“Get the camera off her,” Kennedy snapped.
O’Farrell’s eyes looked down at her chest to where the camera still hung from the strap slung over her shoulder. Penelope looked at it too, and then at O’Farrell. O’Farrell nodded quickly as though saying take it. Penelope lifted the strap over her head and stood with the camera in her hand.
Seeing Kennedy’s impassiveness brought back haunting memories. All the terrible things this woman had done to Penelope squeezed into a pinpoint of unadulterated hate. It swelled in her chest, suddenly bursting, unleashing the darkest rage Penelope ever knew. The camera, her only weapon, sailed through the air between them, flung with such force that Kennedy threw up both hands to block it.
Penelope lunged as she threw the camera, taking the three steps between them quicker than Kennedy imagined possible in such heavy snow.
“Jesus,” Kennedy said just before Penelope tackled her. Penelope hit with such force that Kennedy’s breath let out a resounding whumpf. She fell backward under Penelope’s weight. They hit the rooftop and Penelope rolled, gripping Kennedy’s jacket as her own body weight toppled her over the edge of the roof. She felt herself drop off the edge. Her arms straightened, her hands still latched to Kennedy’s jacket.
The force of Penelope’s weight yanked Kennedy over the edge with her. Everything around them slowed. The air grew heavier. Penelope felt weightless, but managed to roll on top of Kennedy as they fell. Kennedy’s outstretched arms flailed and swung in the empty air as though she thought there might be some kind of substance to it that would help her regain her lost balance.
The world stopped suddenly with an abrupt Phoom!
Penelope felt herself slam into Kennedy’s chest. For what seemed like minutes, the world consisted of nothing but darkness. She couldn’t feel her own body to know whether she was alive or dead, or worse.
Even though her eyes were wide open—she could feel herself blinking—everything was black. A high pitch rang in her ears, erasing all other sound, piercing so sharply it stung her very thoughts. She felt the weight of her body as though her blood was made of both lead and helium at the same time, buoyant but impossibly heavy to lift or move.
Her head rolled to the side. A wave of pain rolled with it, rushing from her head to toes, stinging like tiny ants while at the same time stabbing with enormous knives. Her vision came on like a light switch and she found herself ringed by white snow. The only thing she could see that wasn’t white was her outstretched arm and the body beneath her.
Penelope lifted her head to stare at Kennedy. The woman’s eyes were closed, her mouth wide open, her head tilted sideways. She hardly stirred. Even her chest only rose once to take in a small breath that died out with a soft ungh.
Penelope’s eyes faltered and she blinked to try to recover her quickly fading vision. Dots of blackness swam at the edges, filling in every point of vision. Her head sank down, suddenly very heavy.
Thirty-Two
“Up, up,” Penelope heard a demanding voice say.
She groaned in protest even as she lifted herself out of the snow with the help of something pulling the back of her jacket. It was a hand attached to the soldier, Jones, and he hauled her onto her knees. Her head swam, delirium mixed with dizziness that made her eyes jump sideways and then roll the other direction over and over again, expecting the world beneath her hands to slide away.
“Is she alright?” another voice called from somewhere distant, a woman’s voice that Penelope recognized as well—O’Farrell.
“A little woozy,” Jones shouted. “I’ll carry her.”
“Did you find the camera?”
Penelope turned her head in the direction of O’Farrell’s voice. The red-headed woman was climbing down the outside of the enclosed ladder. Had she dreamt O’Farrell being shot?
“No,” Jones called back, answering both of them.
“Look around,” O’Farrell said. “We don’t have much time.”
A moan rose nearby and Jones lifted his pistol, turning in every direction to find its source. There were still zombies out there. That thought helped Penelope focus on breathing. She inhaled the air, which carried a fresh emptiness, a complete absence of anything except the tinny scent of blood. Her own, she realized as she wiped her nose with the back of her glove. A smear of darkness stained the white and blue fabric. The moan rose again, and both Penelope and Jones realized it came from the crater made when Penelope and Kennedy finally hit the ground. Jones’ pistol turned down.
