any attention to what they were doing. The picture on the screen slowly rolled to the left or right, up and down, back and forth. The slack-jawed faces of the zombies—men and women of all sizes and colors—filled the hangar-like room, at least a dozen of them, each just as fascinating to Jack as the other.
“This is making me nauseous. You need to fire that camera-man,” Don said, taking another slurp of coffee.
“It’s not a camera-man; it’s a zombie,” Jack said with a smile.
“What? Are you telling me the WHS is spending money to create zombie paparazzi?”
Jack bursted out laughing.
“No, no, Uncle Don. The zombie isn’t holding the camera. The zombie is the camera. What you are looking at is the view through the eyes of a zombie.”
All Jack heard was his uncle’s coffee cup clattering on the pavement.
Chapter 11
Location Unknown
H e was okay, just humiliated, but it was worth it just to see another human being in the room with him again. Nate felt no shame as he sat in a wheel chair, naked, while Rose wiped him down and helped him change his clothes. His hard gaze remained fixed on Walker, who was leaning back in a corner with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Aren’t there any rules against that?” he said, nodding at Walker.
“Against what?” Walker replied.
Rose rolled her eyes as she stuffed his dirty clothes into a plastic bag and slung them in the corner.
“Smoking, Dickhead.”
Walker sucked on his cigarette and laughed as he flicked is ashes in the floor.
Rose said, “Walker, quit that. You know I have to clean that up.”
“Ah, I’m sorry Rose, I forgot,” he said, rubbing the ashes into the tiled floor with his booted toe.
“I’d hate to see where you live,” she said as she helped Nate back into his bed.
His stomach gave a loud growl.
“Oh, I’ll be right back with your Milk and Honey,” Rose said, pinching his cheek.
Nate sat in the bed and continued his glare into the mirrored eyes of the man in black. He hated the man. One of the most vivid memories he had was of the man taking out a shotgun and blowing away his fiancé Jeanine’s face. Instinctively, his hand went to his chest.
“Feeling sentimental, are we?” Walker said, dangling from his hand the necklace that Jeanine had given Nate.
“Hey!”
Walker flung the necklace, hitting him square in the face. The gold metal was warm as he inspected it. It was his, the tiny figurine of Jesus on the cross with every detail in place that he remembered. He let out a relived sigh as he began to realize that he was alive, and everything around him was not some distorted dream. “I suppose I have you to thank for this,” he said quietly.
“I suppose so,” Walker said as he walked over and sat in the wheel chair.
“Not you, Douche Bag—Jesus!”
“Oh …” Walker said as he began rolling back and forth in the wheel chair. “My uncle used to ride one of these. Pretty cool.”
Nate put the cross back around his neck and shook his head. Psychotic idiot!
Rose made her way back into the room, sat along the edge of the bed, and handed Nate the warm cup of milk. It was the same one he remembered from earlier, marked in blue and gold lettering, with a small chip along the rim.
“When did you take this?”
“I didn’t,” Rose said, “he did.”
A memory bulb popped inside Nate’s mind as the image of Walker spitting in his favorite coffee cup came to life. He remembered now, like it was just seconds ago. He’d been drugged, paralyzed as a pair of strong hangs held him up like a doll. Walker sat before him, calling him names, mocking him and spitting tobacco juice in his mug. He drew his mug-filled hand back.
“Stop it, Nate; you don’t want to do that,” Rose warned.
“He’s a murderer, Rose! He’s a bastard murdering creep!”
Tears were rolling from his eyes and soaking into the wiry hairs of his beard. His arm was quaking, and the liquid began to spill onto the sheets. Rose
“This is making me nauseous. You need to fire that camera-man,” Don said, taking another slurp of coffee.
“It’s not a camera-man; it’s a zombie,” Jack said with a smile.
“What? Are you telling me the WHS is spending money to create zombie paparazzi?”
Jack bursted out laughing.
“No, no, Uncle Don. The zombie isn’t holding the camera. The zombie is the camera. What you are looking at is the view through the eyes of a zombie.”
All Jack heard was his uncle’s coffee cup clattering on the pavement.
Chapter 11
Location Unknown
H e was okay, just humiliated, but it was worth it just to see another human being in the room with him again. Nate felt no shame as he sat in a wheel chair, naked, while Rose wiped him down and helped him change his clothes. His hard gaze remained fixed on Walker, who was leaning back in a corner with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Aren’t there any rules against that?” he said, nodding at Walker.
“Against what?” Walker replied.
Rose rolled her eyes as she stuffed his dirty clothes into a plastic bag and slung them in the corner.
“Smoking, Dickhead.”
Walker sucked on his cigarette and laughed as he flicked is ashes in the floor.
Rose said, “Walker, quit that. You know I have to clean that up.”
“Ah, I’m sorry Rose, I forgot,” he said, rubbing the ashes into the tiled floor with his booted toe.
“I’d hate to see where you live,” she said as she helped Nate back into his bed.
His stomach gave a loud growl.
“Oh, I’ll be right back with your Milk and Honey,” Rose said, pinching his cheek.
Nate sat in the bed and continued his glare into the mirrored eyes of the man in black. He hated the man. One of the most vivid memories he had was of the man taking out a shotgun and blowing away his fiancé Jeanine’s face. Instinctively, his hand went to his chest.
“Feeling sentimental, are we?” Walker said, dangling from his hand the necklace that Jeanine had given Nate.
“Hey!”
Walker flung the necklace, hitting him square in the face. The gold metal was warm as he inspected it. It was his, the tiny figurine of Jesus on the cross with every detail in place that he remembered. He let out a relived sigh as he began to realize that he was alive, and everything around him was not some distorted dream. “I suppose I have you to thank for this,” he said quietly.
“I suppose so,” Walker said as he walked over and sat in the wheel chair.
“Not you, Douche Bag—Jesus!”
“Oh …” Walker said as he began rolling back and forth in the wheel chair. “My uncle used to ride one of these. Pretty cool.”
Nate put the cross back around his neck and shook his head. Psychotic idiot!
Rose made her way back into the room, sat along the edge of the bed, and handed Nate the warm cup of milk. It was the same one he remembered from earlier, marked in blue and gold lettering, with a small chip along the rim.
“When did you take this?”
“I didn’t,” Rose said, “he did.”
A memory bulb popped inside Nate’s mind as the image of Walker spitting in his favorite coffee cup came to life. He remembered now, like it was just seconds ago. He’d been drugged, paralyzed as a pair of strong hangs held him up like a doll. Walker sat before him, calling him names, mocking him and spitting tobacco juice in his mug. He drew his mug-filled hand back.
“Stop it, Nate; you don’t want to do that,” Rose warned.
“He’s a murderer, Rose! He’s a bastard murdering creep!”
Tears were rolling from his eyes and soaking into the wiry hairs of his beard. His arm was quaking, and the liquid began to spill onto the sheets. Rose
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