The Liger Plague (Book 1)

by Joseph Souza

  “So how in the world are we going to make our way onto it?”

  “My dad used to bring him back supplies from the mainland even though the guy doesn’t have any money. I guess my dad took a liking to him and even felt sorry for him for being so crazy. They went to high school together.”

  “And he knows who you are?”

  “I been a stern man on my dad’s lobster boat many times when we dropped off supplies for this guy. Hopefully he’ll still remember me.”

  “Let’s hope so, or we could be in for a long night.”

  Chapter 25

  They paddled along in the dark, not quite sure which direction they were heading, but using the lights of Portland as their guide, although they receded far behind them. Fez appeared so exhausted that by the time the sun started to come up, he had passed out against the side of the raft. Tag felt delirious from all that had happened in the last few days. He was thirsty, hungry, exhausted and sore, and already he missed his family terribly. His shoulders ached so badly he could barely lift the paddle out of the water. They had drifted quite a ways out into the open ocean, and it seemed now that they had gotten stranded out to sea.

  He shook Fez’s shoulder and woke the kid up. Fez opened his eyes and looked around in a daze, momentarily unsure of where he was. He sat up and stared back toward the mainland, now a faint skyline in silhouette. The clouds to the east radiated a deep bright pink. Tag could see the speck of choppers buzzing around like mosquitoes in the distance and the tiny toy Coast Guard boats encircling the island. They were far enough away now, but how long would it take before someone reported seeing the two of them floating around in distress?

  “We must have drifted off,” Tag said.

  “We drifted all right. Good thing it’s low tide, and there are some rocks still visible on the sand bars. I know just about every inch of these waters.”

  “So you know where we are?”

  “Yeah, no prob. Only thing is we got to row another mile back toward Rabbit Island without being seen.”

  Tag sighed. “Back toward Rabbit Island?”

  “Yup. Hope you’re all rested up, Tag.”

  “Don’t worry about me, kid. How you feeling?”

  “Never better after that quick nap. Let’s do this before the tide starts to pull us out again.”

  They paddled back toward the mainland, aided by the swells at their backs. The closer they got, the better he could see the island Fez had been directing them to. It couldn’t have been more than twenty acres, and most of the island was covered with dense trees, making it the perfect place to hide for a short spell. They circled around, searching for the right place to bring the raft ashore. The shoreline appeared rocky and wild, filled with downed trees and sharp edges, making it difficult to land. Fez claimed that the hermit who lived on it used to take his canoe out to meet his father’s boat. On the eastern tip of the island, they jumped into the five feet of water and pulled the raft ashore. Waves crashed over their backs and dragged them dangerously close to the jagged shale rocks.

  Tag pulled up next to a large boulder, fearing he might be smashed against the edges, and quickly climbed atop it. He held out the end of the paddle and pulled the kid up onto the rock with him. Once they were safely on land, the two of them pulled the raft up onto the boulder and then dragged it over the rocks until they arrived onto the main part of the island.

  They collapsed on the beach once they’d secured the raft. Almost immediately Tag could see why it was called Rabbit Island. Hundreds of rabbits hopped around the beach and under the dense cover of trees, darting out from behind every shrub and bush. He wondered how such a small piece of land could support so many rabbits and how they could possibly survive the frigid winter months. Of course, with no predators, they had a carefree existence.

  “Dude feeds them,” Fez said, anticipating his question. “One of the things my dad used to bring over was bags of rabbit food. You know what this guy used to say?”

  “No.”

  “Rabbit is rich, whatever that means.”

  “That’s the name of a novel in John Updike’s Rabbit trilogy.”

  Fez shrugged. “What else does the guy got to do but read all day? He keeps them rabbits like chickens. Says they taste like KFC once he’s done preparing them.”

  “Yeah, I can see where having lots of rabbits would be a good idea if someone’s marooned on an island.”

  “Got himself a little garden too.”

