Zombie Soap 2: Conspiracy

Seventeen

Taylor

There had to be a way out of this facility, away from the apocalypse, and far from the suffocating consequences of human selfishness. In less than two weeks, the country's population had been all but wiped out, leaving only a handful of survivors in small pockets of the US, oppressed by those who would seek power. And their only options: stay and deal with it or face the undead waiting outside.

Taylor kind of wanted to take his chances.

At least in the wilderness, there were no secrets and lies, no one to look at him with blame for bringing everyone down. And while he'd had no part in what his father was doing here at this facility, he was still part of it, John Whittaker's legacy as he financed the black ops research. His mother was Patient Zero, and he was her son, living in relative comfort while her body decomposed in a sterile room.

The accusing look, the naked rage in Jayson's features and confused betrayal in Diego's eyes had been the final straw. He didn't know how word got out so quickly when he'd only just learned the truth, but he couldn't face them knowing that he was indirectly part of it all.

When he took off through the compound, he didn't know where he was going. Every hallway looked the same, one leading into another. It was the perfect prison to everyone inside seeking a way out. Eventually, the person running would find themselves at a dead end or in the place they started from.

With no escape, Taylor gave up, chest heaving for air as he leaned against the wall for support. The promenade loomed ahead, leading in every direction but a suitable place to hide and fall apart in peace. With his broken arm, frayed emotions, and mental capacity stretched past its breaking point, he could no longer run.

Stars exploded in front of his eyes, followed by pain in his jaw and then his temple. More pain followed, accompanied by popping bones in his ribs, but it was somehow muted, like he wasn't experiencing it even though he was aware his body was in distress.

The assault ended as quickly as it started, taking away the weight crushing his body, but not the throbbing in every fiber of his being. The room spun in a kaleidoscope of colors, making his stomach churn as he reached for anything he could use to identify his surroundings. Voices spoke, but he didn't know which belonged to whom. Everything sounded like it was underwater, and his ears pulsed like they were going to burst. Rusted metal seeped inside the corner of his mouth, sending him retching on his side.

Something pressed down on him again, and he fought against it until his head came to rest on something soft. All he could see when he opened his eyes were a blur of shapes beneath the artificial light overhead. Something, or someone, scuffled in the background, but it soon faded, leaving only the sound of blood rushing inside his ears.

And though he couldn't see or hear properly, the moment the familiar scent of masculine sweat mixed with cedar filled his nose, the second his calloused fingers grazed his skin, Taylor knew he was safe. Only one person ever touched him with such affection recently, and it was always to offer comfort.

"Diego," he coughed, wincing at the movement. His ribs felt like they'd been trampled and the entire left side of his face throbbed painfully.

It was impossible to keep his eyes open, just as it was to pick out any sort of noise, so he lay on his side, counting to five, then ten, and down to zero. He repeated the process until the pain stopped and his breathing evened.

A small, bright light flashing in each eye brought him to his senses, and when he sat up, he thought his head would crack in half. He slumped to his right, dizzy with vertigo, and he would have fallen to the ground if someone hadn't caught him.

"Careful, leoncito. Try to rest."

"Where am I? What happened?"

When he opened his mouth to speak, he choked. It was as if someone had stuffed his mouth full of cotton balls and let it dry overnight.

Diego guided him until he was lying on his back. White spots danced where the lights had been shining a moment ago, but he could make out the shapes of people on his right and the ceiling above. His left eye was swollen shut, and his cheek pulsated with fresh pain when he tried to make his face muscles work.

"We'll talk later," Diego whispered, interlacing their fingers together as he kissed Taylor's forehead. "Get some rest."

Taylor nodded once before closing his eyes and drifting off. The next time he opened them, his dad sat on a chair nearby.

Reaching for the button, Taylor raised the bed so he could see better. His left eye was swollen shut, making it impossible to open it without wincing.

"Dad."

John was swiftly by his side, clasping his hand. "Hi, son. How do you feel?"

"Like my face was run through a blender," he mumbled, looking around with his good eye. "Where is Jayson?"

"He's gone. After he attacked you, we exiled him outside the gates."

Panic thrummed through Taylor's chest, making him forget his pain as he clumsily ripped off the equipment attached to him. "What? No, you can't leave him out there! He's been off his meds. It wasn't his fault."

He yanked his IV off and hissed when the needle snagged on the way out. Blood rushed to the surface of the abused vein and trickled down his knuckles. When he tried to swing his legs over the bed, John stopped him, gripping Taylor's shoulders and pushing him back onto the bed.

"Son, it's over. He poses a danger to himself and everyone here."

Taylor continued to struggle, kicking and swatting at his father with his uninjured arm. "Because Benson wouldn't give him his meds! Jayson wouldn't have done this if he was in his right mind."

"I need help," John called, forcing himself on top of his son.

"It's not right!" Taylor screamed, futilely working to free himself. "I need to go to him. We need to–"

A pair of medics snatched his hand, holding it in a vice grip as a fresh needle punctured his skin. "Mr Whittaker, please calm down. You're going to make your injuries worse!"

His veins protested, screaming as the metal pushed foreign liquid into his system. The effect was instantaneous, and his muscles relaxed against his will. His mouth refused to work, and his next words came out slurred.

"Please... Bring him back. I don't want to lose him."

Whether John understood him was unclear as he remained his chair and held Taylor's hand between his own. His father's features blurred and his voice was already far away.

"It's for the best."

No. He didn't care what Jayson had done. They were friends, and he couldn't leave him on his own to die. Even if it meant placing his life at risk, Taylor would follow him into a closed off room full of Soapies.

He tried again to fight, this time more feeble than the last. His working eye closed and his breathing deepened, pulling him deeper into unconscious thought. "Please..."

With a final moan, he fell asleep, and his petition died on his lips.