Plagued States of America (Book 3): Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment

by Better Hero Army

  Ten

  Penelope screamed, lurching forward in the chair, and clutched at her chest as if expecting a long tube and needle to be there. The pain still tingled in her limbs. Her head felt like it was on fire, with sweat dripping down her temples.

  “What in the blue blazes?” Houston shouted.

  “Penny,” Tom yelled, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her from leaping to her feet. She grabbed his hand and tore it away while pushing herself up, spinning as she did so she could face him. Her hands immediately groped for his neck and hair.

  “Penny,” Tom yelled again, knocking her hands aside and shoving her back toward the chair. “It’s me, Tom.”

  Penelope growled, her eyes darting around to take in the unfamiliar objects. This wasn’t the laboratory, there was hardly any light, and the two men in the cab with her weren’t from her nightmares.

  “Penny,” Tom said softly. “It’s OK. It was just a dream.”

  Penelope began to shake. Tom swooped in to grab her before she fell down. It was a dream, but it was one of the terrible ones that followed her into her waking thoughts. Her hands trembled. She looked at them, expecting the flesh to be seared because of the fire of the needle, but they were fine. There was nothing except dirty skin.

  “That was some nightmare,” Houston said. “Scared the piss out of me, even.”

  “She’s had bad dreams before, but nothing like this,” Tom told him. He eased her into the seat again and knelt beside her, looking into her tearing eyes. “Whatever happened today with the train scared up something new.”

  Penelope shook her head, making the sign for helicopter.

  “The helicopter dream?” Tom asked, his eyes wide. “That was the helicopter dream?”

  She nodded, then shook her head, sweeping her finger over the sign for helicopter.

  “Before?” Tom asked. “The white room?”

  She nodded emphatically, tears dribbling down her cheeks. It had been a long time since the memories of the white room came so vividly. The past three days had them stirring like never before. Ever since that doctor said her numbers—twenty-two, she blurted at the party, her tone one of surprise. She recognized Penelope with that same fearful apprehension Penelope harbored.

  “Ken-yen-tee,” Penelope gasped. She had trouble forming words in her throat. Everything always came out at a whisper.

  “What?” Tom asked, leaning closer and putting his ear next to her mouth. The train was too loud. It drowned out her soft voice.

  “Ken-yen-tee,” she said again.

  “Kenyan tea? I don’t understand.”

  “Doc—tor,” she gasped, pushing Tom back to show him the sign of the helicopter again.

  “Kennedy! On the helicopter?”

  Penelope nodded, smiling weakly, but satisfied he understood. She lifted a leg to pull down her sock and show him the tattoo. He looked at it as she tapped her fingers over the numbers.

  “At the party,” Tom said. “She recognized your numbers.”

  Penelope nodded.

  “Do you recognize her?”

  Penelope nodded.

  Houston throttled back the engine. Tom and Penelope stood up and looked out the front window. Penelope expected a wall of zombies in their path, but instead she saw only the white of snow flurries rushing sideways through the headlights. The snowblower belched a column of white powder into the air, flinging it off to the right and away from the tracks. The snow being thrown arced slightly before falling over the trees and shrubs that bordered the tracks. The snow drifts they plowed through were already three or four feet high, making Penelope wonder how long she slept.

  “Why are we stopping?” Tom asked.

  “Shift change,” Houston said. “Go get soldier boy and have him bring me some coffee and one of those trays of Entenmann’s from the fridge. I’m going to take a leak.”

  Houston led them into the belly of the engine compartment, which was not only jarringly loud, but refreshingly warm. Houston stepped into the bathroom as Tom and Penelope passed him to get to the back of the engine. Tom pushed the rear door open and they stepped across to the coach car and pushed their way inside again.

  “You guys up?” Tom asked. The room was mostly dark except for a light at the far end of the coach. Tom turned on a light to find the car empty.

  “Where the hell did they go?” Tom asked Penelope.

  The door at the opposite end slid open and Hank stepped into the coach, slipping one arm into his jacket to put it on.

  “Why’d we stop, kid?” Hank asked.

  “Shift change. It’s Mason’s turn to keep Houston company.”

  “That’s good. He’s been sleeping since we got on this rig.”

  “Sleeping? Where?”

  “The first class berths. Come on. I made a few snacks and put them in the fridge for later. There’s coffee, too.”

  “Are you kidding?” Tom asked. “You’re sleeping with those…his models?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Hank asked, offended. “They’re goddamned biters, for crying out loud. Who the hell in their right mind would get near them?”

  “That’s my point.”

  “Their rooms are locked, kid.” Hank groused. He looked Tom up and down, shaking his head. “You should come get some sleep, too.”

  “I think I’ll sleep fine in here.”

  “Come on, kid. You can lock the door to your berth. Nothing will get in. It’s fine.”

  Tom reluctantly agreed, following Hank into the first class coach where Houston’s three zombies were kept. Hank pointed into the first berth where the zombie woman was standing next to the window, staring outside with one hand on the cold glass.

  “I caught her sleeping in the bed earlier,” Hank said, pointing at the zombie woman. “Weird. I’ve never seen a biter as docile as these three. Even you,” Hank added, smiling at Penelope.

