Experiment Undead

The soldier reeks of stale beer and gunpowder, causing me to break eye contact and examine the name tag on the front of his army combat clothes. A small giggle with an added snort escapes my lips as I read the word “SMUDGE” emblazoned on it.

As he steps closer, I can feel his hot breath on my cheek, and his nose nearly touches mine.

He grits his words through his teeth. ‘Do you find something funny?’

I clear my throat and stifle my amusement, replying with a meek ‘No, sir’ while avoiding his angry gaze.

He steps back enough so that I can breathe in my personal space and plays with his moustache as he looks me up and down, ‘Who are you, and how did you get in here?’ he asks.

‘My name is Penny. I’ve been in the recreation reserve with my father. Henry and James got sick of hearing me cry for my mum every day. So um, Nora suggested they bring me here to her to help with the cooking,’ I lie.

Smudge looks me up and down and then looks at Patricia. He swiftly turns and marches a few steps, standing directly before her.

His eyes draw together, ‘This is your daughter?’ he asks.

‘Yes, sir,’ she replies nervously.

The soldier behind Smudge lights up a cigarette. With a hardened expression, he observes me from the distance between us. He appears to be in his early thirties. He stands tall, appears fit, and has short, dark hair neatly combed to the side. He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s pretty gloomy outside. I read the name on his camo shirt, WAKELY.

‘Smudge, just let them start the damn cooking. I’m starving. I don’t have time for your shit today,’ he says.

Smudge’s jaw tightens, then in a gruff voice, yells, ‘Well, you heard Wakely. Get your asses moving and get cooking,’ he points at Payton and Sandy, ‘You two come with me to get the water,’ he says.

The girls nod and quickly exit the tent with Smudge following behind them.

Patricia hands me a peeler. ‘Start on the potatoes,’ she says to me.

I groan in protest, but then Wakely intervenes, lowering his sunglasses, ‘If you prefer to go back to the reserve and sit in your shit, I’ll happily drag you back there,’ he smirks.

I loathe peeling any vegetable, especially potatoes. My shoulders drop, and I begrudgingly reach for a potato and start peeling.

Patricia takes the other peeler and starts on the carrots. We give each other the odd glance.

As we finish the peeling, Payton and Sandy return with the biggest soup pot I’ve ever seen, half filled with water. They both hold handles on each side, careful not to slosh and lose water.

‘Penny, grab the knives over there and bring them here, please,’ Patricia says.

‘Okay, Pa-Mother dearest,’ I reply.

As I reach up for the three knives, dozens of gunshots sound nearby, causing me to drop them. The sound is so much closer and louder that I automatically duck and cover my ears.

‘Those darn wolves,’ Smudge growls, ‘There were twice as many today in the perimeter as yesterday,’ he tells Wakely.

Wakely shakes his head, walks over to the box of unopened beers, and uncaringly knocks me over before grabbing two bottles. It causes me to have a brief flashback of one of my previous foster fathers, who would physically push me around at every opportunity he got. Wakely throws a beer at Smudge to catch. I glare at Wakely whilst I’m still on the ground. He completely ignores me as if I don’t even exist.

Wakely opens his beer and takes a swig before talking to Smudge, ‘You’d think with how many of them we’ve killed, they’d give up while they can.’

Wakely lights up a fresh cigarette and blows smoke in my direction. I cough and wave the smoke away from my face. Smudge and Wakely laugh.

I pick the knives up and give them the sweetest smile I can muster. They’ve messed with the wrong kid, and I’ll be sure they know it.

They give each other an odd look as my eyes burn into theirs, and my creepy smile sends a chill down their spines. They briefly break eye contact and glance at the knives I hold. Wakely nudges Smudge, and they face each other and return to chatting, to try and ignore the hair-raising moment.

I give Patricia, Sandy and Payton a knife each. They cut the vegetables and pass them to me as they chop them up. I place them in the pot of boiling water and add the bay leaves, thyme, and basil that Patricia hands me in a bowl.

As I stir the soup, a soldier enters the tent. He has three lambs tied together by the legs, strung over his back, ‘It’s our lucky day, boys. We just had a flock of sheep approaching. We shot them all dead, so I grabbed these ones here for these bitches to cook up,’ he grins.

Patricia, Sandy and Payton hide their frustration at the soldier’s insult.

I sit between the women and scoop the vegetable scraps into a pile, ‘Are all the soldiers here assholes?’ I ask Patricia.

The women laugh quietly.

‘The majority, yes,’ Patricia replies with a smile.

