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

“Who said anything about planes?
Do you know a guy by the name of Houston?”


M.B. Houston
?” Tom asked incredulously. “The zombie pin-up king?”

 

Four

Penelope
tugged the collar of her coat closer to her neck, tightening it with a fistful of the cloth rolled under her chin. Their steps crunched over the gravel as they all made their way across the open courtyard between the EPS and the fence line. Dark clouds moved low across the sky, threatening sleet and snow. The wind dragged a chill across her cheeks. Tom and Hank led the way. Penelope walked briskly to keep up, cognizant of the red-headed Doctor O’Farrell a few strides behind, huffing to keep pace. The sound of the soldier’s heavy stride chased them as they all made their way to the rail cars.

“What are you going to offer him?” Hank asked Tom.

“I don’t know,” he replied breathlessly. “I’m still wondering what I’ve got left to offer
you
.”

“Who says I’m interested in going with you again?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Bah,” Hank grumbled. “Houston’s an old acquaintance. I’m just saying hello.”

Tom didn’t answer. They marched alongside the tall rail cars, keeping a safe distance in case something was hidden beneath them. The stones around the tracks made the ground uneven and harder to walk over. Hank reached the last of the rail cars first and jumped up onto a ladder, hoisting himself up the side of the car and onto a deck in the front.

Tom winced as he pulled himself up the ladder behind Hank.

“That shoulder still bothering you?” Hank asked.


It’s fine,” Tom grunted.

“Houston,” Hank called
, banging on the car’s door. “Put your pants on, you’ve got company!”

O’Farrell stepped up beside Penelope. “So who is this
Houston guy?”

Penelope only shrugged, avoiding eye contact with the doctor. She lifted her collar over her ears, trying to hide her whole head from O’Farrell’s
obsessive interest.

Everyone on the EPS knew about Houston
and his three luxury train cars that sat just inside the perimeter of the fence, but far enough away from the EPS structure that few people, if any, were willing to walk out to visit him. His rail cars were on the old railroad system that once hauled supplies for the construction of buildings, back before the outbreak, back when the EPS was just a new, unfinished high-rise.

The tracks continued east a few miles before plunging into the river where the train bridge had been blown up years ago, sealing off the EPS from the rest of the country when the channel project flooded the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to contain the spread of the zombie pathogen. Rumor had it that the tracks to the west were still fully operational.

Houston was a train engineer before the Quarantine. When the government sanctioned hunting, he filed for a license, stole an abandoned engine, and set up shop trying to ship goods between the hunting grounds and the EPS. Unfortunately, trucks carried enough supplies for short excursions, so aside from running alcohol and captured zombies, he didn’t turn enough of a profit and gave it up. Eventually, he began publishing a weekly newspaper and annual zombie pin-up calendars, but he still kept the luxury coaches.

“These are just rail cars,” the soldier named Jones said. “Where’s the engine?”

“I can’t believe Tom is the son of Senator Jefferson,” O’Farrell said to the soldier.

“I can’t believe Kennedy was here
,” the soldier replied. “She’s been on the EPS the whole time we’ve been here.”

“She didn’t do this to you
, Mason,” Doctor O’Farrell said.

“I don’t know that,” Jones snapped. The doctor looked hurt by his words. He sighed.

Penelope knew what the doctor was talking about. Tom explained it to her in private. Jones had been bitten by a zombie six days ago at Biter’s Island and then given the cure, but too late to save his mind. The difference between Jones and Penelope, however, was that Jones still knew who he was and knew the world around him. He hadn’t fully transformed into a zombie like Penelope did. The only memories Penelope could summon were of being a zombie half-breed. She couldn’t think of anything from before, be it as zombie
or
human.

Still,
Penelope felt sorry for Jones with his mind sapped of all his recent memories to the point that he didn’t even know what he had said to O’Farrell in the hours just after being given the cure. He couldn’t remember saving her and Hank from the destruction of the Island. And he had no idea how he had gotten that way.


She can clear our names,” Jones told the doctor in a softer tone. “Yours, at least. I just want her to fill in the holes.”

“Her telling you anything won’t bring back your memories,” O’Farrell
said. She hooked an arm around his affectionately. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Jones replied.
“So am I. I’m sorry to you, I mean.”

The door of the
coach opened and M.B. Houston stepped out to give Hank a strong hug. Tom shook his hand and they were all ushered inside, Houston leading the way as Tom held the door open for everyone. Penelope leapt up the side of the train, eager to get out of the cold and away from Jones and O’Farrell. She stopped abruptly at the top, crouching and growling, her senses aware of the dangerous odor of zombies nearby. Tom lunged toward her, holding the door with one leg as he took her arm and lifted her upright.

“It’s alright,” he said, pointing into the car. She leaned forward
, feeling the warmth from inside melting into the freezing wind, smelling the strong odor of zombies wafting out. “I know,” Tom added. “He keeps them inside with him.”

“What gives?” the soldier asked, looking suspiciously through the open door.

“She doesn’t like zombies,” Tom replied.

“Who does?” Mason asked, stepping into the rail car with a hand on his holster.
“I mean, except her,” the soldier added, pointing a thumb at Doctor O’Farrell.

O’Farrell
punched the soldier in the shoulder.

“Jesus, Wendy,” the soldier snapped, putting a hand over where she hit him. “That’s my bad arm.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, putting both of her hands over where she hit him. She walked beside him into the coach, but looked back toward Penelope with interest, which was even more disconcerting than the smell.

Tom led Penelope
by the hand into the coach, letting the door close behind them.

