Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  “They’re heavier because there is no oxygen in their systems, which means there is little buoyancy,” said Hemp. “They are the absolute definition of dead weight.”

  “Quick, then,” said Flex. “We need to get through here.”

  Punch and Nelson were already back at the stoppage, jockeying the bodies around. Suddenly, all of the rotters that had been crammed into the low archway of the trough whooshed forward and disappeared, as though they were sucked away by a giant shop vac.

  The archway was suddenly clear.

  Several splashes sounded below. Ten or more.

  Before they heard the last one, Flex realized he was being pulled toward the trough. Looking around frantically, he saw they all were. The accumulated mass of water was flowing quickly toward the opening, and the current was powerful.

  “Hold on!” shouted Hemp, clutching the struggling Hannah in his arms. “Find a handhold and grip it tightly! Hannah, wrap your arms around my neck!”

  The former was a hopeful command at best, but Flex glanced over to see Hannah’s arms curled around Hemp’s neck.

  A second later, Nelson’s feet seemed to get kicked out from beneath him and he was suddenly swimming against a current that his rail thin body could not defeat. As Flex himself moved toward what was essentially a massive, swirling drain, Nelson was sucked through it backward.

  As he passed beneath the arch his arms flailed, but he was unable to grip the coping bricks framing the arch.

  A splash followed. They were all now just human debris floating toward a waterfall. Scofield cried out, his voice sounding weak and fearful. Pulled beneath the surface, Flex lost sight of him.

  “Everyone take a deep breath and hold it! Let it take you!” shouted Hemp, clearly changing his strategy in light of their inability to fight the powerful flow. “Hannah, hold on!”

  The collective breath sounded like an enormous, community gasp.

  Another splash came from below. Flex felt his legs pull out from beneath him and the next thing he knew, he was wishing he’d taken a bigger breath.

  First he was under water, swimming blind.

  Then he was plummeting down a waterfall. When he reached the bottom with a splash, he used full double-armed strokes to return to the surface, fighting the weight of the weapons and ammo that threatened to pull him to the bottom. As he broke through and gasped to fill his lungs with air, something clamped down on his arm.

  Flex heard his own scream as he jerked it away and felt his flesh ripping from his body. Something else clutched at his leg and he kicked at it and pushed toward the edge, just escaping another plummeting body that splashed into the pool behind him.

  As he struggled toward the edge of the large pool, he saw torches flickering along the tunnel walls ahead. Flex reached the surface, the strong smell of his own coppery blood filling his nostrils. Flex realized he could see now, the torches serving their purpose. Bodies lay scattered along the pathway beside the pool. Many were dead rotters, but some were residents of Kingman that they had danced alongside and laughed with on a happy New Year’s Eve that seemed to have happened long ago.

  His eyes fell to his wound. On his right forearm was a massive bite. His heart sank as his mind turned immediately to Gem. The waterfall was now a torrent above him, and more bodies splashed into the pool beyond.

  Suddenly, Flex jerked his head to the left as machine gun fire echoed through the tunnels. He didn’t know for sure, but it had to be coming from Gem’s group. He didn’t recognize the sound of the gun, but whatever it was, it rivaled Punch’s Saiga for sheer volume.

  The huge gun’s reverberation engulfed him as he stripped off his ammo belt and rested his Daewoo on the ledge beside the pool. When he turned back, Flex saw Trina in the center of the pool, her arms flailing. Another figure poured out from above, striking the back of Trina’s head. With a frightened scream and a choking gurgle, she sank below the water’s surface.

  Flex sprang into action. Ignoring his pain and the knowledge of his impending death, he kicked off the edge, diving down to find the niece who was like his very own daughter.

  *****

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thirty or so people had still been outside the antechamber, so by the time everyone had moved into the subterranean armory, the horde of abnormals had reached the door and were pushing inside, spreading among them.

  Gem watched in horror as Tim Feely, one of Nelson’s best friends in Kingman, struggled to reload his weapon. As he ejected the spent mag and pulled a new one from his pocket, it slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. Without a glance up, he bent down to retrieve it.

  “Tim, watch out!” shouted Gem, but if he heard her at all, he responded too late. As he raised his eyes, a Mother whose own dead eyes still blazed red, reached out with both hands and clutched Tim’s head, her bony fingers entangling in his long hair. With a single twist, she ripped his head from his neck, tearing it away in long stringy tendrils of veins and arteries. The cracking of his cervical spine made Gem retch as she watched the Red-Eye bring Feely’s severed head to her mouth, biting furiously into the still pulsating head.

  Gem swore she could see Tim’s mouth still open in a silent scream, and as she stared in horror, his eyes seemed to watch her. They blinked once, then froze open in a death stare, the whites appearing bloody in the yellow light of the wall-mounted flames.

  Other townspeople, unable to reach the safety of the underground armory room were pulled into the arms of the Hungerers, the creatures seeming to have a newfound strength.

  James Sullivan, who ran the only brewery in Kingman, using the filtered water of the Ninnescah River, stood frozen, seemingly unable to move as Tim was devoured. His eyes falling briefly on Gem, he stabbed at an advancing rotter, missed, and slipped in the gore beneath his feet, dropping to his knees.

