“Help me out with this,” he told Tom and they started pushing the gate open. It groaned loudly, the metal chirping and grinding, echoing into the huge building and wailing into the surroundings. Birds fell silent, an ominous stillness swept over the field. Penelope held her ears against the piercing screeches. She turned her back to the building, intent on watching the tree line, expecting a horde of hungry zombies to emerge at any moment. When the groaning ceased, Tom and Houston both stood, breathing hard, staring into the building. Penelope turned around as well, looking inside in case there may be zombies there, too. She sucked in her breath at the sight of the engine.
“Say hello to the Great Lakes Rotary Number 12,” Houston said, his chest swollen with pride.
Penelope stood directly in front of the massive train car and could see only what looked like an enormous open mouth with huge, jutting fangs meant to crush anything in its path. Inside the mouth were rows of fan blades behind bars, caged but fierce.
“She’s a rotary snow plow used for clearing drifts up to ten feet. Behind her is the Amtrak Alaska 2318, a light haul passenger engine. We’ll be using her as snail to the rotary and to pull the cars.”
Houston walked into the darkness, flicking on his flashlight. He swung the beam toward the shadows a few times to make sure nothing was hiding under the engine or back in the corners.
“I made a few modifications to her myself,” Houston said as he approached the first engine. He pat the series of long steel slabs protruding far ahead of the giant square box fan. The teeth were mounted in a cross-hatch manner, and wedged between each were strips of old, dried bark and remnants of branches.
“The nobs are overgrown as all get out,” Houston said while yanking a chunk of wood from between one of the teeth. “These’ll push the big stuff out of the way so the rotors can do their job on the snow. I’ve got a tree trimmer in the other shed, but we can’t push both at the same time.”
Penelope sniffed at the air and turned her ears toward the tree line.
“Don’t worry, miss,” Houston told her. “This thing’s a tank. Once we’re inside, nothing’s gonna get to us.”
Penelope huffed, unimpressed. Nothing kept out the horde forever.
Six
Getting the train ready had been uneventful, albeit time-consuming and stressful. There was so much noise and it took so long to turn the train and snowplow around that Penelope expected hundreds of zombies would find them.
Houston used a portable generator to power the train’s starter. There was a hallway inside the train, behind the cockpit, where the engine was hidden. “Watch the blow,” Houston called from within, loud enough to attract any zombies in the field surrounding the building. Then the engine thumped, a deep whump that rose from the floor, through her legs, and rattled the entire cockpit of the engine where she and Tom waited. For a few seconds, the thumps struck slowly, each with a loud hiss erupting from the passageway behind them. The engine thumped in time with a hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss, and finally a long, sighing gasp. There were no more thumps after that and the engine went still once again.
Houston let the hallway air out, standing by the door as he inhaled deeply and commented on how nothing in the world smelled like the unspent diesel fuel of a train engine’s blow. When the air cleared a little he walked through the cloudy haze of the engine bay, tightening the blow holes by hand. He cranked the engine a second time and let it rattle to life. With so much noise, Penelope was prepared for a thousand zombies to be outside the shed, waiting for them to pull out.
“They usually keep a respectful distance,” Houston said, pointing at the tree line past Tom’s Subaru. The train engine inched out of the shed under Houston’s command to reveal at least a dozen zombies sprinkled amidst the shadows. Penelope tensed, but Houston seemed unconcerned. “They come to investigate the noise, but once they see what it is, they stay back. The only ones who don’t have sense enough to run are the kids.”
Houston used a turntable and switchback to spin each of the engines around, powering the massive device from the electrical output of the engine itself. Turning both around took several maneuvers, first to park the snowblower past the turntable, then to turn the engine around, then to move the snowblower onto the turntable to turn it around, and finally to hook it up in front again. Each time, Houston climbed out of the train without fear, or a gun. Penelope thought he was crazy, but like he said, the zombies kept their distance from the train.
They drove backwards all the way to the EPS.
