Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  There were four zombies moving toward them. They didn’t look normal, though. Their movements were jerky, like marionettes being manipulated by a bad puppeteer.

  “Flex, they almost look like they could fall over any second.”

  The four, consisting of what appeared to be two women, a boy in his mid-teens and an older man, staggered toward them. Dave pulled out a water cannon that Hemp had modified with a small reservoir, and gassed the scooter, riding toward them.

  “Be careful!” Flex called behind him. Dave was directly in front of him, so he couldn’t drive forward. He checked to his right and saw the gap in the fence was becoming a goo-fest. The soaked zombies had melted into a gelatinous pile of flesh and bone, and others were melting as they attempted to crawl over the muck.

  Dave rode closer to the advancing biters and swerved sharply to the left as he drew to within about fifteen feet of the group. As he did so, they all twitched and jerked to their right, now moving toward him.

  Dave was right. Rather than merely moving their feet and changing direction, these Hungerers appeared to have been simultaneously pushed toward him, their mouths open and arms reaching. Watching intently, Flex saw Dave stop and raise his water cannon.

  He sprayed toward the mini-horde, wetting them all. The moment the urushiol blend hit them, Flex could see their tattered clothing begin to sag over their bones, but they continued their rickety trek toward his friend.

  Dave tucked the squirt gun away and rolled the scooter backward with his legs, his eyes never leaving the group. They continued their forward advance while body parts fell away and their legs folded beneath them.

  Even in a state of semi-deterioration, they crawled, their remaining limbs pushing them along the street until their entire bodies became biological puddles and stopped, no longer able to propel themselves forward.

  Dave turned and rode back toward Flex’s truck, his face flushed white. “That was weird, man,” he said.

  “Never seen anything like it,” said Flex. “Look, tell Hemp and the others what we just saw, maybe see if he has any ideas what’s goin’ on. I’m gonna get back to this. Nel and I are on channel 9. Let us know if Isis and Max come up with anything.”

  “Gem’s been monitoring you,” said Dave. “That’s how I knew where you guys would be.”

  “Broken rib won’t keep her from helping,” Flex said. “That’s my girl.”

  *****

  Flex reached West A Avenue and turned left. The fence was intact, but he could see that it now slanted sharply inward, perhaps just shy of a 45 degree angle. He checked his gauges and saw he only had half a tank of urushiol blend remaining.

  To his right he spotted Shannon Sharpe, a tall, striking brunette who had practiced open carry since her arrival in Kingman around three years earlier. Flex thought he could guess why; she had been the object of attraction for many of the young men in town, but she could afford to be selective.

  The gun on her hip kept some of the men at a distance. Flex figured the ones that shied away because of her weapon were exactly the ones to whom Shannon wouldn’t be attracted anyway.

  She was currently crouched down in her firing stance, the AR15 she called “Harley” in her hands and protective goggles covering her eyes. One by one, she took out the intruding abnormals, never once failing to administer a clean head shot.

  From a very young age, Georgia-born Sharpe had been a professional sharpshooter. Once, when Flex and Gem had gone into Three Sisters Bar for a drink, she had been there, singing a version of Bob Seger’s Like A Rock on the Karaoke stage. She was damned good.

  When she was finished, Shannon sat with them and recounted how as a fourteen-year-old in Flowery Branch, Georgia, she had watched her parents turn and try to kill her. She had managed to make it to her Uncle’s home in the neighboring town of Oakwood, but all she had been able to do there was to secure a couple of weapons. Her Uncle Frank had been nothing more than a ravaged corpse when she’d found him; hardly more than a gory stain on the floor.

  From there, she set out on her own. Her daddy had taught her to drive his pickup when she was eight years old. She found a well-used Jeep Wrangler and loaded it up with guns, ammo and food before setting out to find the most isolated place she could.

  She described how she had met and lost many traveling companions along the way; mostly from their own foolish actions. Just thirty miles outside of Kingman, Kansas, she had lost her last friend.

