Plagued States of America (Book 3): Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment

by Better Hero Army

  “I walked enough just getting here,” Kennedy said.

  “We can’t just sit here,” Brooks replied.

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” the Senator said. “We survived last night without incident. We’ll survive another.”

  “You didn’t have Larissa last night,” Tom said.

  “What?” the Senator asked, glaring at his son.

  “Last night, you didn’t have the attention of the half-breeds. Tonight, they’ll come. Maybe even sooner.”

  “I think you give them too much credit,” the Senator scoffed.

  “No, I think he’s right,” O’Farrell said. “They’re using tools—spears.”

  “Spears?” Kennedy asked.

  “One spear,” the Senator argued. “We found one spear on one half-breed. Tom, would you please stop trying to frighten everyone?”

  “Dad,” Tom pleaded.

  “Now is not the time for theatrics and fear mongering. We may be stuck here, but we have a lot of men with a lot of guns, and we know from history that spears and arrows are no match for guns. What we don’t have are keys to start those damned snowmobiles of yours. What are we doing about that?”

  Tom sighed reluctantly. “Hank is out trying to hotwire them. He took Hamilton.”

  “Well, that answers two questions. Where’s your little girlfriend?”

  Tom didn’t answer. He looked around worriedly. Penelope stepped out from the shadows beneath the stairs into a strand of light pouring through the windows of the terminal building. It may as well have been a spotlight for as much scrutiny that it brought her. She moved to Tom’s side quickly, fighting the urge to run.

  “Everyone present or accounted for, that’s good,” the Senator said. “Doctor Kennedy, will you be kind enough to start your work on my daughter? I don’t want her looking like this when we’re rescued.”

  Penelope took Tom’s hand and stepped slightly behind him. Although most everyone else now paid attention to the Senator, Kennedy’s eyes remained fixed on her. Kennedy leaned forward, tilting her head slightly to see Penelope better.

  “Danielle,” the Senator said to break Kennedy’s rigid stare.

  “What? Oh, yes. Of course.”

  Doctor Kennedy returned to where Larissa huddled against the wall, the wretched girl obviously frightened by the foreign surroundings and noises. Larissa tried to wail, but the gag-ball in her mouth muffled her cry. Penelope knew her fear. She wanted to rush over to Larissa and hold her, to comfort her and sing soothing sounds in her ear. The only thing that kept her away was Kennedy.

  Tom led Penelope away from his father. He took her to the chairs next to where Jones and O’Farrell stood and offered her a seat. O’Farrell sat down with her and they both watched Kennedy working with the girl.

  “So, what should we do?” Tom asked Jones.

  “If we didn’t have wounded and the girl, I’d say we hike out of here right now,” Jones replied. “If we had another snowmobile back on the train, I’d say one of us should go on foot to get it, and whatever spare keys might be in that cargo container the sleds were in.”

  “If, if, if,” Tom lamented.

  As they talked, Kennedy knelt down beside Larissa and tugged on the sleeves of the girl’s wet and tattered jacket in an attempt to remove it.

  “Who picked out your wardrobe?” Kennedy asked, letting the girl’s arm go with a sigh of frustration. Kennedy turned to face Penelope, again tilting her head. “Can you get her out of her clothes for me?”

  “I can help,” O’Farrell said as she stood.

  “Thanks, but her,” Kennedy said, pointing at Penelope. “Sweetie, you! Brooks said you’ve got a way with her. It’ll make it easier than wrestling her out of her clothes.”

  Penelope turned to Tom. He nodded, which wasn’t the response she was hoping for. She wanted him to tell Kennedy off. Penelope turned to O’Farrell instead.

  “I’ll come with you,” O’Farrell said.

  Penelope sighed irritably, but stood and leapt over the seats. She walked around Kennedy in a wide arc, avoiding getting too close, and knelt down beside Larissa. She kept her back to the wall instead of toward Kennedy. She took Larissa’s head and began to lift it as she leaned down, putting her lips near the girl’s ear before singing softly the trill of a mourning dove. Larissa’s head lifted toward the sound.

  “Holy crap, look at that,” Kennedy said.

