Five: Origin of Temphethine

And some other cool stuff happens.

I think it was a few days later before anything else happened to the group. I can’t remember everything too well. But I do remember it was a suspiciously long amount of time of no zombies. Nothing but walking and learning more about each other.

 

            I risked delving into the fun times of my childhood: playing Guitar Hero with my brother, watching movies with my dad, cooking with my mom, wrestling with my brother, and, if my sister was in a good mood, taking up idle chatters with her that relaxed me.

 

            I learned about the others’ pasts as well. Oliver, who was currently sixteen (something I was appalled by), was a politician’s son, pampered and popular, but ditched by his parents after the outbreak. He had been left in the hands of said politician’s favorite advisor, who had struggled too much to bring in enough food for both himself and Oliver, so he had been forced to put Oliver on the next train with nothing but a bag full of food.

 

            Jackson grew up in a moderately poor family in a large school where friends were made of vague groupings. He played football in high school and turned out as an average student. With not a cent in his pocket and a primal need for excitement, he joined the army. He served for a good total of fifteen some years before returning to California and find pay in manual labor. Unfortunately, the info wasn’t enough to solve the mystery of Jackson’s age.

 

            Natasha purposely avoided going into too much detail about herself, simply explaining that she always received A’s and was moderately popular as a high schooler. She seemed glad to move on from the subject and I was stubbornly determined to find out what she was so hesitant to share. How I was going to bring it subtly though, I hadn’t a clue. Luckily, I needn’t have bothered. Fate happened to be on my side.

           

*

 

            “You’ve never shot a gun?” Jackson sounded incredulous, though I couldn’t completely see why. It was understandable if someone of Oliver’s background hadn’t even been let near a fire arm. His parents had probably puppy guarded him from everything.

 

            “No, my parents kept guns away from me,” answered the teen. I was right. “And I went to a private school, too. So that was pretty well-guarded.”

 

            “Christ, that just won’t do,” Jackson answered, shaking his head. “But I can’t very well have you wasting our precious ammo for shooting lessons. And the noise might attract something. You know the basics, right? Taking safety off, cocking it, aiming, shooting; you know how to do all that right?”

 

            Oliver shifted uncomfortably. The idea of shooting anything probably terrified him, which I found so very odd, as all of the boys in my school had all loved hunting. Then again, those were animals, these were people. Kind of. I imagined the others still saw zombies as people. To me they were just a new kind of wild animal. I wondered if I should discuss that with Oliver. “Well yeah,” Oliver finally answered, “but I- that doesn’t exactly make me good…”

 

            “We’re going to do more than shoot them, yeah?” Natasha interrupted. “That won’t last long. It’ll keep them down for approximately sixteen hours before they start to recuperate and their bodies begin to repair themselves.”

 

            “Well, we’re not planning to exterminate them, Natasha,” Jackson replied. “Sixteen hours will be plenty of time to get away from them. We’re aiming to survive; we aren’t fighting a war - and one we can’t win, no less.”

 

            “Wait a second,” I said, finally speaking. The others seemed surprised to hear me. Apparently they thought I was fully distracted by staring at our surroundings again. I did do a lot of that. But while I was indeed keeping watch for zombies, I still had an ear towards the conversation. “How do you know how long it will take for the zombies to regenerate? Or even that they will?”

 

            “Oh, well, it’s just something I’ve... kind of, noticed over time. You know, sixteen hours roughly. I don’t know exactly…” Natasha’s words died down into a mumble.

 

            We all stopped walking and focused our attention Natasha. Even Oliver and Jackson were getting suspicious now.

 

            “Jenna’s right,” Jackson commented. “Where did you get that knowledge?”

 

            “Were you one of SoCal’s scientists?” Oliver inquired. “You did say you were a biochemist.” Who said ‘SoCal’ anymore? I thought that stopped at the end of the 20^th century.

 

            Natasha’s face brightened at this. “Yes, that’s exactly it! They would take, uh, zombies, you know, from the outside. And we studied them, yeah?”

 

            I never really caught Natasha’s stumbling reply though. I was too distracted by a sudden realization. Just a few months before the virus had broken out and the first zombie was spotted, an article came out in the newspaper. It wasn’t something new to me. It was just another article claiming something against the government. These things had become common during the summer of 2014 for some reason, though if there was an actual reason as to why, I couldn’t be sure.

 

            This particular article was another ‘trying to make super humans’ story and it was even provided with a picture, though whether or not the picture was relevant was debatable. It portrayed two people, one an aging man and the other a young woman. They were similarly dressed in white coats and they appeared to be discussing something, unaware of the camera man’s presence.

