Keith stepped next to Troy. “You got your bearings?”
Troy nodded.
“You two are gonna have to carry princess, here.”
Troy nodded again.
Keith fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol of some kind and a pack of cigarettes. He tapped a cigarette out and put it to his lips, marching through the snow toward the tree line.
Wendy started to follow him. “Where are you going?”
“Give me a minute to round up all those biters. I’ll lead ‘em off a ways. Then you two carry the girl and head for the plane. I’ll meet you there.”
Wendy stared at Keith, at a loss for words.
“Unless you’d rather go in there and I’ll carry the girl to the plane.” Keith used his gun as a pointer, circling the ground between them, inferring they trade places. He smiled and shook open his lighter, flicking it with a thumb to light his cigarette. He held up the pistol to block the breeze. For all his bravado, the glow around his face showed a worried continence.
“Be careful,” Wendy said.
Keith took a long drag from the cigarette and let out his breath, holding the cigarette up to marvel at it. “They say these things will kill you. Ironic, huh?” He marched toward the tree line, whistling loudly the tune of the Airborne Ranger. As the shadows swallowed him up, she heard his voice replace his whistling, and he called out the lyrics, “…live the life of guts and danger!”
Forty-Two
The moaning all around them gave Wendy a lump in the pit of her stomach. Even though Keith sang and whistled as he trudged deeper into the woods, she couldn’t get her bearings on the hungry groans seeping from the shadows. What made it worse was how Larissa perked up at the sounds, rolling on her side and lifting her head.
She seemed confused, looking this way and that, as uncertain about the direction of the sounds as Wendy was. She blinked as though blind, which in this case may have been true. Now that Larissa was cured, her vision functioned like that of a normal person, meaning that because she could perceive color again, her night vision was impaired. Zombies, even children like Larissa, had increased low-light vision. It was in daylight that they suffered.
Wendy crept closer to the girl. Although she had seen plenty of zombies in captivity and studied their behavior for years, she had only ever seen one other child brought back from the Quarantine Zone—for the bounty, a reward from parents who were willing to pay away their life savings to have their son returned home. A lot like the Senator in a way, except they didn’t have the privileges he could afford.
From what Wendy gleaned from research papers, children didn’t usually join the choir. The call to action most zombies howled at the sight of prey usually had the opposite effect on children, making them quiet as mice. It was only after the kill that the children started wailing like hungry chicks. It made Wendy more than a little nervous seeing Larissa acting as interested as she was. It might make her try to call out, to beg for scraps.
Troy’s steps crunched closer, his uneven gait worrisome, too. He was limping, or possibly dragging a leg. “We’ll move in a minute,” he whispered. He didn’t sound as slurred as before.
Wendy nodded, kneeling down beside Larissa, ready to clamp a hand around her mouth if she started making any noise.
They waited silently, the moaning calls from the woods spilling out as indiscriminate echoes.
“Troy,” Wendy whispered. “Thanks for saving me…back there, I mean…at Momma’s. From those soldiers.”
Troy nodded and mumbled something that sounded like, “Don’t mention it.”
Now that they were alone, she wanted to tell him how his actions at the quarry changed her life, but in a way that wouldn’t be misconstrued. She didn’t want a relationship again. “You seem to keep saving us O’Farrell women. Remind me not to have you meet my mom,” she said with a self-conscious laugh, which made her cough and wheeze. Goddamn cold! She immediately looked toward the tree line, holding her breath, expecting to hear moans turn in their direction. She stifled another cough.
Troy didn’t look at Wendy, his eyes glued to the shadowy forest. “Let’s get going.”
Wendy stood up, nodding.
“Carry her,” Troy added, waving a hand toward Larissa. He turned to face the spot where the road carved into the woods a couple hundred feet ahead.
“Me? I can’t lift her. She’s a hundred pounds. Help me get her up.”
“No. I’m spent. My back’s killing me. I did something to my hip in the crash. I’ll walk you through it.”
“Through what?”