The soldier with the lambs walks over to us and drops the lambs carelessly between Patricia and me. One of the lamb’s heads lands on my lap. I look down, staring into its dark eyes, and then at the women in shock, but I don’t say anything. It must be the same flock of sheep from the farm.

I read the soldier’s name, LYEWOOD. He’s short and very skinny. He looks young, like Nate. He would be no older than nineteen but most likely eighteen years old and has a baby face with lots of acne and dark hair sticking out from under his helmet.

Patricia smiles, ‘We’ll add them to the soup,’ she says to him.

I shudder at the thought of eating the infected lamb. Would eating it also infect us, or would it have no effect? I wonder.

‘Damn right, you will,’ he says, walking over to Smudge and Wakely, ‘Have you boys checked out that hot redhead at the camp? Man, every time she flutters her eyes at me, my balls feel like they’re going to explode,’ he says.

The men laugh.

‘You probably still haven’t grown all your pubes yet. You don’t even have facial hair,’ Smudge laughs even louder and Wakely too.

Lyewood glares at them, turning a shade of red from embarrassment.

‘Ass Smudge,’ Lyewood says, narrowing his eyes at Smudge with a smirk.

‘You little punk, what did you call me?’ Smudge growls.

The smirk from Lyewood’s face disappears and is replaced with a look of worry as Smudge stomps toward him. Lyewood runs for his life out of the tent. Smudge chases after him.

I try to contain my laugh with the other women, but Payton can’t help herself and laughs out loud.

Wakely walks over to us and grabs Payton by the back of her hair, yanks her head back and slaps her hard across the face, ‘I’ll give you something to laugh at,’ he spits in her face and drags her across the ground, before kicking her in the stomach and walking out of the tent to find Smudge.

I was angry, no, I was furious! I pushed the lamb from my lap and felt for my knife tucked in my sock. I was ready to stab him until Patricia grabbed my arm tightly and gave me a stern look shaking her head no at me.

‘We will all be punished and her more if you intervene,’ she whispers.

I’m confused at first, but then I stare at Sandy, who looks away, rubbing her neck. That’s when I notice the marks and light bruises. It dawns on me they’ve all been beaten previously by the soldiers. I reluctantly let go of my knife, keeping it tucked in my boot. My eyes burn into Wakely’s back as he kicks Payton in the stomach and then abruptly walks out of the tent.

It’s strange how I feel guilty over shooting my dad and officer kip. I also feel wrong about the soulless boy from the wardrobe I had killed. Even though I didn’t show any emotion at the time. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was scared. I had to pretend it was no big deal. I wanted my friends to be safe. I want them to know if I can fight a soulless off, then so can they. What I find strange is that the thought of stabbing Wakely makes me smile. Like the helicopter pilot, I can’t even sense the slightest hint of hesitation or guilt. After he killed that family in the car, I was glad to kill him.

Finally alone. We hurry to help Payton.

She hugs her stomach, ‘I’m okay,’ she says, sitting up, ‘Last time was worse,’ she laughs sadly, keeping her eyes to the ground.

Sandy and Patricia help her back to where we were sitting.

I crouch by the lambs and check the other two. Their eyes are normal. It’s only the one lamb infected.

‘What are you doing, Penny?’ Sandy asks.

‘This lamb is contaminated. I don’t think we should risk eating it. It might cause us to become infected,’ I tell her.

‘Wait! Animals can become infected as well!’ Payton shrieks.

‘Yes, its eyes give it away,’ I inspect the lamb further and find a bite mark near its hoof, ‘See here? It’s been bitten,’ I show them.

‘But, then again, maybe?’ I say and stare at the beer bottles.

‘Maybe what?’ Patricia asks.

‘What if eating the meat does infect us? If we add it to the soup and feed it to the soldiers. They will turn. It will make it easier to free everyone,’ I say to them.

‘How would having infected soldiers trying to bite us help the situation?’ Sandy asks.

‘It’s not easy to kill a human, but it’s easy to kill them when they’re infected and no longer have their souls,’ I tell her.

‘Oh, you’re talking about morally rather than physically,’ she replies.

‘I guess,’ I shrug.

‘Penny, while they’re not here. The bottles,’ Patricia says and gestures her head behind her.

I scoot myself over, grab the duffel bag and place the bottles in the bag.

‘What is Penny doing?’ Payton asks.

‘I’ll explain it to you both later. In the meantime, help me cut the lamb and place the meat chunks in the pot. Make sure no one but the soldiers eat it,’ she says to them.

‘How do we know that eating the lamb will infect them? What if it has no effect?’ Sandy asks.

At that moment, Wakely and Smudge enter the tent alone and resume their spots by the beer. They’re angry about something.

