“Keep the girl quiet.”
“How am I supposed—?”
“You wrote it in her file,” the blond said with a slight sneer. “Hum in her ear.”
How did he—?
Somehow, he’d read Wendy’s report on Larissa. Everything that had happened at Midamerica including how Larissa was soothed and calmed by Penelope humming and trilling to her. That report was not public knowledge.
The Mexican sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut. “Did you fill out the registration?” He leaned forward to stare past the blond at the smoker.
“Yeah, I got it. I got it. Why is everyone asking me?”
“Because it’s important,” the blond snapped as he took a seat in the center of the rig, the captain’s chair by the way it was designed. “Come on, drive.”
The truck lurched forward. Larissa moaned softly, her head shaking and turning with the jostling of the vehicle. At least she was still hazy from the sedatives.
“You can behave,” the blond hunter said over his shoulder as he let the pistol rest on the seat back just out of Wendy’s reach. “Or people can die. It’s your choice. Stay down and stay quiet.”
“Yeah,” the smoker said over his shoulder, chuckling. He cut the zip-tie off his wrist and tossed it over his shoulder at her. “If you try anything, I’ll shoot the gate guards.”
“Shut up,” the blond snapped. He craned his neck and glowered at Wendy. “Look, if we run the checkpoint, the roof guns will open fire. This cab will be Swiss cheese, you along with everything else. Keep quiet around the gate guards or we all die. Understand?”
Wendy considered her options.
“Understand?” he growled, leveling the gun at her.
Wendy nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. “They’ll catch you.” It was the only act of defiance she could think of at the moment.
The blond withdrew his pistol and turned his arm to look at his watch. “Not for another 58 minutes, they won’t.”
Five
Although Wendy couldn’t see where they were, she felt the truck lurch over the exposed railroad ties cutting through the middle of the grounds in front of the EPS. She knew a row of military Jeeps were parked along the fence to their right, most of them mothballed from disuse, all part of the barrier of junk stored out of the way. She knew why the truck fought its way over the exposed railroad ties, too. The area could fit three rail cars, but two engines were parked inside the fence with them, extending the whole thing past the covered rail crossing and forcing everyone to drive around.
She hated seeing the train every day. Its ominous, unmoving bulk reminded her of Mason’s death at the hands of Carl, the Senator’s right-hand-man. They shot each other to death like they were in a western gunfight, and no one knew why. She closed her eyes tightly, turning her head even though she couldn’t actually see the train from the floorboard of the hunting rig.
Why can’t they just move it outside again?
Missing Mason made going to bed and waking up harder every day. Never in her life had she fallen in love so easily, nor as deeply. Her fascination with Mason had been irrational. She knew it. It probably had a lot to do with Mason’s demeanor—unapologetic with a painfully blunt sense of humor. It reminded her of the comfort her older brothers provided growing up, it felt safe and familiar. It made him easy to cling to and rely on, much the same way her big brother would stand up for her with his fists on the playground, except with Mason, when he held her hand or touched her cheek she felt a tingle in her belly that caused her heart to stammer.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as the truck jostled her side to side one last time before moving up the other side onto the roadway, finally rolling over the gravel to a crunching stop. The vehicle idled at the main gate of the fenced-off area surrounding the EPS building, and as they waited, Wendy easily imagined the scene.
Behind them, the EPS towered over the banks of the channel—a man-made river a half-mile wide through this part of the Quarantine Zone. The EPS carved out a safe harbor amidst the dangers of the Quarantine Zone. Fences surrounding the property kept zombies out. A wide clearing extended beyond the fence, allowing spotters on the roof to see incoming zombies. Sometimes they left the things alone and they would wander off by themselves. Other times they sent out a hunter to collect them. If the situation warranted it, they even shot them dead. That was the nature of living in biter territory, and it was a hellish place to live.
Like all secure areas in the quarantine zone, the gatehouse had two gates, an outer and an inner, just like an airlock or the man-trap of the kennels. They were waiting to get into it so they could leave.
“That was quick,” the guard at the gate said as he approached the idling truck, its diesel engine growling at a low, grating thrum that almost drowned out his voice.
“Just a drop off,” the driver said. “We’ve got people inside to handle the paperwork. Makes it easier on us. More time in biter country.”
“Well, I don’t know what the hurry is in getting back out there,” the guard mused.
“Get ahead of the weather.”
Its mere mention seemed like an invitation for the bone-chilling air outside to pour through the open window and crawl up her back where her skin was left exposed from the thing digging in her side. Her throat tickled, too. She wanted to cough. She cleared her throat as quietly as she could, hoping the idling engine would cover the noise, then immediately hoped the guard heard her.
Up until now, she hadn’t really thought about what would happen if the blond hunter and his men succeeded in abducting her and Larissa. She hadn’t thought past the heat of each moment. Now she knew that once they made it out into the Quarantine Zone, she was in trouble. She coughed again, louder this time.
The blond hunter made a fist and slowly hefted it toward her over the seatback.
“You mind scanning yourselves?” the guard asked. She heard him step up onto the frame of the truck and saw his hand reach above the window frame with a wand that the driver took.
