Plagued States of America (Book 1): Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment

by Better Hero Army

  “This is going to take a while,” Gary told Tom with a wry grin. “Do you want me to get lunch while you start?”

  Tom wanted to tell his brother off, but instead moved over to the wall of books and started looking on the spine for the indexing system.

  Four

  They inspected one book after another for hours. The photos were an assortment of haunted, vacant faces, all having that graying, dead looking skin, the greasy hair caused by the over production of oil on the skin, and that blue tint to lips every zombie had, regardless of race or ethnicity. Tom began to think that maybe that’s why that one woman in the pen seemed so out of place. She wasn’t blue in the lips and her hair, aside from being the color of sun baked wheat, wasn’t slick with that greasy appearance other zombies had.

  Most of the zombies in the books had names associated with them. Peter Callings, James Haught, Samuel Beckland. Their old driver’s license photos appeared beside their new zombie expressions. Tammy Lynn. George Caspersky. And there were some who had no before photos at all, just names drawn by hand with the name of the source like “wallet in pocket, from credit card.”

  And none of these photos were Larissa.

  “How many other trading stations are there?” Tom asked while stretching, his tone as dejected as his mood after looking at so many lost souls.

  “There are only three legal trading posts. I know of an unsanctioned one. Dad says there are two others that he’s heard about.”

  “They won’t have records in the other posts, though, will they?”

  “They might,” Gary shrugged.

  “What are we going to do if we find her?” Tom asked. Gary shrugged again. He didn’t know the answer any more than Tom did, and he probably didn’t like doing this any more than Tom either. “Have you ever just said you were going to come and then didn’t?” Tom continued. Gary glared at him.

  “Why don’t you go outside and take a look around,” Gary said hotly. “And then tell me if you’d look Dad in the eye and lie to him.” Gary didn’t like being accused of shirking his responsibilities. Tom didn’t mean it like that, but he wasn’t sure how to apologize either. He got up and left, avoiding his conscience. This whole situation was unsettling. He wished there was some way out of making this a lifelong obligation. Five years of this and he’d wind up just like that old slave trader out there, grizzled, hardened, and depraved. Well, maybe not depraved. Maybe that took a little longer to settle in.

  It was probably what drew him back to the old man’s pens. A glimpse of his future. He stood with the crowd that stared into the cage holding the strange looking woman. A little off to the side, unwilling to commit his attention to her, unwilling to admit to himself that she fascinated him the same way she did for all these other men.

  For as much as she was on display, the old slave trader could have done a better job of making her look presentable. A plain, loose sweater draped over her shoulders like a sack, the neck stretched out so wide she could probably climb through both ways. She wore a filthy t-shirt underneath, tight against her skin like the black tights covering her legs. Her hair was a disheveled mess. She probably didn’t even comb fingers through it when she woke up. But her eyes. Everything about her posture and how she stood motionless suggested she was no different than a mannequin, except her eyes. They blinked.

  “Ah, you’re back,” the slave trader said, stepping beside Tom. “You like that one, eh?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Tom asked.

  “Wrong?” the slave trader asked incredulously. “Boy, haven’t you ever seen a half-breed?”

  “Half-breed? You mean…she’s…how does that work? I mean, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Never heard?” the old man said with a furrowed brow, but shut his mouth, looking past Tom to see if the other people milling about overheard. He leaned in close, conspiratorially, speaking softly. “They’re rare, that’s for sure. I can’t say I know how they come about. Some scientists probably have a fix on it. As near as anyone can tell, when a woman gets turned while she’s menstruating, she can get pregnant just one more time. That there is what comes out, but you’ve got to be quick and keep a close eye on the mother or she’ll eat her half-breed baby the moment she’s done pushing it out. Savages!”

  “She’s at least twenty,” Tom said skeptically, looking at the woman in the pen. It had only been ten years since the first outbreak. “And zombie children don’t grow up,” Tom said.

  “What makes you think that?” the old slave trader asked him, equally skeptically.

