Plagued States of America (Book 5): Plagued [The Angel Rise Zombie Retribution Experiment]

by Army, Better Hero

  “Thanks.”

  The driver waved and drove off slowly.

  “Keith,” Hank said, snapping his fingers as he remembered the guy’s name. He turned to look at Penelope. “That son-of-a-bitch Keith Hanson taught you that, didn’t he? Slamming doors with your ass.”

  Penelope shrugged.

  “Don’t do that anymore. It’s rude.”

  Penelope stared blankly at him.

  “It pisses off the people who own the car. Okay?”

  She shrugged again.

  Hank sighed. Teaching her manners was going to be as hard as teaching her to talk, and right about now either of them would have been a godsend.

  “Just don’t do it. Come on.”

  Hank hadn’t thought about Keith Hanson for years, not since the guy left to go to Saint Mary-of-the-Woods about two years ago. At the time, Hank thought he was just being stupid like a lot of others who were tired of struggling to make a living in an overly regulated industry, but he was probably a whole lot safer there than where Hank had been for the past six weeks.

  Inside the lobby at the front desk he approached a nurse and leaned on the counter. The nurse didn’t look up from his computer, asking, “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, a friend of mine was admitted to the burn ward the other day, and I figured I’d swing by—”

  “Building B,” the nurse interrupted. “Out the door, to the right, third floor.”

  “B?”

  “Back outside,” the nurse said in that irritated way someone who has to repeat themselves all day long gets. “Go over to the Emergency building to your right. The Burn Ward is on the third floor opposite the Step-Down Unit.”

  “Emergency. Outside. Third Floor. Got it,” Hank said without thanking the prick. There was just something about the medical profession that made people in it so insensitive to others he just didn’t see a point in being friendly back, especially because he knew the nurse would be ungrateful about it anyway. He probably wasn’t even an actual nurse. He just wore scrubs because everyone who worked here had to.

  Going into the Emergency area reminded Hank how terrible hospitals were. Everyone sat in separate corners accompanied by their own private miseries. A family of four huddled around their mother, who looked so sickly pale Hank expected Penelope to growl as though the biddy was a zombie. A young girl cried in a corner of the waiting area, curled up in her father’s arms, sitting in his lap, an ice pack on her forearm. An enormous woman sat spilling over a seat near the door, her portable oxygen tank quietly pumping air into the tubes running up to her nose. Tiny beads of sweat shimmered on her temples. Beside her sat an older man who coughed into a handkerchief repeatedly.

  Hank tugged on Penelope to bring her to his other side as they passed, away from the duo. Whatever the old coot had, Hank didn’t want him giving it to Penelope. He leaned in to Penelope and whispered, “Never sit down next to someone like that. You don’t know what they have.”

  She shot him a confused look.

  “They’re sick,” Hank said, waving in the direction of the entire waiting area.

  Penelope nodded, her eyes darting this way and that as she took in everything all at once. The constant barrage of new experiences for her must have been taxing. She hardly considered where they were going when he led her into an open elevator behind a couple stepping out.

  Hank pressed the button with the back of his hand and turned to lean against the wall. Penelope looked at the three walls, but stood in the middle of the compartment while tilting her head his direction, as though asking him why he came in here.

  The doors slid shut behind her and she spun around. She knew the security gates at the EPS and other stations, man-trap style rooms with a door that opened on the other side once the one behind you closed, but she wasn’t prepared for the ground to move beneath her feet. She let out a hoarse yelp and ducked to the floor, putting her hands flat on the ground in a deep crouch.

  “Jesus.” Hank stepped off the wall and put a hand out for Penelope. “It’s okay. We’re in an elevator. You know, like the crane at the EPS. We’re going up.”

  She searched the room as though she didn’t trust his words…or expected zombies. Maybe using the crane on the EPS wasn’t such a good example. They only used that to lift cages from the kennels up to the roof. Penelope held her low crouch, like she meant to leap on anyone or anything that got too close.

