Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis

by Eric A. Shelman

  The crowd was not called upon to agree or disagree, but most of them nodded in agreement.

  “I’d like to ask that all of our pregnant women stand up,” said Isis.

  In the crowd of what Flex estimated to be over five hundred people, around 18 women stood.

  Flex looked back and smiled. It was what he had hoped for; he and Gem and everyone, for that matter. A safe place where the cycle of life did not begin again when you died, and where actual babies replaced those who did pass away.

  “Okay,” said Max. “You are the reason for this meeting, but obviously you all have families who must give you their thoughts, which means they must also know what the situation is.”

  The crowd began shifting nervously, and Flex wished he was close enough to say, “Okay, tell ‘em already.”

  “You all know who we are,” said Isis. “And most of you, I believe, know how we became this way.”

  Max joined in and it was like a perfect partnership. “My mother, Charlie Chatsworth, was exposed to a red-eye’s vapor,” he said. “I was literally hours from being born when it happened, and it changed me. Instantly. When I was born, I had these red eyes. I began to talk at a very young age, and I remember experiences from when I was a month old.”

  “He actually began learning to talk and understand words while still in Charlie’s womb,” said Isis. “I know, because I was there and I could sense him and his thoughts.”

  The murmur grew, but it was pleasant. Max and Isis were favorites among everyone.

  “Allow me to cut to the chase,” said Isis. “We need more of us. People like Max and me. We live in Kingman and we’re not going anywhere; our families are here. We can venture out for a few hundred miles and come back, but ultimately, if we ever hope to rid North America of the threat of the Hungerers and Mothers, we need more like us.”

  Max stepped forward. “The only way to accomplish this is to purposely expose pregnant women to the eye vapor of one of the Mothers, what you call the red-eyes.”

  A woman stood in the third row. Her belly was very large; a woman due to give birth any day. “I’ll volunteer,” she said.

  A man beside her stood quickly and pulled her back down into her seat. She brushed his hand from her arm and stood again, shooting him a dirty look.

  “I said I’ll volunteer.”

  Isis smiled. “You’re Jill Richman, aren’t you?” she asked.

  The woman nodded. “Yes.”

  “Before you commit to this, I want to explain something to you and everyone else. Max and I were born this way. Because of the state of the world, I wasn’t around many other children as I grew up. Flex Sheridan Jr. is one, and Trina and Taylor were only seven and eight years old.”

  “Woo hoo!” yelled Trina from her seat, giving Isis a thumbs up.

  Isis smiled back at her, and it seemed to break the tension. The crowd before Isis laughed, along with Flex and Gem.

  “In short, they didn’t make fun of us or try to make us feel as though we didn’t belong,” said Isis. “We’ve never been made to feel like freaks from any of you, either. It’s important that you know that what happened in 2011, while it was devastating, it also did its part in eliminating negativity and distrust among the survivors. We all stand shoulder to shoulder, and when necessary, back to back, watching out for one another.”

  “There are pros and cons to being who and what we are,” added Max. “With our abilities, we’re called upon to use them to protect our friends, family and neighbors. It’s not a burden; Isis and I both feel it’s part of the reason we’re here. We were the next logical step in the evolution of mankind to combat the threat of the moment. The living dead.”

  “We don’t feel imposed upon,” said Isis. “Our parents love us as yours love or once loved you. When we have to repel or call the Mothers and Hungerers, it is second nature to us. It’s a part of our day, if you want to put it that way.”

  Jill had not yet returned to her seat. “I want to do this,” she said. “I would be honored to have my son or daughter join you in protecting all of us.”

  A woman stood in the sixth row. It was Teressa Ainsley. “I might be willing,” she said. “Do we have to get close to the … red-eyes?”

  Hemp stood and went to the stage again. He did not get on, but Max handed him down the microphone.

  “We’ve not used any artificial methods of transferring their eye vapor to a pregnant woman,” he said. “The two times it’s been done it was not intentional, obviously.”