  “All the scientists say so,” Tom replied confidently. This much he knew.

  “Huh,” the old trader said, but didn’t argue the point. “How would scientists know anyway? No one ever brings any children back. Worthless workers. They just stand around and cry like weird birds waiting for someone to feed them. Can’t train them to do a thing.”

  “You’ve seen them?” Tom asked absently. He stared at the half-breed. Her stillness wasn’t absolute. She did move, barely. A deep breath every so often, a flare of her nostrils, a shifting from one leg to the other as she leaned against the back of the pen, staring upward with a forlorn, vacant expression. She had high cheek bones, the kind that would be beautiful on any human woman, lips that were full, and a narrow chin that was soft. If every zombie looked like her, and could be tamed, and given a bath, then maybe he could see a reason to keep them around. Was this the first step toward depravity?

  “Hundreds of them,” the old man went on. “Maybe thousands. Too many to count, that’s for sure. All clumped up over there in Midamerica.”

  “Midamerica?” Tom asked, suddenly realizing he had heard the old man say there were thousands of zombie children all in one place.

  “The old airbase,” the slaver grumbled, thumbing northward. “All the children I’ve ever been able to find just live in one little area. It’s like the only thing that’s on their mind is being together. The damned things must be starving to death too. I’ve never seen one hunt.”

  Tom noticed the half breed’s eyes shift at this. She glanced toward him briefly, quickly looking back toward the sky.

  “Can she talk?” Tom interrupted the old slaver, wondering why she had looked their way.

  “Sure,” he laughed, coughing mildly as he did. “She’s hissed a curse word or two before. One man tried to feel her up through the cage once. She hissed lots of what sounded like profanity. Hard to tell what she said with his torn off finger in her mouth.” The old slaver laughed, coughing from the exertion. Tom wanted to step back, in case whatever he had was contagious, but the old slaver leaned in and whispered. “I swear she understands us,” he said matter of fact, “but she pretends not to just to piss me off.”

  “How long have you had her?”

  “Three years,” he said proudly.

  “No one’s bought her from you in three years?”

  “She ain’t for sale!”

  “What? Why not?”

  “She’s a draw, boy. Gets people coming by my pens. Why do you think I’m down here in the front line? You don’t get to pole position on Biter’s Hill without something big. She’s big.”

  “How did you find her, then?” Tom asked, still staring at her.

  “Half-breeds inside are no different than any other prey to the rest of them zombies. I don’t know how she got raised, but whoever put her back inside didn’t do her no favors. She was smart enough to be hiding in with the children. But she wasn’t smart enough to figure her way through my traps,” he said, wagging a finger in her direction. “They’ve got to hunt just like the others.” The old slaver noticed two men looking toward his other pens and immediately went to engage them in conversation.

  Tom walked around to the side of the pen nearer to where she stood. There were several boys standing there gawking at her, one was poking a stick through at her leg. Tom smacked the boy in the back of the head and told them all to get out. As the boys begrudgingly left, Tom reached in his pocket
and took out his wallet. He thumbed through to find a picture of Larissa and held the picture up to the fence. The half-breed woman didn’t move.

  “I’m looking for this girl. She was infected ten years ago. Did you see her when you were inside?”

  The half-breed’s eyes glanced at the photo. She then looked at him with a contemptuous flare to her eyes as she sighed with what sounded like a growl. She turned her back on him.

  “OK,” Tom said. “How about we try a different way. Growl once if you’ve seen her.”

  Tom was startled by the speed with which she spun and slapped the chain mesh. He fell back, his heart racing at the fright. Her eyes were wild with rage, her teeth barred, showing her slightly pronounced fangs. She snarled like a tiger. The men watching from the front of the pen laughed at him. The old slaver hobbled toward the pen, shouting angrily.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Tom managed to say while stuffing his wallet into his pocket, his hands shaking.

  “Go on, get out of there,” the old slaver was telling him hotly.