Kennedy groaned, her loose lips slurring a curse as she lifted an unsteady hand to point the pistol toward Penelope. The woman’s head tilted sideways as she tried to focus one partly open eye at her target.
Penelope’s heart stopped. She tried to move, but her mind and body were still numb from the fall.
“I’ll take that,” Jones said, pushing the pistol aside with his boot as he stepped across Kennedy’s body to straddle her. He pried the gun from her fingers.
“Jones,” Kennedy wheezed, her voice accusing.
“Doctor,” he replied mockingly, slipping his own pistol into his holster. He turned sideways and reached the other pistol out to Penelope. “Hold this a minute.”
Penelope took the gun gingerly. It was heavier than she expected. A cold, solid piece of metal that resonated with power. She hardly knew how to use it except to point it like Jones and the others did.
“Jones,” Kennedy gasped.
“Shhh,” Jones said, putting a finger to his lips as he unzipped his jacket. He took out his radio and held it to his mouth. “This is Jones. I’ve got Wendy and Penny. Penny and Kennedy fell off the roof.”
“Jones,” Kennedy gasped again, interrupting him.
He let his hand off the mic button as he leaned down to put a hand over her mouth.
“Kennedy’s dead,” he said. “Penny and Wendy are hurt. I have to leave the body.”
Jones let the mic button go and took his hand from Kennedy’s mouth at the same time.
“Jones,” she hissed, her one working eye narrowing.
“Jones, we made it out!” Hank’s voice called over the radio. “We’re outside. Where are you? I’ll come to you.”
“Jones, you—”
Jones put his hand over Kennedy’s mouth again. This time she grabbed at it and tried to bite him, but he just leaned forward and pressed her head deeper in the snow.
“No time. Biters everywhere. Fall back to the snowmobiles. I found the keys.”
“You’ve got the keys?” Hank asked as soon as Jones squawked off.
“Yes. Rendezvous at snowmobiles. Out.”
Jones let Kennedy go.
“God damn you,” Kennedy growled.
O’Farrell’s feet crunched through the deep snow until she stood beside Penelope. She fell to her knees as well, gasping for air, wheezing with each breath.
“Oh my God, that hurt,” O’Farrell complained, holding a hand to her chest where Kennedy shot her.
“Bullet proof, not pain proof,” Jones said. He turned off his radio and clipped it back into the inside of his jacket. “You want to shoot her back?”
“What?” O’Farrell asked in disbelief.
“God damn you,” Kennedy snarled.
“You know, an eye for an eye,” Jones went on, ignoring Kennedy.
“Fuck all of you,” Kennedy spat.
“We’ll do the fucking from now on, if you don’t mind,” Jones told her. He reached down and unzipped her jacket.
“What are you doing?” Kennedy asked, her words slurred. She squirmed to free herself from his weight. Only one side of her body seemed under control. She couldn’t move her left arm or leg, so Jones had no trouble pinning her one good arm and pulling open her jacket. He reached into her inner pocket and took out the box with the curative.
“You won’t be needing this,” Jones told her.
“God damn you, Jones.”
“Mason,” Wendy said softly. “I—”
“She’s not goi
ng to make it, Wendy,” Jones said. He reached down and turned Kennedy’s head to reveal the blood red snow beneath the woman. Blood drooled from a puncture wound behind Kennedy’s ear where a fragment of her skull pierced the skin.
O’Farrell said nothing.
Kennedy gurgled and rasped, trying to curse, but with blood in her throat. Jones turned her head again to cover the gruesome scene.
“Biters coming,” Jones said as he stood up. “We need to go.”
“But what about her?” O’Farrell asked.
“She’s dead.” He reached over to take the pistol from Penelope and handed it to O’Farrell. “That way.” He pointed the direction of the snowmobiles. “Get up. I can’t carry you both.”
Penelope tried to rise, but fell sideways. Jones grabbed her.
“Not you,” he told Penelope. “Wendy, let’s go.”
“Jones,” Kennedy rasped.
O’Farrell didn’t move. She stared with shock down at Kennedy. The bottom of the crater looked more like a shallow grave with Kennedy in it.
