Free Patient Z by Becky Black Page A

his hands in a placatory gesture, but he couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. “Fine. We’ll both go slowly crazy when we could be helping each other out. Then one day when I’m gone, you’ll wonder why the hell you didn’t grab it while you had the chance.” Gone? Why had he mentioned that? He didn’t want to advertise his intention to leave once he had what he wanted from this place—putting an extra edge on his survival skills. Of course, he was still on trial here. They might toss him out after three months. And they would if he kept harassing Mitch for sex. Mitch looked back at him, going all frosty again.
    “If you don’t mind, I was trying to read.”
    Cal didn’t answer. He turned and marched out, heading for the gym, to do something to burn off the fire he’d just stoked.

Chapter Eight
    He grew weaker and weaker. He faded. Outside it was all screaming and screaming. For days Mitch had to ignore all the screams. Screams that called him to his duty. His duty was here, watching him fade, weaken, die.
    Die and come back. He knew it would happen. He knew, and he should have done what needed to be done. Should have done it on the boat before they ever brought Cal aboard. Should never have let it come to this.
    Cal, dead and walking around, picking off the women one by one. Not sparing the children. Leaving Mitch with no other choice. As he’d had no other choice with Dex. He’d waited too long then, but this time other people were in danger. Were dead. And they’d all come back too, if he didn’t do what had to be done. To Bren, to the other women, the children, to all of them, until he was alone in a dead world. This time he really would finish it, as he’d been ready to do once before. He stood on the helipad and raised his weapon to his head.
    “Mitch, no!”
    Cal, grabbing him. Still moving, ready to make Mitch like him. God, no, never. Never let that be . He tried to pull away, but Cal caught and twisted his wrist, and the pistol dropped from his hand.
    It clanged to the floor. Not to the deck of the helipad, but to the floor of his bedroom. Cal shoved Mitch down onto the cot, pinning his arms at the wrists.
    Cal. Not trying to bite him. Not dead.
    “What’s happening?” Mitch struggled against the hold.
    “Are you awake?” Cal sounded desperate. He was staring wide-eyed. “Do you know me?”
    “Of course I know you, Cal. What’s going on?”
    “You were crying out,” Cal said. “I figured you were having a bad dream. I put on the light, and you were on your feet. Sleepwalking, I guess. You didn’t hear me when I shouted at you. Then I saw you had your gun.”
    The sound of it clanging to the metal floor came back to him. Real. Not a dream. The gun was real. He’d been going to…
    “I thought you were going to shoot me,” Cal said. “Then I thought you were going to shoot yourself. Fucking hell, Mitch, you scared the shit outta me!” His voice was thin and breathless, and he let go of one wrist to punch Mitch hard in the arm. It hurt. All or nothing, no sparring. The pain helped dispel the last traces of the dream.
    “I’m okay,” Mitch said. “It was a dream.”
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck, my heart’s hammering like a fucking piston.” Cal dropped his head forward. He was panting and shaking. Their legs were tangled together, and both wore only boxer shorts.
    Mitch raised his free hand to touch the left side of Cal’s bare chest, to feel the pounding heart inside. As soon as he touched it, he knew why he had. Proof of life in that beating heart. Cal was not a zombie; he was alive and beautiful. His warm, naked skin pressed against Mitch’s. Cal raised his head and looked down at Mitch. Mitch read the desire there, read the question Cal asked him every day with his eyes. There was proof of life in his desire too. Like hunger and thirst, they were all proof of life.
    The cold, dead Cal in the dream had only one desire—to bite. This warm, alive Cal had better uses for