“Sure,” the driver said. “No problem. Here.” The driver passed the wand across the blond hunter’s chest to the yellow-toothed smoker. “You start.”
The smoker took the wand and held it over his left arm. The device beeped.
“Got it,” the guard outside the truck said.
Larissa stiffened and moaned, probably complaining about the cold, but not loud enough to be heard outside. Enough to get the blond hunter’s attention, though. He glared over the seatback as he took the wand from the smoker.
Why not call out?
The wand beeped as the blond ran it over his own arm.
“Got it,” the guard outside the truck said again.
The only reason Wendy could give herself was that she didn’t think these three men were just random hunters looking to abduct the Senator’s daughter over a ransom or some kind of revenge. They came prepared. If anything, they worked for the Senator.
Then why not tell me that?
Because the Senator doesn’t trust you, Wendy. Duh!
The wand beeped a third time.
Shit.
“That’s three,” the guard outside announced.
The driver held the wand out the window.
“You’re good to go,” the guard said, slapping the door twice.
“Promise me she’ll be alright,” Wendy said quietly.
The blond hunter turned his head as though talking to the smoker, but looked down at her. “What?”
“Promise me you’re not going to hurt Larissa.” The way she said it, the blond knew it was a threat. She meant to scream if he said the wrong thing.
“Are you kidding me?” He turned and looked out the front window. “The last thing we want is for anything to happen to Larissa Jefferson. Or you. Now keep down.”
Six
Wendy didn’t scream. She didn’t call out, or even complain about the thing digging into her side, exposing her skin to the cold air swirling in
the cab as the driver rolled up his window. She was too stunned by what the blond had said. They had to be working for the Senator. Why else would they care? What other reason was there for abducting them, even?
The blond hunter slapped the driver on the back a few times and the three men in the front seat sat still, quietly smug, waiting for the first gate to roll open.
Larissa moaned, squirming in the blanket that wrapped her up like a burrito. Wendy shifted her a little to move her weight off her chest and pelvis.
“Relax,” the blond said.
The driver ground the truck into gear and the vehicle shuddered forward on a worn-out clutch. The way the engine groaned, Wendy had the impression the vehicle wasn’t in the best of shape. If they insisted on driving it out into the Quarantine Zone, it certainly wouldn’t outrun the Jeeps, or even Tom’s Subaru. The helicopter up on the roof would have no trouble chasing them down, either.
They must have had something outside the gates. A boat, maybe. Another vehicle—something fast. Maybe they just needed to drive far enough away for them to be picked up by a helicopter. Didn’t the blond say no one would catch them for another 58 minutes? Plenty of time to get picked up by a chopper.
The only problem was the noise that a helicopter would make, and the crane driver would see them.
The EPS had been under construction when the zombie outbreak first hit. Years later, when they converted the site to a safe harbor, the crane that had been used during its construction was repaired and used to finish the work on the building. These days it was employed like an enormous elevator, picking up cages to haul zombies to-and-from the rooftop trading pit and the pick-up yard in the kennels. Anyone in the crane could see for miles.
The truck slid to a halt again and Wendy heard the rattling of the chain link fence sliding shut behind them. They were in the trap between fences now.
“What’s the plan from here?” Wendy asked softly.
The blond hunter smiled, but said nothing.
Larissa stiffened as though being rudely awakened from a dream by Wendy’s voice.
Wendy cooed into Larissa’s ear. Not so much to keep her from making noise, but to keep her from thrashing about on top of her.
The outer gate rattled open and the truck eased forward, bumping over the tire guards. The truck lurched as the clutch grabbed. The vehicle shook and the engine growled through first gear. The driver stomped the clutch in and ground the thing into second, then popped the clutch, jerking everyone.
Larissa whimpered, her eyes shut hard as she turned her head in fright.
Wendy cooed louder. “It’s okay,” Wendy said softly into Larissa’s ear. “These stupid bastards won’t hurt you.”
“Funny,” the blond said, still smiling as he looked over his shoulder at her.
The driver got the truck to third gear and cruised along a while. The cab darkened. Wendy looked up through the back window to see the underside of untamed trees hovering close. They had reached the tree line surrounding the EPS. Branches swatted against the cab, scraping over the steel and worn paint like fingers over a chalkboard. Wendy winced at the sound.
“That’s the gun line,” the smoker said, pointing ahead of them.
Wendy remembered seeing it before. Several lines of blue and red paint across the road that looked like cattle guards at a highway entrance, visible in the summer when the snow melted off, and on the trunks of trees next to the clearing. For any hunters approaching, it was a signal to stop and flick their beams, to announce their approach. Otherwise, once past the lines, they were fair game.
“We’re clear,” the blond said. He got up on his knees in his chair and turned around, leaning over the seatback to grab Larissa and lift her off Wendy. He easily placed her on the bench seat beside Wendy and waved for her to get up, too. “Sit up.” He held a hand out for her.
Wendy glowered at his offered hand. She smacked it aside and used an elbow on the bench seat to pry herself up. She didn’t want him thinking she needed him, or any of them, for anything. She turned and sat on the seat as the blond hunter sank into his own. He didn’t appear upset by her defiance. If anything, she thought maybe she’d won a little respect.
