Read Online Plagued: The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Better Hero Army
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having?”
“Nothing yet,” Mason replied.
She looked over her shoulder toward the bar, throwing a hand up to catch the bartender’s attention. “Get me a beer for my friend,” she called out. The bartender nodded and she turned her attention back to Mason, smiling. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Mason said, sliding out of the booth to stand. His courtesy made her smile.
She was a tall woman, his own height in her heels. She slid into the bench seat opposite him and put her drink down out of the way, tossing her lab coat onto the seat beside her. Mason sat down again, settling one arm on the table, turning his shoulder toward the hunters who were now all watching him with veiled interest.
“Ignore them,” she said. “Tell me, Mason Jones, are you in or out?”
“I don’t know what I’d be in if I answered that question.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, taking a deep breath and sighing before saying, “So are you really stupid pretending to be smart, or really smart pretending to be stupid?”
“How about a little ignorant pretending to be both.”
“All right, I think I can work with that.” She smiled again, tapping her glass with a finger as she considered his stoicism. “I was told you are particularly observant, that you don’t miss anything. Some kind of photographic memory?”
“Eidetic memory,” Mason told her. “ I was diagnosed with it in high school. Why does everyone keep asking me about it?”
“It’s useful for this…let’s say , position. You are hyper-observant, which sets you apart. It’s one of the things that got you into Benning.”
“Yeah, well, after five years Army, I think being a truck driver like my guidance counselor suggested might have been a smarter move.”
She held an accommodating smile, the kind that showed her ire. “You’re good at insubordination, Jones. You pissed off Jefferson, and you’re pissing me off, too. He told me your fate was in my hands, so, unless you like this hell-hole, how about you try making some productive conversation.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jones said evenly.
She didn’t seem satisfied with his response. She continued to glare at him, picking up her drink again to take a sip. “So tell me what you know.”
“I was hoping you could clue me in on what I should know. I got taken out of the hospital, put on a plane, driven to a restaurant in the Districts in Denver—and I don’t even have a District Pass—met with a Senator who wants to save America by stopping zombies—as if that’s possible—given an envelope with thirty pages of intelligence on this facility that I was told to commit to memory, given your name to contact, and then they put me into two weeks of training for zombie hand-to-hand and close quarters combat before shipping me here to scrub cells on the graveyard shift. That’s the sum total of my last two weeks.”
“Nobody told you what we’re doing here?”
“All I know is there’s a research lab below the prison.”
“You’ve seen the rest of the island, I presume. I mean, you have eyes, don’t you?”
Mason nodded, but instead of answering, he sat up straight, not taking his eyes off hers as the bartender put a beer down in front of him. She smiled, saying, “Thanks, Mac. Where’s the salad?”
“It’s coming, it’s coming,” the bartender said over his shoulder as he retreated.
“Do you come here often?” Mason asked. She laughed heartily. For as much as he thought he should hate her, he was having trouble putting the description others had painted of her to the woman sitting across from him.
“Al l right, I’ll let that one pass,” she said with a demure smile. “Unless you’re trying to come on to me.”
“No, I just figure you know the bartender,” Mason shrugged.
“Yeah, well, sometimes you need a little help forgetting what you’ve seen, you know?” She held up her glass to him. He held up his beer and they touched the two in a toast before taking
“Nothing yet,” Mason replied.
She looked over her shoulder toward the bar, throwing a hand up to catch the bartender’s attention. “Get me a beer for my friend,” she called out. The bartender nodded and she turned her attention back to Mason, smiling. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Mason said, sliding out of the booth to stand. His courtesy made her smile.
She was a tall woman, his own height in her heels. She slid into the bench seat opposite him and put her drink down out of the way, tossing her lab coat onto the seat beside her. Mason sat down again, settling one arm on the table, turning his shoulder toward the hunters who were now all watching him with veiled interest.
“Ignore them,” she said. “Tell me, Mason Jones, are you in or out?”
“I don’t know what I’d be in if I answered that question.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, taking a deep breath and sighing before saying, “So are you really stupid pretending to be smart, or really smart pretending to be stupid?”
“How about a little ignorant pretending to be both.”
“All right, I think I can work with that.” She smiled again, tapping her glass with a finger as she considered his stoicism. “I was told you are particularly observant, that you don’t miss anything. Some kind of photographic memory?”
“Eidetic memory,” Mason told her. “ I was diagnosed with it in high school. Why does everyone keep asking me about it?”
“It’s useful for this…let’s say , position. You are hyper-observant, which sets you apart. It’s one of the things that got you into Benning.”
“Yeah, well, after five years Army, I think being a truck driver like my guidance counselor suggested might have been a smarter move.”
She held an accommodating smile, the kind that showed her ire. “You’re good at insubordination, Jones. You pissed off Jefferson, and you’re pissing me off, too. He told me your fate was in my hands, so, unless you like this hell-hole, how about you try making some productive conversation.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jones said evenly.
She didn’t seem satisfied with his response. She continued to glare at him, picking up her drink again to take a sip. “So tell me what you know.”
“I was hoping you could clue me in on what I should know. I got taken out of the hospital, put on a plane, driven to a restaurant in the Districts in Denver—and I don’t even have a District Pass—met with a Senator who wants to save America by stopping zombies—as if that’s possible—given an envelope with thirty pages of intelligence on this facility that I was told to commit to memory, given your name to contact, and then they put me into two weeks of training for zombie hand-to-hand and close quarters combat before shipping me here to scrub cells on the graveyard shift. That’s the sum total of my last two weeks.”
“Nobody told you what we’re doing here?”
“All I know is there’s a research lab below the prison.”
“You’ve seen the rest of the island, I presume. I mean, you have eyes, don’t you?”
Mason nodded, but instead of answering, he sat up straight, not taking his eyes off hers as the bartender put a beer down in front of him. She smiled, saying, “Thanks, Mac. Where’s the salad?”
“It’s coming, it’s coming,” the bartender said over his shoulder as he retreated.
“Do you come here often?” Mason asked. She laughed heartily. For as much as he thought he should hate her, he was having trouble putting the description others had painted of her to the woman sitting across from him.
“Al l right, I’ll let that one pass,” she said with a demure smile. “Unless you’re trying to come on to me.”
“No, I just figure you know the bartender,” Mason shrugged.
“Yeah, well, sometimes you need a little help forgetting what you’ve seen, you know?” She held up her glass to him. He held up his beer and they touched the two in a toast before taking
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