“Are you saying Reese was working for Breckenrock?”
“I don’t know who the hell Reese was working for, man. I just know it ain’t any of my business, and if I said anything to anyone about knowing him, then it might fuck with my job and my life in ways I don’t want to even think about.”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. He didn’t want to think of it, either, but the idea of Reese willingly pulling that trigger and killing Wendy in cold blood…. “I ran into Frankie this morning, too.”
“Oh, shit, seriously? No wonder you got a goddamned burner. Any other fucking revelations you want to drop in my lap?”
“I didn’t go looking for the guy,” Hank snapped. “Look, I was just minding my own business, having breakfast, and wham, he shows up and starts going off on me about staying out of his shit.”
“Well, you two didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, you know.”
“Still, I get the feeling it wasn’t by chance he just showed up like that. He said he’d seen me scan out.”
“Scan out?”
“When you leave the Quarantine Zone they scan your RFID chip. You get one if you’re going over for anything more than a few days. It’s required if you get a hunting license. So, he was monitoring the computers for me. Doesn’t that sound weird?”
“You do know he’s the senior security officer for Eloran now, right?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“Eloran, the drug manufacturer. The guys who made the cure they used on the Senator’s kid.”
“Yeah, I know who Eloran is.”
“The company that bought Tate Pharmaceuticals.”
“What?”
“Dude, that was four years ago. No, wait, like five now. Your buddy Tate sold the company. Frankie scored big. He tried to recruit me—me! After he fired me!”
“Yeah, I was there. I remember.”
“So, I told him to fuck off. Even with the pay bump, I couldn’t stand looking at the guy every day, you know what I mean?”
Hank nodded as if Cory could see him.
“A few months later, Breckenrock bought Eloran, and sure enough there’s Frankie in some articles in the blogs I follow, acting all that, and giving shit quotes to make you sick. Real piece of work, that asshole.”
“I heard a couple choice quotes from him myself this morning. He must think I recognized Reese. Makes sense when you look at it from where he’s sitting.”
“Look, I see where you’re going, but don’t read so much into this. Frankie ain’t that smart, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, anymore. I mean, look where he is and look where I am.” Hank stopped pacing to look at the hotel room. It was the kind of plain, durable furnishings you got from a cheap chain. The heater, which was still running non-stop, rattled and hummed incessantly. The television only got forty channels. Some of the tiles in the bathroom were cracked, and the toilet seat slid side-to-side when you sat on it.
“Don’t go there, man. Frankie sold his soul and tossed his ethics, if he had any in the first place, to climb the ladder. None of us work with him anymore and we’re all doing just fine.”
“Sure, sure,” Hank said. “But are any of you guys working for Breckenrock?”
There was another silence on the line.
“Sorry, Cory,” Hank said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No sweat,” Cory said. “Hey, I want to hear about this zombie hunting shit. How the fuck do you hunt a zombie, and what do you do with them when you catch them?”
Hank laughed. He wanted to say he just got a hotel room and gave her a box of sweet rolls, but Cory wouldn’t have understood, and the last thing Hank wanted to do was let anyone know Penelope was part zombie.
“I mean, what’s it been like?”
“Dude, that’s a long story.”
“It’s only ten-thirty, man. Let’s hear it.”
Twenty-Seven
Hank woke to the chime of his phone telling him another message arrived. Penelope didn’t stir, but she opened one eye to glare at him as he reached for the phone sitting on the nightstand between them. Through bleary eyes, he managed to make out the time. 7:15. After staying up past midnight talking to Cory, Hank wasn’t in the mood to be awake this early. He dropped the phone on the pillow beside him and sank back under the covers.
He could feel Penelope watching him. He opened an eye to see her staring back. He yawned and rolled so his back was to her.