 

            Something clicked in my mind and I stopped walking. My eyes widened all too noticeably and I felt the others staring at me, watching me expectantly. Maybe it was just a coincidence…

 

            I wasn’t even talking to him, and yet he still butted himself into my thoughts. How else could she know about that regenerating thing? Who cares if it’s just one fact - one of anything is worth a lot more than it used to be before the Temphethine, wouldn’t you say? Ask her more, go on. She’ll probably know why the body changes, or why the Infected want hunt people.

 

            But I didn’t ask her. I knew he was right - I was right. My hand tightened into a fast as I mentally prepared myself for my next move. And before I completely realized I had done it, my fist curved around and came into rough contact with Natasha’s cheek. I brought my hand back, shaking my wrist out as Natasha stumbled back a few steps in shock. The boys were looking at me with similar expressions. Jackson specifically looked about ready to hold me down, if it came to it.

 

            “Wh-What the hell was that for?”

 

            I didn’t answer at first, fixing Natasha with a glare. “How did the Temphethine virus start?” Doubt immediately began to instill itself into my head. What if I was wrong? This would be terribly embarrassing, and I’d look like an a*s for hitting Natasha.

 

            I could see Jackson and Oliver were still recovering from my sudden violence. Natasha, however, had gotten over the initial shock and just seemed mad. “What are you talking about?”

 

            “The virus - don’t act like you don’t know. You had something to do with it, didn’t you?” At this point I could see Natasha’s defenses fall. “So the government really was trying to make super humans?”

 

            Oddly enough, Natasha seemed surprised by the second comment. “Govern… N-no, you have it all wrong. Look, Jenna, I don’t completely know why we were doing it. All I can tell you is… Can we get moving? I can tell you the story, but we should really be making some progress, yeah?”

 

            “Wait, what’re you two talking about?” Jackson asked.

 

            I didn’t reply to the older man initially, nodding at Natasha first. “Yeah, let’s move. Jackson, Oliver, the reason Natasha here knows so much about zombies - because if I’m right, and I am, then she knows more than just recuperation time - is because she helped start the virus. Her picture was snapped a while ago and put in an article about the government making super humans,” I said, my voice patronizing. I continued walking and I was satisfied to find the other three doing so too. “You were saying Natasha?”

 

            The scientist took a deep breath before continuing. Was her cheek starting to swell? I was pretty sure it was. “Alright, I was hired as a scientist to work with others on a very large project. The pay was nice enough, so I thought it would be worth it to drive out to northern California where the lab was. They gave me an interview and told me I would fit the position nicely. Of course I asked them what their main project was. They said they were looking for answers for uncured diseases. They apparently had several departments, all made up of four scientists, yeah? Each department was searching for the cure of a different disease. In each department there was the chief, who personally knew the man paying us all to do this, the senior scientist who had the most experience, and two younger scientists apparently there for ‘fresher and younger ideas’. I happened to be one of those younger scientists - a rookie.

 

            “Someone had apparently volunteered themselves for us to run tests on. No one would ever tell me what disease the man had, though. They told me what was chemically ailing him, but I’m not a doctor. I didn’t know what the disease was. I helped decide what kinds of chemicals would have the best effect for the volunteer’s body based on the effects of his disease. Sometimes we gave the test subject a week to recuperate from all the different chemical uses. Anyway, at some later time in a long series of tests, the victim started to become ill. The chief told me he was just suffering at the hands of his disease.

 

“But I couldn’t for the life of me find out anything that caused horrible pain through the limbs and chest, incredible paling, yellowing of teeth and nails, and impaired sight all in one cause. After a little less than a week of the strange behavior, our volunteer had turned into what you could only describe as a zombie. The other rookie was the one that went into the vict- er, volunteer’s room one morning, only to be attacked and infected, yeah? We kept them both contained and tried studying them. We attempted an autopsy, but in the middle of dissecting our volunteer, he seemed to come back to life - as much as a zombie can anyway.

 

            “I tried to check back on my notes to see what happened, but it was confiscated from me by the chief and stored in a high-security vault. No, I don’t know why. We ran more tests on the… er, zombies and found that their body shifts everything - I mean everything; any human anatomy you know is useless knowledge against these things - and they adapt abnormally quickly to changing habitats, yeah? The exception there being temperature. Zombies cannot survive if it is too hot or cold. If we light them on fire, we can actually destroy them. Permanently. So at some point, one of them - I can’t remember which - escaped from the lab. That would be how the infection started. He must have reached the city, or at least somewhere inhabited. From that point on it was out of our control. We were relocated to southern California and immediately set out to finding a cure.”

