Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm

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Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm Page 6

by Eric A. Shelman


  As a backup, we’d nabbed a 2012 Rand McNally road atlas that I didn’t figure had changed much since the zombie apocalypse. Not yet, anyway. I’m pretty damned sure that as the years pass, some of the bridges on a lot of these maps will just crumble and fall. They sure don’t build shit like they used to.

  Thought I’d never peruse a road atlas again after the advent of the automobile GPS. Easy come, easy go. What’d we get to use it for, anyway? Like twelve years?

  “You’ll drive along this road here out of town,” he said.

  “I can get that far, Hemp,” I said. “I’ve left town before, you know.”

  Hemp laughed. “Sorry, Flex. Just being my usual thorough self.” He ran his finger along the main road out of Whitmire and I saw then that he had a yellow highlighter in his hand. He found every place where multiple roads would lead us to the same place and highlighted the alternate routes.

  “Good job,” I said. “Should get me around any problems we run into.”

  There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Tony came in wearing a leather jacket and leather pants.

  “Hey, buddy, we’re not takin’ bikes,” I said. “We’re takin’ the Land Cruiser like I said.”

  “Too hot?” he asked, the heavy crow’s feet on the sides of his eyes scrunching. “Repels bites. I’m wearing regular pants underneath. These are oversized.” He pulled at the loose leather.

  I shrugged. “It’s up to you, dude, but your balls are gonna be one sweaty mess.”

  Tony looked doubtful for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll take ‘em off, but can I leave ‘em here? I don’t wanna go all the way back home.”

  “You ride your bike?”

  “Yeah. The wind is really picking up out there, Flex.”

  “I know. Makes me wish we still had satellite. Either way, we gotta go. Pull the bike back into the garage and just change in there. Come here first.”

  Tony walked over to the table with the maps spread out. He looked into the living room where Bug was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. Tony looked at us and tipped his head to the stranger. “Who’s that? Hired help?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “You haven’t met the new arrivals yet.”

  Bug looked up. “Hey, man. Name’s Bug.”

  “Like a bug you squash?” asked Tony, smiling. He walked over pulling off his gloves and held out his hand. “Tony Mallette.”

  Bug waved him off. “Bleach, buddy. We got a little germ problem, which is why you’re going with Flex.”

  “Okay, we’ll shake later,” said Tony. He looked around nervously and I noticed him pull his gloves back on.

  Tony was a germaphobe. His expression was dead serious as he turned back toward us. When Tony got a serious expression, it always looked like he was on the verge of whipping out a firearm and threatening everyone in the room, but not actually shooting them.

  “What’s goin’ on, guys. You can tell me.”

  Hemp laughed as he stared back at Tony. I liked it when Hemp laughed, especially when the mood was tense.

  I knew Hemp, who had basically been a child prodigy with mechanics and could master anything he set his mind to, was often mesmerized by Tony because of his gravelly voice, his Long Island accent and his need to be told something five times before it really sank in.

  It’s not that Tony’s a dense guy, because he’s not. When he sets his mind to something – learning something, that is – he’ll dedicate himself to mastering the task, and he won’t stop until he’s better than anyone else – or at least until he thinks he’s better.

  I think he just has a bad case of Attention Deficit Disorder. He’ll ask you a question and instantly let his mind wander while you give him the answer.

  Yep. Tony sees shiny things that draw his attention away. A lot. Worse still, he laughs about it.

  But holy shit, if Tony thinks he knows something and you fuck up doing that thing in front of him, hold on to your ass. He’ll tell you that you rushed it, or you didn’t try, or that you need to slow down, or some crap.

  Good thing is, he’s okay with being told to shut the fuck up, just so long as he likes you. And he likes me, so he’ll work out fine as a partner on this trip. Great, in fact.

  “Of course we’ll tell you,” said Hemp. “You’re going with Flex to retrieve what we need.”

  Gem walked in from the hallway with Charlie behind her.

