by Mark Tufo
I sat down on the sofa next to the lightly snoring Trina and waited. There was silence for at least twenty seconds before a response came, slightly sarcastic
“May I help you?” came over the radio.
I clicked on again, waving at Hemp to sit. “Just checking,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“We’re five minutes out. And we only ran into a group of about eight of them. They didn’t see us. We were downwind, and behind them, so . . . lucky.”
“Where were they?” I asked.
She clicked back on and said, “I’ll talk to you in a minute,” then clicked off.
Just about six minutes later she and Charlie strode into the room. “How are you feeling?” Gem asked, leaning down to kiss me.
“Feel great,” I said. “Perfect. What did you guys find?”
“What didn’t we find?” asked Charlie. “Gem and I got kickass new bows, fuckin’ titanium.”
Trina stirred awake and looked up at Gem and Charlie: “Cool shit,” she said. “What’s tintimium?”
“Titanium,” corrected Gem. “Very strong material. Fuckin’ tough.” She turned back to me. “You asked me where the zombies were,” she said. “About two miles from here. The ones I saw. But I have to tell you, sweetie. Strange. Know how so many are starting to look worn and decomposed? Similar to Jamie, but exposed to the elements and other zombies, bumps, bruises, just the everyday shit of zombie life that can play hell on your complexion?”
“So these didn’t look like that?”
She shook her head, and Charlie spoke up.
“These looked kind of strong. But if they only turned a week ago, then why? Who were they – where were they before they turned? Why did it take them so long? Isolation chamber? Nuthouse? In the International Space Station?”
“We need to capture one of them,” Hemp said. “I could run some blood tests, other stuff. I need to run blood tests on all of us, too. See if I can find a common component we share that kept us all from getting this disease. DNA would be better, but there’s no way I have what I need to run that kind of sophisticated testing. Nor the proper environment, really.”
“It would give us a goal, anyway,” I said. “Right now I feel like we’re existing in a fucking Mad Max flick or something, just trying to survive and protect ourselves while the world outside becomes more and more of a wasteland.”
“Not far off, babe,” Gem said.
She reached back and pulled her long hair down from where it was tied, and it fell down past her shoulders, a brown cascade. I watched her move, smooth, graceful. She was Latin – Guatemalan, specifically. Her walk was smooth and fluid. Her hips swayed in a way that still distracted me and made me bump into stuff. I’d seen Hemp bump into stuff, too, but I didn’t begrudge him that.
Charlie was beautiful enough that I actually almost fell down the steps of the lab as I watched her target practice with her crossbow. I am but a man. Gem would laugh if I told her. I’m pretty sure about that. I smiled at the thought then returned to reality.
“Did you get that EEG machine reconfigured for your new experiment?”
Hemp nodded. “Yes I did. That’s why I came in, actually. Calibrated it and connected it to a display monitor, ran some tests too, with some pretty interesting results.”
“What were the tests?” Gem asked.
“It’s a visual, almost infrared image of the brain activity. Looks kind of like a sonogram in color. Would you like to see the recording?”
“Let’s go,” I said. I lightly slapped the top of Gem’s leg, and stood.
We climbed up inside the mobile lab.
“I recorded it on the computer, so I’ll just play it back. I was the benchmark brain,” said Hemp.
“Not sure that’s fair, Hemp. You’re a smart fucker,” Gem said, smiling.
“A brain’s a brain as far as an EEG is concerned.”
“This looks different than the layout you had with my test,” I said, glancing at the closed door behind which Jamie lay on the stainless steel table.
“It is. Completely switched stuff around, but I had a different goal. Compartmentalization study.”
Hemp leaned down and took the mouse. “Okay, first I set up a fan that would direct my body scent out through the exhaust vent system, completely away from the subject. The test results might have been skewed if Jamie were to smell me. Then I masked up and hooked the electrodes to Jamie’s skull. Fully awake. I hooked the other set up to mine. Now keep in mind, there are certain brainwaves that are expected. I still get really nervous when they’re fully active and aware and in the same room with me. Because of that, I would expect my brainwaves to shift depending on my proximity to them. Plain fear.”
He clicked the mouse, and two boxes appeared on the screen, an oblong image within each. The colors within the static-like image shifted and changed. The one on the left said “Benchmark” above it, and the one on the right said “Subject.” The left one was multi-colored and evenly spattered with every color, like a smooth, multi colored static. Constantly shifting, but somehow consistent.
“Wow,” Gem said.
“Yeah, wow,” I echoed. “What’s with Jamie’s side ? It’s like a flat static maroon color. Almost perfectly still.”
Hemp nodded. “For now. But wait until I step in front of it, into its line of sight. In about fifteen seconds.”
We waited.
“Okay, now,” he said.
But he didn’t need to say anything. It was as if the brain waves in the subject became intensified and were suddenly channeled forward. The image condensed into a tight, almost flat, compressed group in the center, and it looked as if the static pixels were concentrated and pushing in one direction.
Gem pointed at the screen. “I take it the front of the head is in this direction?” She pointed to the top of the images.