 

            At first I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. I realized I, along with everyone else, had stopped walking. That was it? That was what happened? An experiment gone wrong? So… It was an accident? I voiced this thought. “It was just an accident then,” I stated more than asked.

 

            Natasha furrowed her brow and frowned - it was that look that said, “it’s a bit more complicated than a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” I hated those looks as much as I hated the answer. Why couldn’t this be simpler?

 

            “It was an accident on my part,” she began, “and I think it was an accident for that other rookie, too. The senior scientist may not have known as well, but if something was up, if any of that was on purpose, the chief would know, yeah? Of the other groups that had the same objective as I - as I was told in my interview - I can’t be sure of anything, including if they really existed. The chief got away first, and I haven’t a clue where he is now. Obviously I got away too, but I think the senior is still there.”

 

            I allowed this information to fit into my head. I continued walking, noticing that the others didn’t start again until I did. This… was pretty big. I summarized the story in my head. Natasha was a scientist who had accidentally created a zombie. Honestly, it couldn’t have been done on purpose. Who could gain from such a thing - and what could they gain?

 

            “The chief is the only one that would know why they created a zombie, right?” I asked.

 

            “What do you mean?” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “It must have been an accident. I mean, no one would do this on purpose, right?”

 

            I looked over to Jackson to see what he was thinking. The expression he wore was blank - unreadable. “You would think so,” I answered, looking back to Oliver, “but something seems wrong about this. I don’t think there was anything wrong with Natasha’s test subject to start with. The chief would know what’s going on though, right?” I persisted further.

 

            “Yes. If anyone did, he would. Of course…” Natasha trailed off, evidently thinking hard. “I did some snooping, and I think Jenna’s right. I don’t think there was anything wrong with the man. I think we were trying to create a disease. And when we moved south, work turned into a prison. That’s why I left. Matvei wanted to leave, too. Him and I were-”

 

            “He and I,” I automatically corrected, my hand flying to my mouth as I muttered a curse. It was more out of habit and it slipped right out of my mouth, the grammatical correction, that is. My brother had always been rather careless when he spoke, often using incorrect grammar. I had gotten into the horrible habit (which often resulted in a rough blow to the upper arm) of correcting him.

 

            Jackson’s emotionless face broke to look at me in confusion. Oliver and Natasha were confused as well. “What?” Jackson asked at length.

 

            “Sorry, old habit. I didn’t mean-” I prepared to defend myself, subconsciously expecting a punch. I fought not to flinch. “N-never mind. You were saying?”

 

            “…Um, where was I?” Natasha asked, genuinely lost.

 

            “I think you were telling us about running away,” replied Jackson.

 

            “Oh! Yes, it was awful. They kept us locked up in that laboratory and tried to force us to conduct more experiments. I think you get the idea. Anyway, now that the senior scientist is the only one left at the laboratory, they’ve probably put him up as chief and told him what’s going on. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about this, though. They wouldn’t start a disease on purpose, yeah?”

 

            “It doesn’t sound like it was necessarily on purpose to me. No, they didn’t do it on purpose, I’m sure. They were conducting experiments and they just happened to turn their patient into a zombie,” Jackson commented.

 

            It all made my brain feel a bit slow and fuzzy. I hated not knowing an answer that seemed so invariably close. And it was so important too. I needed something to confirm the scientists’ intentions. But I had nothing but Natasha’s word.

 

            “But they took her records-” I tried.

 

            “They probably wanted to find out what mix of chemicals had the effect of Temphethine,” Jackson reasoned.

 

            “What about not telling Natasha the volunteer’s illness? Doesn’t that seem a bit suspicious?”

 

            “Maybe they didn’t know what it was,” Oliver cut in. His sudden interaction with the conversation surprised me a bit. I felt oddly betrayed that he wasn’t siding with me, though I wasn’t sure why. I hated the idea of being ganged up on.

 

            “That would make sense,” Jackson added. “Maybe it was an unknown disease.”

 

            “Please,” I said exasperatedly, adjusting the bags on my shoulder (and banging them into my ribs painfully again). “Natasha said she wasn’t the only group. How many unknown diseases do you expect them to know about? I doubt the volunteer even had an illness.”

 

            “Jenna, what could anyone gain from creating zombies?” Jackson asked.