She looked back through the window at the EPS station, obscured mostly by a row of empty cages down the center of the rear flatbed. The guardhouse might be able to see her if they had binoculars trained on them, but waving her hands wildly wouldn’t do much otherwise. Only the lower two floors of the building were still visible, which looked peaceful, blissfully unaware of anything out of the ordinary, still in the early glow of daybreak.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. If these weren’t the Senator’s men, she’d made a big mistake back at the gates.
Seven
The sight of the abandoned town hidden in the woods just past the EPS building gave Wendy a start. Had it only been seven days since Tom brought her in?
She remembered hiding in the back of his Subaru, a roll of tin foil wrapped around her arm, a blanket of worry causing her to sweat the whole way even though the winter chill draped the very air around her. From under the hatchback privacy guard she couldn’t see the town or the forest around it, catching only patches of light flickering as he cruised through the slush. It was only when they had emerged into the emptiness surrounding the EPS that the light was steady, and for the next ten minutes she had hardly breathed or moved a muscle she was so scared.
Today was different, like returning to the scene of a crime she had personally committed, unprepared for the sight of so much undisturbed country again. She looked out the side window, wondering if she could spot Hank’s footsteps in the snow.
“I’m walking from here,” Hank had announced the day before Tom came out. Hank had stood by the ladder at the back of the duck, warily scanning the quiet town around them. He didn’t trust the silence. Neither did she.
She remembered whispering, “Is it safe?”
Hank had glanced at her, and out the back again, nodding slowly. She expected him to ask a rhetorical question like, “Is anyplace safe?” but he’d sighed and hooked a hand around the top of the ladder and swung out onto it to slide down to the ground, disappearing from sight.
Wendy had turned her attention to Mason Jones, casting him the same question with her eyes.
“It’s only a mile or so,” Mason said. “And it’s daytime.”
It didn’t feel like day. The thick canopy of forest did a great job of gobbling up what little light the overcast day left behind. A storm was coming. She could feel it in her bones.
Beneath them, Hank’s steps had crunched in the snow as he walked alongside the hull of the duck—the amphibious truck that saved their lives when the Rock Island facility had been destroyed. He stopped at the nose of the ship, marveling at the bullet holes chewed through the front.
“Well, she got us here in one piece,” Hank said softly, his words piercing the eerie forest quiet. It was the snow cover that dampened the sound of calling birds and the hiss of wind through the branches. Wendy knew it, but being in the Quarantine Zone brought irrational fears of hordes of infected surrounding them. She wanted to tell Hank to be quiet.
“Don’t worry, now,” Hank said, looking up at Wendy, almost sensing her unease. “Tom’s a good man. He’ll take care of us. He owes me.” Hank gave the prow a gentle pat, looking the truck over once more before trudging off through the snow.
She watched him walk alongside the buildings, giving them enough space that if anything were inside, he had time to react. Eventually he reached the intersection and turned left, south, toward the EPS, and disappeared from sight.
Mason had touched Wendy’s arm, tugging on her jacket to get her to step away from the edge of the vehicle. He sat in one of the two front seats, his jacket zipped to his chin. He pulled more insistently and she sank into his lap, letting out a worried sigh. He put an arm around her and gently eased her head to his shoulder. He felt so warm…so alive!
“Alone at last,” he’d whis
pered. She half-grinned. What the hell was wrong with men?
The memory was bittersweet. Today, she worried for a different reason.
She worried that seeing the duck again would be too painful, that it would bring back the wrong kinds of memories—her time with Mason for those few days on the road; the way he held her in his arms each night as she fell asleep to the cadence of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart, keeping her warm and protected.
She could almost hear it still. She wanted nothing more than to hear it again.
She closed her eyes and looked down at the floor to avoid seeing the town around her. Even with her eyes closed she conjured the scene, though. A clutch of one-and two-story buildings fronting the street, most with broken-out windows, some boarded up with ancient, bowed sheets of plywood. A burnt-out building made a toothless gap of charred rubble in the middle of the decaying row of forgotten dreams. Had it been a café? A barber shop? Maybe someone’s family business, shattered by the plague.
She had sat across from this scene for what felt like days, staring and wondering when an infected would stumble out. The sun moved in inches as the hours dragged.
Wendy opened her eyes and looked out the front window. Maybe she would see it again. Maybe they would pass the duck and she’d see him, or the ghost of him, or just a good memory would finally manage to push aside the painful shock of his death once and for all, if only for a few minutes.
God, this place was ruined.
That’s what it did. The Consumption Pathogen was an apt name. It consumed everything in its path, whether you were infected or not. That’s what it did to Mason, after all. He’d been bitten. He’d been cured. And it still destroyed him, and her, and everyone around them.
She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. Just one good memory. She tried to jar one free, but the only thing she saw in the darkness behind her eyelids was the blank reflection in his lifeless eyes. She snapped open her eyes to rid herself of the sight.
Plagued: The Battle Creek Zombie Rectification Experiment Page 3