The Liger Plague (Book 1)

by Joseph Souza

  “Siddown,” the man ordered in a booming voice.

  Tag searched the shadows for a place to sit. A faint light splashed out over the room, providing enough illumination to see a tattered futon with scratched wooden slats for arms. He sat down just as the screen of the small black-and-white television came into focus. Static filled the screen until Cooper fiddled with the rabbit ears on top. The squiggly lines straightened, and the picture cleared up, but no sound played.

  “How are you getting power?” Tag asked.

  “Got a propane tank behind the garage. Keep pretty self-sufficient out here,” the lobsterman said with obvious pride, although disguised by his New England reticence. “I don’t know how you people kept from getting sick out there and escaped all those lunatics, but you sure are lucky.”

  “How have you managed to hold out yourself?” Tag asked.

  “This is the most secluded part of the island. I rarely go into town this time a year because of all the damn tourists and summer people. When the outbreak occurred, I just locked all my doors and stayed put.”

  Versa had fallen asleep. Fez sat next to Tag, fully awake, his eyes glued to the television. The chubby young leader of North Korea was shown conferring with his top advisors. The picture segued to the United Nations, where the world’s leaders were having an emergency meeting to discuss the situation. After a few seconds passed, he saw a map of Cooke’s Island followed by some blurry video of what looked to be a violent street riot. It took only a few seconds to realize that the riot taking place on TV had occurred on Cooke’s Island and had been captured by one of the solar webcams situated high above the town square.

  “The crisis on Cooke’s Island has already made the national news,” Tag remarked.

  “Not only made the national news but is causing international turmoil,” Cooper said. “Them North Korean whack jobs are claiming that the U.S. is experimenting on its own citizens so that they can turn this virus into a weapon, and eventually a weapon that’ll be used against them. The Russians are saying that it was stolen from one of their secret labs in the Gulag. The entire lot of them commies are meeting at the U.N. to decide what action to take. Right now most of them are demanding that the U.S. government turn this island into a parking lot.”

  “A parking lot? What’s he talking about?” Fez asked.

  “What do you think it means? They want to blow this place to smithereens,” Cooper said.

  “Holy crap!” Fez exclaimed.

  “Holy crap is right,” Cooper said, pointing an abnormally thick finger at the kid. “Think you’re so tough now, trampling over other people’s property? Now you’ll get to watch them come here and destroy this entire island. How ya like them apples?”

  Fez shook his head, a look of concern on his face.

  “Don’t scare the kid,” Tag said. “His family’s missing, and he’s been through a lot.”

  “Scare him! Ha! Not even a rifle pointed at him and his buddies scared them away,” Cooper said, laughing. “They’re talking about sending troops over and killing every single last one of us in order to keep this bug from spreading to the mainland. How’s that for scaring you, kid?”

  “They can’t go around killing everyone on this island,” Fez said.

  “Like hell they couldn’t. The entire world’s going into panic mode after seeing the video from those stupid cameras posted everywhere on the island. I warned all them hoity-toities that they’d regret putting cameras up there just to study some stupid bird. Now instead of letting this virus run its course, they’re going to nip it in the bud before it has the chance to spread.”

  Cooper turned up the volume, and the news anchor’s voice filled the room. Tag couldn’t understand how the feds had allowed this information to go public, but considering all the cell phones and webcams these days, it was practically impossible to keep such information from not getting out, he supposed. Video footage replayed scenes of the infected roaming the streets of downtown Cooke’s Island and attacking themselves and others. The violence must have shocked TV viewers, and he could easily understand how people might be convinced that a scorch-the-earth policy was the only way to prevent the liger virus from spreading.

  More videos appeared showing different parts of the island. Shadowy poxers stumbled along the beach at night. Another camera caught them wandering around some of the more modest neighborhoods, crossing lawns and trampling through flowerbeds and shrubs like the living dead. The majority wore no clothes, having ripped them off their raw and exposed bodies. The station didn’t even bother to conceal their genitals; the blisters over their bodies had made them almost impossible to distinguish.

  The screen changed, and all of a sudden Tag saw his face on TV. He looked over at Cooper and saw the lobsterman’s jaw drop. The old man stood and pointed the rifle down at him as the newscaster laid responsibility for the outbreak squarely on his shoulders.

  “You got some explaining to do, mister,” Cooper said over the barrel of the rifle.

  “He didn’t do nothing,” Fez argued, jumping up in front of the barrel.

  “How do you know he didn’t do it? You the FBI?”

  “I just know Tag’s innocent. He’s a good guy and would never hurt anybody.”

  “I hate all you goddamn mainlanders. None of this would have ever happened if you’d all just stayed off this island,” he said, keeping the barrel aimed at Tag. “Why should I believe either of you?”

  “Someone’s setting me up. I can assure you that I had nothing to do with releasing a virus on Cooke’s Island.”

  “Tag, they’re talking about you on TV,” Fez said.

