Chapter Text
Kieren swallows; his mouth has turned to cotton. God, why did he ever agree to this? No amount of money is worth walking into a den of rabid zombies or, for that fact, drawing chained up ones. However, here he is going into a treatment center to do just that. All for a chance to enter his drawings of the Undead to a textbook company. Many of his classmates have also been swayed by how lucrative the deal will be. For every book printed with their work they’ll be paid for each copy. Easy to see how quickly the money will add up. Now with their destination drawing up fast, the bus is filled with buzzing tension. No more bragging about what someone will do if one of the rabids come at them. Speak about it and there’s a chance it might happen.
Miss Clay-Air, their art teacher, seems not to be troubled by such fears. No doubt due to the fact from the moment she got the go ahead with this insane project she’s been excited at the prospect.
Right now, she’s in her scolding mother mode.
“Now remember, the Undead we’re drawing have been medicated for a month so I don’t want to hear any mention of “rabid” in the center, the bus, or in my classroom.” Her gaze drills into every one of them. “They’ve suffered enough.”
The effect of her reprimand is weakened by their arrival at the treatment center.
Kieren’s mouth drops open as they wait at the fenced entrance for clearance to go in. The gray washed out place is massive, not to mention topped with so much barbwire it must have cost half their budget. All the guns on the heavily armored guards explain where the other half has gone to. The inside of the blocky place is no more welcoming than the outside. Harsh fluorescent lights drain color while highlighting the amount of dust swirling through the air. One of the girls starts wheezing, her friend complaining that all this dust is irritating her asthma. How the hell is anyone able to work in these conditions, let alone have them drawing in it?
The group of stone faced guards don’t say a word in response just herd them all into an office stuffed with files. Many are sprayed across the desk, towering piles atop the filing cabinets, and filling the only two chairs in the room. No doubt all these belong to the rabids -people- here but Kieren doesn’t get time to wonder why everything is so slap-dash before two men come bustling in. They shake hands, grinning as if they’re closing a business deal, not welcoming terrified college kids into a prison of Undead. He finds he doesn’t much care for their car salesman persona. Too fast for Kieren to catch, they introduce themselves and the fact they had been the ones to make the drug to bring the Undead their minds back.
“Please don’t hesitate to ask us any questions about the facility or your assigned PDS sufferer.” The blond one smiles while his partner passes out the files on the desk. Kieren frowns when he opens the folder he’s been handed. Simon Monroe is neatly printed on the front of the manila envelope. These – these look like medical files but - no…riffling through the rather thick stack of pages reveal this folder contains everything this rabid had done his entire life.
Simon Arthur Monroe flashes past on a birth certificate, a rap sheet heavily dosed with drug charges, mugshots with a dead eyed man –
“Excuse me,” The blond man looks at Kieren eyebrows raised expectantly, “Why did you give us their files? Isn’t this kind of stuff supposed to be confidential?”
“Come off it Kieren, they’re dead.” Jay, his fellow classmate, laughs, pushing Kieren’s shoulder. “Besides don’t you want to see what your rabi -” Miss Clay-Air’s razor eyes are on Jay in an instant “– your sufferer is like? Mine’s a little girl named Nancy. Christ, died when she was seven.” Jay leans against him, attempting to look at Simon’s folder.
“How old’s yours? Are those police records?” His voice sounds gleeful at the thought, his hand held out to take a rap sheet. Jay’s invasive curiosity shouldn’t get under his skin as much as it does - he doesn’t owe Simon any privacy - but Jay’s callousness gets to him. So Kieren shakes his head as he closes the folder, tucking it under his arm.
“He’s thirty-two with lots of parking tickets.” At once Jay’s interest evaporates. He gives a sagely nod as if that explains everything.
“Sucks to hear you got a boring one.” Kieren shrugs with a wan smile, more than relieved when Miss Clay-Air calls for their attention.
“Everyone, it’s time. You’ll be paired off with your guard and taken to your PDS sufferer,” she says brightly. Kieren’s heart starts to gallop, stomach acid gnawing at him as his classmates fall in line to be paired. At the door, a blond guard nods to him in greeting, a know-it-all smile on her face.
