“String up a net,” I said. “That’s Pryce over there.”
“Really? The victim?” Her suit couldn’t muffle her evil-sounding cackle. “Oh, man, I hope it’s not a false alarm. I would so love to be there when his brand-new zombie ass wakes up in custody.” She let go of my arm and rubbed her gloved hands together. “All right. You say that’s Pryce Maddox. What were the two of you doing out here? How did he come in contact with the plague virus, if it’s really the plague?”
Time to trot out my terrorism story. “He was here to set up an ambush. He planned to spray the virus around to infect hikers.”
“How do you know that?”
“I tried to stop him. I’ve been tracking Pryce.”
“Why?”
“For the reward, why else?” After the fiasco on Paranormal Appreciation Day, a $50,000 reward had been offered for information leading to Pryce’s arrest. “I got a tip that he was going to be here tonight, so I came to check it out.”
“You should’ve called the cops.”
“Maybe.” Exactly what Kane had said. “But then there would be another couple of plague victims lying over there. Cop victims. I didn’t know Pryce had plague virus. I just heard, from someone who knew someone, that he might show up here. My tip was good.”
“When you got here, what happened?”
“Almost as soon as I arrived, three Harpies attacked. Pryce sent them after me. I killed all three—if you want to check out that part of my story, just follow the smell.” I swiveled toward the closest dead Harpy and gestured with my chin. “When I got past the Harpies to Pryce, he had a spray can full of plague virus. He showed it to me, told me what it was. While he was waving the can around, some spray shot out. Pryce inhaled it, and that was that.”
McFarren watched the team members working by Pryce’s body. She looked up and down the chasm. Her visor turned back to me. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Why here? I mean, this place must be swarming with people in the summer—hikers, picnickers, families. If Maddox’s goal was to incite terror, it’d make sense to spray the virus around then. Maximum damage. But right now it’s cold. It’s wet. There’s still ice on the rocks, even. Who the hell climbs around here in mud season?” She lifted one foot to show the thick layer of mud clinging to the sole.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe this was a test site. Maybe he’s a rock climber in his spare time. Maybe he liked the place’s name.”
“Purgatory Chasm. Yeah, maybe.” McFarren sounded doubtful. She stood silently for a few seconds. “Okay, here’s what bothers me. It’s not just the site. It’s the timing. The zombie virus is unstable. When it hit downtown Boston, it mutated into something harmless within half an hour. This park is closed from sunset to sunrise. Not a soul around. What’s the point of spraying virus here now? If someone shows up and hikes the chasm tomorrow, so what? The worst they’ll get is a sneezing fit.”
It was true. Pryce had brought the virus here for one reason: to infect himself if the Darklands guardian wouldn’t let him through. But what was the point in telling McFarren that? It wasn’t like she could follow him into the Darklands and arrest him there.
McFarren spoke again, half to herself this time. “But if the virus keeps changing, maybe it changed into something longer-lasting. Maybe Maddox knew something we didn’t.” She pounded a fist into her open hand. “I can’t wait to question him.”
“Be careful,” I said. “If the virus has changed, its effects might change, too. Be ready for that when he wakes up. He might have…I don’t know, the strength of a thousand demons or something.” It was the best I could do to warn her. Not even a zombie would believe my story about trapped demons in a cloaked cauldron passing through a secret door into the realm of the dead. What door? Nothing but solid rock here. If I told her the truth, quarantine would be the least of my worries; they’d lock me up in a nice padded room where nice white-coated attendants would take care of me.
“Don’t worry,” McFarren said, turning toward Pryce. “If that’s Pryce Maddox, he’ll be very well secured.”
There was a commotion over by Pryce’s body. The human took several quick steps backward, almost slipping in the mud. One zombie pulled out a cell phone; another leaned over Pryce, peering into his face.
“Positive!” the zombie shouted into his phone. “I repeat: We got a positive here!”
“Good God,” breathed McFarren. “You were right.”
The helicopter returned and hovered overhead. Something fell from it, smacking the ground. McFarren went over and picked it up. She brought the package to where I stood. Without a word, she unlocked the cuffs around my wrists. “Here,” she said, handing me the package. “Put this on.”
I took it and shook it out. It was a hazmat suit like the one she was wearing, except front and back alike were marked with a huge red Q.
