Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis

by Eric A. Shelman

  “This might not be good,” said Gem.

  “It’s definitely not,” said Flex. “Everybody needs to get in tight now. Let’s cluster, backs in, facing out.”

  In the crowd, Flex watched as more Mothers worked their way to where the others stood. Soon there were a dozen or more, their straight hair blowing slightly in the breeze that whispered through the enclosure.

  Everyone moved into position in a circle, their shoulders touching.

  “I’m not feeling this,” said Taylor. Flex looked down and saw her gun in her hand. For now she kept the barrel lowered to the ground.

  “Everyone get ready,” said Punch. “I don’t see how this ends without a fight.”

  “All accounted for?” asked Hemp, who faced away from the gathering Mothers on the opposite side of the circle from Flex.

  “I’m here,” said Charlie, who loved to wear shirts that turned heads. Even her tattered zombie disguise shirt read, “I put the lotion in the basket on the first date.”

  “It’s fucking urushiol time,” said Trina. “Get your EB-tipped knives ready, too. Move aside your shirts so the sheaths are exposed for quick access.”

  “Good call,” said Flex, noticing that now there had to be twenty or more Mothers within striking distance.

  “Fuck this,” said Gem. “Flex, keep an eye out, okay?”

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got nothing to lose.” She crouched down, surrounded by her family. Flex moved in tighter when she withdrew the radio.

  She turned to channel 11 and pressed her button. “Isis. We need you here, now. There are a couple of dozen Mothers ready to pounce. We don’t have a shitload of time, so if you hear me, please come now. Find a way to break this fence if you can’t kill them all. I’ll say it again. Now would be really good.”

  When she stood up, a red-eyed Mother stood a foot in front of Flex, staring him in the eyes.

  He felt Gem’s eyes on him and whispered, “Knife her, Gem. Go down, come in low.”

  In a smooth motion, Gem crouched again, withdrawing the knife from the Estrogen Blocker sheath. She reached between Flex and Punch’s legs and poked the Mother in the ankle.

  She stood up fast and moved back into the circle, her knife still in her hand.

  As they watched the Mother, her face changed. Veins appeared, roadmap-like on her face. The skin transformed from icy smooth to desert parched. Cracks formed like a spider break on a windshield and traversed every exposed part of her body. Her head fell to almost a ninety-degree angle against her shoulder, snapped off with a wet sound and dropped to the concrete. The remainder of her body sucked in on itself and shimmered in a bubbling pile before melting further to become what looked like a puddle of mud and clay, intermingled with a long-faded maternity blouse.

  As Flex looked up again, a second Mother stood there, her red eyes blazing. If they had the capacity to express anger, it could be seen there.

  Her arm shot toward him and her fingers seized his throat, lifting him off his feet.

  With blistering speed, Gem drew back her arm and plunged her knife, the blade tip dripping with estrogen blocker, deep into the creature’s forehead. Her head literally exploded on her shoulders, splattering everyone within ten feet with her pungent brain matter.

  Her hand released Flex whose feet were not properly beneath him when he fell to the ground. His ankle twisted and he felt something pop.

  He tried to get to his feet, but the ankle folded. When he looked up, he saw a wall of red-eyed Mothers moving toward them.

  “Fuck stealth!” he said. “Punch, give me a hand up, man!”

  Punch practically pulled his left arm out of its socket as he yanked him back to his feet, but not before he snatched Gem’s knife from the bloody scum puddle that was once his red-eyed attacker.

  There was no more need for stealth. There was no time for it.

  Flex turned and eyed the fence. It was nearly solid steel with such narrow gaps between. One could see through it but could not insert fingers through to gain purchase. They could not climb it to get out of their reach. He worried most for Gem and Trina, but everyone was on his mind. All of his family.

  Fight or flight. There was no flight. There were too many of them. It could only be fight. The ruse could not be re-established now. Too many Mothers had seen.

