Read Online Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Better Hero Army
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siphon bar and pump down,” Peske said while pointing to some long rods on the roof racks. Rick didn’t hesitate to help with the task.
“What are you doing?” Tyler demanded frantically.
“Well,” Peske said irritably as he started unstrapping several empty three gallon fuel canisters off the roof of the cockpit. “Someone’s got to go ahead and get fuel for the duck, unless you want to walk the ninety-seven miles to Midamerica. I burned up most of my fuel plucking assholes like you out of the channel, so I think it’s fair that you be one of the assholes lugging these both ways.”
“What?” Tyler asked incredulously.
“You and four or five of your friends are going with Rick and Hank and his men to fetch some fuel. The more of you that go, the lighter your load will be on the way back. I’ve got ten empties. Figure it out.”
“I’ll go,” Tom said.
“Sit your ass back down,” Peske told Tom.
“Why? I want to go.”
“Not on your life,” Peske said. “Be a hero when we reach Midamerica. You’re staying here so they all come back. Otherwise, the first zombie they see they’ll hang us out to dry.”
Several arguments erupted all at once. Who would go, and why? The hunters and Peske kept at their tasks of preparing to walk ahead to look for fuel. They took down several zombie poles, flashlights, two canister guns, and Mike grinned as he opened a tackle box to find bolas. When everything was ready, Peske came into the circle of visitors and looked at his watch.
“You’ve got eighty minutes by my reckoning. That’s about how far ahead we are. Anyone who can’t jog two miles shouldn’t go.” Hank’s radio squawked as he tested it with the hunters. “These three will probably range ahead,” Peske said to the visitors, pointing at the hunters. “Stay with Hank and keep your mouths shut.” Peske eyed Tyler as he said this. “We only need six gallons to get this thing running again, but we can’t come get you without ten or more, so at least three of you need to make it back.
“Good luck , Hank,” Peske said, reaching a hand out to the other slaver.
“See you in an hour,” Hank said with a smile. “Come on you idiots,” Hank added, addressing the visitors. The three hunters were already over the side and picking up the siphoning equipment. Six of the visitors climbed over reluctantly, Tyler being the last. He glared at Peske before descending over the side.
“That idiot,” Peske said, snapping his fingers trying to remember his name.
“Tyler?” Tom offered.
“Yeah, that idiot Tyler needs to settle down or he’s going to get someone killed.”
Fifteen
Those remaining aboard the duck watched as the small group moved north into the darkness. Peske killed the lights on the duck from a switchboard at the front, and the generator engine rattled to a halt. The only light to split the darkness came from two battery lanterns. Hank’s group split into two with the smaller, faster team ranging ahead.
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” one of the men that had been forced to ride in the dinghy during the escape said. His name was Steve. Carrie looked over at him and sighed, but didn’t answer. It was hard to argue with his assessment.
“They’ll be back,” Tom said. His encouraging words surprised even himself, but it felt more like his childhood in the park than some encroaching doom. Tom just needed to stick close to Peske and his half-breed. Penelope. Especially her. And besides, they weren’t very far from Biter’s Hill. Tom figured with the usual assortment of hunters in the area, there wasn’t a living zombie for fifty miles except for those that escaped the fire-bombing. “With fuel,” Tom added hopefully.
The noise of the forest wasn’t very loud to begin with this late at night. It was about two in the morning and even nocturnal animals weren’t moving about. Tom wondered if there were any left given the zombie thirst for meat. Nobody aboard slept and
“What are you doing?” Tyler demanded frantically.
“Well,” Peske said irritably as he started unstrapping several empty three gallon fuel canisters off the roof of the cockpit. “Someone’s got to go ahead and get fuel for the duck, unless you want to walk the ninety-seven miles to Midamerica. I burned up most of my fuel plucking assholes like you out of the channel, so I think it’s fair that you be one of the assholes lugging these both ways.”
“What?” Tyler asked incredulously.
“You and four or five of your friends are going with Rick and Hank and his men to fetch some fuel. The more of you that go, the lighter your load will be on the way back. I’ve got ten empties. Figure it out.”
“I’ll go,” Tom said.
“Sit your ass back down,” Peske told Tom.
“Why? I want to go.”
“Not on your life,” Peske said. “Be a hero when we reach Midamerica. You’re staying here so they all come back. Otherwise, the first zombie they see they’ll hang us out to dry.”
Several arguments erupted all at once. Who would go, and why? The hunters and Peske kept at their tasks of preparing to walk ahead to look for fuel. They took down several zombie poles, flashlights, two canister guns, and Mike grinned as he opened a tackle box to find bolas. When everything was ready, Peske came into the circle of visitors and looked at his watch.
“You’ve got eighty minutes by my reckoning. That’s about how far ahead we are. Anyone who can’t jog two miles shouldn’t go.” Hank’s radio squawked as he tested it with the hunters. “These three will probably range ahead,” Peske said to the visitors, pointing at the hunters. “Stay with Hank and keep your mouths shut.” Peske eyed Tyler as he said this. “We only need six gallons to get this thing running again, but we can’t come get you without ten or more, so at least three of you need to make it back.
“Good luck , Hank,” Peske said, reaching a hand out to the other slaver.
“See you in an hour,” Hank said with a smile. “Come on you idiots,” Hank added, addressing the visitors. The three hunters were already over the side and picking up the siphoning equipment. Six of the visitors climbed over reluctantly, Tyler being the last. He glared at Peske before descending over the side.
“That idiot,” Peske said, snapping his fingers trying to remember his name.
“Tyler?” Tom offered.
“Yeah, that idiot Tyler needs to settle down or he’s going to get someone killed.”
Fifteen
Those remaining aboard the duck watched as the small group moved north into the darkness. Peske killed the lights on the duck from a switchboard at the front, and the generator engine rattled to a halt. The only light to split the darkness came from two battery lanterns. Hank’s group split into two with the smaller, faster team ranging ahead.
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” one of the men that had been forced to ride in the dinghy during the escape said. His name was Steve. Carrie looked over at him and sighed, but didn’t answer. It was hard to argue with his assessment.
“They’ll be back,” Tom said. His encouraging words surprised even himself, but it felt more like his childhood in the park than some encroaching doom. Tom just needed to stick close to Peske and his half-breed. Penelope. Especially her. And besides, they weren’t very far from Biter’s Hill. Tom figured with the usual assortment of hunters in the area, there wasn’t a living zombie for fifty miles except for those that escaped the fire-bombing. “With fuel,” Tom added hopefully.
The noise of the forest wasn’t very loud to begin with this late at night. It was about two in the morning and even nocturnal animals weren’t moving about. Tom wondered if there were any left given the zombie thirst for meat. Nobody aboard slept and
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