“She can clear our names,” Jones told the doctor in a softer tone. “Yours, at least. I just want her to fill in the holes.”
“Her telling you anything won’t bring back your memories,” O’Farrell said. She hooked an arm around his affectionately. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Jones replied. “So am I. I’m sorry to you, I mean.”
The door of the coach opened and M.B. Houston stepped out to give Hank a strong hug. Tom shook his hand and they were all ushered inside, Houston leading the way as Tom held the door open for everyone. Penelope leapt up the side of the train, eager to get out of the cold and away from Jones and O’Farrell. She stopped abruptly at the top, crouching and growling, her senses aware of the dangerous odor of zombies nearby. Tom lunged toward her, holding the door with one leg as he took her arm and lifted her upright.
“It’s alright,” he said, pointing into the car. She leaned forward, feeling the warmth from inside melting into the freezing wind, smelling the strong odor of zombies wafting out. “I know,” Tom added. “He keeps them inside with him.”
“What gives?” the soldier asked, looking suspiciously through the open door.
“She doesn’t like zombies,” Tom replied.
“Who does?” Mason asked, stepping into the rail car with a hand on his holster. “I mean, except her,” the soldier added, pointing a thumb at Doctor O’Farrell.
O’Farrell punched the soldier in the shoulder.
“Jesus, Wendy,” the soldier snapped, putting a hand over where she hit him. “That’s my bad arm.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, putting both of her hands over where she hit him. She walked beside him into the coach, but looked back toward Penelope with interest, which was even more disconcerting than the smell.
Tom led Penelope by the hand into the coach, letting the door close behind them.
“Welcome to ZQ HQ,” Houston said to the group. “This is where the magic happens.” He stood in front of an ornate wooden bar while gesturing to the whole room. This coach was a first class lounge car with a few modifications. The bar in the middle looked more like a desk than a place to serve drinks. To one side of it were several bookshelves stacked with an assortment of volumes of Z.Q. Magazine. A television hung behind the bar, playing the same news about the crash. To the other side of the bar was a large area with several different-colored drapes hanging from the ceiling, stands that held umbrellas, and tripods with black cameras—the same kind Tom used to inventory new zombie arrivals.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” Houston said to Hank.
“That’s because you stopped making your runs,” Hank replied. “I didn’t go nowhere.”
“Well,” Houston said, raising an eye. “You moved a little.”
“Oh yeah, they sort of blew up the Hill on me,” Hank replied.
“And the Island,” Houston added. “So I guess you’re going to be calling the Bend home for a while? I hope your luck doesn’t follow you around.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Hank said, rubbing his bearded chin. “I’ve got a favor to ask you, M.”
“Well, I didn’t expect with two wanted men in my office that this was a social call. You’re that soldier they’re trying to pin everything on, aren’t you?”
Jones nodded once.
“I’m not even going to ask your involvement with these two,” Houston said to Doctor O’Farrell. “Not yet, at least. Maybe over a drink, later?” He gave her a sly grin.
“Maybe,” O’Farrell said, her cheeks reddening brighter than her hair.
“So what kind of favor?” Houston asked, returning his attention to Hank.
“We need you to make another run.”
“It’s been two years,” Houston replied. “And does it look like I have an engine?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got your baby stashed nearby. Just one run, to St. Louis.”
“St. Louis?” Houston stepped away from the bar to turn and look at the television. “Out there, in that?” He pointed at the television.
“Yeah. Exactly in that, right there,” Hank said, pointing at the television too. A Doppler Radar image of the state showed heavy green washing through the St. Louis area beside a picture of the Senator.
Houston raised his eyebrows. He looked at everyone in the room, but his eyes lingered on Penelope’s.
“What do any of you care about what’s going on out there?”
“I care,” Tom said. Houston’s eyes shifted to Tom. “I think we can get to them before anyone else does. I think we can save them.”