  “James!” called Serena from behind Gem. “Get up! Hurry!”

  As James worked to gain a foothold in the gore beneath him, he looked up, his frightened eyes again falling on Gem and Serena. His expression was strange, and while the stone room seemed to be growing colder by the minute, his shirt was soaked with sweat and blood. A clawed hand reached out from the crowd behind him and shredded away three strips of flesh from his right cheek.

  On his knees now, his trembling hand instinctively moved up to touch the fresh wound on his face. As the creatures attacked and the panicked townspeople around him fought for survival, James held his bloodied hand up to his eyes, staring at the undeniable evidence of his own fate.

  His expression changed. The knife he’d gripped dropped from his hand. Gem had seen the look in his eyes before, during many prior years of battle.

  With starving abnormals pulling him in every direction, he managed to jerk his right arm free, pulling a gun from his waistband. James drew back the hammer of the revolver, put it in his mouth and fired.

  Serena screamed.

  The gun’s report was absorbed by the growls and screams coming from all around him. James’ body collapsed, soon covered by feeding rotters.

  “Help me!” said Isis, pushing her weight into the Gatling gun. The large, spoked wheels did not turn, likely frozen from years of non-use. The large, heavy gun didn’t budge.

  Max joined Isis, and they were assisted by the two large men who’d helped by standing on the recessed floor mechanisms. The gun still wouldn’t roll. Meanwhile, the screams of the townspeople and gunfire rose to ear-piercing levels. If Giles was still calling to them, there was no way they would hear him over the cacophony of sound.

  “This bastard has to weigh a ton!” yelled the ex-cop, over the din. “Look at the length of that fuckin’ ammo belt and the size of those rounds!”

  Gem spun toward the door as she reached for her Uzi, but a stabbing pain stopped her in her tracks. Adrenaline had caused her to forget about her cracked rib, but now it screamed for attention and would not be ignored.

  She stood three feet from her destination and fired into the crowd of adva
ncing rotters, the pain rocketing through her body with each expelled round.

  “Move, damnit!” Isis shouted at the inanimate gun. “Max, help me! Use your mind. Now!”

  Gem’s magazine emptied and she backed away from the opening, water running from her eyes from the searing pain in her side. Max and Isis stood behind the gun. Isis took Max’s hand and as Gem watched and reloaded, the huge gun began to slide toward the door.

  Fast.

  Gem stared with fascination. The screams died to murmurs behind her as the other Kingman residents witnessed the powers of the two Hybrids.

  Perhaps, Gem thought, they’re afraid their cries will halt the miracle they’re witnessing. Gem had believed them too weak to affect anything, but now Isis and Max were once again joining together to do the impossible.

  A man and woman Gem did not know grabbed smaller arms and rushed forward, firing out the door as the gun continued its trek forward. Stepping aside, they allowed it to move between them and kept firing until their guns were empty.

  “Yes!” said Max, and let go of Isis’ hand. She moved up beside the gun and Max took a torch and held it high over her.

  “Can you figure out how to get it going?” asked Max.

  Isis studied the markings on the side of the gun. She moved two levers and flipped a toggle up on the right side of the weapon.

  “See that wheel on the side?” she said, pivoting the gun on its swivel. “I’ll aim. You crank that.”

  Gem wasn’t sure what kind of rounds fed into the weapon, but they were enormous. “You might wanna cover your ears!” she shouted, to nobody in particular, just as the gun burst into action.

  The explosions with each expelled round were ear-shattering. Brass shells danced out of the right side of the huge Gatling gun as the new rounds fed in from a stack on the left. Max cranked the handle as fast as he could as the shining brass barrel rotated smoothly, spitting out death faster than fifty people could’ve shot standing side-by-side.

  There were three lit torches in the outer chamber, and Gem watched as the zombies moving through the door were ripped to shreds, their body parts eventually settling to the already gore-soaked ground. As they rained down, the biological chunks of former human beings quickly buried those of her dead fallen neighbors, Feely and Sullivan among them. The dozens and dozens of rotters continued to push forward and into the chamber. As undead walkers pushed into the outer chamber, heavy rounds ensured their bodies were blown into dripping chunks of dead flesh.

  Gem eyed the ammo feeding into the gun. The stack was getting lower. “Wayne!” shouted Gem. “Look for more of those rounds on the rack! Hurry!”

  Olsen moved to the rack and searched. As the stack of belted rounds beside the Gatling gun diminished further, he found what he was looking for.

  “Richie!” he shouted. “Help me!”

  Another man that Gem recognized as Richie Shiers moved out from the crowd and took the other side of the huge stack of ammo. Together, they hoisted it and lay it beside the gun.

  “There you go, Isis,” said Richie. “You know how this connects? Better tell us fast! It’s almost out!”

  Isis, without looking, called, “The first round should clip to the last round of the belt we’re using. Hurry!”

  Richie grabbed the end of the active feeding belt. Breaking the rotted piece of twine holding the new ammo bundle together, Olsen pulled it clear and found the end of the belt. He lifted it up to the belt currently feeding into the gun and Richie let go of it. Olsen struggled, but managed to connect the two.