“So how much are they going to pay?” She asks as they move off further into the center. Kieren gets the distinct impression she thinks this is a joke.
“Nothing unless our drawings get picked. How much do they pay you?” It must be a lot considering she has to work inside this dreary, filthy place. It had been a prison before being a treatment center, but the lack of even a pretense of cleanliness shocks him. It doesn’t send a message of caring about the Undead when their center is a hovel.
A smug “Seventeen pounds an hour.” pulls Kieren from his wandering thoughts. His wide eyes make her preen even more. “Still a shite job but the money is great and a taser works like a charm on them. Here’s your sufferer,” She glances at the number painted on the door. “Got Simon, lucky you, he’s the quiet one around here.” Kieren shifts his weight from one foot to the other feeling as if he is going to pee himself from nerves.
“You’re sure he’s under control?” he asks. Anything to prolong having to go in there by himself.
She rolls his eyes at his delay tactic. The job pays her to babysit corpses, not stupid kids who sign up to draw them.
“We give them their Neurotriptyline an hour before anyone arrives. However, yours wouldn’t listen to me when I told him not to wear his mousse or contacts. Acts like that does anything to cover what he is,” Mary mutters, unlocking the door before she gestures for him to go in. No way out of it now, cautiously Kieren enters the room, stomach twisting when the door closes behind him.
The rabid, no - not that, PDS sufferer, sits silently in a metal chair watching him put both the folder and his drawstring backpack on the table. Kieren himself tries not to stare in return. What makes that difficult is that Simon has coated every visible part of himself with mousse. His face, neck, hands, even the entirety of his ears. He has applied it so liberally it looks like he’s gone almost orange. It is clear, too, that Simon has attempted to look presentable with his hair combed back, slicked down to a neat part with water. The only normal part of him is his eyes which are light blue.
But his neat appearance can’t take away the fact that there are handcuffs around his wrists and ankles anchoring him to the chair. Kieren clears his throat as he takes a seat, unpacking his supplies and chancing glances at Simon as he does so.
He had expected his sufferer to be disfigured from his time as a rabid. It only makes sense that, while in that mindless state, he would get cuts from being outdoors, and from any possible run-ins with the Human Volunteer Force or well-armed civilians. By many miracles, though, he’s fairly unharmed. Perhaps the wounds that never heal are beneath his clothes? If not for the fact Simon’s one of the Undead, he would be rather handsome, and the unbidden thought disturbs Kieren. Who in their right mind would call the Undead attractive?
He tries to push that idea away by introducing himself.
“I’m Kieren, and I’m from the uni for art class. Well - I mean - to draw you for art class not…you know…” He trails off uncomfortably, mouth leached once again of spit. If Simon does know or not he gives no indication, his eyes merely trained upon him.
The back of Kieren’s neck heats as he ducks his eyes back to his sketch pad. When Mary had said Simon was the most quiet one, he had not guessed she meant literally. For the next two hours he works in silence, soon too concentrated on his work to be bothered by the fact Simon isn’t chatty. The quietness is somewhat nice. Simon doesn’t feel the need to make small talk nor does he expect it and…that is less stressful.
By the time lunch break is called he’s happy for the stopping point, shaking out his hand and massaging his fingers. A full portfolio is expected for this possible deal with the textbook company, so that means drawing from every possible angle. Miss Clay-Air had warned them all they would be working up until the last second in order to fulfill this. A glance to Simon as the chair he sits in creaks, metal on metal jangling while he shifts into a more comfortable position.
“You didn’t have to keep still the entire time,” Kieren can’t help smiling at him, hoping maybe it will warm him up a bit. It’s going to be a very long twelve weeks if Simon continues to stay this silent. “You’re still allowed to move.”
Simon gives a disbelieving blink. He rattles the cuffs at his wrists. Kieren wants to be swallowed up by the floor. Why, why did he say that? Possibly the poorest choice of words he could have picked.
“Come on, Walker!” Mary raps hard on the door, “You either eat your lunch now or not at all.” It’s clear her feelings are that the students are being coddled enough as it is. Kieren stands, hesitating, caught between going to lunch and apologizing for his ignorant comments. However, Mary takes care of that for him by finally holding the door open, impatiently gesturing for him to leave.
