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

by Better Hero Army

  “One at a time,” Jones said, then started sliding through the opening.

  “I’ll help with Larissa,” O’Farrell told Penelope.

  “Shit,” Jones shouted. Blam! His pistol snapped a shot off. Blam, blam!

  “Mason,” O’Farrell wailed, rushing past everyone toward the opening. She pushed Carl aside, sliding through the opening frantically.

  “I’m OK,” Jones called. “I’m OK. There was one hiding over here. Jumped out at me. It’s clear. Everything’s clear.”

  Carl followed O’Farrell through the opening, then the Senator did likewise. Penelope took a quick look behind them, then backed through the opening, holding Larissa around the belly, dragging her through to find the others standing over a body.

  “I’m fine,” Jones groused.

  “I thought you were dead,” O’Farrell said, inspecting him, turning his head in her hands, looking him up and down. She put her fingers into a hole in his jacket right below his heart.

  “I’m wearing a vest. Same kind I made you put on.”

  “That’s no excuse! It stabbed you with a spear.”

  “These vests are for guns and knives. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, my God! It used a spear,” she said, holding her hands to her face, her eyes a mixed expression of shock and wonder. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Caveman zombies?”

  “Jackass,” O’Farrell snapped. “It means they’re using tools. Weapons.”

  Tom slid through the opening, the last of the group to do so. He stopped to look down at the body of the half-breed. Penelope put Larissa down against the bushes and put a foot on the girl’s shoulder to keep her from wandering off. She looked at the dead half-breed’s body, wondering if she knew it from before.

  Red blood oozed from a hole in the half-breed’s face just below the eye. Another hole went through the center of its neck. It was one of the males—a thin, small, older one that she didn’t recognize.

  O’Farrell began snapping photographs of Jones’ jacket, then turned to take photos of the body. She hovered over the spear still clutched in the half-breed’s hand.

  “What happened?” the Senator demanded.

  “It was hiding,” Jones said, waving his pistol at the body. “It jumped at me and stabbed me right here.” He pointed at the hole in his jacket just below his heart. “My first shot was in the air. The spear knocked me over, but when I hit the snow, I took it out.”

  O’Farrell knelt down in the snow at the half-breed’s feet and started to rip back the Velcro straps.

  “What are you doing?” Jones asked.

  “I need to know which one it was.”

  “What?”

  “They’re all numbered.”

  “Wendy, we don’t have time—”

  “It’ll only take a second,” she said, tugging off the filthy shoe. She yanked back a sock and pulled up the cuff of its pants. The bare skin was filthy. She picked up a handful of snow and rubbed away the grime, but still nothing but skin showed.

  “What the hell?” she asked.

  “One of a kind?” Jones asked.

  “No, no, no, you don’t understand. There are only supposed to be thirty-two half-breeds in the wild. The two we had at Rock Island were test subjects bound for rehabilitation. They only did catch and release for a few years.”

  “Then who’s this guy?” Jones asked.

  “We really should get moving,” the Senator put in.

  “Hang on,” O’Farrell said, ripping the Velcro from the next shoe.

  “Miss, leave it. We need to go,” Carl said firmly.

  “We go when she’s done,” Jones said.

  “Miss, I really must insist we get moving,” the Senator said.

  “Dad, it’s only going to take her a second.”

  “Shit,” O’Farrell said as she finished rubbing the dirt from the second ankle. “Maybe it’s on the wrists.”

  “That’s it,” the Senator said. “Get the girl, Brooks.”

  “Dad,” Tom argued. “Doctor, please, let’s just go. Jones?”

  “Yeah, Wendy, come on. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” O’Farrell snarled, standing. “No big deal?”

  “Wendy,” Jones said, glaring at her. They stared at one another a few seconds, saying nothing, but in their eyes Penelope saw a conversation. Something was wrong, that’s what upset O’Farrell. Jones didn’t disagree, but a brief flick of his brow toward the Senator and Carl seemed to break down O’Farrell’s resolve.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s just go.” She turned her attention back to the dead half-breed and began taking several photos of its ankles and wrists. She hovered over its face one last time to take a few more photos before coming back to help Penelope with Larissa.