 

            Well I hadn’t an answer to that question when I had thought of it and I didn’t have one now. I simply sighed. “You’re probably right. I guess I’m being a bit irrational. We’ll forget about it for now and pray we run into the chief scientist to shed some light on this situation. Though I probably have a better chance at winning the lottery.”

 

            “But I’m an atheist,” Oliver said.

 

            It took a few moments for me to realize what he was even talking about. I gave him an annoyed look when I realized the relevance. “Well pray anyway! Besides, you’re probably not the only atheist now. Think of how many people have probably given up on their god now that there’s an apocalypse upon us.” I sighed, suddenly feeling tired. And something else. My stomach growled loudly and Jackson’s amused look did not go unnoticed.

 

            Oliver seemed unaffected by my hunger issues. “Apocalypse! We’re not- Th-this isn’t a… Is this really an apocalypse?” He sounded so scared that I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh or apologize. It was amusing how much that word startled him.

 

            “Oliver, just because you stick the title on there doesn’t change the predicament. We’re still outnumbered by zombies. We’re still just as likely to turn into zombies as we are to survive. In my opinion, yeah America - and probably the rest of North America - is in an apocalypse. I don’t think the country will pull through. I think we need to get to Europe and discuss further action there.”

 

            “Europe?” Jackson asked. “I thought we were going to Missouri.”

 

            I nodded. “We are. But we probably won’t stay long. I think we’ve got the things there to start a caravan. There are a lot of horse trailers. We can lock ourselves in them at night �" I sent my mom a letter with the idea. I think the community there could make it to New York. From there, we grab a boat and kick into to gear for Europe. Our last hope is that they haven’t been infected.”

 

            “But-” Oliver was cut off by another stomach growl, this one not being mine. I looked behind me at Oliver who had gone slightly red with embarrassment. “Er… Hey, Jenna? You said earlier that you had some beef jerky didn’t you?”

 

            “You’re not all out of food already, are you?” I sounded a bit alarmed when I spoke. We couldn’t be out of food. I had eaten the last of my own canned foods the day before and all I had left was my beef jerky, my cantaloupe, and half of my baguette. The bread wouldn’t last much longer either, so I would have to finish one off tonight. None of us had touched the extra bag’s contents yet, so we still had plenty of canned beans. That couldn’t last too long either though. “Sorry, Oliver. I don’t want to open this beef jerky. You know what smells escapes these bags? A very delicious, meaty one. That’s bound to attract wild animals - and even zombies, I’d bet.”

 

            “Unlikely,” Natasha said. “Zombies have no sense of smell. They often don’t even have a nose. They probably have some sense of smell, but I think their hearing is much better.”

 

            “Yes, well, that doesn’t make the image of a bear tearing me apart any less horrifying. We can open the jerky when we get to the next town.”

 

            Oliver nodded sullenly. “Do you have any other food?”

 

            I pulled out half of my remaining white bread and gave it to Oliver. Why did teenage boys have to eat so much? He thanked me and gratefully took the food. I myself wolfed down an apple - my last one - while Jackson and Natasha ate their own lunches. “Jackson, how long until we get to the next town?”

 

            “How should I know? I know where towns are located - roughly, might I add - on a map. I can’t tell you that when we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

 

            That was disappointing. We really needed to reach a town soon, or we might run out of food. I checked my compass to make sure we were heading in the right direction. Check. I pulled out my only currently filled canteen and took a sip. After the short burst of refreshing water, my mouth was met with the disappointing touch of air. I was out of water.

 

            I capped the canteen and stopped walking, cocking my head. The others stopped as well, waiting for me. I listened for the sound of running water but heard nothing. I sighed and continued walking, putting my empty canteen in my bag, along with the others.

 

            “What were you listening for?” Jackson asked.

 

            “Running water. I’m out. And we have even less of a chance on filling up on that than we do of running into a city. Unless of course we can find bottled water, but that seems a bit unlikely.” I turned my head to look at Jackson.

 

            “Probably. I’m not sure how we’re going to fill up on water. Just keep your ears open I guess.”

 

            Keep your ears open, I thought. Such a ridiculous phrase. You couldn’t literally close or open your ears. But I knew what he meant, and that’s exactly what I did. I listened, closing my eyes to block out optical distractions. “Jenna, look,” Jackson said interrupting my high-concentration listening.

 

            “What?” I asked with slight irritation. Did he want me to listen or not?

 

            “No, Jenna open your eyes.”