“Do I need to walk you down there myself?”
Heat stings Kieren’s cheeks, of course, the perfect time for blushing. He shakes his head and follows after her, Simon’s eyes on the back of his neck like prickles.
“So, how did you like your first experience with the medicated Undead?” She inquires, bad mood evaporated now that he’s doing what she wants. Kieren bites the inside of his cheek, considers not answering her. Mary’s been nothing but abrasive to the point of rudeness. Why should he have to act nice? Oh right, she’s going to be his guard for the entire school year. He can’t afford to irritate her.
“Fine.”
Well if he has to answer he’s not going to be chatty. However, Mary doesn’t appear to care anymore about his reply. She’s hailing her coworkers who are also leading his classmates to lunch. Rather, they could be prisoners with all this security on them. Jay is thankfully too preoccupied with their other classmates to come ask questions. Judging by the wild hand gestures and pointing to himself Jay would terrify anyone about his sufferer. Poor little girl.
Lunch is just brown bags with cafeteria food. Silly, but the surprise of two biscuits has Kieren smiling. Amy’s work, for which he’s grateful. The others who come to sit with him, away from Jay’s speculations of sufferers going rabid, are quiet. They’re lost in their own reflections of the day so far. The touch of a hand on his shoulder startles him, fright needling his stomach as he looks up to see it’s only Ms. Clay-Air.
“How are you finding all this, Kieren?”
What can he say? Overwhelming, humiliating, with a heaping sense of guilt for his luck of being on the other side of the room? He doesn’t deserve to sit here having lunch while Simon is locked away waiting for his purpose to come back. Instead he forces a thin smile.
“New and uh - different.” He can admit that much without being cruel. Crazy as Ms. Clay-Air is to have even thought of this, she’s dedicated all of her time and influence to make this available to them. Kieren’s still in awe of all the strings she must have pulled. His words bring a smile to her face as she squeezes his shoulder.
“Thank you for being sweet, Kieren. I know this is unsettling to say the least, but you’re doing amazing work for these sufferers and medical science.” Ms. Clay-Air’s eyes warms as she speaks, her conviction shining through. The hope in her tone brightens his spirits. Maybe he can help Simon by being his outside contact to the world. It’s with that thought their lunch recess is called to an end. Quickly, Kieren wraps up his two biscuits, squirreling them away in his hoodie’s pocket. If he was in Simon’s place he would most certainly miss sweets. The guards are without a doubt the last people to offer such luxuries.
Nerves boil in his stomach as he walks back, paying no mind to Mary. He’s so antsy by the time they’re back, he goes right over to Simon and presents the biscuits.
“I didn’t see the guards - well the ones with us - bring you anything, so I thought, y’know, you’d like something sweet. I know I’d miss sweets - so anyways -,” He stumbles swallowing against his dry throat .“They’re just snickerdoodle.” Sweat dampens his armpits as Simon’s eyes dart, with wariness, to the sweets - his face - back to the biscuits. Kieren’s tongue clicks audibly when he opens his mouth. “If you want them, of course.”
Before he can go sit down burning with embarrassment, Simon reaches up as much as the cuffs will let him and holds out his hand.
He wants the biscuits.
Relief is a cool breeze. Kieren smiles and, without their fingers touching, sets the wrapped bundle in Simon’s palm. For a moment all he does is look at the sweets, eyeing the sugar liberally sprinkled on them. He lifts them close to his nose, inhaling deeply their fragrance, but doesn’t take a bite. Just smells the pastries like they're flowers. Kieren returns to his seat disturbed by the reaction.
How long has it been since he’s had actual food? Maybe the guards only feed the sufferers a couple times a week? The thought of what makes his lunch nearly come back up. Surely now that the sufferers are medicated they don’t eat flesh anymore. He forcefully pushes the thought aside. Right now he just needs to focus on getting his sketches done for the day. There’s little time for the huge portfolio needed at the end of the year.
Once again he works away in silence Simon now staring at the biscuits.
A sharp rap on the door let’s Kieren know there are five minutes left before it’s time to get back on the bus. Onto the table his sketchbook and pencils go before he shakes out his hands glad for the reprieve. He gathers his supplies and shoulders on his backpack. There’s a beat of uncomfortable indecision pinging at him while Simon watches the biscuits, still uneaten, sitting on his thigh.