  After resting for a few minutes, the two of them started toward the middle of the island. They made it only a few feet before they heard a voice shouting at them to freeze and put their hands up over their heads. Tag obeyed, looking around to see where the voice was coming from. They stood for what seemed like a long time, their hands up, waiting for the man to come out of the dense woods.

  “You two are not welcome here!” the man shouted. “I have a fully loaded rifle aimed at your heads, so I advise you two to get back in your little rubber raft and get the hell off my island.”

  “Your island?” Tag said, laughing. “And I suppose you have the deeded rights to this land?”

  “Yeah, it’s called a Browning A-Bolt, asshole. Wanna see it up close and personal?”

  “Don’t piss this guy off, Tag,” Fez said. “Not only is he crazy, but he’s our only hope of staying alive.”

  “Listen to the kid, asshole. Get back in your boat, and start paddling.”

  “Oggy! It’s me, Fez. We need to hide out here for a little while until things cool down.”

  A few moments of silence passed.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Me and my pops used to drop supplies off to you. Remember my dad, Roger Feswick? You guys went to high school together. And my pops never took one dime for all the stuff he brought to you, including the bags of rabbit food.”

  Fez’s words were met with silence. Tag’s arms, rubbery from paddling, felt like weights from having to hold them up for so long. The only thing they heard was the sound of waves pounding into the ledges. After about a minute of waiting, they saw a lean, stringy man walking out of the trees, with his rifle pointed at them. His face was painted green, and he wore camouflage khakis and cap, under which was a head of greasy, long hair. No wonder he hadn’t seen the man hiding in the underbrush.

  “You for real, boy?” Oggy asked.

  “Yeah, I’m for real. We also got you that crank radio and the rabbit ears for your TV. My dad spent a lot of money buying all that stuff for you, so the least you could do is help us out.”

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Fez. And this here is Tag. We just escaped from Cooke’s Island.”

  Oggy lifted his rifle a little higher. “It’s a huge government conspiracy to kill off its citizens,” he said, inching closer. “How do I know you two are not infected with that shit?”

  “Look at us. We wouldn’t have made it all this way if we were infected,” Tag said. “How did you know that there was an infection spreading on Cooke’s Island?”

  “Shut up, asshole. You’re just lucky I recognized the kid,” Oggy said, walking toward them with his rifle still raised. “You guys sure you’re not infected?”

  “Hundred percent sure,” Fez replied. “We’re not armed either, Oggy, so can you put down your rifle? We been rowing all night, and my arms and shoulders are killing me.”

  “Okay, you two can put your arms down, but don’t make any crazy moves.”

  “You an army man?” Tag asked.

  “Iraqi war vet. Those bastards fucked me over after I came home. Failed to provide me with the proper medical care. Goddamn urban combat shit messed my head up pretty bad. So I came out here to Rabbit Island, away from all them stupid people and crazy shrinks. Since then my head has been way better. Breathe fresh ocean air, live clean off the land, and don’t have to deal with assholes all day—until you two castaways showed up.”

  “Sorry to hear about your wartime trauma,” Tag said.

 
; “Not looking for any sympathy, mister.” Oggy shook his head, much of which was covered in tattoos. “Still have a few problems, but I make do.”

  “So can we stay for a spell?” Fez asked.

  “Follow me.”

  They made their way under the dense canopy of trees. Once they traveled halfway across the island, they climbed a hilly section of cleared land. Oggy stopped and turned to face them. He pointed down toward the ground, which was covered with thick pine needles. He reached down into the dirt and pulled up a tarp. Beneath it was a handle. He lifted a hatch door and opened it, and then motioned for them to climb down the hole. Fez lowered himself down a rope ladder built into the side of the earthen wall. Tag followed behind the kid, descending into darkness. Once his feet hit the bottom, he could see a faint light glowing down one end of the tunnel. Crouching down, he followed the light until he arrived into a room that was roughly twenty feet by ten feet. Pieces of homemade furniture sat around the room. A small crank TV and radio sat in one corner, and a square table stood against the far wall. On it sat a lit candle. A couple of crude chairs sat in front of the small TV.

