Plagued: The Ironville Zombie Quarantine Retraction Experiment (Plagued States of America Book 3) (13 page)

Twenty-Five

“It’s too bad Lowell didn’t make it,” the Senator said as he picked up the camera from the chair where O’Farrell left it earlier.
“But this will do.”

“William, we’re ready to get started,” Kennedy said. A needle bag and one of the vials was on the ground next to her.
She held a small recording device in her hand as she knelt beside Larissa. O’Farrell knelt on the other side. Penelope still held the girl’s head in her lap.

“Excellent,” he said while aiming the camera toward Larissa. “Can you get out of the shot?” he asked Penelope, waving her away with the back of his hand. “You too, young lady,” he said, pointing to O’Farrell. “I don’t want to have to explain who all these people are in the photos.”

“I can take the pictures, then,” O’Farrell offered. “Why don’t you kneel next to her and assist with the procedure?”

“
Great idea,” the Senator agreed. “Carl, can you video this with your phone as well?”

Carl nodded and pulled a cellular phone from his pocket. It was useless as a phone out here with no signal towers in operation, but its camera and other features worked as long as it had battery.

Penelope lowered Larissa’s head onto the floor gently as she slid back. She had been sitting so long that her legs felt numb. She crawled to the chairs and lifted herself up with Tom’s assistance. The room swam a moment and darkness closed briefly over her sight, but Tom kept her upright and in a moment, things came back to normal.

O’Farrell clicked several photos of the Senator and Kennedy next to Larissa.
Kennedy handed a paper mask to the Senator to put over his mouth. She wore one herself as well as a pair of glasses.

“I don’t like the ball in her mouth,” the Senator said. “Can
we—”

“Leave the ball,” Kennedy snapped. “Even after I give her the cure, she’ll be infectious for days.”

“Just for one or two shots?”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Kennedy said flatly.

“Fine, then let’s begin.”

Kennedy pressed a button on the recording device and held it next to her mouth. “Subject: Larissa Jefferson. Apparent age: eleven or twelve years. Age at time of infection: Eight. Is that right?” she asked the Senator.

He nodded.

“Eight,” she re-iterated. “
Field procedure being performed today is an intravenous injection of DHT-20. For this procedure I am using a 28 gauge, 1 CC needle with 0.8 CC of DHT. Patient is in apparent good health, but with numerous skin lesions, abrasions, bruising, light scarring, and one or more unidentified dermatological conditions. Subject has had no blood work done; therefore, comprehensive physical is inconclusive at this time. Point of administration will be to the left arm via intravenous pathway. Subject has been washed and area of injection sterilized. It is currently—”

Kennedy turned her arm to look at her watch.

“—11:16 A.M. Really, it’s only eleven?” She sighed heavily and put the recorder down. She picked up the needle bag and ripped it open, then stabbed the needle into the lid of the vial of liquid—the cure that she carried around in her jacket. She sucked out some of the liquid into the reservoir of the needle and put the jar down beside her.

“Alright, Senator, this is where I need your strength. Hold her across the shoulders so she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“What?”

“Put your hands on her shoulders. No, higher. Right there. Now push her down
so she doesn’t move. Lean over her. Use your weight.” Kennedy extended Larissa’s arm and put her knee on the girl’s wrist to keep it in place.

Penelope turned away as the needle hovered over Larissa’s exposed vein at the crux of her elbow. She didn’t watch Kennedy
press the needle against Larissa’s skin over her exposed vein, nor how she poked it through the skin. She didn’t see Kennedy press the plunger slowly and steadily until every drop of liquid was administered, but she knew when it happened. Larissa groaned, a soft, concerned moan that told Penelope the girl was aware something was wrong, but the fire had yet to be unleashed. Penelope put her hand against her own chest, clutching the fabric of her sweater right above her heart.

A moment later
, the moan rose an octave and doubled in volume. Even muffled by the gag ball, the girl’s voice doubled again and lifted to an agonizing scream. Penelope closed her eyes to shut out visions of the past, but found that the memories she expected to haunt her weren’t there. Her concern for Larissa overshadowed the prowling images of her past.

“What’s happening to her?” the Senator demanded hotly.

