The Liger Plague (Book 1) (31 page)

“You’re not really going to shoot me, are you?” Lee asked, hands in the air.

“I most certainly will if you go against God. Come on, Lee. God is demanding that we clean up this island and claim it in His name. Now you turn around, boy, and get your sorry ass back here.”

The actor looked hurt, as if a best friend had just betrayed him. Tag watched the conflict taking place, his rifle still aimed at Roberts. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill the man if he had to, but he wanted to see how it played out before he decided on a course of action. Roberts pulled a Ruger out of his pocket and walked up behind the actor. He placed the gun in the small of Stain’s back and proceeded to pull him backwards, one arm wrapped around his throat.

Tag tried to get a bead on Roberts but couldn’t get a clear shot now that Roberts was using Stain as a shield. Allowing him to walk away was not a viable option. Continuing to search for his family would be treacherous knowing that Roberts was out there armed and dangerous. Stain looked horrified at the turn of events, nothing like the sinister villain he played in the movies. Tag debated for a moment doing what would most insure his survival, and that was killing both men with one bullet. Something inside him balked at the idea of killing an innocent man, especially after he’d laid down his arms.

Stain started to cry as Roberts pulled him up the street. A shot rang out, startling Tag. He saw that Roberts’ gun had fallen to the street. The reverend looked stunned. He held his bleeding hand up in shock. For a brief moment Tag wondered where the shot had come from, until he saw Fez staring over the barrel of the rifle. He couldn’t believe the kid had pulled off such a remarkable shot. By the time he turned around, Roberts had taken off, disappearing around the corner. Stain fell to his knees, sobbing, hands over his pockmarked face.

“You want me to go after him?” Fez asked.

“No, it might be too dangerous. Besides, we don’t know what else is out there. Best you stay with me and keep an eye out in case he returns.”

“Cool.”

“You’re a helluva shot, kid,” Tag said appreciatively.

“My dad taught me. We used to set up cans on the far end of the island and then shoot them for hours on end. That and Urban Combat made me a good shot.”

“That was some real nice shooting.”

“Thanks, Tag. Knew playing all those video games would someday come in handy.”

The actor was sitting on the street, bawling into his hands. Tag couldn’t believe this Hollywood tough guy was such a weakling in real life. Keeping his eyes trained ahead in case Roberts returned, he walked over to the actor and ordered him to stand up. Stain pushed himself off the ground and stood, sobbing, unable to control his emotions. The actor tried to say something, but it came out whiny and incoherent. The last thing Tag wanted was another person to babysit. At least the kid had proved useful in a crisis.

“I’m sorry, man, but I only stayed with the reverend to keep from getting killed. I barely knew the man,” Stain said between sobs. “Just met him yesterday.”

“Get a grip on yourself, fella. I thought you were such a badass?” Tag said, pushing the actor back down on his knees.

“No, no. I only play that guy in the movies.”

Tag patted him down to make sure he had no more weapons on him. Certain the man was clean, he gripped him by the collar, forced him to stand, and then pushed him down the street with the butt of his rifle.

“I ought to tie you up somewhere and let those poxers have at you.”

“Please don’t leave me here by myself. The reverend was far out there, man, with those crazy religious beliefs of his.”

“You go against me, and I’ll leave you behind.”

“Swear to God. Thank you so much,” Stain said.

“Where’s Roberts headed?” Fez asked.

“Don’t know. We had four other guys working with us as well. He wanted to take back the island one street at a time. Once we did that, we were supposed to meet up on the southern end of Cooke’s and go through all the big homes near the water.”

“One of those homes is mine,” Tag said. “You’re lucky you didn’t enter my house or you wouldn’t be here today.”

“Why’s that? No one’s living in them.”

“Most of these houses have live virus particles still circulating throughout the air ducts and ventilation systems. It would only be a matter of time before you came down with the pox, assuming you weren’t shot before then.”

Tag pushed the actor down the street. Stain stumbled and fell to the ground.

“You don’t have to be so rough, man.”