  Penelope heard the clicking of the camera shooting photo after photo and knew that O’Farrell was taking her picture again. Penelope began to hum and coo softly, blowing her warm breath onto Larissa’s cheek, guiding her to turn and sit up. She began to slide Larissa’s arm from the sleeves of her weather-beaten, soggy jacket. Underneath, she wore a moth-eaten, filthy sweater with holes peppering it. The jacket slid off Larissa’s other arm and Penelope tossed it away.

  Penelope turned to look at Kennedy, nodding toward Larissa, asking with her eyes if the jacket were enough.

  “All of it, if you don’t mind,” Kennedy replied.

  “All her clothes?” O’Farrell asked. “She’ll freeze in here.”

  “There are blankets in the first aid kits you brought. We just need a rag and a bucket or something to clean her up with.”

  “Where will we get any water?”

  “We just need a bucket of snow, Wendy.”

  “That’s still so cold.”

  “She’s a zombie. She won’t feel it.”

  “Then why is she wearing layers?”

  By now Penelope had Larissa out of her sweater, only to find a long sleeve shirt underneath, and another shirt beneath that. That was typical of this time of year, putting on layers to keep out the wind and snow, to trap what little heat they could, and huddling together. Larissa burrowed closer into Penelope’s side.

  “Jones,” Kennedy called, ignoring O’Farrell. “Can you go find us a bucket and some rags so we can wash this girl? If you can find hot water, that would be great, but if not, a bucket full of snow will suffice.”

  Kennedy turned to O’Farrell with a bland smile. “Happy?” O’Farrell only sighed in response. “Good, let’s check her for parasites and clean up any pustules, sores, and infections. She’s got welts on her neck like Frankenstein.”

  “Is there anything I can help with?” Tom asked.

  “Some clothes for her would be great. Some janitor’s coveralls or something. Is there any luggage in those offices?”

  “I’ll check,” Tom said. “Penny, are you alright?”

  Penelope looked at Tom, then down at Larissa again. She stroked the girl’s hair and nodded. She was fine, for now.

  Twenty-Two

  “So what are you doing here alone, wallflower?” Kennedy asked Penelope.

  It was the day of the reception, back on the EPS. Tom was surrounded with people wanting to spend time with the Senator, the reporter with the camera on his glasses had come back, this time with the Game Warden, and Penelope felt nervous being around so many people. She slid against the wall between two fake plants and watched from several feet away.

  Penelope didn’t answer Doctor Kennedy.

  “You want a drink?” she asked, holding up a small glass with amber liquid and ice in it.

  Penelope shook her head.

  “Might be a good idea, actually. I don’t think we’ve ever tested the effects of alcohol on zombies.”

  Penelope glared at her.

  “Half-zombies,” Kennedy corrected herself, taking a sip of her drink. She didn’t apologize like Tom would have. “You know, I can help with getting rid of the ‘half’ in that equation.”

  Penelope glowered at her, not sure what she meant.

  “The cure, sweetie,” Kennedy explained. “I can help you become human again.”

  Penelope didn’t know how to reply. She could only speak a few words other than yes and no, and even those Tom constantly harassed her over her pronunciation. Nodding and shaking her head worked for most situations, but Penelope didn’t think
this was one of them.

  “I’ll make it simpler,” Kennedy said, taking another drink from her glass. She swirled the amber liquid as she spoke. “I’ll trade you the cure for a few pints of blood.”

  Penelope’s brows furrowed. She didn’t like the sound of that, either.

  Kennedy sighed and took another sip of her drink. “Sweetie, your blood is like gold, you know that? I’d just like a little of it, and you get the cure. Tit for tat? Trade?”

  Penelope stared at her with a blank expression. What was tit for tat?

  “Jesus, it’s like talking to the wall,” Kennedy said under her breath and gulped down the last of the amber liquid in her glass. “You think about it. I’m going to go get a refill.”

  Kennedy walked away shaking the ice in her glass like a bell.

  Twenty-Three

  Penelope expected Doctor Kennedy to ask it again.

  Trade? Tit for tat? Your blood is like gold. I can cure you.

