Plagued: The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment (Plagued States of America) (4 page)

Eight

Mason pushed the cart to the center of the line of cells, with Matty lugging four hoses ahead of him. The moaning had slackened a bit while they were changing, but now that they were in full view of the biters, the groans and desperate wails redoubled. Hands reached out between bars, sweeping at the air, hopeful for a scrap of food or warm skin to grab hold of.

“We keep them in pairs down here,”
Matty explained loudly, bellowing his words to make sure he could be heard over the moans and the chirping of one of the cart wheels. “Upstairs, they’re all cut up so we keep them apart. We don’t want them gnawing on one another. But down here, we pop a can of shut-the-fuck-up by tossing them into groups. Here’s three, there they’ve got five. Those lab-coats said the biters complain less when they’re in groups. I don’t know where the fuck those stupid asses did their research, but they sure as shit never spent a night in here.”

Matty
stopped, his brow furrowed as he looked past Mason at a cell. “See what I mean? That’s the cell they were looking at, right…am I right?”

Mason looked at the cell
Matty was pointing toward. Matty leaned side to side as he approached the cell, trying to look through the bars, moving sideways to get a better view. There were four biters in the cage, three standing against the bars, desperately reaching toward Matty, while one sat in the back on the bedding.

“Another weak-kneed son of a bitch. Those assholes were probably trying to film it to make us look bad. ‘
Look at this poor victim of consumption, wallowing in its own feces. Another example of the cruelty imposed by sanctioning
.’ Cruelty, my ass.”

“Are you going to help
it out?”

“
Why? That lab-coat that was up here, she knows about it. She brought them here specifically because of it, I’ll bet you good money!”

“Yeah, but he looks sick,” Mason said with only a hint of the concern he really felt. He didn’t know what the protocol for handling a situation like this might be.

“If he was sick, he’d be whiter than that. He’s got good color. Shit, he looks almost normal. Must be a Mexican.”

Mason didn’t have to ask about such a statement. Pigmentation was severely affected by the
consumption pathogen, causing infected individuals’ skin to appear bleached. This was because of a massive imbalance in their cholesterol levels, something that not only drove them to seek only meat for sustenance, but also impaired numerous other bodily functions, including pigmentation. For Caucasians the effect was near albinism. For Mexicans, Italians, Asians, Native Americans, and others with naturally darker complexion, their appearance was that of a fair-skinned Caucasian. For darker skinned individuals, the effect was either large, bleached patches or bright red hues.

“I don’t think he’s a Mexican,” Mason said.

“Like you know shit. What have you been here, all of one day?”

“I just think that
—”

“Stop thinking and push the goddamn cart.”

Matty whistled the whole length of the cell block, even as they setup the hoses. He started stuffing orange plugs into his ears once everything was ready for work. Mason was already wearing his. Perhaps over time he’d get accustomed to the noise like Matty seemed to be, but so far it was a haunting drone that he couldn’t ignore.

“Hand me a noose
,” Matty said, holding a hand out. Mason was carrying two nooses and sets of arm restraints. He gave half of his bundle to Matty.

“Now this is a little differe
nt than the second floor. All these mother fuckers aren’t docile ‘cause they’re not under any meds. You hook them and lock them in, or they’re gonna bite your ass, you got me?” Matty stared hard at Mason.

Mason nodded,
trying to appear as sober as he could. It was more than a little distressing to think that he was about to go into the pens with biters. Upstairs, Matty had done all the corralling, showing Mason but not letting him near any of them because, as he put it, they were still contagious.

“
This side’s got the quarantines, that side’s safe. You work them, and I’ll take care of these mother fuckers. Don’t try to be a hero. Just do it like I showed you upstairs.”

“Got it,” Mason said.

“Good. Go on and show me,” Matty said with a wave.

The way
Matty said it reminded Mason of his own father.
You think you’ve got that fast ball figured out? You think you can put that header on without busting a finger? You think you can save the world? Good. Go prove it.

After t
wo years overseas, Mason didn’t think much about saving the world anymore. He had come to think that the world wasn’t worth it. Not if everyone he tried to save wanted to stuff a knife in his back. These biters weren’t much different in that regard.

