Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment (Plagued States of America Book 3) (12 page)

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.

“We
ndy,” 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.”

“Wendy, you didn’t do this t
o me.”

“No, I did. I
did
.”

“Wendy,” Jones said sternly. “Wendy, look at me.
Look
at me.”

O’Farrell stopped swaying and stared at Jones, her eyes glistening with tears.

“It’s OK. I know. I’m a Ranger, remember? You’d be amazed at the things they make us do willingly.” Jones sighed and shook his head. “Besides, I can’t blame you for something I don’t remember.”

“But I can,” O’Farrell said,
the first tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Stop crying,” Jones ordered, then his voice softened. “Don’t let her see your tears.”

Twenty-Four

Hank’s voice squawked over the radio, startling Penelope.

“Kid, you there?” Hank asked. His voice
emanated from the three different places Tom, O’Farrell, and Jones had put down their jackets, echoing in the huge, empty terminal building. “I screwed up and shorted out one of the snowmobiles. I’m coming back inside.”

Tom dug out his radio and pressed the button to talk.
“We hear you. Thanks for trying.”

“So much for that rescue,” Kennedy said under her breath. She
pushed the bucket of nearly melted snow away as she stood up, then approached Jones, who was wide-eyed from the surprise of the radio. Kennedy folded up his knife and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” she said. “Better I give it to you now before I get the impulse to cut off that rats’ nest of hers.”

Penelope tied it up with some of the hair bands Tom managed to find. The girl shivered, even in the blanket, so Penelope began the process of dressing Larissa now that she was clean and studded head to toe with Band-Aids. Penelope slipped two shirts and a sweater over Larissa’s head before trying to manipulate her arms through the holes. The girl’s fingers were ice cold, like her own now that she wasn’t in her jacket and gloves.

Tom squatted beside Penelope. O’Farrell had gone to the bathroom
, and Kennedy was walking across the terminal toward the Senator and Carl. Jones closed his eyes and pretended to sleep again, making this as close to being alone as Tom and Penelope had managed since coming inside.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked her softly.

Penelope nodded, watching herself dress Larissa instead of looking at him. A half-truth. There was nothing wrong with her, but being here and seeing Larissa and the half-breeds made her keenly aware who she was. The Senator and this henchmen looked at her suspiciously. Kennedy knew what she was. The whole of it made her uncomfortable. The only solace she embraced was caring for Larissa.

“Let me help,” Tom
said, kneeling down and picking up a pair of sweat pants. He exposed Larissa’s feet and slid the sweat pants over her ankles before dragging them up her legs.

“Jesus,” he said. “This is my sister.” The revelation took something out of him. He slumped backwards
and sat staring at the girl. “Ten years,” he breathed in amazement. He shook his head and spoke again at a normal tone. “She was eight when they bit her. I guess she didn’t know what would happen. Everyone thought they could survive it, you know? Back in those first weeks. No one knew anything except to run from the horde. When she got bit, do you know what upset her the most? It wasn’t that she was bit. She didn’t want my father to find out. She was more afraid to tell him than—”

Tom sucked in a steadying breath.

“I’ve been blamed for this for ten years, but now it’s even worse. She’ll be a goddamned walking reminder of how I screwed up.”

Penelope slid the sweater over Larissa’s belly, then tugged the sweat pants up all the way to her waist. She didn’t know what to say to Tom. She didn’t really understand his story completely, but she knew it gnawed at him deep inside, and that made her regret having ever helped him find her in the first place.

A scream tore through the terminal. Penelope jerked with a start and growled in fright. Tom turned to face the noise. It was the helicopter pilot. Kennedy and O’Farrell were kneeling next to him with the Senator and Carl hovering behind them. Kennedy’s fingers still pinched the nub of an arm protruding from the pilot’s blood-soaked shirt.

“I can’t believe you did that,” O’Farrell snapped.

The pilot writhed as he clutched the nub of his missing arm, pushing Kennedy’s hand away. Through gritted teeth he swore in Spanish, yelling at her.

“We need to change that tourniquet,” Kennedy said. She leaned over the pilot. “We need to change your dressings,” she yelled over his verbal assault. “Does he speak English?”

“Yes, I fucking speak English,” the pilot growled against the pain, his eyes searing with rage.

“You still have feeling in what’s left of your arm,” Kennedy told him. “The first aid kits we got from the snowmobiles have better tourniquets than
the one we made with sticks and a belt. We need to switch it now to stop you from bleeding to death. We’ll give you lots of pain pills, though. Do you understand?”

The pilot glared at her.

“Do you understand?”

He nodded
, closing his eyes and accepting his fate with fat tears.

“Give him a half dozen of those and as much water as he can drink,” Kennedy told the Senator, tossing him a bottle of pills from the first aid kit.
She stood up and started walking toward Penelope and Tom.

“Come on, Wendy. It’s time we cure our little friend.
”