Lust and Desire in a Zombie Apocalyptic World

Chapter 259: Chapter 258 - Lust and Desire in A Zombie Apocalyptic World

"Let’s go," Frankenstein said.

Iyisha did not move.

Victor slammed into the glass again. His hands dragged down the surface, leaving fresh blood over the old smear.

Iyisha forced herself to look away. "I need to see my sister."

Frankenstein stopped. He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded like he was considering it.

"Okay," he said. "Follow me."

Her breath shook out of her.

Cena.

She was going to see Cena.

Iyisha followed him down another corridor. The soldiers stayed behind her. Her pulse kept climbing with every door they passed. She expected another cell. Another glass chamber. Something large enough to hold what Cena had become.

Frankenstein opened a white door and stepped inside.

Iyisha stopped at the entrance.

Shelves filled the room from wall to wall. Vials. Sealed bottles. Labeled boxes. Cold storage drawers with blinking lights. The air smelled sterile and too cold.

Her chest tightened. "Where is she?"

Frankenstein did not answer. He crossed the room and opened a locked cabinet. He pulled out a small bottle and set it on the metal table.

Iyisha stared at him. "What is that?"

He pushed it toward her.

"That," he said, "is the evolution of your sister."

Iyisha looked down.

B-5-9-10.

The label blurred for a second.

Her hands went cold. "What is she?"

Frankenstein watched her face.

"Is she dead?" Her voice trembled.

"Oh, no." He shook his head. "No. She is very much alive."

Iyisha breathed hard through her nose. "I want to see her."

Frankenstein tapped one finger against the table.

"She is in Long Island."

Iyisha stared at him. "What?"

"She is in Long Island."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out at first.

Long Island.

She had been there. She had been so close.

"Why?" she asked.

Frankenstein tapped the table again. "Do not worry. She is fine."

"Fine?" Iyisha stepped toward him. "You put her in that place and you’re telling me she is fine?"

"She survives there better than she survives here."

Iyisha’s face twisted. "What does that mean?" freewebnσvel.cøm

Frankenstein picked up the bottle again and turned it under the light. "We found her after Hedstead was attacked."

Iyisha froze.

Hedstead.

The old sustainability zone in Bronx. Cena had worked there before everything collapsed. Water systems. Solar grids. Food production. She had talked about it like fixing one place could still mean something.

Frankenstein looked at the vial, not at Iyisha. "By the time we reached the zone, most of the workers were dead or converted. Your sister was not."

Iyisha swallowed.

"She had already evolved."

"Then why send her to Long Island?"

"Because her evolution damaged her mind."

Iyisha shook her head. "No."

"She was no longer stable."

"No."

"We could not contain her here."

Her hands curled at her sides.

"So we moved her to Long Island."

Her throat tightened until breathing hurt.

Cena had been in Long Island. Alone. Surrounded by millions of infected. Surviving because they had thrown her there and called it containment.

"Get her," Iyisha said.

Frankenstein looked at her.

"Get her back."

"That is not easy."

"Get her back."

His finger stopped tapping.

For the first time, his expression shifted. Not guilt. Not pity. Interest.

"But maybe," he said slowly, "with your evolution, we can."

Iyisha stepped forward too fast. One soldier shifted behind her, but Frankenstein raised his hand without looking.

"I can do it," she said. "Bring her here."

Frankenstein stayed quiet.

"Take me there," she said. Her voice broke harder. "She’ll come if she knows I’m there. She’ll come with me."

Frankenstein nodded once.

"Before we do that," he said, "I need to know more about you."

Iyisha stiffened.

There it was.

The trap.

Frankenstein looked at her with a brightness that made her skin crawl. "How did you evolve? The infected listen to you, don’t they?"

Iyisha’s jaw tightened.

Cena was the bait.

He knew it.

She knew it.

But Cena was in Long Island.

Alone.

Iyisha looked down at the vial again.

B-5-9-10.

Her sister reduced to a label and a bottle in a cold room.

She forced the words out. "I think I release a frequency that cuts off targeting."

Frankenstein’s eyes sharpened.

"It’s not control exactly," she said. "It’s more like interference. I interrupt whatever signal they follow."

He nodded slowly. "Then your evolution formed around communication."

"What does that matter?"

Frankenstein turned and opened another drawer. He took out another vial and placed it beside the first.

Iyisha looked at the label.

D-18-0-01.

"This was synthesized from another evolved," Frankenstein said. "His strength exceeded normal human limits by a significant margin."

Iyisha looked at him.

"Before his evolution stabilized, he kept trying to break the glass." Frankenstein’s mouth curved slightly. "That was his fixation. Strength. Escape. Smash through whatever held him."

Her stomach turned.

"He was my favorite subject," he said. "Very cooperative once he understood what he was."

Iyisha stared at the vial. "Does this make people strong?"

"No. Not the way you think."

"Then what does it do?"

"It increases muscle response and tissue density in limited amounts. Useful, but not enough." Frankenstein picked up the vial and studied the liquid inside. "Its real value was not the drug. It was the pattern."

Iyisha looked back at him.

"Because of him," Frankenstein said, "we began to understand how evolution chooses its shape."

Iyisha looked at the two vials on the table.

B-5-9-10.

D-18-0-01.

People reduced into labels.

"You’re not saving them," she said quietly. "You’re using them."

"Yes."

The answer came too easily.

Her eyes snapped toward him.

Frankenstein did not look guilty. "Medicine has always used the dead to save the living."

"They weren’t dead."

"No," he agreed. "Not yet."

Iyisha’s stomach tightened.

Frankenstein walked toward another shelf lined with sealed containers and documents. "Compatible DNA is only the beginning. The immune system determines whether the body collapses or stabilizes with the virus."

He set the vial down again.

"But evolution does not shape itself randomly."

Iyisha stayed silent.

"The final dominant impulse affects adaptation," he said. "The strongest desire during conversion leaves patterns in the nervous system while the virus stabilizes."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Frankenstein looked at her. "Not dreams. Not personality. Desire."

The word sat in the room.

"Survival. Strength. Escape. Protection." He tapped the table once. "The things people cling to when they believe they are about to disappear."

Iyisha’s throat tightened.

"The infected respond to you because your evolution formed around communication." His eyes stayed on her face. "You wanted someone to help someone, didn’t you?"

Her breath caught.

She never told him that.

Frankenstein watched her expression carefully. "Even during conversion, the mind continues fighting for a short period. Most lose themselves completely. Some do not."

Iyisha looked away.

"You interfered with their signals because your mind reached outward." His voice stayed calm. "Your desire shaped the adaptation."

She hated how much sense it made.

Frankenstein opened one last drawer.

Iyisha heard the metal slide out.

He removed a third vial and placed it beside the first two.

This one was empty.

Iyisha looked at the label.

N-1-0-00.

Under it, in smaller print:

CLARCKE, I.

Her body went still.

Frankenstein tapped the table again.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

"Lust and desire," he muttered. "Even at the edge of death, humanity still clings to something."

Iyisha could not take her eyes off the empty vial.

Frankenstein smiled.

"The virus simply answers."