Penelope spun around and opened her eyes. Kennedy hovered over Larissa’s legs, holding them down just below the knee. The Senator let Larissa’s shoulders go as he recoiled from her sudden thrashing. Larissa’s free arm knocked the vial and Kennedy’s recording device toward O’Farrell, who absently took photo after photo while staring in utter shock.

Tom dove at Larissa’s
arm, grabbing one, only to get pummeled on his back by the other. Penelope pushed Kennedy aside and lunged on top of Larissa, collapsing onto the girl’s chest. She shoved Tom away too, then used her own elbows to pin Larissa’s shoulders and the insides of her legs to catch and hold Larissa’s arms. The girl’s head shook side-to-side as she screamed at Penelope through the gag ball.

Larissa’s eyes bulged with terror, not only from the pain, but from an inability to breathe.
With a quick swipe, Penelope wrenched the gag ball from her mouth, prying it from her teeth. A spray of spittle erupted when the ball peeled away from the girl’s lips, spattering Penelope in the face.

Penelope heard voices all around her, but she tried not to pay attention to anything being said. She focused instead on singing and calling to Larissa, to let her know someone was with her.

“Shit, it got her,” Brooks said.

Penelope sang the way she wished someone had sung to her the day Kennedy first tried to cure her.

“That’s why you leave the gag ball in,” Kennedy grumbled.

Penelope
sang and cooed, mimicking the bird call she knew Larissa longed to hear.

“
She’s been infected,” Brooks went on, his voice bordering on hysteria.

“No she hasn’t,” Kennedy said.
“Not her.”

Penelope breathed her warm breath onto Larissa’s cheek and the girl began to calm. Her ear
-piercing scream settled to a whimpering sob, although her breath still came in ragged, quick succession. Her eyes rolled back, and Penelope felt the girl’s body ease and then slacken beneath her.

“What the hell did you do to her?” the Senator demanded of Kennedy
, waving a hand toward Larissa.

“It’s normal, Bill,” Kennedy replied in a
n even tone. “She hasn’t had pain reception in years. The curative stimulates all of them, so she felt a little burn—”

“A little burn? A
little
burn? Stop filming,” the Senator insisted, snapping at Carl and O’Farrell. “Stop taking pictures, damn it.”

Penelope lifted her weight from Larissa’s relaxed body and rolled off her. She sat beside the girl as Tom crawled close to her.

“Go wash your face with the snow in the bucket,” Tom told her. “She spit all over you.”

Penelope looked toward the bucket
they used to wash Larissa. As she did, she saw Kennedy’s recording device on the ground, but couldn’t find the vial. O’Farrell stood with her back turned to Penelope and was putting the camera on top of her jacket on a nearby chair. O’Farrell glanced around guiltily as she zipped up one of her pockets.

“Go on,” Tom told
Penelope softly.

Penelope didn’t have the strength to stand.
Her heart still pounded from excitement. She crawled toward the bucket even as Tom stood to follow her.

“We need to get her an inhibitor,”
Brooks said urgently, pointing at Penelope.

Penelope
reached the bucket and grabbed a handful of snow and began rubbing it on her face. Tom squatted beside her and held out a rag for her to use to dry her face.

“She’s been
infected
,” Brooks said, looking to everyone in turn. Penelope liked that he showed such concern for her. It meant he wasn’t part of the Senator’s people even though he was with them. He wasn’t like Carl and Kennedy, a loyalist to the Senator’s whim.

“She can’t get infected,” Tom
admitted, his voice breaking. “For the same reason she can’t pass a blood test, either. She’s already infected.”

Twenty-Six

“What
’d I miss?” Hank asked as he slapped the last remnants of snow from his jacket. Penelope held the door to the concourse open for Hank, Jones, and Hamilton as they came inside. Hank radioed just before reaching the building and Jones went to help them climb in. Penelope went along to avoid being downstairs with the others.

“Tom’s little sister spit up in Penelope’s face,” Jones replied. “The Senator is pissed about the cure putting his daughter through so much pain, Tom told everyone Penelope’s a half-breed, and I’m still being treated like a criminal.”

“Anything else?” Hank asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, don’t take any selfies with the Senator’s daughter.”

“Any what?”

