Free Anything But Zombies by Gerald Rice Page B

up—they said it would take about a week. His name is Gordon Howell and he’s scheduled to be restored in about an hour.”
    Dillon froze, choking on the breath he’d just taken.
    â€œWhat . . .” he said, and paused to cough. “What did you say the restore patient’s name was?”
    Eddie looked up and frowned. “Gordon Howell. Are you okay?”
    â€œYeah, I’m okay,” Dillon choked out. “Drink, please!”
    â€œSure,” Eddie said, rushing out of the room to get his new boss a drink.
    Dillon watched him go and was glad to be alone. His mind and heart were racing. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Day after day he’d come to work, hoping and praying for this exact moment. Every day he’d given up a little of that hope, thinking it would never happen. Now he was facing the reality of his dream come true and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but cough and clutch the edge of his desk.
    After what seemed like forever, Eddie was back with a bottle of water.
    Dillon took it with a shaking hand, opened it, and drank half of the liquid in two large gulps.
    â€œAre you okay?” Eddie asked, frowning. “Are you sick? Do you want me to get Dr. Miller?”
    â€œNo, I’m not sick,” Dillon croaked, and took a sip of the remaining water. “Yes, please get Dr. Miller.”
    Eddie didn’t ask any more questions. He just turned, walked out, and knocked on Dr. Miller’s door before entering.
    Dillon sipped at his water and focused on a spot on the wall. He needed to calm himself down; he didn’t want to be as shaken up when Dr. Miller came in. He needed her to swap patients with him and if he was visibly disturbed he knew she’d tell him to go home.
    â€œAre you all right?” Dr. Miller asked as she rushed through the door, her slight facial wrinkles deeper than normal due to her frown of concern.
    â€œI’m fine,” Dillon said, standing. “I’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you have time.”
    Dr. Miller turned to Eddie, who was hovering just inside the doorway. She nodded and he left, shutting the door behind him.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Dr. Howell?” she asked, stepping closer to Dillon’s desk.
    He watched her blue eyes travel over him, studying him.
    â€œWould you consider trading patients with me this morning?” Dillon asked, looking her straight in the eye when hers were again trained on his face.
    Dr. Miller raised a ginger eyebrow. “Why?”
    â€œDoes it matter?”
    She laughed. “No, I’m just curious. You’re acting strange. I’ve known you—worked with you—for years and you’ve never asked to trade patients before. I figure there has to be a reason; there always seems to be a reason with you. And besides, you don’t usually restore males unless I’m not here.” She ended her statement by crossing her slender arms across her chest.
    Dillon sighed and sat back down in his chair. The consequences of what could happen if he told her ran through his mind and he decided it wouldn’t be too horrible if she knew the truth. The worst that could happen would be that she’d say no and she’d restore his father and he’d still get to see him . . . see if the man recognized his own son. He would get to see if his father was one of the lucky Undead Americans who, after restoration, retained memories of their former life; it was a slim chance, but it was part of his hopes.
    â€œThe man you’re going to restore is my father,” he said, studying her face.
    â€œThat’s . . . unexpected,” Dr. Miller said. “Are you sure you want to do your father’s restoration? Will you be able to focus?”
    â€œWill I be able to concentrate on the other restoration when I know you’re restoring my dad?” Dillon