Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm

by Eric A. Shelman

  I turned and saw that Gem had reached the woman and girl, and was now guiding them toward the front door. I waited.

  Once they were inside, I advanced on the flesh-hungry creatures, who were now advancing on me. When they were ten feet away and saw the weapon in my hands, they hesitated, as I had grown used to. Once again, without the red-eyes to guide them, they had nothing more up their blood-soaked, tattered sleeves than the ability to recognize danger. In other words, they had no plan B.

  I was glad. I fired, holding down the trigger in full auto mode. With a side-to-side sweep, I blew their faces into a spray of the now familiar red-black, chunky mist, each of the ghouls collapsing in their own unique, walking dead way.

  I made a mental note to add their cleanup to our list of immediate tasks, and went back inside.

  I was concerned, though. No doubt about that. This was four of them in under three hours. We hadn’t seen those kinds of numbers in that short a timeframe in quite a long time. I wondered it this was Isis at work as I mounted the steps and went back inside the house.

  The girl was sick. I could see it in her musculature, her eyes and her complexion. She breathed with difficulty and had bouts of sneezing.

  After ten minutes, Hemp said, “Take little Flexy into the other room, would you?”

  Gem, her eyes filled with worry, said, “Hemp? What’s wrong? What is it?”

  “I’m not certain,” he said. “I’ll need to speak with … what is your name, ma’am?”

  “Raylene Hackett,” she said, still out of breath from her narrow escape. “That’s my daughter, Gina.”

  Gem hurried out of the room, our son clutched in her arms.

  “How old is Gina, Mrs. Hackett?” asked Hemp, concern in his eyes. He lifted the child’s eyelids and peered into each of them.

  I didn’t like the look on his face one bit.

  The woman looked confused. “I … I don’t know what month it is,” she said, crying. “She’s either four or five, depending on that. Her birthday’s September 21st.”

  “Then she’s still four,” said Hemp. “Flex, can you get Doc Scofield on the radio?”

  Scofield had decided to stay locally, and lived in a house about an eighth of a mile from us. He had a moped that he used to get back and forth, so could be here in a few minutes.

  “I’ll get on it,” I said. I went into the kitchen and pulled the handheld out of the drawer. We kept them on because they didn’t draw a heck of a lot of power when they weren’t transmitting or receiving, and these had essentially become our telephones.

  Scofield answered in thirty seconds and I told him to hightail it over as fast as he could.

  I went back into the living room, and Hemp was still kneeling down by the sick girl. “Hemp, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Hemp nodded, touched the girl’s cheek, and stood. “Mrs. Hackett, take her over to the couch and let her lie down. We’ll be right back in.”

  She was following our instructions as we rounded the corner into the laundry room, now equipped with not only the electric washer and dryer, but also a wash tub and an old-fashioned washboard. We still used the electric utilities, but only when there were large amounts of laundry to do. When it was one or two pieces, we hand washed to save the generator fuel. We had yet to install the solar panels we intended to pilfer from somewhere.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked. “Girl’s pretty sick, huh?”

  “It could be a flu,” said Hemp. “I don’t like the look of it at all. What did Doc Scofield say?”

  “He’ll be right over,” I answered. “He’s leaving now.”

  When we returned to the living room, Bug was there with Isis, who stood in front of Gina and gnawed on a piece of beef jerky. Gina sneezed.

  “Bug,” said Hemp, an edge in his voice. “Please take Isis back to your room. I’ll explain later.”

  “Sorry, man. Heard what sounded like gunshots and laid there for a while, but Isis wanted to roam.”

  “It’s not a problem,” said Hemp. “The girl’s sick, and we don’t want it to spread to anyone else.”

  Bug eyed her for a moment, said, “Nice to meet you guys,” and scooped up Isis. He nodded to us and left the room. Isis called, “Bye bye, little girl!”

  Gina did not laugh or even smile, and hadn’t said a word since she’d come into the house. She was out of it, miserable and obviously very ill.

