The Liger Plague (Book 1) (37 page)

“Look at us. We wouldn’t have made it all this way if we were infected,” Tag said. “How did you know that there was an infection spreading on Cooke’s Island?”

“Shut up, asshole. You’re just lucky I recognized the kid,” Oggy said, walking toward them with his rifle still raised. “You guys sure you’re not infected?”

“Hundred percent sure,” Fez replied. “We’re not armed either, Oggy, so can you put down your rifle? We been rowing all night, and my arms and shoulders are killing me.”

“Okay, you two can put your arms down, but don’t make any crazy moves.”

“You an army man?” Tag asked.

“Iraqi war vet. Those bastards fucked me over after I came home. Failed to provide me with the proper medical care. Goddamn urban combat shit messed my head up pretty bad. So I came out here to Rabbit Island, away from all them stupid people and crazy shrinks. Since then my head has been way better. Breathe fresh ocean air, live clean off the land, and don’t have to deal with assholes all day—until you two castaways showed up.”

“Sorry to hear about your wartime trauma,” Tag said.

“Not looking for any sympathy, mister.” Oggy shook his head, much of which was covered in tattoos. “Still have a few problems, but I make do.”

“So can we stay for a spell?” Fez asked.

“Follow me.”

They made their way under the dense canopy of trees. Once they traveled halfway across the island, they climbed a hilly section of cleared land. Oggy stopped and turned to face them. He pointed down toward the ground, which was covered with thick pine needles. He reached down into the dirt and pulled up a tarp. Beneath it was a handle. He lifted a hatch door and opened it, and then motioned for them to climb down the hole. Fez lowered himself down a rope ladder built into the side of the earthen wall. Tag followed behind the kid, descending into darkness. Once his feet hit the bottom, he could see a faint light glowing down one end of the tunnel. Crouching down, he followed the light until he arrived into a room that was roughly twenty feet by ten feet. Pieces of homemade furniture sat around the room. A small crank TV and radio sat in one corner, and a square table stood against the far wall. On it sat a lit candle. A couple of crude chairs sat in front of the small TV.

“Wow, this is cool,” Fez said, taking it all in.

“Took me two years to dig this hole. Had to construct all the furniture down here too.”

“How do you get reception?” Tag asked.

“I ran a wire up out of the ground and connected it to the top of one of the pine trees maybe sixty feet above ground. The antenna gets me decent reception, couple of channels. I also got a photoelectric panel up there, and on good days it lets me run some of my stuff. Otherwise I have to crank the shit out of it.”

Tag studied the man in the dim light. He was lean and tanned dark with mere slits for eyes. Tattoos seemed to cover much of his body. His long hair was matted into dreadlocks, and he used elastic bands in his long beard to keep it under control. The man looked unhinged, feral and wild. Tag wondered how long he’d been living on this island. There was no way he himself could have survived out here in the dead of winter or during the worst of storms that swept up from the south and across the northeast. He didn’t care about that now. He was more worried about his family’s safety and the events now taking place on Cooke’s Island.

Oggy turned on the TV and motioned for them to sit on the floor. Exhausted, he and Fez sat down and watched what was happening onscreen.

“Shit’s all messed up over there,” Oggy said, handing them some rectangular strips of leather. “Been following it the whole time. Looks like our corrupt government is finally turning on its citizens.”

“What’s this?” Fez asked, holding up a curled strip.

“Rabbit jerky. Shit’s pretty good. I use dried sea salt to give it some extra flavor and then let them sit on the rocks in the sun. Also got some dried fish, too, if you want some.”

Tag bit into the leathery jerky as Oggy went on a longwinded diatribe about the governmental conspiracy designed to strip citizens of their rights. His theories were bizarre and farfetched, and he seemed to be fabricating stories as he talked. Tag chewed until his jaw hurt, but it tasted okay. The pain from chewing so vigorously spread up to his mangled ear, yet his stomach appreciated it. The screen shifted to a national news reporter walking around downtown Cooke’s Island with one of the hazmat officers, both of whom were protected from head to toe in a full-body suit. The section of the island appeared completely deserted except for the debris scattered over the road. They didn’t show any live footage of people being taken into custody, but supposedly half the island had already been taken onto the navy ship. The reporter turned to the camera and sent it back to the mainland, where a pretty young news reporter appeared in front of one of the terminals situated on Commercial Street.

