Authors: Better Hero Army
Eleven
Two days before the crash,
Penelope’s dark memories stirred for the first time since arriving at the EPS. They were always there, in the forefront of her thoughts, the knowledge of who she was and how she came to be, but it was always just that—an understanding. Only real terror and panic brought out the sharpness of her past. They were linked, so when Doctor Kennedy said “twenty-two,” that’s when panic first seized Penelope, and it kept its iron grip on her ever since.
“You don’t wear heels, much, do you, honey?” Kennedy laughed, replacing her apparent shock with a false smile.
Penelope’s hand clenched Tom’s even tighter.
No growling
, she remembered Tom insisting before they went into the EPS Grand Hotel lobby. She wanted to growl, to warn Tom of the danger.
“There’s not much need out here,” Tom put in, squeezing Penelope’s hand firmly to break her stranglehold.
“There’s never a
need
,” Kennedy laughed, swirling a glass of amber liquid in ice. She took a sip and arched her neck, looking down her nose at Tom. “Sorry I didn’t come visit when you came through Rock Island last month.”
“Oh, you were there?”
Kennedy nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “Entertaining your father most of the time,” she said.
“Well, he didn’t come visit me much
, either, so you don’t have anything to apologize for. What was it you did at Rock Island, then, to know my father?”
Kennedy smiled. “Research,” she replied.
“What shit job did your father stick you with here to keep you out of the public eye?”
“Chief Registrar and, actually, I requested it.”
“Requested?” Kennedy asked, surprise registering over her dark features. “Why?”
“Oh, come on, you know our public family secret. It’s dredged up every election.
‘Senator Jefferson’s daughter killed during the initial outbreak.’ Rumors that she’s still alive. Rumors about a million dollar reward.”
“
The reward is a new one.”
“Untrue, by the way.”
“Too bad,” she said. “I might have taken a stab at the money.”
“Once upon a time, I would have, too,” Tom said distantly.
“What changed your mind?” Kennedy asked.
“Being out here.”
“Hear, hear,” Kennedy said, lifting her glass to take a last sip, emptying the liquid with the ice cubes against her lips. She shook the empty glass, rattling the ice. “I’m going to get another. Open bar. You want to come?”
“Maybe later,” Tom told her.
“Don’t say I didn’t try to save you,” Kennedy said as she backed away.
“What?”
“Your father,” she said, pointing over his shoulder, grinning at Tom. “Big smiles for the camera.”
“Thomas,” the Senator blurted as he clapped Tom on the shoulder.
“Dad,” Tom said dryly.
“Lowell, this is my son, Thomas. Don’t broadcast that, this is off the record, got me?”
The young reporter nodded, but didn’t say anything. He wore those strange glasses that Tom told Penelope to avoid looking at. He said it was some kind of camera and there was no way of knowing if it was on or off. Penelope turned sideways to avoid looking at the reporter.
“And this is his,” the Senator said
, waving a hand toward Penelope. He paused, his brow furrowed. “What’s her name again?”
“Penelope,” Tom answered for her. She
sank behind Tom to avoid the Senator’s glare and the glasses as the reporter edged sideways to try to get a better look at her. “She doesn’t want to be on film,” Tom added, stepping between Penelope and the reporter.
“Lowell,” the Senator said sharply. “Why don’t you go harass the Game Warden over there for a few sound bites? I want to talk to my son in private.”
“Of course,” the reporter said. He turned and looked across the crowd before walking away.
“Is he gone?” the Senator asked, not looking over his shoulder toward where the reporter retreated.
“Mostly,” Tom said.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Healing,” Tom replied dryly. “What’s all this crap on the news this morning about you wanting to lift Quarantine?”
“We found the cure, son,” the Senator said proudly.
“That’s old news. I thought we had a cure six months ago.”
“
It was untested then,” the Senator replied.
“You could have at least called me before you made
an announcement.”
“
I didn’t need your input on this one, son,” the Senator said with a grin. “Your old man can take care of himself, you know.”
