Plagued: The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment (Plagued States of America) Read Online Free

laws regarding the capture and sale of specimens for scientific research were passed. Then came knowledge of how to make the contagious no longer infectious, and someone had the bright idea to pass the reusability laws in order to help re-indoctrinate victims, and in no time, slave trading returned to American soil. Two states, then three, then seven. Mason came from one of those states. Ohio. One of the split-states. Part of its soil inside, the other part outside of the channel used to prevent further spread of the consumption pathogen. Ohio. The political battleground of American ethics.
    “You’ll have to back away,” the nearest soldier said as he walked toward Mason. The young soldier had one hand on his rifle now and was waving for Mason to step back. Just like Egypt, a futile gesture when the crowd knew they weren’t allowed to shoot. Mason felt like a foreigner, unable to decipher the soldier’s words or the purpose of all this.
    “Sorry,” Mason said, taking his hands off the fence and backing away.
    “Where’s your I.D.?” the young soldier asked. He was a corporal, another Ranger.
    Mason dug it out of the cargo pocket of his trousers. He was only wearing a brown t-shirt on top with no insignia or markings. He could be anyone, after all. How was the corporal supposed to know? Mason held up the badge, the blue bar of his I.D. apparent, indicating that he was an officer.
    “Oh, sorry, sir,” the corporal said, although his hand didn’t budge from the grip of his rifle.
    “No problem,” Mason said. “Carry on.”
    Mason looked into the compound one more time and scanned the faces. All the zombies shared an expression of vacancy. Most were backed into the corners furthest from the sun, hiding under the corrugated rooftops. Even in the shade, they were still half-blind, and maybe even afraid. He wondered if zombies knew fear – aside from the fear they fed on, that is.
     

Six
    “This is Matty,” Sergeant Phillips, the night duty officer, said as way of introductions between Mason and his trainer. Matty was a big man, bordering on overweight, with equally heavy and labored breath. “Matty, this is your new partner.”
    “I thought you were fucking joking earlier,” Matty snapped at Phillips. “You’re really giving me a West Pointer? Banks was a complainer, but at least he’d push a broom!”
    Mason stood silently, caught off guard by the outburst. Even though Phillips had said Matty might get upset at first, and based on Matty’s unorthodox dress—the only military issue piece of clothing seemed to be his boots—Mason shouldn’t have been surprised. From what Mason already knew, the big man didn’t seem to care about military bearing.
    “ Matty, Lieutenant Jones was next in line. He got a red card just like everyone else.”
    “Yeah, like hell. He w as supposed to go to the Hill, I’ll bet. Sending him here instead? Why couldn’t you assign him to the wall or gate duty? What the hell kind of shit is this, giving Banks a hardship and then sending me a cad-idiot? Shit,” Matty said, shaking his head while walking out of the room.
    Phillips stood behind his desk and sighed. He looked over at Mason and smiled weakly. “He likes you.”
    “I can see that,” Mason replied.
    “Come on, weak dick,” Matty called from outside of the office. “Work ain’t getting done by itself!” Softer, but obviously loud enough for everyone to hear, Matty added, “It’ll probably only be me getting it done, though.”
    Phillips raised a finger. “Try not to get on his bad side right away, if you don’t mind, sir.”
    Mason nodded and followed Matty down the hallway as the big man grumbled and complained.
    Matt, Curtis aka “ Matty”, Petty Officer, Second Class, second demotion. After eight years as a Navy Seal with spotty performance reviews with regard to relations with superiors, he got into a fist fight with four Air Force Combat Controllers during an all-branches field training,