“Behind you!” Peske shouted. Hank turned and saw the giant bear. Tom couldn’t tell if Hank was frozen with fear or just trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. Hank’s hand patted his side the same way Rick had felt for a sidearm last night. Tom knew that they were accustomed to wearing pistols out here. Tom hated Gary even more than ever. The bear moved slowly, its giant head suspended, fixed on the four figures on the bridge, while its body lumbered forward with that same slow, purposeful gait of a zombie. For a second Tom wondered if bears could be turned, but gave up the thought.
Peske rushed for the driver’s seat. The truck ground its way into reverse as the hunter Dave ran toward the bridge to encourage the others to jump for it. One of the frightened men finally got wits about him and ran to jump over. Richard, Tom thought. His name was Richard. Richard leapt into the air and landed short, his foot hitting the asphalt which crumbled beneath him. His momentum carried him and he struck the ground hard. Dave was beside Richard in a second, hauling him up and throwing the man’s groggy arm around his neck.
“Jump!” the others on the duck were screaming. Their shouts seemed to confuse the bear, which glared at the remaining trio from its spot at the other end of the bridge. It was a short bridge. Too short for Hank to still be there, Tom thought. Was it bravery or foolishness? All three of the men turned and ran at the same time, racing for the gap, leaping with all their might. Hank cleared it easily. The one named Eric also made it, hitting the ground hard and unsteady, rolling onto his shoulder with a skidding thud. The one named Matt wasn’t so fortunate. He started his jump way too early and on the wrong leg. He struck the pavement with his upper body, smacking his face on the pavement, but his legs fell into the gap, dragging his limp body with him. Hank spun around and lunged to save him but wasn’t fast enough. Matt lifted his sliding head a moment, his features showing the sudden and stunned awareness of the situation, and then he was gone. Only his hands seemed to remain, and then those too slipped into the void.
The bear charged, forcing Hank to back away. Tom expected the beast to jump over as well, but it stopped short and looked down into the gap.
“No!” Matt screamed. “Help me, please!”
Hank grabbed Eric by the shirt and hauled him to his feet as Dave came back to their aid. All three men stared down the enormous bear, a mere six foot gap between them. The bear stood up, roaring. It must have been eight or nine feet tall. Hank and Dave backed away quickly, hauling Eric with them. The bear fell forward, back onto all fours, but this time was half on the bridge and half on the road, straddling the gap.
“Oh, shit,” Tom said at the sight.
The bear growled at Hank, then the duck, but ultimately looked down into the hole where Matt was screaming in panic.
“Run, damn it,” Hank shouted. “Run to the lake!”
Hank and Dave just about threw Eric up to the deck before grabbing hold of the railing themselves.
The bear swatted an arm downward, holding its huge upper body upright with just one paw on the crumbing asphalt. The sound of the blow couldn’t be heard over the duck engine or the growling bear, but everyone felt as though they could hear the sickening whack of the great beast’s paw against Matt’s head, then his head striking a stone along the riverbank beneath. Everyone was thankful they couldn’t see the grisly scene. All they could see was an enormous bear swatting downward several times. With its next great stroke the crumbling asphalt gave way to the bear’s weight and it too fell into the hole.
“You’ve got to save him!” Tyler had been shouting at Hank. Hank turned his head when the bear fell in. Hank ignored Tyler, looking instead at Dave who had that same grim look of a man who knew suffering. Dave shook his head and slid down to the deck, suddenly exhausted by the experience.
“Someone help him!” Tyler shouted.
“Go on,” Hank told him, holding his hand out as if inviting Tyler to climb down and be the one to do it. Tyler stared at him in horror.
Peske put the duck in gear and started driving, saving them from anymore argument. Tom sank to the deck as well, his back to Penelope’s cage. He looked out over the back of the duck the same as everyone else, expecting Matt’s hand to rise out of the hole in some final, frenzied hope of escape. Tom expected the man to scream out, just as Bill had last night when the zombies fell on him. Neither happened. The duck drove into the forest, escaping the scene.