  “Shit, didn’t Tom ever take you on the EPS elevators?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, then, why are you so—?”

  She rose partially, making lots of gestures with her hands, snarling, “Bad.”

  “Alright, alright,” Hank said, trying to calm her by grabbing her hands. She snatched them away and glared at him. He knew she didn’t like being touched. “No sense signing at me. You know I can’t understand you anyway.”

  Her glare hardened, but thankfully the elevator came to stop. Third floor. Penelope ducked again, looking at the ceiling as though she expected zombies to fall through. Once the shuddering of the elevator locking into place abated, she rose again. The doors swung open and she stared wide-eyed at the change in scenery.

  “I told you, up and down,” Hank told her. “This is a different floor. Come on.” He stepped out of the elevator and held the door for her. As she stepped out beside him, her eyes darting up and down the hall with a leery, cat-like caution, Hank whispered, “We’ll take the stairs from now on.”

  Thirty-Three

  Hank followed the sign on the wall toward the Burn Ward with Penelope in tow. Her head bounced around like a bobble-head toy. Everything seemed new to her, either that, or it was so familiar she didn’t even trust the walls. At the end of the hall, a small waiting room and a big desk blocked their path from going any further. A nurse stood leaning over a computer, typing and clicking on a mouse as Hank approached.

  “Can I help you?” she asked without looking up. She was an average-sized, average height, short-haired woman with huge breasts. The fact that she was bent forward made them even bigger.

  Hank swallowed. “Here to see a patient,” he muttered.

  “Name?”

  “Henry Opland.”

  “I don’t have an Opland in my Ward,” the nurse said, still refusing to look up as she typed with one hand and pointed the way he had come with the other. “Step-Down Unit is—”

  “Oh, sorry,” Hank said. “Patient name, not mine. Rebecca Palmer. Came over from the EPS—”

  “Relationship?”

  “I don’t know,” Hank said and shrugged. “I guess friend.”

  The nurse looked up and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, what am I?” Hank asked, furrowing his brows.

  “Hang on,” the nurse said and looked down at her computer again as she typed something on the keyboard and clicked the mouse a lot. “She has you listed as boyfriend on her admission paperwork. Congratulations,” she added with a smirk.

  Hank let out a chuckle. “Thanks. By the way, are there stairs down to the first floor.” Hank nodded toward Penelope. “She’s special needs, and we had a little trouble on the ride up the elevator. I don’t think she’s liking it today.”

  Penelope continued to look at everything all at once, her head moving side to side as her eyes darted around. She looked very much like a special needs kid, unable to focus on anything more than a second.

  The nurse eyed Penelope a moment, nodding slowly. “Sure,” she said, pointing toward the elevator. “Down the hall there. If you reach the Step-Down Unit, you’ve gone too far. You’ll see Exit signs on the right. When you get to the first floor, go back to the main lobby. Don’t go out the emergency doors, please. It’ll sound an alarm.”

  “No problem,” Hank said.

  “We have our own stairs, but if you open the door up here it will sound an alarm, so stick with those stairs.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Why don’t you two come on back.”

  The nurse stepped out from behind th
e counter and slid her badge into a sensor at the door. It beeped and the door unlocked. She pushed it open, stepped inside, and waited for Hank and Penelope. Hank grabbed Penelope by the sleeve and pulled her through, not letting go. He didn’t want her doing anything weird if anything unexpected happened. She tried to shake off his hold, growling softly.

  “Relax,” Hank whispered as he let her go once they were both inside the door.

  They walked quietly down a long hallway with wide-spread rooms. Most doors were shut. A few were propped open, the patients inside laying on beds with layers of gauzy wrappings covering arms and legs and necks, and even faces. Some were sleeping, others watched television or had a laptop on a bed stand. It smelled of antiseptic and blood, and there was a general low-level hum that drowned out most of the noise from everything around them.

  At the second-to-last room, the nurse knocked on the open door and leaned her head in. “Ms. Palmer? You have visitors.” She stepped back to let Hank and Penelope into the room.