  Danielle Pascale had been from the east coast of Florida. Shannon had encountered Dani fifteen years after the start of the apocalypse, walking down a dirt side road in some little town in Missouri. At the sound of the Jeep’s motor, Dani had raised her weapon, aiming it at Shannon, but Shannon pulled her Smith & Wesson and placed two rounds on each side of Dani’s feet, missing both shots by inches.

  Needless to say, Dani lowered her gun and joined Shannon, providing companionship and a capable fighting partner against the hundreds of rotters they would encounter in the years to come.

  By that time, the Jeep had long been scrapped. When all the gasoline went bad – lacking Hemp’s unique storage methods – Shannon had moved to a camouflage, diesel-powered Dodge Durango once owned by a deer hunter in Tennessee.

  Shannon and Dani had stopped for the night to catch some sleep before entering Kansas. While Shannon slept, Dani started a small fire to keep warm. By the time Shannon awoke, the structure around them was engulfed and Dani was unresponsive. Shannon was a wreck when she first arrived in Kingman. Dani’s death had hit her hard.

  While ejecting one magazine and slamming in another, she turned and gave Flex a thumbs up and a smile, turning immediately back to the task at hand. Flex waved and returned the gesture.

  He sprayed his way down West A and reached Mack Street, where he turned right. At the bottom, just north of the South Fork Ninnescah River, he saw the men and women of Kingman along the fence line, picking off the creatures that had made it past their longstanding defenses.

  Reaching West Sherman, Flex turned left and stopped. The pit was in view, and he could see that it teemed with bodies. Nothing seemed to be happening to them, though.

  He grabbed his radio. “Gem! You read?”

  It wasn’t five seconds later that he heard, “Flex, yes. It’s me. What’s going on?”

  “The pit’s full and the fence looks about to give. Who’s supposed to be working the spikes and spray?”

  “Reeves said Jim Cole was down there with Giles. They said they had the magnetic motor going. Why? What do you see?”

  “I don’t see Jim and Giles anywhere and we’re ready for a helluva breach and an overflow of rotters into downtown. Have you heard from them?”

  There was a pause. Then: “No, babe. Nobody’s heard from them in like twenty minutes.”

  “Shit. You got anyone who can get over there?”

  “Isis and Max just left a bit ago. I think that’s where they were going.”

  “Did they bring guns, urushiol, the works?”

  “You don’t think Hemp or I would let them go without defenses, do you?”

  “I know,” said Flex. “Damnit, I’d spray the pit but I can’t get close enough in this rig. We need to get that motor going before this whole fuckin’ town’s overrun.”

  “I hate that I’m stuck here.”

  “Get to the goddamned storm shelter, Gemina. With that broken rib you’re not going to be in any condition to run, and from what I’m seeing out here, it might come to that sooner than later.”

  *****

  “Doc, I need you to tape me up,” said Gem.

  “Are you going to the shelter?” asked Jim.

  Gem shook her head. “Hell no.”

  Charlie sat in a chair in the corner, a radio in her hand. Gem saw the crooked smile on her face unfold as she watched the burgeoning back-and-forth.

  Scofield stared at Gem. “Are you crazy? I may be old, but I ain’t ready to die yet. And gettin’ murdered ain’t on my bucket list.”

>   “What does taping my ribs up have to do with dying?” asked Gem.

  “Your husband, Gem. I know he’s sweet as pie, but where you’re concerned, I take no chances.”

  “What can you do to reduce the pain?” asked Gem, her expression stern. “My legs are fine, and my arms are fine. My goddamned rib hurts.”

  “Yeah, and if you do something stupid, you can puncture a lung.”

  “I’m not going to be doing handstands and gymnastics,” she said. “Jim, now! If this is our last fucking stand, I can tell you that Gem Sheridan isn’t going to be lying on a cot waiting for the end.”

  “You know her just as well as I do by now,” said Charlie, shaking her head with a smile that threatened to turn into a laugh. “Think back, Jim. Did you ever argue with that woman and win?”