“Jesus, you’ve been out here too long.”

Jones led them all downstairs and to the circle of people hovering over the sleeping form of Larissa.

“If you’re not going to gag her, tie her up,”
Brooks insisted.

“We’re not tying my daughter up,” the Senator grumbled.

“We can’t risk infection, Bill,” Kennedy said.

“Fine, then gag her.”

“Sweetie?” Kennedy asked Penelope. “Will you do the honors?”

Penelope sighed, but did it anyway. No one else was going to touch the ball. It was still lying on the ground where it
fell earlier. She hooked the elastic strap around the back of Larissa’s neck and stuffed the ball into the girl’s mouth, wedging Larissa’s mouth open to ensure it stayed in place. She hooked the strap to the ball and let the strap hold it in place.

“Hank, did you check your six when you came back?” Jones asked
, picking his jacket up from where he tossed it.

“Huh?” Hank asked.

“I think we’ve got company.”

Everyone turned to look at what Jones was seeing. Through the plate glass overlooking the snow-covered runway, a figure stood near
by. Jones led them toward that side of the terminal, drawing his pistol and checking it casually.

O
ne of the half-breeds stood in the snow outside. He held a spear upright and was shaking it. The tip was adorned with some kind of fabric with tassels weighed down by something metallic. Penelope knew it was metal because the half-breed reached the spear head forward and began tapping the glass with it. The metal objects clacked against the glass.

“Is he trying to communicate?” O’Farrell asked as she started taking pictures.

Jones and Tom moved closer, with Penelope close by Tom’s side.

“Son,” the Senator warned. “Why don’t you let the soldiers handle this?”

Penelope and Tom looked back. Carl and the two handlers hadn’t come forward. Hank stood in front of them, checking his pistol. O’Farrell moved to the side to get a better view and began clicking more photos.

“
Brooks,” the Senator said. “Go keep an eye on my daughter, would you?”

Jones took several cautious steps forward.

“What’s he got there?” Jones asked. “A dead rabbit?”

“Some kind of animal,” Tom agreed.

The half-breed took out a knife from a belt sheath and stabbed the dead animal it carried. Blood spurted from the wound. The half-breed reached up and began smearing the window with the carcass, wiping its blood in long strokes.

“What the hell is he doing?” Jones asked. He stepped closer, now only a few strides from the window.

Tom looked at Penelope, but she only shrugged and shook her head.

After making several more long strokes across the window, the dripping blood obscured most of the half-breed’s torso. Again
, the half-breed rattled the glass with the metallic objects at the end of the spear, a cadence like a drum beat, the clack of it echoing through the hollow building.

Penelope had a bad feeling about it. A noise like that was sure to rouse zombies, if any were near. She tugged on Tom’s arm, but he put a hand up to get her to stop. He was fixedly looking at the end of the spear.

“What are those? Can you see? Are those—?”

Jones cursed and looked back at Tom. “They are.”

“Are what?” Hank asked.

“Keys,” Tom and Jones said in unison.

“To the snowmobiles?” Hank asked.

“I’m about to find out,” Jones said, raising his pistol to aim at the half-breed.

“Whoa, wait,” Tom said, putting a hand on Jones’ arm. “You’ll blow out the glass.”

“So? We’ll have the keys.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“Well, don’t feel too bad. He won’t suffer any,” Jones sa
id and raised his pistol again.

Penelope
held her hands over her ears, expecting the loud snap and boom of the gun. He held his aim much longer than Penelope thought necessary.

The half-breed rattled the keys against the glass one last time and tossed the carcass
against the glass with a thump that Penelope thought might have been the pistol. The carcass slid to the ground beside the window, but the half-breed walked alongside the building, grinning as it put a hand over the keys to keep them from making noise anymore.

“Are you going to shoot it or not?” Kennedy snapped.

“I think Tom’s right,” Jones said, lowering his pistol. “We’ve got a bit of a problem outside.”

Penelope squinted to see through the smeared blood on the window. The snow fell in thick globs that poured from the sky, making it seem like the world itself was moving
. However, it wasn’t the world that moved, but instead, the canopy on which it was painted. In the grayness at the edge of sight she saw dark shapes forming.