“I’ll go,” Tom said.
“Sit your ass back down,” Peske told Tom.
“Why? I want to go.”
“Not on your life,” Peske said. “Be a hero when we reach Midamerica. You’re staying here so they all come back. Otherwise, the first zombie they see they’ll hang us out to dry.”
Several arguments erupted all at once. Who would go, and why? The hunters and Peske kept at their tasks of preparing to walk ahead to look for fuel. They took down several zombie poles, flashlights, two canister guns, and Mike grinned as he opened a tackle box to find bolas. When everything was ready, Peske came into the circle of visitors and looked at his watch.
“You’ve got eighty minutes by my reckoning. That’s about how far ahead we are. Anyone who can’t jog two miles shouldn’t go.” Hank’s radio squawked as he tested it with the hunters. “These three will probably range ahead,” Peske said to the visitors, pointing at the hunters. “Stay with Hank and keep your mouths shut.” Peske eyed Tyler as he said this. “We only need six gallons to get this thing running again, but we can’t come get you without ten or more, so at least three of you need to make it back.
“Good luck, Hank,” Peske said, reaching a hand out to the other slaver.
“See you in an hour,” Hank said with a smile. “Come on you idiots,” Hank added, addressing the visitors. The three hunters were already over the side and picking up the siphoning equipment. Six of the visitors climbed over reluctantly, Tyler being the last. He glared at Peske before descending over the side.
“That idiot,” Peske said, snapping his fingers trying to remember his name.
“Tyler?” Tom offered.
“Yeah, that idiot Tyler needs to settle down or he’s going to get someone killed.”
Fifteen
Those remaining aboard the duck watched as the small group moved north into the darkness. Peske killed the lights on the duck from a switchboard at the front, and the generator engine rattled to a halt. The only light to split the darkness came from two battery lanterns. Hank’s group split into two with the smaller, faster team ranging ahead.
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” one of the men that had been forced to ride in the dinghy during the escape said. His name was Steve. Carrie looked over at him and sighed, but didn’t answer. It was hard to argue with his assessment.
“They’ll be back,” Tom said. His encouraging words surprised even himself, but it felt more like his childhood in the park than some encroaching doom. Tom just needed to stick close to Peske and his half-breed. Penelope. Especially her. And besides, they weren’t very far from Biter’s Hill. Tom figured with the usual assortment of hunters in the area, there wasn’t a living zombie for fifty miles except for those that escaped the fire-bombing. “With fuel,” Tom added hopefully.
The noise of the forest wasn’t very loud to begin with this late at night. It was about two in the morning and even nocturnal animals weren’t moving about. Tom wondered if there were any left given the zombie thirst for meat. Nobody aboard slept and no one made much noise. Everyone just sat where they were, looking over the rail into the darkness, listening. The only one sleeping was Penelope. Tom walked past her cage, looking in closely to see if she really was asleep. He couldn’t tell. He took the seat next to Peske, the seat Hank had been occupying since their decision to drive north.
“I want to talk to you,” Tom said softly. Peske was sitting with his jacket over his arms like a blanket, head down, eyes closed, but not sleeping. Just resting.
“What about?” Peske asked, not looking up, his voice barely a whisper.
“I’m looking for someone,” Tom admitted. “A girl. A zombie girl. Turned ten years ago. I think your half-breed has seen her.”
“So what,” Peske mumbled.
“So I want to borrow your half-breed to go find her once we get to Midamerica.”
“Are you crazy, boy? She’ll cut your throat the moment you’re alone. She’s from Midamerica. She knows her place back on the Hill, and out here even. But the airbase, that’s where they live. She’d want back in.”
“They?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, them. Them like her. Half-breeds.”
“How many?”
“It doesn’t matter how many. They’re as scared of us as they are biters. But they have each other, and if you give her the chance to go back to that, she’ll slit your throat to have it.”
“I don’t agree,” Tom replied, even though he harbored doubts. “Look, when we get there, we’ll make the call and it will be an hour before a rescue team can reach us. Maybe longer. I just want to borrow her.”