  “Same formation,” Jones ordered.

  Nineteen

  The half-breeds, once they realized what happened to one of their own, sunk to the edge of sight and let the group pass unmolested. At one point, Brooks even asked if they were giving up. Penelope shook her head when Tom looked to her for an answer. Things were far from over.

  When the group reached the terminal building, Brooks stuffed the gag-ball back into Larissa’s mouth so they could handle her and lift her into the concourse jet-way without the fear of being bitten. Hank and the other handler were waiting to help them all climb in, reaching down to pull them up one by one.

  When Penelope finally got inside the concourse, she crouched down next to Larissa, beneath ancient orange numbers spray-painted onto the wall that Peske once told her were the keys to the place. The combination to the door. All the years of living here and she never put the two together. It was probably why this building, unlike the others, stood like a fortress against the horde for so long.

  Penelope pitied Larissa. The girl chewed at the gag-ball, groaning in frustration, trying to break it or push it out while struggling against Brooks’ hold on her wrists. She couldn’t reach up to pull it out. Penelope reached toward the gag-ball for her.

  “Leave it in,” Brooks told her coldly. “Out there was one thing. In here, we need to follow quarantine rules.”

  Tom agreed.

  Penelope wanted to take charge of Larissa again, but the Senator made Brooks and the other handler named Hamilton do it, and with Carl in the lead, they hurried up the concourse without Tom and the others.

  “What now?” Hank asked when the two groups separated.

  “Do you know how to hotwire a snowmobile?” Tom asked, looking to everyone in turn. Everyone knew the keys were missing now. They’d had their frustrated arguments marching through the snow back to the terminal.

  O’Farrell spoke up. “On the older models, you just unplugged one of the wires behind the ignition switch and tug-started it, but these are electronic ignition. None of the keys were the same, either. If you want to hotwire them, you’ll need to get the starter to crank somehow.”

  “I thought you were a doctor,” Jones said in mock disbelief.

  “Oh, I was a holy terror once.”

  “I can give it a try,” Hank replied. “Hey, kid, how old is your sister supposed to be again?”

  “You noticed, too? We lost her when she was eight. She looks twelve or thirteen, doesn’t she? I thought the children didn’t age.”

  Everyone looked at O’Farrell for an answer.

  “Well,” O’Farrell said, her tone sounding as though she wasn’t certain. “We’ve never been allowed to test on children, but the age retardation effect should be the same regardless of race, gender, sex, or age. I mean, it’s not like the virus discriminates. The critical aspect to keep in mind—”

  “Walk and talk,” Jones said to everyone. “Let’s keep up with them before they lock us out.”

  “Mason,” O’Farrell groused, falling in behind him as he marched up the concourse tube.

  Hank put a hand on Tom’s arm to stop him. “Kid, I don’t like that doctor inside,” he said quietly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell y
ou what happened at the Island, but Jones and O’Farrell filled me in on a few things about her.”

  “I know,” Tom said.

  “You know? How?”

  “No, I mean I know not to trust her. Look, when you go out to try to hotwire the snowmobiles, take Brooks or the other handler with you to watch your back, but keep an eye on them too.”

  Hank nodded. Even though they didn’t say it, there was an apparent distrust of the men that accompanied the Senator, and Penelope knew the feelings in this regard were mutual.

  Carl held the door open for them at the end of the concourse. As Jones and O’Farrell stepped past him, he put his hand on his holstered pistol and his expectant glare followed Jones. Thankfully, he didn’t focus his attention on Penelope as much when she passed him by, but that was probably only because he held so much obvious animosity for Jones.