Tom was right. She never let anyone see her sleep. Hank had caught her once—once!—sneaking aboard Peske’s rig to leave a birthday present, but she woke so fast at the slightest creak. She might have been part zombie, but that didn’t explain it. Not by itself. Biters actually did sleep. During the day for the most part, but that was because bright light hurt their eyes. They just holed up in the dark somewhere by day and came out at night to do all their killing.
Penelope took vitamins to clear up her sight and her skin tone. And she slept. She had to. No one could go without sleep. She just did it a hell of a lot lighter than anyone he’d ever known. A pin could drop and it would wake her.
A slight rustling from the plastic wrapper of the tray of sweet rolls nagged Hank. Penelope was digging out a breakfast snack for herself, trying to be quiet about it, but the packaging wasn’t behaving.
She stopped. Hank sighed and tried to figure out what he had been dreaming about before the phone woke him. Things were a jumble in his head. He didn’t want to sort them out so much as let them lead him back to dreamland, but he wondered what message Tom had sent. What if the kid was in trouble? Nah, he wouldn’t reach out to Hank. He had plenty of other options. This was his world. If anything, it would be the other way around.
Maybe he was coming to pick them up.
No, that was dumb. He said his dad was in town. Last thing they needed was Penelope bumping into the Senator.
He tried to tell himself to stop thinking about it. Think of something else. The only thing else, though, was all the shit he was caught up in. Penelope. Frankie. Doctor O’Farrell—shit, what was happening with her? And what was he going to do about calling Captain Palmer? Damn, she was a beautiful woman. He warmed to the idea of falling asleep to the memory of her kiss.
The plastic wrapper crinkled again.
Hank sighed. “Just rip it open, take a couple out, and be quiet, okay?”
“Oh kay,” Penelope rasped. The wrapper crinkled more, mixed with the snap of the thicker plastic tray bending as she tore open the package. A few seconds more and the noise from the plastic stopped.
Hank sighed again, adjusting his head in the pillow.
The television snapped on. A woman’s voice startled him, an anchorwoman spewing the morning news about some local school board meeting. Penelope muted the thing with the remote, but not before Hank lifted his head and turned to look at her.
“Saur Eee,” she breathed through a mouthful of sweet roll.
Hank picked up a pillow and collapsed back onto the bed, covering his head as he did. His phone must have been on the pillow because it clonked him on the temple before sliding under the covers.
“Shit,” Hank grumbled, fishing for it. He dug it out and stared at it, wanting the throw it across the room, but the screen flickered to life and showed him he had three messages from Tom. Did he sleep through some of them?
He tapped the screen and opened the messaging application. He took a moment to commend himself for remembering how to do it. It was getting easier.
Watch news. Dad’s speech at 8:00.
That was the most recent entry.
Don’t forget Penelope’s pills.
That was the one before it.
How’s Penelope doing?
That was the first one, sent at 6:30. Hank dropped the phone onto the bed in front of him and forced his eyes closed. “Kitty,” he grumbled. “Do you know how to tell time?”
There was a pause. “Yes,” she said as though out of breath.
“Wake me up at eight
.”
“Oh kay,” Penelope rasped. There was another crinkling of the wrapper.
“And don’t eat all the sweet rolls,” Hank added sternly.
Penelope didn’t answer.
Twenty-Eight
Hank sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Penelope had eaten all the sweet rolls. She lay on the other bed, propped up against the pillows, wearing a content smile as she stared distantly at the television. She watched some kind of soap opera or drama, with the thing on mute so she couldn’t tell what they were saying. He didn’t think she could read yet, and the words scrolling by in closed caption were a waste of brain cells in the first place.
TINA: SUZANNE YOU CAN’T KEEP
SEEING CHARLES LIKE THIS.
YOUR HUSBAND IS GOING TO
FIND OUT.