  “You know how when you were a kid and your mom tied a balloon to your belt loop so you didn’t lose it?” asked Gem.

  Tony gave her a quick hug. “Hey, Gem.”

  “Hey, Tony,” she said, squeezing him back.

  “Yeah?” I asked. “What’s a balloon tied to your pants got to do with anything?”

  “It’s what I feel like when Charlie’s walking too close behind me.”

  We all shook our heads, and Charlie, who didn’t look very jovial, couldn’t help a smile. She swatted at Gem, who swatted her back.

  “I can see you’re worried,” said Gem. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

  Hemp left the map and turned to put his hands on her shoulders. “Charlie, what are you concerned about?”

  Charlie folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know,” she said. “Everything. I’ve got questions, but I don’t want to ask them because I don’t want to know the answer.”

  “Ask,” said Hemp. “Otherwise you’ll never learn the answers. You might like them.”

  “Okay,” said Charlie, her hair now shoulder-length and curling more than ever. “The baby. Our baby. Can our baby be affected by this stuff? The Diphtheria? Inside me?”

  “Charlie, you’ve been vaccinated, so I’m not worried about you or the baby. But you’re due any day, and if he or she is born before we address this, you’ll need to go stay with Dave and Serena or something. Or in the lab.”

  She looked more worried. “Hemp,” she said.

  “I know. But don’t worry. Flex will be back soon, and we’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll never get back if we don’t get movin’,” I said. “Tony, let’s put the rack on the back of the car. We’re takin’ enough fuel to get us as far as we need to go.”

  “Got it,” said Tony.

  “Hemp, go ahead and get the maps dialed in, highlighted, whatever,” I said. “I’m packin’ my stuff and we’re getting’ the car ready. I wanna be on the road in an hour at most.”

  “Maps are marked and ready, Flex,” said Hemp. “Gem, you can help him if you like. I’ll keep an eye on the little one.”

  “Thanks, Hemp,” she said. “Babe, I’ll go get some clothes and ammunition for the AK and your Daewoo. Tony, what guns do you have?”

  “I have the MP3, like Hemp’s.”

  “Okay. I’ll pack ammo for everything, including your handguns.”

  “Don’t forget water,” said Tony.

  “I won’t,” said Gem, smiling.

  *****

  In just over an hour we were ready. We tested the winch and topped off the tank from our large supply. There was more gas in town than we had a right to hope for, and the Piggly Wiggly store had plenty of food stock. Combined with the convenience stores, we wouldn’t starve.

  We’d killed a good number of walking dead around the town proper, but even then, it was probably less than 300. There were clearly plenty of them shut inside the scattered homes in the rural town.

  As for the survivors in Whitmire, as I said when I started this, just under 150 people wouldn’t have turned into rotters, but we’d only met a small number. We’d found one group of five living in a house near the gas station, but they mainly wanted to know if we knew what it was like in other places. We let ‘em know that they were better off where they were. They had wells and a nearby river for fresh water if the bottled stuff ran out, and restaurants had the large, commercial cans of vegetables and soups, so food was plentiful for now. We recommended they grow their own, as we intended to do.

  They didn’t ask if they could jo
in us. I’m glad of that. We have too hard a time sayin’ no, and our family seemed to be growing fast enough under its own power. We did give them one of our radios and told them where they could find us if they needed to. So far they hadn’t called.

  As we were buttoning down the car, Hemp looked at the sky. “I’m worried about this weather, Flex,” he said.

  “Just a storm, right?”

  “The gusts are strong. I’d say forty miles per hour, now,” he said. “This is a state on the east coast, Flex. This could be a hurricane blowing in.”

  “Shit,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

  “Be careful, friend,” he said. “If you get hit with heavy, driving rain, it could be the outer bands of a large storm. There haven’t been any in a while. We may be due.”

  “Nothin’ to be done about it, buddy,” I said. “I need that elixir, and I’m gonna go get it. Got that list?”

  “It’s in the car with the map. I’ve written down everything that might be on the label, so just read it carefully. All the immunizations necessary are listed, as well as the antitoxin.”

