The Liger Plague (Book 1)

by Joseph Souza

  “You shot that civilian in cold blood,” he said, slipping into military jargon.

  “If I didn’t pop the bastard, he would have taken a bite out of your ankle. So tough cookies for him.”

  “I was thanking you, Versa.”

  “No need to thank me. I need you alive if I’m gonna also make it out of this mess and return home,” she said, pointing a finger in his face. “Let’s get something straight, though. I don’t need your gratitude or your patronizing tone, you hear? Just find your family, clean this mess up you started, and then get off my island.”

  “I would have done the same for you.”

  “I’m sure you would have,” she said, punching his shoulder. “You feeling good enough to move?”

  “My head hurts pretty badly, but at least the spinning stopped. I think I might have a concussion.”

  “Any Tylenol in that backpack of yours?”

  “In the side pocket with the zipper. Can you get me a couple?”

  He could hear her pull down the zipper, unscrew the cap, and then zip it back up. She dropped the four tablets into his palm, and he quickly swallowed them. Hopefully, the medicine would take effect soon, and he’d be able to walk without too much pain.

  “Did you see those poxers up there, Colonel? The whole family came down with the crud. Looked like they bit off their own fingers. And what was that horrible smell?”

  “It comes from the gases given off when their skin begins to separate from the body.”

  “Worst thing I ever smelled in my life. That or whenever my husband came home from a day of lobstering—the drunken bum.”

  “They must have used their cell phones. The basal ganglion is a very mysterious part of the brain, the region known to control our emotions and shape personality.”

  “I once was a nurse, Colonel, and I still don’t understand what would cause a person to bite off their own fingers.”

  “Did you see the guy’s mouth? He’d chewed off his upper lip and part of his gums too. These people have an overriding desire to self-mutilate in the same way some people like to cut themselves. The medical literature claims that they feel every bit of pain, yet they still choose to injure themselves. It appears that they’re willing to attack other people too, which changes the whole dynamic of this situation.”

  “Good thing we’re armed and dangerous.”

  “Sure, but we can’t just go around killing everyone on this island.”

  “Why not? Half the idiots living here are either morons or outsiders, and the other half want to kill us.”

  “They’re sick human beings, Versa. They deserve a modicum of respect.”

  “They deserve a bullet to the brain if they try and come after me. I’m shooting first and asking questions later.”

  “We should shoot only as a last resort.”

  “Ha! I blew that guy’s head clear off, Colonel, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving our lives.”

  “Okay, but maybe we can do this more efficiently. We know that light is painful to their eyes. The first thing we should do upon entering these homes is open all the shades, remove the blankets, cardboard and blankets covering the window panes and let in the sunlight. It should help keep us safe while were searching.”

  “‘Let there be light,’ spoke God,” Versa said. “‘And God saw that the light was good. And then God separated the light from darkness. ’”

  “You going biblical on me now?”

  “Maybe God’s trying to tell us something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how we should stop messing around with Mother Nature and leave things be. Maybe you should have thought of that rather than playing around in God’s garden with these bugs.”

  “What do you think I was doing all those years in my lab? I was working to save people’s lives by coming up with vaccines against these lethal viruses. Every day in third world countries people perish from these terrible afflictions. And what about all the terrorists trying to kill Americans by using these biological organisms as weapons?”

  “Maybe that’s what God meant, that we should probably leave certain things to Him. It’s not just you messing around with these viruses, Colonel, but all the dictators the world over trying to have their way. It’s God’s domain and not ours. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Shall we move on to the next house?”

  “It’s your nickel.”

  “Yeah, it’s my nickel, and I say we keep moving.”

  “Then stop yer yapping and get a move on. Because you know what’s going to happen when the sun starts to go down. We’ll be out here in the dark with these poxers pouring out onto the street. Then what are we going to do, Colonel? We only got one flashlight.”

  “We have about eight hours before the sun starts to set. That doesn’t leave us much time, so we’re going to need every last minute. We should grab every flashlight we come across. That and our firearms might be the only things that save us.”

  “Now you’re making sense, Colonel. Let’s hope when this is all said and done, Cooke’s Island will return to the way it used to be before all you outsiders came over and ruined everything.”

  He smiled. “Does that mean you don’t want me as a neighbor, Versa?”

  “No offense, Colonel, but exchanging cards around Christmas will be fine with me.”

  Tag burst out laughing. As uncalled for as that response seemed, it sounded funny to his ears, and the humor seemed to lighten the mood just enough to make this grim task tolerable. Versa had no censor to her flapping gums, but he’d begun to develop a deep and abiding sense of respect for her. He supposed he could whine about his situation, but what good would it do now? He had a job to do.

  One house down, over five hundred more to go. The clock was ticking, and they needed to get moving.

  Chapter 15

  After searching through a dozen houses, they moved to the next one. The first thing he and Versa did upon entering was to open the curtains and remove every blanket draped over the windows. Sunlight poured in and brightened the room. The inhabitants had destroyed everything in it, upending furniture and tossing trash all over the floor in a violent rage. The walls had holes punched in them; the floors were scraped and dented. He ventured upstairs and found all the bedrooms empty. Then he went down to the basement and searched around. Everything in the unfinished basement appeared neat and orderly, defying expectations. He was about to head back upstairs when he heard a noise coming from one of the back rooms. It sounded like a tool or broom falling to the floor. He tiptoed over and discovered a door off in the corner. Putting his ear up against the wood, he thought he heard someone moving inside.