If they had guns, they could have scared off the bear, maybe even killed it.
“Zombies can die, you know,” Gary had told Tom just before they had come out on this trip. Tom had been packing a pistol into his survival kit when Gary laughed at him. “Just not with bullets,” he said. “Stuff a bazooka in there and then you’ve got a chance.” Tom hated his brother for it now.
Nineteen
They discovered why it was called the washouts not long after. A years-old landslide had come down from the hills, spilling through the forest and over the roads. Grass and small shrubs were growing again. Pine needles and dead leaves had made the ground their home for at least a few seasons. Still, most of the trees had been choked to death or toppled by the avalanche, making it difficult for the duck to maneuver. Several times they had to stop while the hunters used chainsaws to cut through fallen logs blocking their way. It was slow going, and everyone was on edge, watchful of everything around them. Tom wasn’t as worried. He watched Penelope, and she didn’t seem distressed by any of it. She just sat on her bunk bed with her pillow clutched in her arms and the blanket over her shoulder, staring blankly toward the sky.
Peske turned off the engine while the hunters cut up another fallen tree. He tapped Mike on the shoulder and nodded toward the half-breed.
“She needs a walk,” Peske told him. Mike rolled his eyes but followed Peske toward the back. Tom stood up to get out of their way.
“Why are you stopping?” Tyler asked. He looked like a cornered animal. Most of the visitors had the same frightened, wide-eyed look to them.
“I’ve got to let her out for a bit,” Peske said.
“What?” Tyler asked with disbelief. “What the hell for? She’ll tear us all to pieces. She’s one of them!”
“She ain’t gonna do anything of the sort,” Peske growled, taking a zombie catching pole from Mike. “Move over all of you. I need to get her out.”
“Why are you letting her out?” Tyler demanded.
“So she can piss, you moron,” Peske said. “She’s been in that cage since yesterday.”
“I need to pee too,” Carrie suddenly put in.
“Me too,” one of the men said.
“Fine,” Peske growled. “Climb on over the edge if you need to use the facilities. Find a tree everyone.”
“Is it safe?” one of Tyler’s yes-men asked, a man named Paul.
“Don’t wander far,” Peske replied.
Mike slid off the back of the duck and started helping visitors down. Peske put the noose-end of the zombie pole through a slot alongside the lock of the cage’s gate. He didn’t have to work to get her into it. She stood, walked up to it, and slipped the noose over her own head. Peske tugged it tight. It wasn’t the kind of noose used on other zombies. The noose had a sheepskin cover all around it to protect her neck.
“Come on, Kitty,” Peske purred, using a key from his pocket to unlock the door. Tom stood aside and waited for her to come out. She moved like a queen passing amongst subjects, slow and meaningful, poised, knowing that every eye was on her. As she ducked under the cage door she turned her head and looked at Tom. A brief smile flickered in her eyes and on the edges of her lips. Tom smiled and turned to climb down off the duck. If she had anything in mind, he wanted to be close to her.
“There, you see?” Peske was telling everyone. “Gentle as a kitten.”
At hearing this Penelope turned her head and snarled, biting in the air toward Tyler. He jumped back, almost falling off the side of the duck. She laughed at him. It was spectral. It didn’t come from her throat so much as her
nose or the roof of her mouth. It was the mockery of a laugh, a parrot noise from someone who might not have had the capacity to understand humor whatsoever.
Mike’s pole held a second noose up for her and she ducked her head into it, waited a second for it to be secured, then she leapt off the back of the duck. Tom wanted to applaud he was so impressed by her. She landed softly and crouched down, almost pulling Peske down with her. He grumbled and climbed down after her.
“Find a tree,” Peske said to the others, prodding Penelope toward a nearby stand of trees. Tom followed them. Penske and Mike stood to either side of the half-breed as she went behind a tree. Tom grinned as he watched the two poles slide downward, thinking of Penelope squatting on the other side of the tree. He relieved himself onto the nearest tree, wondering if she thought the whole thing indignant or understood the invasion of privacy of it all. Tom finished. He stood listening to the chainsaws grinding, feeling the breeze come at them from the east for once. It brought the smell of chainsaw exhaust with the cool air of the lake, which was better than the still air they had been putting up with for the last hour.