“I admire your dedication to duty, chief, but why him?” Houston asked, pointing at the Senator’s image. “He’s got to be the biggest ass I’ve ever met.”
“He’s my father,” Tom admitted dryly. He sounded ashamed to say it, tired words that came as though he had been making this same apologetic revelation to people all his life. Penelope squeezed Tom’s hand gently.
“You’re joking,” Houston said. He looked at Hank, who only raised his eyebrows. “He’s not joking, is he? Are you all in on this?” He looked from person to person again in disbelief, hoping to find some evidence that this was all a joke.
“M, you used to make runs to the camps to bring supplies in the worst weather, remember?”
“The camps were easy. You’re talking about St. Louis, Hank. Ground zero.”
“Not exactly,” Tom interjected. “We only need to get as far as Scott Air Force Base.”
“Oh, well, just the air base. Whew,” Houston said, waving his hands theatrically. “So we’ll just derail along the way and follow the highway, right?”
“We’ve got another plan for ground transportation once we’re there,” Hank added.
“Oh, another plan. I hope you’ve got an additional plan for getting us home, too.”
“The train. Both ways,” Tom said.
“Sure, except how are we going to turn it around?”
“Just drive backwards. Trains do it all the time.”
“Shows what you know about trains and weather,” Houston said dismissively. “The engine needs to be in front so the snow blower can clear the tracks. We’re going to need to find a turntable or roundhouse—” Houston’s face showed a revelation and he snapped a finger. “Or a wye.”
“Why?”
“No, not why, a wye. Tracks for turning trains around. Never mind.”
“Those are just logistics issues. Are you gonna help or what, M?” Hank asked.
“Of course I’m going to help,” Houston replied.
“What?” Tom and Hank asked in unison. Everyone else wore looks of utter surprise. Even Penelope thought it seemed too easy from the way Tom and Hank expected things to happen. They thought he would demand some kind of payment.
“Are you kidding me?” Houston asked. “Your dad’s the front runner for president next year. The next president of the United States owing me his life?”
Hank’s mouth was open, but he said nothing.
“But I also want the story rights, too. Not just yours,” Houston said, pointing at Tom. “Everyone’s. Especially you, soldier. We should ink a deal right now, in fact.”
“Not everyone’s agreed, yet,” Tom said. “Hank and Jones and the doctor, they’re not part of it.”
“I’m in,” Jones said. Everyone stared his way in silent surprise. Doctor O’Farrell wore a critical scowl. “He can clear my name. I’m in.”
“Are you sure it’s just the Senator you’re going up there for?” O’Farrell asked him.
“Saving Kennedy won’t hurt,” Jones added.
“Glad to have you aboard, soldier,” Houston said with a grin. “We’re going to need some guns for this.”
“I’ll go too,” O’Farrell added.
“No,” Jones told her. “You’re safe now. Get across the channel.”
“And then what? I’m a zombie research scientist, Mason. This is what I do. And Midamerica has the highest concentration of half-breed
s alive.” O’Farrell’s gaze fell on Penelope. Penelope shrank behind Tom. “I’m going. If I can observe them and bring back photographic proof of their human-like behavior out in the wild, do you know what that will mean to our research? I just need to borrow one of your cameras.” She spoke directly to Houston while pointing toward the tripod at the other end of the coach.
“No camera, no joining up,” Jones said emphatically.
“And a gun,” the doctor added, ignoring the soldier. “I want my own gun.”
“No gun, no nothing.”
“Alright, you two. Can it,” Hank interrupted.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Jones told her.
“I’m going,” she replied defiantly.
“Can it!” Hank grumbled before Jones could speak. He turned toward Tom. “Can you imagine being on the duck with these two for four days?”
“I’m sure I’m going to find out,” Tom replied. “Are you coming?”
“I want the same deal you made with Peske,” Hank said, squinting one eye toward Tom.
“You don’t even know what that was.”
“It was good enough for Peske. Are you still good for it?”
