by Alexa Dare
“That’s between you and Vincent.”
Peyton lurched to her feet. Hands on hips, she hovered over Hannah.
“What if he just got his powers back too,” Hannah said, “you might want to think twice before messing with him. Not only did he make the zombies, he makes people sick by drawing their picture.”
“Yes, real sick.” Darcy Lynn jutted out her chin and planted her fists on her hips.
Peyton bent down and brought her face nose-to-nose with Hannah. With a snarl, she jerked the screwdriver out of Darcy Lynn’s hand and turned to face a potential zombie threat from down the hall. “No matter what, he’s mine.”
“Darcy Lynn, get ready to play.” Hannah knocked on the door with the ball of the hammer head.
A faint breeze lifted Hannah’s short hair.
Darcy Lynn exhaled, “Oh.”
Like the little girl with the wind, being with water thrilled Hannah.
Hannah tapped Morse code. Who’s there?
The knocks of the reply spelled out M-E-R-V.
Hannah asked, Irene?
Tap-tap-tap in slow and quick bursts.
Y-E-S.
Hannah banged out, Others?
No return taps.
Was Vincent inside? Were there bad guys? Might this be a trick?
She knocked, Irene’s sister’s name?
L-O-U-I-S-E.
A short pause then, H-A-N-N-A-H B-A-N-A-N-A.
Hannah Banana. Abe’s nickname for her when they were little kids. With a happy sigh, Hannah sat back on her heels.
“What did they say?” asked Peyton.
“Irene and Brody’s uncle are inside.” Hannah eyed the door. “Watch and see where water might seep inside. We need a way in.”
Her brow against the metal, Hannah reached to move her hair aside. Her fingers swiped empty air.
Loss.
She focused to set her rule over water into motion.
From behind, the mean girl huffed.
Nevertheless, Hannah pressed her cheek in the layer of crisp wetness flowing over the door slab. So close, the metal and wet chased away the bad smells.
“Oh, the water moves,” one of the twins said.
“What are you going to do?” Peyton taunted, “Drown them?”
Hannah nudged her temple against the door.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
She focused on her anger and misery and the half-inch thick puddle along the entire door.
“Water went in around the pull handle.” Darcy Lynn edged near and stood beside Hannah.
“Can you make the wind blow through the tiny crack?” Hannah asked.
“Right, wind blowing in is really going to help.” Snark swamped Peyton’s tone.
“Shut up, Peyton. You want in or not?”
“I want him out.”
“They didn’t say he’s with them. Anyways, be quiet.” A wonder the girl didn’t whap Hannah on the head.
Better hurry.
Water dripped to pool in the already mold-seeped carpet.
Taking Darcy Lynn’s hand, she stepped back. “Okay, the gust needs to go into the door and trigger the latch.”
“Your plan is to open a hundred-pound door with wind?” Peyton mega sighed. “Oh, please.”
“Shut it.” Hannah zinged her anger.
From out of nowhere, a spritz of water squirted Peyton’s smug face.
She screwed up her face and tried to look mean. “Go ahead, Darcy Lynn.”
Face close to the metal lever, the little girl swirled the tip of her index finger round and round and played. Wind shifted Darcy Lynn’s golden curls and ruffled Hannah’s chopped tresses.
“Hey.” Peyton lurched forward. “Watch who you’re pushing around.”
“She made the wind push,” one twin said.
“And Hannah made it pee.” The second giggled.
“Can they get it to give us chocolate chip cookies?” the first asked.
“Ice cream? Mm-mmm.”
Darcy Lynn’s laugh burst forth to lift in the indoor breeze. “Not really.”
A breeze rushed past Hannah.
Swish.
A tiny cyclone filled with streaks of water swirled next to the door handle.
In a hiss, a narrow gust sucked into the tiny opening.
The inside of the paneled door buzzed. A click sounded. The handle swung down.
“Can’t.” Darcy Lynn grabbed her head. Harsh coughs blasted through her little body. “Can’t play anymore.”
Both Hannah and Peyton lunged for the handle.