  Those words swam in her head as she comforted Larissa.

  Jones rolled a cleaning bucket filled with snow up beside them. On top of the snow was a bottle of blue liquid and a stack of rags.

  Penelope held Larissa’s head in her lap, stroking the girl’s thick, tangled hair, cooing into her ear to keep her calm. O’Farrell dug at a welt with a pair of cuticle scissors. Kennedy used a pair of angled scissors from the first aid kit to cut at an enormous welt on Larissa’s neck. The dozen or so welts they punctured already still oozed yellow puss.

  “Tom’s digging through some luggage for clothes,” Jones told them. “He’s trying to find brushes and scissors too.”

  “Great,” Kennedy replied, not looking at him even though he hovered over her.

  He watched O’Farrell struggling with the tiny scissors. The blades of the scissors were curved and the skin hard, allowing them to slide rather than shear. Her fingers were also tired of working with the overly small finger holes.

  She sighed and stopped for a second, looking up at Mason.

  “Doctor,” O’Farrell said to Kennedy. “The half-breed Mason shot today didn’t have any tattoos. What do you think of that?”

  Kennedy hesitated, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “One of the original six, maybe?” Kennedy replied. Penelope couldn’t tell if Kennedy was being evasive or disinterested.

  “I don’t think so. This one had cognitive skills and tried to kill us with a spear.”

  “Tom was saying something about that,” Kennedy said thoughtfully. “Was it a spear, or a stick?”

  “A hunting spear, sharpened for killing. They’re using tools. And they have some kind of rudimentary language. I took pictures of them. I’ve got several shots of the one Mason killed too, if you want to see it.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t some crazed lunatic hiding in the woods? Maybe the same nut job that took the keys to the snowmobiles. Did anyone search him?”

  “No, but,” O’Farrell said, her words faltering. “I can’t imagine why an uninfected would be living out here.”

  “Can we talk about this later?” Kennedy asked with a sigh as she sat up straight to stretch her back.

  “Oh, of course. Sorry, doctor,” O’Farrell said softly. Penelope could see her stewing, though. She tried to cut at the welt she was working on, but the scissors didn’t catch the skin. “These things are useless.” O’Farrell shook the scissors from her fingers.

  Jones held out a large pocket knife near O’Farrell’s head and flicked the blade open.

  “This is sharper.”

  “It’s a bit too big for this,” O’Farrell said.

  “I’ll give it a try,” Kennedy said, taking the knife from Jones’ hand. “Thanks.”

  “Check her back for maggots,” Jones said.

  “What?”

  “Maggot larvae under the skin. I saw a bunch of blisters earlier when you rolled her out of her sweater.”

  O’Farrell shivered.

  “You’ve still got the eye,” Kennedy said to Jones with a half-smile. “Did you know he has photographic memory?”

  “No,” O’Farrell replied, looking at Jones with interest.

  “It’s an amazing gift he’s got. You’ll have to tell me everything you remember from the Island when we get a chance to talk later.”

  “Maybe you can help fill in the holes,” Jones said.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Kennedy used Jones’ knife to slice the tops off several more welts. The puss drooled from the open wounds and she pressed the back of the knife on each to squeeze them flat.

  Jones took off his arm guards and vest, tossing both onto his jacket at the end of a row of chairs. He laid down and propped up all his discarded clothes as a pillow, pretending to sleep again.

  “I’m going to catch some Z’s before nightfall,” he announced.

  Rolling Larissa on her side revealed exactly what Jones said would be there—small blisters with fly larvae inside. Kennedy sliced several open with the knife and dug out the larvae, flicking them onto the ground where they wiggled on the cold stone until Kennedy finished and stood up to smash them with her shoe.

  “That’s all of them.” She took a handful of snow from the wheeled bucket and began scrubbing Larissa’s back, gently at first, then with more vigor. Penelope tried to calm the girl, but Larissa squirmed and let out a long, muffled moan, reaching her hands to grope at Penelope’s shirt.

  “I can’t work on her if she’s moving this much,” O’Farrell said, lifting the scissors away from Larissa’s arm. “Why don’t we wait and clean her up on the train? Houston’s got running water and a shower.”

