The Liger Plague (Book 1) (32 page)

They had to get off this island, which would be difficult to accomplish with all those Coast Guard ships circling the bay. He had to figure out a way to transport them back to the old fisherman’s home. At the moment it was the only safe haven on the island. First he’d need to make a quick pit stop in the middle of town and see if he could find some immunoglobulin inside that clinic.

He walked out the back entrance of the house and made his way into the garage. The inside was neat and tidy, but what surprised him most was the sight of an old Ford Crown Victoria. It looked in decent condition for its age. He was surprised to see that the key was still in it, and wondered for a second if the vehicle had been rigged with some kind of explosive. And yet if the caller, Lenny, wanted him dead, it would have already happened by now. He climbed in behind the wheel and turned the key, bracing himself for the impact. The engine turned over and rumbled nicely. Checking the odometer, he saw it had thirty-seven thousand miles on it. The old car had barely been driven, which was no surprise seeing as it had probably never left the island.

He revved the engine, and the motor purred. Turning on the radio, he fumbled with it until he’d tuned into the local talk radio station, a program known for its conservative bent. A caller came on the line talking about the situation unfolding on the island, blaming it on a vast governmental conspiracy underway designed to undermine its citizens. Another caller thought the island should be firebombed in order to prevent the virus from spreading. Tag heard his name mentioned as a primary suspect. Another caller listed off the mounds of evidence that was supposedly found against him and claimed that no one would be so stupid as to leave that much evidence in his wake. Another theorized that the island was being used as some sort of testing ground for the use of biological weapons, the trade-off being that the government could institute martial law whenever they wanted, denying citizens of their Constitutional rights. Although Tag found these theories farfetched and conspiratorial, the fact that he was now living through such a nightmare made them seem much more plausible.

He found a Tracphone sitting on the passenger seat. A surge of panic filled him, and he knew instantly that the caller had drawn him here for a reason. Turning it on, he found that the battery had three-quarters of juice remaining. He thumbed the menu until he came to the contact icon. There was only one number on the list, and it was identified as Lenny. Should he call it? He realized he had to try in case there were any more instructions needed to help him, as crazy as that sounded.

“Hi, Colonel,” the voice answered cheerfully. “I’ve been waiting for you to call all day. What the hell took you so long?”

“I had a few situations to deal with before I could call.”

“Congrats on finding your family. Well done.”

“Not like I could miss your street art.”

“Did you like that? I designed them myself and then painted them along the boulevard. It’s such an arty little island that no one even noticed me doing it. They all thought it was part of their fancy art festival.”

“Why are you playing this game when you can just kill us all?”

“Without you in the mix, it wouldn’t be as much fun. As far as the game goes, life itself is a game and not worth living if we can’t enjoy these earthly endeavors.” The caller snickered. “Think of your life like a board game.”

“Okay then. Who rolls the dice next?”

“How’d the old ball-and-chain and the little princess like my cute puppies?”

“I think you know how they liked your dead dogs, asshole.”

“You had to waste them? And they were such great guard dogs. No worries, Colonel, I can always get more. Probably had rabies anyway.”

“Go to hell!”

“No need to get testy. After all, I did make sure your precious little darlings didn’t come down with the liger’s full wrath.”

“What’s the next move?”

“Now the real fun begins. This little escapade on Cooke’s Island was just the beginning. Now you have so many other things to worry about, such as clearing your name, finding a way off that island and, more importantly, coming up with a way to keep my beautiful liger from swimming over to the mainland.”

“A Navy Seal team is going to lay ruin to this place come nightfall. Even if we did make it off the island, there’s no way that virus will survive in any form. How will you yourself make it off?”

“Aw, that’s quite kind of you to think about me, Colonel, but please don’t trouble yourself over my wellbeing. What you’ve seen on Cooke’s Island is just a microcosm of the wave of destruction that will sweep over the world if my beautiful Liger manages to swim ashore.”

“Why did you keep my wife and daughter at Versa’s house?”

