Read Online Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army - Free Book Online
Authors: Better Hero Army
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Bill’s cries for help and his terror went on only for a few seconds before another zombie fell upon him to drown out most of his protests. Tom hated that he was numbed like this, unaffected by such a gruesome scene. Unlike most people, though, Tom not only witnessed but survived the first horde. As Mike helped Rick back onto the duck, Peske sat back down in his seat and turned his attention forward, grinding the vehicle into gear.
“Everyone else aboard?” Peske asked solemnly.
“Go,” Hank replied, equally vacant of his normally sour mood.
The vehicle lurched forward again.
Tom leaned against Penelope’s cage and sighed. Hank shut off the spotlights and generator before climbing down to resume his place alongside Peske. Rick, the hunter, sat down next to Tom with his head on his arms, propped up by his knees, looking down to avoid everyone’s grim stares. It wasn’t fair to blame Rick for anything, but the visitors had that accusatory look. They sat on the deck all staring his way, looking at him like he had made the killing blow himself.
“At least you saved the other two,” Tom said, thinking it was about the only comforting thing he could come up with. Rick didn’t say anything.
Fourteen
They drove slowly, creeping along the deserted highway, avoiding huge potholes, burning up diesel enough that Peske kept mentioning how close it was going to be. He kept saying they should stop again for the night, saying they might run out of fuel five to ten miles before they reached town. Tom wondered what kind of town they would find that had a gas station out here. Hank and Peske also argued about the zombies they’d seen. Not local. They both agreed on that. From the snippets of their conversation Tom overheard, they both came to the conclusion that those were all the zombies that escaped from Biter’s Hill. Tom hoped Rick hadn’t heard that. If that was the case, then most of them wouldn’t have been contagious. Rick might have felt worse for not tackling the front zombie and dragging Bill away. A few bites, some stitches mostly, wouldn’t hurt too badly in the grand scheme of things. Even the other two visitors could have helped.
Of course Tom knew it would have ended worse. All four of them would be dead or turned by now. Tom counted how many people were still left aboard the duck. From a town as big as Biter’s Hill, a place he knew had over five hundred men and women, only fifteen survivors and a half-breed. No, that was wrong. As far as survivors went, only those who were on the ferry officially made it out. No one knew about the duck. After the gunships, they must have written everyone else off completely. Tom wondered what the news corporations would be reporting on the incident, how they would spin it. It made him wonder if the government would have a vested interest in making sure none of them made it back. All the more reason to get to a long range radio, something that could reach the Districts directly.
The truck sputtered, acting like it would stall. Everyone glanced forward, even Tom. There was something altogether sinister about that sound. The engine was dying, gasping for fuel, lurching with each desperate breath. The argument had been going on for nearly two hours. Hank kept asking Peske why he didn’t have fuel. Peske claimed he never filled up until the day he left so no one would siphon his tanks. But regardless of their banter, the fact was that the duck was almost dead.
When the engine sighed its last breath, the vehicle went silent except for the crunching of its tires over the rubble-like highway.
“That’s why you don’t drive at night!” Peske groused loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If we could have waited for morning we would have reached the next town with five gallons to spare.” No one argued the point. Like Tom, they were all too busy wondering what they would do now. How far back were those zombies? The duck crept to a halt and Peske set the brake. “Get the
“Everyone else aboard?” Peske asked solemnly.
“Go,” Hank replied, equally vacant of his normally sour mood.
The vehicle lurched forward again.
Tom leaned against Penelope’s cage and sighed. Hank shut off the spotlights and generator before climbing down to resume his place alongside Peske. Rick, the hunter, sat down next to Tom with his head on his arms, propped up by his knees, looking down to avoid everyone’s grim stares. It wasn’t fair to blame Rick for anything, but the visitors had that accusatory look. They sat on the deck all staring his way, looking at him like he had made the killing blow himself.
“At least you saved the other two,” Tom said, thinking it was about the only comforting thing he could come up with. Rick didn’t say anything.
Fourteen
They drove slowly, creeping along the deserted highway, avoiding huge potholes, burning up diesel enough that Peske kept mentioning how close it was going to be. He kept saying they should stop again for the night, saying they might run out of fuel five to ten miles before they reached town. Tom wondered what kind of town they would find that had a gas station out here. Hank and Peske also argued about the zombies they’d seen. Not local. They both agreed on that. From the snippets of their conversation Tom overheard, they both came to the conclusion that those were all the zombies that escaped from Biter’s Hill. Tom hoped Rick hadn’t heard that. If that was the case, then most of them wouldn’t have been contagious. Rick might have felt worse for not tackling the front zombie and dragging Bill away. A few bites, some stitches mostly, wouldn’t hurt too badly in the grand scheme of things. Even the other two visitors could have helped.
Of course Tom knew it would have ended worse. All four of them would be dead or turned by now. Tom counted how many people were still left aboard the duck. From a town as big as Biter’s Hill, a place he knew had over five hundred men and women, only fifteen survivors and a half-breed. No, that was wrong. As far as survivors went, only those who were on the ferry officially made it out. No one knew about the duck. After the gunships, they must have written everyone else off completely. Tom wondered what the news corporations would be reporting on the incident, how they would spin it. It made him wonder if the government would have a vested interest in making sure none of them made it back. All the more reason to get to a long range radio, something that could reach the Districts directly.
The truck sputtered, acting like it would stall. Everyone glanced forward, even Tom. There was something altogether sinister about that sound. The engine was dying, gasping for fuel, lurching with each desperate breath. The argument had been going on for nearly two hours. Hank kept asking Peske why he didn’t have fuel. Peske claimed he never filled up until the day he left so no one would siphon his tanks. But regardless of their banter, the fact was that the duck was almost dead.
When the engine sighed its last breath, the vehicle went silent except for the crunching of its tires over the rubble-like highway.
“That’s why you don’t drive at night!” Peske groused loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If we could have waited for morning we would have reached the next town with five gallons to spare.” No one argued the point. Like Tom, they were all too busy wondering what they would do now. How far back were those zombies? The duck crept to a halt and Peske set the brake. “Get the
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