  “So, the answer is yes?” Teressa said.

  “To be sure the vapor’s properties are adequately introduced into your system, I would say it is important that it be a direct transference,” said Hemp.

  “You can always wear a mask during the process,” said Isis. “They’ll be strapped down so you don’t have any worries there, but that way you don’t have to see what’s going on.”

  “I’ll do it too,” said Teressa.

  “Some of you may be called upon to leave here and venture out into another place to begin building there,” said Isis.

  Teressa and Jill looked at one another, then back at Isis. “Do we have to leave?” Jill asked.

  “No, no,” said Hemp, still holding the microphone. “We’re still trying to operate under a constitutional republic. It will be your choice, but I want you to understand that when your child grows up – and that happens faster than with an ordinary child, as you can see – they will know what must be done, just as Max and Isis do. We want you to be prepared for the day your child tells you they’re leaving, or that they want you to come with them.”

  “Do you feel like you have to kill them?” asked Teressa.

  Max looked at her. “Kinda.”

  Isis said nothing.

  “Can you elaborate?” asked Teressa.

  “Like a gun is made to shoot, and a car is made to drive, I guess we were made for a purpose,” said Max. “So the answer is yes. We’re compelled to kill them and when we do, it feels like it’s what we’re supposed to be doing. It may sound weird to you, but it feels pretty good, but maybe in a different way than when you kill them.”

  He looked at Isis for a moment before continuing. “When they die, I don’t know about Isis, but I get a feeling like a great big door is closing just a bit more.” Max pantomimed this with his arms and clapped his hands together as the imaginary door closed.

  Everybody smiled and Max smiled back.

  Max paced to the opposite side of the stage and Flex saw Hemp watching him, smiling. He turned to see Charlie smiling as well. They were so proud of their kid. So was Flex.

  “I think,” said Max, “that when you kill them, there’s a feeling of relief; that you killed them before they killed you. The feeling I get when I kill them is less emotional than that, maybe because I’ve grown up without ever knowing anything different. Those things have been the enemy since I was born, and since I was literally a baby, I realized I had the advantage over them. For that reason, I was never really that scared of them.”

  Five more women stood up. All pregnant.

  Flex was surprised, but then it was logical. Seems mothers don’t want their children to be afraid, and if making them like Max and Isis achieved that, maybe it was a gift.

  Overall, fourteen women volunteered, and some were ready to give birth any time. The work would begin soon.

  *****

  “When were you going to tell us?” asked Gem.

  Flex, Hemp and Charlie were in the room along with Trina, Taylor and Flex Jr.

  “Mom, it’s not that I was keeping it a secret,” she said. “I hadn’t decided for sure yet.”

  “Do you know where they’re going?” asked Hemp.

  “They don’t even know yet, but they’re gonna need us,” said Taylor. “I think you know we’re equipped to do this.”

  “That’s not the point,” said Gem. “I don’t even know the point except I can’t stand you going. Shit. You’re my girls.” Her eyes watered and she s
tood and went to the sink, pulling a paper towel off the roll and dabbing her eyes.

  Trina got up and went to her. They were the same height now, only Trina was the spitting image of Flex’s sister Jamie, which made him happy. Sometimes, when they lay in bed late at night, he would tell Gem that looking at Trina was like seeing his late sister again – before she changed into a horror.

  “I know, mom. But I’ll be careful. You’ve taught me how, you know.”

  Gem looked at her and took her face in her hands. “Urushiol and estrogen blend, WAT-6 and your Uzi,” she said. “And a couple of drop-holstered Glocks.”

  “I’d venture out into the world with nothing less, mom. You know me.”

  “Flex, I blame you for this,” said Gem.

  “Me?” asked Flex Jr.

  “No, your fucking dad.”

  “Now, now,” said Flex. “We trained ‘em, I guess we can take the blame.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather a couple of capable, willing, brave huntresses than a couple of idiots who only thought they could handle it?”