“Melissa Bell here standing on the Commercial Cruise Terminal,” the young woman reported. “We cannot get much closer than this since the military has completely sealed off the terminal’s perimeter, but we can tell you that the cargo vessel transporting the infected back to the mainland will dock here. Rumor has it that specially outfitted buses will transport the infected persons to a secret location. Although we don’t know where the infected victims will be taken, we do know that the location will remain undisclosed for the time being.

“As you can see, the number of reporters has grown significantly in the last few days. Many nations from around the world are demanding verification that the contagion has been contained on the island, as well as proof that the virus has been identified and ceases to be a threat. It’s all part of the Moscow Treaty signed by most every U.N. nation twenty years ago. We are told that the identification of the virus will better help nations understand where this threat is coming from, if indeed it is coming from a nation state. It is believed that there are only a handful of countries in the world that possess such biological weapons, although no doubt many terrorist regimes would love to get their hands on such a virulent virus. An emergency addendum has been included in the treaty not to destroy these lethal viruses, the belief being that they should be held as potential aids in the creation of a vaccine if such an outbreak should ever again occur. It is hoped that by identifying the components of the liger virus, officials might work together to find out where the terrorist cell may have come from, as well as what they hoped to accomplish.

“As for Cooke’s Island, the U.N. has called an emergency security meeting and voted overwhelmingly for the United States government to not only neutralize the island but to completely sanitize it so that all traces of the organism be destroyed. Representatives of the United States tried to negotiate an alternative strategy, but at the insistence of the U.N. Security Council, U.S. officials have decided to go along with the measure in order to appease both China and Russia, the two superpowers most vociferous about taking such a draconian approach. U.S. officials were obviously concerned by the heightened military alert of these two countries, fearing it might lead to warlike actions within their respective countries.

“We don’t yet know what method the U.S. military will use to clean up the island, but we’re hearing that the Portland City Council is ready to convene for a vote on the measure just for the record. Speaking off camera, some of the council members, who have chosen to remain anonymous, have confirmed that they are in unanimous agreement with the idea of razing the island and starting over. The relationship between the islanders and the city has historically been hostile. An island vote had been scheduled this fall to secede from Portland, and many were worried that they might eventually lose Cooke’s lucrative real estate tax base. Of course, that’s all moot now.

“For now, we’re trying to keep abreast of the situation as best we can. A news conference is to be held near the ferry terminal in an hour, and we’ll be there to cover it live. This is Melissa Bell from Channel 4, reporting live from the Portland Cruise Terminal on Commercial Street.”

“You live here year round?” Tag asked, trying to keep his mind off these most recent developments.

Oggy shook his head. “Too damn cold in the winter. The kid’s dad used to take me back to the mainland in November. Stayed in my mother’s basement in South Portland until spring broke. Then I’d take the ferry over to Cooke’s and have his dad give me a ride back over here.”

Tag put his head back on the dirt wall and rested his hands in his lap, feeling something hard inside his pocket as he did so. He reached inside and pulled it out, realizing that it was the phone he’d found next to Cooper. Flipping it open, he discovered that it still worked and had ample battery time remaining, but he was certain he’d get no cell service out here. He wondered if he should try his luck and make a call. Then it occurred to him that if he did, someone might be able to track his location, and so for the moment he decided to wait. He thumbed through the menu and scrolled through the contact list but found no other numbers. As expected, the phone was virtually devoid of any personal information.