Mason stepped up to the first cell and took a deep breath. In his training
before coming here, he had fought with several zombies. They were much stronger than they appeared, mostly because when they did anything, they used
all
of their strength. They didn’t temper their actions. As soon as he got the noose through the bars, he knew he was in for a fight. He drove the noose through and missed on his first attempt. The bars of the cell limited his range and he came up short.

“
Jesus Christ, don’t pussy foot around,” Matty growled behind him. “One sweep or you’ll be fighting a tug of war with
all
of them.” Matty shot his hose into the faces of the three biters in the cell. The one Mason was struggling with let go of the noose pole and swept its hands over its own eyes. “Come on, weak dick,” Matty said as way of encouragement.

Mason
hooked the noose over the biter’s head and hauled the thing forward, pressing its face into the cell bars.

“That’s it,”
Matty told him. “Now use the restraint. Come on, you’ve got to be quick or he’s gonna—” It was too late. As Mason fumbled with latching the restraint to the noose pole, the biter pushed off the cell bars and began yanking at the pole.

Matty
shot water in their faces again as a second biter reached over to grab the pole. Matty dropped the hose and grabbed the other end of the noose with one hand, nudging Mason aside. Matty was considerably bigger by bulk alone and easily tugged the biter back against the bars. With his other hand he latched a restraint bar to the noose pole and slid it toward the cell. It swung into place like flying down a zip line, clanking against the bars of the cell. Matty let go of the pole. The restraint bar only slid along the pole in one direction, so as Matty and Mason stood back. The noose pole flailed erratically as the zombie tried to pull free.

“Quicker next time,”
Matty said softly.

“Sorry,” Mason said, disappointed with himself
for failing.

“
Did you think you were going to handle a pen of biters all alone on your first try or something?” He began laughing, picking up his hose and spraying the biters in the faces again. “Now get his arms restrained before he rips up the skin on his neck.”

“Yes, sir,” Mason replied evenly.

Nine

By the third cell, Mason was feeling more comfortable about subduing zombies. He still had to look at the restraint bar to latch it onto the pole, and he had trouble locking the captured biter’s arms to the restraint bar using the harness, but he had captured seven on his own. Done with this cell, he pulled the noose loop off the biter and stepped back to collect the restraints he had tossed behind him. He retreated to the cart to get another bandage, spraying antiseptic over the cut on his forearm. Damned biter fingernails were thick and sharp. Matty hadn’t warned him about that.

“Hey,” Mason called out. “Do we ever clip their nails?”

“What?” Matty snapped irritably. “Does this look like a fucking salon?”

“Well
, who shaves them?”

“They don’t need to be shaved. They’re all overproducing female hormones. Only one in ten grow beards, and hunters just kill those ones on sight most of the time. Too aggressive. Either that
, or you have to castrate them like angry bulls.”

Mason shivered at the thought.

“You don’t even want to know about the children,” Matty grumbled loud enough to be heard over the moans of discontent and hunger echoing through the cell block. Mason hadn’t seen any children so far, but then again, the trade of underage infected was against federal law, so it stood to reason that none would be here.

Mason
started lassoing a biter in the next cell to restrain it. His first batch of females. At first, he expected them to be easier, but their strength surprised him. The female grabbed the pole and nearly yanked Mason to the cell bars. Matty chuckled as he cut loose the group he had just finished. Matty had been keeping an eye on Mason’s progress as he moved along at about twice the pace. He was already four cells ahead. Mason got the female under control and began to restrain her arms.

“You know,”
Matty shouted. “There was a guy who used to feel up the females after he caught them. Sick mother fucker. Don’t let me catch you touching any of their titties or I’ll report you.”

Mason only nodded.
That kind of debauchery made no sense to him. There were brothels in the Rurals that exclusively used zombies, but the only legal ones were in Nevada, and he thought it was more of a novelty than a real service. He hoped so, at least.

“
Shit!” Matty yelled. Mason spun around to see Matty in front of the cell that the film crew had been interested in. “I need another noose!”

“What’s happening?” Mason shouted back, moving toward
Matty’s position. Matty slid his security card over the keypad beside the cell. “What the hell are you doing?!”

The magnetic door buzzed, then clacked as it unlocked.

“Don’t go in there,” Mason shouted. “That’s an order.”

“I’m not losing another one,”
Matty growled.

