Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm

by Eric A. Shelman

  All the supplies had been gathered, and nothing else could be done by anyone.

  Hemp helped Charlie sit down. She did so reluctantly, but slid down in the chair, extending both her legs. The chair was straight backed and wood, and would only do for a temporary perch. On the next contraction, I knew Charlie would be either on the floor or back on her feet.

  Hemp held Charlie’s hand and said, in a voice loud enough for Nelson and Dave, who were still on the stairs, to hear: “We’ll be out of here in just a moment, Charlie. Then we’ll get you into the mobile lab. Jim can deliver our baby there.”

  Nelson, had kicked at the door another six or so times, and I could tell he was tiring. So much for the power of Subdudo on inanimate objects. I ran up the steps and did what I should’ve done fifteen minutes earlier. I swung the Uzi from my shoulder and called down, “It’s gonna be loud, so cover your ears!”

  I immediately squeezed my trigger in full auto mode, stitching a nice perforation across the door at approximately the two foot high mark.

  I nodded to Nelson. “Okay, Subdudo dude, now give it a goddamned kick,” I said, and trotted back down the stairs.

  A crack came from the stairway above, and I looked up to see the door had split easily with his single, additional kick.

  “Got it, dude!” shouted Nelson. “Good job, Gem. Not sure why I didn’t think of it.”

  “Yeah, I’m a little embarrassed, too,” said Dave Gammon, who was indeed a bit red-faced.

  Once open, the door was caught by the wind, which slammed it repeatedly against the upper wall.

  “Nel, can you safely check the status of the mobile laboratory?” asked Hemp.

  “I’ll go with him,” said Dave, running back down the stairs. “Hemp,” he said. “I need more WAT-5. A couple of wafers.”

  “Are you past due?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. About four and a half hours now, I’m estimating.”

  Hemp gave him two wafers. Dave popped one in his mouth right away, looked at Serena who stared back at him, and when he didn’t pass out, he smiled. He went to Serena and said, “I’ll be careful, babe.”

  She nodded and he ran back up the stairs and gave Nelson the other wafer. He gulped it down and held onto the wall for a moment until he was sure he wouldn’t pass out.

  “Let’s go, dude!” he said. “Guys,” he said to all of us, “we’ll be right back inside.”

  “Hurry,” said Hemp. “I only need to know if it’s accessible.”

  Dave and Nelson, guns in hand, ran into the raging storm.

  *****

  Interstate 77 was jam packed, just as we’d seen it earlier. We were unable to drive up the ramp, so we stopped the Land Cruiser just below the onramp, left the engine running, and climbed up a short embankment to scope out the situation.

  As we crested the hill and the line of cars came into view, it appeared to be just as it had been on our way to Charlotte. The only difference was that these dead vehicles were all pointed in the logical direction, away from the city.

  We walked along the shoulder to see if there was any room at all to squeeze the Toyota through, but it was a mess.

  “Shit!” said Punch, jumping back, quickly raising his shotgun, and discharging it twice. Dark mist sprayed into the air, along with chunks of brain and bone that were immediately helped along by the charging wind.

  The dead walker had been crouched near the rear door of a Lexus, and as we moved cautiously forward, we saw several more doing the same thing. It was clear they were trying to avoid the wind that they seemed to know would blow them helplessly away.

  “Buddy,” I called over the raging wind. “This means red-eyes are around.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hell yeah,” I said. “These guys aren’t smart enough for this shit. We call ‘em hiders, whether it’s just red-eyes or a mix. They take their marching orders from the smart ones.”

  While I knew very well that they could recognize some dangers, as well as their own deficiencies – something Hemp and I had figured out over a year previous – they took only the most remedial action to avoid injury.

  “Say no more,” said Punch. “Let’s head over to the train bridge. Looks like our only option.”

  I knew he was right. So long as a train wasn’t stalled in the middle of it, there wouldn’t be any cars on it. I only hoped it was wide enough for the Toyota’s tires.

