Penelope pointed out a tree with several bushes around its base. Four children were huddled under a canopy of leaves formed by a hollowing of the base of the bush. She pointed up the tree at a set of branches so close to one another that they formed a small platform. Several aged and filthy blankets, pants, shirts, and other articles of clothing were wrapped or tied to the branches to hold up thick cross beams lashed to the tree. Fabric was spread across it to make a narrow tent.
“Half-breed?” Tom whispered, raising the shotgun to the air.
Penelope nodded, then put her hand on the shotgun to lower the barrel. She shook her head and pointed ahead of them. Tom aimed the shotgun in that direction instead.
The wailing changed. The normal tone of discontent turned to concern, bordering fear.
Danger.
“What is it?” Tom whispered as he sank low beside her.
She held a finger up to keep him quiet. She couldn’t pinpoint where the change came from, but she knew it was somewhere ahead of them. She turned her head each way to finally hone in on it. She pointed the direction of the sound for Tom, and just as though her finger were a gun, a pop-snap cracked through the din.
Gunfire.
Penelope rarely heard the noise, but she knew it well enough.
“Dad?”
Another crack of a pistol firing sang through the trees. The moaning all around them became a chorus of fear all at once.
“Dad!” Tom shouted and began to run.
Seventeen
Penelope chased Tom through the bushes and barren trees. The mud underfoot splattered in wide rings. There hadn’t been another shot fired, but they knew from the earlier ones which way to go. Penelope’s heart pounded, not from exertion, but from fear. What would she do if Tom got hurt?
“Dad?” Tom called at the sight of a figure standing next to the tree.
The figure turned its head and sank down low. Tom slid to a stop, almost falling backwards. It wasn’t his father. It wore an old, dark jacket with the hood pulled over its head. Its narrow eyes glared at Tom and it let out a low growl.
Tom put an arm out to stop Penelope from advancing. Even if he hadn’t stopped her, she probably wouldn’t have moved in. This was one of the larger half-breeds, the kind Penelope used to rely on for protection. Fighting it was suicide, but there was no running from it either. It glanced at her with a flicker of recognition, its growl hesitant only for the moment it took to realize she wasn’t a threat.
Tom aimed the shotgun toward the beast. It didn’t move, unafraid or unsure what the thing was used for.
Penelope’s heart pounded so hard she felt her pulse all the way to the tips of her fingers. She let out her own growl, a warning to the half-breed that got its attention once more. It glared at her, realizing she was one of them.
“I’ve got this,” Tom said, lowering the barrel of the shotgun.
Boom!
Penelope jumped and her hands covered her ears involuntarily. The pounding of her heart only doubled. She stared at the hole in the ground where the shotgun blast hit and spattered mud in the air toward the half-breed.
“Who’s there?” someone called not far ahead.
The half-breed no longer growled. It looked behind it to where the voice came from, then at Tom. With several quick strides, the half-breed darted away toward another stand of trees. Tom didn’t shoot again. He let the thing run away.
“Don’t shoot,” Tom yelled. He nodded for Penelope to follow him as he stepped past where the half-breed had been hiding. Tom pushed between two bushes as tall as himself, holding Penelope’s hand to pull her through with him. “Dad, it’s me!”
“Tom?” a different voice called from somewhere ahead.
Once through the bushes, Penelope saw the three men standing side-by-side, two holding pistols pointed in their direction, the other the Senator in his red jacket. Both of the men with the Senator lowered their guns, but kept watch in every direction. Penelope knew one of the men with the Senator from the EPS. His bald head gave him away. He was a senior day-shift handler named Brooks. She remembered seeing him on the television too, looking at the camera at the end before he climbed out of the chopper as it burned up. The other man was the Senator’s bodyguard, Carl.
Behind the Senator was the girl, Larissa. She lay nearly motionless, curled up like a turtle, her shell a tapestry of thick clothes layered over her like armor against the elements, her head low, her legs and arms tucked in, waiting for the danger to pass—or the call from her guardian. As much as the Senator thought he was Larissa’s father, Penelope knew that the girl thought otherwise. One of the half-breeds was her protector, her caretaker. Larissa would know its voice and obey it before she ever thought to take comfort from the Senator.