Closest, Hannah gripped and pulled the lever down.
The teen’s hands joined hers.
As one, they tugged down and pushed inward.
With a stale whoosh, the seal around the heavy door let go.
“You did it, Darcy Lynn.”
“The wind won’t play right now.”
Peyton shot Hannah a smug your-time-is-coming look.
The metal bumped an object just inside the door.
“Merv?” Hannah called out, “Irene?”
“Vincent.” With her fists, Peyton pounded the slab. “You in there?”
“Stop it,” Hannah shoved the angry girl back.
From the metal room, a mewling kind of moan reached out to them.
“They’re hurt.” Darcy Lynn held on to Hannah’s arm and peered into the darkness. “It’s Miss Irene.”
“The man is…” Isaiah said.
“…stuck.” his brother added.
With the big man lodged against the floor, the door wouldn’t budge inward.
Peyton backed away. “Move.”
The teen charged and kicked. Her feet slammed the door, she bounced off, and rushed away for another turn.
“There’s someone on the other side. You’ll hurt him.” Hannah bolted to in front of the door.
Darcy Lynn joined her.
Peyton stood, upper body hunched, and glared.
“If you hurt them,” Hannah said, “you’re no better than he is.”
With watery eyes, Peyton stared. With a growl, she spun around and paced the hallway.
A tug jerked Hannah’s pant leg.
“Look out.” Hannah grabbed Darcy Lynn and bolted.
A woman’s thin pale arm and hand reached through the opening.
“Zombie.” Peyton burst forward and lifted her boot.
“No.” Hannah rammed the teenager’s side.
Peyton fell and rolled.
The entire upper side of her body aching, Hannah crouched for another block. “You’re not just rude, Peyton. You’re stupid. That’s my guardian in there. She’s hurt.”
The little boys huddled against the wall beside the door.
One wailed, “I want my cookie.”
“You’re upsetting them.” Apart from the water, an empty ache gaped in Hannah’s belly. “You either help or you leave us alone. I won’t let you harm them.”
“You’re just a little girl that plays with water.” Peyton’s upper gums winked pink. “What can you do to me, except almost drown me?”
“When I’m a big girl someday, I’m going to let the wind play and play until every bit and piece of you is blown away.” Darcy Lynn’s mouth drew into a tight, pursed knot.
“I may be smaller in size,” Hannah said, “but I have a brother who taught me to give as good as I get.” Not to fight without water, but Peyton didn’t know that.
Hannah willed water to gush down on Peyton. Not a drop dripped.
As suddenly as they’d come on, her powers were gone.
“Smack her real good, Hannah,” said Darcy Lynn.
Mad worked over Peyton’s face. “Without your special powers, you’re nothing.” She grabbed a glow stick and backed away. “You tell Vincent I’ll make him pay for what he did to my dad and the rest of my family. I’ll be back, and if you get in my way, either of you, you’ll get no mercy from me.”
Sneering, Peyton ran along the hall and bolted up the stairs.
“Good.” Hannah’s boldness drained out her feet, seeping away as her powers had. “Maybe she’ll keep on going.”
“She means to hurt us,” the seven-year-old said.
The twins' chests bumped Hannah’s lower leg and clung.
“We’ll get root beer and pretzels, huh?” Jeremiah said.
“While we live with you?” Isaiah tilted his head back and grinned.
“Maybe not soda pops and snacks, but we’ll find food soon.” Hannah hoped as she stooped down.
The boys and Darcy Lynn drew close for hugs. As if they’d eaten so many treats that the sweetness seeped from their pores, the boys cuddled close, while a fresh wind scent clung to Darcy Lynn’s hair.
We’ll have to be on the lookout. Figure out when our ability to play with wind and water comes and goes.”
“Brody would know. I miss him. He’s bossy, but not as bad as you.”
“Thanks.” Hannah grinned and stood. “Love you too.” She went to the small opened wedge and took Irene’s chilled hand in hers.
Darcy Lynn, along with the boy twins, knelt and leaned in close.