  He banged on the door and heard a gasp. The person inside stumbled back and caused some items to crash to the floor.

  “Who’s in there?”

  “Go away!” a young boy’s voice cried out.

  “You all right, son? I’m here to help.”

  “Bull crap! Like those other guys who helped my parents? No thanks, mister, I got a gun to protect myself, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “Don’t shoot. I’m only looking for my family,” Tag said. “What did these men do to your parents?”

  “A bunch of them biker guys dragged them out of our house. I haven’t seen them since. Now go away and leave me alone before they find me too.”

  “Are you sick? Is this your house?”

  “Hell no, I’m not sick. And this isn’t my house. I live on the other side of the island. My dad’s a lobsterman, and my mom waits tables. I started looking for them but came in here to hide when everything started going crazy and them weirdoes started attacking people.” The kid opened the door and stepped out of the shadows.

  “You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I haven’t eaten nothing. I’m so hungry it hurts.”

  Tag reached in his backpack and took out a protein bar and handed it to the boy. The scrawny kid ripped open the package and wolfed down
the bar in no time. His greasy hair spiked up in every direction, and he looked filthy and smelled even worse. When he finished, he asked Tag if he could have another. Tag reached in his pack and pulled out a second bar and gave it to him, and he proceeded to devour that one as well.

  “You’re a hungry little dude.”

  “Who the crap are you?”

  “Colonel Tag Winters, U.S. Army,” he said. “I own a summer house on the southern tip of the island.”

  “Heck, that’s where all them rich folks live. My dad makes fun of all them summer people. Says Cooke’s Island used to be a good place once, with hardworking people. Only good thing about the rich, he says, is that they buy lots of his lobsters.”

  “And you are?”

  “Tommy Feswick, but everyone calls me Fez.”

  “My friends call me Tag,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Please to meet you, Tag,” Fez said, shaking it.

  “Well, Fez, I don’t have time to stand here and talk with you all day about who your father likes and dislikes. Someone on this island kidnapped my wife and daughter, and I’m out here looking to find them before it’s too late. Suppose you can either come with us or do as you will.”

  “That’s sweet,” Fez said, his eyes getting big upon spotting the Magnum. “My dad always wanted one of them guns. Mind if I hold it?”

  Tag passed it over to him and watched as the kid pretended to shoot. After a few seconds he handed it back.

  “Can I come with you? Maybe I can find my family while we’re at it.”

  “Be my guest, kid, but you’re going to have to put up with Versa.”

  “Who’s Versa?”

  “She’s a longtime resident of Cooke’s Island. Be forewarned, though, she’s one of these cranky old broads. Said her husband was a lobsterman too.”

  “Never heard of her.” Fez shrugged. “Got more than a few lobstermen on Cooke’s.”

  “I have to warn you, kid; you’re going to see some things on this island that you’ve probably never seen before. Most of the people on Cooke’s have gotten sick and have become extremely dangerous and unpredictable.”

  “I went down to the water yesterday and saw something strange happening out in the bay. A few people jumped in the ocean and tried to swim across to Portland on floats or life preservers or whatever they were using. Looked like tourists to me.”

  “What happened?” Tag asked, a note of panic in his voice.

  “That’s the scary part. I seen some guys in these black boats cruising around the island. They told the swimmers to turn around and head back to shore, but them stupid tourists didn’t listen. Nope, they kept on swimming like they was determined to make it to land. The guys in the black boat shot them dead. Then they fished out the bodies, put them in these plastic bags and zippered them shut. I was hiding behind a rock when it happened.”

  “Jesus! You mean to tell me they gunned down innocent people?”

  “Yeah, and with real big rifles, too.”

  “If you’re going to come along with us, Fez, you need to do exactly as I say. Agreed?”

  “Sure, Tag. I’ll do anything you tell me to do.”

  They returned upstairs, where Versa sat in an easy chair, waiting for them to come up from the basement. After a quick introduction, they prepared to exit the house. They were about to leave when a gunshot sounded out in the street. The three of them hit the floor. Tag and Fez crawled over to the bay window, lifted up the drape, and peered outside. A group of men walked down the street, firing their guns up into the houses. They wore red bandanas wrapped around their faces to keep from breathing any contaminated air. The makeshift mask had obviously worked as none of them appeared to have come down with the pox. Tag figured the red bandanas also doubled as a form of gang identity.

  “Those are the same guys that dragged my family out of our house.”

  “Were your parents sick when they took them?”

  “Said they were sweating and ached all over. My parents had gone downtown to sell my dad’s lobster catch to some of the restaurants. I was out surf fishing, and then I went over to my grandfather’s house to spend the night. By the time I got back home, the two of them were all hot and puking in chowder pots. My mom told me to stay in my room so that I didn’t catch the flu.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I watched from the top of the steps when the men forced my parents out of the house. Two of the guys led them into the woods behind the shed. I hid in the closet upstairs so they wouldn’t find me. Then the next morning they were gone.” Tears dripped from his eyes.

