He dimmed the light before exiting with me into the warmer hallway. “Fortunately I’ve made some breakthroughs with respect to conducting research on non-zombie test subjects. Which is important since it doesn’t risk crippling or disrupting the parasite in a true zombie.”
“That’s what happened to Philip!” I said, smugly pleased that I’d guessed correctly back when Charish messed him up. I even told Philip so at the time, but he was too busy trying to kill me to listen.
Dr. Nikas nodded. “Experimental food combined with parasite stimulants. A very ugly cocktail for a zombie. Long-term effects on the parasite.”
“What does that mean for the two he made?” I asked. “Tim Bell and Roland. I, uh, ran into them at the Gourmet Gala.” I made a sour face as I remembered that fun encounter. “Bell was screwed up and confused,” I continued. “At one point he grabbed cake instead of brains, and then it got ugly.”
“I don’t know, Angel,” he said, looking sincerely troubled. “I’ve never seen a case like it, and I don’t have much to go on other than Brian’s report of the incident. Bizarre, erratic behavior. I would need to run tests on them.”
I bit my lower lip as I thought. “You know, I had to maul the hell out of Philip to turn him,” I said, remembering how horribly natural it had felt. “The whole thing took a while—maybe fifteen minutes at least, and Marcus told me that’s the way it is supposed to be.” Dr. Nikas gave a nod of agreement, and I went on. “But Philip turned those two in a couple of minutes with one or two deep bites. Did it have something to do with the parasite stimulant Charish gave him along with the fake brains?”
Dr. Nikas smiled. “Exactly what I concluded based on what I knew. I am quite certain their parasite is crippled.” Then he exhaled, smile fading. “Impulsive creation of zombies, especially damaged ones, is not good for our kind. Very risky on many levels. Those two are poster children for why I don’t test alternative brains on true zombies.”
That reminded me of Dr. Nikas’s earlier comment about breakthroughs using non-zombie test subjects. “Wait. You have regular humans eat fake brains?” I made an eeeeew face.
“Oh, heavens no,” he said, and made just as much of an eeeeew face. “At least I would never do that. There is a way to cause a regular human to adopt various aspects of the zombie biochemistry, mimicking zombie traits for short periods without actual introduction of the parasite. Quite fascinating really. I have a small number of volunteers from our people with whom I work. Some employees, some family members of zombies.”
“That’s pretty damn nice of them to volunteer for a study that won’t directly benefit them,” I said.
“It is,” he agreed. “But they all truly believe it’s for everyone’s benefit to find an acceptable alternate for brains.”
Made sense. I could totally see myself volunteering if it was my dad who was the zombie.
“However,” he added, “it’s important that they be monitored closely, since it can be dangerous to mimic the parasite activity for too long. It limits our work somewhat, but I would have it no other way.”
Yep, I definitely liked Dr. Nikas.
We re-entered the main lab area, and I continued to shamelessly gawk at everything. Maybe after I got my GED I could start taking some college classes in biology or something like that? I mean, why the hell not? I needed to start looking beyond the next decade or so.
“Pietro told me you were tranquilized last night, but that it was different from your previous experience of being tranqed,” Dr. Nikas said. He peered at me with naked curiosity. “Would you mind sharing your experience?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” I said, then proceeded to tell him everything, including how I’d gone completely unconscious, the brains tasting awful for a while, and the injuries not healing at first.
As I spoke, Dr. Nikas’s eyes took on a faraway look as if he either wasn’t paying attention or was deeply processing what I’d told him. I was fairly sure it was the latter, and I remained quiet after I finished.
After a moment, his gaze came back to me. “This is new. It seems as though Saberton has found a way to efficiently tranquilize the parasite without damaging it, hence the lack of healing even with brains available, and the temporary revulsion to brains.”
“That’s bad, huh?” I put the pieces together. “Bad mainly because you can’t do it too, and also probably because you don’t have an antidote since it’s new.”
He gave me a sharp look, and I had the feeling he liked that I’d put it together. “Yes. Exactly. The ability to tranquilize the parasite could be extremely useful in research or even ongoing zombie care,” he said, expression going grim. “And if Saberton or others have this tranq, and we don’t have an antidote, well, it’s extremely dangerous.”
