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

only shit in there is what they’ve done since coming back and getting fed. These ones, though,” Chavez said, turning with the noose and driving it through the bars of a cage, catching one of the zombies. He grabbed the thing with expert precision, just like Matty. No chasing the thing or missing, or having to try twice. Just a sweep and the loop was over the back of its head, and a second later he was hauling it to the front of the cell, pinning it as he swung the restrainer down the pole where it clanged into place against the cell bars. Chavez pointed at the biter he had captured and wagged a finger at it. “These sons of bitches have been in here all goddamned day, sleeping and crapping at their leisure.”
    Chavez grabbed the next noose off the cart.
    “We can skip that group tonight,” Chavez added, pointing at the sterilized biters. “Let the day crew deal with it. You can’t tell the difference half the time anyway.”
    Half-assed work , Mason thought, but didn’t say anything. Mason was beginning to get the impression Chavez was one of the lazy ones he would have had to keep an eye on in his command over in Egypt. He wondered if Chavez was like that in Egypt too, if maybe the reason his team was compromised in an ambush was his fault. Maybe that’s why he was here. Everyone on the island that he’d met so far had something in their past that earned them some kind of punishment. Mason wondered if he was actually an inmate being deceived into thinking he was free. It would make sense, in a horribly sinister kind of way.
    “There you go,” Chavez said to the second biter, patting its head after checking the restraint . “Gentle as a kitten,” he added, and the zombie thrashed. “Whoa!” Chavez laughed, stepping back. “That one’s hungry. Let me double check the restraint before you go in there.”
    Chavez kept his distance as he tugged on the wrist straps binding the biter to the cell bars. It shook again and its moan became more of a growl, deep like a lion.
    “No, he’s good. It’s all yours.”
    Mason didn’t move right away. He stared at the two zombies restrained against the cell bars, their faces wedged against them, their pale skin pulled tight, their hazy eyes wide with rage. It reminded him of the soldier in Egypt, the one he had shot. The eyes were what haunted him, so absent of reason, so filled with malice. Mason couldn’t fathom what would drive someone to such an extreme.
    Chavez picked up a noose from the cart and stepped up next to Mason.
    “Don’t worry, man,” he said. “I’ve never had an accident and I’ve been here years.”
    “Well you know my record, don’t you?” Mason said, looking at him sidelong.
    Chavez laughed and slapped Mason on the shoulder. “You want me to do it, pussy?”
    “No, I’ve got it,” Mason told him and walked up to the cell door card reader. He swiped his card and heard the buzzing. The moaning throughout the cell block redoubled, the Pavlovian response to the sound of freedom or feeding, or something Mason hadn’t yet figured out. A door was a door to these things and it could have meant all of that and none of it. Mason stuffed his card into his cargo pocket as he pulled the cell door open.
    Mason began hosing out the feces on t he ground, dragging the hose all the way into the cell so he could spray at it and push it along the cinderblock wall. Normal prisons had beds and plumbing and a toilet, but not here. The pallet was six feet long by six feet wide and had a pile of blankets that the zombies somehow turned into a nest-like roost. Mason put down the hose and dragged out the blankets to replace them.
    Chavez had noosed the first of three biters in the next cell and was coming back for another noose pole and restraining bar. Mason threw the old blankets to the ground and grabbed three new folded ones from the cart.
    “You know, you can just leave the bedding too,” Chavez said as he followed Mason to the cell door. The aggressive