Zombie Guy

Chapter 3: 3 Weeks before Turning

Monday morning hit me like a slap, and I walked into the facility barely holding onto my sanity. A weekend with no answers, only spiralling questions. Just as I was stewing over how to keep myself from obsessing about Lab 7, I overheard snippets of hushed conversations in the hall.

"...experimental treatment... some breakthrough..."

"...volunteer subjects. Can you believe people signed up for it?"

I strained to catch more, piecing together that some grand announcement was planned for the day. Sure enough, right on schedule, they gathered us in the break room around noon for the big reveal. Linda was already there, leaning against the wall, looking as intrigued as I was baffled. As the spokesperson droned on about an "innovative treatment with potential for cancer eradication," I leaned over to Linda.

"An experimental treatment in this place?" I whispered, smirking.

She shot me a look. "What, don't you think they have it in them?"

"Oh, I'm sure," I whispered back. "But can you imagine the side effects? 'Here, take two pills and sprout a third arm!'"

Linda tried to suppress a laugh, but a snort escaped anyway. "Knowing this place, they'd call that a 'happy accident.'"

I shook my head, biting back a grin as we both tried to focus on the announcement, though every line sounded more like a sci-fi script than medical science.

Afterward, I found myself strangely at ease. Maybe I'd just let the whole Lab 7 thing go—it wasn't like I'd ever get there anyway. Besides, I had enough on my plate without constantly wondering about secret experiments.

Just as I was settling back at my desk, a sudden, sharp pain shot through my head. I gritted my teeth, feeling like someone was driving a nail right behind my eyes. Another headache. They'd started a couple of months ago, and they'd only been getting worse. I figured it was the stress, all the late nights... though sometimes they felt a little too intense for that.

I rubbed my temples, waiting for the pain to fade. Nothing a little coffee won't fix, I told myself, brushing it off and getting back to work.

Later that afternoon, I decided it was best to keep my head down and avoid anyone who might toss another stack of paperwork at me. I ducked into side halls, weaving my way through the facility like a pro, looking out for the telltale signs of lab coats and authority figures.

Then, I saw them. A line of people in hospital gowns, shuffling quietly toward Lab 7. Most looked tired, some anxious, others with vacant expressions. Volunteers for the "treatment," I guessed. I lingered in the shadows, watching as they disappeared one by one through the lab's heavy doors. I couldn't help but wonder what their stories were. Did they all have cancer? Were they so desperate that they'd sign up for this unknown experiment without question?

As the last of the line slipped through the doors and out of sight, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. It was a strange feeling. Part pity, part unease, and a little envy. They were getting a close-up look at the secrets that seemed forever out of my reach. I was a little jealous.

I made my way back to the break room, half-lost in thought as I sat down with my lunch. My mind drifted, trying to figure out what drives someone to volunteer for something like that. Maybe they had nothing left to lose, a last-ditch attempt at life. Or maybe they just wanted an escape, one way or another. For all I knew, some of them just didn't have anything better to do and signing up for a dangerous experiment felt like the only purpose left in their lives.

Just as I was mulling it over, a familiar pain surged behind my eyes. I winced, pressing my fingers against my temples. Headache, again? This one was different. Intense. My vision blurred, edges of the break room wavering like a mirage, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I blinked, trying to clear my head, but the pain only worsened. This isn't normal, I thought. I reached out, trying to push myself up, to get my pills—

But my legs went weak, and everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room loomed above me, and my head throbbed in rhythm with my pulse. Before I could piece together what had happened, Linda's face came into view, her expression caught somewhere between worry and exasperation.

"Well, look who decided to join the living again," she said, hands on her hips. "Only you would faint at work like a drama queen. And don't even try blaming it on overwork, because you don't even do that much compared to me."

I tried to sit up, groaning as I touched my sore head. "A little sympathy would be nice," I grumbled, my voice muffled by the haze of pain.

"Oh, poor Kevin," she cooed, rolling her eyes. "You finally collapsed from a week of hard work. The horror."

I managed a chuckle, though it came out weak. "Hey, maybe I've just been saving up all my exhaustion for one grand finale."

The moment broke when the doctors walked in. As they went over the results, their words settled over us like a thick fog: "large, inoperable brain tumour." They explained it couldn't be removed without enormous risk. They showed me my brain scans. I could see a white mass covering almost a quarter of my brain. As the words sank in, I felt a strange urge to laugh. Of course. Just my luck. "I had always assumed I'd leave this world in some absurd way."

Linda, however, didn't find it funny. "No," she said, cutting in. "There must be something. Treatment, chemo, something?"

The doctor's face was a mask of sympathy, and he shook his head. "Unfortunately, with the size and location—there are no effective options we can offer."

A heavy silence filled the room. My mind buzzed with a strange calm, but Linda was still reeling, her gaze darting around the room as if looking for answers on the walls. Then her eyes landed on me, lit with a sudden determination. 

"What about the treatment they're testing in Lab 7?" she asked.

I blinked. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" She leaned forward, a spark of anger in her eyes. "What do you have to lose?"

I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Maybe a little dignity? That treatment's a wild shot in the dark—probably just another one of that place's 'happy accidents.'"

Linda's face hardened, her jaw tight. "Fine. Laugh it off. But if you don't even try..." She threw her hands up, storming out of the room before I could say another word.

As the door closed behind her, I felt a weight settle in my chest. For the first time in years, I wanted to cry.