The storage container Tom had wanted moved onto the first well-car was there when they returned. Penelope had only ever seen the empty well-cars, which looked like the backs of flatbed trucks. With the storage container on its back, the well-car looked like a normal train car. Seeing it like this reminded Penelope that she still knew so little about the world.
The crane lifted a section of fence out of the way for the engine to drive through. In a matter of minutes, Houston was able to back the engine into the coach cars, lock them together with the well-cars, and pull the whole thing out again.
Now that they were underway, Penelope sat in a chair inside the main coach car beside Tom, tired from what felt like a full day’s activity, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Tom’s hand covered his closed eyes, the other held out to her. His warmth, and the reassurance it provided, radiated from the palm of his hand into hers. She needed it, too, because since they returned, the doctor kept looking Penelope over, head to toe, marveling at her, assessing her, inspecting her like the buyers once did on Biter’s Hill. Hank had left them, going to the engine cockpit with Houston to be a “spotter,” as Houston called it, and the soldier, Mason Jones, lay on his back with an arm over his eyes. Penelope could tell he was awake by his posture and the way he breathed. It wasn’t the relaxed, calm breathing of true slumber, but it left Penelope alone with the doctor’s scrutiny, and it unnerved her.
“I have to ask,” Doctor O’Farrell said from her seat across the coach. “Can I see your tattoos?” She pointed a finger toward Penelope’s ankles.
Penelope’s heart stopped.
“What for?” Tom replied without opening his eyes. Penelope breathed easier hearing his voice.
“Nothing, really. It’s just that, well, they look familiar.”
“How can a tattoo look familiar? Did you go to the same parlor, or something?”
“No, it’s silly, but, when I worked at the facility, people always talked, you know?” The doctor shrugged and looked away, out the window of the coach at the passing trees. “The ones who had been there the longest. They would say things.”
“About tattoos?” Tom asked, opening his eyes and sitting up. “What are you talking about?”
“The first forty,” she said reverently.
Tom and Penelope stared at her. Even the soldier stirred, turning his head and eyeing the doctor.
“When the facility on Rock Island was first opened, the government allowed Eloran to trap and test up to forty specimens. The test subjects that were used to find the cure.”
“So what are you implying? Penelope’s one of your test subjects?” Tom asked. By his tone he sounded offended. “That she’s a zombie? Does she look like a zombie?”
“No,” Doctor O’Farrell gasped.
The soldier turned his head to stare at Penelope, his gaze cold and unwavering.
“No, not…I just,” the doctor stuttered. “I’ve never seen the tattoos, and they say they just put them back out there. To find one, it would be like touching history.”
“Keep looking,” Tom told her. “Penelope’s human.”
“Of course,” the doctor replied, offering an awkward smirk in his direction. “Even zombies are still humans, right?”
“Whatever,” Tom replied, standing abruptly. He pulled Penelope from her seat and started directing her toward the back of the coach. “Come on, Penny. Let’s go see what Houston has in that kitchen car of his.”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor
said, also standing. “I didn’t mean to offend her. I was just so caught up in the idea. Can you imagine what it would be like meeting a fully functioning half-breed, in our society?”
Tom stopped at the end of the coach next to the door. He looked back at the doctor, then at the soldier.
“You were right, Jones. She shouldn’t have come along. This isn’t a science expedition, lady. The half-breeds at Midamerica will kill you, just like any biter. The only difference is that with normal zombies, you’ll hear them coming.”
The soldier smirked and the doctor glared at Tom. Tom shook his head and slid past Penelope to open the door between the coach cars. Penelope followed him into the loud and much colder space between the cars. A wide platform and a flexible ring kept the outside at bay, allowing Tom to step over to the other door and push it open.
The harsh, pungent smell of zombies poured out with the warmth of the next car. Penelope froze, tugging on Tom’s hand.
“What? Come on, we can’t stay out here. It isn’t safe.”
Penelope shook her head and made the sign for zombie.
