Free Plagued: The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army

between hearing it from her as opposed to Senator Jefferson was that he was beginning to like the sound of her voice.
    “What can you do about it?”
    “Well, cure it, of course.”
    “How? It would take twenty years to round them all up.”
    “This isn’t the time to get into a discussion about logistics, Lieutenant,” she said, taking another bite of her salad. She turned her head to chew, watching him from the corner of her eyes. “You can help us put a stop to the zombie infection once and for all. Entire states can be restored. Think of all the jobs and the livelihoods that would affect. The biggest land rush since Oklahoma. Over three states restored, with new cities built by new investors creating new jobs and stimulating our economy to bring us back on top where we belong. Your own home state is a split-state, right? Ohio?”
    Mason nodded, sipping his beer.
    She took another bite of her salad to let her words sink in. As much as Mason would have liked to believe it didn’t mean anything to him, he was, after only two days, sick as hell of this place and willing to listen.
    “We can’t restore the union the way things are. This place, this continuation of the slave trade — of slaves , lieutenant. They’re using innocent people as slaves —all because they cling to a way of life that was thrust upon them by accident. I can fix it. I can put an end to the consumption pathogen, but not if these drunk, tattooed, inbred, retards playing pool on a remote island in the worst hellhole on planet Earth continue to exist. As long as they keep bringing in more slaves, businesses won’t put a stop to their acquisitions. Did you know it’s cheaper to manufacture trucks in America now than it is in Mexico? The Chinese care more about the CAC, FTSE, and DAX than they do the NASDAQ or NYSE. As a nation, we’re becoming a second-world economy.
    “This virus has ruined America, and I’m sick of it.”
    Kennedy stabbed her salad and took another bite, chewing slowly and watching Mason closely.
    “It’s only my second day and I’m pretty damned sick of it too,” Mason said and took another sip of beer.
    “Well, then, what’s it going to be?” she asked.
    “What do you need me to do?” Mason asked. She smirked, stabbing her salad again to take another bite.
     

Fifteen
    M emories only haunted Mason when he closed his eyes. They used to invade his waking thoughts too, whenever he slowed down enough that his mind had time to travel wherever it wanted. And it always went to the same place: Egypt.
    The rattling of the RPG going off along the wall hardly shook him. In his dream , it flew across the street as haphazardly as a butterfly, bouncing and weaving on unseen eddies and currents, leaving behind a contrail of white smoke. No hiss or high-pitch whistle. Even the explosion pounded with an eerie quiet. The only sound was the familiar whit-dit-dit of an M-14 rifle as it burst clusters of rounds down over the crowd.
    Put down your weapon, soldier , Mason shouted over the gunfire. That’s an order! The young soldier, hardly more than a boy, lifted his eye from his M-14 and turned his head to see Mason aiming at him. How many times had Mason already told him to cease fire? There was a fierceness in the young man’s eyes , Mason would later report to his superior officer, but that didn’t describe the wild fury that had taken utter control of Corporal Smith. The Egyptian mob beneath the wall scattered, receding like startled rats. Smith ignored Mason once again, pulling the trigger to fire another burst of rounds at the crowd. Mason held one hand on another soldier’s wounded arm in an effort to staunch the gushing blood, leaning his weight on the wound. Soldier, Mason shouted again. Smith turned to glare at Mason again as he switched magazines. Don’t do it , Mason heard himself pleading. Screw you , Smith snarled as he turned the M-14 on Mason, shooting a stream of bullets.
    Buzz, buzz, buzz . He heard the