“Here, Tom, hold Kitty,” Peske said as he nudged Penelope up next to Tom. Tom leaned back, but tried not to step away. He didn’t want to let on how frightened Penelope made him. She didn’t look at Tom. Instead, she growled softly, baring her teeth toward the door. “Just hold her hand a second to calm her down,” Peske went on, loosening her noose. Tom reluctantly took her hand and she snapped her attention in his direction, glaring at the touch. “She likes you,” Peske said, slapping a pair of handcuffs over Penelope’s and Tom’s wrists in one quick move. “You three stay here and make sure she doesn’t kill him,” Peske told a few of the visitors. Hank and Dave smiled as they advanced for the door. “You three with the ropes come with us.”
Tom was rigid with fear. He forgot to let go of Penelope’s hand. She didn’t let go of his. She stood facing him, staring up at him, her eyes in line with his neck. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat racing or see his veins pumping in his neck.
Peske led the others in through the open door.
“What if zombies come out?” Tom asked Penelope. She let out a soft, long, guttural growl that rumbled in the back of her throat like thunder. “Well, that’s easy for you to say,” Tom said, hearing the tension in his voice.
“Behind you,” Hank’s alarmed voice called from inside the building. “Put him down, put him down,” they heard Peske mutter. “Tie that one up, quick,” Hank snarled. “Get a muzzle on him.” Their voices were urgent but measured, and when their words died out, the concern everyone outside had about events grew. Time dragged on slowly. It wasn’t long before the three men with Tom were discussing that maybe they should go find the other four, or go to the duck, or do something. Their argument came at a heated whisper. Finally Tyler appeared in the doorway and everyone lifted a weapon, expecting him to be a zombie.
“Hank says get in here,” Tyler told them. “We’re going to barricade the door.”
They had caught three zombies, tied them up, gagged and muzzled them, and shoved each in an old office. One of the visitors who had gone in with Tyler was watching the offices. Hank and Dave were moving a huge desk across the room. Tyler went up the stairs, motioning for Tom to follow. Penelope hissed over Tom’s shoulder toward the three zombies as he led her across the room.
They could see everything from the tower, even the other terminal building with the duck parked under the concourse tunnel. “Look at that, will you?” Peske said, pointing out a figure jogging from the tree line toward the duck. “Looks like one of your kind, Kitty.”
Tom came close to the tower windows and squinted to make out the figure.
“You sure it’s not one of the others?” Tom asked.
“No, I just saw them right over there,” Peske said, pointing the other way. He held a pair of binoculars to Tom. “Take a look for yourself.”
The figure was definitely that of a human, someone who was quick and curious. He would have thought them to be a human survivor if not for the paleness of their skin.
“I found the books,” one of the others said, pulling out giant black books from a cabinet under one the control panels. Tom kept watching the other half-breed as Peske went to learn about the controls.
“We’re here,” Peske’s radio squawked. It was Mike’s voice. “We’re going to have to clean the area. Weeds everywhere. Give us ten.” Peske swore at the news. It didn’t matter, though. No one knew how to turn anything on in the control tower anyway. Everyone started pouring through the black books to find operating instructions. Their general banter went on as Tom watched the other half-breed climb onto the duck, look around, and climb into the concourse tube. Tom wondered if the other half-breed would find Carrie’s body and, if so, would he eat it? Tom put the binoculars down and looked at Penelope. She was staring out at the airfield in wide wonder. This was a new experience for her, being this high, being able to see everything like a bird. What the scientists said about a person’s memories after infection was true. Empty as the day they were born. Everything had to be learned again, experienced as though it were the first time.
“Where should we look to find Larissa?” Tom whispered into her ear. She sighed, her eyes looking at him sidelong as her arm rose with an extended finger, pointing into the wailing forest. He expected as much, but was that fear in her eyes, or pity, he wondered? “Great,” Tom replied. “Do you remember what she looks like?”
She nodded, unclenching her fist to show him the picture still rolled tightly in her palm.
“What about the other half-breeds?” Tom asked. Penelope nodded toward the window, sweeping her hand across the whole expanse.
“Great,” Tom thought aloud. “Everywhere, huh?”
