Monica

Placing her hands inside her lab coat pockets, Monica sighed as Jeannie ran into the bathroom. She'd wanted to avoid mentioning Eric if she could, at least until Jeannie came to terms with everything else. The fact that she remembered him was both promising and heartbreaking.

The soldier, Daniel, frowned as he moved toward the door separating him and Jeannie. He knocked once before softly calling through the barrier, "Echo? Will you please open the door? I don't want you to go through this by yourself. Let me help."

His dedication was endearing, and Monica, a complete stranger, could see how much he cared.

When the door didn't open, Daniel raked his fingers through his hair and paced. He trailed a path back and forth several times before turning on Monica with a look of exasperation. "Did you really need to share that with her? What does that information accomplish?"

Monica stared at her black shoes, unable to meet his harsh glare. "She deserves the truth," she whispered. "Even if she's not ready for it, I can't lie to her. She needs this if she wants to move on."

He sighed, dipping his head as he leaned against the wall. "I know," he whispered, "but I just want to help her. She's been through so much, and I'm worried I'm not reaching her."

It was heartwrenching to see him, a man who clearly cared for Jeannie, act so utterly defeated.

She approached him and tested her hand on his arm, offering him a smile as he met her eyes. "The Jeannie I know is still in there -- my best friend. She will need time, but she also needs you. She can't do this alone. With your help though, just by being with her -- supporting her, she will get through this."

"But she's not that person anymore," he countered. "She's afraid and confused while Benson drains her like a leech."

"I won't let him hurt her," Monica promised, her voice filled with conviction.

"You don't know Benson the way I do. He doesn't care who he hurts. Echo is nothing more than a means to the end, and he has too much power for anyone to stand in his way. Your friend wanted to expose him, and where is he now? Benson can make people disappear."

Her chest constricted. Getting rid of Jayson was exactly what Benson had done, but why? There wasn't any solid evidence yet of unethical behavior. He was a creep, that much was certain, and he'd threatened Monica, but she couldn't prove he'd been harassing her. Not only that, but her records with her ugly past were on file for everyone on the council to see, and she doubted they'd believe her for allegations of misconduct.

With watery eyes and a tight throat, she sniffled. "You're right, but I'm not giving up. My boyfriend didn't have the patience to keep his opinions to himself, and Benson didn't need him. He needs me for a cure."

"And how comfortable do you feel around him?" he challenged, folding his arms across his chest and arching a knowing brow.

Monica's hands clenched at her sides, and she quickly stuffed them inside her coat pockets. She was about to respond with an angry retort when her fist bumped into a plastic canister, rattling with bouncing pills.

"Shit, I forgot," she grumbled, pulling the container from her jacket. Holding it out to Daniel, she said, "I meant to give these to Jeannie. They're iron supplements she needs to take with meals."

"You didn't answer my question," he stated with narrowed eyes as he took the bottle.

"And I'm not going to," she snapped.

"And that right there shows how afraid you are," he responded with a sigh. "Be careful around him. Just because you aren't expendable doesn't mean he won't try something else. And don't trust anyone. Something is going on, but I don't have the proper clearance to snoop and find out how deep this goes ."

No, but she might. And if not her, then Taylor. Even without rank, he could hack anything. People also tended to underestimate him, and no one would suspect him of undermining the system when he was so emotional.

"I'll think of something," she said in a noncommittal tone.

Daniel scoffed and rolled his eyes, but said nothing as Monica glanced at the sealed bathroom. "Take care of her?"

"No one else will," he mumbled, but his eyes softened as he turned his direction to where Jeannie had hidden herself. Monica had no doubt he'd keep her safe.

Without another word, Monica left the room. She didn't return to the lab; instead, she made her way to the stairs, and then the infirmary on the next floor.

For a bunker, this place was huge. She understood the need to be self-sustaining, but this was too well planned out with too many resources. The lab equipment was state of the art, and she wondered what went on here before the outbreak. She doubted it simply sat here, understaffed and waiting to be used.

When Monica reached the medical wing, she stopped short as Dr Amari walked in her direction, eyes focused on the tablet in his hand.

Tilting her head, she studied him. He seemed young for a doctor, but looks could be deceiving. Stubble covered whatever his trimmed beard didn't, and his dark eyes squinted as he bit his tongue between his lips and scratched his temple.

