Monica: Part I

"Everything we are about to reveal is classified," Doctor Benson said, leading Monica through lower levels of the facility. Plexiglass separated the pair from personnel in white labs and face shields. High-tech equipment and technology flickered inside the rooms, and vials with unknown substances sat in tubes and trays.

This was every scientist's dream as well as every horror survivor's nightmare.

Tearing her gaze away from the activity in the labs, she followed Benson, maintaining a distance of at least six feet. "I understand. The CDC would have held me to the same standards."

"And what about your personal experience with zombies? What about your friends? Can you keep this confidential to them, despite what you've witnessed?"

It was a reasonable question. Most people would panic if there was a hint of a threat, no matter how contained it was. Panicked mobs were no better than a pandemic, capable of more damage through emotions or stupidity. No matter what she saw in these labs, Monica knew it was better to maintain her own council.

"I am aware of my boyfriend's tendency to lean towards paranoia," she answered evenly. "You said you need a scientist, and I am willing to help find a cure. Humanity comes first, no matter what my personal feelings are."

Benson paused and fixed her with a piercing gaze and downturned lips. "Confidentiality is crucial, Dr. Wainwright. I need your word not to divulge anything you see."

"I can keep my mouth shut."

"Good."

Leading her to a set of steel metal doors, he swiped a key card in a reader and performed a retinal scan. The door slid open with a loud hiss, leading to a descending hallway.

It was like walking into Hell.

Unlike many of the labs above, every door in this hall was constructed with thick steel, and even then, muffled snarls escaped through the cracks. The LED lights overhead were blinding and painful, and green luminescence where the bottom moulding should have been in clear encasements.

"What is this place?"

Her trembling words betrayed the false confidence she'd projected since her arrival. Like the others, she knew she couldn't trust these people, but she never imagined the conspiracies of a government experiment on this scale to be true. Each feral wail within the locked rooms sent ice through her veins.

What was more chilling was the way Benson touched the small of her back, as if they were intimate and like nothing about these lower decks was wrong.

"This is our testing facility," he said emotionlessly. "Where do you think our samples come from?"

Oh God, this was something straight out a horror movie. "Do you keep...the infected here?"

"The ones we can safely contain."

Her blood ran cold at the words, and breathing became difficult as her throat tightened. Jeannie had been bitten, and every one of them were tested when they entered the facility. Was it possible she'd survived and her death was a cover-up?

Benson caught her as she swayed, helping her lean against the wall when she sank to the floor. There was no trace of surprise when he stared back at her. Instead, he seemed to understand too well what she couldn't admit out loud.

"Is there something you'd like to share, a secret that can help us find a cure?" he suggested.

She shook her head. If she tried to say anything, she'd claw his eyes out. As it was, she couldn't hold back the tears burning her eyes as they dripped down her face.

Kneeling in front of her, he squeezed her shoulder. His smile should have been reassuring just as his touch should have been comforting, but every alarm bell in her mind screamed for her to run. He'd known this entire time.

"You knew Doctor Adams was infected when you entered this facility, didn't you?"

Monica hiccupped, unable to repress her sob any longer. This sick fuck knew the entire time.

"She was my best friend, of course I knew!"

The ache in her chest grew until she thought it would burst. She never should have allowed Jeannie to come, but then she'd have been left behind, either to die or become a Soapie. Neither option had been acceptable, and all Monica ever wanted was to give her a chance to survive.

She'd been so stupid to believe Taylor when he said Jeannie had died from complications. Not that she blamed him, but they'd all been so disoriented from quarantine, they'd have believed anything. It was her fault for not questioning the lies she'd been fed.

"What happened to her?" she finally asked, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. "Why couldn't you tell us the truth?"

When he tucked a lock of loose curls behind her ear, she flinched. She knew that look in his eyes; it was the one every man possessed at one point or another with her. It made her feel dirty and helpless, just like the night she'd been assaulted.

She slapped his hand away and drew her knees into her chest. "Don't. Fucking. Touch me."

He shrugged, resting his arms over his legs as he squatted in place, appearing unfazed by her distress.

"Do remember, this is all confidential information, Doctor. We cannot have the public knowing you so carelessly brought in a threat that could wipe everyone out here. Your compassion and desire to save a life is commendable, but it is also foolish. We couldn't tell you because of people like your boyfriend. He acts too much on instinct and emotion, not taking time to think. Whittaker's boy can't handle the truth. He is unable to reconcile with his father, nor was he able to effectively deal with the knowledge that his mother is Patient Zero. You, on the other hand, have proven to be resilient. We need a doctor capable of finding a cure, and I believe that person is you."

Dizziness overwhelmed her as nausea churned her stomach. This was too much information to process at once. There were too many questions, too many variables, and no one she could turn to for help.

"So...how much does everyone know?" She wanted to ask about Jeannie, how Taylor's mother became patient zero, and dozens of other questions, but the only thought she had was of protecting her friends. The more they knew, the more she feared for their safety.

"Taylor only knows about his mother. You will be provided information on an as-needed basis. However, there will be consequences if you reveal any of this."

"Jayson," she croaked.

"I have no use for a man who doesn't cooperate. Whittaker's boyfriend might prove useful with his skills, but Recklaw has nothing to offer us that I can't find from any other soldier."

