Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm

by Eric A. Shelman

  It broke.

  My tears erupted the moment it gave way, and I was a blubbering idiot as I dropped my Uzi and bent down to lift the small piece of wood away to clear the path for the door.

  I stood there for a moment, exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. I turned the knob and flung the door open, almost falling down the steps as I tried to hurry down them.

  Charlie and Dave charged up the stairs and met me at the halfway mark, and I only remember falling into their arms and letting them carry me the rest of the way down.

  Once inside, I didn’t even notice Hemp rush up the steps to retrieve my Uzi and pull the door closed again, because I was tackled by Bunsen, Slider, Trina, Taylor, Serena, Nelson and all of my family that I loved so much.

  Even Lola and Rachel waited their turn and moved in for hugs. Doc Scofield was next, and his hug was firm. I saw tears in his eyes, too. None of them seemed to notice or care that I was sopping wet.

  I don’t know when I quit crying. I didn’t want to stop. It felt good, so good to be crying tears of happiness rather than tears of fear and sadness. I wanted the salty stuff to flow forever.

  I went to little Flexy then, my baby boy. He lay in his crib, his eyes bright and alert. His little mouth turned up in a smile when he saw me, and I knew he probably never even realized I wasn’t in the room. Had I not been so wet already, I would have noticed the milk leaking from my nipples at the very sight of him.

  I moved over to a sink mounted to the wall and wrung the water from my hair as best I could, then went back to his playpen and leaned down to put my lips to his warm cheek and wet his soft skin with my tears.

  My clothes were still dripping and I didn’t want to soak him, too, so I was content for the moment just smelling and kissing him.

  “Somebody’s been waitin’ for you,” said Bug. I looked at him and saw that he held Isis in his arms. She smiled at me and said, “I missed you, Gemina.”

  She held out her arms. I went to Bug and kissed him on the cheek. He nodded to me and looked at his daughter, whose eyes never left me.

  I put both of my hands on the sides of her face and kissed her cheek, too. Her little red eyes stared, her mouth turned up in a smile, and I was again reminded by her unsuitable teeth that she was not an ordinary child.

  “I heard you, Isis,” I said.

  “You were supposed to,” she said, her smile still in place.

  “You saved me from her,” I said.

  “The mother,” she whispered. She actually whispered.

  “I have other names for them,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s not their fault, Gemina, but they must die.”

  I stared at her, so grateful inside that she felt that way, even with the strange kinship she seemed to have with them.

  “Will we … will we make it, Isis?” I asked.

  Isis did not answer my question immediately. She looked at me, seeming to study every line and wrinkle, then she reached out her tiny hand and touched my face.

  “I do not see ahead,” said Isis. “I see only now, near and far. Now you are alive. Now, Flex and Punch are alive. They are with others.”

  Isis turned and looked at her father. “Jerky!” she shouted. “Please, papa!”

  “Isis,” I said, my voice pleading.

  She turned to me again and nodded. “He is not in danger now,” she said. “He thinks of you, and of us. But mostly of you and your son.”

  The horror of just a few minutes earlier faded and it struck me how important this infant’s abilities were to all of us. I guessed that much of what she was to become wouldn’t be known until she grew older.

  I felt a tugging at my wet blouse and looked down to see Trina smiling up at me. She put her hand next to her mouth as though she wanted to whisper to me, so I knelt down and put my arm around her. She put her lips to my ear and said, “Mommy, that is a really smart baby.”

  I laughed – which felt like the equivalent of an orgasm after so much tension – and pulled her closer, squeezing her. I forgot that I was wet and she came away, I’m sure, with mixed feelings about her now moist clothes.

  “Gem,” said Hemp, standing beside me. I quickly kissed Trina again and stood.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Good to have you back,” he said, smiling. “Now sit in that chair over there and let me and Doc Scofield look at your ankle. It’s bleeding.”