“You haven’t even seen me be rough yet!” Tag said, standing over the actor. “Someone kidnapped my wife and my daughter, and I have until nightfall to find them. So don’t piss me off.”

“It was Roberts’ idea, and he did most of the shooting. Said these people weren’t going to get better anyway, so we might as well kill them before they kill us.”

“Let’s go, Lee. Up and walking.”

They marched back down the street until they came to Atlantic View Road. The sun moved higher in the sky, and the temperature seemed to be rising with each moment. They made their way over to the image of the liger on the road and studied it. Stain said he’d never seen it before and had no knowledge of it. Tag directed them to follow the arrow’s direction, and they continued moving, walking for another quarter mile along Atlantic View Road until they came to another spray-painted image. This one appeared slightly angled toward the next street running perpendicular, and seemed to point them in that direction. Tag recognized it as the same street that Versa lived on.

Something seemed different about this painted, two-headed cat; the liger in this one held the two stick figures in its claws, and the claws were inching closer to the cat’s mouth—the sand running out of the proverbial hourglass.

They made their way up the street. Halfway to the top, they found another liger on the street. They continued walking until they came to yet another one. This image faced toward one of the houses, and he was stunned to see that it was Versa’s. What kind of game was Lenny playing?

He bolted up the stairs and stopped at the top, wondering if the door had been rigged. It didn’t much matter at this point; time was running out, and he had limited options. He called down for Fez to wait at the foot of the steps and keep an eye on Stain. He was about to open the door when he noticed another icon painted on the cement stoop. He turned the handle, but the door was locked. Stepping back, he fired two rounds into it until it shattered. He pushed the door in and looked around the house. It appeared neat and tidy, unaffected by the events of the last few days.

He checked the bedrooms upstairs but found nothing. He ran down into the dark basement and pulled out his flashlight. Pointing the beam over the foundation, he saw cobwebs and dirt amongst the assortment of tools, junk and piles of books. The junk was piled high everywhere, and all the windows had been boarded up. He flashed the light into the first room he came across. He saw a washer and dryer and a collection of fishing rods and ancient golf clubs. He continued down the dark corridor until he came to a room with a door. He quietly turned the handle, but as soon as he did he heard several dogs barking savagely. Why would anybody lock their dogs in the basement? He turned the handle and cracked open the door. The stench hit him like a punch in the face. The dogs threw themselves against the wood door. He grabbed hold of the twisted knob and quickly closed it before they rushed out and attacked him.

“Anyone inside?” he shouted above the growls and bloodthirsty barking.

He heard the sound of someone trying to speak. Could it be Monica? He kicked open the door and pointed the beam of light into the middle of the room. Three sets of eyes glowed in the dark. The first dog ran at him, and he shot it before it reached the door. The dog whimpered and fell back dead. The two others charged. He shot the second dog between the eyes, and it collapsed against the threshold. His third shot missed, and the last dog jumped up and tackled him to the dirt floor.

Tag lifted his arm to keep the dog from ripping out his throat. The mutt’s sharp teeth tore into his forearm and hand. He could see now that it was a Rottweiler, and it was large and smelly. Lifting the gun with his right hand, he tried to get off a decent shot, but the dog’s disgusting breath filled his nostrils. He lifted his feet and managed to kick the dog off him, and it crashed against the far wall, disappearing from sight. Raising the flashlight, Tag saw it charging again. It leaped up, jaws snapping, and went for his throat. He lifted the gun and fired a round into the mutt as it dove toward him, yet it continued to bite down on his torso and draw blood. He smacked it in the head with the flashlight and fired another round into its ribcage. The dog fell back on the dirt floor and growled, staring up at him. He could see now that he’d paralyzed it. The dog could not move the bottom half of its torso. It lay there, scraping the dirt with its grimy front paws. Standing, he fired the gun once more and put it out of its misery.

The entire front of his body was covered in blood, both his and the dog’s. Reaching up to his face, he could feel the bite marks and torn, ripped flesh across his cheek and scalp. He only prayed that the dog was not rabid, not that it mattered at this point. He lifted the flashlight and aimed the beam into the dark room and saw two hideously deformed figures sitting next to each other on the floor. Their eyes glowed as soon as the beam of light hit their pupils. Their naked bodies were covered from head to toe in blistering sores. What struck him most was the cloyingly sick odor that emanated from the room. At least they’d had the smarts to roll up two sleeping bags along the floor in order to lessen the chance of infection.