  “Don’t bring the neighbor kids into this,” said Trina, nudging Taylor with a smile.

  “I know,” said Taylor. “Our parents kick ass. Most of my friends can’t hit the side of a barn with a shotgun.”

  “So … three days? Is that the plan?” asked Flex.

  “According to Isis, yes,” said Trina. “And you’re really not going to try to stop us?”

  “Nope,” said Gem.

  “I might,” said Charlie, who had been looking from Taylor to Trina, her eyes moist. “You two are like a part of me.”

  “And we’ll be back, mom,” said Taylor. She went to Charlie, who stood and pulled her into her arms.

  “Take care of your brother,” she said.

  “If it’s not the other way around,” said Taylor. “Max is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “So are you, sweetie,” said Charlie. “You too, Trini.”

  “I’m going to set your packs up,” said Hemp. “I want you to be packed with at least enough food, water and ammo to get you through a week. After that, you know how to find what you need.”

  “I’d prefer you just turn around and head back when your pack gets light,” said Charlie. “If it feels right.”

  In the end, the decision had been made. Flex, Hemp, Gem and Charlie had to begin packing for their own, covert journey.

  *****

  Of the eighteen volunteers, five of them were due to give birth within a week, give or take another few days. For this reason, Hemp decided he could not wait until their return. If they were to follow Max and Isis, the babies might be born before their return, which would result in a missed opportunity.

  “We’ve got to go out and capture a red-eye,” said Hemp.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Flex. “Ask Isis to point the way and I’ll go with you.”

  “I did. She said the only direction she feels them is among those who refused to come. That in itself is unusual; she used to feel them in all directions.”

  Flex was inside the pit. All the hydraulics were fully extended, and he went from shaft to shaft, making sure there were no ridges on them that might cause a leak at the hydraulic seal. When he found one, he would take a piece of steel wool to it, followed by a clean swipe with a towel.

  “Got it,” he said. Hemp pushed a button and they all retracted, providing Flex with a clear, unobstructed path to reach the spring-loaded gate. As he approached it, Hemp called out, “Heads up, buddy.”

  Flex looked up and saw what Hemp’s warning was about. Two rotters – standard issue – were staggering up the path from the highway, heading into the chute. They were about twenty yards up the trail and in under a minute, they would reach the gate.

  “Don’t use the hydraulics,” said Flex. “I don’t feel like a big cleanup.”

  “Your call,” said Hemp. “Just be ready.”

  “Born ready, buddy,” said Flex. “Just like John Wayne.”

  “Nothing changes,” said Hemp, smiling. Then: “Okay, Flex.”

  The zombies got to the gate and Flex stood around ten feet behind it, facing them. When they touched the gate, Flex said, “Welcome to Kingman, Kansas. The local time is 2:35 PM Central, and the air temperature is 65 degrees. Your stay with us will be brief but painless.”

  With that, Flex walked toward a man in torn, bloodied bun-huggers and a flannel shirt and unsheathed his knife. A ragged pair of Nike tennis shoes remained on the thing’s feet, and as it neared Flex, it’s black teeth oozed something he could not identify.

  Flex suddenly wished his knife was longer. He put it back in and withdrew his Glock from his right drop holster. He raised the gun and fired into its forehead, blowing blackish spray in a wide pattern behind the creature.

  “So much for minimizing cleanup. Might as well put the system to a test, Flex,” said Hemp. “Skirt around that chap and come out.”

  “Fine,” said Flex. He straight-armed the other zombie, this one only wearing jeans. No shoes, no shirt. The dude would not get into Three Sister’s Bar – the new one in Kingman – dressed like that. Victoria was the strict one.

  Flex jogged up beside Hemp. “Go.”

  Hemp pushed one of the smaller buttons. The floor was divided into quadrants. If you had a full pit, you would hit the main button and all of the makeshift spears would protrude at once. If you had a couple of rotters in the same area, you could activate the appropriate quarter, sparing the remainder of the system the wear and tear.