  “So how far from my first stop to my last resort at Beaufort Naval Hospital?”

  “It’s just under 80 miles to the North Carolina hospital, which should have what we need. If that fails, you’ve got a 233 mile drive on your hands.”

  I looked in the back of the Land Cruiser. “Looks like Gem packed enough shit for a month. We’ll be good,” I said.

  “Ready?” asked Tony.

  “Yep. Go on,” I said.

  Tony got in the car and rolled down the window.

  Gem walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. I held her and said, “Don’t worry, babe. If everything goes as planned, we’ll be back in six or seven hours.”

  Gem looked up at me. “Nothing ever goes as planned, and you know it.”

  “Have faith, Gem. I’ve never been more determined.”

  “I’d feel better if I were sitting where Tony is.”

  “Our boy needs you.”

  “He needs you, too.”

  I smiled and squeezed her again. “Gem, he’ll have me. Just as soon as I get that juice.”

  We kissed, and she reluctantly let me go. “Hurry home.”

  I shook Hemp’s hand and threw Bug a wave. He sat on the porch with Isis in his lap, and he waved back, nodding his head. I knew he was counting on us, too.

  We pulled away. I could feel the wind buffeting the SUV even as we reached the one mile mark.

  *****

  I hung a right on Dogwalla Road and pressed the gas down. Tony had his window down and fired well-placed rounds into the heads of several walkers who, without variation, were moving toward our tiny outpost.

  “Tony, get on the radio and just let ‘em know they’re going to have more company,” I said. “I’d say if they can set up some sort of urushiol fence barrier, even if it’s not that great, they should do it. At least around the entrances to the house.”

  “Yeah, even a 2-wire fence coated with urushiol will be better than nothing,” said Tony. “Like chest height.”

  We were still close enough to our home base for the simple handheld radios to work, and Hemp was on the handheld and updated within two minutes. Tony put the radio back down, leaving it powered on.

  “I’m gonna AK some of these bastards,” said Tony. He quickly grabbed for the map and followed the highlight. “Turn right here, Flex. It looks like it changes names once or twice, but it’s the one we take all the way to Highway 72.”

  “Tyger River Road it is,” I said, turning the wheel, then swerved around an overturned semi truck that was now just a black lump of charred, melted metal, plastic and rubber. Several crashed cars around it were blackened as well, and despite the destruction, I wondered how many hungry things that we simultaneously hated and feared had walked or crawled away from the devastation.

  “Hey, Tony,” I said. “How about a granola bar, buddy?” I asked him.

  “I got some of Isis’ beef jerky,” said Tony, smiling. “Want some?”

  “Does sound better,” I said. “Sure.”

  Tony dug around in his pocket and withdrew a bag. “Here you go, man.”

  I took the jerky and took a bite, even as I steered the Toyota around two cars that were parked cattycorner in the street, front bumper to front bumper, with the hoods up and all the doors wide open. I didn’t know what had happened, but whatever it was hadn’t been good. There were still jumper cables running between the batteries, but nobody was in sight. Perhaps the good Samaritan had eaten the driver in distress, but it could have been the other way around.

  Either way, both parties had become extremely distracted from the task that had started out so everyday and mundane.

  “Shit. “Better stop, Flexy.”

  A bridge lay ahead, just spanning a narrow ravine with a fast-moving but small river, about twelve feet below. I guessed this was the Tyger River from which the road took its name.

  We’d gotten five or six feet over the chasm when the vehicle blockage was complete. It was like a mechanical puzzle, and we sat inside for a few moments, talking about which cars would have to be winched out of the way in order to clear a path.

  “How the fuck did they bottleneck this bad in an area where there’s no goddamned people?” asked Tony.

  “Good question,” I answered. “The way it’s done … I don’t know. They look like they were placed here.”

  “But why?” asked Tony. “And if so, are the people who did it behind us or on the other side of it?”