“Don’t shoot,” Tom called.
“Tom,” the Senator yelled, waving his hand for them to come to him. “This way. What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you,” Tom said as he led Penelope to the three men.
“How did you get here?”
“Snowmobiles,” Tom said as he put out a hand to his father. The Senator took his hand and pulled him close into an embrace.
“I can’t believe it’s you. You came, even after what I said,” the Senator said into Tom’s ear, his voice choked with astonishment.
“Dad,” Tom gasped, trying to pry himself free of his father’s hold.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” the Senator said fiercely, gripping Tom tighter, not letting him free. “I felt so terrible after I left you.”
His terrible words came on the same day that the helicopter crashed, before it took off with the Senator and the others. Penelope remembered Tom dragging her up to the roof to confront his father one more time, to try to talk sense into him before he flew off. Looking back on it, Penelope wished Tom had been successful, but at the time, she was happy to see the Senator go.
“Dad, Larissa’s changed,” Tom had said. “You can’t just jab her with the cure and—”
“That’s your sister out there—my daughter—and you left her.”
“Dad,” Tom began, his voice a reasonable calm against his father’s anger.
“You left her,” the Senator reiterated. He turned his steely gaze toward Penelope and looked her up and down, the same way people did back on Biter’s Hill when she was behind the bars of her cage, on display to draw in the crowds that helped Peske sell his other female zombies. The only difference was the Senator stared at her with hate, not lecherous intent. “For this,” the Senator finally said, waving a hand in Penelope’s direction.
Penelope gripped Tom’s hand tighter. She had followed him to the roof, holding his hand fiercely, afraid of the helicopter that loomed behind the Senator.
Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly. She knew Tom’s regrets. Some nights, when the only light came from the moon’s reflection off the river outside undulating on the ceiling of their apartment, Tom would tell stories of his childhood. His shame sometimes choked off his words, just as now. Tom swallowed the pain that went along with his father’s disappointment.
“That’s not fair, Dad. I was handcuffed to Penny. I couldn’t carry them both.”
“Stop with the excuses, Tom. You had a choice when the rescue team picked you up. You could have told Gary. Why didn’t you tell your brother? And then you lied to come here. You said you wanted to help find your sister, that being the registrar here would help find her. It was a lie. You knew where she was the whole time, and you let her go, again. For this…thing.
“You’re not coming, Tom. I can’t trust you anymore,” the Senator said as he backed away. He glared at his son.
Penelope hated the Senator then as much as she did now. He may have apologized to Tom for how he treated him, but he hadn’t said anything to her. He still held her in low regard, still thought of her as a thing.
“Dad, let’s talk about it later,” Tom whispered into his father’s ear.
The Senator eased his grip and clapped Tom on the back severa
l times, looking Tom up and down with a prideful reverence.
Crack!
Another pistol shot rang out beyond the bushes. Everyone in the group ducked low out of instinct, except Penelope, who covered her ears.
“Who’s there?” Carl, the Senator’s bodyguard, shouted. “How many are with you?” he asked Tom.
“Jones?” Tom called.
“Yeah,” Jones called back from just beyond the heavy wall of bushes.
“He’s with me. Come on in.”
“I’m looking for a break. There are hostiles over here, but I think your boom stick scared them a little.”
Penelope agreed with his assessment. She could hear them calling to one another, using their grunts and moans. Go there, come here, hide tree, hide bush. She knew the language, but she couldn’t distinguish any one voice from another.
A considerable rustling in the bushes preceded O’Farrell pushing through a small opening. Carl aimed in her direction until Tom said she was with him. He lowered his gun as she nearly fell forward and pulled her legs out of the bramble one at a time. Behind her, Jones backed his way through.
“They’re shifting positions,” he announced as he turned. “We should too.”