  Hemp sat on the chair across from them and I took another one. “Ma’am,” he said. “I have an important question for you.”

  “What is it?” asked Raylene. Her hair was a tangled mess, and bits of grass and leaves were caught in it. Her eyes were an interesting, almost royal blue, and their intensity fell in sharp contrast to her dirty, gaunt face. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

  Hemp shook his head. “The doctor, a man named Jim Scofield, is on the way now. I’d prefer to consult with him before I reach a conclusion that may be incorrect.”

  She nodded her understanding.

  “Raylene,” I said, “Where did you come from? Before you got here?”

  She swiped at her tears, which seemed to be leaking from her eyes constantly. She wasn’t sobbing, but I guessed she was so damned glad to be indoors in a safe place that she was an emotional wreck.

  “I don’t know how far I come,” she said. “I was with my daddy up until about three nights ago – that’s how I figure the days, because nights are so scary – but he got turned.”

  Hemp shot me a quick glance, and I acknowledged it and ignored it at the same time.

  “What do you mean by turned?” asked Hemp, his voice soothing and non-threatening.

  I figured he knew the answer to that question, but I didn’t blame him for asking.

  “An old man, a neighbor from down the street, came by the house the other day. He was sneezing and sick, like my Gina. We knew him since I was a little girl. His name was Roy Dickens, and I guess he was about the oldest man I’ve ever known.”

  “Did he pass away?” asked Hemp. “From the sickness?”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t get a chance. He was all bundled up when he got there, sayin’ he was cold and not feelin’ good. He scared us when he first showed up because he had a machete in his hand, and we thought he was crazy.”

  I looked at her, and she met my eyes with hers. “What do you mean he didn’t get the chance?” I asked.

  “We told him he could stay on the couch that night, but he’d have to go find another place in the mornin’,” she said. “We didn’t have a hotel – at least that’s what daddy said – and we had to take care of our own. He was nice enough about it, but he started complainin’ about a bad headache along with everything else that seemed wrong with him. When he took off his jacket, I saw bite marks on his arms.”

  “Did your father see them?” Hemp asked, glancing at me again.

  She shook her head. “No, and I didn’t say anything. He was leavin’ in the mornin’ and I didn’t want to be cruel. I thought daddy might kick him out.”

  I shook my head. “I’m guessing he changed in the night?” I asked.

  She looked at Gina, who now lay back on the sofa, her eyes open only to narrow slits. Looking at her sick daughter, I had no illusions that Gina could hear or comprehend anything we said just then.

  Raylene’s tears came in a torrent. “I heard this terrible screamin’ in the middle of the night, and I grabbed Gina. She wasn’t sick then, she was just fine. She was half asleep, and I’m glad of it. I ran to my daddy’s bedroom, and Mr. Dickens was on top of daddy, growlin’ like a dog.”

  She stopped speaking for a bit and stroked her child’s hair, but Gina didn’t notice as far as I could tell. After a pause to cry some quiet tears, she continued, her voice shaking.

  “It was pretty dark, but with the moonlight comin’ through the window I could see my daddy on his back on the bed with Mr. Dickens on top of him, bitin’ him. Daddy had his shotgun in his hand, but he couldn’t do nothin’ with it. It fell o
n the ground and he was screamin’ and screamin’. I stood there screamin’, too, but then Mr. Dickens turned to look at me. His eyes were red, and there was this smoke puffin’ out of them, and I just ran with Gina and I never looked back.”

  “It was the best thing to do for you and your daughter,” said Hemp, reassuringly. “I’m sure you know by now that once you’re bitten, if untreated, a transformation takes place.”

  “He wasn’t bitin’ him,” she whispered. “Mr. Dickens was eatin’ him.”

  Her tears became shudders and I realized that Hemp had never asked the question he wanted to ask. A knock came on the door. I got up and walked to it, checked the peephole, and let Doc Scofield in.

  He nodded to me and said, “Hey, Flex. Good to see you.” I shook his hand and looked over toward the girl. “Thanks for comin’, Doc. She’s over there. Name’s Gina.”