The poles shot upward and Peske swore. Tom could see Penelope tugging on her pants as she forced her way around the tree, hauling Mike with her. She was pointing furiously. Tom turned to look back toward the duck. The other visitors were scattered in the trees still doing their business.
“Get back to the duck,” Peske said hotly, following Penelope as she rushed ahead. Mike kept pace with her. Tom found himself hurrying to catch up. Penelope waited for Peske to climb up to receive his pole. “Go warn them,” Peske told Tom. “Tell them to get back to the duck. Everyone.”
Tom nodded and ran to the edge of the trail they had been following and called out with his hands to his mouth. He yelled the word zombies over and over again. Six of the men came running out from the trees, pulling up their pants. It was chaotic at the duck with everyone clambering aboard. Tom fought to hoist himself up onto the deck from the side while others pushed and shoved for the ladder in the back. Peske blew an air horn as he settled into his seat, the half-breed safely returned to her cage. Mike was stowing the zombie poles, looking out toward the tree line expectantly.
“Where are Carrie and Nate?” Tom asked, doing a quick headcount. They had gone off together down the trail the duck had created.
Hank, Dave, and Rick were climbing up, shoving the chainsaws onto the deck. Everyone was turning in circles, trying to count each other, realizing what Tom had already pointed out. The woman was missing. Hank didn’t bother to do a headcount. He pushed past everyone and reached Peske.
“What are you waiting for?” Hank asked. “Go!”
“You didn’t finish clearing it!” Peske was arguing.
“Just ram it. It’ll break,” Hank demanded as Tyler pushed up front beside them.
“Carrie and Nate are missing,” Tyler said. As if to put an exclamation point on it, they all heard a violent scream in the woods. Rick was reaching for a zombie pole before anyone could stop him. He used it to vault off the back and clear of the duck, sliding down its shaft to soften his landing.
“Damned idiot hero,” Hank grumbled. “Back it up,” Hank started telling Peske. “I’ll clear it out up front. Use your horn if anything is coming up behind me.” Hank grabbed his chainsaw and climbed overboard.
Rick found their tracks easily, listening for Carrie’s calls to guide him. He jogged into a thick stand of trees as Peske backed the duck down along the trail to get closer to the hunter. Tyler slid into the passenger seat and picked up the air horn at Peske’s orders. Tom held onto the cage and could hear Penelope’s low growl. Mike was loading the canister gun. The brakes squealed the duck to a stop alongside the line of trees. Everyone could see the scene within. Two zombie were huddled over Nate’s body, feeding on it as though nothing in the world could bother them. A third was being hauled backwards by the neck with Rick’s zombie pole. Carrie was on the ground, backing away across the ground slowly, blood staining her shirt and arm.
“Wait ‘till he’s out,” Peske told Mike, who was leveling the canister gun to fire.
Rick dragged the third zombie near Nate’s body and slammed it on its side, loosening the noose and freeing the beast. He prodded the zombie with the pole to push its face onto Nate’s body. Rick dodged around the beasts to Carrie’s side. With a swift move he ducked low, grabbed her good arm, hauled her to her feet, and slung her over his shoulder. Tom was impressed. He wished he could do something like that, but Rick was a big man.
“Hold your fire,” Peske told Mike as Rick managed to skirt the three zombies who were now feverishly tearing apart Nate’s body, gorging themselves on his warm blood and raw flesh. The noise of the chainsaw was still echoing ahead of them. Several men helped pull Carrie onto the back of the duck. Rick climbed aboard as well and Peske drove off, leaving the three zombies to their meal in peace. The air horn went off and Hank climbed aboard. Peske drove the duck through the long clearing the hunters had cut over the past hour, giving them the room to maneuver and keep driving without pause until they cleared the woods completely.
Hank stood over Carrie as two of the men tended to her wounds. She had a large piece of her arm torn and scratches all across her chest.