“The whole train smells of zombies,” Tom complained, but put his hand to his holster as he kept the door propped open with his foot. He looked into a hall that turned abruptly around a wall directly in front of them. A sign that Penelope knew meant bathroom was on the door facing them. Tom pulled Penelope closer and stepped into the hallway, looking cautiously around the corner. Penelope growled, but the sound of the train rattling over the rails beneath them drowned out her voice. If there were zombies inside, she couldn’t hear them. Tom gave Penelope one more tug and pulled her past the door, letting it close behind them. He let her hand go and drew his pistol, yanking open the bathroom door. The bathroom was empty.
Tom let the door close and moved to the corner to look down the long hallway, Penelope on his heels. Eleven evenly spaced doors lined one side of the corridor, spanning the entire length of the coach car. The other side held windows overlooking the Nobs they passed through outside. At the far end, the hall ended in another bathroom and turned again. Tom pulled open the second bathroom door on this end of the hallway, but again nothing was there.
Penelope growled again. The smell of zombies was so thick she knew at least one of them could have been standing right next to them.
“There’s nothing,” Tom said, although he didn’t holster his pistol. He moved slowly down the hallway, reaching a hand behind him to gather Penelope’s hand. She hadn’t budged, still wary and expectant. “Penny,” Tom hissed, looking back at her and waving for her to come. Tom began to look forward again and leapt in fright, slamming his back into the outside wall and window of the train.
“Jesus,” he gasped, raising his pistol at the door in front of him. Penelope ran to his side and leaned against the outside window with the same surprise. The door opposite was half glass and half metal. Standing behind the door, staring through the glass, was a milky white-skinned and hazy-eyed woman, a zombie for sure. She didn’t moan or groan or dig at the door the way zombies in the kennels typically reacted when humans were around. She was, in fact, quite sedate by comparison. She simply stared out at them with a vacancy that typified all zombies that were not actively trying to find their next meal.
As the shock of seeing a zombie so close wore off, Penelope recognized the woman’s face. It was soft and clean with the beautiful shape of a V, full lips, and a narrow, straight nose. Her brown hair was trimmed to her shoulder and pulled back. Penelope saw her face a hundred times a day since arriving at the EPS.
“I know her,” Tom uttered.
So did Penelope. It was one of the zombie women that was always on the cover of Houston’s ZQ Magazine. She stood inside one of the first class berths, which had its own bed, a small sink and toilet, and a fold-out table, on which was a slab of partially eaten meat. When they had returned to the EPS, Houston had gone into the kitchen car to grab a bite to eat for himself. He must have fed his zombie at the same time, Penelope thought. That, at least, explained why it wasn’t trying to dig its way out to get them. It didn’t even moan or wail. It seemed…civil.
“Look,” Tom said, nudging Penelope with his elbow and pointing his pistol at the next two doors. Tall, ashen figures stood at the glass of each, their heads turned, leaning against the glass, staring at Tom and Penelope like dogs in a kennel.
“These are definitely zombies,” Tom added. “You were right, and I’m not all that hungry after all.” Tom nudged Penelope back toward the first coach. “I hope their doors are locked.”
Penelope only growled in agreement.
Seven
As the sun set, the train wound its way up into the foothills known as the Nobs. Tom and Penelope sat in their chairs on one side of the train while the soldier lay on the couch. The doctor sat in a chair against the wall with her eyes closed, a blanket covering her upper body. Penelope stared out the window, watching the reflection of the doctor and the soldier as much as the forest passing outside. Tom still held her hand even though his eyes were shut. She could tell he wasn’t actually asleep, though. None of them were.
The forest gave way to a sudden rise, but the train continued its level course, driving downward against a sheer wall that rose out of nowhere. Penelope held her breath, sitting upright as the stone rose to engulf the train completely, turning suddenly into a pitch black canopy.
“Ung,” Penelope grunted, pulling free of Tom’s touch. She stepped back from the window.