  Captain Palmer lay partly propped up in a large bed centered on the far wall beside a window overlooking the forest. A drip line ran from her left hand up to a pump and bag hanging behind her head. Monitor wires draped over her left shoulder as well, crawling up to a device mounted on the wall. The television quietly droned something on the news Hank couldn’t see from the door.

  “Hank?” Rebecca asked with a little hesitation. Her lips quivered, her eyes bordering on tears.

  Hank smiled. “How you doing, Captain?” He tugged Penelope into the room, ignoring her swat at his hand where he grabbed her jacket.

  Captain Palmer wore one of those damned patient gowns with nothing to hide your keister, but even in that she looked gorgeous. Her short, dark brown hair was messy with bedhead—the kind that looked great to roll over and wake up to—and the tip of her stubby little nose went red as the first tear dripped down her cheek.

  She held her good hand out to him. Her whole right arm was swathed in sheets of sterile, tight bandages.

  “Hey,” Hank said, putting his own good hand in hers. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Her grip was fierce. “You came,” she said, smiling as even more tears fell from her eyes.

  Thirty-Four

  Hank didn’t expect that kind of reaction from Captain Palmer—no, Rebecca. He had to start thinking of her like that. On the EPS, she was all business, a tough woman with the weight of command on her shoulders, dry and emotionless on a good day. A bit testy on a bad one. Now she was Rebecca, and to see her like this was new territory for Hank.

  Sure, he’d had his fair share of crying women in his lifetime, but they were usually upset with him for forgetting a date night, or angry and telling him they were breaking up because he put his work ahead of their time together. He couldn’t even blame them, really. They were always right.

  Rebecca slowly pulled Hank down over her and wrapped her good arm around his neck. Hank had to keep himself from falling into her bandaged arm by propping himself up with the bed rails. The pressure against his bad hand made him wince, but he sucked it up. His own pain was nothing compared to what she must have been going through.

  Hovering made him feel like he was pulling away even though he wanted to hug her back. And it wasn’t just because of her condition. He really wanted to hold this woman and protect her, make the pain go away, make her happy. It was uncomfortably weird. He’d never thought that way about anyone before. That’s probably why his past relationships always failed.

  He managed to cup his good hand against the back of her head—so warm, and her hair felt like silk against his callouses.

  She sniffled in his ear and let out several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Hank could feel her arm slacken, but he didn’t pull away. He wanted to feel the warmth of her body pressed to his a little longer, something to remember.

  Her voice came as a raspy whisper. “I knew you were a good man.” And with that she gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and released her hold of him.

  He rose, enough to focus on her face. She wore an embarrassed smile, wiping at the tears with the fingertips of her good hand, still sniffling to clear her nose. Her eyes didn’t veer from his, though. She stared into him as if she wanted to be inside his head and hear his thoughts.

  “I’m, uh,” Hank replied, at a complete loss for words. He wanted to tell her how attractive she was, even like this, and how much of a fool he’d been not asking her on a date on the EPS. He wanted to assure her he wasn’t going anywhere, not until she got sick of him, but damn that felt strange so soon. “I didn’t bring anything. I should have brought flowers, or something.”

  “I hate flowers,” Captain—Rebecca replied.

  Hank straightened. “Good to know.”

  She sniffled more, pinching her rosy nose to wipe at it. Her eyes managed to break from his as she looked down the length of the bed. “Where’s Tom?”

  “Huh?” Hank looked back to see Penelope sniffing the curtains next to the television. “Oh, yeah. I’m babysitting.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was nearby, speaking softly. “How’d you get her across?”

  “Speedboat,” Hank whispered. “You’re not going to—?”

  Rebecca snorted a derisive laugh. “Are you nuts?”

  Hank breathed a sigh of relief. “I knew you were a good woman,” he said with a slight grin.

  Rebecca’s chin quivered and Hank immediately wished he hadn’t said it. She reached for a box of tissues on the stand beside the bed. Hank grabbed it and handed it to her, letting her pluck one out to dab her eyes with, sniffling repeatedly to try to control her emotions.