The scarlet letter. Q for quarantine. The suit was to identify me as a potential carrier, warning people until I was safely locked away from the world.
I’d known this was coming. I didn’t like it, but there was no reason not to cooperate. And it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of choices right now.
Over by the Devil’s Coffin, one zombie packed up the equipment while the other two zipped Pryce into a body bag. Together they lifted him—his bag was marked with the same red Q—and strapped him into some sort of rescue basket. They stepped back and gestured. The basket was reeled up and swallowed into the helicopter. The ladder returned, and two zombies climbed up, pulling it in behind them. The copter rose. It pivoted in midair and flew east. In a moment, it was out of sight.
I didn’t know where they were taking Pryce. Wherever his body went, he was beyond my reach. I looked at the quarantine suit in my hands, then started putting it on.
A SECOND HELICOPTER ARRIVED TO LIFT US OUT. MCFARREN left the cuffs off so I could climb the ladder. It made me feel a little seasick, the way it swayed and bobbed, but I made it. Inside, I took a seat. The hazmat suit was stuffy and smelled dusty. My breath kept steaming up the visor.
McFarren entered the copter and sat beside me. She removed the handcuffs from a bag at her waist, looked at me, then put them away.
“Thanks,” I said. A plume of fog blossomed on my visor when I spoke. My voice sounded strangely loud inside the suit.
“I don’t think you’re a threat,” McFarren replied. “But if you resist going into quarantine, I’ll have to restrain you again.”
I shrugged and looked out the window. What would be the point of resisting? Besides, if they were taking me to the same quarantine facility where they’d taken Pryce, I’d be there when he woke up in three days. I could use those three days to figure out a plan.
Below us, more hazmat-suited workers were setting up barricades around the park. On Purgatory Road, not far from the Visitors’ Center, a tanker truck lay on its side.
“What’s with the truck?”
“Cover story. We can’t let the public panic because one lunatic got his hands on the virus. Officially, the park is closed because of a chemical spill. It’ll take at least a week to clean it up.” A week was the prescribed quarantine time.
“What about the gunshots? Somebody heard those and reported them.”
“Kids playing with firecrackers. That’s what distracted the driver and made the truck turn over.” Wow. They had all the angles covered. “You’ll be expected to sign a witness statement attesting to all this before you’re released from quarantine.”
“Whatever.” I didn’t approve of hiding a virus outbreak from the public, but Pryce had only used the virus on himself. It had broken down by now. There was no lingering danger to the public.
The human in the puffy suit climbed into the helicopter and closed the door. With a lurch, we rose into the air. The workers below grew smaller as we moved away from the park.
Wait. We were traveling north. The copter carrying Pryce had gone east.
“Where are we going?”
McFarren glanced at the other zombie officer. “Any reason why we can’t tell her?”
The other zombie shook his head. “She’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”
McFarren turned back to me. “Princeton.”
“Princeton?” My visor completely fogged over. I breathed through my nose until it cleared.
“There’s a quarantine house in the werewolf retreat.”
The steamed-up visor hid how far my jaw dropped. But it made sense. Werewolves were immune to the plague, and no human ventured inside the retreat’s borders. It was a secure facility, with sharpshooter posts all around the retreat’s fenced perimeter. It was the perfect place to contain a suspected plague carrier.
I almost laughed at the irony. A few hours ago, I’d been wishing I could go to Kane’s retreat. Now, I was on my way there. To be locked inside a house on the grounds.
For the rest of the short flight, I kept quiet and watched our progress. We flew over the lights of Worcester, then followed I-190 north; I could see cars traveling on the highway. Then 190 bore right, and we bore left. We flew over dark woods and farmland, broken here and there by the lights of homes. Ahead, bright, stadium-style floodlights ringed a large expanse of forest. I leaned against the window—that must be the retreat.
We set down in a clearing beside a small, concrete-block cottage. McFarren and the other zombie grabbed rifles from a rack. “Silver bullets,” she said. “To keep the werewolves back.”
One of those werewolves was my boyfriend. I needed to make sure that the biohazard team got out of here before there was any trouble. I jumped out of the helicopter and ran straight through the open door of the quarantine house. It was dark inside. All I could see was McFarren in her suit, lit up by the helicopter’s lights, pulling the door shut. “It’s only for a week,” she said. “Someone will come for you then.”