Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  Giles Batchelor was the only other Brit in town, and he always had an easy smile and a joke to lighten the mood. His curly, brown hair hung down onto his wire-rimmed glasses as he leaned over the pump and motor.

  Flex knelt down and slammed his hand on the exterior plastic housing. Dirt slid off the magnets inside, caking off in thin sheets.

  “Damnit!” he said. “The thing won’t run with all this crap in it. It’s probably seizing up the bearings.”

  “Uncle Flex, move aside for a sec, please,” said Isis. “Max, come down here.”

  Flex stood and stepped back while Max and Isis dropped to their knees, inspecting the system. Flex noticed Isis glancing up toward the fence every so often before returning her focus to the motor.

  The fence bent so far inward that with three or four more feet of flex, it would actually touch the pit fence. Rotted, dirty fingers poked between the narrow slats, but the massive horde was eerily silent as they pushed forth. That fact alone set Flex’s nerves on edge. The normal moans and growls of the abnormals told everyone they were coming. With these Hungerers, it was like the sound had been muted.

  The scene in the pit was just as strange. More rotters packed into one space than he’d ever seen before, clawing at the chain link, pushing into one another. But for some reason, just like the ones trying to get in, they were as quiet as death.

  They just weren’t as dead as Flex would’ve liked.

  Flex redirected his attention to the job at hand. “Hurry, Isis,” he urged, his eyes now on the wavering fence. “Don’t mean to rush, but we’re kinda surrounded here, if you get my drift.”

  “Will vibration hurt this?” she asked.

  “Nope. Thing shudders and shimmies since I built it.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, old chap,” said Giles, winking.

  To his credit, Flex smiled. “Do what you gotta do, Isis.”

  She turned to Max. “Vibrate. Let’s shake it clean.”

  As soon as Max nodded, the motor began shuddering under its own power. Flex couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and touched it, then jerked his hand back.

  “Feels like an electric shock!” he said. “Man. You guys freak me the fuck out.”

  “Jealous,” said Max, still concentrating. Dirt was powdering off the motor like tarnish from jewelry in a sonic cleaner.

  “Pull that bottom housing apart, Jim,” said Flex. “Let that dirt fall out the bottom or it’ll just get drawn back in once we start it.”

  Jim grabbed the socket wrench and began ratcheting on the lower bolts until he had them spinning free. When he moved to the next one, Giles spun the loose nuts off. Both men pulled the base apart and a mound of dirt dropped away.

  “Okay, okay. Can you guys make any wind?” asked Flex. “Move some air at it to blow it out?”

  “I think he’s been spying on us,” said Max, smiling at Isis. She nodded and held her hands over the motor. Her palms down, she lowered both hands quickly and a cloud of dust blew away from the motor.

  “Okay, perfect,” said Flex. “Giles, spin those nuts back on and Jim, get it tightened. I don’t see any other issues.” He turned to Max and Isis. “With you two around, who needs an air compressor?”

  Giles had three of the four nuts back on and Jim followed him with the socket wrench.

  The fence behind the group bent inward so far it almost created a lean-to over them as it touched the side of the pit fence.

  “Now, now! Close the magnets over!” shouted Flex, his eyes on the fence.

  Cole dropped the wrench and he and Giles slammed the magnets into place. Instantly, the motor spun up to speed, the silent motor powering the connected hydraulic and water pumps.

  The effect was immediate. The overhead nozzles began spewing the urushiol blend over the mass of zombies in the pit.

  The Mothers among them became obvious when they did not melt to the pit’s dirt floor. They stood straight up, their silken hair wet but their focus singularly on their army of rotters.

  Flex raised his gun and sighted in on each Mother. He picked off three before Isis touched his arm. “Flex, stop!”

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  “Look! This is what I mean. It’s different. Look at the half-melted ones! Remember? When we used to hit them with urushiol, they’d just drop, melt and die. Look at them now.”