“You’re not going anywhere with my half-breed,” Peske told him flatly.
“Fine, then I’ll buy her off you.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Not for sale,” Peske replied blandly.
“A Districts permit.”
Peske sat up in his chair, eyeing Tom suspiciously. “You ain’t got that kind of clout.”
“If your half-breed helps me find that girl, you have no idea the kind of clout I’ll have.”
“I ain’t letting you have Kitty.”
“Don’t you even know her real name?”
“Of course I do, boy,” Peske snapped, leaning into Tom’s face with a hard and angry stare. “You don’t think I don’t know everything about my little girl in there? I’ve had her for three goddamn years, boy. Tried to sell her back to her kin and they refused.” Tom straightened, confused by such a statement. Why would anyone refuse? ”Oh, you thinking you can be some kind of hero with her, too? They said she was dead to them already. Some parents, huh?”
Yeah, some parents, Tom thought. Not much different than how his own father would react. Not about Larissa, though. No, for her he would have paid. Or traded. Take one of my sons, his father would tell Peske, still bitter about losing Larissa in the first place. Take Tom. It was his fault in the first place.
“I still want her,” Tom told the old slaver. Screw his father. At least Tom could give her a life again, whether her parents wanted her back or not. At least he’d finally have a reason for being. “And I still need her help finding the girl.”
“Fine,” Peske said softly. “I’ll take your permit and your fifty thousand, and you get Kitty. But you don’t get Kitty until we leave. Wherever she goes, I go. Deal?”
“Deal,” Tom said, holding out a hand. Peske looked at it warily, glanced back toward the half-breed’s cage for a minute, then sighed. Tom hadn’t thought much of Peske up until then. The old slaver actually cared for Penelope, and not just as some valuable possession. “I’ll take care of her,” Tom added. “I want to help her.” Peske nodded, taking Tom’s hand.
Sixteen
Peske checked his watch at least every five minutes. It was the longest wait Tom had ever endured. He knew Hank and the hunters would come back. He knew they would bring fuel no matter what the cost. He just wondered if it would come at a cost, and how many this time. He didn’t like the idea of more people dying. It made him feel like their blood was on his hands. He had to keep reminding himself that all this would have happened whether he was here or not. Tom retreated from Peske’s co-pilot chair to sit on the side of the duck that overlooked the northern path by which the hunters had travelled. Like everyone else, he waited and watched, listening to the occasional noises of the forest.
Penelope chuffed behind him. He turned to look at her. Her hazy blue eyes were aglow in the moonlight. It was an eerie sight to say the least. She chuffed again, and he could swear she was trying to say “here”. He moved closer to her cage to listen better. She pointed at him, then toward the front of the boat and chuffed again, and he distinctly heard her say “here”.
“They’re here?” Tom asked. Penelope nodded. “The hunters?” Again she nodded. Tom stood and moved to the front of the boat, shaking Peske. “I think they’re here,” Tom said. Peske squinted into the darkness ahead.
&n
bsp; “I don’t see anything,” Peske was saying, then there were two flashes clicked their direction. “Shit, that’s the sign,” Peske said, fumbling for a flashlight on the dashboard. He clicked it several times in the direction of the blinking light.
“Sign?”
“If we were overrun, we wouldn’t be able to sign them. They’d know to high-tail it back out of here.”
“You know, all these rules you and your zombie hunter friends take for granted would be good information for the rest of us. It might make that idiot Tyler a little less a thorn in our sides to impart your wisdom now and again.”
“Shut the hell up and help me with the flood lights,” Peske replied.
They were underway before any zombies appeared. Only four men came back with fuel, enough to get them into town. The other men were on the rooftop of the gas station, waiting. Peske drove in and they finished siphoning the underground tanks directly into the duck. They brought along all the extra fuel they could take with them and were on the road again cruising slowly through an old abandoned town. Cars were parked irregularly, some in spaces, others driven onto the sidewalks where they had been abandoned. The vehicles had all been vandalized to one degree or another. Tires taken, windshields, entire seats, hoods thrown open, light fixtures removed. Everything looked like it belonged in a salvage yard.