“I meant you could have at least warned me.
Everyone on station wants to see you dead. They’re all saying you’re trying to ruin their livelihoods. If they knew I was your son, I’d be dead, too.”
“I considered that. It’s the only
time since you asked me to get you the job out here that I’ve been glad you chose to take your mother’s name.”
“Dad, do we have to go into that again?”
“No,” the Senator said mildly. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, son. You’re coming home with me. We’re going to close the EPS.”
“What? When?”
“As soon as I can get congressional buy-in. I’ve already got the full backing of the Senate, but the liberals in Congress are being obstinate. Liberals, of all people! You’d think they’d be on board, with all that PETZ and PETA and human rights crap they stick in our faces.”
“Dad,
why are you closing the EPS?”
“Because there’s no need for it. Even if they don’t lift Quarantine, I’m introducing a bill to retract the
Rezoning Act. We’re changing tactics.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taking back America, son.”
“Yeah, I heard you say that on TV this morning. What does that
mean
?”
“It means you’re out of a job, and it means we’re letting people go back in. To take back the land.”
“But,” Tom said, stunned. “They’ll be killed.”
“We’re not going to let just
anyone
in, son. Developers. Companies like Breckenrock, who know how to work inside. The more area they clear, the more area they get to keep.”
“Clear?”
“Decolonize. Oust the native population, by whatever means necessary.”
“You mean they’ll kill them.”
“There’ll be casualties, yes. We’re putting an incentive program in place for capture, and regular audits to prevent wholesale slaughter, but this is war, son, and we have to win it. Once and for all, we need to put an end to this plague.”
“And what about Larissa?” Tom asked. The name gripped Penelope. Even the Senator stiffened at its mention. “Dad, what about Larissa?”
“When I thought I lost you, son, I—” He took a deep breath, straightening his suit while looking around the crowded lobby of the hotel where the reception was being held. “I began to question—”
“
Dad. She’s still out there.”
“It doesn’t matter now, son. This is for the good of the nation.”
“But she’s still out there.”
“I know,” the Senator said with his chin held high, taking a deep breat
h. “I cling to that dream, too. There’s not a day that goes by—”
“No, Dad, I mean
,
I know where she is
.”
Twelve
Tom unlocked the cargo container and pushed the door open. Inside were the four snowmobiles and two sleds that Penelope remembered seeing the first week Tom and she arrived at the EPS. It was during an orientation walk-through of the complex
with the Game Warden. The Warden had a way of turning his eye her way that bothered Penelope, like he was undressing her in his mind. No wonder she had forgotten everything he showed them. She spent more time hiding from him behind Tom than paying attention to what he said or showed them. She didn’t even know what the snowmobiles were used for.
“We’ll dig out the drift and make ourselves a ramp right here,” Tom instructed Hank and Jones. “We can just drive them right off and go. Each snowmobile can carry
two or three, and the rescue sleds can hold two each, so we’ve got plenty of room.”
“What about gas?”
Hank asked.
“We’re only eleven miles from target,” Jones said as he stepped into the container to get out of the
wind and snow. O’Farrell followed him, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m betting these have better gas mileage than that, but they’re going to be too loud. They’ll draw biters.”
“We just stick to the plan. When we get there, we park them on the runway and split up.”
“I still don’t get why we’re going to the air base,” Jones said, inspecting the front snowmobile. “Didn’t they crash four and a half miles north of Midamerica? There’s a city just two miles west of the crash site. They could have been disoriented and gone further north. Who knows? We should go to the crash site.”
“He came up here for Larissa, and crashing wouldn’t stop him.
They’ll be at Midamerica.”
“
We should recon the crash site,” Jones said under his breath.
“We’ve got four snowmobiles and four drivers, so let’s
just get out the shovels and make a ramp before we freeze to death.”
“Three drivers,” Jones said.
“Four,” Doctor O’Farrell snapped.