  The sharpened, stainless steel stake shot up through the creature’s right foot, through his calf and came out just above his right knee. This impact spun his emaciated body around and he plunged face first onto another of the spikes. In mere seconds he hung there, pinned and dead, the sharpened rod protruding from the back of his skull.

  “Notice any sticking?” asked Flex.

  “Nope,” said Hemp. “Perfect working order.”

  He retracted the shafts and the zombie’s body seemed to remain suspended in the air for a moment before slapping the pit’s dirt floor with a wet thud.

  “We need to hit the road and find a red-eye like today. Wanna make a run in the Crown Vic?”

  Hemp nodded. “Yes, but let’s talk to Max or Isis beforehand. Perhaps we can narrow the hunting grounds.”

  *****

  “Yeah, there are others,” said Max. “We’ve been closing off the call lately though. Isis is uncomfortable about broadcasting right now. It was fine until they didn’t respond. Now she’s worried about them knowing where we are.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Charlie. Flex Jr. sat beside her, his eyes intense as he stared from one of them to the other. “What about the pit?”

  “I think she’s pretty sure there’s more than will fit into the pit,” said Max. “I get that feeling, too. When I try to sense them individually, I get overwhelmed,” he said. “Like instead of one or ten or a hundred, there’s an entire wall of them with one blending into the next.”

  “Otherwise, does it feel normal, Max?”

  “No,” he said. “It feels as though they want to come but are confined in some way. I suppose they could be trapped somehow or other – something like our pit that someone else built – but their desire to submit to our call is being neutralized by something.”

  “So there’s a chance that all you really need to do is go and kill them where they are,” said Flex. “If they’re being blocked.”

  “I don’t want to throw water on that theory,” said Gem, “but that would be ideal. They get there, a thousand zombies are trapped behind a fence, and they just shower them with our urushiol-estrogen blocking agent and come on back home.”

  “In our dreams,” said Charlie.

  “Exactly, said Gem. “The hands we’re dealt are never ideal, and I doubt this is any exception. Max, can you point these guys to a nearby red-eye?”

  “Hate to send you to Wichita again,” he said. “But that’s where you’ll find them.
”

  “How did I know that was coming?” asked Flex.

  “And the Wichita lineman …” sang Gem.

  “… is still on the line,” sang Flex, smiling as he finished the verse, his pitch wavering in and out of tune.

  “Well,” said Hemp. “We might as well get it out of the way now. Perhaps Flex can coax a red-eye to us with his soothing singing voice.”

  “We’d have better luck trying to immobilize them with cans of Silly String,” said Gem. “Just sayin’.”

  “That’s because fuck you,” said Flex, with a wink. “Who’s in?”

  “I am,” said Flex Jr.”

  “I remember the door episode,” said Gem. “You’ll just shoot her in the head. We need this one alive.”

  “I’ve been wanting to try something,” he said. “Now I gotta go.”

  “Crown Vic. Ten minutes,” said Gem.

  *****

  CHAPTER THREE

  The fortified 2012 Crown Victoria, complete with ballistic steel exterior, a pivoting AK-47 on top, and a heavy-duty cowcatcher mounted on front was in great condition, even after all it had been through. While Gem drove it like a rental car, it was built for worse than she could give it, and there were a couple of excellent automotive technicians in town for when it did need attention.

  One of them was Luke McCabe, whose family once owned an auto repair business in southern California. Luke seemed to like working on Gem’s car, and Flex was pretty sure it was because he had the hots for Gem.

  A good mechanic was even harder to find these days, so Flex never messed with him about it. Of course, the kid would fantasize about Gem. She was lean, toned and bronze-skinned, not to mention confident. There wasn’t much else a man could want, but if there was, Gem had that, too.

  For Hemp’s part, he had some lab preparation to do to get ready for the new red-eye and the vapor transference procedure, and he wanted to sit for a while with the women who had volunteered, just to talk and make sure they were solid with their decision and not waffling. There was no going back once the exposure took place, so it was crucial.