  “Wow, this is cool,” Fez said, taking it all in.

  “Took me two years to dig this hole. Had to construct all the furniture down here too.”

  “How do you get reception?” Tag asked.

  “I ran a wire up out of the ground and connected it to the top of one of the pine trees maybe sixty feet above ground. The antenna gets me decent reception, couple of channels. I also got a photoelectric panel up there, and on good days it lets me run some of my stuff. Otherwise I have to crank the shit out of it.”

  Tag studied the man in the dim light. He was lean and tanned dark with mere slits for eyes. Tattoos seemed to cover much of his body. His long hair was matted into dreadlocks, and he used elastic bands in his long beard to keep it under control. The man looked unhinged, feral and wild. Tag wondered how long he’d been living on this island. There was no way he himself could have survived out here in the dead of winter or during the worst of storms that swept up from the south and across the northeast. He didn’t care about that now. He was more worried about his family’s safety and the events now taking place on Cooke’s Island.

  Oggy turned on the TV and motioned for them to sit on the floor. Exhausted, he and Fez sat down and watched what was happening onscreen.

  “Shit’s all messed up over there,” Oggy said, handing them some rectangular strips of leather. “Been following it the whole time. Looks like our corrupt government is finally turning on its citizens.”

  “What’s this?” Fez asked, holding up a curled strip.

  “Rabbit jerky. Shit’s pretty good. I use dried sea salt to give it some extra flavor and then let them sit on the rocks in the sun. Also got some dried fish, too, if you want some.”

  Tag bit into the leathery jerky as Oggy went on a longwinded diatribe about the governmental conspiracy designed to strip citizens of their rights. His theories were bizarre and farfetched, and he seemed to be fabricating stories as he talked. Tag chewed until his jaw hurt, but it tasted okay. The pain from chewing so vigorously spread up to his mangled ear, yet his stomach appreciated it. The screen shifted to a national news reporter walking around downtown Cooke’s Island with one of the hazmat officers, both of whom were protected from head to toe in a full-body suit. The section of the island appeared completely deserted except for the debris scattered over the road. They didn’t show any live footage of people being taken into custody, but supposedly half the island had already been taken onto the navy ship. The reporter turned to the camera and sent it back to the mainland, where a pretty young news reporter appeared in front of one of the terminals situated on Commercial Street.

  “Melissa Bell here standing on the Commercial Cruise Terminal,” the young woman reported. “We cannot get much closer than this since the military has completely sealed off the terminal’s perimeter, but we can tell you that the cargo vessel transporting the infected back to the mainland will dock here. Rumor has it that specially outfitted buses will transport the infected persons to a secret location. Although we don’t know where the infected victims will be taken, we do know that the location will remain undisclosed for the time being.

  “As you can see, the number of reporters has grown significantly in the last few days. Many nations from around the world are demanding verification that the contagion has been contained on the island, as well as proof that the virus has been identified and ceases to be a threat. It’s all part of the Moscow Treaty signed by most every U.N. nation twenty years ago. We are told that the identification of the virus will better help nations understand where this threat is coming from, if indeed it is coming from a nation state. It is believed that there are only a handful of countries in the world that possess such biological weapons, although no doubt many terrorist regimes would love to get their hands on such a virulent virus. An emergency addendum has been included in the treaty not to destroy these lethal viruses, the belief being that they should be held as potential aids in the creation of a vaccine if such an outbreak should ever again occur. It is hoped that by identifying the components of the liger virus, officials might work together to find out where the terrorist cell may have come from, as well as what they hoped to accomplish.