  ******

  The foursome we had met at the hospital drove a Ford F350 Crew Cab that looked brand new. It stood up to the wind well, but it was blowing harder than at any time previously, and sheet metal, roof shingles and branches were smacking into the sides of both our vehicles the entire way, which was about four miles.

  The rotters had all but disappeared, and their mere absence made me nervous. My people knew how the red-eyes hid, and from what Dave reported from his trip to California, we also knew they could control the dumb walkers, too. Get ‘em all something that Dylan had sung about; Shelter From The Storm.

  Whether or not they had the mental resources to think along those lines, I didn’t know. I never had reason to think about any such situation.

  I gripped the wheel hard, fighting the wind and running over debris that I hoped wouldn’t flatten one of my tires, and followed behind the Ford. We had turned our gun to the rear to make them feel more comfortable.

  When we arrived at 4301 Yancy, we discovered it was not a residential address.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  Punch pointed to a sign that I hadn’t seen through the rapidly swiping wipers. “Piedmont Natural Gas,” he read.

  “It’s got a fence around it,” I said. “Built out of brick, too. Not a bad place to hole up.”

  The Ford stopped outside the gates and I could only see the silhouettes of the four men. I picked up my radio on the seat beside me and flipped the switch around until I heard, “- here, Doctor Perry. Got some guys with us.”

  We’d only caught the last part, but now that we knew 15 was the right channel, I stayed there and listened.

  “Who’s with you?” asked a voice that I assumed was Perry.

  “Ran into them at the hospital.” It was Todd. I was glad, because I was certain Cole would not spin us quite as fairly, and we really needed to get in to see the man.

  “Friendly?” asked Perry.

  I pushed the button. “We are, doctor. We’re from Whitmire, South Carolina, and we’ve got what we believe is a Diphtheria outbreak. Small right now, but we need antitoxin.”

  Silence on the line.

  Punch looked at me. “Buddy, we’re goin’ in either way. You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “I was hopin’ you knew.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll be right out,” the man at the other end of the radio said.

  A few moments later, a bald man came out. He was dressed in a yellow rain slicker and he leaned into the wind as he approached the gate. He used a key to unlock a padlock, and lifted the metal latch, swinging the gate inward on its single, rolling wheel.

  The Ford rolled in, and we followed.

  They stopped and waited until we cleared the fence, and the man, whom I still assumed was Doctor Perry, closed and locked the gate again, then ran to the truck and jumped in the back seat with the boys.

  They started rolling again and we followed them up to a parking area beside the doors. I checked to see what kind of trees were around to blow over and smash our precious truck, but we were in the clear.

  Punch and I grabbed our guns and threw them over our shoulders. I made sure my baggie of wafers was safely tucked in dry storage in my pocket, and I kept the super-soaker attached to my belt. I saw Punch had his with him, too.

  We were pretty scary aside from our colorful squirt guns. Hell, maybe it would disarm them a bit, and I mean that in the attitude sense.

  The wind was to our backs and pushed us toward the building. We half-ran, and reached the door where the other men were just going inside. W
e followed. Once inside, we hung our guns from their straps and tried to find a dry spot on our clothes to dry our hands.

  “Come on in,” said Perry. “I’ve got towels.”

  “Clean towels?” asked Punch.

  “Washer, dryer, gravity water feed,” he said. “Everything here runs on natural gas,” added the doctor. “And I have enough to last for years.”

  I now realized the reason for coming here. This was a large, natural gas processing plant, and there were tanks of the stuff, ready to go, onsite.

  Punch held out his hand to the doctor. “I’m Frank Magee,” he said. The doctor took his hand and shook it. “Friends call me Punch.”

  “Well, Punch, I’m John Perry. Feel free to call me John.”

  Flex introduced himself. “Just Flex,” he said. “I’ve got a son just over eight weeks old and he’s been exposed to Diphtheria. He’s had none of his boosters.”

  “He’s just about at the age where he can begin to get them, so you’re not late,” said Perry. “But the Diphtheria outbreak makes it all the more crucial.”

