Zombie Guy

Chapter 4: 2 Weeks before Turning

The hospital doors slid open, and a nurse pushed me out in a wheelchair. I might have looked the part of the tragically injured patient, but as I stood up to step into Dr. Elias's car, the wheelchair rolled back right over the nurse's toes.

"Ouch!" she yelped, hopping back as she shot me a glare.

"Sorry, sorry!" I muttered, awkwardly half-bowing, though I wasn't sure if I actually meant it.

As soon as the car door shut, silence took over, stretching out as Dr. Elias pulled out of the parking lot. I didn't know what to say, and by the looks of it, neither did he. The whole ride home was quiet until we pulled up in front of my house. He cut the engine but didn't move to get out. Instead, he looked at me, his expression soft but tentative.

"Kevin," he began, clearing his throat. "I know this... diagnosis is hard. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but... I'm here, if you want to talk. Or if you need anything."

I scoffed, letting out a breath. "Appreciate it, Doc, but there's not much to say, is there?"

He shifted in his seat, frowning. "Sometimes, talking things out can be helpful. Just... letting things out instead of bottling them up. You don't have to go through this alone."

"Yeah?" I said, my voice biting. "Will talking make the tumour vanish? Or magically make me feel okay about it?" I was surprised by the anger in my voice, but I couldn't stop it. "Because, no offense, but hearing 'you'll be fine' or 'stay hopeful' doesn't exactly do much right now."

Dr. Elias sighed, a mixture of sympathy and frustration on his face. "I know. I really do. But I meant it—don't shut people out. There might be options you haven't thought of."

"Right." I opened the door, needing to get away from the well-meaning advice. "Thanks, Doc," I said, not even looking at him as I got out of the car. 

Inside, I dropped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't need comforting words or clichés. I needed a way out of this. Over the next few days, I spent hours at my computer, combing through research on brain tumours. Thanks to the doctor who booked me off for three days, I became not only to cancer, but Dr. Dad's "words of comfort" too. By the third day, I'd read enough about treatments, side effects, and survival rates to make my head spin. It was... hopeless.

Linda's voice kept echoing in the back of my mind, her suggestion gnawing at me. That experimental treatment in Lab 7. I picked up my phone and hesitated before dialling her number. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. I tried again. Still no answer.

When I got back to work, I went straight to the head office. It didn't matter who saw me or what rumours would circulate; I wasn't here to tiptoe around anymore. Dr. Hayes, the head scientist, was busy at his desk when I knocked and walked in.

He looked up, clearly surprised to see me. "Kevin. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I took a deep breath, my heart hammering in my chest. "I want to sign up for the treatment—the experimental one in Lab 7."

He raised an eyebrow. "The treatment... You understand it's still in a highly experimental phase? I understand your situation, but are you sure about this? There are no guarantees."

I nodded, though his words only made my resolve feel firmer. "I know. But I've done my research. It's... it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Dr. Hayes nodded thoughtfully, then launched into an explanation. He described the procedure, the unknowns, and what they hoped to accomplish. It sounded both terrifying and oddly hopeful. When he finally finished, he handed me a clipboard. I took it without hesitation, signed my name on the volunteer list, and handed it back to him. When I left the office, I couldn't help but think, Was I a little too impulsive just now? I should at least have taken a few seconds to think about it, right? Did I look desperate? ......Wel.......I am. So, what!