“Why not? That miserable woman never leaves home. No one would ever think to look for them there. I thought it would be a nice irony.”

“Come now, Lenny, you can trust me. Do we know each other? You and I must have worked together in some capacity. Not many scientists in the world have the kind of skill level and expertise to create such a highly sophisticated organism.”

“Thanks for the high praise, Colonel. You’re too kind. How about you worry about yourself rather than try to figure out who I am and what I’ve done with my life? I’d hate to have to continue on this journey without you. It would be no fun watching you die or seeing you off to prison for the rest of your life. I’m doing my damnedest to help you.”

“You’re so kind, Lenny. I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “I’ll clear my name once I make it back to the mainland, and then I’ll set my sights on hunting you down.”

The man laughed. “Best of luck with that. I’ll be rooting for you all the way, Colonel, because I certainly hope that we can continue the fun we’ve had. With any luck we’ll talk again when this little island fiasco is all said and done, maybe even have a cocktail together. Then we can start the next chapter of our hopefully long and fruitful relationship.”

“There better not be a next chapter.”

“Oh, there
will
be a next chapter, with or without you. And the final one will be a real cliffhanger. Good luck getting off this island, my friend. I wish you only the best. And I sincerely mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

“I’ll be fine one way or another. Take care now.”

Tag shut the engine off and returned to the house. Fez and Stain sat at the kitchen table, their masks still attached to their faces. The strong stench of the pox made him wince. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to fully erase that sickly sweet smell from his memory banks. Staring at Monica, he wondered if somehow she and Taylor managed to survive this ordeal, they’d ever look normal again. Such horrible scars might take months, maybe years to heal. Or maybe never. At least they were alive and hadn’t suffered from the debilitating brain impairment that turned all the others into monsters. Nor had they witnessed the homicidal behavior firsthand. For that he counted his blessings.

The cuts on his face and scalp throbbed, as did the gunshot wound to his ear. The medicine was starting to wear off. He reached inside his bag, pulled out the bottle of aspirin, and swallowed four more. Fez walked over to the main window and stared down at the street far below.

“Holy crap!” the kid said, eyes widening.

“What now?”

“Tag, you’re not going to believe this, but poxers are starting to crowd the street.”

“How can that be?” Tag said, walking over to the window. “The sun hasn’t even set yet.”

“Maybe their eyes are getting used to the sun.”

“Damn! Their vision must be acclimating to the light. Either that or they’re so desperate for food that they’re being forced out of their holes.”

“Doesn’t look like the light’s bothering them at all. They got their eyes open and are looking all around.”

“Bet Roberts wished he’d changed his mind.”

“I’m glad he’s out there,” Stain said. “I hope them sick bastards get a hold of that religious freak and tear him to pieces.”

“What are we going to do, Tag?”

“There’s a car out in the garage we can all fit into. We’re going to head out in a few minutes and drive back to Cooper’s house, but first I need to get some medicine out of that clinic.”

“Better not wait too long or else every single last one of them poxers will be out on the street looking for us.”

Tag walked over to where Monica sat on the couch. Both she and Taylor had blankets wrapped around their robe-covered bodies. Monica gazed up at him and tried to say something but couldn’t speak on account of the cracked blisters inside and around her mouth and tongue. Tag put his finger up to his lips and combed the wispy hair back over her scalp. Tears started to fall from her eyes and sluice through the maze of wounds and scars. He went over to Taylor and tried to comfort her, but Taylor wouldn’t look up, either too embarrassed or too proud to be seen in such a hideous condition.

Glancing out the window one last time, he knew they had to leave. He took whatever medicines he could find in the bathroom and stuffed them in his pack. The cuts and bites over his face, ear and scalp hurt like crazy, but he did his best to ignore the pain. He went over to the bathroom sink and washed all his cuts out with soapy water and a towel. Then he ripped opened a few more of the antibacterial packages and wiped them over the cuts until they lit up his body like bee stings.