Leaving town they returned to the highway and continued north over a decaying road. The potholes and rough patches made their progress slow, but even Tom was able to lie down and sleep for a few hours while it was still dark.
Seventeen
Dawn brought them to the edge of a wide lake. It was ringed by a thick forest that had consumed an old town. Peske drove up to the water’s edge, a road that just led into the wide lake. He let the engine idle as he unfolded a map. Tom stretched and stood. His body was sore all over, his eyelids felt like sandpaper.
“What lake is this?” Tom asked the hunter Mike, who was standing behind Peske.
“Lake?” Mike replied. “That’s the old Mississippi River,” he said with a chuckle. Tom was just a boy when they diverted it, making the great flood wall around the Plagued States.
“No, you can’t take the highway east,” Peske was telling Hank. “Bridge collapsed.”
“West puts you through the washouts,” Mike put in. “We usually go straight across,” he added, pointing at the water. Hank looked up and saw the remnants of another town about three miles away on the other side of the lake.
“What about doubling back to here?” Hank asked, pointing out a junction they had passed earlier.
“We could try,” Peske said thoughtfully. “It’ll add two or three hours, and I don’t know where we’ll be able to ford the river.”
“Can’t we just put people in the rowboat again?” Hank asked.
“I told you,” Peske snarled “We broke the main float weeks ago. I’ve been stuck on the Hill waiting for a replacement. If we go out there, we’ll sink. We’re two hundred gallons heavier now than back at the Hill,” Peske said irritably. “Even if none of us were on board we’d sink. No, it’s either double back and hope for the best or try the washouts and hope for the best.”
“The washouts were pretty stable three months ago,” Mike offered. “I rode with Simon for a trip when you were sick, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Peske said absently.
“There’s that old bridge at the creek between the two lakes,” Mike said, pointing toward the spot on the map. Tom peered over Peske’s shoulder and saw an old map of Illinois with several routes drawn out in red and with lots of notes, “x” marks, and new pathways dotted through places no roads had been before.
“Let’s give that a shot,” Hank said and Peske began folding the map. Tom turned around, expecting to sit down again. Tyler was hovering over his shoulder. Two other visitors and the hunter named Rick as well. Peske shoved the map into a glove compartment and spun around to back the duck up.
“What are you all doing up here?” Peske snapped. He looked up at Tom, who had raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Tyler. Peske sighed. “Look, everyone, we normally just drive straight across here, but with the main float broken, we’re too heavy. We’ll sink if we try. So we’re going around to the west where the hills washed out a few times and made a dam and a nice little creek crossing. That means there won’t be any roads to follow. But don’t worry. We’ll get through fine. There are plenty of old Jeep trails and lots of open space. Only a few forested areas where biters may be around, but they’ll be few and far between, so don’t go getting scared if you see any. They’ll just as likely be afraid of us. Let Mike or Rick or Dave know if you see one and for Pete’s sake, keep your asses on the deck. Alright?”
Tyler looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead nodded. Rick and Mike also nodded once with that grim expression that came with experiences such as these. Tom nodded appreciably when Peske looked back at him.
“Go sit your ass down,” Peske grumbled at Tom. The old slaver ground the duck into reverse and they shuddered back into motion. Tom didn’t gloat, and Peske hadn’t ceded, but both knew that everyone felt better for having the explanation.
Eighteen
They drove west along a twisting two-lane road that sagged toward the lake. Large sections of the road had eroded in places, forcing the duck to keep a slower pace than they had managed on the main highway. The bridge Mike thought was intact turned out to be fine. The road on the other side, however, had fallen into the river, leaving a six foot wide gap. Peske made everyone get off the duck and stand on the bridge while he drove around to the mouth of the river to ford. Being on the ground again made Tom feel vulnerable, exposed if any zombies should amble along. How would they escape if any came? The three hunters kept mindful watch in all directions, but it wasn’t any comfort.