Carl raised his pistol and aimed it at Jones.
“Drop your weapon,” Carl said.
“Excuse me?” Jones replied, disbelief layering his voice. He took several bold steps toward Carl, even though there was a pistol pointed directly at his chest.
“You heard me,” Carl told him. “Put the gun down, Jones.”
“Do I know you?” Jones asked, coming to a stop and squinting his eyes.
O’Farrell stepped beside Jones, raising her gun toward Carl. “Put your gun down.”
“Nobody shoot anyone,” Tom snapped. “Carl, Wendy, put your goddamned guns down. There are zombies all around us. Dad?”
“Carl,” the Senator agreed.
“That’s Mason Jones,” Carl replied.
“I know who it is. What are you doing here, son?”
“I came with him,” Jones replied, pointing at Tom with his free hand. “Put your pistol away, Wendy. He’s not going to shoot.” He put a hand on Wendy’s gun and eased it down. “I’m going to holster my weapon, now, so don’t get an itchy trigger finger, Carl,” Jones said with a sneer, holding his empty hand up like a stop sign. He slid his pistol into his holster and moved his hand away. “Can we get moving, now?”
Carl lowered his barrel only half-way. “You know you’re a wanted man.”
“Two of America’s Most Wanted, right here,” Jones said with a grin as he approached, pointing between himself and the Senator. Jones looked the Senator up and down, then at Tom. “I don’t see the resemblance.”
The Senator glared at Jones. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“His dad,” Jones replied. “Is that the girl?” Jones nodded to the prone form of Larissa.
“I’m Senator Jefferson, of Colorado. Denver. Have you ever been to Denver?”
Jones only shrugged, shaking his head.
“Dad, can we get moving?” Tom asked, stepping between the two. “We can talk later.”
“Yeah, we’ll definitely talk,” the Senator said. “Get my daughter.” He tapped Brooks, the handler.
“Penny can bring her,” Tom said. “We’ll need your gun to get out of here.”
“Are you sure?” Brooks asked.
“Yes,” the Senator said. “Let her carry Larissa. The last thing we need is another soldier getting bit.”
Penelope thought it a mean thing to say. Tom rolled his eyes. O’Farrell glowered. Jones only smiled at the Senator.
“We go that way,” Jones said, picking a southern route that made everyone stop in their tracks. He didn’t wait for anyone to object. “Those of you who can tell me where the nine half-breeds I counted hiding out there are, raise your hand.” No one did. “Right, we’ve got one there, and one there. This is the widest hole. Let’s use it before they shut it down.”
“Half-breeds?” Brooks asked. “Those are half-breeds? I thought they were people.”
“If there are only nine,” Carl said. “Why not go straight at them and shoot them?”
“In a rescue operation, avoiding hostilities saves lives. That’s the path of least risk.”
“What if it’s a trap?”
“Then we shoot them,” Jones replied.
“Carl, Dad, let’s just go his way so we get going.”
The Senator nodded and Carl waved Jones on, even though he scowled at Jones’ back.
Penelope cooed into Larissa’s ear, singing a sound that told her to relax, that she was going to take care of her. Larissa’s head rose, turning toward her. Penelope breathed a heavy sigh against the girl’s cheek as she untied the gag-ball. She pulled it out of Larissa’s mouth and dropped it to the ground. Larissa let Penelope hoist her to her feet, then Penelope picked her up, cradling her close, cooing again to settle her body’s quivering.
O’Farrell clicked photo after photo of Penelope’s interaction with Larissa. As Penelope stepped past O’Farrell, she turned her head away from the camera. She never knew embarrassment before, but now all she wanted to do was run from the camera and the others—the Senator and his two men—who looked at her like she was some kind of freak, the same way people once leered at her through the bars back on Biter’s Hill. At the Hill, though, she always had the bars.
“Ma’am,” Brooks warned Penelope. He picked up the gag-ball and held it out for her. “You shouldn’t let her get that close without this.”
“She knows what she’s doing,” Tom told him.