  “I’m real sorry, kid.”

  “I wanted to kill the bastards,” Fez said, punching the wall. “Maybe they’re the ones who took your family, Tag.”

  “Maybe. Let’s follow them to see where they’re going. Maybe you’re right and they did take my family. If that’s the case, we’ll make them pay for what they did.”

  They waited until the men were far enough away before they made their way down the stairs. They hid behind some parked automobiles and then crept alongside them so as not to be seen. The seven gang members were heading down the street and toward the island’s main beach. The men did not appear to see them, and by the time they made their way to the beach, Tag could see a crowd of poxers standing about in the sand. Others waded in the water or sat atop rocks, looking confused and disoriented. There must have been over a hundred of these sick people shuffling around.

  The three of them leaned against a car and waited to see what would happen. Tag instructed Fez and Versa to keep as quiet as possible. He peeked over the top of the hood and observed the men’s movements. What he saw made him cringe. The late afternoon sun had completely blinded the infected and caused them to stagger around aimlessly. Red blisters covered much of their bodies. Brilliant whiteheads appeared at the apex of the blisters, glistening like diamonds in the sun. Tag knew from epidemiology studies that these crusty white pimples were like nuclear warheads filled with lethal viral packets. Once they broke, they would release millions of smallpox spores into the air.

  He passed one of the guns over to Fez.

  The men stood a good fifty yards from where the infected people dotted the beach. They lifted their bandanas and smoked cigarettes, pointing down toward the poxers and laughing. Tag looked for his family among the infected, but couldn’t recognize any of them because of the extent of the scarring. He did observe, however, that many of these poor people had lost fingers and/or had large bite marks gouged out of their leathery skin. Those wading in the water dunked their entire bodies in the cold Atlantic Ocean, letting the salty water soothe their painful wounds. He wondered if the extreme salinity of the water caused them pain or provided them comfort. Others sat around chewing on their arms, gnawing away at their upper and lower lips, or pulling teeth out of their mangled gums. He even saw one woman peeling away the outer crust of the blistered skin along her face as if it was a mask. The sight of her exposed, raw face nearly made him sick.

  A fight broke out between two of the infected. They fought like savage animals, biting and tearing into each other until one fell back on the sand, covered in bite marks and spilling infected blood. Because of their blindness, the other man staggered away in the opposite direction, wailing in agony. The collective cacophony of the poxers’ screeching sounded like a herd of beached seals in distress.

  Then something strange happened. The people on the beach lifted their heads and sniffed the air. As if in a trance, they moved in the direction of the seven men smoking cigarettes and laughing. Tag was confused. How could they walk toward the men if they couldn’t see them? The diseased cried out in agony, trying to communicate, seeming to plead with the men for help.

  The men threw down their butts and then rearranged the bandanas around their faces to keep from breathing in the virus. The leader of the group, the one the others deferred to, pulled out his gun and pointed it at one of the approaching poxers. The others followed suit. Tag held his brea
th, wondering if they would actually shoot these poor people in cold blood or if they were merely trying to scare them off.

  He ducked back behind the car and pulled the Saiga off his back, then raised his head over the hood and pointed it at the leader of the gang.

  The poxers continued to stumble through the thick sand, barely able to raise their feet high enough to walk through it. The leader, a guy with long, shaggy hair, raised his gun at the poxer closest to him. He fired a shot, shooting the poxer between the eyes. The infected man’s head exploded from the immense pressure inside the skull. Thick, dark blood sprayed out in every direction. In a matter of seconds the others opened fire, dropping the diseased as they approached. Tag couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. The men could have easily walked away. Instead they chose to slaughter them. One of those poxers could have been his wife or daughter. Tag watched a young girl take a bullet to the heart and collapse to the sand.

  “Put your weapons down!” he shouted over the car’s hood.

  The men turned to see where the voice was coming from.

  “Who are you? Why you hiding over there, boss?” the long-haired guy asked, smiling.

  “Never mind who I am. Why are you shooting these people when they’ve done you no harm?”

  The poxers on the beach continued to make their way toward the men.

  “These sick fucks are spreading their disease far and wide, bro. It’s medieval shit, like the Black Plague. If we don’t waste them now, then we’ll all catch it. Come and join us.”

  “You should have walked away from here and hid out until this thing burns out.”

  “Fuck that shit, man. I ain’t holing up in some goddamn shack like a sitting duck, waiting for these sick bitches to attack us.”

  “I got a little boy here says you took his parents.”

  “Hey, if his folks was sick with the disease, then I probably wasted them too. Look, asshole, we’re stuck on this crappy island with savages trying to attack us. What do you expect me to do? Let them kill me?” He laughed.

  Tag could hear Fez sobbing behind him, but he didn’t have time to console the kid at the moment. The other infected people on the beach continued to make their way toward the men. Tag debated what to do. He could either shoot the poxers or fire at this group of men, but he had to make a decision soon.