He didn't seem malevolent. If anything, he had an aura of a man who enjoyed knowledge over people, but he didn't raise the hackles on her arms the way Benson did.

She took a deep breath as she decided to approach him. As she came within six feet, he looked up with a slight smile and shining eyes. "Doctor Wainright, right?"

Monica nodded. "Yes."

Tucking his tablet under his arm and giving her his full attention, he asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Taylor Whittaker. Can you tell me where he is please?"

Amari's smile dissolved into a scowl. Monica had to bite back a giggle at how quickly his countenance changed upon hearing Taylor's name, and she was dying to know what her friend had done to piss him off.

He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway behind him. "He's all the way down the hall in a private room," he said in a flat tone. "Knock on the door, and his father will let you in."

Well then. That was easier than expected. Lowering her gaze to the floor, she whispered, "Thank you."

As she moved to walk past him, Doctor Amari cleared his throat, making Monica pause and meet his eyes. "Is he always such a prick?"

She swallowed, fighting to keep a straight face. Taylor, a prick? In the most diplomatic tone she could manage, she replied, "I wouldn't call him that. He doesn't have much of a filter though."

"You would think a fractured jaw would stop him from hurling insults," Amari huffed. "That kid has no manners."

Kid? Taylor was probably older than Amari. Beard or not, the doctor looked more like a student than a professional. He definitely didn't appear old enough to legally rent a car.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug. "Taylor has been under a lot of stress like everyone else. Not everyone can return to business as usual after fighting off zombies in the real world."

Amari sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Even so, it is difficult to help a man who acts like a spoiled child."

Monica decided not to answer. These people would never understand. They lived in a comfortable bubble -- a controlled environment where the outside world couldn't touch them. Amari had no right to judge Taylor.

As she turned toward the hallway, Amari spoke, as if to stop her. "Doctor Wainwright, I did not mean to upset you. I am only stating that while we try to help, he is indignant and rude."

Spinning around, she glared as she placed her hands on her hips and snapped, "Well suck it up. I've spent years dealing with crappy people. If I got upset over every disparaging and dehumanizing comment, I'd go crazy. Oh, and I had to compete and face disappointment in a man's world with no room for women. But guess what? That's life. We deal with it and move on."

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth again, but Monica ignored him and continued on her way. She didn't care for anyone's sanctimonious crap, especially since no one actually seemed to care about anyone else's well-being here. If they did, Jayson would have received help in coming off his meds, and he wouldn't have been exiled outside the gates. Jeannie wouldn't have been so callously experimented on. Monica wouldn't feel the need to look over her shoulder to make sure Benson didn't corner her.

When she reached the last door at the end of the corridor, she knocked. After a moment, it opened, revealing John on the other side. His dark hair stuck out at odd angles as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his eyes drooped, signaling the need to sleep. His normally crisp suit was rumpled with his white shirt undone at the top.

When his gaze settled on Monica, he smiled and stepped back, motioning for her to come inside. "Doctor Wainwright. It's good to see you."

She inclined her head and moved across the threshold. Manners dictated some sort of acknowledgment, and he was friendly enough, but this was the man who'd hurt her best friend by throwing him out when Taylor needed his father's support. Being polite in return would seem like a betrayal.

The lights had been dimmed, and in the back of the large sterile room was a bed where Taylor slept. Wires and tubes attached to his hand where they snaked into monitors and an IV bag. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, and his eyes occasionally fluttered as he winced.

Without looking at John, Monica approached Taylor and sat on the edge of the bed. His beard had come in now, adding five years to his normally youthful appearance. A large purple bruise covered the left side of his jaw, swollen to the size of a tomato.

She buried her anger at Jayson's stupidity. She cared about him, had spent an entire night crying over her guilt at not going with him, but this violence was uncalled for. The least he could have done was walk away or hear Taylor's side.

After taking a calming breath, she slipped her hand into Taylor's. His eyes drifted open, unfocused as he blinked and slowly turned his head in her direction. When recognition flickered behind his cerulean irises, he grinned. Unfortunately, with only one side up while the other puffy side drooped, he resembled a pissed off boxer after a lost fight.

"Mon-ka."

She kissed his forehead and squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered.

"That's such a relative term," he slurred. "I'm ready for more good drugs."

