Flip This Zombie - Jesse Petersen [23]
“This is the infected blood from a…” Barnes sighed, heavy and put-upon, “zombie.”
We all watched as the animal began to convulse. It flopped helplessly for a few agonizing moments, but just as suddenly it went still and limp against the cage floor. Within seconds, it got back up.
I couldn’t help but flinch because we had seen this so many times before, although always in people, which was worse… so much worse. Although I have to say, a zombiefied guinea pig was pretty hideous, too.
The creature’s beady eyes were now red as it lunged toward the cage edge and snarled and bit at the guinea pigs in the adjoining cage. The other little animals cowered back, huddling in a group that put me in mind of the camp just a short drive away.
Black sludge poured from the poor infected creature’s mouth and it banged its head against the bars of its cage in an attempt to get into the other cage and satisfy its craving for… um, guinea pig soufflé, I guess.
“So you can make an animal into a zombie,” I whispered.
The ramifications of that were horrifying. Small animals, small spaces to hide in—the risk of infection had just gone up. The chances of survival… not so much.
“Yes,” Barnes said with a solemn shake of his head. “But it doesn’t appear to happen in any natural environment I’ve studied. The outbreak began in humans and the infected only seem to attack their own kind. So far that means the animals have been safe.”
“Until they start eating the rotting flesh from zombies,” Dave muttered.
My heart sank at the idea, but Barnes looked at me with a small smile that was somehow comforting. “Actually, there is something in the smell of the infected that puts animals off. I’ve observed them devouring the flesh from dead who were uninfected by the outbreak, but not the corpses of the… zombies. At least so far.”
I nodded slowly. That was something at least. So far.
“Now, let me show you what I’ve developed,” the doctor muttered, almost to himself.
He flipped another switch and the robotic arms returned to the cage. The infected animal lunged for them this time, biting them mercilessly until they caught his little writhing body and lifted him to inject him a second time. Through the glass we couldn’t hear the sound, but it opened its mouth in what seemed like a howl of pain and frustration (if a guinea pig, especially one who is now a zombie, can feel such an emotion) as he was set back into his isolated cage.
At first nothing happened. The littlest zombie merely paced around and around its enclosure, heaving in breaths and occasionally throwing itself toward the cage bars as if it was testing their strength.
But, after about two minutes, its breathing rate slowed almost back to normal. The little creature stopped attacking the bars and instead returned to its dish of pellets and picked up a few to munch on. When the robotic hands returned to the cage and picked it up, it hardly registered a reaction. Slowly, they pulled the guinea pig to the other cage with the herd of other animals and deposited it within their ranks.
We were holding our collective breath as the once-infected animal not only didn’t attack the others, but merged into their group without so much as a growl in their direction. Apparently forgetful of their friend’s recent terrifying attempt to turn them into guinea pig steaks (a diet craze that will soon sweep the nation, I’m sure), they welcomed him back to the fold (by ignoring him, but that’s as good as it gets with guinea pigs, I think).
Dave was the first one to break the silence. “How long does he stay like that?”
The doctor looked at us, eyes wide and filled with unmistakable triumph. “So far, permanently.”
I blinked. “What?”
“There are animals in that cage that were treated a week ago and have shown no signs of cannibalistic tendencies.”
“Were all of them infected at some point—could that be why they’re calm?” I asked, still staring at the apparently happy little group.
“I understand