  A photograph of the Institute appeared onscreen, followed by one of a Cayman Island bank. The newscaster reported that significant sums of cash from a Swiss bank had been wired into an account with his name on it. Tag watched on in disbelief. He’d never opened any foreign accounts in his life and had little money in any bank account to deposit. His military pension and two homes were his only significant assets. Even if he did manage to make it off this island, he’d be arrested immediately and tried as a domestic terrorist. Probably made a scapegoat to satisfy the public’s demand for justice. Somehow he’d have to uncover the truth and prove his innocence to the authorities, if that was even possible. Even then they might use him as a convenient scapegoat so as to appease the world.

  “What do you make of that news, Colonel? Money wired into your secret bank account. That’s some damning evidence,” Cooper said.

  Tag pulled back Fez into his seat and stood.

  “Are you that dense? Do you really think if I had that type of money I’d be stupid enough to release a virus on this godforsaken island and then actually be on it with my wife and daughter when I did it?”

  “I don’t know anything. All I know is that I have no faith in this goddamn government of ours, not that I had much to begin with.”

  “Then it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that someone higher up might have planned all this for a reason, knowing full well that I owned a summer home here.” Cooper looked confused, so Tag pushed the barrel of the rifle away from his chest and stepped forward. “Could you please point that elsewhere?”

  Cooper lowered the rifle and stared at him. Tag could just make out his ruddy features. He had a fisherman’s beard that consisted of a thin line of gray hair running down his chin, sans the mustache. He guessed the man’s age to be in the mid to late sixties. Tag was about to sit down when his cell phone rang. The green bar was now well under twenty percent.

  “Hey, buddy. Glad to hear that you’re still alive and kicking,” said the voice when he answered.

  “Blake,” he said, happy to hear the voice of his good friend and FBI agent.

  “I’m calling on a Tracphone and don’t have much time, Tag, so listen good to what I’m saying. I know for certain that you didn’t commit this terrorist act, not that there’s any evidence that would have convinced me otherwise. I’ve known you long enough to know that you could ne
ver do such a crime, especially after all the years you’ve devoted to public service.”

  “Thanks, Blake, I’m glad someone believes me.”

  “I believe someone high up in the government is responsible for this. I don’t know who did it or why, but I have no doubt that they may be part of a bigger conspiracy. But that’s not the real reason I’m calling.”

  “Oh?”

  “You and your family need to find a way off that island as soon as possible. I’m hearing through the grapevine that no one’s coming off that piece of real estate alive, and if they do, they’ll be quarantined in a top-security medical facility for an indefinite amount of time.”

  “What the hell are you saying, Blake?”

  “Someone hacked the webcams after the FBI shut them down and sent it out to the public. The video clips went viral and have caused people around the world to riot and governments to become unstable. There’s been incredible pressure on the U.S. to…contain the island and make sure there’s no chance of this virus spreading.”

  “I heard that on the news. They think the government released this virus on its own soil as a sort of test run.”

  “Yes, in preparation to use against a perceived enemy.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but it’s what many of the leaders of these countries believe, and perception is all that matters now.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “My source is telling me that they’re going to send a team of hazmat Seals onto Cooke’s and go house to house, making sure they round up every infected person on that island. Then they’ll either kill them all or put them in containment for other nations to observe and verify.”

  “They’re not messing around.”

  “A Navy Seal team has been ordered to capture as many of the victims as possible. They’ve got a naval cargo ship as we speak waiting a few miles off the coast to whisk victims and corpses away.”

  “This island will be like a ghost town once they’re through with it.”

  “They’ll destroy the island afterwards. Possibly firebomb the entire place. My point here is that you’re going to have to find a way off that island before it’s too late.”

  “What are they going to do with the people once they have them in custody?”

  “Figure it out, Tag. Those who are infected will be guinea pigs for the doctors and researchers. The healthy ones, who knows what will become of them? Your outfit will probably study them until they’ve isolated the virus responsible. Once that’s complete, they’ll work on a vaccine and keep it locked away in a vault somewhere. One of those terrorist nation states would pay dearly to weaponize the virus if they could get their hands on it. The infected will be quarantined until they’re no longer contagious, and after that, who knows? Although I’m fairly certain that most will need to be institutionalized long term. From the looks of the video clips, many of these people will need lifelong psychiatric care, especially if their brain injuries are chronic. Even if they do recover, the memory of what they’ve done will be too great to bear.”

  “Any way you can put in a good word for me with our government?” Tag asked.

  “Believe me, pal, I’ve tried, but this Agent Bishop is shutting everyone out of the investigation. This event has political and social implications far beyond what you might think. Extreme religious and political groups are protesting around the country. They’re calling it the end of times.”

  “I’ll be hunted down even if I did make it off this island.”

  “Or brought to justice for public consumption. I’ve been trying, on the sly, to access the files to your case, but I’m running into constant dead ends. This investigation is tighter than a drum. I know that you’ve made some major enemies in the Middle East after your team discovered those biological-grade weapons Saddam was concealing.”

  “Do you think this event could stem from that?”

  “I don’t really know at this point, Tag. All I know is that you need to find your family before it’s too late and hustle them off that island before they send in those Seals. Long odds, but if you do manage to beat them, you’ll have to go into hiding until somehow, someway, your name can be cleared. I’ll do all I can for you in the meanwhile.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Blake.”