“Why?” O’Farrell asked her. “Why’d you do this?”
Kennedy smiled, showing blood stained teeth, but didn’t answer. Her open eye rolled back as though latching onto a dream.
“Because she could,” Jones answered, lifting O’Farrell by her armpit. “Go. Now.”
O’Farrell pushed herself through the snow past Kennedy’s dying body, looking down at it until she couldn’t see it anymore. Jones hoisted Penelope to his shoulder and carried her easily as he stepped into O’Farrell’s tracks. He turned to keep a watchful eye on the approaching zombies. Several figures manifested from the back of the building, coming around in search of food and shelter.
Several more loomed ahead.
Thirty-Three
Jones carried Penelope on his shoulder with one arm and carried his pistol in his opposite hand. His feet crunched through the snow quickly, sinking deeply with each stride. Penelope turned her head to watch as Kennedy’s body faded, along with her hopes of ever being cured.
Her body will just reject the curative.
She’s special
She was part of the vaccine study.
What did that mean, vaccine? Penelope wanted to scream. She wanted to climb off of Jones’ shoulder, run back to Kennedy’s body, and shake her until the answers came out. She wished she could form the words to ask O’Farrell and Jones to explain everything.
“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” Jones whispered as he passed O’Farrell in the snow.
O’Farrell glanced at Penelope a moment, then stared ahead with a worried expression, both hands cupping the handle of her pistol.
Penelope heard the confused moans drifting through the peacefully falling snow. Some calls came from the right, others to the left, and yet still more ahead of them, all asking one another which way? None had an answer. Rudderless, the zombies shifted course and meandered through the haze in search of anything.
Penelope swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She let out a grating moan, too rough, she realized at once. She gasped and sucked in her breath again.
“Wait,” O’Farrell whispered sharply.
Jones stopped.
“What are you doing?” Jones whispered over his shoulder.
Again, Penelope let out a moan, this time straightening her neck and lifting her head to elongate her rarely used vocal chords. Her throat vibrated as she hummed. She raised her tone and volume as she sought the right pitch. All around her the other moaning stopped. She took another deep breath and let out what felt like a roar of a groan, a call of alarm, a deep fear.
The call was echoed as her own voice faded.
“What’s she doing?” Jones whispered.
More calls around them resonated with the same fear, echoing and becoming distant, as though an expanding ring of noise were rolling away from them. The wail of fear was replaced with individual grunts and groans as one zombie after another turned away from the source.
“Oh my God,” O’Farrell whispered. Her arms went limp and she let the pistol dangle by her side as she stood upright, staring ahead of them. “They’re turning around.”
Jones lifted Penelope off his shoulder and let her settle onto the snow. He knelt beside her, watching in every direction as the zombies retreated, each struggling to walk in the thick snow, tripping over their own steps and sometimes crawling rather than trying to stand up again. Penelope smiled weakly, proud of herself only long enough to remember that the only reason she could do that was because she was a zombie herself. Her smile faded.
“This is amazing,” O’Farrell whispered. “I wish I had my camera.”
Thirty-Four
“What happened to Doctor Kennedy?” the Senator demanded the moment they reached the snowmobiles.
Jones slid Penelope off his shoulder and helped guide her down onto the snow as Tom rushed beside her.
“Never mind that,” Hank interrupted. “Where are the keys?”
Jones dug into his pocket and withdrew a handful of keys tied to strings. “There might be a little blood on them. That son of a bitch didn’t want to give them up without a fight.”
“Hallelujah!” Hank took the keys from Jones and held them in the air. “Eleven miles in this weather would have sucked ass.”
“What happened to Kennedy?” the Senator demanded.
“She slipped,” Jones said irritably. “Penny tried to save her, but got dragged off the roof with her. They both fell. Kennedy landed on her head. She didn’t make it. I think Penny has some broken ribs or something. She was making some funny sounds on the way here.”
“Penny?” Tom asked, reaching his hands to press her sides.
Penelope swatted at his hands.
“Does that hurt?”
She glared at him.