  *****

  Dave and Nelson came back in soaked to the skin. The moment they came in, Bunsen and Slider bounded up the stairs, and when they saw the guys weren’t going to stay at the top, they both turned tail and trotted down ahead of them.

  Nelson came down the stairs right on the dogs’ tails, taking them two steps at a time. Dave was right behind Nelson, just a bit more cautious. They had been gone about ten minutes.

  “Are they still out there?” asked Hemp.

  Dave nodded. “If you mean the rotters, yeah,” he said. “They’re kind of hard to see because most of them are just lying flat. Some are getting covered with debris. It’s like they’re making themselves small or something. How are you, Charlie?”

  Charlie smiled and shrugged. “Hanging in there, I guess.”

  “How’s the lab?” Hemp asked.

  “It’s pretty good, dude,” said Nelson. “Gem, your car’s cool, too, which is really good. We’re gonna need that winch.”

  “Why, what happened?” I asked.

  “The lab like blew over or something,” said Nelson. “It’s leaning against the house at like a 45 degree angle.”

  “The tornado must’ve done that,” said Dave. “We’re lucky it didn’t do more damage, but it looks pretty good. Some debris and crap around it.”

  “But Gem’s car can be positioned to pull it back over with the winch?” asked Hemp.

  “I think so. Gem, give me your keys,” said Dave.

  I tossed them to Dave, who caught and pocketed them. I went to Charlie and knelt beside her.

  “So this is pretty dramatic, huh?”

  “Hell yes,” she said. “I had fully intended to be listening to Sex Pistols when this happened.”

  “It ain’t over yet,” I said, smiling. I hugged her. “Charlie, it’s gonna be okay … you know that, right?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat as another contraction hit her and her face creased with pain. I took her hand and squeezed it. “Breathe, Charlie. Now I can say I know what you’re going through. No pushing, okay?”

  It passed and she released the breath she’d been holding and gave me a brave laugh. “No pushing,” she said. “And as far as everything being okay, since I met you guys I’ve never thought any differently,” she said. “Kinda lost my negativity.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re delusional, but seriously – this is gonna be fine. We’ll have you through the rubble and into the lab in no time.”

  Bug carried Isis across the room and handed her over to Lola. “Take care of her, would you? You seem to have a good connection.”

  “Absolutely,” said Lola, taking the child in her arms. “It’s you and me, little one.”

  “I’m all yours,” said Bug. “Let’s go do this.”

  “Excellent, bro,” said Nelson. “Someone needs to be inside the car operating the winch, and I think a couple of us need to clear stuff away from the wheels of the lab and hook up the cable.”

  Dave went to Charlie and said, “Just hold off on delivering that kid a little longer and we’ll have you on your back and your feet in stirrups.”

  “There aren’t any stirrups out there,” she said, fighting what appeared to be another contraction.

  “Then you haven’t been out there in a while, kiddo,” said Dave. “Hemp’s been planning for this.”

  “I have been,” said Hemp, “but it was always my intention to bring the delivery bed inside. We’ll improvise.”

  “Watch for flying debris,” said Serena, her eyes on Dave. “We don’t need anyone
decapitated out there.”

  “It may be an extreme example, but she’s got a point,” said Hemp. “Be very aware of flying objects. As soon as you’ve got the lab accessible, park the Crown Victoria right up alongside it, and come for us.”

  Nelson, Dave and Bug climbed the stairs, stepped over the split door and disappeared into the crazy wind and rain above.

  “I feel as useless as tits on a boar,” said Doc Scofield.

  “If my kid has anything to say about it, that won’t be the case much longer,” said Charlie, winking at the doctor.

  Hemp sloshed through the water to a work bench on the far side of the room. He pulled open a lower drawer, withdrew a sports glove of some kind and threw it aside. He leaned down and pulled out two helmets and turned around, holding them up.