  “How’d you pinpoint this place as your home base, doc?” asked Punch.

  Perry began walking further inside and we followed. Where we’d come in was a side, employee entrance, so there was a check-in window on the left, but it quickly opened up into a place where you could store jackets, etc. There was a bank of lockers on the right side with combination locks. The flooring was linoleum, and there were low, wooden benches bolted to the floor, perhaps for people removing muddy shoes or other articles of clothing.

  Todd, Joey and Benny all plopped down on a bench near the entry, looking on. Cole stood by the door, leaning against the wall.

  Perry looked around, smiling. “Piedmont Gas was a big employer here,” Perry said. “They required staff here at all hours, obviously. They have sleeping quarters, break rooms and a laundry facility. They even had their own employee restaurant. When I got here there were a ton of the converts around and lots of dead bodies, too, but I methodically took them out and cleaned as I went. I’ve been pretty much ruling the roost since then.”

  I watched the doctor as he led the way. He was soft spoken, stood about 5’5” tall, and wore black, plastic-rimmed glasses. He was not imposing, and would probably have made a good pediatrician.

  “Perfect shelter, really,” said Todd. “Plus, we have an in-house doctor in John here.”

  “Well, I assume you saw my note and you know I took all the Diphtheria antitoxin?” asked Perry.

  “Yeah, we know,” I said. “We got into the pharmacy and found your note.”

  “Glad I put them in the boxes I emptied,” he said. “I only wish I’d have emptied more. When I set out the first time, I was by myself and I just couldn’t carry any more.”

  Punch looked at me. “Doc, did you trap all those zombies in that hallway?”

  “Call me John, please,” he said. “And yes, on my only run to the hospital – and I’m familiar with the layout, of course – I went into Building 2, which is purely administrative.”

  I interrupted him. “Were you armed?”

  The doctor reached beneath his rain slicker, which he still wore, and withdrew a long-barreled revolver. But not just any revolver.

  “Elvis Presley?” I asked. “May I?” I held out my hand. Perry gave it to me.

  “This a .44?” I asked, looking it over.

  “It is. My dad was a huge Elvis fan. He bought this on limited release a few years back.”

  The metal was bright gold, and the barrel was at least 8” long. The grip looked like Walnut, and on the sides of the cylinder were two images of Presley – one, a close-up of his face, and the other side an image of him playing the guitar. Along the barrel was Presley’s printed signature.

  “So that’s what you used to corral all those walkers?” asked Punch.

  “Like I said, I know the hospital layout. The hallway runs around the entire building. The glass walls in the hallway were installed because there’s a good-sized conference room centered there. During meeting breaks, people would go into the halls to stretch their legs, and people complained about the noise. So they put up the two glass walls with doors.”

  “Convenient,” I said.

  “Very,” he said. “When I first got there, I saw that huge horde coming at me, so I ran to the near door and just pulled it closed. I’d already figured out that they weren’t that bright, and the far door was still open, so I just stood there like human bait, letting them file in.”

  “How’d you get the far door closed?” asked Punch.

  “That’s when I needed that,” he said, pointing to the Elvis .44 in Punch’s hand. “I went to run around to come up behind them. There were still lots of stragglers around in the back hallway, so I took out maybe seven or eight on the way. The ones you saw trapped in the hallway couldn’t get past another door in the rear. It also swung inward and it latched.”

  “Then you closed the other door?”

  “I did, but it wasn’t that easy.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Eventually they were all in and seemingly very engaged with me. I made sure they were pressed against the wall where I was, and then I ran as fast as I could around the back hall and into the corridor behind them. Problem was, every time I opened the door to look, I found that some had drifted back, and had to figure something out.”

  “What’d you do?” asked Punch, curious.

  Perry lifted his sleeve to reveal a 10” scar that looked to be long healed. “I cut myself good and dripped blood all over the glass and the floor.”

  “Painful, but a good plan,” I said.