I pursed my lips. “Would it really help you to have some of my blood?”
Surprised relief shone in his eyes, and he gave me a simple grave nod. “Yes, it would. At the minimum, we are currently at a disadvantage because they have samples of your blood and I don’t—and I don’t know why they wanted your blood, which puts us at even more of a disadvantage.” He exhaled. “Plus, if there is even a trace of the tranq remaining, it could be invaluable.”
“All right then,” I said. “I’ll give you some. Because I really don’t want those fuckers to have any advantage.”
“Angel, I know you don’t know me,” Dr. Nikas said, face and voice serious, “but I give you my word that I won’t use your blood against you in any way.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
“Thank you for offering it.” He smiled, then looked up as Brian came in.
“Angel, come with me,” Brian said, expression locked in fully-professional, with an added hint of grim.
“Okay, sure thing,” I replied. The grimness bothered me, and I had a feeling it didn’t mean good things for Heather. I returned my attention to Dr. Nikas, even as Brian pivoted and headed back down the hallway. “Thanks for showing me around,” I said. “This has been really neat.”
“It was my pleasure, Angel,” he replied. “I’ll have one of my techs take your blood before you leave.”
With a last quick nod, I turned and hurried after Brian.
I caught up with him easily, then followed him into an area that was obviously set up for medical purposes. A crash cart sat against the wall in the corridor, and a glass-doored cabinet containing drugs and various supplies stood beside a long, built-in desk. A pale, thin man with dark hair and wearing faded blue scrubs, sat at a computer workstation making notes from a series of graphs on the screen. An intricate origami dragon perched atop the monitor.
The man lifted his head as we approached. I watched as Brian met his startlingly expressive hazel eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before continuing on. A muscle in the other man’s jaw leaped, and his lips pressed together before he returned his attention to the computer, typing with greater than necessary force.
“Brian? That guy didn’t look very happy,” I said as soon as we were further down the hall. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever seen Jacques look happy, but he has reason today.” He opened a door, stepped into a small wood-paneled office, and gestured me in. A compact computer sat on a side countertop with a chair tucked under it. A second chair at the end of the counter gave me the impression that this was a consultation room of some sort. I entered, and he closed the door behind me, still maintaining the stoic and professional air, though I thought I noted a few more cracks in the surface.
Then I saw the hole in the wall with fresh blood on splinters of wood. My gaze went to Brian’s hands, and I spied flecks of red on his right cuff. No sign of damage to his hand now, but there were two empty brain packets on the desk. Brian didn’t seem at all the type to have wall-punching as part of his normal response to dealing with captives. This situation with Heather really seemed to be messing with him.
“I guess it’s not looking so good for her,” I said.
Leaning back against the desk, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “She’s lying. What info she’s given us checks out, but she’s sticking to the story that she’s just a photographer with the Saberton PR department.” Brian’s expression went even more grim, though I hadn’t thought it was possible. “That matches what’s in their official employment records.”
“So what’s the problem?” I tugged a hand through my hair. If it checked out, why was her being Saberton PR a bad thing? “She was sure as hell taking pictures of me.” Then again, for a photographer, she handled herself pretty damn well in the highway fight. “I don’t understand. Who do you think she is?”
Brian exhaled forcefully. “All I know for certain right now is that she’s not just a PR staffer and she’s not coming clean about it.” Frustration colored his voice. “I had a talk with her while you were with Dr. Nikas. Played her a bit and found out she knows a little too much about the late Richard Saber.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You see, he was a recluse in his last decade. However, Heather let slip about an eye patch the man wore after a bout of cancer. That’s something no lower echelon employee would know, and I only know of it because of a single photo one of our operatives managed to get of him.” He flexed his right hand, mouth tightening. “Damn it, Angel, it’s not definitive, but when I put it together with the info she’s dribbled and what I smell from her, it’s pretty damning.”
I could see his point, and my heart sank. “So this whole thing was a ploy to infiltrate Pietro’s operation?”
“That’s what it’s looking like,” he said. “She kept her cool after her comment on Saber, but I smelled the fear on her. She knew she’d screwed up.”
