The Angel Rise Zombie Retribution Experiment

by Better Hero Army

  “The men who tried to kill me in the video were not part of this group. What you didn’t see in the video was,” and again Wendy gulped, taking a steadying breath as she gripped the edges of the podium. “Outside, these two men who you all saw in the video, they killed several people and held me at gunpoint, demanding I lead them to Larissa.” She straightened a little, as though she had rehearsed the words a dozen times. “For reasons unknown to me, these men wanted Larissa Jefferson. They were willing to…to kill me for her.”

  “Were they Canadian?” a reporter demanded.

  The Senator gently tugged Wendy away from the microphones as he imposed himself between her and the press corp. “There is absolutely no evidence that leads anyone in the intelligence community to believe that Canada had any part in the—”

  “I’d like to say one more thing,” Wendy blurted, leaning back into microphones. “The two men who saved me, who brought me home. They were being held against their will by the same group and—”

  “Thank you, Wendy,” the Senator said, easing her away from the microphones. “Thank you for clarifying that,” he added, but a dozen reporters spat out questions that mostly drowned his words. The camera shutters surged again.

  “There will be no further questions for Doctor O’Farrell at this time,” the Senator said sternly.

  Two aides moved in and led her back toward the door she had come in. She didn’t look at the camera. She seemed shaken, unhinged.

  Hank looked over at Penelope. “You believe any of that shit?”

  Penelope shook her head.

  “Me neither.”

  Thirty

  Hank stood next to the cash register as he doled out yet another chunk of change for breakfast. The television mounted to the wall droned the morning’s top story mercilessly. Penelope sat at the booth at the end of the counter, watching him through a scowl. The intensity of her stare might cause others concern, but Hank knew it was just a mix of her anxiety over the possibility that he might abandon her, and her concern that she was alone in a totally foreign place.

  Back on the EPS, there wasn’t a moment she wasn’t with Tom. She may have shied behind him or hid someplace out of sight when others were around, but they were, for the most part, an inseparable pair.

  That’s not to say Penelope couldn’t take care of herself. She survived years in the Quarantine Zone, living in the midst of an enormous population of zombies, outsmarting them, using them to hunt for her, using the zombie children like guard dogs, and surviving in conditions that would have probably killed Hank.

  Of course, she had a couple things going for her. For one, she didn’t feel pain like normal people did, or the elements. Even now she sat in a tee shirt and jeans while everyone else wore long sleeves or sweaters. The biggest advantage she had for surviving the Quarantine Zone, though, was the fact that she was immune to Hypermax. Damned biters could latch onto her all day long and about the worst thing that would happen is she would get tired of the things trying to chew her apart. And when she did decide to go to town on a pack of biters, she had unimaginably quick reflexes, coupled with an overzealous employment of physical strength. It wasn’t that she was necessarily stronger than a normal person, but she had biter strength, which meant she didn’t have an instinctive brake or shock absorber. When she hit you, she punched through you as though she meant to punch the guy standing three feet away, and she didn’t care if she hurt herself in the process.

  Hank held up his index finger. He wanted her to wait. Plucking his phone out of his pocket, he stared at the piece of paper with Captain Palmer’s phone number on it. He felt nervous punching in the number. He had to take a calming breath before tapping the Call button.

  With the phone to his ear, he put a hand over his other ear to drown out the television behind him.

  “Hello?” It was an older woman’s voice.

  “Um, yeah, hi. I’m calling because I was given your number by your daughter—”

  “Is this Hank?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me. Hank Opland. Your daughter gave me your number to call so we could, I don’t know, swap numbers or something. We didn’t have phones.”

  “Yes, Rebecca called me last night.”

  “Oh, she did? How’s she doing? I mean, her arm. It was pretty bad. She tried to act like it wasn’t much, but…did she tell you she got burned?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Opland.”

  “Just Hank.”