“Welcome to ZQ HQ,” Houston said to the group.
“This is where the magic happens.” He stood in front of an ornate wooden bar while gesturing to the whole room. This coach was a first class lounge car with a few modifications. The bar in the middle looked more like a desk than a place to serve drinks. To one side of it were several bookshelves stacked with an assortment of volumes of Z.Q. Magazine. A television hung behind the bar, playing the same news about the crash. To the other side of the bar was a large area with several different-colored drapes hanging from the ceiling, stands that held umbrellas, and tripods with black cameras—the same kind Tom used to inventory new zombie arrivals.

“It’s been a long tim
e since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” Houston said to Hank.

“That’s because you stopped making your runs,
” Hank replied. “I didn’t go nowhere.”

“Well,
” Houston said, raising an eye. “You moved a little.”

“Oh yeah, they sort of blew up the Hill on me,” Hank replied.


And
the Island,” Houston added. “So I guess you’re going to be calling the Bend home for a while? I hope your luck doesn’t follow you around.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Hank said, rubbing his bearded chin. “I’ve got a favor to ask you, M.”

“Well, I didn’t expect with two wanted men in my office that this was a social call. You’re that soldier they’re trying to pin everything on, aren’t you?”

Jones nodded once.

“I’m not even going to ask your involvement with these two,” Houston said to Doctor O’Farrell. “Not yet, at least. Maybe over a drink, later?” He gave her a sly grin.

“Maybe,” O’Farrell said
, her cheeks reddening brighter than her hair.


So what kind of favor?” Houston asked, returning his attention to Hank.

“We need you
to make another run.”

“It’s been two years,” Houston replied. “And does it look like I have an engine?”

“Oh, come on. You’ve got your baby stashed nearby. Just one run, to St. Louis.”

“St. Louis?” Houston
stepped away from the bar to turn and look at the television. “Out there, in that?” He pointed at the television.

“Yea
h. Exactly in that, right there,” Hank said, pointing at the television too. A Doppler Radar image of the state showed heavy green washing through the St. Louis area beside a picture of the Senator.

Houston raised his eyebrows. He looked at everyone in the room, but his eyes lingered on Penelope’s.

“What do any of you care about what’s going on out there?”

“I care,” Tom said. Houston’s eyes shifted to Tom. “I think we can get to them before anyone else does. I think we can save them.”

“I admire your dedication to duty, chief, but why him?” Houston asked, pointing at the Senator’s image. “He’s got to be the biggest ass I’ve ever met.”

“He’s my father,” Tom admitted
dryly. He sounded ashamed to say it, tired words that came as though he had been making this same apologetic revelation to people all his life. Penelope squeezed Tom’s hand gently.

“You’re joking,”
Houston said. He looked at Hank, who only raised his eyebrows. “He’s not joking, is he? Are you all in on this?” He looked from person to person again in disbelief, hoping to find some evidence that this was all a joke.

“M, you used to make runs to the camps to bring supplies in the worst weather, remember?”

“The camps were easy. You’re talking about St. Louis, Hank. Ground zero.”

“Not exactly,” Tom interjected. “We only need to get as far as Scott Air
Force Base.”

“Oh, well, just the air base. Whew,” Houston said
, waving his hands theatrically. “So we’ll just derail along the way and follow the highway, right?”

“We’ve got another plan for ground transportation once we’
re there,” Hank added.

“Oh, another plan. I hope you’ve got
an additional plan for getting us home, too.”


The train. Both ways,” Tom said.

“Sure, except how are we going to turn it around?”

“Just drive backwards. Trains do it all the time.”

“Shows what you know about trains and weather
,” Houston said dismissively. “The engine needs to be in front so the snow blower can clear the tracks. We’re going to need to find a turntable or roundhouse—” Houston’s face showed a revelation and he snapped a finger. “Or a wye.”

“Why?”

“No, not why, a wye. Tracks for turning trains around. Never mind.”


Those are just logistics issues. Are you gonna help or what, M?” Hank asked.

“Of course I’m going to
help,” Houston replied.

“What?” Tom and Hank asked in unison. Everyone else
wore looks of utter surprise. Even Penelope thought it seemed too easy from the way Tom and Hank expected things to happen. They thought he would demand some kind of payment.

“Are you kidding me?” Houston asked. “
Your dad’s the front runner for president next year. The next president of the United States owing
me
his life?”

Hank’s mouth was open, but he said nothing.

“But I also want the story rights, too. Not just yours,” Houston said, pointing at Tom. “Everyone’s. Especially you, soldier. We should ink a deal right now, in fact.”

“Not everyone’s agreed, yet,” Tom said. “
Hank and Jones and the doctor, they’re not part of it.”

“I’m in,”
Jones said. Everyone stared his way in silent surprise. Doctor O’Farrell wore a critical scowl. “He can clear my name. I’m in.”

“Are you sure it’s just the Senator you’re going up there for?” O’Farrell asked him.

“Saving Kennedy won’t hurt,” Jones added.

“Glad to have you aboard, soldier,” Houston said with a grin. “We’re going to need some guns for this.”

“I’ll go too,” O’Farrell added.

“No,”
Jones told her. “You’re safe now. Get across the channel.”

“And then what?
I’m a zombie research scientist, Mason. This is what I do. And Midamerica has the highest concentration of half-breeds alive.” O’Farrell’s gaze fell on Penelope. Penelope shrank behind Tom. “I’m going. If I can observe them and bring back photographic proof of their human-like behavior out in the wild, do you know what that will mean to our research? I just need to borrow one of your cameras.” She spoke directly to Houston while pointing toward the tripod at the other end of the coach.

“No camera, no joining up,”
Jones said emphatically.

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