SUZANNE: SO LET HIM. HE
DOESN’T LOVE ME. HE ONLY
Jesus H. Christ. Who wrote that kind of malarkey anyway? Hank sighed and went into the bathroom to relieve himself. A half-dozen soaked towels were heaped in the tub. That was going to be in the way for his shower, and they were out of clean towels. He would have liked to brush his teeth, too. A swipe of deodorant wouldn’t hurt, either. The only pack they had to carry stuff in, though, was the zombie survival kit Tom left for them, which had come in really handy so far. A pistol, rope, and first aid supplies, but hygiene wasn’t on the necessity list.
The envelope that had been taped to the thing was in the trashcan now. Hank plucked it out. He contemplated how this was kind of an invasion of privacy, but it was in the trash, so Tom obviously didn’t want it.
Inside was a birthday card with a male firefighter on the front, the kind you’d find in a porno movie or on the cover of a romance book, wearing the helmet and pants and jacket, but bare chested. He held a cake with sparklers.
Hank opened the card.
Where’s the fire, miss?
Dumb humor. That hadn’t changed in eight years.
Sorry I missed your birthday, bro. Got you this sweet zombie survival pack to replace the one you lost. I put your gun in it this time, just in case. Gary.
Well, that explained why there was a pistol in the pack. Hank tossed the card back into the trash and went out to the bedroom.
“Put on the news, would you?” Hank asked as he waved toward the television. “And turn the volume back on. My eyes hurt.”
Penelope flipped channels, switching from one advertisement to the next, until she landed on the 24-hour news they were watching last night. The banner under the anchorman read Breaking News in all red, with Awaiting Senator’s Speech beneath it.
“…State Department denies claims of Canadian involvement in the televised, attempted assassination of Doctor Wendy O’Farrell on Sunday evening,” the anchorman said. “U.S. Press Secretary Witt Brady also continues to deny U.S. military involvement, stating that a thorough investigation is underway, and…” The anchorman held a finger to his ear. “I’m being told the Senator has just arrived.”
“Whoopie,” Hank said blandly as the video switched to a view of a podium with flags behind it. A recognizable, silver-haired man moved through a sea of stuffed shirts and secret service in suits.
“You’re watching live coverage of Senator Jefferson’s press conference from Angel Rise, Kentucky,” the anchorman said quietly as the Senator began speaking.
“…everyone for joining us this morning.”
A storm of camera shutters echoed around him. He stood at the podium and cleared his throat before proceeding.
“First of all, I would like to thank everyone involved in the search and rescue efforts currently underway here. The people of Angel Rise have been instrumental in the successes we’ve had in the past few days bringing every survivor home.
“You know, this Sunday saw a confluence of tragedies, beginning with the abduction of my daughter and her caregiver, Doctor Wendy O’Farrell. In the hours that followed, as our brave men and women in uniform scoured the surrounding area for clues to their whereabouts, we bore witness to yet another awful event. In a mindless act of malice, borne by a small group of terrorists, a bomb destroyed the only safe haven for mankind left in the Quarantine Zone.
“This deliberate, craven act took the lives of dozens of innocent people. Even now, as we gather here today, a team of dedicated men and women work round the clock not only across the channel, where they continue to hunt for survivors, but here in Angel Rise as well. Doctors, nurses, and so many hospital staff at Crosspoint Hospital are busy caring for the sick and wounded, having gone days with little or no rest. They work round the clock to aid those injured by the terrorists.
“So today I’m proud to be standing alongside Mayor Adams. I commend him and his amazing fire and police departments in managing the efforts of the search and rescue teams.”
The picture widened to show a beaming, chubby, slightly balding man nodding appreciably toward the Senator, who reached a hand out to shake his. The rush of camera shutters clicking hundreds of photos completely drowned out the audio of whatever the Senator was saying to the mayor.
The photo opportunity went on far longer than Hank felt necessary, but then the Senator paused as he returned to the microphones, his demeanor becoming serious.
“Shortly following the bombing, America witnessed an atrocity.”
The Senator straightened, letting his somber words sink in before he leaned back into the podium.