  “I’ve never argued with any woman and won,” conceded Jim.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” said Gem. She saw Jim eyeing the radio and knew what he was thinking. “Leave that,” she said. “I’ll radio him myself when I get out there.”

  Jim shook his head and grunted to his feet. “Damnit, Gem,” he sighed. “Like I said, you can puncture your lung or you can bleed into your chest wall. If I wrap it and you can’t take deep enough breaths, you can get pneumonia, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Or I can get ravaged by zombies. Which would you choose?”

  Doc opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle. “Here’s some Percocet. Take two and it’ll take the edge off.”

  Hemp came over. “Hold on a moment, Gem. Doc Scofield is right. We’ve got over 600 citizens of this town, many of whom can fight. Gemina Sheridan can sit this one out. You won’t be able to fire that Uzi of yours, and a handgun will jolt you into fits of pain.”

  “Can I fire a squirt gun?”

  Hemp and Doc stared at her.

  “Well?”

  Reluctantly, they both nodded.

  “I’ll take your scooter, Doc,” she said. “It hurts to walk, much less run. You know I can’t just sit here. At the very least I can recon some shit and let you guys know where the problem spots are.”

  “She does know the most vulnerable perimeter points,” said Hemp. “Gem, I’ll swear to Flex that you pulled your gun on us.”

  “I’d expect nothing less. I’ll back up your story.”

  “This is crazy,” said Jim. “Anyway. If you’re goin’, then go. And when you’re finished, head to the bunker.”

  “I might,” said Gem, as she gingerly strapped on her dual water-pistols and EB-tipped knife sheath.

  “Keys are in it,” said Scofield. “Be careful, Gem.”

  “Gemmy?”

  She turned, supporting herself on a chair as Colton walked over to her. He’d recently turned twelve, and they’d grown very close in the last six months. He stared at her, his hair hanging into his eyes. Gem swiped it away and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “What, baby?”

  “Flex told you to stay.”

  “I’m an adult, honey. I love him, but he’s not always right. He’s protective of me.”

  “I’m scared,” he said, his lower lip quivering.

  “Colton, you don’t need to be. You see these guys here? All these babies, and this firecracker here?” She nodded toward Charlie, who winked at Colton.

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re gonna be here protecting our precious cargo. These little babies and you, and anyone else who needs the doctor.”

  “I could fight,” said Colton, without any real conviction.

  Gem knew he hadn’t taken to weapons training yet. He tried, but his eye-hand coordination wasn’t quite up to snuff. “There’s something called choosing your battles,” said Gem. “I’d prefer you choose a smaller one.”

  The door flew open and Dave Gammon rushed in. He unstrapped his super soaker holsters and his water cannon, resting his shotgun on the table. His breath wheezed in and out of his lungs. “It’s crazy out there,” he said. “The fences are taxed. I don’t think there’s any way we’re keeping …”

  He stopped, staring at Colton. Then his eyes went to the other sleeping children in the room. The Hybrids.

  “… you know. It’s going to be difficult keeping the, uh … bad elements out.”

  Gem stepped toward him, her eyes concerned. “What, Dave?”

  “Fences are bent inward everywhere I looked. I don’t know exactly what Nel and Rachel saw from up there, but they’re here, and they’re pushing forward hard.”

  “Where is Rachel?” asked Hemp. “Didn’t Nelson say she was on her way here? That was a while ago.”

  Charlie stood up, her eyes on Hemp. “Honey, you’re right. If Nelson finds out nobody knows, he’ll be a mess.”

  “Dave,” said Hemp, “Gem is determined to go out there and do some recon on the fence line. I think you should go with her and see if you guys can find Rachel. But first, I think it’s best if one of you take Colton here to the shelter.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” said Gem, turning to the boy. “Honey, you ride with Dave so you can hold on. I don’t think I can take arms around my waist right now.”

  Colton’s eyes lit up. “Okay!” he said, and grabbed his backpack.

  Gem snatched a radio. “What channel is everyone on? Still channel 9?”

  “Exactly,” said Dave.