“Were you bit?” he asked her.
“No,” she said emphatically, shaking her head.
“Well, I’m going to start you on inhibitors,” Hank told her, squatting down over her. “You’re going to take them because you were bit.”
“I wasn’t bit,” she tried to tell him.
“I know a bite when I see one,” Hank said. He took a bottle of pills out of his cargo pants pocket and opened it, shaking a long purple pill out. He held the pill up so she could see it.
“I wasn’t bit,” she said angrily. “I wasn’t!”
Hank didn’t listen. He grabbed her cheeks, pinching hard against her teeth, forcing her mouth open even as she clutched at his arm and hit him in the wrist. He shoved the pill to the back of her throat. She gagged on it while flailing at his arm. He let her go and stood back, eying everyone. No one objected. No one wanted to be thrown off the duck.
She coughed furiously, trying to spit out the pill, but it was already down her throat. “I wasn’t bit,” she screamed, her eyes watering. “Oh, God, please!”
“Tie her up,” Hank said to the others. He looked at Dave who was standing above her. Dave stared down at Carrie with the same grim expression. “Tend her wounds and tie her up.” Dave only nodded.
Penelope had been standing at the door of her cage, watching everything transpire intently. She sank back to her bunk bed, picking up her pillow to hold it like a doll. She fell asleep amidst the looks of concern, Carrie’s remorseful wailing, and the steady jostling of the duck. Tom figured she was on to something and laid down himself. He was so tired.
Twenty
It was only about an hour later when one of the visitors shook him, giving him some food. Everyone was somber. Tom could see Carrie huddled in a corner, shivering under several blankets. Tom sat and ate with his back to Penelope’s cage. He was so intent on watching Carrie for any sign of zombiehood that he was surprised to feel a warmth against his back. He craned his neck to find Penelope sitting against the bars with her back to him, eating from a can of Spam.
“You like that stuff?” Tom asked. Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Probably better than a bite out of Tyler over there,” Tom said softly and she laughed again. It was a frightening sound on a full grown woman. She sounded like a toddler, and what was odd to Tom was that he felt as though it had the same kind of innocence to it.
Tom took off his knapsack and dug inside of it, tugging the paper from the zip-locked plastic pouch. He unfolded it and passed it through to her. At first she looked at it with suspicion. Tom nudged it toward her and she took it from him to look at it.
“That’s you,” Tom said. “That was you,” he corrected himself. He watched as her fingers touched the human face, moving
slowly around the cheeks and hair, touching the nose gingerly as though she could somehow feel the lines and curves through the picture. Then her fingers touched the photo of her as a half-breed. The features were similar, but the skin tone was bleached, her features taught, almost gaunt by comparison, her bright blue eyes hidden behind a haze. And her once vibrant strawberry blond hair had lost all of its luster, looking more like dried wheat, unkempt and knotted.
“I can help get you back to the way you were,” Tom told her. “I can get you the cure.” She turned her head sideways, glaring at him. “I can make you normal again. Human.” The words didn’t seem to make sense to her. “Ugh, if you could just talk,” Tom said with frustration.
Penelope spun around to look at him, still sitting. She held a finger pointing upward and then began to twirl it, looking up.
“I don’t understand,” Tom said, realizing she was trying to use some rudimentary sign language with him.
She sighed, showing her own frustration, then raised and lowered her shoulders with another deep breath, calming herself. She pointed at her eyes with two fingers, then up to the sky with two fingers.
“Looking up,” Tom said. She shook her head, doing the same thing. “Seeing up. Seeing the moon. Seeing stars. Looking at the sky.” She pointed at him with excitement. “Looking up at the sky,” Tom told her and she nodded, smiling. She then began twirling her finger again, making it go straight up. “Twirling around in the sky,” Tom said and she shook her head, pointing at her hand that was doing the twirling. Then she made lines in the air to the ground and slapped the ground over and over again like a child blowing up her dolls. “Oh, yeah, the helicopters from yesterday,” Tom said and again she pointed at him.
Plagued States of America (Book 1): Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment Page 7