Irene’s pale face came into view in the open slit. Tears stained the woman’s face. Clinging to Hannah’s grip, Irene wept in silence. Her body shook in racking, silent sobs as if she mourned for them all.
The girl who could no longer cry, Hannah, shot frequent glances over her shoulder and held Irene’s hand.
Chapter 15
Way past children’s’ normal bedtime in the world that used to be, the children foraged and worked. Through the night as both kids napped and helped out, Brody, at a bench made of a plank on cinderblocks under the ground, tinkered and built.
Getting nowhere fast on Day 2.
The wide tunnel area, by the white glow of bottle lights, was made up of gray chiseled rock walls, ceiling, and floor. The offshoot of the former Mossy Gap zinc mine served as a crude, dank home for their little group.
After short periods to rest, the middle school-aged ones spread powders in the tunnels to ward off likely pests.
On trip number three, Abe, Junior, and Tonya searched for more parts, supplies, and food.
Even dried up carrots would be good at this point.
Brody frowned and shook his head over the scrawls on the wall. A neck stretch angled his glance down the shadowy tunnel—they should be back soon—then he spared a peek to check on the little ones.
The younger kids stirred water in stainless steel pots with stainless steel spoons in an attempt to defuse the high EMFs in the rainwater caused by the unstable storm.
All the while, swathed in blankets on the pallet, the young girl who lost her brother to the fire, the toddler, baby, and puppy slept.
Tension, that he didn’t even realize bunched in his chest, eased.
Shoot, let them sleep.
Zombies. Mutated insects and earthworms.
Who knew what else waited out there for them to face.
As he worked at the plank bench, peeking often at the wall sketches, he had no clue as to what lay ahead. Any more than he knew how to read more than half of the cryptic wall notes.
Yet he’d been the one to make the drawings and had written the words.
Way back when he had his smarts…
If only he might follow his own dang directions.
His not-so-clean military garb hung heavy on him as if weighed down by pounds of soaked up sweat and caked dirt. The rough edges of his t-shirt sleeves rubbed against his upper arms, and the ring of the neck scrubbed like hairy hay baling string against the red of his close-to blistered skin. If it weren’t for the smoky odor, the sourness of his BO might have brought tears to his eyes.
A shudder of disgust trailed over his scalp.
Steps echoed from deeper into the network of passages. The three oldest kids returned with arms full of rad stuff.
His belly burbled. Food would be good, or else he’d start thinking about one of Junior’s mud pies. Uncle Merv made the best homemade apple pies. His stomach growled louder than ever with the memory of those pies.
Kids gasped.
“Just my tummy.” Brody grinned and hitched a shoulder up and down.
“Must be talking to mine,” one of the little kids said.
In a rush, Tonya, carrying a gunnysack, with three other bulging bags on her back, slid the bags off along the wall and scooped up one of the EMF-leveling pots and balanced it on top of the heating stones. “The water’s okay for cooking, right?”
“Best we’re going to do,” Brody said. “So we’ll boil a pot of two first and let it cool, then we can have safe drinking water too.”
Fingers crossed.
“So, boil first.” Tonya, wearing scruffy soot-smeared jeans and a loose-fitting light purple blouse with sleeves that fell to half cover her hands, used some water from another pot to rinse shrunken potatoes with barely wrinkled skin. “We found some ham too, so I’ll make a stew.”
“Yay, eats!” a little redheaded girl yelled.
“Eats, eats, eats,” lifted in a shrill group chant that faded into clapping and giggles.
Saliva pooled in Brody’s mouth. A pinching rumble cramped in his belly. “Stew sounds good.”
“Are you ready to set the booby traps?” The thirteen-year-old carried a wooden box of clinking tools.
“Aw, man, you got some real goodies.” What looked to be the handle of an old-timey auger poked out of the pile. He had the tools now, but the why and how of using them… For now, the usage part slipped away like greased pigs. “What about metal for armor?”
A bang and clanging sounded.
“Junior’s bringing a stack of cookie sheets and pot lids in a big old rusted-out red wagon.” Abe set the box beside the blocks of the bench.