Mason cursed under his breath and moved in on the female he had just captured. He needed the other noose pole to help out. He unhooked the rope on the outer end,
and then slid forward to the restraining bar to pull the pins out and press the release. He yanked the two pins and had his hand over the release as the biter grabbed his arm. He fought against her strength to press the release latch. It gave with a loud snap and he shoved the pole into her face several times to break her hold of him. “Let go,” he snarled, stepping back while hauling her arm to its full extent. With her arm wedged between the bars she was forced to let go and Mason grabbed the pole with both hands to free it from her neck.

“I need your pole
,” Matty shouted urgently.

Mason flipped the noose off the woman and yanked the pole free. He turned
to assess the situation. The door to the cell was sliding open with Matty standing in front of it. Inside, the three biters were hovering over the body of the fourth, the one that had looked sick earlier. Mason knew he couldn’t run faster than he could throw the pole so he hurled it and watched it slide across the ground toward Matty. Matty put a boot on it, reached down to grab it, and boldly strode into the cell before Mason had taken three strides.

Mason
ran back to the other cell to grab another pole, but with the floor wet, he slipped while trying to stop. He fell, tumbling into the cleaning cart head first. He toppled the whole thing, spilling its contents across the floor. His hose began to spray into his face. He reached a hand down to block the water, realizing that the cart had fallen onto the nozzle and it was gushing water out of its broken side.

Mason pushed up to his feet again and clamored over the fallen cart. There was little he could do except watch
as Matty swept a noose over the head of one of the biters. Mason snatched a pole and rushed forward, trying not to fall again.

“Hold this one,”
Matty bellowed as he locked the rope around one of the biters necks. He wrenched the biter off the body and threw the pole like a spear. Mason dropped his pole and groped for the one coming at him through the cell bars. It swung upward due to the biter on the other end falling backwards once Matty let go. Mason jumped into the air and grabbed the pole. The pole lifted the biter by its neck. It flailed and kicked spasmodically.

“Shit,” Mason hissed. He wasn’t sure if
hanging a biter would kill it or not so he eased and let the biter slump back down.

Matty
looped a second biter and tugged it off as well, throwing the pole through the bars just as he had the first.

“
Matty!” Mason reached a hand over to grab the second noose pole. “Matty!”

“Don’t let
go,” Matty shouted, pointing a finger at Mason.

“
Matty, get the fuck out of there, now,” Mason shouted in as commanding a voice as he could muster. The two biters noosed at the end of the poles began to struggle, reaching and flailing at the noose rope around their neck and the pole itself. Their combined strength made it nearly impossible to control.

Matty
kicked the third biter in the head, knocking it off the body of the other. He grabbed the biter by the hair on top of its head, lifting it up as though holding the severed head of Medusa so her eyes wouldn’t turn him to stone. In a way, they were the same. The bite of a zombie was nearly as fatal. It looked like that had been the case for the fourth biter, laying face up in the back of the cell. Blood oozed from several gnarly wounds chewed into its flesh along its arms and neck.

“
Curtis,” Mason shouted, hoping that hearing his first name would ring some sense into him. “I can’t hold two of them myself!”

“
Grow some nads,” Matty growled as he kicked the back of the knees of the biter he was holding, knocking it down again as it tried to stand. “Pull them back! I need to drag him out.”

“What?!”

“I need another cell!”

Mason leaned back and pulled with all his strength. The noose poles slid outward through the bars of the prison cell, dragging the two biters with him. The
y still faced Matty, reaching and groping the air in a desperate attempt to grab hold of his warm, edible flesh. The moaning throughout the cell block had grown so loud Mason could hardly hear himself yelling “clear” to let Matty know there was room enough to get out. All the zombies were worked up into a frenzy like sharks smelling blood.

“Pull them back
,” Matty yelled.

“Fuck you, they are back! Watch yours,
it’s turning.”

“Watch yours,
he’s trying to push off.”

Mason swung the poles under his armpit and lifted his feet off the ground. The two zombies lurched into the air as though being hanged. Instead of groping toward
Matty, they reached for the ropes digging into their necks.

“Go
,” Mason yelled.