  Scofield hurried over and struggled to kneel down in front of the couch. Gina’s head was resting in her mother’s lap. Scofield used his stethoscope and listened to her heart and her breathing, and we just sat there, letting him finish in silence.

  “I’m Jim Scofield, ma’am,” he said. “Sorry about your girl. How long has she been like this?” he asked.

  Jim’s kind eyes met hers, and I was sure they set her at ease. He was good at that.

  “I’m Raylene Hackett,” she said. “Gina took a turn about a day after I left our house. I guess it’s been about three days now.”

  “Has it gotten progressively worse?” he asked.

  “Progressively?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Scofield. “I mean to ask if it keeps getting worse from the day before. She hasn’t seemed any better one day to the next?”

  Raylene shook her head. “We haven’t had much food since we run, so we’re both pretty weak. This is the worst she’s been. I’m worried about her. I had to pull her along all day today, ‘cause I don’t have the strength to carry her anymore.”

  Scofield reached inside of his bag to get something, and the girl sneezed. Her mother had seen it coming and put her hand over the child’s mouth. When she pulled it away, there was a fine, red mist on her skin.

  “Is she bleeding?” I asked.

  Gina moaned and her eyes flittered open, but remained unfocused. She yawned, and this provided Scofield the opportunity to use the item he’d removed from his bag. He turned on the penlight and shone it into her open mouth.

  Hemp leaned forward and put a gentle hand on her jaw, keeping her mouth open a little longer as he looked inside.

  There was a change in Hemp then. Right then. I saw it as clearly as I saw those three rotters comin’ toward me outside. He then slid his hands onto her neck, feeling her glands. “Swollen,” he said, looking at Scofield and me.

  Scofield shifted in his seat. I saw a change in him, too.

  “Is it a flu or something?” Raylene asked.

  Fuck. I wished it was the flu. But my instincts had already told me something dangerous had entered our home.

  “Raylene,” said Hemp, his voice low and steady. “Did you have Gina immunized as a baby?”

  “Shots, you mean?”

  “Exactly,” said Hemp.

  She shook her head. “No, because everybody was sayin’ that there’s so much autism around that it’s from all those vaccinations and stuff they’re pumpin’ into the kids. She was born at home and I didn’t have any of that stuff done and she’s always been fine.”

  I stood up and paced the room. I thought about Gem, and I thought about my son.

  Hemp’s expression remained as neutral as he could muster, but I knew the man. The next thing he said confirmed my fears.

  “Jim, do you have a surgical mask or something similar in that bag?”

  “I do,” said Jim, pulling one out. He tore open the plastic and gave it to Hemp.

  Hemp took it and put it over the girl’s nose and mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Raylene. “Is my baby gonna be alright?”

  “Just a few more questions, first,” said Hemp. “How old was the neighbor who came over that night? The Dickens fellow.”

  Scofield looked confused. “This must’ve been stuff you talked about before I got here,” he said. “What neighbor?”

  Hemp nodded and said, “A neighbor of theirs came over the night she ran from her house,” he said. “She said he was sick.”

  “I’m pretty sure he was in his eighties,” said Raylene. “Pretty spry before, though.”

  “Did he exhibit similar symptoms to Gina?”

  She thought for a moment. “Sneezin’, temperature, high-pitched breathin’. Yeah, now that you mention it. I thought she probably got it from bein’ around him.”

  “What do you know about his family?” asked Hemp. “Did they see physicians regularly?

  “Heck no,” she said. “They were about as bumpkin as you could get. Even worse than us. He was the oldest in their family. They died young, as a rule.”

  “Raylene, do you know if you were immunized as a child?” asked Scofield.

  She shrugged. “I was born at St. Joseph’s, so I suppose so.”

  Scofield and Hemp looked at one another and both stood, Scofield with a good grunt accompanying the movement. He’d had quite a belly on him when we first met, but now his belt was pulled to its last hole, and I could see where he’d even punched two additional ones. His pants bagged on him.

