Working For Biotech Companies Is Usually Dangerous

By the time my word vomit finally ended, Art had gone completely silent, like he was trying to figure out the safest possible response to a woman who had apparently lost her mind.

“Art, you know I don’t bullshit about things like this. I’m serious,” I said, immediately getting defensive because of the silence.

“I — I know.” I heard him sigh through the phone.

“Would you still do anything for me?”

I knew it was underhanded to play that card, but he used to tell me that all the time back when we were in that awkward dating-but-not-dating phase neither of us had ever had the courage to properly define.

“God, Patty,” he said. I could hear the frustration in his voice, and for a second I felt bad for him, but I couldn’t afford to waste time feeling guilty. Every minute I wasted was another minute John could be in danger, and if God had really given me one chance to save my brother, I wasn’t going to squander it.

“Fuck. What do you want me to do?”

I smiled so widely my cheeks hurt. “Can you go check on John for me? Stay with him until I get there. Please. Just don’t leave him alone.”

“Sure. Anything for you, Baby Gronk.”

I could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Art, I love you. See you later.”

I ended the call before he could answer.

It was another dirty trick, and he probably deserved at least a little of it for taking four years to find me in my last life. Then again, I knew I was being unfair. Art hadn’t been the only one who had stayed away for four years.

I had run first.

Art texted me John’s workplace address shortly after the call, and the four-hour drive gave me plenty of time to think about what I was going to do next. First, I needed to quit my jobs. I didn’t care whether the zombie apocalypse I remembered had been a premonition, a dream, or proof that I had completely lost my mind. Either way, I was moving back home.

Then I needed to close every credit card Tomi had under my name, assuming humanity still existed long enough for credit scores to matter.

I had spent four years building a life around a man who had eventually left me to die.

I wasn’t giving him another cent.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot of Asterion Biomedical in Portsmouth, it was already past noon, but I still had hours before the time John was supposed to die.

Art had texted me earlier to say he had John cornered in his office, which was probably the only reason I managed to make it through the building without completely losing my mind.

When I finally found John’s office, I practically threw myself at my big brother.

“Well, look who finally grew a brain and decided to come home,” John said between chuckles as he hugged me back.

I didn’t care about the insult. I just held on tighter.

When I finally forced myself to let go, I turned toward Art. It took me maybe half a second to feel embarrassed about what I was about to do, but then I hugged him anyway, the same way I used to when we were younger.

His arms tightened around me for just a little longer than necessary.

Over his shoulder, I caught John staring at us like he was personally reconsidering every decision that had led to this moment. I just smiled at him and mouthed sorry, though I wasn’t actually sorry.

“So who hit you on the head and finally convinced you to use that pretty little brain of yours?” Art asked while ruffling my brown hair, which probably smelled like sweat after all the running I had done through John’s building.

“I already told you,” I said, glaring at him for refusing to believe what had very much happened to me. Then I turned toward my brother. “John, you’re not going to believe this  — zombies are real.”

John had been smiling at me like I had somehow made him proud simply by coming home willingly, but the second the words left my mouth, every trace of color drained from his face and his smile disappeared so quickly that mine did too. John’s eyes flicked toward the CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the room.

“All right, I think my prodigal sister coming home calls for a celebration,” he said loudly enough that I was pretty sure half the floor could hear him.

I caught on immediately, and from the change in Art’s expression, so did he.

“Oh, yeah,” Art said easily. “Maybe you can treat us to that new restaurant. We should pick up Jumbo King first, though.”

He kept one hand at my waist as he guided me out of John’s office and toward the elevators, while John followed behind us wearing an expression that told me very clearly not to say another word until we were somewhere private. John stepped out of the elevator first. Art still had his left hand resting against my waist, which I deliberately chose not to point out.

“So whose car are we taking?” he asked my brother.

“Well, mine, obviously. We’re already in the parking lot.”

John was walking faster than usual, and the longer I watched him, the more that uneasy feeling in my stomach grew. It was the kind of feeling you got when you knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure out exactly what.

“I love you too,” Art whispered against my ear.

Whatever uneasiness I had been feeling disappeared for half a second. My face heated immediately at how easily he said it, and I was still looking up at him when a deafening explosion went off somewhere ahead of us.

My eyes widened at the sight in front of us, and whatever confusion I had vanished beneath pure instinct. I screamed before I could stop myself.