fucking dead.”
“Fucking A!” the second orderly looked up at me, eyes wide. “Do something!”
The dead man slammed his hands down, and then lurched upward.
The second orderly went flying. The first one hung onto him and forced him back down onto the bed, but he was rapidly losing his grip on the flailing right arm.
Alyssa darted in and jabbed the scalpel into the soft flesh of the dead man’s neck. It slipped in easily enough, but whatever strength she’d summoned drained from her immediately afterward.
The blade wobbled, then slipped from her fingers.
The dead guy flailed about with his free left arm, and his fist struck her across the face. She toppled to the ground.
Okay. Now they were hitting people.
“What the fuck?” Lattimore exclaimed. She stopped just short of joining our little wrestling-fest. Renati and a third orderly stood just behind her, evidently drawn by the commotion. “When did he wake up?” Renati demanded. “When did he die?”
“He was alive when I came in,” the third orderly said. “He was fine!”
“Hold him,” I growled, and reached for the scalpel still stuck in his neck.
The dead man curled forward and let out a single, piercing howl.
All sound in the ward came to a screeching halt. My outstretched hand halted where it was.
Even Lattimore seemed transfixed.
Oh, this was bad.
Alyssa tried to pull herself up from the floor.
“Stay down,” I said. “Stay down, Alyssa.”
He shrugged the first orderly off him and leaped to his feet. He straightened, looked back and forth, and howled again.
The dead man weaved back and forth, trying to get his balance. The scalpel glinted brightly in the white flesh of his throat. I could just imagine him breaking free of the Plague Tent and roaming through the city, tearing off bits of people’s faces as he went.
I snaked my hand back out toward the scalpel. If he bit me, he bit me.
My hand closed around it. I started sawing, trying to slice through his neck with the tiny blade.
I don’t know if he felt pain, or if he just grew stronger with each passing moment. I ground my teeth and pushed the tiny blade through muscle and flesh. He thrashed harder. Only one of the orderlies scrambled up onto his back and tried to hold him still.
Wait.
Why the hell was I carving away at his neck? He had a perfectly vulnerable eyeball right in front of me.
I yanked the scalpel out of his throat.
His eyes focused on me. Narrowed.
He saw me. Saw me as a threat, instead of just a snack.
“Fucking stay dead,” I muttered. I jammed the scalpel into his eye and pushed on it, driving it straight through the socket before I could think on it anymore. The recognition went out of him—everything went out of him—and he slumped forward.
I pushed him away.
He fell to the ground.
For the second time in as many days, the Plague Tent was silent. No spontaneous applause broke out. No one said a word.
I swiped at the glop that had landed on my cheek and rubbed it on my shirt.
Alyssa cleared her throat. “Can I get up now?”
I crouched down beside her and helped her up. She sagged, the strength seemingly gone from her limbs.
I helped her back to her cot and checked her pulse. Wildly erratic. Not exactly unexpected, given what we’d just experienced, but threadier and weaker than I wanted.
“Doctor,” I said. “Check her.”
Lattimore appeared at my shoulder. “Get the body out of here,” she said. “When did he turn?”
“I don’t know, I just got here.”
“He was fine an hour ago!” the orderly said.