“What?” Tom asked worriedly as he stood.
“Ung,” she grunted again, signing out, dark.
“Penny, it’s a tunnel,” Tom told her. “It’s alright. We’ll be out of it in a minute. Just watch.”
The train lurched the passengers forward, nearly throwing Tom and Penelope to the floor.
“Or maybe not,” Tom said sarcastically.
The abruptness of the braking wore off and Penelope felt the weight of the train let loose again for a moment, then the brakes grabbed hold once more, this time more fiercely. Penelope crouched down and put her hands on the floor to keep from falling. The train slowed like that for what felt like minutes until they came to a halt inside the dark tunnel.
“Bad,” Penelope whispered as she stood.
Tom pressed his face against the glass, looking forward, trying to see what was happening.
“What’s going on?” the doctor asked.
“The train stopped,” Jones said.
O’Farrell glared at him, shaking her head in disgust. “I figured that much,” she replied. “Do you think there’s a problem?”
“If there is, Houston will let us know about it,” Jones said.
“Yeah, but what if Houston’s having a heart attack, or something?”
“Then Hank will let us know.”
“Mason,” she grumbled. “Sometimes you’re impossible. Can you just go find out what’s happening?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jones replied, sitting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket. The bandage covering his left arm looked the same as it did the first time Penelope saw it a day ago. A thick circle of blackened, dried blood at its center with a thin line of similarly dried blood as though it had oozed toward the floor while he was standing. His bite wound reminded her of her own and she rubbed at her scar absently.
“We need to change that dressing soon,” O’Farrell said.
“It can wait,” Jones replied as he slid his arm into the black jacket. Jones treated it with the same kind of painful reverence that Tom gave his own shoulder.
Jones was zipping up the jacket in front of the door when it suddenly opened. Hank stood on the other side and both men stiffened in shock.
“Oh, good, you’ve got a jacket,” Hank said, stepping into the coach and closing the door behind him.
The chill from outside reached Penelope. She shivered, but was happy to inhale fresh air. The pervasive smell of zombies still lingered in the coach, but it was far less in the front lounge car than back in the sleeper
cars. The outside air was a welcome arrival.
“We need help clearing the tracks,” Hank went on. “Grab a couple nooses from the closet over there.”
“Nooses?” Jones asked. “What kind of obstruction are we talking about?”
Penelope leaned her head against the window where Tom stood, expecting to see a horde of zombies shambling alongside the train tracks, but the only thing she saw was darkness and a line of light where the front of the train was stopped.
“We’ve got some biters in the tunnel ahead of us,” Hank said. Penelope leaned back away from the glass.
“So run them down,” Jones replied.
“Houston says he won’t.”
“That’s fine,” Jones said, walking over to Tom. “Can I borrow your shotgun?”
“No shooting, either. They’re children.”
Penelope didn’t like the sound of that. Where there were children, there were always adults. She signed the word danger to Tom.
“I know,” Tom said under his breath to Penelope. “Hank, I agree with Jones. Run them over.”
“Argue with the driver,” Hank said, jacking a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s only about a dozen of the little nippers.”
Penelope looked out the window again at the blackness. She saw her own reflection and that of Doctor O’Farrell zipping up her jacket. O’Farrell crossed the coach to the shelf next to the tripod where an assortment of cameras were kept and she took one to look at. Penelope picked up her own jacket and waited for Tom’s direction. Tom didn’t move, nor did the soldier.
“Jesus, come on,” Hank grumbled, pushing past the soldier to get to the closet.
“Hank, going out there is stupid,” Tom argued.
“Like your idea about going to Midamerica is any better. You gonna help us out?”
“What?”
“Get a noose, kid,” Hank said, yanking open the closet door. Inside were several noose poles as well as padded sleeves and neck guards to go over jackets and vests. Hank assessed a couple and tossed a pair to the soldier, then another to Tom. “Put those on.”
The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment Page 4