“Where’s Kennedy?” the Senator kept at it “Why didn’t you bring her?”
“She’s dead,” Jones replied irritably.
“We need to go back for her.”
“Fine,” Jones said. He stood and pointed along his own tracks. “Follow that trail. Hers will be the first body you come across being ripped apart and eaten by zombies.”
“Mason,” O’Farrell said, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. “Senator, she’s dead. She had a skull fracture that broke through the skin. She lost too much blood. She just…died.”
“Hot diggity dog,” Hank said from one of the snowmobiles. “This key fits. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Where’s Brooks?” Jones asked.
“He didn’t make it,” Tom said.
“They dragged him back in after we broke through the glass doors with Tom’s shotgun,” Carl said.
There was a somber silence. Jones shook his head and walked away to help Hank sort out the keys. Without a word, one by one the others went about helping to prepare their escape. Hamilton went back to dusting the snow off the snowmobiles and rafts. The Senator went to sit beside Larissa, who was strapped to the top of a raft with the blanket over her. Carl stood near the Senator with his arms folded, watching Jones. O’Farrell checked on the pilot strapped to the other sled.
“Penny,” Tom asked softly so the others couldn’t hear him. “Did Kennedy really fall?”
Penelope nodded. She sighed and closed her eyes, reliving the moment in a flash that made her nauseous. She opened her eyes and sighed. She shook her head as she looked Tom in the eyes, unashamed over what she had done. But they didn’t have a sign that meant kill.
“We really need to teach you how to talk,” Tom said. He fished another pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket and gently slid them over her eyes. “We’re leaving soon,” he said, squeezing her gloved hands in his.
When everything was set, they started the engines in unison. Tom drove the first snowmobile carrying Hamilton, Penelope, and the one-armed pilot who looked more like a corpse than a man at this point. Hank drove the second with Carl sitting behind him and the Senator and Larissa on its sled. Jones drove the third
with O’Farrell hugging him. Tom took the lead with Jones second and Hank last.
The sled hissed as it slid over the fresh powder. The snow fell sidelong past them, leaving only a wind so cold that Penelope curled up as much as she could in the rescue sled to cover her face and ears.
Time moved slowly in this manner. The engine chinged, the snow beneath them hissed, and the echoing whir of the other snowmobiles behind them went on and on. The only thing to break the monotony of their slow progress was the creeping of stark, snow covered trees just at the edge of her vision. Tom followed them like a road. For a while it had a lulling effect, calming her nerves and making her feel that maybe they were actually escaping without any further incident.
But that didn’t last.
She remembered the mounds of snow almost at the same time Tom veered away from the tree line, curving in a wide, slow arc. As he turned, Penelope gazed at hundreds of small igloos dotting the landscape. Several heads rose, shaking the layers of snow off to reveal large, round, alert eyes staring out at them. Two of the forms rose to their feet completely, bulls with shaggy fur that draped over their backs and clung to their sides, meeting in the middle under their bellies where the tattered ends drug against the soft snow.
One charged, its head down, horns driving low. Snow exploded in front of it, its hooves battering through the powder. Penelope turned away from the sight. Tom revved the engine. The snowmobile leapt forward, yanking the sled, but the bull turned with it, swinging its horns and clipping the back corner of the sled with a deep thump. The sled rose into the air, thrown off balance by the bull’s strength. Penelope clutched the strap across her chest as she felt weightless for a second time today.
The raft fell back to the ground, pulling her down with it. She bounced on the plastic shell. She felt as though the raft were being shaken side to side. She slid into the pilot’s body, then against the partial interior wall that kept her from falling out into the snow. The pilot’s weight pinned her against the wall as the bull lifted the sled for a second time.
Penelope heard the snowmobile engine scream and wail, but they didn’t move except for being turned sideways, and then the whole sled began to topple over toward the snow. Penelope put her arms up to cover her head as she slammed into the soft powder. She thought that might be the end of it, but before she could breathe, the bull struck again, slamming into the sled and pushing her through the snow, burying her one moment, then lifting her into the air the next.
The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment Page 15