“Correct,” said Hemp. When it saw me, the image changed, and the brain waves kicked in, concentrated, as though they were directed at me – the source of its desired nourishment. Now look at mine, keeping in mind she was exhibiting some aggressive behavior, sending me a bit into panic mode.”
We looked at his brain wave image, and noted that many of the colors within it had shifted. Red was the primary color now, and they were more erratic, like a colony of ants that had just been stomped on.
“That’s fear,” Hemp said. “Yours might look at bit different,” he said. “I prefer the quiet and safety of a lab with all the protective gear, etcetera, so while I’ve killed my share, while unarmed I still don’t feel comfortable around them, even when they’re restrained.”
“I don’t think any of us will get used to it, Hemp,” I said. “But what does this tell you?”
“It tells me that their focus is singular. It is for the food, and it’s the only thing that affects their brains this way. I tried other things. Some of the machine guns. I attached them to a steel cart and rolled them in front of her, making sure I stayed out of her line of vision. First test in about five more seconds.”
And then the image changed. Hemp’s EEG readout had returned to its former pattern, having left the proximity zone that made him nervous, but Jamie’s brainwaves changed entirely. Her brain seemed to compartmentalize; To concentrate into tighter configurations in certain quadrants of her brain.
“What the hell does that mean?” Gem said. She looked alarmed.
“Do they recognize danger?” I asked.
“It seems, to a degree, that they sense when they’re confronted with something that could harm or kill them. And I’ve thought back to the situation you explained at your sister’s house, when you first found her.”
“What?” I asked.
“By the pool. You said she didn’t enter the pool. Well, I checked her as I was re-securing the restraints, and she has a broken left arm. She’s had it since we brought her here, which means it was probably broken before you even discovered her at the house.”
I nodded. She had possibly done it during her climb
through the window when she followed Jesse into the back yard. When she’d been clawing at the screen, she’d primarily used her right arm, and I didn’t give it much thought at the time.
“So you’re saying she sensed the danger her broken bone may cause her – she’d be unable to tread water – so she stayed out? That’s all that kept her from me?”
“The other one came in, you said.”
I was shaking my head in disbelief. “Yeah, but I thought it fell in. I really didn’t think it intended to come after me.”
“Was it conscious?” Gem asked. “Or instinctive? Do you think they have an awareness of their physical condition and capabilities?”
Hemp shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. Whether instinct or awareness, it makes them somewhat logical. And something that eats flesh and brains that also has any sort of logic is more dangerous. That’s exactly why I wanted to show you this now.”
“Jeez, Hemp. In just two days we’ve learned they can stockpile and organize to a degree, work together, they recognize external dangers to themselves, recognize their own internal limitations, whether it be injury or a mere lack of ability, and that they have a fucking knockout vapor that can mist out of their eyes. And besides all that, you’ve showed us conclusively that their brains are not only registering scent, which made sense, but now the sight of us makes them hungry.”
“I’m sorry for all the grand news,” Hemp said.
I slapped him on the back, and said “It’s what you do, Hemp. It’s why we all gotta stick together.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Over the following week we made several runs out to various hardware stores to gather supplies. In an industrial lot, we found a brand spanking new, heavy duty 6’ x 24’ box trailer. It had wood plank floors riveted down, and was perfect for our needs.
Everyone worked together on a project for the first time, even Trina. She’d haul welding rod as needed, and Gem and I worked to bolt things down, attach racks, and carry in stock. Charlie used a hole saw to cut in gun turrets like those in the lab just in case any of us – or all of us – got trapped in there and had to defend it. Above each turret, which were inserted at various levels to accommodate our varying heights, fisheye peepholes like the ones you’d install in your front door were mounted. That way we could use them to get a good view of our attackers.
We found a good deal on a 3500 watt generator which we mounted on top of the large, flat triangular tongue pad.
Everything was an excellent deal now. Retailers were practically giving the shit away.
While the gen was necessarily on the outside of the trailer for exhaust purposes, we cut in a locking hatch to access fuel, oil and power switches from inside the trailer.
This was to be our mobile garage. Hemp had begun designing things in his head – mostly large-scale zombie killing machines. We needed to have the ability to fabricate these items while we were on the move, and the only way to ensure it was to have a mobile garage travelling with us.
It was nearly as important – Gem thought it might be more important – than the lab. But with Hemp articulating his needs, Gem’s artistry in putting the design down on paper, and my schematic layout abilities, we were a good team. After the blueprint was done, the plan was that Hemp, with help from all of us, would build them. Or, if we came across a group that we needed to trade with, these plans for the ACME Zombie Killer III, might get us some good stuff in return.
The first thing we installed were aluminum work benches. We’d be hauling it with the Suburban, so a turbo might be in order for that vehicle. Easy enough to install.
The rear work bench was actually located at the front end of the trailer opposite the doors, was 3’ deep and the width of the trailer. It was the only of its kind. Beneath this table is where we installed the generator access hatch.
There was another 10’ work bench made of aluminum; however it was only 2’ deep. With the portable welder on its rolling cart, we’d be able to move it outside to weld any larger parts necessary.