“You’re not going,” Jones told her. “Stay here with Houston.”
“Like hell,” O’Farrell replied.
“Would you two love birds can it?” Hank shouted. “Get a shovel.”
Jones and Hank dug out a section of the snow drift, using the excavated snow to raise the ground between the train and the path they made. Tom set out helmets, gloves, and thick pants and jackets for everyone, attaching the rescue sleds to the back two snowmobiles. Tom unzipped his pack and withdrew several devices, fiddling with them while putting one on each snowmobile seat. O’Farrell tugged on a pair of the pants and Penelope watched her carefully to see how to put them on. She hated needing other people’s help with trivial things like clothes. Penelope tugged at the leggings, but couldn’t get them over her boots.
“Here, let me help,” O’Farrell said, stepping close to Penelope while putting her hands over Penelope’s
to stop her from tugging.
Penelope growled, startled.
“You need to stop that,” O’Farrell snapped softly. “Or everyone’s going to know what you are.”
Penelope glared at O’Farrell
, then snatched a look back toward Tom, but he was busy punching buttons on a device in his hand and seemed oblivious. The noise from the wind outside did a sufficient job of quieting O’Farrell’s words.
“
The infection damages the larynx,” O’Farrell said. “Are you taking enough Vitamin E? What dose are you on? 500 milligrams?”
Penelope’s glare became a wary stare.
“You need to boost your Vitamin E concentration if you want to get your voice back. It also helps with your hair and skin. You won’t be so dry.”
Penel
ope stared at her as she gave one last tug on Penelope’s ski pants. Penelope was perplexed by the doctor’s motherly behavior.
“There, now zip up,” O’Farrell said, stepping back
to assess her work. “There are buttons on the back for the jacket,” she said, pointing at her own pants. “To keep the snow out.”
The men
finished carving a ramp into the side of the snow bank and retreated to the container to suit up next to their respective snowmobiles. M.B. Houston climbed up onto the well-car, surveying their work.
“Nice,” Houston told them. “I got the switch-back moved into place
, finally. I’ll be able to see the marker when I come back. I’m going to head up to the wye track and clear it out to turn around. It’ll take me a good four or five hours in this mess. If you get back before then, head west along the tracks to find me. Otherwise, I’m buttoning things up right here and getting some sleep.”
“You did good getting us here, M,” Hank said, stepping out to shake the engineer’s hand.
Houston nodded. Tom shook his hand too, and the engineer saluted toward the soldier, and bowed to O’Farrell. He winked at Penelope before hurrying back toward the front of the train. The idea that she might never see M.B. Houston again didn’t sit well with Penelope. She hoped he’d be safe.
“What’s this?” Hank asked, picking up the small unit Tom had put out
on each of the snowmobiles.
“GPS. I pre-programmed the coordinates at
Midamerica where we’ll drop the snowmobiles off, and I just loaded the coordinates of the train, here, as well. These will get us there and back, but Houston said he’d only hang around forty-eight hours. Anything longer and he’ll consider us lost too.”
“Forty-eight hours? That’s it?” Hank groused.
“It’s plenty of time,” Tom argued.
“Not if they’re not there,” Jones replied.
“They’ll be there.”
After suiting up, Tom lifted the seat of the snowmobile and stowed his shotgun and a backpack in a cargo space underneath.
He fished a pair of sunglasses from a pocket of his jacket and slid them gently over Penelope’s ears, pressing them to her nose. The world around her dimmed and Penelope stopped squinting.
“That’s better, huh?”
Penelope nodded.
Tom smiled and handed Penelope a helmet. She looked at it
with a furrowed brow, confused until she saw Tom put one on himself.
“Wait here until I’m clear,” he said and
straddled the snowmobile.
