Zombies slipped poles through the wire grid of the cage and lifted. They carried me sedan-chair style while lab coat zombie tended the electric power cable attached to the cage.
I swayed on the plywood sheet, vacant eyed, defeated and broken. I, Felix Gomez, combat veteran, vampire detective, had turned yellow to save his hide.
All those stories I’ve heard of defiant heroes burned through my memory and singed me. They had stared into oblivion and were given a choice. Treachery or death. They had chosen death.
I had chosen treachery. All the heroics in my life meant nothing.
We entered the porch door. Cowboy zombie stumbled at the threshold and the cage tipped. I fell against the wire grid and, as I cried out, scrambled to center myself on the plywood.
Cowboy zombie leered at me over his shoulder. “Ghaw. Ghaw.”
This part of the house was at one time the living room. Most of the walls had been knocked out. Thick dirty drapes covered the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cables and tubes snaked across the floor and hung from the ceiling like the vines of a grotesque plant growing out of control. The humid air was thick with the odor of benzene and formaldehyde. It looked like the lab in a straight-to-video horror movie-with me as the starring victim.
Shelves stood along two of the adjacent walls. Bubbles pumped through dozens of glass jars and aquariums on the shelves. Human parts floated inside the cloudy solutions. A blood transfusion machine sat on a narrow table. The machine rocked back and forth, pumping blood from a dismembered torso in a tub and into a plastic bag warming in a Crock-Pot.
The zombies took me to the far end of the room next to a heavy wooden door mounted on a steel pipe frame. The door had been fashioned into a table. Lab coat zombie donned a pair of oven mitts and opened the door to my cage. The reanimator snapped his fingers and the zombies upended the cage.
The terror of what was about to happen made me cringe. I fell across the wire grid, the electricity sparking and burning my skin. I dropped to the floor, jerking about in agony.
A sharp pain like I’d been hit with a nail gun ran through my left hand. The pain reverberated inside me and I could do nothing but squirm in helplessness.
Cowboy zombie pulled away from a red jumper cable clamp that he had pinched to the palm of my hand. Lady tall boots zombie plopped a metal cap on my head and buckled a leather chinstrap. A black jumper cable dangled from the cap.
The reanimator gripped the handle of a large electrical knife switch bolted to a workbench. He closed the switch and…
I thought my head exploded. Everything attached to my brain-skull, medulla oblongata, eyeballs-seemed to blast apart. The tornado of pain funneled down my spine, circled my chest, and ran to my left hand. Every nerve ending along that path became a rivet of fire.
The pain receded, like smoke clearing after a bomb blast. The mental noise of anguish rumbled in my brain.
The reanimator came back into focus. He studied me, his hand holding the switch at a half-cocked position.
My kundalini noir flattened, limp as a deflated balloon.
I fought to keep my eyes open. “Who are you?”
His expression slipped into pride. “I am Dr. Leopold Hennison. A medical doctor, not some silly academic with a Ph.D.” He pointed to a certificate on the wall. “And you are?”
“Felix Gomez.”
“Where are you from?”
“Denver.”
“A vampire from Denver? I sent one of my zombies to Denver. Barrett Chambers. Would you know what happened to him?”
“Who?”
Hennison closed the switch again. The lightning bolt blasted through me again-the world went white with pain-and when I came around, I wanted to melt to the floor.
“Barrett was the first zombie I made who could drive. You don’t know how much his loss inconvenienced me,” Hennison said. “Let’s try this again.” He tapped his fingers on the switch. “What happened to Barrett Chambers?”
I lie and I get more pain. Better to tell the truth. “I destroyed him.”
“Why?” Hennison grasped the switch handle.
“Because he was a zombie.”
“So?”
“We can’t let humans know about the undead. Your zombie could’ve been discovered and captured.”
Hennison loomed close. “What’s this worry about humans knowing about the undead? They will soon. About the undead. About zombies. About me.”
Hennison backed away. “And they will know soon enough about vampires.”
My kundalini noir deflated even more. I had betrayed the Great Secret. How could I undo this?
“As for Barrett Chambers,” Hennison said, “he was scouting for prospects. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to be on his own. Oh well. Science is all about taking risks.”
Hennison opened a plastic cooler on the workbench. He took out a Red Bull, popped it open, and guzzled from the can.
Tall boots girl zombie leaned over me and stared at my naked crotch. Yellow drool oozed from her mouth and splattered on my leg.
“We better get you some pants,” Hennison said. “Kimberly hasn’t lost her oral fixation.” He chomped his teeth twice. “Just ask him.” Hennison cocked a thumb at cowboy zombie, who covered his crotch with both hands and retreated a step. “Kimberly minds well but let’s not tempt her too much.”
Lab coat zombie tossed me a pair of filthy sweatpants.
Hennison finished his Red Bull and dropped the empty can into a recycling box. He drummed the handle of the switch. “Remember. Act naughty and it’s zap, zap.”
I came to my feet. Kimberly’s greedy eyes followed the angle of my dangle. I pulled the pants over my legs and wondered if out of sight, out of mind applied to zombies.
I stood, my flesh and bones aching, but I was grateful that my body still worked.
Cowboy zombie tipped the wooden table vertical.
Hennison motioned that I back against it. I hesitated as I studied the metal hoops bolted to where my wrists and ankles would rest.
The doctor started to press the switch handle.
“No, no,” I shouted. No more pain. “I’ll do it.”
Hennison relaxed. Cowboy zombie and Kimberly cinched the metal hoops over my wrists and ankles. I flexed my arms and legs to test the strength of the hoops. I could break free but needed a distraction to keep them from frying me with the electricity.
Hennison tripped a lever on the table. The door pivoted into a horizontal position, stopping suddenly so that the back of my head thumped against the surface.
Hennison unhooked the jumper cable clamp from my hand and removed the steel cap. “Don’t get any funny ideas. Now you’re wired directly to the generator outside.”
“Believe me,” I replied, “funny is the furthest thing from my mind.”
He chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. We can joke around. A sense of humor makes for good conversation.” Hennison waved to his mute zombies. “Trust me that I’m lacking in good conversation.”
Hennison was lacking more than conversation but I knew my reward if I said so. He wanted to talk, I needed time to escape, so why not let him gab?
Hennison took off his fleece sweater and smoothed the lab coat underneath. He faced a large mirror fixed to the wall close to the table. He wiped dust from the glass. He watched himself as he turned his face, lifting his chin, his jaw set, as if he was auditioning to be Benito Mussolini.
His reflected gaze swung in my direction. Hennison jerked his head over his shoulder toward me. He turned to the mirror and back to me.
I knew what he saw, or rather didn’t see: my reflection.
For a short moment, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. When it smoothed, he smiled. “Let’s you and I come to a deal.”
“Anything you say. Tell me what you want, we’ll shake hands, and I’ll be on my way out of here.”
“You’re being too optimistic,” Hennison said. “You and I are going to have a nice, long chat. I ask questions and you tell me the answers.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you but I’m not very good at this.”
“You’ll do fine, trust me. Just don’t get all macho.”
“Let’s go back to that deal,” I said, convinced that my choices were bad and really bad.
“You decide how comfortable you want to be,” Hennison explained. “See, tomorrow I’m going to test your assertion that morning sunlight will destroy you. But until then, we’ll chat, and it’s up to you whether you want to pass the time in comfort or in extreme pain.”