“See you on Thursday?” A solemn nod in answer and Kieren’s out the door.
--
“Tell me everything!” Kieren looks over from his place at his desk. Amy’s in his doorway, a wide grin on her face. No surprise that she knows he’s back minutes after his arrival. The entire student body knew their schedule - apparent by the fact a crowd of students had mobbed them coming off the bus, openly demanding to see the sufferers’ records from fellow friends. Miss Clay-Air was upset by this blatant disrespect from both her own students and the mob, but powerless to deny them. There were no rules about sharing a dead person’s information.
Unlike the rest of the students, Amy’s genuine excitement is in seeing him, not just his experience at the center.
A second year student like he is, they had been in the co-ed dorms together as freshmen. Admittedly when Kieren had first seen her he’d been too shy to approach Amy, with her vivacious personality. Lucky for him that she spotted him moments later and from that moment on they had bonded into tight friends. She’s never far from him, and, though he doesn’t say it aloud, Kieren loves her constant presence.
After Amy has hugged him for a good minute, she flops onto his funton, the full skirt of her dress slowly settling around her.
“So what’s Mr. or Mrs. Zombie like? Are their eyes creepy? What is the facility like?” She asks, eyes sparking at the thought of a near death experience.
“He’s a mister and,” here Kieren adopts his best snooty tone, “it’s PDS sufferer now. Zombie is so archaic.” She flaps her hand dismissively before rolling onto her side to face him hand propping up her head.
“Come on, Kier, you’re holding out on me! What was your sufferer like? I’ve been waiting to hear since you left this morning!” He holds up his hands.
“Okay - okay, I’ll tell you but no calling him Mr. Zombie. His name is Simon.” Amy gives a solemn nod and if there’s one person who will treat Simon normal Kieren knows it’ll be her, Undead or not. He takes a breath in before he lets it out and starts his story. Unsurprisingly, when he gets to the part about receiving Simon’s life file, Amy is bewildered.
“They gave you his birth certificate?!”
He nods, fiddling with a rubber band from his desk.
“Everything on him. Police, dental, medical records. Probably his national insurance card too but I didn’t check.” Amy looks aghast at the idea. He’s glad he’s not the only one.
“I would’ve slapped you, Kieren, if you did.” A weak chuckle escapes him. No doubt she would have. Inquisitive as she can be, Amy does know when to draw the line.
“You’ll have to slap the entire campus then. Not a lot of kids from class feel the same way.”
Amy’s mouth is a displeased line. It only lasts a moment before she bolts upright, indignant at being distracted.
“Tell me what Simon’s like! You promised you would!”
Here, Kieren bites the inside of his cheek. He shrugs. “He’s quiet.” Of course, she isn’t satisfied with just that.
“Yeah, handsome, you were quiet too when I met you and look at you now.” He looks up from his hands to meet her expectant gaze.
“I mean he didn’t say anything. He’s chained to his chair the entire time. He looked orange with how much cover up he’d put on. Amy, Simon looked miserable. They treat them like monsters in there.”
She blinks, taken aback. Kieren doesn’t blame her. Who would treat the Undead kindly after the Rising? He isn’t thrilled about going to the center either. Before meeting and sitting with Simon Kieren knows he would have struggled to think of the PDS sufferer as halfway human. Most of his classmates still hold the opinion they aren’t anything more than reanimated corpses, feel that just because PDS sufferers can move, look at them and maybe talk, the fact is that they’ll never be human again.
“Well - you’ll just have to be his friend.” Amy’s statement draws him out of his thoughts before what she says has registered.
“Amy do you really think Simon will want to be friends with me? I’m some kid coming in gawking at him in order to draw his body for textbooks because he’s the Undead. I don’t think he’s going take that as me wanting to be friends.”
“Of course, he’ll be friends with you, handsome!” She grinned, “Everyone wants to!”
Kieren knows there’s no point in pressing the issue so instead he turns the topic to Amy’s classes and club activities, knowing she’d be happily regale him about everything.
In the back of his mind he wonders if he should look at Simon’s file.