 

            I did that. And I grinned. How could I not? Behind me Oliver was cheering, already rushing ahead towards the vehicle. Who knew what treasures awaited us in an abandoned car? I walked more quickly, hurrying to catch up with Oliver, who was now walking around towards the car’s driver’s seat.

 

            When he got there however, he seemed disappointed. “It’s all fogged up,” he said. I caught up to him and sure enough, the windows were too foggy to see through. The car seemed to be a rather old style - I was no good at placing the differences between 60’s and 80’s styles. It had to be a few decades old at least, though.

 

            I walked around it, but the fog covered every window. I wiped the driver’s window with my sleeve, but the source of the fog seemed to be coming from the inside. “Fog?” repeated Jackson from behind me. I looked over my shoulder and nodded.

 

            “Would it matter if we could see in it?” Natasha asked. “It’s probably locked. We won’t be able to get inside.”

 

            “Does anyone have any Freon?” I chirped up.

 

            There was a slightly awkward silence. “What’s that?” Oliver asked.

 

            “The stuff they use in AC units,” Natasha replied. “But it’s not something you can just buy at the closest gas station. Why do you need it, Jen?”

 

            I choked on my spit at the nickname. I’d never had a nickname before. “The lock,” I said, clearing my throat. “My dad once told me that if we spry Freon on it, you can smack it with a hammer and it’ll shatter.”

 

            The other shrugged their shoulders. “Sorry, I don’t have any,” Natasha told me.

 

            “I guess we’ll just have to smash the window.” That was Oliver.

 

            “Not necessarily,” Jackson mumbled, pulling out a handgun of some sort.

 

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, Jackson.” I quickly placed myself between the car and Jackson, already expertly aimed at the car’s lock. “We don’t need to waste any ammo on a car.” I didn’t care if it was only one bullet, ammo was ammo. Besides, I wasn’t sure if it would ricochet off the car and injure someone. Bullet wounds and infections were not what we needed right now. “It looks like an old model, probably an old car. I can probably break the lock. Just stand back.”

 

            I was going to kick it. I’d never taken a martial arts class in my life. But one time I watched an eleven-year old girl do this kick and break a board of one-inch wood. How hard could it be?

 

            Only it’s metal, not wood. And it’s a mechanism, interrupted the British voice. I should really name him if he was going to keep popping up so much. Focusing on the task at hand again, I exhaled that breath I had been holding and moved. My back leg glided across the ground so I was foot to foot, like the eleven-year old girl had. In one swift motion I brought my front foot up, turned it so it was aimed at the car’s lock, my knee was brought to my chest, and my lower leg as was a straight line.

 

            I released the kick, sending it shooting forward until my heel smashed into the car door with a satisfying thunk. With a squeaky groan, the door swung away from the car by an inch. Natasha and Oliver clapped their hands. “Where did you learn that?” asked Jackson.

 

            “I saw it in this tae kwon do tutorial. A little girl broke a piece of wood like that. I tried practicing it just like her. But I never got pieces of wood to ever actually try it on.”

 

            “That was awesome,” commented Oliver. “What’s tae kwon do?”

 

            “A Korean martial art that uses more foot related attacks then hand. That’s what the Wikipedia article said, anyway.” My heel was undergoing an intense bust of pain right now, and I curled my toes tightly to distract myself from the pain. I put my hand on the door’s handle, ready to open it.

 

            Dramatically, I pulled the car door open in a horizontal arch, stumbling backwards as a carcass fell at my feet. My eyes widened and my hand flew to cover my mouth, completing my horrified expression as I shuddered. Behind me Natasha gasped and Oliver yelped, falling backwards on his rear. Jackson reacted to the sudden movement by quickly aiming his gun, though he slowly lowered it at the sight. The man lying before me was completely pale and his body splayed out loosely. He looked like any other dead body really. But something wasn’t right…

 

            I stepped forward to inspect the body when I was harshly pulled back by the collar of my t-shirt. I coughed as the shirt choked me. Natasha released me quickly after I had been pulled away. “What the hell?” I demanded.

 

            “Don’t get near that thing. Can’t you see why it’s dead?”

 

            ‘It’ seems like an unfitting term, mumbled the Brit. I mean, it looks like a man to me… I blocked the voice out, ignoring the urge to tell it to shut up. I’m not an ‘it’ either, you know. Doesn’t my voice make it obvious that I’m a ‘he’?

 

            We haven’t been properly introduced, I thought, hoping that the voice was listening. What’s your name? There was no answer. Good God I was insane. I was yanked from my thoughts by Natasha.