  “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” Tom retreated toward the safety of the registrar office, to the back room. He sat down to look through more books. His heart was still throbbing with the fright of it. He didn’t want to tell his brother what had happened. He didn’t want to admit that his brother was right, that he couldn’t shirk his responsibility either. He just wanted to be done with all of this as quickly as possible.

  Five

  As dusk approached, Tom finally closed the last of his books.

  “Done?” Gary asked.

  “For today,” Tom told him. “Where are we going to stay tonight? Is it safe, I mean, to stay here?”

  “Well, safe enough,” Gary said. “I’ll show you where they keep the zombies at night,” Gary added, sensing the worry in Tom’s tone.

  Gary led them past the corral again, and past the pens of the old slaver and his half-breed. Tom looked in at her, but she seemed completely disinterested in the world. He supposed after three years of being on display he would feel the same.

  Along the pier there were men fishing and hundreds of seagulls drifting in the wind pouring over the walled-off town. Even though there was no wind here, Tom tightened his jacket and lifted the bite-resistant collar while zipping it up. The wharf had several buildings on it. A souvenir shop, restaurants, and a small hotel casino. Gary led them along the lower lane of pens all the way to the far side wall, past ten or so dealers’ kiosks. As they approached the far wall, the pens suddenly stopped at the tall walls of a concrete building. It was tiered along the hill to match the slope, with several solid steel doors, all locked and closed. Two towers rose from within and watched over the whole hill.

  “That’s the prison,” Gary said. “The longer traders keep their goods in lock-up, the more it costs them, so prices fluctuate pretty quickly around here. Good buyers camp out a few days to drive down prices on several bets. If too many buyers are around, prices go up fast. It’s like a stock market around here.”

  “I’ll bet,” Tom replied, looking the prison over. It looked secure enough. If all the zombies were in there, though, they would be standing on each other. “It doesn’t look all that big,” Tom said.

  “It goes into the hill. They can hold about a thousand in there.”

  “So where are we going to be staying? In the casino?”

  “We have a room in the Galley,” Gary said.

  “Galley?”

  “A bed-and-breakfast on the wharf right over there.” Gary pointed it out. “It’s nice. It doesn’t drown out the moaning, though.”

  “Moaning?” Tom asked.

  “They moan all night long. The prison is like a giant amplifier. Eerie as hell. I brought you some ear plugs. It’ll help you sleep.”

  Tom sighed.

  “Don’t worry, little brother. It may not look like it, but we’re safe. No place on earth with this many zombie hunters in one spot.”

  It didn’t make Tom feel any better. He couldn’t think of any place on earth with as many zombies either.

  “Did you see that half-breed?” Tom asked.

  “The girl?” Gary asked, leading them down to the wharf. “Yeah, I’ve seen her before.”

  “Where do they put her at night? In the prison?”

  “Oh, no,” Gary said vehemently. “She’s one of us. Well, mostly. They’d eat her alive. She probably can’t be turned if they bite her. Worst of both worlds.”

  “Worst?” Tom asked incredulously.

  “Yeah,” Gary said. “If you get bit there’s inhibitors. If you get turned, well, at least you’re still alive. They’re working on a cure. Someday soon they might be able to turn you back. If she gets bit they’ll keep gnawing on her like any other meal. Eat her alive. She can’t take inhibitors. She’s too far gone already. And you can bet none of these bastards would try to save her either. Nope, as human as she looks, they’d never treat her like one. Worst of both worlds having no home in either.”

  Six

  Gary checked them in and led Tom up to their room. It had a balcony overlooking the hill, which to a tourist might seem enjoyable. There were tourists here, after all. People came all the time just to say they did it. Gary sat him down and told him to watch the “round up” while he made arrangements for dinner. Tom watched as the pens were unloaded in an orderly fashion, starting at the top of the hill. Soldiers in black marched the struggling zombies, long poles with nooses wrapping the things by the neck, forcing them down the hillside. It reminded Tom what the old trader said about being at the bottom. They closed the top of the hill first. More time to sell his zombie slaves down at the bottom. Pole position.

