This moraclass="underline" You do not walk into the hidden underground hideout of an evil mastermind and expect to get adopted into his family.
Lucy was going to be super disappointed with the way things turned out. Cue audience sad moans.
Scott King’s eyes met with Grant and he raised his eyebrows a bit. “You’re awake. I apologize for the entertainment,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, suddenly awkward.
“I’m always a fan of Scientist Humming. One of my favorites,” Grant offered up and Scott’s smile widened.
“Yes, um, that was Humming in a Major Chord,” Scott continued the joke. “A favorite.” Then Lucy’s father walked over to Grant and without warning plunged a needle into his arm; Grant flinched and then relaxed as Scott withdrew the needle. Then he slapped around for Grant’s veins and carefully drew a vial of blood. He held his finger over the injection site for a few moments before walking away, looking at the blood with curiosity.
“There’s no need for sudden needle plunges,” Grant called after him. “I’m not a big fighter. I’d rather know what you’re doing.”
Scott nodded without turning around. “Noted,” he replied absentmindedly. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“You want to know why I’m alive,” Grant said to Scott, hoping to extend the conversation.
Scott turned to Grant. He tucked the capped vial of Grant’s blood into his lab coat pocket. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s perplexing.”
“Up until a few hours ago, I thought it was sort of like a super power,” Grant replied. “I mean…Virus Boy. Has a good superhero ring to it.”
Scott kept his eyes trained on Grant; then he smiled.
“Virus Boy,” Scott repeated and he chuckled. Grant shrugged and put his hands in his lap—he tried to think of more virus jokes, but they eluded him. He wished he had paid more attention in biology class; there had to be a good zinger about antibodies.
For a brief moment, Grant thought maybe it would be exactly like Lucy suspected—they’d free him from his metal bed, invite him up for supper, and bygones would be bygones. If Scott King appreciated humor, maybe Grant could win him over with puns and superhero jokes all night.
He had nothing else.
No leverage.
No parents searching for him; no living family hoping for his return. Only Lucy and her friendship was the only clout he had, but he didn’t want to use her. It wasn’t fair.
“I can see why my daughter enjoyed your company,” Scott replied and he turned to leave. “It’s clear that you are a good guy, Grant. And you’ve been good for her. I appreciate that.”
“We were separated,” Grant said, his voice trailing off. “I’ve been worried. But… I mean, just, it must have been a great reunion. So, she’s happy now? I guess, I mean…” he stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He lifted his wrist and the chain lifted with him. “I just want her to be happy, you know? So, is she? Does she seem happy?”
Scott paused and he ran his teeth over his lips and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “She’s concerned about you, actually. She’s having a rough time understanding this place.”
“Huh,” was all Grant could think to say. He wished she wouldn’t. He wished she would just enjoy seeing everyone again. “Will you tell her that I said that…”
“I’ll stop you right there,” Scott interrupted. “You have to know Lucy well enough now to know that telling her something won’t change what she thinks.” He leaned against the counter. “This is a huge adjustment and there’s no easy way to explain—” Scott motioned around the room in a sweeping gesture.
Grant let the chain rise and fall and hit the metal bed. It clunk-clunk-clunked in the small room. Then he let his eyes scan the small room; all the vials and science equipment.
“Hey, I have a question…it’s embarrassing,” Grant said after a moment.
“I don’t do embarrassing,” Scott answered quickly and turned to walk away. “I’d send an assistant in…but I’m afraid it’s just me and you, kid. So, sorry. I’m sorry. Never could do any of that stuff even with my own kids—”
“No—” Grant called to him, backpedaling. “No. Not like, you know, physically embarrassing. Or personal…no…nothing like that. I wanted to ask about…” he paused and then decided just to say it. “Zombies?”
“Zombies.”
“Yeah, you know, the undead. Flesh-eating dead people.”
“I know what zombies are,” Scott answered. “What do you want to know about them?”
“Can they happen? In real life?”
Scott took a tentative step back toward Grant and tilted his head to the side, regarding Grant with equal parts amusement and concern. “You want to know if zombies are real?”
“Could be real. It’s just…you’re a scientist and all. You study viruses, right?”
After a delay, Scott nodded.
“Mythologically speaking a virus is one way zombies happen. Virus. Zombies. And so, could all of the people who died of the virus…just…you know…”
Scott laughed and the sheer volume of it scared Grant into silence. He stopped talking and looked at the man sidelong. All of the pictures at the King house showed him with a reserved smile—never showing his teeth—his arms wrapped around Maxine, who always looked a few years older than him. The patriarch of the King brood mastered photographic stoicism. But here, he seemed lively and jovial; endearing even, and Grant did not know how to marry the Scott King he expected and the Scott King standing before him. He waited until Scott was done laughing and then looked at him, unblinking.
“I’m sorry,” Scott said and he held up a finger. Then he grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to Grant’s bedside. Sitting across from Grant, crossing one leg and leaning over, Scott smiled. “Okay. No. The bodies killed by the virus are dead. Gone.”
“Okay,” Grant answered, waiting with baited breath to see if Mr. King would indulge him.
“If you’re asking whether or not zombies are scientifically disproven, however, then I can’t answer no. I don’t have empirical evidence, but there is some anecdotal evidence that might support zombies.”
“English,” Grant replied.
“I haven’t seen any. Don’t expect to. Research suggests…maybe.”
“Maybe.” Grant smiled.
Scott leaned in a bit further. “We’re not talking about an army of the undead. That’s impossible. Once people are dead, they are, in fact, dead. But there are medicines that can simulate death and chemicals that can cause a zombie-like reaction. People have been known, anecdotally, to die and then have vague recollections of their behavior for an extended period of time. But those are not real deaths…they are chemically simulated deaths.”
“That’s not the same,” Grant said and he felt a bit let down. He was hoping Lucy’s father could answer this question for him once and for all.
“Maybe not a Hollywood version of zombies, but if someone was close to death and spent time in a zombie-like state? And perhaps that state had lowered inhibitions or hallucinations? Well, then, that is quite remarkable.”
“Would those zombies like brains?”
“No way of knowing,” Scott replied. “Seems a trial would be needed to measure a chemically simulated zombie’s desire for human flesh.”
Grant smiled. “Awesome.”
“We wondered if the virus we were creating would in fact create a zombie-like phenomenon,” Scott revealed in a whisper. “If the virus damaged part of the brain, but left vital organs working and functioning. But that wasn’t our desire. And, ultimately, none of our test subjects succumbed in that fashion, which is good.”
“You wanted to kill people. Done and done.”