“Wagon!” The kids stirring the water in the pots leapt to their feet and scurried into the tunnel to check out Junior’s find.
“Careful,” Brody called out. “Take a light bottle.”
A little fellow, four or five at the most, after three jumps, snatched a bottle from a niche in the rock wall and hurried after the others.
“We found enough wire for tripwires and hand tools to do some damage.” Abe slipped a bundle from his back. “We even found some arrows.”
“Once we get our hands on a crossbow...” Only days ago, Brody could have designed and made such a weapon in hours.
Before his brain turned to mud.
“We’re on the lookout.” Abe went to hover over the pot where Tonya dropped in rinsed potatoes. “We have a few more places left to visit.”
“No more firestorm?” asked Brody.
“No, but cold is setting in quick.”
“We picked up some socks, gloves, and a pair or two of coveralls.”
“Cold?”
Some of the kids ran back in and went back to stirring water.
“Tanner, stop splashing.” Tonya scowled. “We need that water to cook with and to drink. Not to mention, from the looks of you rascals, for bathing.”
“Don’t we all.” Abe scrubbed a smudge on Tonya’s nose, smearing a dirty streak.
“Speak for yourself. You guys are as filthy as piglets.”
“Hey, our dirt’s clean.” Junior pulled what must have been a grand red wagon in its day. The red had faded to a brown rust color. Eager kids helped balance stacks of metal cooking sheets and pot lids.
“So you guys made maps of the tunnels?”
“We did.” Tonya pulled a paring knife from a fold in her blouse. In quick slices, she cut up three of the potatoes and handed them out. “Here’s a snack. Supper for breakfast will be ready to eat in an hour or so.”
“It’s not cooked,” a little girl wrinkled her nose at the piece of raw potato.
“Bet it tastes better than it looks,” said Junior.
“We’ve the map, but what you’re doing here is more important. We are grateful for you, Mr. Brody, for trying to keep us safe.” The preteen dropped hunks of ham in the kettle.
In
seconds, a salty flavor rose in rushes of steam.
“You all mind Mr. Brody. No splashing while we’re gone. We’ll be back soon for stew.”
“Brody, you going to be all right?” asked Junior.
“As long as you leave the shovel with me, we’re fine.”
“This is a quick stew. There’s bowls we found in our last run that can be shared. Food’ll be ready in fifteen or twenty minutes, once the pot comes to a boil.” Tonya frowned. “Most of the dairy stuff we found was spoiled. We’re gonna look for baby formula.”
“Good luck,” Brody said, “guys and gal.”
A few minutes after the search team left, a little boy asked, “Mr. Brody, can we stop for a while and play?”
“Don’t wake the baby and toddlers.” Brody handed them Junior’s bag of marbles.
“We get to eat soon, right?”
Brody studied the not-boiling pot. Dang, he should’ve asked about stirring.
The five- to seven-year-olds played against the far wall where the light of the bottles shone bright. The random clicks of the marbles soothed Brody with a brief lull of normal.
So far, all Brody’s effort had been toward defense.
Arrows strung to shoot if a wire were tripped. Using some of Junior’s mined powders—his slogged brain didn’t recall what kind of mineral—Brody worked to build a firing weapon that would reach farther than most bullets with ten times the wallop. While they did have guns, kept boxed and out of reach of curious hands, their ammo wouldn’t last forever.
Anyways, he wasn’t the greatest shot.
If he could design—
A quick blur moved off to the left.
Had the baby awakened? No, the three youngest, all pink-skinned and resting, slept.
Relief sifted in his temples… Good for the sister of the boy that died to get up and watch the others play.
He tapped the paper with a borrowed No. 2 pencil the gang brought earlier, along with a ream of printer paper. What would it take to modify perhaps a double-barreled shotgun? Nah. The shells didn’t hold enough powder. Besides, the barrel wouldn’t hold up.
Even if his extra smarts were kaput, he had a tad of reasoning left in his slogging thoughts.
A metal cylinder of some sort, but what?
“I need to mull that one over.”