Free A Plague on All Houses by Dana Fredsti

remnants of humanity gone from their faces as they writhed against the straps holding them down, unmindful as the tough canvas rubbed away patches of skin.
    At the far end of the room were cages, thick iron-barred contraptions with the bars spaced close together. In those cages were more of the living dead, all jammed up against the bars, trying to shove their hands and arms through the narrow gaps to reach the Hazmat-wrapped meals walking around the room. Those had to be the holding pens.
    “What the hell is this?” I whispered to no one in particular.
    “Research.” Simone kept her volume low as she answered my question. “Regrettable, but necessary if we're ever to isolate the root cause or, more importantly, find a cure.”
    “So all the people you rescued … they're just research animals?”
    “The ones who don't make it, yes.”
    “So if I wasn't one of your friggin’ Wild Cards, I'd be strapped to one of these tables getting pieces parts carved out of me, right?” For some reason, this horrified me more than anything else so far.
    “That's right, Miss Drake.”
    Great. Even through the weird, tinny filter of a Hazmat helmet, I recognized General Brasshole's pompous tone as he strode into the room and looked at me through his Plexiglas helm with what I can only describe as triumph. “And this is what will happen to your former boyfriend if you don't cooperate.”
    WTF? That's what I thought, at least. Out loud it came out, “Are you kidding me?”
    “No, Miss Drake, I am not kidding you. If you join the team, your boyfriend will be given a swift and humane death.” He smiled and it was so not a nice smile. “Or to be accurate, a final death. As far as we can tell, zombies don't feel pain the way humans do.”
    “And if I don't cooperate, you'll use him as a zombified lab rat.”
    He smirked. “She's not stupid.”
    This condescending remark was directed to Simone, who looked at the General with clear dislike as she replied, “No, she's not.”
    Gabriel stayed silent throughout all of this, a slight tic in his right cheek the only sign of emotion.
    The General's attention shifted as one of the zombies snapped at a tech reaching across its face to adjust something on the other side. Its teeth caught in the tech's glove before he could yank the hand away. The zombie worried the glove like an attack dog. The tech smacked the zombie on the head with his other hand and tugged the glove free, immediately inspecting it for rips in the fabric.
    General Heald harrumphed in disapproval. “That kind of carelessness is what gets a man killed in battle, soldier!”
    “With all respect, I'm not a soldier, sir.”
    “No excuse! It's civilians like you who cost me good men!” General Heald began taking the tech to task in a monologue I immediately tuned out.
    Something occurred to me, though, as the General shook his gloved finger in the tech's face. I turned to Simone and Gabriel, catching the former with a look of eye-rolling exasperation. Gabriel was expressionless like a good soldier should be, I guess. “Question,” I said quietly. “If this disease isn't airborne, then why are the suits necessary at all?”
    Gabriel broke silence to answer me. “You've seen the amount of blood and vomit an infected person generates, right?” I nodded. “If it spatters on your skin or clothes, you'd be fine. But get any of it in an open sore of any kind or accidentally swallow it … you might as well have been bitten.”
    “And as I mentioned earlier,” Simone added, “during previous episodes the zombie virus was spread solely through contact with bodily fluids into mucus membranes or open wounds, mainly via bites, scratches, or hot blood. But this time … several members of our team have come down with symptoms without any such contact. Not enough to convince me it's gone airborne, but still … it's worrisome.”
    Which led to my next question. “So why are we the only ones not wearing protective