Free Cure by Belinda Frisch Page B

through the small opening.
    Reid turned his head away, but said nothing.
    The mutilated corpse in the cell had all but melted. Its slick skin reflected the artificial light and its mouth hung open, black voids replacing its teeth. A swamp of sickening, foul juices spread beneath it.
     “What do we do with this?” Zach asked.
    “Fuck,” Reid mumbled. “I guess we see if it’s headed for the incinerator.” He retrieved an aluminum pole with a vinyl-coated noose from the kitchenette and took his two-way radio from his hip. “Clarence, this is Reid. Do you hear me?”
    A deep voice came through the static. “Have an issue, do you?”
    Zach looked around, wondering how someone would know that. There were cameras along the hallway.
    “Just open the fucking cell.” Reid clipped his radio back on his belt. “The only way in and out of these cells is through the Control Room at the other end of the hall. Clarence and Travis are the monitors.”
    An alarm buzzed and the door popped open.
    Zach avoided the swinging pole as Reid angled himself to step inside the cell. Nervous sweat ran down his armpits and back. Don’t let this thing wake up. Every warning Nixon ever issued flew through his mind. No bites, no scratches.
    Reid slid the loop over the infected man’s head and tightened down on his neck.
    Zach stayed behind him. “What are we looking for? It has no pulse.”
    “It’s not eating. Here.” Reid held out a vitamin syringe he took from his uniform shirt pocket. Zach didn’t immediately reach for it. “Come on, Keller. I’m not in the mood for this shit. Stick him.”
    He took the syringe from Reid, the last man on Earth he trusted his life with, and slowly approached the Id. Reid held the pole two-handed.
    Zach considered shooting it into his arm, leg, or stomach. “Where do I do this?”
    “As far away from his mouth as possible.”
    Zach skirted the growing cesspool and held his breath. Toothless’s stomach gurgled and the puddle widened, narrowly missing Zach’s shoes. 1-2-3. He counted himself down and jabbed the point into Toothless’s bony thigh. A guttural moan escaped and Zach jumped back so quickly he left the needle in. Thankfully, the infected was too weak to fight.
    “Not a complete goner.” Reid backed away and released the loop. They left the cell and Reid made a call on his radio. “Foster, this is Reid. Pick up.”
    No way he’s going to answer.
    What little Zach knew of Foster, he knew he avoided confrontation.
    “Foster, you scrawny fucking weasel, pick up.”
    Yeah, that’ll definitely work. Sweet talk him.
    “Reid, this is Jim. Can I help you?”
    Why was the maintenance man tuned in to the Security frequency?
    “You can get me Foster, the prick.”
    “Anything else I can do for you?”
    Reid huffed. “I need Ben down here. Tell him an Id is sick.”
    “You got it. I’ll find him.” Jim disconnected.
    Why did a maintenance man know everything?
    Zach wondered about his true role in all of it.
     

 
     
     
    16 .
     
    Miranda woke, terrified, with her head foggy from the anesthesia. Run. Fight. The last thing she remembered was Reid knocking her around. A needle like pain shot up her groin and she struggled to reconcile her new surroundings. Oh, no. Her clothes were missing. A thin gown half-covered her, but wasn’t tied in the back. She lifted her hand to wipe her eyes and her wrist jerked, held to the bed by a leather restraint.
    Someone, please help me.
    “It’s all right. Take it easy,” said an unfamiliar, southern belle’s voice.
    Miranda blinked until the brunette two beds over came into focus. “Where am I?” Her swollen jaw made it painful to talk.
    “I’m Carlene,” the woman said and if she knew what had happened, she didn’t say. 
    A strawberry blonde, pregnant woman slept in the next bed over and was obviously uncomfortable. She tossed and turned, her ratty hair tangling under her.
    Miranda straightened, sitting up as much as the restraints would