  “On my go, everybody get their backs against the north fence and get the urushiol and EB-tipped knives ready,” said Flex. “Don’t stop, don’t get bitten. Fight until we’re finished.”

  “Trini, Tay, if you get tired get behind me,” said Gem. “I’ll eat those motherfuckers myself before I’ll let them get to you.”

  “Ready?” asked Flex, feeling every muscle in his body twitching.

  Murmurs of acknowledgement came from behind him.

  “Okay, on five.”

  In his heart, Flex believed they were all about to die.

  *****

  After the men disappeared from view, Max and Isis moved along the back wall of the police station. As they reached the northwest corner, a fence jutted off to the west and stretched to the north the depth of the building. Inside the fence, the painted stripes on the concrete had long faded, now only barely visible.

  In what appeared to be a temporary shelter on one side of the fenced area, there were several beds lined up beside one another. They appeared to have been taken from some sort of shelter, as all were identical, folding type beds with thin mattresses.

  “Is that a basketball court?” asked Max.

  “Were the nets your first clue?” asked Isis.

  “Very funny,” said Max. “I think we’ve found the Hybrids.”

  “Where they are kept, anyway,” said Isis. “It appears there are six here now, but these are not the ones that were at the football field tonight.”

  “No,” said Max. “None of them looks familiar.”

  “That may be to our advantage,” said Isis. “I’ll try to connect with them.”

  “Just you?” asked Max.

  Isis nodded, and she instantly felt bad for Max. While she had some instinctive knowledge of her own abilities, and had initially assumed that Max had his own, it had become clear over the years that while they may possess almost the same abilities, he was not aware of some things of which he was capable.

  When Gem revealed to them what the Mother had done to her son Flexy in Wichita, Isis had almost unleashed her anger, directing it against any Hungerer or Mother within a hundred miles. She loved the younger Flex Sheridan; he had possessed the strong, handsome looks of his father and he had been raised to ask questions and consider all angles to a situation prior to taking action.

  Had she not been twice his age psychologically, she would have pursued him when he came of age. What had happened to him was unlikely and predictable at the same time; unlikely because of his own skills and who he was with at the time. It was predictable because the Mothers were extremely skillful at pursuing the weak and those separated from their companions.

  Isis smiled at Max before closing her eyes. She lifted her mental shade, but did not call to the Mothers or let them in. Rather, she announced herself to the Hybrids.

  There was a sense of confusion at first contact. Isis felt them there, stirring in their cheap beds, and as she and Max watched, one-by-one, they swung their legs to the edge and sat up, many of them rubbing their eyes. They did not sleep, but they could and often did rest.

  Isis wondered what criteria caused Maestro to choose one over the other for his purposes, whatever they may be. No matter; these were not chosen for the task that had earlier been at hand.

  The immersion.

  “I hear them, Isis. You should go to the fence,” said Max.

  For the moment, they were still standing out of sight of the basketball court on the north wall of the police station.

  “They’re confused,” said Max. “If they see you it might calm them.”

  Isis considered it only briefly and said, “You’re right. The gra
ss is high on the west side. I’ll walk north until I can pass around those trees and cut in that direction. Stay here?”

  “I’ll watch and cover,” he said, his loaded crossbow in his hand. “Hurry. Since there are so many of us here, turn your radio up just a bit. I’ll let you know the old fashioned way if anything changes.”

  Max could “listen” to any of Isis’ communications, and his suggestions were often helpful to her. She knew he had felt their confusion and discomfort, as did she.

  The act of communicating with other Hybrids was not so much using words; it was more a sense of well-being and good intentions she and Max conveyed, which broke the ice, so to speak. These silent communications could also announce arrival. The announcement would convey without any ambivalence whatsoever, “We are here, we are strangers, and we mean you no harm.”

  Max and Isis had practiced it their entire lives. There was never a time Max was coming to see Isis that she was not aware of it by way of his announcement, and it was true the other way around as well.