  “Do you think they’re drugged?”

  “Nah,” Hank dismissed, leading Tom and Penelope down the hallway. “Just really well-trained.”

  Hank banged on one of the doors, calling out to Jones to wake up. The drape covering the window slid open to reveal Doctor O’Farrell. She let the drape go and opened the door. Inside, past the doctor, Penelope saw the soldier sitting at the edge of a bed, rubbing his fingers through his short hair.

  “What?” O’Farrell asked, bleary eyed and surprised.

  “It’s Mason’s shift up front,” Hank said.

  “Bring coffee and a tray of Entenmann’s for Houston,” Tom told her.

  “Sure,” she said absently, then perked up. “There’s Entenmann’s?”

  Hank led Tom to the next berth and opened its door. “You take that one, kid,” he said.

  Penelope leaned around Tom to stare in. It was a narrow room like the others, with a couch and table. She didn’t see a bed like in the other berths.

  “You can have the next one if you want, Kitty.”

  Penelope shook her head.

  “She’ll be fine with me.”

  “Fine, fine,” Hank grumbled, walking away toward the back of the train. “Everyone’s got a girl but me.”

  “There’s always Houston’s models,” Tom offered.

  “Go to hell,” Hank replied jokingly. He went straight for the bathroom at the end of the hall.

  Tom led Penelope into the berth and took off his jacket. He winced at the effort of getting it past his shoulder. Still in pain from falling on it a month ago while carrying Penelope out of the horde in Midamerica. He traded his shoulder for preventing her falling on her head, cupping her close to his body as he slammed onto the tile.

  She reached out to touch him, feeling the tingle in her belly and the warmth on her face that came with times like these when all she wanted to do was be close to him. Tom stepped past her and fiddled with a latch on the wall. The back of the couch fell forward and slid out, revealing a mattress and sheets. It reminded her how little she knew of the world yet again.

  “
Take off your jacket,” Tom said. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Penelope let Tom get the blankets and make their bed. He climbed in first so he could lie on his good side, then opened the blanket for Penelope to crawl in next to him. She gladly accepted, turning and relaxing so that she touched him from head to toe with the back of her body. He let the blanket fall over them and put his arm over her. She took his hand in hers and nuzzled closer to Tom, feeling the pressure of his body against hers. This was her favorite thing in life. This felt safe.

  “I don’t know how I feel about you falling asleep again,” Tom whispered. “Try to dream about something good.”

  Penelope stilled. This was the only good thing in life.

  When the train began to trundle ahead again, she stared wide-eyed toward the window, watching a dark world of gray obscurity pass by slowly. Outside it was cold and uncertain, but here it was warm and secure. She didn’t close her eyes.

  Eleven

  Two days before the crash, Penelope’s dark memories stirred for the first time since arriving at the EPS. They were always there, in the forefront of her thoughts, the knowledge of who she was and how she came to be, but it was always just that—an understanding. Only real terror and panic brought out the sharpness of her past. They were linked, so when Doctor Kennedy said “twenty-two,” that’s when panic first seized Penelope, and it kept its iron grip on her ever since.

  “You don’t wear heels, much, do you, honey?” Kennedy laughed, replacing her apparent shock with a false smile.

  Penelope’s hand clenched Tom’s even tighter. No growling, she remembered Tom insisting before they went into the EPS Grand Hotel lobby. She wanted to growl, to warn Tom of the danger.

  “There’s not much need out here,” Tom put in, squeezing Penelope’s hand firmly to break her stranglehold.

  “There’s never a need,” Kennedy laughed, swirling a glass of amber liquid in ice. She took a sip and arched her neck, looking down her nose at Tom. “Sorry I didn’t come visit when you came through Rock Island last month.”

  “Oh, you were there?”

  Kennedy nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “Entertaining your father most of the time,” she said.

  “Well, he didn’t come visit me much, either, so you don’t have anything to apologize for. What was it you did at Rock Island, then, to know my father?”

  Kennedy smiled. “Research,” she replied. “What shit job did your father stick you with here to keep you out of the public eye?”

  “Chief Registrar and, actually, I requested it.”

  “Requested?” Kennedy asked, surprise registering over her dark features. “Why?”

  “Oh, come on, you know our public family secret. It’s dredged up every election. ‘Senator Jefferson’s daughter killed during the initial outbreak.’ Rumors that she’s still alive. Rumors about a million dollar reward.”

  “The reward is a new one.”

  “Untrue, by the way.”

  “Too bad,” she said. “I might have taken a stab at the money.”

  “Once upon a time, I would have, too,” Tom said distantly.

  “What changed your mind?” Kennedy asked.

  “Being out here.”

  “Hear, hear,” Kennedy said, lifting her glass to take a last sip, emptying the liquid with the ice cubes against her lips. She shook the empty glass, rattling the ice. “I’m going to get another. Open bar. You want to come?”

  “Maybe later,” Tom told her.

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to save you,” Kennedy said as she backed away.

  “What?”

  “Your father,” she said, pointing over his shoulder, grinning at Tom. “Big smiles for the camera.”