  “As for Cooke’s Island, the U.N. has called an emergency security meeting and voted overwhelmingly for the United States government to not only neutralize the island but to completely sanitize it so that all traces of the organism be destroyed. Representatives of the United States tried to negotiate an alternative strategy, but at the insistence of the U.N. Security Council, U.S. officials have decided to go along with the measure in order to appease both China and Russia, the two superpowers most vociferous about taking such a draconian approach. U.S. officials were obviously concerned by the heightened military alert of these two countries, fearing it might lead to warlike actions within their respective countries.

  “We don’t yet know what method the U.S. military will use to clean up the island, but we’re hearing that the Portland City Council is ready to convene for a vote on the measure just for the record. Speaking off camera, some of the council members, who have chosen to remain anonymous, have confirmed that they are in unanimous agreement with the idea of razing the island and starting over. The relationship between the islanders and the city has historically been hostile. An island vote had been scheduled this fall to secede from Portland, and many were worried that they might eventually lose Cooke’s lucrative real estate tax base. Of course, that’s all moot now.

  “For now, we’re trying to keep abreast of the situation as best we can. A news conference is to be held near the ferry terminal in an hour, and we’ll be there to cover it live. This is Melissa Bell from Channel 4, reporting live from the Portland Cruise Terminal on Commercial Street.”

  “You live here year round?” Tag asked, trying to keep his mind off these most recent developments.

  Oggy shook his head. “Too damn cold in the winter. The kid’s dad used to take me back to the mainland in November. Stayed in my mother’s basement in South Portland until spring broke. Then I’d take the ferry over to Cooke’s and have his dad give me a ride back over here.”

  Tag put his head back on the dirt wall and rested his hands in his lap, feeling something hard inside his pocket as he did so. He reached inside and pulled it out, realizing that it was the phone he’d found next to Cooper. Flipping it open, he discovered that it still worked and had ample battery time remaining, but he was certain he’d get no cell service out here. He wondered if he should try his luck and make a call. Then it occurred to him that if he did, someone might be able to track his location, and so for the moment he decided to wait. He thumbed through the menu and scrolled through the contact list but found no other numbers. As expected, the phone was virtually devoid of any personal information.

  Until he came to the pictures icon. There were fifteen photos on the list. He clicked on the first one a
nd saw a picture of Versa holding her rifle and smiling. The next one showed her holding a picture of the liger icon. Tag’s heart raced upon realizing that Versa had taken Monica and Taylor hostage. He prayed that she—whoever she was—hadn’t killed them. He stared at the photograph of the woman, trying to see if he could somehow identify her. Scrolling through the pictures, he saw her in various poses throughout the island. When he reached the eleventh picture, a new photograph appeared. This one was an official shot of him on his first day on the job at the Institute. The next four pictures were of him and his group of scientists at the research facility. He trained his eyes on Remington, the one who disappeared in the plane crash and had never been seen again.

  He remembered the hiring process for the director’s job, recalling that the list of candidates was so secret that even he had no idea who was competing for the job. Rumor had it that Remington had been the number two candidate, but no one really knew for sure. Remington never mentioned it to him or even seemed the slightest bit upset at not getting the top job. Tag rarely talked to the man about anything unless it was job related. The only thing he remembered about him was that he was a brilliant scientist, eccentric at times and socially awkward in situations outside of work.

  He clicked to the second-to-last photograph of the fifteen scientists and staff that had worked in the Level Four Biocontainment Lab. Remington stared back at the camera with a straight face. The longer he stared at the man’s face, the more the memories of Remington came back to him, although he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure if his mind was playing tricks on him. Could Remington have been disguised as Versa?

  The last photograph was like salt in the wound. A backdrop, and in the foreground an artistic rendering of a liger. It appeared like a mirror image. The top half of the animal’s body was the exact same as the bottom half so that if flipped, it looked exactly the same. Except for one thing: the picture appeared like a movie poster with the words The Liger Plague at the top. Underneath the icon it said Playing Near You! and underneath that it said Directed by Colonel Taggert Winters.