“Fireman’s carry,” Troy said with an offhanded wave. “Roll her on her stomach.”
“I can’t—”
“Then leave her.”
“What?”
“Time’s a wasting. Get her to walk, carry her, or leave her. It’s just two miles.”
Two miles?! Wendy sighed and looked ahead, then down at Larissa. Leave her? She shook her head. As much as she hated the Senator, Larissa was just an innocent girl. She wasn’t even the Senator’s daughter anymore, really. She was more like a victim, a senseless zombie with no idea of her past or who she might have been. Leave her when so much had been lost to save her in the first place?
Besides, if she gave up on Larissa, she may as well give up on them all, and that’s not what she got into this for in the first place.
“Alright,” Wendy said. She steeled herself. “It’s been a while. What do I do again?”
Troy walked her through the steps and she tried twice before getting Larissa into the right position so she could actually stand with the girl slung over her shoulder.
“Goddamn, she’s heavy,” Wendy groused as she hurried toward the road. She took several unsteady strides before learning her balance with the girl draped over her back. “How did Keith carry her so far?”
As if on cue, Keith’s voice sang out loudly from somewhere deep in the woods. She could have sworn he was asking them what was taking so long, but played it off as a trick of her imagination.
Troy followed behind her, no longer moving with the quick pace he used earlier, his gait noticeably impaired. He stopped often and caught up with her by throwing his leg around rather than making a normal stride.
They climbed awkwardly up the berm, Wendy nearly toppling forward several times, the weight of Larissa more than her tired legs could handle compared to the steep incline and yielding snow. When her eyes were level with the top of the berm and she could see across the road, she turned her shoulder and let Larissa sink to the ground. The girl moaned and tried to curl into a ball to protect herself. Wendy grabbed her by the jacket and pulled her the rest of the way over the berm, Larissa crying out with a hoarse, raspy complaint the whole way until Wendy let her go and fell to the ground beside her, breathing heavily. She stifled several coughs into her elbow as she gasped for air, her throat burning from the cold and over-exertion.
Troy came up a different path, his straight-leg used as a crutch that he only put weight on long enough to hobble to the other. He managed the incline and stood there, hunched forward, catching his breath.
“You going to make it?” Wendy asked quietly between breaths, still winded.
Troy looked her up and down. “Are you?”
Wendy nodded and looked behind her. They were on the road now, right where the forest gobbled it up in shadows. It looked more like a massive tunnel than a highway, and now that the drifting mushroom cloud was squeezing out the remaining moonlight, it was just as dark. She steeled herself and rolled onto her knees, licked her dry lips, and coughed again.
Larissa moaned despairingly beside her, the sound soft and distant.
“We should—” Troy began to whisper, but held his tongue, turning toward the tree line ahead as a groaning, frustrated moan broke through the shadows.
Wendy’s heart stopped. Even Larissa’s simpering abruptly halted.
A zombie.
Encumbered by layers of tattered cl
othing, it shuffled out of the shadowy edge of darkness along the east side of the road and into the meager light. It moaned miserably, looking halfway to the sky, lifting its head to either see or smell from under its hood. Keith’s faint calls still echoed through the trees, but it was hard to make out exactly where he had gone. Deeper into the woods for sure, and farther west.
Which meant they were alone with this thing.
Forty-Three
The zombie stood still, moaning again, this time uttering a lower pitched, quieter growl. Wendy had seen this kind of communication between zombies before, but only in video. They made different sounds when an uninfected was around. Amongst themselves, though, zombies spoke quietly. It made it hard to observe first-hand, so the fact that this one was mumbling meant it may not have noticed them…yet. The thing that really worried Wendy, however, was that zombies didn’t talk to themselves.
Its hooded head swam back and forth slowly as it tested the air. It grumbled and turned around to face the forest, letting out a throaty, gurgling sound as though it were purring.
That was new. Wendy didn’t like new behaviors. It meant their previous observations weren’t comprehensive…or maybe they were, but someone censored them. Damn, she was beginning to think like Keith and Vance. Not everything was a conspiracy, she had to remind herself.