Penelope only nodded, looking out toward the trees, still fascinated.
Twenty-Four
He wasn’t sure why, but Tom expected more than just a small blip noise and one red, blinking light on a console unit to tell him power was restored. He expected lights to come on everywhere, alarm noises, and all kinds of computer fans to whir. Instead, the squawk of Mike’s drowned out voice erupted through the two-way radio. “It’s running. We’re going to make sure it doesn’t die, then come back.”
“You two,” Hank said, pointing at a couple of visitors. “Go down and keep an eye out for them.”
As a group there were several arguments over which book should be used first to start the equipment. There were several devices that all needed to be brought online. No one could figure out the order of things. Hank finally just started pressing in circuit breakers on the wall and flipping switches on consoles. The noise of all the devices started to sound a little more like civilization, a comforting thing for Tom.
“This is the radio system here,” Hank told them all. “Concentrate on finding the book for it.”
“I’ve got it here,” one of the visitors said and Hank ushered him over to get the thing working. The pages were irritably detailed, causing Hank to reach over and change pages after scanning them, pressing buttons randomly. “There,” Hank said finally. “Don’t touch it. Right there. Press that.”
The speakers in the room buzzed with the noise of some kind of military radio channel. Tom felt Penelope duck beside him, looking up with confusion. They heard voices speaking, talking about directions and elevations and approaches.
“It’s alright,” Tom told her, kneeling down beside her.
“Kid, get over here,” Hank said excitedly, motioning for Tom. Tom gently tugged Penelope by the hand, bringing her from her frightened crouch. He pulled her across the room and sat in the radio console chair, a microphone in front of him. Penelope crouched beside him, half under the desk. “Go,” Hank insisted, pressing a button.
“Um,” Tom started, trying to remember what words he should be saying. “Mayday!” he announced. “Mayday, mayday. This is Scott Air Force Base, Midamerica calling. Can anyone hear me?”
Hank released the button and there was a moment of silence not only from everyone in the room, but also in the radio speakers.
“Please confirm, Midamerica,” a voice answered through the radio and everyone cheered. Hank quieted them, pressing the button again.
“Mayday. This is Midamerica. We need urgent evacuation. My name is Tom Jefferson. I am the son of Senator William Jefferson, Colorado Districts.”
“Jefferson!?” Peske asked in disbelief.
“Shut up,” Hank snarled, taking his finger off the button.
“You’re a God damned Jefferson? Son of a…”
“Would you shut up?” Hank insisted.
“Midamerica, copy,” the radio announced. “Please confirm your last statement.”
“Will you shut up this time?” Hank asked Peske, pressing the button. “Go, kid.”
“This is Midamerica again,” Tom said into the microphone. “We need evacuation. Immediately. My name is Tom Jefferson. I am the son of Senator William Jefferson of Colorado. I was visiting Biter’s Hill two days ago when it was attacked. We managed to escape and are at Scott Air Force B
ase and need a rescue team sent at once. We have,” Tom began to say, then did the math in his head quickly, “fourteen survivors.” Was that right, he wondered?
Again there was silence on both ends of the line.
“You’re a Jefferson,” Peske said, sounding disappointed. Tom only shrugged. No sense trying to defend himself for anything his father had done. No sense explaining.
“Midamerica,” another voice came on the radio. “This is Captain Frank Smith. Who am I speaking with?”
“Tom Jefferson. Son of Senator William Jefferson. My District Pass number is 54388A7. Call my father to confirm.”
“Midamerica, standby.”
And they did for what seemed an eternity. Tom looked over his shoulders at everyone pressed close. Penelope looked like a confused puppy, her head sideways as she stared at the blinking lights all around her.
“Midamerica, do you copy?”
“Yes, we’re here,” Tom said into the mic.
“We have confirmation. A rescue team is being scrambled. ETA is forty minutes,” Captain Smith said and everyone cheered again. They were so loud Tom couldn’t hear what else was being said. He swore he heard the captain saying more.
“We didn’t catch all that,” Tom said into the radio. The others grew silent.
“We have confirmation. A rescue team is being scrambled. ETA is forty minutes,” the captain repeated.