“Monica? Taylor?”

He couldn’t tell if the two diseased were Monica and Taylor, the scarring along their bodies appeared so drastic, but when they nodded their heads, he knew he’d found them. He ran over to where they sat, tears falling from his eyes, and gently hugged them, not quite believing that they were still alive. Then he pushed back in horror. Had they come down with the second component of the virus? The one that affected their brain and made them violent and unpredictable?

“I missed you guys so much. Are you okay?”

Monica nodded, and Taylor looked up at him with a frightened, sad expression. A sense of euphoria filled him, and he hugged them again, tears streaming down his cheeks. Although they were weak, they embraced him in return, and he could smell the terrible odor given off by their pox.

It didn’t appear that they’d come down with the brain virus. He assumed that being confined in this basement had kept them safe and away from the infection. Whoever had locked them down here had wanted to keep them isolated, hoping that they might be found. The dogs had obviously been trained to protect them, and he figured that the cloying scent of the pox played a role in their training as guard dogs. He was just grateful he’d found them, although there was still a long way to go before they were safe. He had to get them back to the old fisherman’s place, then figure out how to get off this island before the Seals arrived and leveled the whole place.

He helped them to their feet. They moved slowly like elderly people. The extent of their scarring was such that their range of motion would be severely limited for quite some time, possibly months. Positioning himself between them both, Tag aimed the beam of light down the narrow corridor, pointing the way out. They moved slowly and steadily, and he figured that every inch of their bodies, including the soles of their feet, were covered in painful sores. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, he was exhausted and dripping with sweat. Neither Taylor nor Monica could move very well. He ran upstairs into one of the closets and pulled out two of the silkiest robes he could find and went back downstairs to drape the robes over their bodies to protect their skin. He sat them both down on the couches to rest. Clearly, they couldn’t continue on without a short break. He went to the front door, opened it, and whistled for Fez and Stain to come inside.

“What the crap happened to you?” Fez asked upon seeing him.

“I had a run-in with a few guard dogs, but at least I found my family.”

“Congratulations, Tag. You did it.” Fez stared at him. “Boy, those dogs did a number on you.”

“I just hope they didn’t have rabies.”

“That would totally suck.”

Tag introduced the boy to his family.

“There’s one of them medical clinics up on Main Street. My mom used to take me there every once in a while. Maybe they got some medicine you can take just in case you got it.”

“I’m going to go downstairs first and take a look at those dogs, see if they were frothing at the mouth.”

Tag went back downstairs and pointed the light at the dead canines. All three dogs had saliva oozing from their mouths, but he couldn’t conclude definitively whether or not they had been infected with rabies. If he’d contracted the disease, he was a dead man, assuming he didn’t get shot first. He had to try to make his way up to that clinic and see if he could find some immunoglobulin and rabies vaccine. Oddly enough, in his profession, rabies was probably the last disease he ever worried about contracting.

He returned upstairs.

“We’ll rest for a minute, then we’ll head to that clinic. If I’ve come down with rabies, I need to get some of that immunoglobulin inside me real quick.”

“That rabies shot hurts,” Fez said. “Got bit by a dog two years ago and had to get one. Friggin’ killed me for days.”

“Got one when I was a kid too,” Stain added, gesturing as if to plunge a needle into his stomach. “Right in the gut.”

“Take a quick breather, boys; then we’re heading out. It’s going to be a long night.”

“Better hurry, Tag. It’s starting to get late, and you know what that means.”

Chapter 22

Tag paced the room while Taylor and Monica rested, trying to get their bearings. He had so many questions that needed to be answered, the first one being the most obvious: how had it come to be that they had ended up at Versa’s house? Had Lenny targeted her from the beginning? And how come this person allowed Monica and Taylor to come down with smallpox but not the second part of the plague?