Larissa stirred at hearing the new sound, raising her head unsteadily, still confused by direction, but obviously interested in its source. She swallowed and let out her own guttural roll that thankfully didn’t have quite enough strength to be more than a murmur.
“Shut her up,” Troy whispered through clenched teeth.
Wendy cupped a hand over Larissa’s mouth as the girl sucked in a breath for a second try. She stiffened at the sudden touch, and Wendy put a hand against the back of her head as well to keep her from shaking free of the hold. In life-and-death situations, Wendy had used physical force on patients to manage them safely, so leaning on Larissa while pushing her face into the snow didn’t bother her. She didn’t even think about it, really. She just did it out of some untapped survival instinct.
The strange moaning noise grew around them even without Larissa. It came from the shadows at the edge of the woods. Larissa stopped struggling and listened intently, as did Troy and Wendy. The zombie standing in the light groaned again, and echoing back from the trees came a grunt that sounded like a woman’s voice. A different moan drifted quietly from the shadows as well, making at least three distinct voices by Wendy’s count. Forms shambled out of the darkest recesses of the forest’s edge, each draped in layers of clothing, jackets, and weather-worn blankets.
The chatter between the zombies was of as much interest to Wendy as it was frightening. Zombies moaned to one another all the time, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. In the Rock Island prison facility, just like the other two sanctioned trading stations, zombies were kept two or three to a pen to placate them. That’s how they first observed their quiet talk, after all. But the idea that zombies had rudimentary forms of communication went beyond conventional thinking.
Wendy counted the distinct forms emerging from the forest edge, worried now that their numbers might not stop. One…two…three. The lead zombie moaned and turned away from those following him. Four. A child! No bigger than Larissa. Jesus, a child!
It was the one making the strange noise, the sound that the female of the group and the lead zombie responded to with soft murmurs…just like Penelope’s soothing trill. The woman’s warbles had the exact same calming effect on Larissa, too. She listened intently, no longer struggling against Wendy’s hold. Wendy lifted her hand to let Larissa breathe easier.
The zombies shuffled as a group into the meager moonlight, five in all counting their leader. The female of the group kept up her warbling coos, which kept the child contentedly following. Larissa tried to get up, as though she meant to follow the zombies. Of course, why wouldn’t she? Up until a week ago, that was her daily existence.
And yet, that sound. It wasn’t quite the same as what Penelope used to calm Larissa, and by Larissa’s reaction in trying to get up and follow the zombies, Wendy was beginning to wish Penelope was here to get Larissa back under control, or interpret the situation.
Wendy leaned forward and cooed softly into Larissa’s ear, hoping her own sound was enough to drown out that of the zombie woman. She felt the tickle in her throat just in time, clamping her mouth shut as a cough erupted uncontrollably. Her tight lips muffled the noise, but not completely. Wendy looked up. The lead zombie stopped and let out a warning growl.
Neither Troy nor Wendy moved. She didn’t even breathe for fear of another coughing fit. Her heart pounded in her chest because of it, forcing her to sip on shallow breaths. For a second, Wendy weighed whether or not to tighten her hold on Larissa again. If the girl cried out again, muffled or not, there was so much silence in the woods at the moment that the zombies would surely hear her.
Then there was something else. Keith’s voice echoing from somewhere far, far off to the west. The same sound the zombie leader had latched onto earlier, except now it was so faded, she didn’t think the zombies were willing to follow it. Not when there was something closer.
The lead zombie sniffed the air, his head craned back so that the pasty white of his flesh could be seen under the cowl of its hood in the dim moonlight. One of the other male zombies groaned what sounded like a question, shifting its weight as though agitated by the silence. The lead zombie growled back, and Wendy took the opportunity to gently tighten her grip over Larissa’s mouth.