I discreetly zip the bag closed behind Patricia and sit next to her. We make eye contact with each other and nod with the same idea of serving them the soup first as soon as it’s cooked.

Payton leans towards me, ‘How will we kill them if they do turn?’ she whispers.

I smile, ‘Leave that to me.’

The women give each other a look of confusion. I can tell they’re thinking about how on earth a kid will deal with two soulless soldiers. Deciding it’s best to leave it up to their imagination. I walk over to the boiling pot and stir.

The women skin the lambs, cut the meat into chunks, and add it to the pot.

The aroma of vegetable and lamb soup wafts from the tent. The odd soldier pokes their head in the tent to see if it’s ready to eat, only for Smudge to yell at them to ‘Fuck off and wait their turn.’

Patricia grabs a spoon pretends to scoop the contents, and sips it, ‘Oh, this is the best yet. The lamb sure complements it, she says,’ to Payton and Sandy.

Wakely shoves Patricia aside. She falls to the ground but lifts her head enough to reveal her smile. Wakely grabs the ladle, fills a bowl, passes it to Smudge, and then grabs another bowl. Patricia returns to the pot and casually fills more bowls in preparation for us to give to all the other soldiers at their posts.

We’ve been discreetly watching them savour the soup, but they laugh and chat with each other with no effect. It’s now been ten minutes since they finished the soup. I bite my lip. They’re not infected. I sigh heavily, only to receive a clip over the ear.

‘Ouch,’ I say, feeling the sting.

Smudge narrows his eyes at me, ‘Hurry up and serve the other soldiers. I’m not getting into trouble with Commander Bryant again,’ he shouts.

‘Yes sir,’ I say politely and walk to the table served with soups.

Suddenly, there’s a loud thud behind me as I pick up a bowl of soup to place on a tray.

‘Smudge? What the fuck, dude?’ Wakely says, trying to shake him awake.

Smudge suddenly falls into a seizure as he froths at the mouth, his skin pales, his veins become engorged, and his eyes darken as he becomes soulless.

‘Shit, when and where did he get bit? He never said anything!’ Wakely grabs his gun and aims it at Smudge.

Damn it. If Wakely shoots Smudge, the other soldiers will come in to see what has happened. They can’t know the food is contaminated. I feel for my gun tucked under my shirt, knowing I can’t use that either. I crawl around as he is occupied with Smudge and stand behind him with my knife. As I’m about stab Wakely in the neck, he falls to the ground and into a seizure.

‘It worked,’ Patricia says ecstatically.

I nod, step over Wakely and stand over Smudge. I stare at the veins along his neck, cheeks and forehead. The women watch me in fascination. I can hear a strange sound. I inspect his hands and watch as the bones in his fingers crack, slightly extending, and his nails grow thicker with a sharp razor tip. I take his shoes off, then his socks.

‘What is she doing?’ Payton whispers to Sandy.

‘I have no bloody idea, but this kid is something,’ Sandy replies.

I’m interested to know the soulless grow, clawed feet as well as hands. The razor-fingered claws would help to hold down prey and rip them open, but also, the clawed feet mean the soulless can most likely climb anything, especially trees. I realise now it was a good thing I didn’t climb that tree back at the farm when I had that chance. Even if I had managed to climb up, the soulless would have been able to go up after me. I would have been surrounded and, for sure, would have lost my soul.

I realise how lucky I am to be alive then suddenly, Smudge’s eyes flash open. He hisses and snarls, and my knife lodges through his skull before he can even sit up. I pull my knife out and watch him fall back to the ground with a thud.

As I gaze upon Wakely, my eyes are fixated on his, darkening by the second. I am mesmerized by the sight before me. It’s as if magic has come to life and is unfolding right in front of me.

But what captures my attention the most are his veins. They appear to be pulsing with life as if they have a mind of their own. The blood within them is becoming darker, like ink staining paper, spreading and growing in intricate patterns.

It’s a strange yet unique sight, but I find myself unable to look away. It’s like I’m witnessing a secret, a hidden part of the human body that only I get to see.

His seizure stops. He moans and gnarls as he sits up—blood and vomit dripping from his blue lips. I smile and greet him the same way as Smudge, with a knife through his skull. But this time, my knife won’t budge.

I grizzle, place my foot on his head and pull until my knife becomes free—blood splatters across my face and shoulder. I fall back from the force and sit up to see the colour from Patricia, Sandy, and Payton’s faces drain, staring at me in shock.

I stand, wipe my blade clean on the leg of my jeans, and tuck it back in my boot, and with hands on hips, I ask, ‘So, which soldiers do we serve next?’