CHAPTER NINE: GRAHAM DERWENT, REANIMATOR

There was a cacophony of metal clicks as all three men trained their arms on the thing in the lab coat. It simply smiled, as if positively overjoyed to see them. "The hell are you grinning like an idiot at?" Collins asked, barking out the question

as if it was an order.

"Why, just happy to see my old, dear colleagues. There can't possibly be anything wrong with that, can there, Sergeant? The thing said, its gnarled, clawlike hands hanging limply by its side.

"I gathered that much. I'm asking why you're smiling."

"Oh, I see. A spot of rigor mortis, as well as damage to the nervous system and muscles along my jaw. As I recall, a passing marauder tried breaking it." It said, matter-of-factly.

"That explains the door, then," Richard noted, more to himself than to the others, "It does, doesn't it, Mr. Maxwell? I'm afraid I ran out of power a long time ago, hence the primitive security measures taken. I hope my test subjects didn't trouble you too much,"

Johns looked down at the red spot on his shirt, and then the two dead blighters on the ground.

"No," He said, "Not at all."

"One of them ruined his suit, and he's a tad sour about it." Collins piped up, The thing leaned forward, as if to inspect Johns, stepping forward to poke at the scratch wound. There was a bang, as Richard fired his revolver, taking a chunk of the thing's thigh out. It didn't bat an eye, simply smoothing the flesh over, and shoving it back into place.

"It appears as if there is a bit of wardrobe malfunction going on here. For that, I do apologize. Just as Mr. Maxwell should apologize for his itchy trigger finger. I didn't remember you being that rude, even when you had served as Health Secretary. Honestly, here are your manners?"

"Sorry, a force of habit, Mr..." Richard trailed off, letting the thing introduce itself. "Derwent. Doctor Derwent, if you'd be so kind."

All three men were stunned into silence. That couldn't be Dr. Derwent, no, not at all. He had been a lively, scholarly fellow- athletic, with luscious blonde hair any one of them would have killed for whose charm used to surface in every conversation. What they were faced with was a lithe, wiry thing with scant swathes of hair still intact. It had pallid grey skin, home to numerous tears through which musculature and bone could be seen, and a hoarse, grating voice.

"Woah," Collins was the first to reduce conversation, as per usual. "You really let yourself go these past couple of years, mate. What happened to Graham the lady-killer? It's like I'm looking at Graham the man-eater, for crying out loud," He said, to break the tension.

Richard rolled his eyes. Next to him, Johns scoffed.

"I'm fairly certain I don't eat humans, Sergeant. Derwent said, stepping back from Johns. "Though I must say, you look like quite the meal."

This seemed to have shut Collins up, at least for now.

"It is awfully kind of you gentlemen to come visit me here. It has me thinking, what kind of occasion warrants this?"

"Oh simple enough. We were checking to see if you were alive." Johns said, rather bluntly. "It appears that isn't the case. At least not fully."

"Well that's one of those subjective things, isn't it? If you wanted to be all

technical about it, my heart isn't beating, and I'm not breathing, so I am dead." "Which is what I meant," Johns said, his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Well, in which case, it appears you've got the answer to your question. Is that all you wanted to hear from me?"

"Well, err?" Richard started "We weren't expecting you to be alive. At all."

"But I'm not alive."

"No I mean, like, dead dead. You know, where your body ceases to move or resume brain activity. What I meant to say is that we didn't think it through." At this, Derwent paused.

"Ah, in which case, I'd like to give Stephen something if that's alright."

"As long as it isn't a bite," Johns remarked, snidely. He was handed a small thing, with oblong and black- a cassette tape.

"It's about your brother, Anthony. One of his research logs. I do hope it makes for interesting listening."

"What in the- is this a VHS? The hell did you get this from?"

In response to this, Derwent only smiled.

"A magician doesn't reveal his secrets. You of all people should know how important one's secrets are, Agent."

"You know what forget I asked that. Did you know Ant personally?" Johns asked, with an air of curiosity bordering on longing.

"I've set him quite often- we kept up quite the correspondence. Strange, really. given his choice of profession: I never could wrap my head around theoretical physics." Derwent murmured, looking up as if to reminisce.

"Well, you're not the only one. He didn't trust many with his research legs, or any work he put out at all. You must have been close for him to give you one." 

"Yes, very weird, that. He wasn't in the soundest mind back then, though. This was at the beginning of the outbreak, you see."

The other two men watched on, not entirely sure what they were witnessing. Not once had either of them heard about Johns's family- they knew he had a wife and kids at one point, but that was it.

"I understand, Ant did tend to stress a lot. Do you know if he was okay?" Johns asked, in a manner that Richard and Collins found astonishingly tender.

"He was fine for the first year of the outbreak. Kept working like nothing happened, as a matter of fact. Occupied the room next to mine. He left not long after I started experimenting with the virus again." Derwent said,

"Have you heard from him since?"

"I have. Six months ago, to see how I was doing."

Johns nodded slowly. His voice was beginning to sound too carefully measured now he like he was overthinking things.

"How how did he react? To your current. condition?"

"He was repulsed, of course. He told me he was a lunatic after I asked if he should like to help me with my next batch of experiments,"

"And then?" Johns asked.

"He caved in the head of one of the blighters with an axe and took his leave. I don't think he was in the right state of mind then, either."

Johns's hand was resting on the handle of his pistol, index, and middle fingers drumming along the granulated grip.

"I'll take your word for it. If I find out otherwise, that you did so much as as a single fetid finger on him, you'll be sorry." He said, quietly, before turning around. The tap of his shoes against concrete echoed down the bunker halls.

Richard and Collins stayed quiet, sharing a look of pure bamboozlement. Derwent cleared his throat, the extensive cartilage around it relaxing and contracting as he spoke. Collins couldn't help but watch.

"I suppose you two are leaving as well. Good day to you, and do tell Stephen to give the tape a listen. Mind the test subjects on the way out as well." Derwent said, giving the two men a nod before returning to those dark corridors from whence he cane.

Richard murmured a little "Let's go," to Collins, before walking upstairs with the sergeant in tow.