  These were the first Hybrids they had encountered other than each other, but as far as Isis could tell, the differences were minimal. There was only one way to create a Hybrid, after all.

  But there were a lot of them. The intentional creation of Hybrids was apparently not a unique idea. Isis wondered, as she ran through the grass, what intention lay behind the act.

  She reached the point where she would turn west and work her way back, under cover of the brush. The overgrowth of the world’s foliage was sometimes inconvenient, but more often than not, it provided excellent camouflage when necessary.

  She pushed her thoughts out in advance of her arrival, letting them know she would come to the northwest corner of the fence line.

  The radio came alive. “Isis,” said Max. “Three of them are moving toward the west fence.”

  “Good,” she said. “I see them.”

  Isis drew to within eight or nine feet of the fence, still hidden by the brush. She peered through and saw three females dressed in what appeared to be prison clothes. They wore orange jumpsuits. None of the Mothers and Hungerers wore these.

  The Hybrids at the football field had them on. She did not put it together until seeing the number on the right chest and the DOC PRISONER words stenciled on the back.

  As the women awaited her, she stepped into the open.

  The three took a step back and their faces changed. They were attempting to control her; they thought she was a Mother.

  “I’m not one of them, so you won’t be able to command me,” she said. “This is a disguise to allow me to blend in among the Mothers and Hungerers.”

  The three women appeared to be of Hispanic heritage. It had not struck Isis before; there had been no reason to consider it. They looked confused. Isis tried again.

  “My name is Isis,” she said. “I’m like you. My mother was exposed to the vapor of the Mothers when I was in her womb.”

  “What is Isis?” one of them asked. She was tall, perhaps approaching six feet, but not quite. She moved closer to the fence. The others stayed back.

  “I was named after an ancient Egyptian Goddess of motherhood, nature and magic,” said Isis, her voice soft and soothing. “Now please listen to me because I don’t know how much time I have.”

  The women nodded.

  “I came here to help you,” said Isis. “We live in a town to the south of here. Please, tell me what you know of the world and why you’re kept here.”

  “We obey,” she said. “We are clothed and fed and we follow Maestro.”

  “Or we die,” said another, now emboldened to step forward.

  As she drew closer, Isis could see her red eyes more clearly. Despite the mist over them, her emotion was strong. She was rebellious. Isis knew the feeling. This one would be the one to listen. She would be the connection Isis needed to nurture.

  “I’m sorry your lives are threatened,” she said. “Please, tell me your names.”

  “I am Alpha and she is Omega,” said the first young woman who had come over. She indicated to a second woman standing just a little farther back, who looked similar to her, both in her eyes and the shape of her face. She appeared to be approximately the same age as well.

  “The rest are all called Maga,” she added.

  A third girl, clearly younger than Alpha and Omega, approached. “I am Maga 7. All of us are named the same, but identified with numbers.”

  “Maga means magician,” said Isis. “Why?”

  “Maestro says we are his magic,” said Maga 7.

  Isis looked at Omega. She also had dark hair, brown skin and brown eyes, like Maga 7. “Omega is a word that means ‘the last’,” said Isis. “It is also not appropriate for a young woman. I would like to call you Megan.”

  Omega nodded. “Megan,” she repeated.

  “And Alpha?” she said, looking at the other, older woman.

  “Yes?”

  “With your permission, you will be Alyssa. It is a very pretty name.”

  “Alyssa,” she said. Isis almost believed she saw a smile touch the girl’s lips.

  The third came forward. “Who am I?” she asked.

  Instead of answering, Isis pushed the word forth in her mind: Beauty.

  And she was. Her face was filthy, and she was perhaps 5’10” tall, her long, dark, nearly black hair hanging down to the middle of her back, as straight as that of a Mother. Her inquisitive eyes were not brown, but instead were a deep green. Again, something about all of these women appeared the same.

  “How old are you?” asked Isis. “I am fourteen years old.”

  “Years?” asked Beauty. “This is a word we have heard but have no concept of.”