Tom
stuck the key in the ignition before Penelope had a chance to put on her own helmet. The engine revved to life with a wailing
wing, wing, wing, wing,
and Penelope dropped the helmet to cover her ears. Tom drove the snowmobile out of the container without realizing what happened. O’Farrell stepped in front of Penelope and picked up the helmet, lifting it over her head. Penelope let it slide down, moving her hands out of the way. The helmet weighed her head down, but muffled most of the noise. The other engines all started and Penelope followed Tom out of the container to escape the chaos.
Tom drove up the ramp
of snow and onto the high berm. Penelope climbed up behind him and stood alone, above the train, scanning the horizon in all directions. She could hardly see the snowblower in front of the engine through the haze. How would they ever get back to it?
“Come on,” Tom called while patting behind him on the snowmobile.
Penelope nervously took the seat behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
“You’ll be fine,” Tom shouted over the whirring engine. “Just relax and hold on, and try to enjoy it a little
.”
He revved the engine and the snowmobile lurched
down the snow bank and into the endless white surrounding them. Tom stopped at the bottom of the rise and held up his GPS device as he waited for the others. A large arrow pointed the direction he needed to travel. He put his gloved hand through the strap and slid the GPS up to his forearm.
Hank rolled down the hill next to Tom.
“One thing’s for certain,” Hank shouted. “No biters will be out in this.”
Jones crested the embankment and rolled past Hank to stop a few feet further ahead. He was towing one of the rescue sleds. He looked back to make sure everything was secure. O’Farrell cruised over the hill as well and drifted alongside Tom.
“Are you sure you’ve got this?” Tom asked the doctor.
“I grew up in Minnesota,” she called back.
“Right,” Tom said, revving the engine to lead the way.
Penelope wasn’t sure what any of that meant or how Tom
and the others knew how to drive snowmobiles. It reminded her again how dependent she was on other people for even the most marginal of things, like putting on ski pants. She needed the doctor to show her how. And that was another thing that troubled her. Doctor O’Farrell knew Penelope was a half-breed, but she didn’t treat Penelope any differently. Not like the thousands who once gawked at her through the bars of her cage. O’Farrell seemed to see Penelope as
someone
, not something. Maybe with O’Farrell it didn’t matter.
Penelope leaned her head
around Tom once she realized that even though there was a world passing beneath them, she wouldn’t fall off into it. A blurry white expanse greeted her eyes. Everything not covered in snow appeared as dark shadows, like the wall of stark trees that cruised by on their left. To their right, and everything ahead, was endlessly flat snow. In the trees, there might have been zombies, but in this weather, and in the blinding white that stung even Penelope’s mostly normal eyes, they wouldn’t come out. Not by day. They were in there, though, hiding under a fallen tree or a thick bramble, in the darkest shadows, in the warmest crevasses, avoiding the world.
Mounds began to form in the snow ahead of them and Tom veered away to avoid them. Penelope would have thought them to be boulders if they hadn’t started to shake off their snow-white coats. The heads of cows appeared from beneath their blankets, first ten, then twenty, then a hundred, and more. Tom turned hard right and slowed down
, driving out into the white expanse to avoid a herd of what looked like thousands.
A bull rose to his feet, his horns dripping with what looked like stringy moss or lichen.
Another bull stood near the edge of the herd, then another. The other snowmobiles slid to a stop near Tom.
“Let’s go around, really, really wide,” Hank suggested over the whining of his engine.
Tom turned further to the right, nearly back-tracking, as he revved the snowmobile and lurched them forward. The others fell in behind him. As a group, they drove straight across what looked like an endless field. Tom looked at the device on his arm several times, then began to veer left, back toward Midamerica.
Penelope looked behind her to see the oth
er three snowmobiles following, all driving in separate tracks across the thick, white snow, sinking into troughs they left in their wake. Tom’s snowmobile shot clods of snow into the air behind them. She wanted to reach a hand out to feel one slap her skin so that she might know what it felt like. She wished she understood the world as easily as the others. She hated zombies more than ever, and she hated half-breeds more than that. If the cure made her able to do all these wonderful things, then finding Kennedy was becoming a necessity.