  “Thank you. Rebecca told me they admitted her to the burn ward at Crosspoint. It’s supposedly right there in Angel Rise. She’s going to have to have surgery to graft some skin in a couple of places, but she said she’s fine. I didn’t believe her, of course. I’m driving up in the morning. I think that they have her on a lot of drugs because she wanted to talk to me for over an hour.” Rebecca’s mother chuckled. “And if you know my daughter, you’ll know she’s not much of a talker.”

  “We haven’t talked much, really.”

  Her mother chuckled again. “You might want to get used to that.”

  “Oh?” Hank stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his feet, irritated that he hadn’t even realized he was pacing in the first place. When he looked up, Penelope glared at him, her eyes bulging with impatience. Hank held a hand up to tell her to wait.

  “I’m sorry,” Rebecca’s mother went on. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. She’s just not very open, usually. But last night she talked a lot, about a lot of things. Things about…being over there.”

  “Oh,” Hank said, nodding. He understood, a little. Thankfully he didn’t have to tell his own mother anything about his life anymore. His parents had passed on fifteen years ago. “Yeah, it’s no Holiday Inn, that’s for sure.”

  “No, it isn’t, is it?”

  “Well, hopefully she hasn’t seen too much.”

  “I don’t think it’s been good for her, Mr. Opland.”

  “Hank,” he said again.

  “She mentioned that you’re one of the hunters,” her mother went on, and her tone made it sound like she didn’t approve of the idea.

  Hank started pacing again. “Well, yeah.”

  There was a long, dangerous moment of silence that Hank wanted to fill. The trouble was, he already had a good idea where the conversation was going, and there wasn’t anything he could say that would change her opinion of him. That was the danger of talking about what he did for a living. Sure, there was a sort of tacit complicity about it all, a begrudging tolerance that kept things civil, but the tide of public opinion wasn’t in his favor anymore. Not since that windbag Senator Jefferson made it his election platform.

  “You know, my daughter is an adult and can do with her life what she feels is right. After all, she joined the Army for God’s sake, but that doesn’t mean I have to approve what she does or who she thinks is—”

  “I’m not going to apologize for what I’ve done, ma’am,” Hank said calmly. He could feel her pursed lips through the phone, the squint to her eyes hissing like static over the line. “Getting into hunting may not have been the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ve saved hundreds of lives by doing what I do.”

  “Oh? And how do you figure that?”

  “Because every single human being I’ve brought out of the Quarantine Zone now has a second chance at life.”

  “So, you call slavery a second chance?”

  “No, I call it moving to the front of the line for the cure.”

  There was silence on the other end. Even Hank stopped pacing.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Hank said, shaking his head. He didn’t know why he got so easily flustered by her. He shouldn’t have laid into her so thick, especially given how much he actually wanted to talk with her daughter again, even just once. “I didn’t mean to argue…I just wanted to give you my number so if Rebecca wanted to call me she could.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Mr. Opland. It’s…it’s good to hear what you just said. After some of what my daughter told me
last night…some of the things I’ve heard…I just….”

  “I understand,” Hank replied. Penelope glowered, sliding to the edge of the booth. He held a hand up again. He didn’t think she was going to sit still any longer. “Look, I’d like to talk, but I’m sort of travelling and—can I just leave my number so Rebecca can call me?”

  “Of course, but why don’t I give you her number, too?”

  Hank brightened and grabbed a pen from the cup next to the cash register to write with. Hot damn, a phone number. He felt like a teenager all over again.

  Thirty-One

  Tom’s latest plan was to pick Hank and Penelope up around midnight, but after sitting around for half an hour watching repeats of the news, Hank had other ideas. Besides, they were going to have to check out of the hotel soon anyway, and he’d be damned if he was going to pay for the room a second night and not sleep in it.

  They walked to the edge of town with the zombie survival pack slung over Hank’s shoulder, Penelope close on his heels. She watched nervously as cars cruised by. It occurred to Hank only a little too late that she may not have ever seen vehicles cruising around unhindered.