Another squawk from the handheld caught everyone’s attention. They turned collectively toward the other end of the room, dead silent, looking at the hand-held radio Peske left there. Peske moved to the radio, picking it up.
“Did you hear that?” Peske asked everyone. Hank nodded as he turned down the volume to the tower radio.
“John, do you copy?” Mike’s voice asked softly, cutting through their silence, a moaning coming with his voice.
“Copy,” Peske said.
“John, we got ambushed,” Mike replied with dread. “Oh, shit!” The radio went silent.
“Mike?” Peske whispered into the radio. “Mike, I’m here. Copy?” he asked again, his voice urgent as he moved to the windows of the control tower to look across the airstrip toward the area he knew the generator to be. “Mike? Where are you?” he whispered.
Everyone remained silent. The tower radio continued to carry voices of pilots and other controllers, but Hank turned the volume as quiet as he dared.
“Come on,” Peske said to Tom while grabbing him by the collar. Peske stuffed the radio into Hank’s hand. “Listen for Mike and the others.”
“I’m coming too,” Hank announced.
“You stay here and keep these knuckleheads safe,” Peske replied. “I’ll find them.”
“He stays too,” Hank replied, pointing at Tom.
“I need her to help me find them,” Peske told Hank, pointing at Penelope. “And I left the keys on the duck.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tom replied. He was stuck chained to her?
“I wish I were,” Peske replied, marching across the control tower for the stairs.
“I’ll go with them,” Tyler said, grabbing a zombie pole and following. “Me too,” said another man.
“Would you all sit down?!” Peske answered hotly. “I don’t need an army.”
“I’m coming,” Tyler said defiantly.
“Fine,” Peske snorted and started down the stairs. “Bring my half-breed!”
Twenty-Five
The four of them crossed the air field under the watch of the control tower. Tom felt as though a thousand other eyes were on them as they wove their way through hideous piles of bones hidden by the knee high grass. Crows and ravens were everywhere, fighting with seagulls and other birds over a couple carcasses with a little meat still on them. The birds barely moved out of the way at their passing.
“Do you remember that old bird movie?” Tyler said nervously, glancing around.
“Shut up,” Peske hissed.
They reached the buildings on the other side and Peske stopped. “Alright,” he said. “You two go that way, you come with me.”
“Why are we splitting up?” Tyler asked.
“Because we don’t know which way they ran,” Peske said irritably. “She’ll keep you safe,” Peske told Tom reassuringly. “She knows the area. Here, take this ball and muzzle. Shut her up if she starts wailing or moaning.” Tom knew the old slaver meant if they found Larissa, and not Penelope. “Sorry about the handcuffs. I didn’t figure it this way.”
“It’s alright,” Tom said, looking down at his hand still holding Penelope’s. Had he even let her hand go since being handcuffed to her? Had she let him go? Being linked like this gave him a little more assurance. “I’d rather be cuffed to her than you.”
“I think she agrees,” Peske said with a lecherous wink. Tom sighed in disgust. “Come on,” Peske told Tyler and started off toward the buildings.
“I thought we needed her,” Tyler was arguing quietly.
Tom looked sideways at Penelope. She turned to face him, staring up into his eyes. She must have sensed his reluctance, his mounting fear now that they were alone and he had to actually do what he had come here to do. She cocked her head toward the forest but didn’t move.
“Alright,” Tom said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Penelope led them down a side road that followed the length of the air strip. It showed signs of zombie occupation. Skeletal remains of every kind were strewn about haphazardly. Scat littered the road and sidewalks as though the zombies simply defecated while ambling along. The overgrown grass was trampled around every open doorway, an indication that something had come or gone recently. Penelope moved quickly, almost dragging him by their cuffed arms, her hand clutching his tightly.
Looking back, Tom saw movement and he gave Penelope’s hand a tug, pointing behind him when she looked his way. She grunted and pointed urgently for him to keep going. They could outrun a zombie on foot, but their moans brought others in the same way dogs called to one another on the hunt. Tom was aware she wanted to stay far enough ahead of whatever it was to avoid being trapped. Peske and Tyler were the only ones who had any weapons. That wasn’t true, he thought. Tom felt his cargo pocket for the bump of the killing injector. He had one weapon.