  Flex saw one that had gotten a lot of liquid on it, because it was now just a head, a shoulder and a single arm.

  Still, it watched the group as it dragged what was left of itself away from the rest of its body, inching toward them.

  “He’s hardly enough to be mobile,” said Giles. “And he’s not alone. See there?” He pointed. “Those are the same. Almost eaten entirely away but still advancing.”

  Staring at the persistent, living remains, Max said, “Before, they wouldn’t have had the strength to pull themselves forward. Not with that much of its body gone. It’s as though they’re being manipulated by outside ...”

  Max trailed off, realization settling in his eyes. He glanced at Giles and Flex. “The Mothers.”

  “There’s no other explanation,” said Isis.

  “That’s what I was gettin’ to,” said Flex.

  The fence behind them suddenly fell inward, and Flex was knocked against the pit fence. Fingers reached out to claw his arm, but he jerked away and spun to his right, regaining his footing and clearing away from the chain link.

  Behind them, inside the now functioning pit, the hydraulic spikes tore through the hundreds of bodies as though at half speed, the burden on them so far beyond what the system had been designed to handle.

  Isis turned. She focused on the fence, her arms at her sides. There had been a time when Isis was first learning her telekinetic abilities that she had to physically use her hands and arms to direct her power, but now it was all in her mind.

  She raised her chin, but only slightly. The fence, as though pulled by the hands of God, righted itself, forcing the massive horde back again and freeing up their path to escape.

  “Go, go!” shouted Flex. “Isis, can you hold that?”

  “Not long!” she shouted. “Max, are you helping?”

  “I am!” he shouted. “It’s … too much, Isis!”

  Jim and Giles leapt over the motor and ran to the corner of the pit, pulling out their weapons. Flex followed suit and turned. “Max! Isis! Run and release that thing on the fly!”

  He was worried they would try to hold it until they collapsed from exhaustion, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

  Both of them charged toward the other men, and the fence collapsed behind them.

  Flex opened up with a barrage of gunfire toward the horde crawling onto the top of the pit. “This is a hell of a breach!” he shouted. “They’ll crawl right over and fall into the street!”

  Max and Isis stared at the fence. Isis pointed and said, “That section over there is ready to collapse. I feel a lot of Mothers here, guys. Far more than in Hoisington.”

  Flex yelled, “We need to get everyone in this town in a safe place! Follow me!”

  He ran and felt everyone behind him. He reached the rig and jumped inside. “Grab a seat anywhere you can!” he said, and threw it in gear. The four riders found purchase and he hit the gas.

  “Go east,” said Isis. “Trina and Taylor are over there, and I don’t know if they have radios or not, but they were running low at City Hall when Max and I left to find you.”

  *****

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gem’s eyes were locked on the fence ahead. What appeared to be a dull, rainbow-colored mudslide of ooze poured down the hillside, but as she drew closer, she saw it was a mass of melted zombies; their faded clothing intermingled with the muck. It ran nearly halfway down the fence hill.

  Her eyes peeled, Gem spotted the small airfield and cut to the right. Her eyes fell on something.

  It was a radio. The antenna was broken off and the battery compartment was open.

  She pulled
up beside it, leaned down and grabbed the largest piece from the ground.

  As she straightened back up, she felt a stabbing pain in her side. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck!” The last word came out as a shudder. Her eyes involuntarily closed against the pain and began to water.

  Arching her back against the agony, Gem was finally able to take a deep breath without wincing. When she regained her composure and opened her eyes again, she screamed and almost toppled off her scooter.

  A ragged zombie with one foot melted away was jerking toward her. It had come out of nowhere. Gem blinked several times, and when her vision cleared, the gnashing creature was no farther than three feet from her left side.

  Gem jerked backward, away from the creature, and the scooter beneath her tilted too far. It was going over, and with her current handicap, she was going with it.

  In a desperate last-ditch effort, Gem tried to stretch out and grab the right handle grip before it was out of reach, but she missed.