  Flood lights came on along the walls as the sun went down and the hill lit up under an eerie white glow. The zombies stood out, their pale skin made bright by the halogens. Tom saw the old slave trader empty his half-breed from the pen with the aid of an assistant. They lassoed her neck using long poles, something she didn’t even struggle against, and then they led her down to the street. Tom had to stand and lean over the balcony to watch them along, wondering where they were going. They weren’t heading toward the prison.

  Something fell from the half-breed’s hand. It was so small that at first Tom thought it had just been a cricket or moth scared up by their passing, catching the light of the town’s flood lights, but she turned around and fought to retrieve it. Tom didn’t think a bug would be that important to her. The old slaver and his assistant turned as well and Tom could hear the old man cursing loudly at her. She struggled toward the small white clump on the ground, but the two men overpowered her, dragging her away backwards, her hand still reaching out.

  “Gets things in her head sometimes,” Tom could hear the old slave trader growling.

  Tom left the room, running down the stairs and out the front door to the street. He jogged to where the half-breed dropped what she was carrying, scanning the street ahead for any sign of them. Where did they go, he wondered? At his feet was a wadded up piece of photo paper. He scooped it up and unraveled it. Larissa! It was his picture of his sister. The one from his wallet. He must have dropped it when the half-breed jumped at him earlier and she picked it up. No! She snatched it right out of his hand. He remembered now. He had been holding it against the chain link. But why did she want a picture?

  He stuffed the picture into his pocket while walking in the direction the slaver had gone. Along the wall was an old boat ramp with several vehicles parked on its slope. Tom could see what looked like a ship on wheels parked at the water’s edge. On its back a cabin with lights pouring out onto a partly covered cage with a bunk bed in it. The old slaver walked along the deck of the boat, talking with the assistant who was walking back up the ramp. Tom stood and watched the half-breed. She sat on the bed looking sidelong out toward the channel, clutching a pillow.

  The lights at the top of the hill went out and Tom felt a chill up his spine. He didn’t know it was supposed to happen. No one around him seemed at all
concerned by it, but it didn’t make it any less unsettling. Zombies hunted at night mostly, and he could hear their moans beginning to rise from the prison. Gary was right about that. It would be eerie sleeping with that going on all night. Tom retreated to the bed-and-breakfast to look for Gary. Even in their room the moaning could be heard.

  Seven

  The earplugs helped. While Tom didn’t sleep well, he slept enough. He woke from strange dreams in a groggy state and began to consider an idea gnawing at him in that same way an inebriated man thinks breaking into a store to get a pack of cigarettes is a good idea. The outcome was appealing, but the consequences were ignored. He shook off the idea with a colder than expected shower and joined his brother for breakfast.

  “Morning, brother,” Gary said cheerlessly. Tom sat down at the table with a full plate from the buffet. “You know, it usually takes me a couple of days here. We got through most of it yesterday. If we hurry, we might be able to get on the ferry out of here today.”

  “Let’s get at it,” Tom replied, putting his fork aside.

  “No, no,” Gary said while standing. “Finish breakfast. I’ll meet you over at the registrar’s office in a bit.”

  After breakfast, Tom stopped at the pens of the old slaver. The half-breed was already inside at her usual spot along the back, away from everyone. Zombies were being led from the prison toward the higher levels, again reminding Tom why this spot was so valuable. The old slaver was busy haggling with two buyers.

  Tom slid alongside the pen so he was as close to beside her as he could get, taking out the picture of Larissa and rolling it up again. He watched her closely as he did, noticing that her eyes never deviated from a fixed point at the top of the pen where a small hole let sky and light shine through. The more he looked at her features, the more beautiful he realized she must have been. Her chin was soft with a subtle edge, her neck craned showing no signs of aging, and her ears displayed a small arch that made her seem almost elf-like. And her eyes, as hazy as they were from the disease, still shimmered with blue beneath, swimming in potential.