The duck nosed into the river, leaning precariously to the side as if it might fall. As the vehicle shook one way, Tom watched Penelope holding onto the bars of her cage, getting jostled repeatedly. “Hang on,” Peske kept telling her over his shoulder just before giving the vehicle a little gas. Peske stopped several times, climbing out of his seat to look over the hood into the deep riverbed as the engine idled with a gurgle. He corrected his course slightly and the duck tipped the other direction.
“He’s going to flip it over,” Tyler complained to Hank.
“He’s got it,” Hank said sourly, but he didn’t sound overly convinced of it himself.
Everyone gasped collectively when the duck pitched hard, splashing sidelong in the water. The half-breed fell from one side of her cage to the other and even Peske fell into the passenger seat. The current of the river pushed water over the rail onto the deck. Peske spat curses and climbed back into his seat, buckling himself in. He gave the vehicle two jabs at the gas to get it unstuck and gunned the engine. The duck lurched forward into the water, sinking even further before suddenly coming nose up. The noise of the engine was lost to the water momentarily, leaving only the sputtering and growling from the exhaust spewing skyward. The duck turned to face the river current, sinking slightly until the rear wheels touched ground and the vehicle jolted forward. Again the half-breed was tossed and Tom felt sorry for her having to be subjected to such treatment.
The duck broke free of the water and climbed up the bank on the other side, lurching side to side over rocks and into ruts. The noise of the engine roared to life. Tom felt everyone around him letting out their breath, sighing with relief.
“Come on,” Hank announced. “We’re going to have to jump for it.”
Rick leapt across with no trouble and started jogging ahead to scout the area. Tom found himself near the front of the line, wanting to just get it over with. He looked down the drop. If he missed, it would hurt a lot, but it wouldn’t kill him. The washout was mostly dirt and water. The four who jumped ahead of him hadn’t missed. So like them he took a running start at it. His landing wasn’t as graceful as he had hoped. Tom hit the pavement and took two staggering
steps before falling sideways. He scraped the palms of his hands and whacked his elbow hard. Two of the men on the other side helped him to his feet, asking if he was alright.
“I’m fine,” Tom said. “Just hurt my ego.”
The real problem with crossing came near the end. Those who were afraid or lacked confidence waited and worked themselves into such rigid anxiety that Hank had to yell at them. Carrie jumped across right behind Tom, landing much more elegantly. In an effort to make the three scared stragglers jump, Hank pointed her out.
“You pussies,” he yelled at them. “She jumped it no problem. Now jump or we’re going to leave you here.”
“Maybe we can find another crossing for them,” Tyler called back.
By then most everyone waited safely on the duck, including Tyler. Tom sat on the deck next to Penelope’s cage, looking in on her to see if she was injured. Her eyes danced, leery of something, looking out toward the forest on both sides.
“What is it?” Tom asked her as she sniffed the air, her eyes narrowing. “Zombies?”
She shook her head but growled just the same. She stopped looking both ways and turned her attention westward, her nose lifted as she inhaled deeply. Peske walked alongside the cage, watching her.
“What is it, Kitty?” he asked softly, following her stare. The duck engine idled softly making it impossible to tell by the sounds of the forest what may be out there. But there were no sounds except the idling. No birdsong. The birds had disappeared. Maybe they had been gone the whole time, Tom thought.
The half-breed pointed toward the river.
“Something’s coming!” Peske shouted with his hands to his mouth. “Come on!”
Just then Tom could see it. It wasn’t a zombie or another survivor, or anything he imagined, but the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was the same. A shaggy brown bear emerged along a path on the far side of the river. It was enormous. He had seen live bears in the zoo as a child, but never anything like this. Even the stuffed bear they kept back at Biters Hill was paltry by comparison. If it weighed less than a thousand pounds he would have been surprised. It probably could have stood upright and put its paws on the top rail of the duck.
Plagued_The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment Page 6