  “Either way we gotta get to the other side,” I said, pointing north. “So how’s about we work our way in. We pull that yellow Kia Soul out first. I can fit in there, and then we’ll winch that silver SUV back a ways and I might be able to use the cow catcher to push it one way or the other.”

  “That thing’s handy,” said Tony, opening his door. He got out, reached in and grabbed a long range, plastic squirt gun filled with the urushiol blend, shook it and slid it into a drop holster on his right leg. He then reached in and took the MP3 from inside the Land Cruiser’s cockpit.

  “Disengage the winch,” said Tony, closing the door as he walked toward the Kia.

  I watched as he pulled the cable from the front of my Toyota and got on his knees. He located the tow hooks underneath the bumper of the Kia and hooked it on to the one on the left. Tony grunted back to his feet and went to the Kia’s driver side door. He dropped into the seat, did something, and got back out. He waved at me, giving me one thumb up.

  I engaged the winch, and held my foot hard on the brake as the tread on my larger, heavier SUV gripped the road. The Kia’s flat tires slid along the asphalt, but did not roll.

  Tony trotted to my door and I rolled down the window. “Parking brake was on, so I took that off. No keys in it, though, and it was an automatic, so I couldn’t take it out of gear.”

  “Most of ‘em are bound to have keys,” I said. “If you can, just put ‘em in neutral. It’ll make it easier to move ‘em.”

  “I know that, buddy,” said Tony, smiling. I figured he was close to fifty years old, and I guessed that all the teeth in his mouth were caps; possibly even implants. They were as perfect and consistent in size as any teeth that had ever been part of any smile.

  Right now, Tony Mallette was smiling a sarcastic smile that said, I’ve been taking cars out of gear since you were pissing your diaper, punk.

  That might be true, but sometimes I state the obvious for those to whom I feel the obvious may be a stranger. I’ve met a few people in my life who did very little reasoning on their own, and while I don’t consider Tony to be in that category, my old habits die as hard as zombies do.

  After the Kia was out of the way, Tony unhooked the cable and moved up to the SUV. This time he went right to it and looked through the window at the interior.

  He looked back at me and threw his hands up. My window was still down, so I
heard him yell, “No keys here either!”

  I put the car in park and cut the engine. I grabbed my K7 and got out, walking to where Tony stood holding the winch hook in his right hand, his MP3 in his left.

  “Weird,” I said. I walked to a red PT Cruiser butted up against a yellow VW Beetle. Doors were locked on both cars, and looking through the window revealed no zombies inside and no car keys in the ignition. I walked back to Tony, who had just checked what looked like a 1968 Camaro.

  “No keys in there, either,” he said.

  “These two are the same,” I said, pointing at the Bug and Cruiser.

  “Which means this is a blockade,” said Tony. “Think someone’s watching us now?”

  “I’m guessin’ so,” I said. I raised my hands, still holding my gun, and turned all around, staring into the thin, tall trees around us. Something caught my eye just west of the bridge, and I lowered my arms and went to the edge to peer down at the water.

  Tony came up beside me. “Caution. Zombie Xing,” he whispered. “Wonder if there’s a sign down there.”

  As we watched, a line of creatures moved from a muddy trail on the northwest bank into the water. The river was not fast-flowing and the flesh-hungry, former humans staggered in, almost in a single-file line, without hesitation.

  It was obviously not very deep, as even when they reached the center of the perhaps 80’ wide waterway, they were still visible from the waist up. Still, they fought the current that did exist, and it was enough to direct them underneath the bridge as they made their trek across, making their final exit point the southeast bank on the opposite side of the bridge.

  It was then that I spotted her.

  A red-eye.

  As my eyes met hers, she was already staring up at me. I could see their bright, red glow from the 75’ or so distance, and before raising my weapon I poked Tony.

  I said nothing. I was afraid to look away for fear she would disappear. With Isis and Lola at our home, I would not leave her alive.

  “On three, Tony. Empty your magazine and take her down.”

  “Got it, Flex,” he whispered.

 

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