(Kurt's POV)

After Doctor Overcroft had finished phase one of her little "experiment," (or total fucking body violation, whichever term you prefer), she wheeled me to the basement laboratory. It consisted of nothing except two cages and a bed. Two girls were in the room. One was in one of the cages, and the other was on the bed. The girl on the bed wasn't strapped down. She was just lying there, pale and sweating, covered in a stained blanket that was slipping off her, revealing her breasts. The other girl, the one in the cage, was wrapped in another blanket. Before I could take a proper look around, I felt a needle jab into my neck and I passed out.


When I woke up, I was lying in the second cage, my head throbbing from a combination of the drugs and been laid on a metal surface. I groaned loudly. I sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of my head. I noticed that Doctor Overcroft has at least slipped a pair of boxer shorts onto me. At least she had some fucking respect.

The girl in the cage next to me groaned. She was sleeping fitfully, groaning and thrashing about. I took a long, hard look at her. She was pretty, I guess. About my age. She had chestnut coloured hair and the body of a supermodel. She was tanned and when she frowned in her sleep, she reminded me of Tiffany- at least, the fierce look she got at something.

It was the other girl, the one on the table that caught my attention. She wasn't breathing anymore. Her eyes stared blankly at the lone, naked light bulb that swung gently in the breeze for the air con unit. Her face was webbed with black veins, and her muscles twitched. Her skin was as grey as the bare cement of the walls around us.

I reached through the bars between the two cages and gently shook the sleeping girl. The blanket fell away when she shot bolt upright, revealing ample cleavage and a stomach with the barest trace of puppy fat. I just had time to register this before the girl grabbed my arm and nearly broke my wrist. I can only presume it was my sudden cry of surprise and pain that made her stop.

"You... you... you are..." she stuttered.

"I'm alive? Very much so. I'm Kurt," I said, shaking my wrist to get rid of the pain.

"But, how... Oh. You're a guy. Dr. Nutjob wanted you for her little experiments," she said, a look of realisation dawning on her face.

"Got it in one," I grinned. Her eyes travelled up and down my body.

"I'm Annabelle," she grinned.


The zombie stuck her pale hand through the bars of my cage, snapping like some rabid animal as she clawed the air trying to grab me. The girl on the table had turned into a fresh zombie, only turned in the last half an hour, so my captor, that mad bitch of a Doctor, didn't know about her yet. I didn't pay her much attention. Instead, I worked steadily on a loose bar at the back of my cage. It was old and heavily rusted.

"So, you know everything about me. What's your story?" I asked Annabelle.

She grinned at me sadly.

"I lived here in the city. I was hold up with a group of survivors, including Dr. Crazy. Things were good. We had enough food and water, a source of heat," she started, but faltered.

"What happened?"

Annabelle grimaced.

"One of our guards, Barry, saw the reanimated remains of his little sister. He lost it. Opened one of the barricades to get out to her, thinking he could help her. Dr. Overcroft went after him. She was eight months pregnant. Barry died. Dr. Overcroft lost her child," she whispered sadly.

I stopped working on the bar.

"That's why she is so obsessed with pregnancy?" I asked.

"Yeah. Our little band of survivors fell apart and Dr. Overcroft's obsession with pregnancy had rubbed off on one of the members. Last I heard, he was up north, trying to start up some movement or other. I stayed with Dr. Overcroft. Someone had to look after her. She was, is, a doctor. She could be beneficial, if someone could drag her out of her stupor. By the time I realised she had gone totally bat shit crazy, I was holed up in this cage with several other girls."

I looked at the zombie outside, things falling into place.

"She tried to get them pregnant using zombie eggs or sperm, they got infected and reanimated?" I asked.

"Bingo," Annabelle muttered. "I don't think she realised that the infection was carried in either. She suspects, but she still thinks it may be something that is wrong with her procedure. She wanted a living guy to impregnate me."

She smiled sadly at me.

"She tried it when you were out cold. I will admit, you are better looking than I was hoping for. I thought the father of my child would be a tramp she tempted with booze or something."

I felt my jaw slacken and my eyes bulge as the revelation. I gulped.

"Ahem, well, all the more reason to get out of here," I said finally.


I had finally squeezed out of the cage and was working on a loose bar at the back of Annabelle's cage. The cages were close to the wall, so I didn't have much space, but for that disadvantage there was one major advantage. The zombie couldn't get to me. She was trying alright—ramming her arm through the gap between cage and wall, ripping off skin whenever her arm made contact with the rough cement or the sharp edge of the cage. The wounds didn't bleed. Instead they dripped a brown, viscous liquid that could have been blood, I guess, before she died and reanimated.

"So, um, how old are you?" I asked Annabelle, trying to distract us both from the ever present sound of snapping teeth and guttural moaning.

"Just turned fifteen. How about you?"

"Fourteen," I smiled back. She smiled and moved closer.

"Not a very large age gap," she purred.

"Sorry, in a relationship," I grunted as I pulled the bar loose. Annabelle pouted as she slid out—and straight into me, jamming us together in the confined space.

"I won't tell her if you don't," she stated with a cheeky grin.

"Him," I said.


"I won't tell him if you don't," I clarified.

Realisation dawned on her face.

"My mom was right," she sighed, "all the best guys are gay. God, I should have seen it earlier, the way you talked about that guy Charlie."

"Let's save it for later and figure out how to get out of here," I said, as keys rattled in the locked double doors and the zombies moans increased as she strained to reach her now doubled food supply. Before either Annabelle or I could do anything, the doors slammed open with great force.

Authors note: What do you think?