  The mini-bike dropped, pulling her down with it. When she hit the ground, her body screamed.

  Get the urushiol, her mind cried. Just get the urushiol!

  She reached down to the makeshift holster, fighting the pain from the simple motion, but her fingers fell on empty leather.

  The water pistol wasn’t there. The creature snarled and moved in on her, its bony fingers clawing at the air between them. Gem, lying on her back, one leg pinned under the scooter, kicked with her left leg, each motion causing a lightning strike of agony that seared her mind.

  Her boot connected twice, but the creature wouldn’t fall. Its foot was gone, yet it jammed the splintered bone down into the cracked asphalt, continuing to inch toward her.

  Then Gem saw them. Two Mothers, moving straight toward her from the west. Three more rotters moved in from side streets. These were intact, but they moved … differently.

  Gem jerked her right leg from beneath the moped and tried to scoot away. She frantically turned her head to search, but did not see the weapon she so desperately needed.

  *****

  Flex, with Giles, Jim Cole, Max and Isis perched on various spots on the heavy truck, drove east. His crew was prepared, and each one had confirmed they had enough magazines for about two runs through town.

  They fired their weapons at every invader they saw. By the time they reached the east fence, Trina had moved into the street, most likely to see where the gunfire was coming from.

  “That’s my girl,” said Flex. “Never assume anything.”

  “Dad!” she called, taking a quick glance back toward the fence before abandoning her post for the moment. “What’s happening? Max? Isis? You guys okay now?”

  “We’re fine,” she answered.

  Flex said, “The south fence collapsed by the pit. The motor’s runnin’ again, so we’re skewerin’ and dousin’ the ones we caught for now. I expect those rotten bastards will fuck up that motor in short order.”

  “The fence is down?” called Taylor, running from the north. She stopped beside Trina, breathing hard. “What do we do now?”

  “There’s thousands of them,” said Cole. “I don’t see that we have many options. We’re basically fenced in.”

  Flex turned to look at Jim, realizing he had said what Flex had been thinking. He looked back at the girls. “He’s right. Now we’re like rats in a cage. You got radios?”

  “No, they ran out before we left,” said Taylor. “But they knew where we were going.”

  “Hop aboard. We’re heading back to City Hall. There ain’t near enough of us to take all this on.” Flex turned. “Guys, if you’ve got radios, let everyone know we’re goin’ with plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?” asked Giles.

  “Same as C and D,” said Flex. “Nonexistent.” He pulled his radio from his belt as everyone climbed aboard the truck.

  “Hemp, come in. You read?”

  “I’m here, Flex. What’s happening out there?”

  “Get on the PA and tell everyone to grab all the food and ammo they can and find shelter. Keep announcing it and just don’t stop, but make sure they know the City Hall bunker won’t hold everyone, so they’ll have to just find alternate locations. Basements, places like that. This is serious. We’re under siege, my friend.”

  “Flex,” said Hemp. He did not say more. The tone of his voice as he spoke his best friend’s name said it all.

  “I’m comin’ to the clinic now, but we need to clear out and get somewhere fortified.”

  Isis called from behind Flex. “Uncle Flex?”

  He glanced back.

  “I might have an idea.”

  *****

  After a quick drive along the east fence, spraying the remainder of the urushiol blend on the pressing horde, Flex plowed over another four dozen or so Hungerers that had made it onto the streets of Kingman. Their bony, brittle bodies crunched beneath the machine’s massive tires, squirting what blood remained in their bodies out into the streets and sidewalks.

  And that was just along their path back to the clinic.

  Flex turned down East A Avenue and saw the clinic ahead. He swung the truck into the parking lot, careful to slow enough not to throw his human and Hybrid cargo off the sides.

  The moment he stopped the water truck, they all leapt off and ran inside the single-story building.

  Flex followed, but something caught his eye as he headed for the door.