  “I’m sorry about Monica and Taylor. We’re all praying for them to make it.”

  “Me too.”

  “I have to chuck this phone in the Potomac now. Wishing you the best of luck, my friend, and hope to hear from you soon.”

  Tag collapsed on the sofa. The others stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Versa slept on the opposite end, her chin resting on her rising and falling breastbone.

  “So that’s the deal?” Cooper asked.

  “Sounds like they’ll be sending a team of Navy Seals here to round up every person on the island. Then they’re going to flatten Cooke’s like a pancake, probably send over a squadron of bombers to firebomb it.”

  “Holy crap!” Fez said.

  “I’ll fight to the death if they try to come here and take my home. Lived in this place my entire life and have no plans of leaving it now.”

  “You’ll most certainly die, Cooper.”

  “Then die I will, sir, if that’s the case.”

  “Once day breaks, I’m going out there to try to find my family before it’s too late. It’s my last chance,” Tag said.

  “I’m coming with you,” Fez said.

  “I’m in too if you want me,” said Cooper. “Might as well go out swinging.”

  “Thanks, but I need you guys to stay here. I’ve had special training in door-to-door combat and am better equipped to deal with this situation,” he said, squeezing Fez’s neck. He looked at Cooper. “Once I return with my family, we’ll need to find a way off this island.”

  “You three can leave if you’d like, but I ain’t going nowhere. I was born on this spit of land, and I’ll die defending it if necessary. I’m an old lobsterman, so I guess it don’t matter much at this point.”

  “Thanks, Cooper. Me and the kid should rest for a few hours before the sun comes up.”

  “You guys take a load off while I keep an eye on my property. I don’t sleep worth a damn anyways,” Cooper said, clicking off the TV. “And, Colonel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I believe you. Don’t know why or how I do, but somehow you seem like a trustworthy type.”

  “Thanks, Cooper. That means a lot to me.”

  Tag closed his eyes and drifted off. He felt as if he could sleep for days. All he wanted to do was find Monica and Taylor before this island got destroyed, and then he could go about proving his innocence.

  Chapter 19

  Tag felt someone shaking his shoulder, and he shot up in a sitting position. The hulking lobsterman stood staring down at him. The man put his wrinkled finger up to his lips and nodded toward Fez and Versa, both asleep on the futon, then beckoned Tag to follow him. Tag walked over to the front door. Outside the gate three poxers stumbled around, covering their eyes from the sun, which was just beginning to rise, filling the sky with pink striated clouds.

  “You should get going before the kid wakes up. He seems to look up to you, Colonel. You know he’ll try and follow you if you don’t leave immediately,” Cooper said.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “We’ll all stay here until you get back. Hope you find your family.”

  “Thanks for not shooting me, Cooper.”

  “Don’t thank me, because in truth, I should have shot you right away and saved myself a whole lotta trouble.” He broke into a wistful smile. “Got me some old fatigues for when I go bow hunting for deer. Think you can use them?”

  “That would be a huge help.”

  He put on the fatigues that Cooper brought over. They were big on him, but using a belt, he was able to cinch the pants tight around the waist. He grabbed his Magnum and a rifle and headed out. Cooper walked him to the front gate, unl
ocked the padlock, and let him pass through.

  The three poxers sniffed the air and turned toward him as he walked along the beach. They groaned in anticipation and staggered along the sand, unable to make out his whereabouts, their arms guided by their nose. One of them tripped and fell headfirst into the sand. The grains stuck, glistening against the bright, pus-filled sores. The other two headed toward the water, searching desperately for what their noses detected but eyes could not see. He stood momentarily over the fallen poxer and observed its movements. Strands of wispy hair sprouted from its pustule-filled scalp, and the sores were starting to scab over, resulting in a hard shell.

  The poxer rose to its knees, eyes shut, and stood groaning. He realized that any attempt to identify this person was futile. The hideous pox obscured their features and made them all look the same. This worried him, as he wondered if he’d be able to identify Monica and Taylor when the time came. The poxer turned to face him and started to say something. Tag made sure not to get too close lest the man’s mood shift and he tried to attack him.

  “Where are you? I know a healthy person is out there somewhere,” the man said in a garbled voice that Tag found difficult to understand.

  “Don’t move, pal. I’ve got a gun pointed directly at your head.”

  “I smell your weakness, and it’s driving me insane. Isn’t that crazy?” the man said in a low, raspy voice. He started toward him. “As sick as I am, I’m so goddamn hungry I could eat a horse. Or preferably a human.” He laughed.

  “I told you not to move.”

  “Then try to stop me. You think I want to live like this?”

  Tag walked over and kicked him gently in the stomach, and the man fell back on his haunches. The kick, as harmless as it seemed, ripped the alligator skin over his stomach, oozing blood and pus out of the vertical wound.

  “Who are you, and why are you attacking me?” Tag asked.

  “Aha! I thought I recognized that voice,” the poxer said. “Winters, it’s David, your wealthy neighbor whose boat you utterly destroyed the other day.”