  “But why put them in there?” asked Punch. “Lots of work.”

  “Two reasons, but mainly because I couldn’t kill them all with my Elvis .44,” Perry said, holding his hand out. Punch gave him the gold revolver, and he ran his fingers over the smooth, gleaming metal as he spoke. “The other benefit was protecting the pharmacy. I let one zombie inside there before I left, and since the entry was right beyond where I’d trapped the rest, I was pretty sure people would give up rather than try to get around them. I also knocked down some big shelving units to block the back hallway, just to give the illusion that it was impassable. Obviously it wasn’t.”

  It was all becoming clear now. “I kinda thought that horde looked like it was left there for a reason,” I said.

  “You should’ve told your guys that I guess,” said Punch. “You know they killed them all.”

  Perry looked at Cole and Todd, his eyes suddenly icy. “Is that true?”

  Todd pointed a finger at Cole, but he did not appear nervous in the slightest. “I told Cole that before we went in. You told us it might be kind of a shock at first, but not to worry because they were trapped.”

  “I didn’t fucking hear him saying that,” said Cole. “So shoot me.”

  “Well,” said Todd. “He said it more than once. Anyway, on his first couple of shots he shattered the glass wall and they were coming at us. It was all we could do to alternate reloads and kill them all before they killed us. We just tried to get what you sent us for.”

  “But you didn’t get it, did you?” asked Perry. “Is all that true, Cole?”

  I heard a change in Dr. John Perry’s voice then. It went from conversational to steely cold.

  Cole shrugged. “They need to all be dead, doc,” he said.

  “What did I tell you when you came here two weeks ago?” asked Perry.

  “I know what you said,” the man barked, “but I’m no fucking robot. I’ve got ideas, too.”

  Perry noticeably bristled. His eyes never left the other man’s, as though everyone else in the room had departed and they were alone. “Cole, I appreciate that you’re interested in being a contributing member of this team, but there’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?” Cole asked, his expression dour.

  “You’re not smart enough or you don’t care enough to follow simple, s
ensible instructions and sooner or later, you’re going to get people killed.” Perry opened the chamber on his Elvis gun and I looked down to see it was full. He snapped it closed again, looking once more at Cole.

  “Nobody fucking died today,” said Cole. “And maybe you’re the odd man out here,” he added.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Perry. “Think very hard before you answer.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to move on, doc,” he said. “Group could maybe use a new leader, since you can’t seem to keep people in line.” He smirked this time, nudging Todd with his elbow.

  “Do you feel this way Todd?” asked Perry.

  Todd quickly shook his head. “It’s just Cole being Cole,” he said. “He’s kidding.”

  “Well,” said Perry. “I’m not so sure he is joking. Are you joking, Cole?”

  “I don’t need this shit,” said Cole. “Like I said, nobody died and it’s over. You don’t need to fucking micromanage my ass.”

  “Yes, Cole,” said Perry. “Someone did die.” He raised the gold-plated revolver and fired a single round into Cole’s forehead. Blood sprayed into the entry hall behind the man as his eyes stared for a moment at his killer. Two seconds later, they rolled back, his legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed like a Jenga game at its conclusion.

  I ripped the gun from Perry’s hands and tackled him to the floor. Once down, Punch was there, searching Perry’s pockets for other weapons. He removed a 10” Buck knife from a sheathe on his left calf.

  I got off Perry and stood up, just staring at him.

  Both Joey and Benny were in terror, staring at their dead uncle on the floor, and they staggered backward, pressing themselves against a far wall.

  Todd, his eyes glued to Perry, said nothing. He moved to stand in front of his sons, like a shield.

  Punch had his shotgun aimed at Perry’s face.

  Perry’s expression didn’t change. He slowly stood again, his eyes alternately on me and Punch. He said, “Todd, would you have your boys put his body outside?” He then looked at me and Punch. “And we should talk about what you came here for.”

  “How many others are here with you?” I asked. “What’s more, how many others have you killed?”