She giggled, running her hand through his thick, lengthy hair. A month ago, he wouldn't have been caught dead looking like this. Now, he took on the appearance of a true rugged zombie warrior. And if she was being honest, it worked for him. She could imagine him as a little badass if he only had the confidence to embody it.

"I'm sure one of the doctors can help with that. Try to rest for now."

Taylor's gaze traveled behind her, and she turned to where John stood, rubbing his arm and watching them with a hopeful expression. "Hi, son."

"You're still here?" Taylor asked in a flat tone.

His father sighed and dropped his hands by his side. "Can't you see I'm trying to help? All I want is for you to be happy and safe. I can't take back the past."

Taylor scoffed. "Happy, sure. You wanted me to be happy when you threw me out. You wanted me to be happy when you exiled Jayson. You have no problem isolating me and controlling every aspect of my life. You don't care about my feelings."

"Taylor, can we not have this discussion here?"

"Why not? I have nothing to say that I haven't already. You're an asshole, and I wish you'd left me in Phoenix."

His eyes radiated so much hate as he glared at his father. Monica's Taylor didn't have a begrudging bone in his body, but he was right. All anyone here had done was hurt him.

Squeezing his hand, she murmured, "I'm glad you're here with us. Jeannie needs our help, now, more than ever."

His mouth parted and his eyes widened as his breath hitched. "She's alive?" Turning his glare back to his father, the right side of his lip curled into a snarl. "You lied. You told me she was dead."

Monica closed her eyes. Perhaps this wasn't the best time or place to bring it up, but he needed to know why Jayson lashed out, to know no one, including the great John Whittaker, could be trusted. The only people they had to rely on were each other. And together, they would find a way back to Jayson. "She's here, and she's immune to the virus, Taylor. That's what matters right now."

A tear slipped from the corner of Taylor's eye, but he kept his wrath directed at his father. "You knew. Jayson thought I did too. That's why he attacked me. That's why you guys got rid of him."

"It's not like that," John began, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "When you came in, you were barely bloody alive. I didn't want to add to your stress and give you false hope when no one else has overcome the virus."

Monica rolled her eyes. What a weak man. She didn't doubt his love for Taylor, but John had no sense of morals if he could take the easy way out. She wanted to yell and call him out for all the things he contributed to, but kept her angry retorts in her head where they belonged.

Jayson would still be here if he'd had more control over his emotions. These people didn't need to make him suffer. They didn't need to drain Jeannie for the sake of science.

"You're so full of shit," Taylor snapped. "You didn't expect Jeannie to survive, so you lied because it was easy. If you cared about Mom at all, you would have done the right thing and killed her instead of keeping her strapped to a table. You're a monster, and I'm ashamed to be related to you and share a name."

Yikes.

Also, Taylor's mother was in a lab here? Why wasn't that in the medical database? And when did she catch the virus? How did Taylor find out? What the bloody fuck was going on here?

"That's enough," John commanded. "I did what I could to protect you and your mother. If we can find a cure, she still has a chance."

Monica sighed and brought her gaze to John. "Mr Whittaker, even if I find something to counteract and fight the virus, I can't reverse necrosis. Some of the zombies in containment have already died from flesh rot and malnutrition."

To be honest, she was surprised several of them lasted for so long. She'd been studying the files, and though Allison wasn't listed, she had seen the patient zero files, along with several other records. The virus was vicious, and in the end, lethal to everyone, including those infected. They weren't undead, and they were just as susceptible to death as those who weren't exposed to the disease.

John's eyes watered as he visibly swallowed. Then, he rasped, "You need to leave."

Shit. If this man had a weakness, it was Allison. Without saying anything else, he'd confirmed her theory about the necrosis.

Giving Taylor's hand a final squeeze, she rose to her feet. "Try to rest. Everything will work out."

He nodded, though there was no conviction behind his movement. His eyes were broken and defeated, and it hurt Monica to see him like this.

"I love you," she whispered. "No matter what happens, you're my best friend."

"Love you too," he mumbled.

As she left the room, she prayed Taylor would remember that when he learned she'd chosen not to go with Jayson.

She would tell him the truth soon, once John wasn't hovering. For now though, she needed to get to her lab and uncover everything she could about Allison Hancock Whittaker.