  The terminal building was a tall, two-story structure with an enormous central arch over the open baggage claim and check-in area on the ground floor. A spider-web of steel bars filled the arch above the walkway and lounge on the second floor, giving access to the two concourse tubes. Glass panes ran from floor to ceiling in the open-air design to let in the muted sunlight, but the glass trapped all sound and made even a whisper echo endlessly.

  Penelope recognized everything in the terminal, just as she had in the woods. She walked down the stairs slowly, letting everyone, even Tom, pass her by. It felt strange taking these steps without a noose around her neck. She peered off toward the bathrooms where Peske usually locked her up when they came here.

  Tom stood a few steps below her. She realized she had stopped moving.

  “It’s alright,” Tom said. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Penelope glared at him.

  “Sorry,” Tom said. “I meant, don’t be nervous.”

  Penelope looked past him at the activity below. Kennedy directed Brooks where to put Larissa, near the front windows where there was better light. Her hands waved, beckoning him to bring her closer even as he tried to set her down. The Senator groused at Brooks, telling him to stop man-handling the girl. O’Farrell leapt off the last step to jog over to the spot with Jones close behind.

  “Is that you, Wendy?” Doctor Kennedy called out.

  “It’s me,” O’Farrell replied.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Kennedy asked, then stood stiff as a board at the sight of Jones. “Mason Jones?” she asked in obvious shock.

  “It’s him, too,” O’Farrell answered. “We’re here to rescue you.”

  Kennedy’s mouth hung open as she continued to stare at Jones. It seemed like Kennedy expected something more from Jones than his apparent indifference. He walked off the stairs and looked up and down the terminal building, assessing its integrity.

  “We’re here to rescue him, actually,” Jones said, pointing at the Senator.

  Kennedy cocked her head sideways, measuring Jones with her eyes. That same distrust Penelope saw in Carl and the Senator blossomed only for a split second before Kennedy managed to hide it. She stood a little taller, relaxed, and smiled.

  “Then I’m glad I keep good company,” Kennedy said. “Good to see you made it out of there alive, Jones. Everyone thought you were dead.”

  “For a few days there, you wouldn’t have been able to tell a difference,” Jones said mildly. “That cure you gave me took me to my grave and back.”

  “I told you that you were cured, but I never said anything about the recovery.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t remember much of what happened.” Jones shrugged, looking away.

  “We’ll have to talk about that later,” Kennedy said. “Wendy, can I have your assistance with this child?”

  “Of course, doctor,” O’Farrell replied. She turned to Jones and said something to him, but Penelope couldn’t make out the words from her perch half-way up the stairs.

  “Come on,” Tom said to Penelope. “I need to talk to my dad.”

  Penelope shook her head. Her feet wouldn’t move. She sat down instead and leaned against the solid banister, staring now at the door to the janitor’s closet. She wondered if the woman’s body they had put in there was still locked up inside, if she survived the poison, or turned into a zombie after all.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Tom told her. “I mean, don’t go back outside.”

  Penelope shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere. That was the curse of being a half-breed. She didn’t belong inside or out.

  Twenty

  Hank and Hamilton climbed up the stairs. Penelope still sat in the same spot, unable to bring herself to join the others down below. She hadn’t seen Tom in a while, not since he gave his father the satellite phone and followed him to the far end of the building. Without him, Penelope felt more alone than if she were locked in the bathroom again.

  “Kitty, are you OK?” Hank asked, stopping beside her.

  Penelope nodded.

  “You want to come out to the snowmobiles with us?”

  Penelope shook her head. She promised Tom she’d stay.

  “Well, take off your jacket, at least. You’re going to sweat to death in that thing in here.”

  Penelope nodded. She unzipped her jacket and felt a wave of soothing cool air hit her chest. It felt so refreshing she closed her eyes to take in a deep breath. Hank put a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she snapped her head in his direction. Hank began to pat her shoulder.

  “It’s kind of strange being here like this, huh?”

  She glared at him, still angry at being startled.

  He sighed and withdrew his hand. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, on the radio, you know.”