  “Hank,” she said, her eyes imploring and pained simultaneously. “I don’t like drugs.”

  Thirty-Five

  Hank would have spent the whole day with Rebecca if it wasn’t for Penelope and his phone chiming with another message from Tom. He dug the phone out of his pocket this time and took a look at the screen. Rebecca craned her neck to try to see it, too.

  And don’t forget Penny’s pills.

  Hank raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what was in the first message. He thumbed the phone and tried to find the messaging doohickey. Why was everything so hard to find? “Shit,” he whispered.

  “Here,” Rebecca said, motioning with her good hand for Hank to give her his phone. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Just a quickie mart,” he said, holding the phone out to her. “It’s a burner.”

  Rebecca snorted a laugh through her nose and took the phone. A bubble of snot lingered in one of her nostrils. Hank picked up the box of tissues again and wedged them between her good arm shoulder and the bed rail. She looked away, thanking him as she dropped the phone on her belly to took a tissue to wipe her nose.

  Rebecca swept and tapped the phone a few times. “So, what kind of nefarious activities are you engaging in to need a burner?” She shot him a quick look and held the phone out to him.

  “Huh?” Hank took the phone, thinking it had something to do with the message Tom sent.

  Will pick you up at eight. Booked you two in a different hotel. Everything sold out.

  And another one.

  I can take Penny in the morning after dad leaves.

  “Shoot, I’ve got to let Tom know we’re here.” Hank looked at his watch. Damn near two in the afternoon. He’d been with Rebecca for a couple of hours. Well, he’d been in the room for a couple of hours. Rebecca conked out about twenty minutes into his visit, and he didn’t want to leave her at the time, thinking she might wake up and he wouldn’t be there. That wouldn’t be good for their relationship.

  That sounded strange, even in his own head. They didn’t have a relationship, yet. Still, he was glad he stuck around. When she woke up, she stretched, squinted, recognized him, and smiled. Damn she had a beautiful smile.

  Now, Rebecca yawned again. “You going to text him?”

  Hank shook his head and stuffed the pho
ne into his pocket. “I’ll call him in a bit. You look tired.”

  Rebecca scowled. “It’s the damned medicine. I’m fine.”

  That was what she said the last time she fell asleep. Either he wasn’t good company, which very well may have been the case, or she was on some powerful drugs.

  Having Penelope in the room bothered him, too, so he didn’t talk much, and when he did, he didn’t say much, either. Even though Penelope seemed to not be paying them any attention, just by her sitting in that chair by the window, with her feet curled up and the television clicker in her hand, her eyes glued to some daytime drama, it just made him feel like he was the one on TV.

  “Maybe we should go,” Hank said quietly.

  Rebecca looked disappointed.

  “Do you have to?”

  “No, but,” Hank said and nodded his head toward Penelope. “Let me talk to Tom.”

  Rebecca looked at Penelope as though only just now remembering she was in the room.

  “Maybe I can come back. Do you think that chair folds into a bed?”

  “I don’t know if they’ll let you sleep over.”

  “Hey, I’m listed as your boyfriend,” Hank said with a smile, and realized too late he’d pushed his luck with her drug-addled emotions again.

  Rebecca’s lips quivered and her eyes narrowed as tears began to well in the corners. She reached for another tissue and held it to her eyes.

  “And maybe I can talk to the doctor about bringing your dose down a little.”

  Rebecca nodded emphatically.

  “Alright,” Hank said.

  Her hand grabbed his wrist, clenching tight. “Hank?” There was desperation in her tone.

  “I’m right here. What’s wrong?”

  “When was the last time you were afraid? I mean, really afraid?”

  Normally he would have been quick to joke, saying ‘Calling your mother this morning,’ but he knew that would send her over whatever edge her emotions were straddling. “I don’t know. Yesterday? The week before? The week before that? Hell, a lot’s happened to me lately that ain’t normal.”