“Deal,” Tom said, holding out a hand. Hank shook it firmly, nodding.
“Great,” M.B. Houston said as he clapped his hands together loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Now, who’s going to drive me out to my engine so we can get this show on the road?”
Five
Tom and Penelope sat in the Subaru with the engine running, waiting for M.B. Houston to come out of the coach. Houston said he wanted to get the soldier to sign a contract before leaving. Tom decided it would speed things along if he went and got the car. They sat idling, waiting for Houston to come out of the coach. Penelope sat behind the passenger seat, hunched as low as she could get, her chin inside her coat, glaring at Tom’s reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tom said softly.
“No go,” Penelope huffed. She managed to make the sign of danger while fending off the cold with one hand tucked under her armpit. There was no warming button on the back seats.
“I know it’s dangerous,” Tom replied.
Penelope didn’t stop her signing, talking over his words. Woman watching me.
“Who? The doctor?”
Penelope nodded.
“She is a little too interested in half-breeds, huh?” Tom said, turning in his seat to look back at Penelope directly. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her. Anything else?”
“Hess,” she hissed, signing zombie, smell, man.
“Yuh,” Tom told her, trying to correct her pronunciation. “Yuh-ess. Say it again.”
“Man,” she replied obstinately, pointing out the front window.
M.B. Houston, the man who smelled like zombies, was coming. Tom turned around to see Houston zipping up a jacket as he walked toward the car. Houston waved in at Penelope as he passed by the hood, a big grin on his face.
“This is going to be no fun at all,” Tom told Penelope under his breath.
“What are you driving this thing for?” Houston asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Shouldn’t you have a Jeep or something bigger? You’re Chief Registrar. Go grab a Hummer.”
“This has better ground clearance, and better gas mileage,” Tom replied as he backed the vehicle up to turn it toward the main gate.
“We’re not going very far,” Houston told him.
Tom drove them across the gravel field from the rail cars to the main gate and stopped next to a guard house. The door opened and a uniformed soldier in solid black stepped out. Tom rolled down his window with his arm hanging out.
“Afternoon, sir,” the soldier said as he scanned Tom’s arm through his jacket. “Heading out again, huh? Going anyplace special?”
“Actually,” Tom replied. “We’re going to go get a train engine. Can you call Chuck and have him move the cargo I asked for onto one of the well-cars?”
“I’ll give him a call,” the soldier said, looking up at the crane operator cockpit eighty feet above the EPS. The crane was used for moving goods onto the EPS, including the zombies held in the kennels down here on the ground. ‘Yup, he’s in there,” the soldier said, nodding.
The soldier walked around to the other side of the vehicle and scanned both Houston’s and Penelope’s arms. “Are you sure you want to take your lady friend out there, sir?” He leaned down to look at Tom through the passenger window.
“We’ll be fine,” Tom assured him with a smile.
The guard checked outside the fence in all directions before opening the gate. The moment there was enough room, Tom drove through. Penelope watched the gate close behind them, cutting them off from safety. The second gate began to roll open and Tom drove them into biter territory.
Penelope watched the road ahead, learning as quickly as she could the route back. Tom drove up the road and veered onto another street that followed the overgrown train tracks and the river beyond. She hardly saw the tracks through the trees. Tall grass and weeds grew up from cracks in the pavement, slapping the underside of the vehicle.
“This thing’s got heated seats,” Houston exclaimed as he pressed a button on the center console. “Just stay on this road for six miles,” he added, waving a hand ahead.
It was hardly a road. More like a seldom used, raised trail. The encroaching trees drooped over the straight lane of blackened earth. The Subaru pushed through low hanging branches that clanked into the headlights, snapped at the windshield, and swatted the roof. Some branches raked their nails the length of the car when Tom slowed to drive around a maze of their groping arms.
“This is why you want a bigger rig out here,” Houston said. “Push your way right through this crap and not even slow down.”
“But like you said, my rig has heated seats,” Tom replied. “And satellite radio.”
