We can't see the zombie’s face from the way he’s sitting with his head tipped forward against his knees. Wolfe bangs on the glass. All three zombies immediately look toward us, their eyes sharpening and their lips pulling back automatically. The zombie in the corner lurches to his feet, becoming aware that there are humans nearby. Wolfe bangs on the glass again and the zombie plunges toward us, slamming his hands into the thick glass and shrieking.
Both Hannah and Dr. Summers jump away from the glass, but Wolfe and I remain. In fact, I step even closer to the glass, taking in each and every feature of the zombie. Its nose seems to have been scraped clear off, only two breathing holes left in his face. Something, a piece of wood, or metal, has been jabbed through his cheek and jaw. His neck has been pierced, too. He’s so covered in filth it takes me a moment to realize that he looks familiar.
I lift my hands to the glass and squint at him, searching every feature, trying to get past the damage done after he would've turned, to see the man beneath. Finally, it hits me, and I let out a loud gasp.
"Silas!"
Thirty-Two
"It can't be," I whisper to myself.
Yet, as my eyes trace the ravaged features of the snarling, hideous creature on the other side of the glass, his familiarity is undeniable.
"It's him." Hannah comes to stand next to me, so close that our shoulders touch.
I glance at her face and realize she's experiencing the same emotions as I am. Our husband, a man who we both thought dead, has come back from the grave. The moment is heart wrenching, but there's a glimmer of hope. He’s been brought here as a Primitive so that our Sanctuary can work on a potential cure.
"How is this possible?" I glance at Dr. Summers. "He had a neuroblastoma, a tumor that would have been fatal within weeks of the attacks if the Primitives hadn’t gotten him. How is it possible that he’s still alive?"
Dr. Summers shakes her head and gives me a steady look. "We have almost no understanding of Primitive physiology. Perhaps his tumor shrunk on its own. Or, more likely, something about the Turn either stopped the tumor in its tracks or killed it entirely. Tumors are made up of live cells and when a body goes through the Turn, it essentially dies. This is why humans like to borrow from legend and call them zombies. The living dead."
I continue to look steadily at the face of a husband I thought dead as he slams his fist angrily into the glass and snarls at me, determined to murder and eat me where I stand. This is not the Silas I remember.
"If we can somehow treat him, what would it mean? Would he still have a tumor?"
Before Dr. Summers can answer Wolfe says sharply, "It."
I glance over at him startled. "What?"
Though Wolfe’s expression is smooth, I can feel the tension in his body. His gaze is steady on mine. "This is not Silas. This is not a man. This is a zombie."
Heat rises to my face and I bite my tongue so I don't snap at him. I remind myself that Wolfe wants to take me for his wife. He wants me to become Warlord of this Sanctuary, to rule over it with him at my side. In his mind, he's painted a pretty picture of the two of us holding court over a perfectly functioning city. Having Silas back changes everything. It means I'm still married, and the original Warlord of the Santa Fe Sanctuary is once more standing before us.
I glance at Silas who has now fallen into an almost trancelike state. His head is tilted to the side and slightly forward, his long greasy hair flopping in his face, his shoulders down and his hands at his sides. My husband but also not. I can barely wrap my mind around what this means.
"I hate to crash any hopes you might have," Dr. Summers says quietly, stepping up to me and Hannah and touching each of us on the shoulder. She knows that we are the two in this room that are affected most by Silas's sudden appearance. "But this man is not your husband. Warlord Silas died a long time ago and the possibility of bringing him back is extraordinarily slim. I asked for you to bring me live Primitives to study. It was never my intention to cure the subjects that you brought me, but to use them while I search for a treatment."
"But those two things don't have to be mutually exclusive." This from Hannah, whose face is twisted in grief. An answering grief rises up, piercing my heart with a sharp pain. "Why can't you use him for study and still keep him alive? Once the cure is found… you could…"
Her voice trails off as tears start to leak from her eyes. She lifts a hand and touches it over the glass where Silas's face is on the other side.
Silas jerks to life and slams himself against the window, his face hitting with such force that his cheek bursts open and blood pours down his face. Hannah cries out and jumps back. I envelop her in my arms as she hits me and I hold her while she cries.
Dr. Summers doesn't answer Hannah’s question. She doesn't need to. The likelihood of us being able to change Silas back to his original condition, zombie free and tumor free, is an impossible dream. It won't happen. Perhaps it will take Hannah time to see the logic.
"We should go," I say over top of Hannah's head, my gaze meeting Wolfe’s. "We're just upsetting him, causing him to hurt himself."
Wolfe's gaze becomes glacial. Probably at my repeated use of the word him instead of it. I don't care, I refuse to call Silas by anything other than his name.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I say to Dr. Summers.
Wolfe shakes his head, wraps his hand around my arm and tugs me against his side, out of Hannah's embrace. "From now on, you'll stay out of the lab."
"Don't be ridiculous," I say sharply, frowning up at Wolfe. "I'll need to speak with Dr. Summers about her project on a regular basis."
"You will not come here again." Wolfe’s voice is hard and final as he tugs me from the lab without a backwards glance at any of the others. I’m shocked that he’s allowing jealousy to cloud his good sense. It’s not like him.
As we walk swiftly back toward the palace, the light of dawn begins to make its way across the landscape. I shake my head to clear it and breathe in the fresh early morning air. Dew, dust and a combination of concrete and nature.
"Are you jealous of a zombie?" I ask Wolfe, an edge of humour in my voice. He’s very rarely unreasonable, so it seems funny to me that he knows full well my presence is required in the lab and he’s attempting to refuse me entry. It's my job to okay the flow of supplies, labour and research. Dr. Summers needs me to be available to her.
"You humanized it."
Wolfe doesn't answer my question, but I understand what he's saying. In my eyes, that zombie is my husband, not a dead creature who will be sacrificed in our pursuit of the cure.
Instead of arguing with Wolfe, I ask him, "If I had been bitten a year ago and you found me living as a zombie, what would you do? If I was capable of turning, I mean. Would you kill me?"
Wolfe takes my questions very seriously. He stops in his tracks and turns me around to face him, reaching to grip my head and tilt it up to his. His expression is fierce, his eye narrowed on my face. He doesn't say anything at first but looks down at me as though attempting to form an answer based on what he sees in my face.
Finally, he says, "No, I wouldn't kill you."