  A big truck rolled by, the wind in its wake blowing them hard. Penelope grabbed Hank’s arm to steady herself, watching the truck drive on with a wary glower.

  “There are a lot more cars and people over here,” Hank told her. He patted her hand for comfort, which made her immediately withdraw it. “You’re going to have to get used to that. Don’t stand in the road,” he said, pointing at the pavement. “Don’t cross without looking both ways. Cars don’t stop for people.”

  Penelope’s eyes were wide, but she nodded.

  “And cars and trucks go a lot faster over here. No one expects a zombie to step out in front of them, and there aren’t any fallen trees in the road, and you don’t have to deal with cracks in the asphalt everywhere, or wash outs. Roads here are nice and smooth, so you can get places fast.”

  As the next car approached, Hank turned to face it and stuck his hand out, thumb in the air. It made him wince immediately. Damned rope burn across his palm stung like a mother—.

  The car didn’t even slow. Hank didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have stopped for an old guy with a bandaged-up hand and a scared-looking woman in tow. That was only asking for trouble.

  He sighed, walking backwards and looking for the next car.

  Penelope turned around to face the oncoming traffic as well, walking backwards as Hank was.

  “No, no, no,” Hank told her. “Only walk backwards to hitch a ride.” He shook his head, realizing how complicated and stupid it all sounded. Trying to explain the rules of the road and hitch-hiking to a twenty-something child wasn’t going to be easy. “Look, Tom took the Jeep, so we’re on our own to get back to Angel Rise. Do you understand?”

  Penelope thought a moment, then nodded.

  “Alright, good. Now here’s the hard part. It’s about twenty miles up the road. I don’t want to walk the whole way in this freezing cold, do you?”

  Penelope shook her head. Another car drove past, the wind kicked up by its passing only emphasizing his point.

  “So, the way you get a car to stop and let you in is to hold your thumb in the air, like this.” Hank held his thumb up as a car approached. The pain in his palm burned. He ground his teeth, but tried to wear as unassuming a smile as he could muster. The car passed without slowing. “Shit,” he grumbled at the car. “You couldn’t stop to prove my point?” Hank shook his head in disgust. “It hardly ever works,” he admitted. “One in a thousand cars will stop, but you only need one.

  “And this one looks promising,” Hank said, holding his thumb up again as a blue Chevy half-ton truck approached. He should have taped the bandage with his thumb pointing up. Every time he stretched his thumb, it tugged on the skin and yanked the bandage, and irritated the wound to no end.

  The truck roared past, blaring its horn. Penelope ducked and covered her ears. Hank spun and shouted at the truck, “Yeah, fuck you, too!”

  Penelope rose slowly, her ears still covered, watching the truck as it cruised away down the road.

  “Cars have horns,” Hank said. He felt sorry for her. This was probably the first time she had ever heard one used. Most guys disconnected them on their rigs, just so they wouldn’t make a noise by accident. “You’re going to have to get used to that over here, too. There’s a lot of noise in the Rurals, and even more in the Districts.”

  Penelope wore a concerned look as she fidgeted at making several signs that Hank didn’t understand, except the last thing she did was point toward the Quarantine Zone.

  “We can’t go back, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She sighed, closing her eyes, her pinched lips and clenched jaw showing her frustration. It made Hank wish Tom was here to interpret what the hell she said. Damn, it must have been hard on her being over here.

  Hank held his thumb up for the next half dozen cars, which drove past without even slowing. Penelope stood safely off at the edge of the road, hands covering her ears on their approach, wary of each as they passed. She looked like there was something wrong with her, which wasn’t helping their cause.

  “Hey,” Hank said, discouraged already at his results. “Why don’t you try it? Come here.” He waved for Penelope to join him, which she did cautiously. Another car drove by and she froze at the suddenness of it. “It’s okay,” Hank told her. “Just stand here, off the line. Don’t crowd the road. Good, now hold your thumb up, like this. No, out further. Extend your—yup, that’s it. Okay, here comes another car.”