  “They may not be your size, but girls, I want you wearing them when we go outside.”

  I could now see that they were hockey helmets. Not goalie gear, but both had face shields, so their eyes would be protected.

  “Cool!” shouted Trina, walking cautiously through the water and moving well clear of the dead zombies that littered the floor.

  What a world we live in, I thought. Where dead bodies can be relatively ignored by seven and eight-year-old girls.

  After a brief wipe down of the helmets, the girls donned their oversized head protection, ultimately looking like life-sized bobble heads. As for us, we listened to the storm wreaking its devastation above our heads and bided our time, hoping Charlie’s baby would do its part by doing the same.

  *****

  We had moved Flexy’s playpen onto four cinderblocks we’d found, well out from under the gaping hole in the ceiling. He now slept like … well, like a baby.

  The dogs had settled again, but they weren’t digging the water, particularly Bunsen. Both sat on their haunches, eyeing the many authority figures as though awaiting commands. Whenever a new, louder noise came from above our heads, they both jerked their heads toward the door, and I knew it was because they were looking for Flex.

  It took a full half hour, but in that time the roar of the storm grew to its most intense since the tornado that had so taken us by surprise. We heard several distant gunshots from above, which meant that our friends were taking care of business and assuring us a clear path when it was our turn to run the gauntlet.

  The wind and rain raged over our heads, the latter running down in rivers through the open ceiling. Looking around, I estimated two more inches of water had accumulated in our little swimming pool habitat. It was still not high enough to affect my sleeping son.

  The girls were now resigned to keeping their feet up on their chairs for fear of what might be gliding through the water. That was made even worse because Taylor had shared a story she had once heard about rats swimming in sewers, which, as everyone knows, are similar to basements.

  We heard stomping on the steps and looked up to see Bug and Nelson coming back down, both dripping wet, but looking encouraged.

  I’m positive that all of us except Charlie got to our feet at once.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Bug. “I say you guys all do a chain, holding hands. It’s rough out there.”

  “Should only take about five minutes if we’re careful and watch out for each other,” said Nelson.”

  “Where’s David?” asked Serena, her eyes worried.

  “Right here,” said Dave, bounding down the steps, looking every bit the drowned rat that Bug and Nelson had. “I was prepping the RV. Got the gen started and the A/C on. Humidity in there was killer.”

  Hemp approached Dave. “Is the table okay?” he asked.

  “Great shape,” he answered. “Not that it’s a surprise. You built that delivery chair like a brick shithouse.”

  Hemp glanced at Serena. “Because it’s going to be used more than once, my friend. Now Dave, do you think you can carry Charlie? You’re strong enough, and the only other option is a two-man carry. I don’t like the position she’ll have to be in for that.”

  “Understood,” said Dave. “Absolutely, Hemp. But you need to be in front with that MP5 of yours. There are red-eyes clinging to fence posts and other places they can hang on to, fighting the wind. Almost looks like they’re waiting for something.”

  He nodded and turned. “Everyone!” shouted Hemp. “If you see a red-eye when we get out there, I want you to call my name and their position on the clock. 10:00, 1:00, you know how it works. I’ll take them out. I don’t want any of them getting near us.”

  “I’ll take my girl,” said Bug. He looked at Isis. “Baby, I know I don’t talk to you like you’re a big girl much, but you changed a lot in the last couple of days, didn’t you?”

  “I did not want to scare you, Daddy.”

  “How did you know it would?”

  “By the way you talked to me,” said Isis. “Like a baby.”

  Bug kissed her nose. “That’s because you’re like 14 months old. I didn’t expect to be playing chess with you yet.”

  “I’ll take the lead,” said Hemp. “Gem, you get Flexy and wrap him in a dry blanket, and Bug, you do the same with Isis. You’ll both be in the middle of our chain.”

  I searched the room with my eyes and saw the pile. “Dry towels and blankets, over there,” I said, pointing.

