The Liger Plague (Book 1) (29 page)

Chapter 20

“Look,” Fez whispered from where they stood with their backs up against the picket fence. “Someone painted a sign over the road.”

Tag turned to where Fez was pointing and saw an elaborate drawing, although from where he stood he couldn’t fully make it out. He told Fez to wait by the fence while he checked it out. He sprinted over and stared in amazement at the painting. It was a two-headed liger. Black and orange stripes ran along the top section of the cat facing south. Both heads, the top and bottom, were that of a ferocious lion. Its paws extended out, and in each one it had a woman clutched in its claws. One woman was older and the other a young girl. A terrible realization came over him; the liger was grasping the images of Monica and Taylor. Next to the liger an arrow pointed south. Was the artist trying to point him in his family’s direction? He waved Fez over.

“It’s a big cat,” Fez said.

“It’s a liger.”

“A liger? What’s that?”

“A cross between a lion and a tiger.”

“Why’s it got two heads?”

He turned to the kid. “The person responsible for planting this virus on this island is the same person who put this here. The two heads represent the dual nature of this virus: the quickness and ferocity of the tiger combined with the power and strength of the lion.”

“Dang, Tag. And I’m guessing that’s supposed to be your wife and daughter in its paws?”

“I’m assuming. Maybe the arrow is supposed to lead us to them.”

“Then there’s still some hope.”

“There’s always hope. I’ll never give up looking.”

“Maybe he painted more of these along the road. Like a trail or something, leading us to our families.”

Tag didn’t have the heart to tell the kid that his own parents were most likely dead or had turned into poxers.

“We have to deal with these guys first, or they’ll end up killing us.”

“They split up and are working in teams, Tag. I saw two of them heading up the street.”

“Good. Let’s take care of them first. You ready?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Fez said. “I’m ready for war.”

They sprinted back to the picket fence. Tag peered around the corner and saw one of the men heading up the stairs of a house located halfway up the street. Once at the top, he kicked open the door and rushed inside. Tag waved for Fez to follow, and then the two of them sprinted onto the street and crossed to the other side. Tag searched for any clue to the whereabouts of the second man, figuring he must be somewhere on this street.

They made it halfway up the hill when he heard a gunshot. Looking up the street, Tag saw one of the men standing on the porch of a house across the street from where he now stood. The short, chubby guy on the front porch turned in their direction. Upon seeing them, he shouted out warnings to his partner. Tag pushed Fez in front of a car parked alongside the curb and then dove for cover behind him. Fez stumbled and fell, hitting his head against the bumper. The chubby man on the porch fired off a shot, and a bullet ricocheted off the pavement to his left. He landed next to Fez as another bullet shattered the car’s windshield, sending crystallized fragments of glass shooting over their heads.

“You okay, Fez?”

“Banged up my head pretty good, but I’ll be fine.”

Another bullet pinged off the hood. He heard the man in the house above him shouting over to the chubby guy on the porch. Tag counted to three and then in one motion rose up and fired a round at the chubby guy. The shot missed but shattered the pane of glass over the top half of the door. At least he now knew where the chubby guy stood. Chubby shouted for them to give up their weapons and in return he’d not kill them. Tag laughed at the man’s stupidity while at the same time visualizing the trajectory of his next shot. There was no way he was about to lay down his arms for these two clowns. Surrendering their weapons equaled certain death. He counted to three, trying to recall the physics and geometry needed to hit the guy. Fortunately, the sun was at his back, giving him a split-second advantage when he stood and aimed.

He jumped up and fired off a round, and then ducked back behind the car. A cry rang out, and he heard the man wailing in agony. Fez handed him a jagged, broken piece of a mirror that he’d picked up from the pavement.

He held the broken mirror over the hood.

“Where’d you hit him?”

“Looks like the shoulder.” Tag stared into the mirror. The shooter on his side of the street shouted over to the chubby guy.

“Dude deserved it,” Fez said. “Too bad you didn’t waste him.”

“Next one will finish him off if he doesn’t surrender.”