  Penelope was confused a moment before remembering Hank’s comment about half-breeds.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, when the shit hits the fan, I’d feel safer with you than anyone else. Only you and me get it. All these other idiots think we’re walking out of here scot-free.”

  Hank looked down the stairs to where the others congregated around Larissa.

  “Keep your eyes peeled until we get back.”

  Penelope nodded. Hank smiled at her and continued climbing the stairs with Hamilton in tow. They pushed open the concourse door and disappeared into its shadows, leaving her alone once more. Penelope stood and climbed the stairs to the second floor so she could look out the windows. With the blizzard outside, she couldn’t see the end of the concourse tube, but she saw the snow mounting below, already as high as the first floor windows themselves, which, gauging from the inside, was waist deep.

  Penelope turned around to face Jones. She wasn’t surprised by him. She heard his footsteps coming since he reached the top of the stairs. She even saw his reflection in the glass.

  “Hey,” he said in way of greeting, stepping up to the window beside her. “Wendy asked me to keep an eye on you. It’s kind of hard to do when you’re way up here out of sight.”

  Penelope turned her attention back outside.

  “Why don’t you come downstairs and stare out one of those windows? It’ll make it easier for me to keep an eye on Wendy too.”

  Penelope looked over her shoulder. From where they stood, they were hidden from view of everyone downstairs, which was fine by Penelope, but she knew it bothered O’Farrell.

  Jones turned around and leaned his back against the window, his head turned so he could stare at Penelope. She didn’t like the scrutiny, so she stared out the window again, trying to erase him from her periphery, but his face hovered too close.

  “Do you want to hear something weird?”

  Penelope didn’t answer. She wanted him to go away.

  “That Doctor Kennedy, when she recognized me just now, I felt it down to my bones, like I knew I shouldn’t trust her, but I can’t for the life of me think of why. Do you ever get that feeling? Like you know something, but you can’t recall it?”

  Penelope let the si
lence be her answer. She didn’t know anything in the first place, except what she learned since meeting Tom. It made her wonder what Jones might be going through, what it felt like to lose some of her memories, but still have others. Who would she recognize? Pictures of her mother? Her father? The car she drove to college? She wondered how Tom got all those things to show her in the first place.

  The silence kept on between them and his stare didn’t falter. She turned her eyes in his direction, but didn’t dare look at him directly. She was afraid of what she might see.

  Jones snorted, shaking his head as though angry with himself for trying to talk to her.

  “Downstairs,” he ordered as he pushed himself away from the glass. “Let’s go.”

  Twenty-One

  “Well, they know we’re here now,” the Senator announced as he approached the group. Carl and Tom followed him. “Thanks, son,” he added, passing the satellite phone to Tom. “Unfortunately, we’re not going to get an evac for at least eight hours. The only things that can fly through this storm can’t land because the runways have too much snow.”

  Penelope watched the scene unfold from a distance, in the shadowy space beneath the stairs near the windows that faced the airstrip.

  “Eight hours?” Doctor Kennedy complained. “It’ll be nightfall by then. Bill, call them back. Get them to parachute more men or, or, or some damned keys to those snowmobiles.”

  “Danielle,” the Senator said calmly, holding his hands up.

  “Did you at least ask them how to hotwire the damned things?”

  By the look on the Senator’s face, Penelope knew the answer.

  “Jesus, Bill, what the hell did you get me into here?”

  “Danielle, calm down. Don’t worry about getting out of here. It’s just a matter of time. They know where we are now.”

  “You said that already,” Kennedy snapped.

  Penelope noticed Jones smirk at the comment, and then for a moment his eyes began to swim in a daydream. When he realized his surroundings again, his eyes bore down on Kennedy with seething hatred for the second it took him to regain control and don his stoic presence.

  “Calderon won’t last another night,” Brooks said, speaking of the injured pilot, who was lying under a front window. “We should hoof it to the train. It’s only eleven miles, right?”