  “Thomas,” the Senator blurted as he clapped Tom on the shoulder.

  “Dad,” Tom said dryly.

  “Lowell, this is my son, Thomas. Don’t broadcast that, this is off the record, got me?”

  The young reporter nodded, but didn’t say anything. He wore those strange glasses that Tom told Penelope to avoid looking at. He said it was some kind of camera and there was no way of knowing if it was on or off. Penelope turned sideways to avoid looking at the reporter.

  “And this is his,” the Senator said, waving a hand toward Penelope. He paused, his brow furrowed. “What’s her name again?”

  “Penelope,” Tom answered for her. She sank behind Tom to avoid the Senator’s glare and the glasses as the reporter edged sideways to try to get a better look at her. “She doesn’t want to be on film,” Tom added, stepping between Penelope and the reporter.

  “Lowell,” the Senator said sharply. “Why don’t you go harass the Game Warden over there for a few sound bites? I want to talk to my son in private.”

  “Of course,” the reporter said. He turned and looked across the crowd before walking away.

  “Is he gone?” the Senator asked, not looking over his shoulder toward where the reporter retreated.

  “Mostly,” Tom said.

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Healing,” Tom replied dryly. “What’s all this crap on the news this morning about you wanting to lift Quarantine?”

  “We found the cure, son,” the Senator said proudly.

  “That’s old news. I thought we had a cure six months ago.”

  “It was untested then,” the Senator replied.

  “You could have at least called me before you made an announcement.”

  “I didn’t need your input on this one, son,” the Senator said with a grin. “Your old man can take care of himself, you know.”

  “I meant you could have at least warned me. Everyone on station wants to see you dead. They’re all saying you’re trying to ruin their livelihoods. If they knew I was your son, I’d be dead, too.”

  “I considered that. It’s the only time since you asked me to get you the job out here that I’ve been glad you chose to take your mother’s name.”

  “Dad, do we have to go into that again?”

  “No,” the Senator said mildly. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, son. You’re coming home with me. We’re going to close the EPS.”

  “What? When?”

  “As soon as I can get congressional buy-in. I’ve already got the full backing of the Senate, but the liberals in Congress are being obstinate. Liberals, of all people! You’d think they’d be on board, with all that PETZ and PETA and human rights crap they stick in our faces.”

  “Dad, why are you closing the EPS?”

  “Because there’s no need for it. Even if they don’t lift Quarantine, I’m introducing a bill to retract the Rezoning Act. We’re changing tactics.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re taking back America, son.”

  “Yeah, I heard you say that on TV this morning. What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re out of a job, and it means we’re letting people go back in. To take back the land.”

  “But,” Tom said, stunned. “They’ll be killed.”

  “We’re not going to let just anyone in, son. Developers. Companies like Breckenrock, who know how to work inside. The more area they clear, the more area they get to keep.”

  “Clear?”

  “Decolonize. Oust the native population, by whatever means necessary.”

  “You mean they’ll kill them.”

  “There’ll be casualties, yes. We’re putting an incentive program in place for capture, and regular audits to prevent wholesale slaughter, but this is war, son, and we have to win it. Once and for all, we need to put an end to this plague.”

  “And what about Larissa?” Tom asked. The name gripped Penelope. Even the Senator stiffened at its mention. “Dad, what about Larissa?”

  “When I thought I lost you, son, I—” He took a deep breath, straightening his suit while looking around the crowded lobby of the hotel where the reception was being held. “I began to question—”

  “Dad. She’s still out there.”

  “It doesn�
��t matter now, son. This is for the good of the nation.”

  “But she’s still out there.”

  “I know,” the Senator said with his chin held high, taking a deep breath. “I cling to that dream, too. There’s not a day that goes by—”

  “No, Dad, I mean, I know where she is.”

  Twelve

  Tom unlocked the cargo container and pushed the door open. Inside were the four snowmobiles and two sleds that Penelope remembered seeing the first week Tom and she arrived at the EPS. It was during an orientation walk-through of the complex with the Game Warden. The Warden had a way of turning his eye her way that bothered Penelope, like he was undressing her in his mind. No wonder she had forgotten everything he showed them. She spent more time hiding from him behind Tom than paying attention to what he said or showed them. She didn’t even know what the snowmobiles were used for.

  “We’ll dig out the drift and make ourselves a ramp right here,” Tom instructed Hank and Jones. “We can just drive them right off and go. Each snowmobile can carry two or three, and the rescue sleds can hold two each, so we’ve got plenty of room.”

  “What about gas?” Hank asked.

  “We’re only eleven miles from target,” Jones said as he stepped into the container to get out of the wind and snow. O’Farrell followed him, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m betting these have better gas mileage than that, but they’re going to be too loud. They’ll draw biters.”

  “We just stick to the plan. When we get there, we park them on the runway and split up.”

  “I still don’t get why we’re going to the air base,” Jones said, inspecting the front snowmobile. “Didn’t they crash four and a half miles north of Midamerica? There’s a city just two miles west of the crash site. They could have been disoriented and gone further north. Who knows? We should go to the crash site.”

  “He came up here for Larissa, and crashing wouldn’t stop him. They’ll be at Midamerica.”