01 The Syn-En Solution by Linda Andrews

Author:Linda Andrews [Andrews, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1490459014
Amazon: B007Y2PMJQ
Published: 2012-04-25T23:00:00+00:00

After glancing left then right, Nell crept to the fourth door. It opened when she neared, giving her a view of the cramped interior. Cloth-draped gurneys filled the rectangular shaped room. Nell shuddered at the human shaped silhouettes underneath. Other shrouded bodies stuffed four chef’s racks shoved against the far wall. Good Lord, it was a morgue. Just as she stepped back toward the hall, a clear football helmet-shaped form on the other side of the room caught her eye.

The sight stirred one of her new memories and data rushed in, for once unaccompanied by the voice of her mother/conscience.

“An imaging machine.” Shaking off her revulsion, Nell tiptoed into the room. The doors whisked shut behind her, cloaking the voices from the other rooms. Ears straining, she struggled to hear something, anything besides her breath rattling around inside her head.

From the corner of her eye, Nell detected movement. She focused on the body lying on the gurney near her right hip. Did that sheet just rise and fall? Sweat moistened her palms and her heart picked up tempo. Could they have shoved a person in a morgue that wasn’t quite dead? On instinct, she reached for the body.

Every zombie movie she’d ever watched replayed at hyper speed through Nell’s head. She curled her fingers against her palm and folded her arms over her chest as icy fear trickled down her spine. She stopped herself from turning around and running out of the room. “Zombies don’t exist.”

Her words trembled in the room.

A network of pin lights embedded in the ceiling buzzed, flickered then sizzled out. Nell’s tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth. While the remaining bank of illumination spotlighted the helmet form of the imager, her feet seemed welded to the floor.

Was that a sign to leave or stay?

Gritting her teeth, Nell cast a look over her shoulder at the door then at the imager. Half way there. She slid her right foot forward. The imager was the best chance at finding those space parasites or whatever lived inside her head.

A low groan rumbled through the stillness.

Gaze bouncing wildly, Nell jumped and spun about, looking for the source. Her hip bumped into a gurney and something grazed her thigh.

She gargled a scream, backpedaled and batted at whatever touched her. Holding her breath, she glanced down.

A small, feminine hand dangled next to the gurney. Deep gouges scored the slim wrist and forearm, exposing the empty compartments and the metal rods that provided strength and support.

Swallowing the lump of terror lodged in her throat, Nell reached for the arm. A person with DTs would have shaken less. Steeling her resolve, Nell pinched the wrist and tossed it back onto the gurney. Her brain registered the warm, pliant skin seconds before the arm crashed to a stop next to the body.

Nell winced at the loud noise. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” a soft voice whispered back.

Stumbling backward, Nell tripped over her feet. Corpses don’t talk. Corpses can’t talk. She landed on her rump with a teeth-rattling thud, her mantra playing inside her skull.

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