“I am without words in describing the horrible nature of what we were forced to endure. Like you, I was horrified by the unsettling events. As with seeing any American put in harm’s way, my heart and prayers were with Doctor Wendy O’Farrell even as the dread gripped my heart.
“You see, I know Wendy. After the rescue of my daughter and myself from Midamerica, Doctor O’Farrell took on the enormous responsibility of overseeing Larissa’s recovery as a personal favor to me. Being the kind, generous, and caring person that she is, she wholeheartedly accepted the role. So, to see her like that, someone I know, helpless….”
Senator Jefferson paused, gulping down his words. “Excuse me,” he added, turning away from the cameras a moment to regain his composure. The thunder of shutters redoubled.
What an actor, Hank thought. If that windbag knew the color of Wendy’s eyes when he was standing in front of her, he’d be surprised.
The Senator nodded toward the cameras. “Suffice it to say that it came with no small measure of relief to see her survive. Not only did she survive, she flourished, and amazed me. Her true passion for preserving life shined through, and we were all blessed to witness her amazing charity as she administered life-saving aid to one of the very vigilantes who tried to murder her.
“Her heart and character exemplifies what it means to be an American, that we do not shy away from any conflict, that we do not let fear or tyranny sway our moral being, and that we can and will overcome any challenge set before us. She showed me, and the rest of the world, what it means to be a hero.”
The Senator paused as the camera shutters roared. He wore an appropriately measured and stately expression, though, nodding slowly. The man knew how to deliver a speech, that was for sure.
“Now, I know that many of you wish to know the current whereabouts and condition of Doctor O’Farrell, especially given the circumstance surrounding her abduction and return. And while I can assure you she is fine, my assurances may not be enough to quell the insatiable needs of the media and the American public. That’s why I am very pleased to welcome Doctor Wendy O’Farrell this morning to speak with you, in person.”
Hank stood, his eyes bulging. “Holy shit!” He did not see that coming.
Twenty-Nine
Hank stared dumbfounded as Wendy flinched under the furious rush of camera shutters pressing in on her. Flashes strobed wildly. Senator Jefferson left the podium to guide her from a side door where several men in suits stood like a barricade. The Senator led her from behind the men and brought her to stand beside him in front of th
e world.
Wendy gulped, obviously nervous, shying from the limelight. She looked drained, even though someone had covered her in makeup to hide it. You could only hide so much.
A barrage of questions hit her. What happened? Who were you with? Did you know the assailants? Were they Canadian? What is your involvement with the terrorists?
“Hold on,” Senator Jefferson said, putting his hands up commandingly. “Doctor O’Farrell has been through a tremendous ordeal. She has some prepared remarks, and afterward, if she’s feeling up to it, then we’ll answer questions.”
A number of additional questions were called out, but the Senator stared sternly at the assembled reporters until they relented to his demand for their quiet. Once he had it, he stepped aside from the podium to let Wendy face the nation alone.
She leaned forward, toward a cluster of microphones mounted to the podium. “I….”
The clicking of shutters got louder and she retreated, giving them time to settle again.
She licked her lips and leaned closer to the microphones. “I just want to say hi to my mom, and tell her I’m not dead,” she said. A sigh of laughter filled the room. Wendy smiled. “I’m okay, Mom.”
The Senator put a reassuring hand on Wendy’s shoulder. She looked up at him a moment, then looked at the cameras again. The roar of shutters was nearly deafening.
“I’m sure you’re all interested in knowing what happened, and I wish I had the answers for you, but the truth is I’m as confused by everything as you are.” Wendy swallowed nervously.
“What I do know is that Larissa and I…were abducted because of the cure to the Consumption Pathogen. Those who abducted us, the people hiding inside the Quarantine Zone, recently had one of the members of their group contract the Consumption Pathogen.” Wendy coughed to clear her throat. “They believed that, with Larissa’s blood and my knowledge, I could cure their comrade.
The Angel Rise Zombie Retribution Experiment Page 11