Larissa stiffened, but didn’t make a sound. Wendy breathed easier, but Troy stood still as a tree. If he moved in the slightest it would draw their attention. The only thing that would be more appetizing to them would be, of course, if she coughed again. They were drawn to noise and scent more than what they saw, but those were really their only three usable senses. Troy’s wounds probably leached the scent of blood into the air, but thankfully the breeze was in their favor.
Still, this cat-and-mouse game had only one real outcome. Eventually, the zombies would ferret them out. They had to act, but aside from drawing their pistols and shooting their way out of this, there wasn’t much else they could do, and Wendy wasn’t really the kind to shoot anyone. Sure, she knew how to fire a weapon—her brothers had taught her that much—but the idea of actually pointing a gun at someone and purposefully taking a life…pulling the trigger took a mindset she simply didn’t have, and after seeing Troy back at the Terre Haute airport, how reluctant he was to shoot, and how much pain it caused his soul…no, they needed someone like Keith.
Then Wendy had an idea. An epiphany, of sorts. She remembered how the half-breed in Midamerica led a zombie army against them with just the noise of keys jingling together and the scent of blood off a dead animal. A lot like what Keith was doing right now, and what Troy had done back at Terre Haute before he had to…to kill one. It’s what Egan did, too, except Egan had been bitten. That thought struck her like a slap in the face. It was a dumb idea, but unless she was willing to shoot these zombies right now, the likelihood of that same end drew closer by the second.
“I have an idea,” Wendy said as she let go of Larissa and stood.
The lead zombie groaned in alarm, turning in her direction as he suddenly lurched forward.
Forty-Four
Wendy didn’t have time to explain anything. She started walking toward the airport, leaving Larissa behind as she passed Troy, who thankfully hadn’t even moved at her sudden announcement. Stopping to talk with him wasn’t going to help their cause any, so she walked past him as she spoke.
“There’s no way I can carry Larissa two miles,” she said quickly. “But I can lead these five,” she added, pointing at the tree line where the group of zombies shuffled toward her. She hoped there weren’t more in the woods still laboring to emerge. “And they’ll lead Larissa.”
She could see Troy wanted to ask a hundred questions by the way his eyes nar
rowed.
“Follow Larissa and keep her safe,” Wendy instructed. “When we catch up with Keith….” She didn’t finish her thought. The idea of shooting anyone was the last thing she wanted to propose, but maybe Keith could take over leading the zombies while she and Troy got Larissa back under control. That part of the plan was still a little sketchy in her head, actually.
The zombies groaned louder and moved with purpose. Larissa was on her feet—unexpectedly fast. Maybe no longer being a zombie gave her slightly improved motor skills. That was something to worry about.
What wasn’t there to worry about?
“Over here,” Wendy blurted as she walked along the road away from Troy and Larissa. “Right here, guys.” She coughed into her sleeve, and immediately berated herself. Why be quiet now?
The lead zombie turned toward her slowly as he moved up the berm, stumbling on the uneven snow, tripping over the hidden underbrush, catching himself on stiff legs. Wendy clapped three times to get the attention of all the zombies, and kept moving. She didn’t want to be too close when they made it up onto the road.
Wendy looked back long enough to see Larissa’s progress, too. The girl was still standing, teetering on wobbly legs, but managed to stumble forward once, listing like a sinking sailboat. Wendy sighed with relief. She worried Larissa would make herself a target by being too agile, but the other child was far more coordinated, keeping close to the pack of zombies as they moved with collective purpose in Wendy’s direction.
It was a little unnerving to think that she actually wanted them chasing her. Who in their right mind made themselves bait for zombies, after all?
Wendy narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the shadows lining either side of the road ahead as it carved a slow turn into the forest toward the airport, gobbled up by utter darkness only a few hundred yards away. She swallowed the lump in her throat and started for it. There was no other way now.
“Come on,” she said, clapping her hands again. That was going to get old fast. They weren’t cats or a stray dog she was trying to get to take a treat from her hand so she could catch it. They were zombies. They just needed noise to follow.
Plagued: The Battle Creek Zombie Rectification Experiment Page 18