 

            “Correction, can’t you tell why it looks dead?” she asked. “Has it occurred to you that this body has probably been like this for a while?” I thought about it, stepping forward and ducking to evade Natasha’s repeated collar-grab.

 

            I laid the back of my hand on the apparently not-so-dead body’s cheek. It was ice cold. “Yeah, it’s been dead for a while,” I answered. “Why?”

 

            Natasha looked seriously scared. What was wrong with her? “So why hasn’t the body been affected by rigor mortis if it’s been dead for so long?” It was true that this body was quite obviously as loose as liquid.

 

            “What’s rigor mortis?” asked Oliver.

 

            “Didn’t you ever watch any of those CSI shows?” I asked. That’s how I had learned about rigor mortis. “Rigor mortis is when a dead body stiffens. Like, you can’t move any limbs without force after it occurs. Why hasn’t that happened to this man yet?” The question was directed towards Natasha, who I was looking at over my shoulder.

 

            Natasha never answered, though I managed to find my own answer soon enough. The scientist was staring at me with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her dark skin paled. Oliver wore a similar expression, quickly climbing to his feet and pointing behind me.

 

            Before I could turn around, I felt a cold hand firmly grasp my wrist. Goosebumps quickly covered the pinned arm as I slowly turned my head back to the body in front of me. Why was I going slowly? That was one of the stupider things for me to do.

 

            The body was no longer still. The pale man was slowly trying to get to his knees, one hand wrapped around my wrist and the other pushing himself off of the ground. He was making a low groaning sound and it suddenly occurred to me that this man was no deader than he was alive. I tried to pull myself to my feet, desperate to tear my wrist from the zombie’s grasp.

 

            I tugged furiously at my hand, trying to get away. But my desperate actions were useless; for being half-dead, zombies had a killer (Ha) grip. I realized I had been murmuring the word ‘s**t’ repeatedly when a gunshot pierced my eardrum, and a faint ringing hung in the air. The zombie stumbled away from me, and let go. I didn’t move, still frozen in fear. There was another shot, this one taking the zombie down. Still, I remained petrified with fear, my breathing ragged.

 

            “…Jenna?”

 

            I blinked at the sound of a voice as it brought me flying back to reality. Tears had begun to prick my eyes, though I wasn’t sure why. I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment as I blinked the tears away, hoping no one had seen them. I took a deep breath, flinching at the pain it caused in my ribs as I tried to compose myself, though try as I might, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and my breath couldn’t even out. I continuously ran a hand over my shirt, as if I was wiping something off my hand.

 

            “Jenna, are you alright?”

 

            I had almost been killed by a zombie - no, I had almost been infected. How could I have been so careless? I swallowed but did not speak, not completely trusting myself to. Tears were stinging my eyes again and I blinked them away furiously. My throat was burning with the urge to sob but I held it back. I couldn’t reveal my weakness. All my life I had been such a crybaby, crying over trivial things. In junior high, I had begun forcing myself to hide the tears, even when it came to acceptable moments. And now I felt my defenses shatter. With a small tremble my legs gave way, and I fell to my knees, holding my arms.

 

            I was so shaken by the sight of those empty eyes.

 

            “Jenna-!”

 

            “I’m fine,” I whispered shakily as I realized it was Jackson that had been saying my name, his voice laced with worry. I took a deep, shuddering breath - more pain to my ribs - and thought about Charlie. Charlie. Charlie was always strong, always got onto me if I cried, telling me that it wouldn’t solve anything. Holding onto the idly swinging door for support, I stood up and exhaled with another shudder. Deep breaths, I thought, no matter how much they hurt. “I just need to… sit down for a second.” I climbed into the driver’s seat, wiping a hand over my face. “Natasha-”

 

            “No, don’t worry. You can only be affected internally by a bite or a scratch. Or, I suppose if you kissed a zombie, but…” The scientist apparently already knew what I had been planning to ask.

 

            I looked at everyone around me and suddenly felt annoyance flickering up. They were concerned - all of them. Jackson, gun still in hand (I should remind myself to thank him for saving my life), Natasha, wringing her hands, and Oliver, cowering behind Natasha, all wore the same looks of concern as they crowded around me. It felt like a shower of pity, and I hated it.

 

            So I did the same thing I had done every morning before school. Glancing at the car’s wheel, I sucked in a deep breath, faced my spectators (which were usually a mirror in my bedroom or a coupe cats), put on a big grin, and said the most positive thing that came to mind: “Hey, look. The keys are in the ignition.”