  “How are we going to get to the train?” Kennedy complained. She tossed the small remnants of snow from her hand and grabbed a rag to dry Larissa’s back. “Besides,” she added, her voice softening. She dropped the rag and stepped on it to sweep away the smashed maggots. “It’ll be better for her to go through all this while her pain receptors are partially blocked.”

  O’Farrell stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Once I hit her with the curative, she’ll start feeling pain again.”

  “Curative?”

  Jones opened his eyes and looked at Kennedy’s back.

  “That’s why we’re here, sweetie.”

  “Why on earth would you administer the curative out here?”

  “To prove it works.”

  O’Farrell’s face showed her confusion.

  “There’s something you need to learn about politics: you can’t get things done in committee. You need a fire under those slow wheels to get them spinning, and the Senator over there is making one for himself with his push to retract quarantine. He’s selling a war, an ‘us versus them’ situation that we can’t back down from. A war of patriotism, one that will finally reunify the country and do away with this zombie epidemic. Something to make us whole again, and return us to the stature of the greatest nation on earth.

  “But this new war won’t be fought with guns.”

  Kennedy unzipped her jacket and took out a small, rectangular box from her inner pocket. She opened it to reveal several needles in bags and a six vials pressed into velvet forms.

  “This,” she said, holding the open box for O’Farrell to see. “This will be the weapon used to put an end to the great zombie experiment that’s been crushing our nation. But it has to be proven in the field, right here, right now. We know the cure works. Sanctioning didn’t. We’re not safer now, we’re just saturated. We need to put a stop to things and clean up the mess, so we need to clean her up and make her look like the poster child the Senator wants.”

  O’Farrell leaned against the cold wall. Larissa burrowed further into Penelope’s lap, reminding her to coo into the girl’s ear to calm her.

  “Why her?”

  “Oh, any zombie would probably work to help grease the wheels, but this one,” she said, looking at the curled up child huddled in Penelope’s lap. “This one is special. His only daughter, the daughter he�
��s been searching for for ten years. This girl will change the minds of a nation.”

  The thought lingered for a moment. O’Farrell gazed with despair at the shivering little girl. Jones closed his eyes again and pretended to be asleep, but Penelope could tell by the glower in his eyes just before he closed them that a deep hatred stirred.

  “Did anyone bring anything to eat?” Kennedy asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Sure,” O’Farrell said absently, pointing toward her jacket that hung over a nearby chair back. “Outside pocket. I brought a couple of protein bars.”

  “Oh, Wendy, you’re a life saver. Do you think those toilets still work? I’ve got to pee.”

  Penelope nodded. There was no running water, but the bathrooms still had toilets in them. Kennedy started toward the bathrooms across the terminal building.

  “She’s crazy,” O’Farrell whispered.

  Jones nodded without opening his eyes.

  “Oh my God, Mason, I’m so sorry.”

  Jones opened his eyes and fixed them on O’Farrell.

  “I…I didn’t realize…I mean, I thought it didn’t work. It didn’t work on the other test subject, the one they flew in a month ago. And then when I called her, she made me wait. She made me wait until she arrived to administer the cure—oh my God, oh my God, why didn’t I see it?”

  “Wendy, slow down,” Jones said, sitting up and looking over his shoulder. Kennedy was at the bathrooms and turning on a flashlight. “You’re babbling.”

  “No, I’m not,” O’Farrell said hotly. “I’m trying to tell you it’s my fault. I did this to you. I let them do this to you.” O’Farrell’s head began to sway, her eyes swimming in thoughts that seemed to hit her from right and left, knocking her senseless.

  “Wendy,” Jones said, trying to get her attention.

  “She made me wait because she wanted to know if it would work out here. That’s got to be it!” she said, her voice rising in volume.

  “Quiet down,” Jones told her harshly.

  “I’m so sorry, Mason,” O’Farrell whimpered, still swaying, putting her hands on her forehead. “I could have arrested the spread earlier, but I was afraid. I was afraid of her and I was afraid I might have killed you if I didn’t do as she said.”