Until he came to the pictures icon. There were fifteen photos on the list. He clicked on the first one and saw a picture of Versa holding her rifle and smiling. The next one showed her holding a picture of the liger icon. Tag’s heart raced upon realizing that Versa had taken Monica and Taylor hostage. He prayed that she—whoever she was—hadn’t killed them. He stared at the photograph of the woman, trying to see if he could somehow identify her. Scrolling through the pictures, he saw her in various poses throughout the island. When he reached the eleventh picture, a new photograph appeared. This one was an official shot of him on his first day on the job at the Institute. The next four pictures were of him and his group of scientists at the research facility. He trained his eyes on Remington, the one who disappeared in the plane crash and had never been seen again.

He remembered the hiring process for the director’s job, recalling that the list of candidates was so secret that even he had no idea who was competing for the job. Rumor had it that Remington had been the number two candidate, but no one really knew for sure. Remington never mentioned it to him or even seemed the slightest bit upset at not getting the top job. Tag rarely talked to the man about anything unless it was job related. The only thing he remembered about him was that he was a brilliant scientist, eccentric at times and socially awkward in situations outside of work.

He clicked to the second-to-last photograph of the fifteen scientists and staff that had worked in the Level Four Biocontainment Lab. Remington stared back at the camera with a straight face. The longer he stared at the man’s face, the more the memories of Remington came back to him, although he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure if his mind was playing tricks on him. Could Remington have been disguised as Versa?

The last photograph was like salt in the wound. A backdrop, and in the foreground an artistic rendering of a liger. It appeared like a mirror image. The top half of the animal’s body was the exact same as the bottom half so that if flipped, it looked exactly the same. Except for one thing: the picture appeared like a movie poster with the words
The Liger Plague
at the top. Underneath the icon it said
Playing Near You!
and underneath that it said
Directed by Colonel Taggert Winters
.

Tag quickly clicked off the menu in disgust. Cussing, he clicked back to the photos icon, and when he turned it on he saw the .jpg photos vanishing from the screen one by one. He clicked frantically, trying to keep the photos from being deleted but couldn’t override the built-in software that had been programmed to erase them. Once they disappeared, a video of Versa popped up on the screen, and on either side of her were the two police officers he’d encountered on Cooke’s Island. He felt like such a fool! They weren’t Portland police officers after all, but terrorists imitating two bumbling cops. They’d been assigned to keep their eyes on him, and had probably directed all those people down to his house. Versa stared into the camera, arms around the two impostors, and waved. “Keep this phone on you in case I ever need to contact you, Tag,” she said. She started to take off her wig before the video ended and started to replay. He studied it closely as it replayed over and over. After the seventh playing, the screen faded and the video shattered like an imploding star. The screen returned to its generic menu, and he knew instantly that all the video evidence had disappeared forever.

“You okay, Tag?” Fez asked.

“Worried about my family is all.”

“I know what you mean. At least you got a family to worry about.”

“Sorry about that insensitive remark, kid. I wasn’t thinking when I said it.”

“Not your fault. I blame the dude who did this to us.”

“I think Versa was responsible for releasing that virus onto Cooke’s Island. She had some partners in crime too.”

“Something about that old bag didn’t seem right, especially when she didn’t know who Cooper was. Everyone who lived on the island knew that old lobsterman.”

Tag punched the dirt. “I need to somehow get word back to the mainland and let those government officials know who Versa really is.”

“Who is she?”

Tag paused. “That’s a good question. I’m not really sure.”

“Won’t matter one iota,” Oggy said, chewing his jerky. “That government of ours is all in cahoots with each other. The common man is screwed.”

“Tag, they’ll find you if you call them right now. I hate to say it, but it’s way too late to save your wife and daughter. If Versa wanted to kill them, then she probably already would have done it by now.”

“You’re right, Fez, but whoever unleashed this virus might do it somewhere else. We could be saving more lives.”

“I think it’s better you wait and see what happens. You piss that terrorist dude off, then he might want to do it again as soon as possible. Besides, you live to fight another day and maybe save even more lives.”

“Smart thinking, kid,” he said, thinking about the fate of his family. “Thanks. I need to listen to you more.”