  Rachel went to the pile and took five or six. She gave one each to Trina and Taylor, then gave me and Bug one. We busily wrapped our charges in them.

  “Everyone else, keep a hand free for fighting and another to keep you in the chain,” said Hemp.

  He mounted the steps, followed by Nelson, Dave with Charlie in his arms, Doc Scofield, Trina, Taylor, the dogs, both on leashes held by the girls, Bug with Isis, Rachel, me with Flexy tucked tightly against me, and Lola behind me. In Lola’s left hand was a long-bladed knife, and in the other was a .38 Special that she said she felt very comfortable firing and reloading.

  Before we were halfway up the stairway, I think all of us had to steady ourselves to keep from being blown back down.

  Dave struggled up, step-by-step, his right arm under Charlie’s knees, and his left arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m trying to think light,” said Charlie. “Is it working?”

  Dave was red-faced and focused on nothing but his next step. He offered a smile-grimace combination and pressed on.

  He, as we all did, looked determined.

  *****

  Punch pored over the map while I drove along Fort Mill Parkway, the driving rain coming down at a sharp angle, sheeting across my windshield and putting visibility at a bare minimum.

  When I reached an intersection after passing nothing but overgrown fields for a couple of miles, I stopped the SUV, relieved to have a short break from the anxiety of maneuvering through the intense storm.

  “How do we get to the tracks?” I asked.

  Punch checked his map again and ran his finger along the road we were on until he found what he was searching for.

  “Fuckin’ street sign’s gone I guess,” he said. He searched for a few moments and we both saw it at the same time. The brown and white street sign was jammed beneath an old station wagon.

  “Brickyard Road,” we said together.

  “That’s the one,” said Punch. “Veer left here and it takes a sharp right. There should be a railroad crossing up ahead.”

  We were in a pretty rural area at the moment, and no rotters had spooked us. We had passed one or two wandering around open fields and clinging to trees or signposts, but had not encountered any serious situations. The storm had its benefits but I was well aware it could be as deadly as the zombies in mere seconds.

  The downside was that being killed by the storm didn’t necessarily mean that either of us would stay dead. I’d put a bullet in my brain to avoid becoming one of them.

  “You ready for this?” I asked. As if in response to my question, the wind driven rain slammed into the side of the Land Cruiser, challenging every advertisement that Toyota had e
ver run with regard to its toughness and durability. The heavy SUV rocked under its force.

  “Depends,” said Punch. “Drive on, man. Let’s say our prayers and hope that bridge is in good shape.”

  In less than a quarter of a mile, we hit the railroad crossing and saw the track and surrounding gravel bed running north-south. No stalled trains, and while grass and weeds grew from the middle and sides of the tracks, it was still very clear where we’d have to center our wheels to turn the rail into a temporary highway.

  I made the turn and rolled up onto the gravel, my cowcatcher initially hitting the track rail. I backed up as I had done before to mount the curb, took it at a sharper angle, and rolled my front passenger side wheel over the track. When I came down, and I got the rear wheel over the rail, I straightened it out and drove slowly, the cross ties jostling us with every foot we drove.

  “Do me a favor and light me a smoke,” I said, nodding to the sun visor. Punch reached up and took the pack. He lit two of the stale Marlboros and passed me one.

  I put it between my lips, dragging on the cigarette, squinting to see past the sluicing rain that was busily defeating the fast-beating windshield wipers in a head-to-head battle. As the tires clattered across the tracks, it felt like my brain rattled around in my skull.

  The weeds had grown so high since the last maintenance crew or screaming locomotive did their part to trim them away, they almost completely obscured the tracks ahead. I took three good hits off the smoke and felt the nicotine start to calm me, putting my senses on alert at the same time.

  We reached a small clearing, and the bridge came into view. Something appeared to be stacked on the tracks ahead, and I hoped whatever it was could be run over rather than us having to get out of the Land Cruiser with the now sketchy electrical system to clear the tracks.