Two successive bullets rained down over them. One shattered the passenger-side window. Tag could tell that the chubby guy had been shooting randomly and would soon run out of ammo. Just above them, on the front steps, the chubby guy’s partner was shouting for him to hold on. Tag held the mirror up and saw the taller, compact man leaning over the railing and reloading his rifle with a fresh mag. Luckily, the taller man couldn’t see where they were, located directly below him. Tag jumped up, spun around, and fired off a quick shot while the man changed out the magazine. A spark flew off the railing. Ducking back down, he held up the mirror and saw the man scampering up the steps and returning inside the house.

“I need you to cover for me while I make a move. Fire off a round every sixty seconds once I take off. Understand?” Tag said.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Whatever you do, don’t show your face. I need you to fire in the air as a diversion so the guy above us will think we’re still in the same location.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He bolted over to the granite, four-foot retaining wall a few feet behind him and crawled toward the front of the house. Owning the element of surprise, he counted in his head, knowing that the tall man on his side of the street couldn’t see him moving behind the wall, which leaned precipitously toward the street because of all the pressure being put on it. The chubby guy across the street lay sprawled on the porch, bleeding from the bullet wound to his shoulder. Although injured, he shouted out to his partner, giving out their positions. Tag sat with his back up against the granite wall, wondering if his position had been compromised. He pointed the rifle at the chubby guy and slashed at his neck, trying to warn him to shut the hell up, but it didn’t stop the guy from screaming bloody hell. He knew that if he killed the chubby guy now, he’d lose his strategic advantage.

Lowering the rifle, he sat back against the slanted wall and watched the floundering man bleed out from his injury. Although he continued to shout, his croaky voice got shallower with each passing minute. Off in the distance Tag could see the sparkling blue ocean, the swells now coming in as perfect five-foot waves. The silhouette of the naval vessel sat anchored far off the coast, waiting to swoop in and carry the islanders away.

A shot rang out, jolting him out of his train of thought. He tried to ascertain in which direction the shot had come from. He quickly looked up at the injured man on the porch and saw that he was still sitting with his back up against the front door and struggling to keep it closed. In the door’s busted window, Tag could now see the reason why. A group of poxers stood pushing against it and trying to muscle it open.

He cursed himself for being so careless and not paying attention to the task at hand. Not being able to discern where the shot had come from had cost him time and considerable effort. Now he’d have to wait another minute for Fez to shoot, if indeed it had been Fez who had fired off that warning shot. He still believed he could draw the first gunman out long enough to get off a good shot, and the 5.56 mm bullets loaded in his rifle had the potential to rip through the wooden frame and incapacitate the shooter hiding behind it. In retrospect, he should have had the kid fire off two shots.

The muscles in his body tensed while waiting. The chubby gunman on the porch struggled to keep the poxers inside, and Tag could clearly see that his strength was waning. A shot rang out. Nothing happened for a few seconds. He heard a return volley from high above. Glancing over the wall, he saw a rifle poking out of the drapes. The tall man fired off another shot just as Tag was sighting in on the doorframe. Confident that the gunman couldn’t see him, he took aim. Another shot rang out, and he felt an intense pain in his right ear. Wobbly, he kept his gaze on the man above, who had swiveled around upon seeing him. The wood bordering the window pane exploded in dust and splinters. The shooter, unharmed, moved out into the open to take a shot. Tag felt dizzy from whatever had hit him, and as soon as he looked up, he saw the shooter’s head explode in a sea of volcanic red mist.

Tag reached up and felt his ear, or what was left of it. The bullet had obviously grazed him, but it had also taken a healthy chunk out of the lobe. He reached up and felt the flow of warm blood. Staring up at the second gunman, he watched the front door to the house swing open, pushing the chubby guy to the side. Three poxers squeezed out of the opening, arms shielding their aggrieved eyes, and wailing at the top of their lungs. They stared down at the frightened gunman, who was now begging for mercy. The chubby guy swiveled on his backside and raised the rifle, blowing the head off the first poxer who leaned over to attack, but the other two quickly jumped on top of him and began to tear away his flesh.