They turned a corner and jogged along another street straight for the tree line. Tom didn’t dare look back anymore. He expected to see hundreds of zombies shuffling after them. When they reached the shade of the trees, Penelope spun Tom around. She hissed, baring her teeth again, and Tom didn’t know why until suddenly another figure darted out from a line of shade at an angle, running from the last building and into the trees further south of them.
“A half-breed?” Tom asked breathlessly. Penelope nodded. “Do we have to worry about him?” Again Penelope nodded. Penelope pointed, this time north toward the air strip. Another half-breed was darting into the tree line. They were fast. A lot faster than any zombie. “What are they doing here?” Tom asked. Penelope made the sign Tom had learned she used for children. At the mention of the word he began to notice that the bird-like wails he had been hearing since arriving on the airstrip had grown much louder. He turned around to look deeper into the shadows. The underbrush was trampled everywhere, leaving it easy to walk through. Penelope gave his hand a soft tug and led the way into the shadows.
Twenty-Six
The sight of the first zombie child startled him. He jumped in place and tried to back away, but Penelope gripped his hand tighter, glaring at him. The little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, was standing facing a tree, her moonglow eyes flittering open and shut. Penelope raised a finger to her mouth to tell him to be quiet and nodded for him to follow. As they waded deeper into the forest, more and more zombie children began to appear everywhere. They stood unmoving, their eyes mostly shut, some wide open and staring toward the sky, wailing, rocking back and forth. Not one of them was older than twelve years of age, and in a few minutes Tom lost count of how many they passed. A hundred at least.
Penelope kept them moving, crisscrossing through the woods, her head turning every direction as she found each one and looked at the face a moment to see if it was Larissa. Every so often Penelope opened her other hand to look at Larissa’s photo.
The children were all sleeping, Tom realized. Those that weren’t sleeping were crying – the wailing. Peske had said they cried because they were hungry. He wondered how they were fed, worried that Penelope was about to show him by offering him up. That was ridiculous, he forced himself to think. She was looking at every child, looking for Larissa. He should be helping. He started looking at all their blank faces, their lost expressions. He felt their sorrow. They cried out of abandonment, or at least that’s what he perceived.
Penelope came to a rigid stop. Tom turned to see what she looked at. It was a girl some distance off. It had been so long he didn’t recognize his own sister. She didn’t even look the same. Her hair was a mottled mess of twigs, leaves, knots, and filth draping down her back like broom quills. Her head looked upward, her mouth open, wailing. Her face appeared gaunt, almost sunken, her skin cracked and broken, blood welts everywhere, lesions from mosquitos and other insect bites covering her exposed skin. Penelope drew them closer, holding out the picture of Larissa, holding it against the zombie child’s face. It was her, but Tom couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
Penelope chuffed, nodding toward Larissa.
“That’s her,” Tom whispered. This was what he had done to his sister. A mindless adolescent zombie, begging for scraps, wailing day and night. He knew how she got here from St. Louis. Ever since Peske mentioned the airstrip, Tom remembered that this was where all the infected were taken out of St. Louis when the outbreak first occurred. When the soldiers took Larissa from him, this is where she must have been brought, but how had she survived ten years? Inhuman.
Tom fingered for the inhibitor in his pocket, unbuttoning his cargo pouch and then peeling open the kit. If Larissa bit him, he wanted to be ready. He shoved the ball Peske had given him into Larissa’s mouth and she stopped wailing immediately, biting down hard on the thing. Tom covered her mouth and nose with the muzzle, reaching around behind her head to secure it. The filthy, moss-like tendrils that sprouted out of her head like some surrogate for hair was disgusting. It felt like a mop dipped in cold tar. He held up the hair on the back of her head and took another steadying breath. The back of her neck at her left shoulder. The birthmark. He wiped at the skin but it was smeared with dark, greasy mud. He spat on it and wiped again and again, scraping away years of crud coating her pale, cold skin. It was there. It was her. This doppelganger was Larissa.
Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment (Plagued States of America) Page 9