  “You know the vulnerable points we worried about most when we put the fence up,” said Hemp. “Focus on those areas. See if they’ve broken through, and if they have, radio Flex and Nelson right away and have them preserve enough urushiol blend in their tanks to give them a good soaking.”

  “It’s that awkward moment when you realize how big a perimeter the tiny town of Kingman has,” said Dave.

  Gem smiled. “That’s why Flex needs me,” she said, winking at Scofield.

  He shook his head and did not return her wink or her smile.

  *****

  Outside, Dave and Colton mounted one scooter, and Gem slid onto Scofield’s. The electric starts spun the motors simultaneously, and they rode toward the City Hall building.

  Once it came into view, Gem beeped her horn twice and cut to the right, toward the small airfield.

  “Gem!” shouted, Dave, and she heard him – she just didn’t stop. Rachel was unaccounted for, and that would not stand for long.

  She drove to the small airstrip where Rachel kept her flying equipment.

  *****

  Flex spotted Jim Cole and Giles Batchelor on the other side of the pit. Both of them were crouched over the motor, their heads turning from their work on the hydraulic pump system to the strained fence. Flex could see tools of some kind in their hands.

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on now?” Flex said aloud. His tank was down to a quarter full, and he had intended to drive to the other side of the pit and return to the perimeter road to use up the rest of his fluid.

  He hit the gas and sped up to around 30 miles per hour. Ahead of him in the street, people were reshuffling to address new threats coming in from what had to be multiple fence breaches.

  These were their fighters. Flex knew they had several residents in Kingman who were not equipped for battle and didn’t have it in them to try. That was fine. They all contributed to the town in their own ways, and the vast array of skills they’d amassed as a community was a blessing.

  He’d never complain about someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight, just so long as they gave their all at whatever they were good at.

  “Flex!”

  He turned and saw Max running toward him, Isis on his heels.

  He took the rig out of gear and jumped down, leaving the engine running. “Hey, guys. You seen Trina and Tay?”

  “Caught her on the radio,” said Max. “Trina. They’re at the east wall by the auto parts store.”

  “Good,” said Flex. “What are you guys doing? You okay in the head now?”

  “It took a bit,” said Isis. “The screaming has died down … kind of like the energy is being directed somewhere else.”

&nb
sp; “Any ideas what’s causin’ it?” asked Flex.

  “It feels like panic,” said Max. “Intense.”

  “Who’s panic?”

  “The Mothers, I think,” said Isis. “Something has them pushing with everything they’ve got.”

  The moans around them seemed to grow louder at Isis’ very words. Flex could see the fence undulating in and out along the entire visible length. “We gotta do something or we’re all gonna have to take cover.”

  “Like what?” asked Max. “We’ve tried to push them, but their massive numbers are giving us fits.”

  “First things first,” said Flex. “Follow me, and keep clear of the pit fence.” He ran.

  Rounding the northeast corner of the jam-packed pit, Flex jogged along the back fence and straight toward the river. When he reached the southeast corner, he grabbed hold of a zombie-free section of the chain link and slingshotted himself around the corner. In another ten steps, he was standing over Jim and Giles.

  “Flex, man,” said Giles, looking up. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ve been messing with this bloody motor for nearly half an hour.”

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  Jim Cole looked up at him. He was in his mid-fifties, medium build with a balding head and a full beard and mustache. He shook his head. “The whole motor and pump combo was practically buried in dirt when we got to it. Not sure how, but the cover was off.”

  “Sabotage?” asked Max.

  “We’ve no idea, Max,” said Giles, noticing the pair behind Flex for the first time. “Hello, Isis. It’s good to see you two awake and able to assist.”

  “It’s better,” said Isis. “Either the Mothers have quieted or we’ve somehow filtered it out. Either way, we’ll help any way we can.”

  Giles reached down and tried to spin the motor shaft, but it was frozen solid. He looked back up at Max. “To answer the sabotage question, Max, we don’t really have that sort of nasty element in Kingman, do we? Unless the Mothers did it somehow.”