  “We’ll be right back,” said Hemp, nodding to me and Doc Scofield. We followed him into the other room and slid the pocket door closed.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “What I’m thinking is not good, Flex,” said Hemp. He turned toward Doc Scofield. “Jim, have you ever seen a case of Diphtheria?”

  Scofield snapped his fingers. “That’s right, Hemp. That black, fiber-like coating in her throat. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before, but it was only in pictures from when I studied it. And that was a long time ago.”

  “That’s what convinced me,” said Hemp. “Not to mention the bloody sneeze.”

  “I don’t wanna be cruel, but we have to get her out of my house, fucking pronto,” I said.

  “Can’t we just set her up in the basement?” asked Scofield. “It’s big enough, and I didn’t see any mold or anything down there.”

  Hemp shook his head. “She appears to be in the midst of the most contagious phase of the disease, which is pretty much the entire duration,” he said. “Flex is right. She needs to be out of this house as soon as possible.”

  I realized I was pissed, but I couldn’t blame anyone for it. Instead of blaming, I asked the obvious question. “Wasn’t this shit wiped out a long time ago?”

  Hemp shook his head. “Diphtheria and other diseases can be contained, but not necessarily eradicated. Regular vaccinations, plus antitoxin, dealt with the problem when it did appear.”

  “How can something like this fire up again, Hemp?” I asked. “It’s not like we don’t have enough to worry about these days.”

  “When there is a breakdown of society and immunizations aren’t performed, these are the things that can rear their ugly heads again,” said Hemp. “I knew the answer to the question of her daughter’s vaccine status before I even asked. While Diphtheria has been controlled for many years, it has cropped back up a number of times since then.”

  “Do we still get shots for that?” I asked.

  “Yep,” said Scofield. “Diphtheria is part of the normal childhood boosters. I read about a case in Alaska – in the 1920s I think – where dog sleds were used to run the antitoxin from somewhere across the state to Nome. Whole communities were in danger of infection, which could’ve killed thousands. Not just Nome, but neighboring towns, too.”

  “Jim’s right,” said Hemp. “They transported the serum over 600 miles via dog sled. In fact, the Iditarod is in commemoration of what was then called The Great Race of Mercy.”

  I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Hemp, Doc,” I said, look
ing at the men, and looking scared, I knew. “How does it spread?”

  Hemp looked grim. “Through the respiratory system, I’m afraid,” he said. “It can also be transferred in food, or by touch.”

  “And exactly how contagious is it?” I asked, my muscles tense. I could only picture Flexy sitting in his playpen when Gina let out her bloody sneezes. Isis had been in there with her for a moment, too.

  Hemp put a hand on my shoulder. “It is extremely contagious. And yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking the same thing. We need antitoxin for little Flex and Isis. And it can’t hurt us all to have a booster, too. But Flex,” he said, his voice grim. “We need it quickly.”

  I immediately thought of Gem. She would freak out and there would be no calming her. My mind worked over the ways this could be hidden from her, but it just wasn’t possible to do that and keep our son safe, too. The sick girl and her mother needed to be out of the house immediately – before one more sneeze spread more of the disease – and I needed to get to where the antitoxin was.

  Scofield said, “First order of business is to find a place for those two and to keep them both away from everyone else. Just to be safe. I’m guessing everybody’s had the proper shots, but we just don’t know what their parents did, and they were too young to know. Better safe than sorry.”

  “What chance is there that you’re wrong about the Diphtheria, Hemp?” I asked.

  Hemp shook his head. “Very little, I’m afraid. Just be glad she’s presenting with symptoms. Sometimes they have none at all. There would have been no warning.”

  “Then you’re making me a list of any and all other vaccines I might need,” I said. “I’m leaving today. Tell me where I have to go.”

  “Flex, we don’t know –” started Hemp.

  “There’s lots we don’t know, but what I do know is I don’t want my son or Isis to die. That’s possible, right? This shit can kill you?”

  Hemp nodded. “Whatever the mortality rate, it needs treatment.”