On the interior and exterior of each side, Hemp manufactured racks that we bolted on for hauling wood and metal rods, flat, and angle iron and some 1” and 2” square metal tubing. PVC was plentiful, but not that necessary unless some plumbing work presented itself, so we did take a few lengths of that, too.
Per Hemp’s specs, Gem and I brought in the necessities: Full Craftsman mechanics tool set, check. Arc Welder, Heliarc Welder, welding rod for both, Acetylene torch cart, air compressor. Power tools of all kinds, including but not limited to a scroll saw, table saw, compound miter saw, router, drill press, punches, chisels, pretty much everything we could think of that we might need. As weight was an issue, we didn’t want to overstock. We could always toss anything that proved to be unnecessary if weight became an issue.
For cooling, we didn’t want to use too much power, or any at all if it could be avoided. So for that, Hemp suggested the spinning vents that are typically mounted over the attic of a home. Wind blows, they spin and draw hot air out through the top. The normal process would be to work in the trailer with the doors open, but in this world anything could happen.
And we expected it would. So each spinning exhaust had a sliding hatch beneath it to close it off and prevent our scent from escaping, drawing any zombies to us.
Speaking of zombies, the machines we expected to design and build in this garage were to be for nothing else but killing.
Head trauma-type killing in particular.
Guns were nice, but there were times you needed more automated equipment, set off by much the same kind of tripwire as would set off the forest traps.
We’d yet to find anything in our human snares; that was good. We all enjoyed the feeling that we were alone out here, and the only time any of us really felt concern was when we found it necessary to head back out to gather supplies. But we did have our system, and we were beginning to get used to it.
Our encounters with the walking almost-dead seemed to be becoming more frequent. Many of the creatures who lumbered into Lula had come from surrounding areas, all of which were also small populations. Athens was fully 38 miles away and Atlanta was over 65.
But sure enough, when we went out, we inevitably ran into a group of them, usually spotting them from a distance because we were on the lookout, and more often than not, it was a larger group than the last we’d seen.
One evening we got a shout out on the HAM radio. It was the group we’d left the Hummer 2 with at the 7-Eleven. They’d secured their own HAM radio as we’d suggested, and we kept ours on constant scan, so when they made an attempt, we were able to pick them up.
Marion and Bobby were still leading the group. They’d gotten one of the buses from the CDC, and said they’d picked up another twelve uninfecteds so far. Three more of their former group had died, turned immediately to zombies, and had to be dispatched.
It was hard for them, we knew. In times like these, strangers can suddenly become very close, as we all discovered.
And while there was safety in numbers in typical scenarios, it seems the numbers of both zombies and otherwise were greater in the big city. I preferred my little hideaway.
We told them that we’d always be listening, and we’d try to keep them up to date on where we were and where we were headed. It wasn’t that we wanted a larger group to slow us down, but it did feel good to know there were others out there, fighting and trying to survive, perhaps eventually returning the world to the living.
One evening, about three weeks after the whole thing began, Hemp and I sat together on the porch while the girls were looking at what to whip up for dinner. He was on the cushioned sofa, and I sat on the chain-hung wood swing bench, slowly moving forward and back.
We’d been laying out plans for a cool, kinetically activated machine that would spin 50 7-1/2” circular saw blades through the air at varying heights, but all ranging between 4’10” and 5’10”. It would spin them out at an RPM of 1,750, at a forward speed of 150 MPH, and at a
distance of about 100 feet before they became ineffective. This was all speculation, but I completely trusted Hemp’s brain, and I knew he’d considered the weight, size and every other factor.
Wind was the one thing we’d be unable to control. This would likely be a weapon for a still day, but the closer you placed the machine to the tripwire, the more effective it would be. Heads would be a-shreddin’.
“I think it’s time I said good bye,” I said.
Hemp nodded. He knew what I meant.
“To Jamie.”
Now it was my turn to nod.
“What she’s going through is no way to exist, Flex. I know you know that. And recovery . . . well, I’ve already concluded it’s not possible. Not at this advanced stage, anyway.”
“And she was almost this bad three days after we found her,” I said. “They go downhill fast.”
“But they don’t die without the brain trauma, and they seem to maintain enough strength to feed. Maybe not enough for the vapor, but again, the natural order of their abilities is get food, then get abilities to catch food easier.”
Gem walked out of the house. She sat on the wood bench swing beside me and rested her hand on my knee.
“We’re talking about Jamie,” I said.
“Is it time?” she asked, her eyes focused on mine.
“It’s past time. I know that.”
“I love her, too, Flex. Everyone who knew her did.”
“And nearly everyone who loves her is gone,” I said. “Except for Trina and us.”
“We’ll have to tell her somehow. It’s her mother, and Trina has to know she’s gone.”
“Yes, and I want to – I have to – tell her the truth. Not about the zombie shit, but that her mommy and sister died. She needs to come to terms with death.”
Gem was quiet for a long time. She gently pushed the swing back and forth, one leg tucked beneath her, the other pushing off from the porch. Then she looked at me and squeezed my leg where her hand rested.
“One of the puppies isn’t doing well,” said Gem. “The one named Beaker. Runt male, stopped eating completely. Maybe wait until we see what happens there? A little introduction to death before the big one?”