He helped Monica off the couch, Fez and Stain assisted Taylor, and together the five of them made their way out the back door. They walked over the grass and toward the garage. Tag had nearly arrived at the door when he saw two poxers moving through the narrow corridor that separated the house from the garage. A garden edger leaned against the door. Rather than use his gun and alert all the other poxers to their whereabouts, he picked up the edger and waited for the two of them to emerge. As soon as the first poxer moved into the open space, he swung the edger with all his strength. The metal blade sliced through the diseased’s neck, nearly severing its head from its body. It collapsed to the ground, infected blood spurting out of the gaping wound and onto the lawn. He waited a beat and did the same to the next poxer that approached.

Tag hustled the other four inside the garage and into the Crown Victoria. Turning the key, the engine hummed to life. He got out and lifted up the garage door only to see dozens of poxers wandering in the driveway, searching. Upon seeing them, they started to approach the garage. Tag sprinted back inside the Crown Victoria and behind the wheel. The first few poxers stood against the front end, pounding on the hood. Tag punched the gas, and the car rammed through them. Bodies slammed against the hood and flew over the roof. Streams of blood spurted onto the windshield, collecting the flakes of dead and infected skin. He knew that the physiology of the disease would cause portions of their epidermal layer to peel off, revealing the pus-covered subcutaneous skin underneath. The extent of the scarring, however, was traumatic enough to have affected the new life cycles of growth, possibly causing permanent damage.

He took the corner hard and heard one of the hubcaps go flying off and roll down the hill. Staring through his rearview mirror, he saw it bouncing and spinning down the street and heading toward Krane’s Beach. He kept his foot pressed on the accelerator, not caring now if he hit any more of the diseased. The hypocrisy of his actions did not fail to escape him, and he hoped that Stain wouldn’t ask him why it was okay for him to kill poxers but not Reverend Roberts.

The news blared on the radio, but he was too busy steering the vehicle to listen. By the time he made it to the top of the hill and pulled into the downtown area, he could see that Main Street had once again filled up with the diseased. Everywhere he looked, poxers stalked around, behaving in an unpredictable fashion. Maybe it was his imagination, but they seemed more agile and limber than before, as if they were getting comfortable in their own skin. On Fez’s instruction he turned left onto Main Street and gunned it down the boulevard until he came to the small clinic situated near the end of the street. He parked next to the curb and rushed out, cracking the skull of an approaching poxer with the barrel of his gun. He sprinted toward the front door and turned the handle only to realize that it was locked. Stepping back, he shot the lock open and then scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

He ran back behind the counter to the medicine cabinet. Looking outside, he could see that a few poxers had surrounded the Crown Victoria. Luckily none of them had gotten inside. Whoever had last worked in this clinic had left the medicine cabinet open. He searched until he found the medicine he needed, stuffing the bottles into his pocket, then he grabbed a couple of hypodermic needles still in their packages. He figured while he was at it he should take some painkillers as well, and took two bottles each of codeine and oxycontin.

Tag jumped over the counter and sprinted back toward the door. A poxer greeted him as he departed, and he summarily put a bullet between its eyes. It took a few seconds for the others to realize that he was there, but once they did, they staggered toward him.

“Fez! Pull the car up about twenty yards, and I’ll meet you there!” he ordered.

Fez slid over to the driver’s seat, his eyes barely over the steering wheel. Tag shot another poxer in the head before sprinting ahead. Fez hit the gas, and the tires burned on the pavement. The kid lost control of the car and was now heading straight at Tag. The front end slammed into a few poxers along the way, sending them flying, their bodies landing with a sickly thump on the pavement. Tag feared he’d be the next victim if the kid didn’t quickly hit the brakes. He jumped up when the front end rammed into him and screeched to a halt, landing hard on the windshield. The vials of medicine fell to the ground. Fortunately, the car had slowed just before impact, but now his hip and right shoulder seared with pain. He prayed he hadn’t busted anything.

“Sorry, Tag!” Fez said, jumping out of the driver’s seat to gather up the vials of medicine and syringes that had fallen to the pavement.