  Years before, Hemp had planted a large, cylindrical piece of acrylic tube into the ground, like a huge barber pole. It was buried two feet down, and secured to the building with a stainless steel bracket.

  The clear cylinder was regularly filled with fresh water, and had been kept full for the duration of their stay in Kingman. For years, bubbles ranging in size from BBs to marbles rose from the bottom to the top, like some sort of oversized Spencer Gifts novelty item. They continuously emitted from the ground in straight lines, working their way toward the top where they bled out through tiny vents.

  Flex stopped and stared at the monitoring device. “Hemp!” he shouted, pushing open the door. He did not take his eyes from the tube.

  “What?” called Hemp, walking toward him. “Flex? What are you still doing outside?”

  Hemp stepped out of the clinic, staring at him. “What is it, my friend?”

  “Take a look.” He nodded toward the cylinder.

  Hemp did. His jaw dropped open instantly and he knelt down, wiping the dirt from the outside of the transparent cylinder.

  “It’s … almost stopped.” His voice was a whisper.

  “I didn’t want to say it,” said Flex.

  Hemp looked up at Flex. “Flex, do you know what this means?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “It means … can it mean that? Is this almost over?”

  “It quite depends on how much of the gas it takes to maintain them,” said Hemp, standing. He kept glancing back at the tiny streams of bubbles within, rising from the earth; almost invisible to the naked eye when standing more than a foot away.

  Still whispering, Hemp said, “Flex, this may explain everything.”

  “Well, then, explain it to me in more detail. Please,” said Flex.

  “The gas is stopping. I’m guessing the Mothers sense it. They may not know what is happening to them, but they’re struggling. We’ve heard reports that the Hungerers are different – jerkier, moving like marionettes. The Mothers are not as fast, nor do they seem to have the ability to leap as high or far as they could before.”

  “Can they be losin’ control of the rotters?”

  Hemp shook his head. “Perhaps in some ways, but clearly not significantly yet. Otherwise they would not be clustered at our perimeter.”

  “Does this change what we have to do?”

  “No,” said Hemp, shaking his head. He looked up at Flex. “But if this reduction in the earth gas continues, it may well reduce the time we have to do it.”

  Flex smiled. “I gotta tell Gem.” H
e turned to go, but Hemp took his arm.

  “Flex, she’s not here.”

  He stared at Hemp. “Where the hell is she? She’s got a broken rib, man.”

  “Doc tried to stop her. She went to find Rachel.”

  “When the hell did she leave?”

  “Just after you and Nel did.”

  “Jesus Christ, Hemp!” shouted Flex, then burst through the door.

  *****

  “I’m sorry Flex. I tried to stop her,” said Scofield, looking like a kicked puppy. “Gem told me she was going to City Hall with Dave and Colton first, but Dave called me and said she took off before they even got there. Colton was riding with Dave.”

  “Did anyone go after her?”

  Jim shook his head. “We didn’t know she left until Dave got to City Hall with the kid. She had a head start, but he said she was headed toward the airfield.”

  “So did anyone go after her since then?” asked Flex, his frustration level growing.

  “Yes, Flex,” said Charlie, standing and going to him. She squeezed his shoulder. “Punch and Lola came in. I asked them if they’d seen Gem and Rachel, and they said they hadn’t. They went back out right away to search for them. That was around twenty-five minutes ago. I’m ready to head out myself at this point.”

  “I’m real, real sorry,” said Doc Scofield.

  Flex ignored him. He searched the room and didn’t see who he was looking for. He pulled his radio from his belt.

  “Nelson! Nelson Moore, come in!”

  He released the button and waited for what seemed an eternity plus a little infinity tossed in for good measure.

  “Nelson!” he shouted into the radio again.

  “Flex, calm down,” said Charlie. Flex realized he was out of control, but looking up at Charlie, he saw her face was also filled with worry.

  “Flex?” came Nelson’s voice over the speaker.

  “Buddy, where was Rachel when you last saw her?”

  “She was parking the ultralight at the field.”