  “It is a measure of time,” she answered. “From sunrise to sunrise is one day. A year is 365 of these periods.”

  “I have counted each sunrise,” said Megan. “There have been 3,655 of them. This means I am ten of your years.”

  “They’re not my years,” said Isis. “They simply are. They are something Maestro has determined you need no knowledge of.”

  Isis knew she had to broach the subject of why she had come to them. “Please,” she said. “You said you obey Maestro. I need to know why he created you. I can only assume Maestro has made you for a reason. There are too many of you all together to have been unintentional.”

  “We beckon Mothers to come, who bring the Hungerers,” said Beauty. “Once they are here, Maestro holds them, and commands us. We repeat his commands to the Mothers, who then command the Hungerers.”

  “What do you know of the Mothers?” asked Isis.

  “They are Goddesses,” said Alyssa. “Like you.”

  Isis shook her head. “No, they’re not, and neither am I. I was named after a mythical Goddess, but I am not a Goddess. The Mothers and Hungerers aren’t Gods, nor are they Goddesses. They’re abominations of nature.”

  The three women stepped back as though struck by a blow.

  “Please,” said Isis. “Try to understand what I’m saying. I was created by the actions of a Mother. Before becoming a Mother, she was just a regular human being who was pregnant with a child. The elevated chemicals in her body, naturally augmented to assist with her baby’s development, made her change into a far more powerful creature than the Hungerers.”

  The three stepped forward again. Megan asked, “They are not Goddesses?”

  “No,” said Isis. “They’re humans who died and who should have dissolved into dust years ago. They sustain themselves by consuming those of us who are immune to the thing that changed them.”

  To call them Mothers and Hungerers in the first place told Isis more than young Megan realized. It meant that much of what they knew was instinctual. Maestro could not have known what they were, or what word fit them. From infancy, Isis thought of them as the Mothers. Now she knew it was true.

  To her surprise, Max popped out behind her and said, “Hey.”

  The three within the cage blanched, and Max h
eld up his hands. “I’m good, guys,” he said. “I’m with Isis. We grew up together.”

  “It’s true,” she said. “He is also a Hybrid. Max, this is Alyssa, Meg and Beauty.”

  Max gave an open palm, sideways swipe in the air, waving to them with a smile.

  “Hybrid is a combination of multiple things,” said Beauty.

  “Yes, exactly,” said Isis. “We are essentially mutated humans, nothing more. Maestro is human, and so are all of you.”

  “We command the Mothers,” said Megan. “We tell them to command the Hungerers when to feed and where to go.”

  “But you’re instructed by Maestro?” asked Isis.

  “Yes,” the three answered in unison.

  “Did you go to Great Bend?” asked Max.

  “I have seen signs that say the words Great Bend. If this is a place, we have been there.”

  Max looked at Isis. “He keeps ‘em in the dark, right?”

  “He can’t teach them or they’ll outgrow his control,” said Isis. She turned back to them. “There was a massive slaughter of human beings in Great Bend,” she said.

  “The Hungerers and the Mothers must eat,” said Megan.”

  “I’m going to explain something to you and I pray that you listen and understand,” said Isis. “The Mothers and Hungerers are dead. They should not exist. Without them I would still exist, but I wouldn’t be like you.”

  Alyssa’s expression illustrated her confusion.

  Isis said, “Put your fingers to the sides of your necks, please.” As she said the words, Isis did it. So did Max.

  The three inside followed suit. The others in the cage began to make their way over. Isis issued a silent order to stop. They heeded her command.

  “Why mustn’t they come?” asked Beauty.

  “Because it will draw attention should someone see from a distance,” said Isis. “Listen to me. You feel that pulsation against your fingertips?”

  The three nodded.

  “That’s your heartbeat,” she said. “It is an organ within you that pumps your lifeblood throughout your body and keeps you alive. It enables everything else. If feeds your brain and makes you vital.”