  Penelope stepped off the road, retracting her hand.

  “Hang on,” Hank said, stepping behind her. He put a hand on her side to keep her from backing away further. She growled at him and he took his hand away. “Arm all the way out. You’re okay.”

  Hank watched the driver glance their way. He was an older man in a big white, dirt-covered sedan. The car slowed and he looked out at them both through the passenger window, his eyes as wary as Penelope’s. Penelope flinched at how close the car was when it passed, but the driver must have liked what he saw because he pulled onto the shoulder and slowed to a stop about fifty feet further up the road.

  “Hot damn,” Hank said and started for the car. Penelope followed close behind, leery of the vehicle, eyes darting this way and that. “Relax,” Hank told her. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

  Penelope didn’t answer. She fell back a few paces, veering off the side of the road for safety as she followed Hank to the car.

  The driver rolled down the passenger window. “Where you two heading?”

  Hank crouched to see through, to check out the driver and back seats. There were plenty of nut jobs in the world, but the old guy seemed harmless. He didn’t have one of those nervous ticks or that hard look of someone who knew death. “Just on up to that hospital, Crosspoint,” Hank replied. “Could you give us a lift?”

  “Sure. You’re not sick, are you?”

  “No, no, none of that,” Hank said, dismissing the idea. “Just visiting a friend.”

  The doors unlocked with a clack and Hank reached for the backseat door to open it for Penelope. “Climb in,” he told her, then leaned close and whispered, “Don’t close the door until I’m in.”

  Penelope shot him a questioning eye.

  “Just in case he tries to bolt.”

  Penelope still didn’t look like she understood. There was just so much to teach her about the world, a lifetime of skills to relearn. It made Hank wonder if they could ever really save all those who had been infected. Even just curing and rehabilitating the ones already brought back from the Quarantine Zone would be a colossal task.

  Hank opened the passenger side door and sank into the leather seat. It formed around him so comfortably he let out his breath. Damn, he could get used to this easy living again.

  Thirty-Two

  Talk radio. Hank listened to enough of that out in Biter Territory to last a lifeti
me. AM radio reached a hell of a lot farther than any FM signals, so it was that, sports, classical, country, or really old music that he didn’t think people cared for much when it was new. The driver had his radio tuned to talk radio, though, and so Hank suffered through it for the twenty-mile drive into Angel Rise, and then the eight miles out to Crosspoint.

  “Which building?” their driver asked as they cruised into the parking lot of the hospital campus.

  A six-story main building was surrounded by several three- and four-story buildings, one being a parking garage. Road signs pointed toward Emergency, Hospital, Medical Offices, and Clinical Research, but Hank didn’t know which one would house the burn ward.

  “Let’s try the main lobby,” Hank said, pointing the direction of the tallest building.

  The old guy let them out right out in front of the lobby. Penelope slammed the back door shut with her rear.

  “Damn it,” Hank snarled toward her. He leaned down, looking into the car at the driver. “Sorry about the door,” he said. “She’s a bit moody.”

  “Anything wrong? She didn’t say a word the whole way—”

  “Nah, I think she’s just angry with me for dragging her all the way up here,” he lied. He didn’t want to tell the driver she was just an uncivilized half-breed zombie who learned bad habits from bad people. He remembered that old hunter who used to hang around the Hill when Penelope first came in, a chain smoker—damn, what was his name? The guy used to slam doors shut with his ass as he lit a cigarette. Drove Hank crazy when he did it to The Jubilee. Damned irritable cuss, too, but boy did he know his shit. Penelope got to know him because the complaining old son-of-a-bitch worked for Peske on a couple of runs, and she sure as hell liked him. One of the few people she didn’t growl at the first time they met.

  “Well, I hope your friend’s okay,” the driver said.

  “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.”