The throbbing in Tag’s ear hurt like hell. He removed the pack from his back and placed it on the sidewalk. Reaching inside for his first aid kit, he realized that Fez had been the one to shoot the tall gunman. Once he found the medical kit, he opened the plastic lid. Blood dripped from his wound and formed splash patterns over the sidewalk like a Rorschach Inkblot Test. He reached inside, removed two antibiotic packets, and ripped them open, applying them to his injured ear. The sting of medicine caused him to bite his upper lip in pain. Once the initial torture had subsided and the throbbing returned, he removed one of the absorbent compresses and pressed it against his lobe. Tearing open the next packet, he swallowed a handful of aspirin to help bring down the pain. Then he sat with his back up against the wall, taking in deep breaths. Fez sprinted over and knelt next to him.

“Sorry to go against you, Tag, but I had a clear shot.”

Tag smiled, ruffling his hand through the kid’s thick hair. “You showed good initiative, kid. Thanks.”

“I didn’t see the other guy that shot you, or I would have nailed him too.”

“He shouldn’t be a problem now. Looks like the poxers have taken care of him.”

“Yeah, they’re ripping into him pretty good,” Fez said, staring up at the grisly scene.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, Tag. Where’d he hit you?”

“Shot off a chunk of my ear.”

“Wow! Another inch and you would have been history,” Fez said, holding his head over Tag’s torso to see. “Them other two guys are still out there. Probably don’t even realize those gunshots were ours.”

“Pull some adhesive tape out of the kit. I need you to tape this compress around my ear.”

“Take that old one off, and I’ll tape on a fresh one. That bandage is friggin’ soaked with blood.”

He gently pulled off the compress and stared at it. The kid was right. The entire wrap was sticky with blood. Fez’s face showed no sign of distress as he applied the new compress, and Tag was impressed that the kid wasn’t squeamish at the sight of blood. In fact, Fez looked slightly bemused and curious at the disfiguring injury. The kid was a lot tougher than he looked. Once he’d wrapped the fresh compress around his ear and applied the strips of adhesive tape, the kid leaned back and studied his handiwork. Tag asked how it looked, and the scrawny kid replied with a thumbs-up and an ear-to-ear grin filled with crooked teeth that quickly made him admire him even more.

His ear throbbed. The pain spread to his temples and gave him a terrible headache. He sat back against the wall and stared up at the two poxers gnawing away at what was left of Chubby. Fez knelt on one knee and studied him for any other injuries. Tag knew Fez was depending on him, but the pain was so intense that it momentarily muddled his thinking. He prayed to God that the effects of the aspirin would soon kick in. At least take the edge off the pain. He was lightheaded and feared that if he stood now, he might pass out. His eyelids drooped. Five minutes of shut-eye was all he needed to regroup.

“Wake up, Tag. Don’t go to sleep on me now,” Fez said, shaking his shoulder.

“Just give me a minute to rest.”

“No minute, dude, no nothing. Get on your feet,” the kid said.

Tag opened his eyes and struggled to stand, letting Fez pull him up. It felt like he got jolted by an electric current as soon as he caught his balance. Holding onto Fez’s shoulder for support, he waited for the worst of the pain to subside before moving on, chiding himself for being such a wimp. He’d seen soldiers in battle deal with a lot worse injuries than this superficial wound and continue fighting. He needed to keep searching for Monica and Taylor.

“What do we do now? Take care of the other two guys or follow the sign?”

“We need to take care of the other two guys. Then we’ll see where that big cat leads us.”

“Could be a trap.”

“Could be, but at this point we don’t have many other options.”

“It’s like this guy’s helping you out so that he can hurt you in the end,” Fez said, shaking his head. “Heard a couple of shots go off the next street over. Bet they’re sweeping the area like they do in Urban Combat.”

“Urban Combat?” Tag asked.

“It’s a video game.”

“You seem to know a lot about this kind of stuff, kid.”

“Let’s just say I play a lot of military video games in the winter. Not much else to do around here when there’s ten feet of snow outside your door.”

“I suppose. Let’s move out.”

“Yes, sir,” Fez said, saluting.

Tag’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was nearly out of power. Staring at the display, he knew instantly that it was Agent Bishop from the FBI.

“Hello again, Dr. Winters. Agent Bishop here. How are you holding out?”