“Tom,” Jones said as he marched the group ahead. “Bring up the rear and be handy with that shotgun.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” O’Farrell said, stepping next to Penelope.
Eighteen
Jones moved like a soldier, his upper body rigidly holding his pistol one direction even as he walked another. He turned abruptly and swung around objects to assess threats, but Penelope didn’t think it was effective in this situation. Speed was more important. They needed to get to the snow to slow down the half-breeds. When a half-breed darted along the edge of their vision, Jones’ followed it with his pistol, but didn’t fire.
“Shoot it,” Carl insisted.
“At seventy feet?” Jones asked. “I’ll hit his shadow, if I’m lucky.”
“I thought you were a marksman.”
“How do you know that?” Jones asked, looking at Carl suspiciously.
Carl said nothing.
Jones turned them east abruptly and kept that line, moving faster now, but it didn’t make Penelope feel any less agitated. The girl seemed to feel it too. Larissa shifted in Penelope’s arms, squirming to turn and straighten. It was as if the girl wanted to walk. Penelope cooed into Larissa’s ear, but her song didn’t have the conviction it needed to keep her calm.
“Put her down,” O’Farrell warned Penelope. “Tom, she’s fidgeting.”
“Penny, put her down,” Tom said.
Penelope shook her head. She didn’t need to put Larissa down. The girl’s bite was harmless to her, except that it might hurt. She couldn’t be re-infected. The girl was agitated over something else.
“Oh my God,” O’Farrell said, lifting her camera and taking photos of the snowline beyond Penelope. Penelope turned to see three half-breeds near one another using hand gestures.
Brooks opened fire on the three, shooting in rapid succession. Blam, blam, blam! The three half-breeds ducked and leapt to nearby trees.
“There’s three over here,” Brooks called, still aiming his pistol.
Larissa straightened in Penelope’s arms. Penelope set the girl’s feet on the ground, but grabbed a fist full of her hair. Larissa took two quick steps in the opposite direction of the shooting and was jerked backwards onto the ground by Penelope’s hold. Penelope let Larissa fall to the ground, then sank over her with a knee on her chest as everyone started shouting at Brooks to stop sh
ooting.
Penelope scanned the trees in the direction Larissa tried to run, listening for a call.
Blam! Brooks shot again. Penelope winced and looked back at him. One of the half-breeds he had pinned down began running away from the group. They were all so far away to begin with, Penelope couldn’t make them out to recognize any of them.
“Hold your fire!” Jones shouted.
“Stop shooting!” Carl snapped.
“Yes,” O’Farrell demanded furiously. “Everyone stop shooting!” O’Farrell turned to Tom, whispering, “Did you see them? They were communicating with one another.”
Tom sank down next to Penelope, looking into the woods as Penelope did.
“What is it?” O’Farrell asked, following their eyes into the apparently empty woods.
The sound Larissa yearned for died out. Penelope could tell by the way Larissa eased under her. It had been a woman’s call, a soft chirping that mimicked a bird. Penelope would recognize it now.
“What’s going on, you three?” Jones called.
Penelope shook her head, lifting her weight from Larissa’s chest.
“Nothing,” Tom replied. “Keep going.”
Penelope hoisted Larissa into her arms and continued her singing, this time adding the trill of a songbird. It had a soothing effect, causing Larissa to curl so that Penelope could cup her by the lower back and under the knees. The group started moving again, with Brooks’ head darting side to side nervously. O’Farrell kept raising her camera to take photos in every direction, gasping when she thought she saw a figure, or grumbling when she missed a shot. Snow took form underfoot again, at first in small icy islands, then as a pervasive slush, eventually forming into hard, packed pathways.
The wall of high bushes rose in front of them, the barrier between the warm air and the freezing wind and snow beyond. There were small breaks in the bushes, wide enough to push through sideways. They could see through the hedge a little, but not clearly. The other side simply looked white. Jones waited until everyone grouped together again.
Plagued States of America (Book 3): Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment Page 9