Reilly takes us back to our cells one at a time and leaves us there for what must be night. That develops into a routine. He escorts us to zom HQ (as we call it) every day, lets us mix for several hours, then returns us to our cells. We always go with him individually. Nobody ever gets to see where the other zom heads are housed. We could all be quartered in the same corridor, or in completely different parts of the complex - we've no idea.

They could leave us with each other the whole time - like me, the others don't need to sleep - but Tiberius thinks they're trying to institutionalize us, to make us easier to control.

I try to discuss the attacks and the outside situation again, but nobody wants to talk about that. They've been through it all before and are reluctant to rehash old arguments. It doesn't matter that all of the theories are fresh to me. They've been together for months now, and even though they're not tight like real friends, they share a bond that I'm not yet a true part of. They're not going to break their rules just to please the new zom head on the block.

Even Mark, the friendliest of the lot, gets prickly when I push him.

"Just leave it, B," he mutters. "What's the point? We can't do anything about it. If they want to tell us, they will. If they don't, they won't, and all the guessing in the world won't get us any closer to the truth."

Mark's the runt of the litter. The others tease him and pick on him, even Cathy. They call him Worm and mock him for not being allowed to join the zom heads when they experiment on reviveds. Mark takes it as best he can, laughs along with them, only occasionally grimaces when they go too far.

Danny tested me on my second day in zom HQ. Tossed a casual insult my way to see how I'd react.

"Say that again and you'll be picking the remains of your teeth out of your mouth," I told him, ready to back up the words with action if pushed. But Danny's no fool. He saw that I was serious and judged me a genuine threat, even though I'm a girl and he's bigger than me. Nobody's given me grief since then.

Rage is the undisputed leader of the pack. He's a big old bruiser - easy to see how he got his nickname - but clever too, reads a lot, excels at the more difficult video games, knows about all sorts of things. Reminds me a bit of my dad, a bully but sharp. It's hard to get the better of people like that. You can't beat them up and you can't outsmart them. Rage doesn't seem to be as violent as my dad, but he's not somebody you provoke lightly because there's always the chance that he'll snap and smash you up.

Having said that, he acts like a toad whenever any of the scientists or soldiers come to see us. I thought the others were exaggerating when they were winding him up that first day, but I soon see that they're not. He's like a fanboy when Josh or his team is on the scene.

Dr. Cerveris came this morning to run some routine tests on us, eyes, ears, that sort of thing. We get tested regularly, usually by nurses or low-level doctors. But today we were treated to a visit by the high and mighty one himself.

"Hey, Dr. Cerveris, how you been?" Rage beamed, running over to him like an eager puppy.

"Very well, thank you," the doctor replied, then asked Rage how things were going. Once they'd dispensed with the small talk, Rage barked at the rest of us and ordered us to line up. He walked down the line with Dr. Cerveris, glaring at us, making sure nobody said anything untoward or threatened the doctor in any way.

"Are those okay?" Rage asked when Dr. Cerveris came to the Turk and paused to study his painted finger bones.

"Yes," the doctor said. "I was just curious to see what he had drawn." He smiled at Gokhan. "You have an artistic eye."

"Art's my favorite subject, innit?" Gokhan replied.

"We'll have to give you oils and canvas, to see if your skills have been affected by your altered circumstances."

"I dunno about that," Gokhan pouted. "I'm not really into proper painting."

"You'll do whatever the hell the doctor tells you to do!" Rage roared, and shoved Gokhan in the chest.

Gokhan squared up to Rage and it looked like things were going to kick off, but Dr. Cerveris coughed politely and said, "Please, boys, no fighting."

I think Gokhan would have ignored him, but as soon as the doctor called for peace, Rage took a step back and muttered an apology.

"Why do you suck up to them so much?" I asked once Dr. Cerveris had left. I thought Rage would prickle at that but he only shrugged.

"They're the new masters now. If we're to have any hope of getting out of this place, we need to play ball. Besides, they've taken good care of us. We should be thankful. They could have left us to rot with the zombies. They're doing their best to look after us and make our lives easier. You don't bite the hand that feeds you."

I haven't seen much of the complex yet. Reilly never varies the route when he leads me to or from my cell. The others haven't seen much more of it either, though they've been to the places where the reviveds are housed.

According to Mark, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies locked up in the pens. He thinks they're being held for experimental purposes. This is a giant laboratory, not a prison.

The reviveds are a mix of adults and children. But nobody's seen any grown-up zom heads. We've been segregated by age for some reason. There must be adult revitalizeds, conscious as we are, but they're either being held in a separate part of the complex or in a different building. I don't know why they'd want to divide us this way. Maybe they're worried that we'd start a big zom head family if they let us mix together freely.

There's no doubt that I'm an outsider - nothing personal, I'm sure it's purely because I'm new to the fold - but I was getting along all right with most of the zom heads until a couple of days ago. Cathy was the only one who actively disliked me. She wouldn't talk to me unless it was to say something critical. Then we had hairgate and I've been snubbed by the rest of them ever since.

I'd just finished filing down my teeth and was studying myself in the mirror. I ran a hand over the stubble on my head and muttered, "I hope this grows back soon. I fancy a change of style."

Cathy laughed hysterically. "Did you hear what dopey B said?" she cawed to the others.

"What's so funny about that?" I growled.

"You think your hair will grow back."

"Why the hell wouldn't...?" I stopped and groaned as I caught on.

"You're dead, dumbo," Cathy sneered. "Your hair won't ever grow again. You're stuck with that G.I. Jane look for life."

She kept on mocking me until I lost my cool. With a bellow, I rushed her, grabbed her ponytail and dragged her down onto the floor. She squealed and slapped at my hands but I was too strong for her. The others crowded round, egging us on.

"They don't let us have knives in here," I said, "but these bones sticking out of my fingers are every bit as good. If they can cut through skulls, hair shouldn't be much of a problem. I'm going to shave you even balder than I am, bitch."

"No!" Cathy screamed as I started hacking at her hair. "Don't, B, please!"

I ignored her and severed her ponytail. As it came free, I held it up in the air and whooped.

"Now for the rest of it," I jeered, waving my hand in front of her eyes, letting her see what I'd already cut away.

The fight drained from her when she saw her hair, and she started making loud moaning noises, the closest she could get to crying. I paused uneasily and watched her shaking. She reached out, took the hair from my fingers, clutched it to her chest and wailed, a dry, choking, wretched sound.

"Nice going," Tiberius snarled. "That won't grow back. She can never replace it."

"You didn't do much to stop me," I challenged him, and glared defiantly at the others, who were all looking a tad too self-righteous for my liking. "You just stood there, cheering."

"Yeah," Danny snorted. "That's right. Blame us. You cut off her hair, but we're the guilty ones."

"It's not that bad," I muttered. "I didn't scalp her."

They only stared at me with contempt until I turned my back on them and stomped away. Then they all crouched around Cathy and sympathized with her, conveniently forgetting the fact that she was the one who started the fight.

So much for my friends. Hypocritical jerks! I think I prefer being in my cell on my own.