Matty
backed out of the cell, dragging the third biter by the hair. It flailed and beat at Matty’s forearm with one hand while grabbing at Matty’s hand with the other. Matty hit the biter’s wrist with judo chops each time it latched on. Mason eased the other two biters down once Matty was clear of the cell door, but he still struggled to keep them under control. The noise and the smell of fresh blood smearing their upper lips drove them to savagery. The two shook violently. It took every ounce of Mason’s strength to hang onto the poles.

Matty
continued to back away toward the empty cells. There were two on the other side near where they had started the night so he was heading in that direction when he slipped. The ground was soaking wet from the gushing hose and with the upturned bottles of soap leaking out, the area had become slick. Matty fell hard, wrenching the zombie down with him.

Mason only caught a glimpse of the scene as he struggled with the two biters attached to the ends of his poles, but the one thing he saw clearly was
Matty’s hand letting go of the biter when they both struck the ground.

“
Matty!”

Mason stared in horror for only a brief moment. The pole in his right hand jerked suddenly, throwing his arm up with it, enough so the pole smacked him in the face at full force. Mason’s head snapped back reflexively as he swung the pole down again, turning his attention to the problem he had with these two biters.
He needed to keep them inside the cell, but he couldn’t reach the cell door without letting them go. He looked back to see Matty beneath the other biter, his forearm under the thing’s chin and his other arm holding the back of its head. The biter had just as fierce a hold of Matty by the forearm and neck as it tried to pull itself down to his exposed flesh.

Fuck it
, Mason thought, letting the two poles go. He started toward Matty, but felt helpless, like a man trying to outrun a bullet. The biter turned its head and sunk his teeth into Matty’s forearm. Mason didn’t stop. He screamed in anger and tackled the biter, hitting it across its back, clasping his arms around its shoulders, and taking it down head-first onto the slippery floor. Mason heard a scream from Matty just before the loud thwack of the biter’s head cracking onto the smooth concrete. Mason slid to a stop before he pushed off the biter and stood in a hand-to-hand fighting crouch.

The biter began pushing itself up as well
, but Mason kicked it in the face, knocking it onto its side. It hissed at him, baring human fangs soaked in red blood, both that of Matty’s and its own. It glared at Mason with hateful rage.

Mason chanced a look
behind him to where Matty was getting up, a hand over the bloodied wound on his other arm.

“Get to the main door
,” Mason yelled over the now thunderous echoes of moaning and wailing all around them. “Sound the alarm.”

“I’m bit!”

“Fucking move, soldier,” Mason shouted. He wasn’t looking at Matty anymore. He stared down the biter in front of him as it stood and hissed. It took a step toward him. Mason dropped and swept its legs. It flailed and fell sideways, reaching forward as it did, desperately grabbing hold of Mason’s closest arm. Mason stood abruptly, hauling the thing across the floor. It held on like a pendulum. He put his boot to the thing’s throat and stood straighter to break the hold, but the biter simply grabbed his leg with its free hand. It felt like fighting an octopus.

Mason ripped the Velcro off his holster and drew his pistol.
The memory his fingers triggered struck as hard as a bat to the chest.
Put down your weapon, soldier
, Mason heard himself in the recesses of his mind.
That’s an order!
He shut his eyes in the hopes that he could wrest control over it, but it did no good. He couldn’t forget his past, and the memory stunned him momentarily.

The biter’s hands groping his leg helped
keep him in the present situation. As hesitant as he was about using a gun again, he wasn’t about to let himself get bitten.
Blam!
He shot the biter in the shoulder. Its arm fell limply to the ground.
Blam!
He shot it in the opposite leg. The biter only grudgingly recognized its own pain, beating on Mason’s leg with its working arm. Mason stepped back to let it flail helplessly. He carefully moved across the slick floor toward where Matty was walking for the main door, head low, his back to the scene. Mason stopped, knelt down, took aim, and fired on one of the biters at the open door of the cell.
Blam!

Matty
looked back toward Mason, turning half way. He stopped and his eyes showed the despair and anguish of a dying man. Mason didn’t move. He still knelt with his pistol drawn, aiming at the biter as it fell over its shot out-knee, toppling into a heap at the door of the open cell.

“You don’t come back,”
Matty said, barely loud enough for Mason to hear.

“Keep moving,” Mason ordered.

“I already feel it.” Matty reached for his own gun, pulling it from his holster.

“Wait,” Mason said
, holding a hand up.

It was too late.
Matty put the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.

Blam
!