The road noise was too loud for listening to the radio. Penelope listened to the rise and fall of the revving engine as she let herself sway with the vehicle each time Tom maneuvered to avoid obstacles. A loud whump from beneath the car startled her at one point, but Tom said it was just a fallen branch. It sounded more like something trying to get in. The heavy aroma of Houston’s zombie stench inside the car only made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end the rest of the way.
“That’s the turn off,” Houston said, pointing to a break in the trees. Tom slowed and turned off, veering down the hillside and onto another obscured road that led through the wall of trees. How Houston recognized the place was beyond her.
“Welcome to Ironville,” Houston said. There were several rusted, metal buildings ahead and numerous rusted-out, decaying box cars littering what looked like an enormous open field. Small trees grew sporadically. Several tall cylinders that may have been ground-level water towers or fuel tanks stood off to one side of the complex. Two menacing looking engines blocked their way, each etched with the weeping stains of years of exposure to the elements.
“What is this place? A graveyard?”
“Of sorts. Ironville was the biggest train yard and shopcraft in Louisville history. Fifty-seven acres, six sheds, three turntables, you name it, you’ll find it here.”
“How about a working train? These things look like relics.”
“Perfect hiding place, huh?” Houston asked.
“Those can’t possibly run,” Tom said.
“Those? No,” Houston concurred. “We’re going inside.”
Tom brought the car to a halt and started looking in every direction for zombies. Houston and Penelope did as well. Penelope looked out the back and watched the tree line. She wished she were outside, away from Houston, so she could smell the air. This was the kind of place zombies liked to hunt.
“No biters seem to be around,” Tom said.
Houston opened his door and stepped out. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.”
Tom turned off the engine and climbed out. Pene
lope slid across the car and got out on Tom’s side, trying to avoid Houston. It was still bitter cold, a strong, steady breeze blowing easterly over the trees and bending the dry grass all around them with a hiss of warning.
Tom opened the back hatch and unzipped a pack. He pulled out a flashlight to give to Penelope and another for himself, and a shotgun.
“You want anything?” Tom asked as he slung the shotgun over his shoulder
“Just a light,” Houston replied. Tom tossed him one and zipped up the pack. He winced as he hoisted it to his shoulder.
“You OK?”
“Fine,” Tom said irritably, closing the hatch on the car. “I hurt it a month ago, but it’s fine. Lead the way.”
Penelope let Tom and Houston get a head start, smelling the air until Houston’s scent evaporated in the cold breeze. He was slightly upwind of her, so she took a course that arced around them, moving to where she knew fresh air would reach her.
“Those buildings are the old shopcraft,” Houston explained, pointing out the large steel structures ahead. “There are four rail lines cutting through here, so watch your step. They used to park coaches and engines that needed maintenance out here, and do the work in one of those two buildings. Paint jobs, engine overhauls, you name it.”
Penelope stood to take in a deep breath. As she suspected, there was a hint of zombie in the air. Too far off to be within ear shot, but if the wind changed, she knew any biters out there would smell the car or her or Tom and come looking. Houston smelled too much like a zombie himself.
“Keep up, honey,” Houston said. He stood at the nose of one of the two menacing engines. “I really wish I could have fixed this engine up, let me tell you,” he said, slapping the enormous steel giant. “I’ve had to cannibalize it to keep my own clunker in good order. A shame. She would have made the run a few hours faster than mine.”
Penelope caught up to Tom, but didn’t take his hand. She knew the rules out here.
“Let’s do a quick walk-around to make sure all the doors and windows are still nice and locked shut before we go in,” Houston added, pointing toward the second building.
They walked around it, looking the building over for signs of entry while checking the area for scat and other signs of recent zombie activity. When they came around and could see the Subaru again, Houston seemed relieved. He took out a ring of keys and unlocked a huge padlock locked to an enormous sliding gate.
Plagued States of America (Book 3): Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment Page 3