A sudden urge to stab him raged through her veins. Of course he'd force her to comply through emotional manipulation. He knew everyone's weakness from their psych evaluations, aware of each button to trigger the desired reaction.

He'd pay for his actions, even if it meant she went down with him.

Clearing her throat, she asked, "What about Jeannie? You still haven't answered my question."

He rose in one fluid motion, and grabbed her beneath her armpit. Once she was on her feet, he signaled for her to follow. "I will take you to her now, but be warned, she is not the person you remember."

"What does that mean?"

"You will see."

As they walked, he produced a tablet from the pocket of his lab coat and held it out to her. Taking it, she tucked it under her arm. "What is this for?"

"Everything you need to know about the virus is encrypted on that device. You are not to share it with anyone, and there is a tracker that will show me exactly where it's been. For now, it will remain locked in an lab I will provide for you, where you will study it.'

'The information contains files on every patient, as well as blood samples from those not infected. Patient Zero and Doctor Adams are at the top of your list. Both of them have unique qualities the others do not have, and therefore, they are our priority test subjects."

He made them sound more like lab rats than humans. And he still hadn't told her if Jeannie had survived.

Oh shit, what if she was walking to her death now? And if not today, then very soon?

She had nowhere to flee and no way to escape if she tried. That knowledge was the only thing compelling her to continue forward, running at times to keep up with psychotic doctor.

Her feet and lungs both throbbed by the time they encountered yet another hallway. This time, people in white coats and personal protective gear bustled through the hallway, zipping from one office to another, looking up long enough to acknowledge Benson or cast Monica a curious gaze. Armed guards in black uniforms and masks stood in front of several doors, resting their fingers less than an inch away from the triggers of their guns.

"Is this security necessary?" she whispered.

"Would you risk infection if someone got out?"

Good point. Dread pooled inside her stomach. "You said Jeannie isn't the same. What happened to her?"

"Oh, she's alive, but she's also capable of killing every person here. The worst part is she doesn't even realize how dangerous she is."

At the farthest end of the hallway, two men stood outside the door instead of one. Benson passed them and unlocked the door, using the same procedures she'd watched him perform at the first entrance, and an alarm buzzed overhead. Paying it no heed, he strode inside and Monica followed.

A thick pane of glass separated them, one Monica suspected was mirrored so she could look through but Jeannie couldn't. Inside, she sat on a small bed, curled into a ball against the wall with one arm wrapped around her legs. She'd lost a tremendous amount of weight until giant features replaced the roundness of her face, and her eyes held no recognition for Monica. Yet the same freckles dusted her nose and pale cheeks, and her honey-gold hair was unmistakable.

Touching the glass, she watched in horror as a second doctor in a hazmat suit entered and roughly took her bruised arm, inserting a giant needle into a catheter, drawing a fuchsia colored substance. It shimmered as if the white film in the Soapies' eyes mixed with regular blood, yet outwardly, Jeannie displayed no signs of carrying the virus.

A burly man in a black uniform matching the guards outside towered over her, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. Unlike the other soldiers, he wore a sidearm and didn't bother with a mask or face shield. His lips were curled over his teeth and his eyes burned with rage at the man taking Jeannie's blood. Everything in his rigid posture screamed his contempt and desire to rip the doctor's throat out.

When the man in the lab coat finished, he left the pair and approached the door beside the window. The soldier immediately sat on the bed to comfort Jeannie as another buzz echoed in the small observing chamber.

Pausing to spare Benson a glance, he brought the vial to a sterile table where a guinea pig shuffled inside a glass enclosure. Holes were drilled into the top for air, but the space was too small for the animal to roam. Adjusting his thick gloves, he attached the vial to another before before lifting the lid and holding down the animal.

As the needle pierced its skin, the guinea pig squealed so loud, Monica had to cover her ears. When the doctor released it and closed the lid with a loud click, the animal spasmed and shrieked with seizures. Urine soaked the floor beneath it as mucus splattered against the wall. Within minutes, it fell limp, twitching until all movement stopped.

Bile surged into the back of her throat. It was like the morning at the pharmacy where everyone fell to the disease, but this was far worse. She didn't recall it being deadly so fast, and she never imagined herself witnessing it used as a biological weapon.

The creature's tail twitched and then its nose sniffed. White film covered its dark eyes as the animal jerked its head left and right, baring sharp teeth over yellow stained foam. Without warning, it lunged against the glass closest to the doctor with a hiss, determined to reach him.

Methodically, the doctor placed the empty vial in a biohazard was waste bag before turning around with a nod to Benson.

"This is Test #84, using the test subject's blood. The result for the virus is positive, taking the guinea pig ninety-seven seconds to succumb."

Behind her, Benson logged the results into a second device he removed from his pocket, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he covered on the screen. Once he was finished, he tapped it, and immediately something whooshed from the direction of the cage.

Like the Soapie in quarantine, flames filled the enclosure, incinerating the screaming animal. Soot and ash blackened the glass walls, and the animal's cries echoed long after the noise and blaze ceased.

Blood rushed through Monica's ears, the scene replayed itself in her head on a loop, and she fell. Something burned inside her throat, choking her as she struggled to breathe and crawl away. The room tilted until it was sideways, and everything blurred. The last thing she remembered was a set of milky white eyes and deafening squeaks.