  “Got it! Feel free to crank it up!”

  Max did. He doubled his speed, and Isis did her best to cover as much of the room as she could.

  The pile of bodies mounted, and as Gem watched, her teeth rattled with the barrage of huge rounds peppering the abnormals.

  It had to have gone on for ten or twelve minutes. Soon, the space beyond the door to the antechamber was still.

  Nothing else tried to enter. Gem stared at the body parts and wondered if this was all of the hundred or so abnormals that Colton had warned were closing in.

  There were always stragglers to worry about.

  Isis stopped firing. The cowering people behind her and Max had fallen nearly silent, as though fearful that any noise would cause it all to begin again.

  Gem was afraid to accept it was over, too. She could not look away from the outer chamber. Holding her Uzi, the barrel trained at the ground, she stared at the stone door beyond.

  Nothing moved.

  Then something caught her eye; a pile of shredded, bloody bodies against the east wall shifted. Tim Feely’s severed head seemed to move on its own, tipping forward and rolling down the pile of death.

  Gem raised her Uzi, her finger on the trigger. An arm emerged, followed by shoulders, then a head. Whether human or zombie, Gem did not know.

  The shoulders heaved and Gem heard coughing. It sounded like a woman. The form pushed more of the body parts away and turned, its face so covered in blood that Gem still could not gauge whether to fire on it or not.

  With one hand, the person wiped the muck from her eyes and face, turning toward them.

  It was Vikki Solms. Upon seeing them staring back at her, she broke down into tears and seemed to collapse in on herself.

  “Vikki” shouted Victoria, behind Gem. She pushed past and started to run through the door when Richie Shiers grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.

  “I got her, Victoria,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “You stay here.”

  She nodded quickly, now fully sobbing as she stared at her shell-shocked sister. Slogging through the mess without any concern, Richie reached Vikki and hooked his arms beneath hers, pulling her up with ease. He bent down and slipped his left arm under her legs, lifting her.

  To Gem, it seemed as if the entire roomful of survivors were holding their collective breaths until Richie reached the armory door and carried her through.

  When he stepped in, his body now coated with the same rancid death gore that sheathed Vikki’s, the crowd erupted in cheers. Several of them broke down and cried.

  Gem’s ears still rang from the barrage of large-caliber gunfire. Colton moved beside her and pressed his face into her shoulder, and for the moment, she returned his desperate embrace, allowing the boy to hide from the horrific scene before them. He clearly needed it.

  When Shiers put Vikki down, her shaking legs collapsed beneath her. Victoria was at her side, taking her into her arms and resting her against the wall beside her.

  “Are you hurt?” she whispered.

  “I … don’t know … I’m numb,” Vikki answered.

  “We need to check her for bites and scratches,” said Olsen, kneeling before the women. “You know. Just to be sure she’s okay.”

  Victoria’s face shot upward, her expression grim. “Why? So you can kill her if you find any?”

  “It’s for everyone’s safety,” said Isis, interrupting the exchange. “You know this, Victoria.”

  The sisters both collapsed into sobs again, Vikki’s body limp and Victoria’s wrapped around her; her sister’s protector.

  “Is it over?” asked someone from within the crowd. “Is it really over?”

  “It’s never over,” said Jill Richman. She leaned against a gun rack, looking exhausted. “It never ends. I need my Lily.”

  “You know they’ve gone to get her, sweetie,” said Gem. “If anyone can get her back to you, they can.”

  “Can you hear me?” asked Giles, his disembodied voice coming from above them somewhere. “Is everyone okay?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute, Giles!” called Max. “Do you see a doorway up there? In the wall or the floor?”

  “I’ll have a look!” shouted Giles.

  “Look for symbols, such as a sun, or the Freemason emblem,” added Max, moving into the outer chamber again.

  “Where are you going, Max?” asked Gem.

  “I need to make sure the main tunnels
are empty. We don’t need more surprises.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” said Gem. “I was watching.”

  “I’ll just be a minute,” said Max. “Wish I had galoshes about now,” he said, his feet sinking into the bloody pulp and body parts that littered the floor, stacking up at least two feet high.

  “Watch for live heads,” said Isis.

  “I always do, my love,” said Max, preoccupied as he chewed his bottom lip and searched the disgusting floor.

  Gem thought she saw the hint of a smile touch Isis’ lips.

  *****

  The ear-shattering gunfire that had echoed through the tunnels a few moments before had fallen silent. Flex couldn’t consider what it meant then, as he dove into the cold, dark pool and kicked several times to reach the bottom.

  His arms out in front of him, he felt for Trina’s blouse, an outstretched hand, her hair – anything. In the back of his mind, he worried that the sudden silence above him meant that his Gem and the others were overtaken by the advancing Mothers and Hungerers.

  His mind returned to Trina as his lungs cried out for a breath.

  Heart pounding in his chest, Flex was certain he would require a breath and have to return to the surface, but at that very moment, his searching fingers brushed fabric. He caught it with one hand and pulled upward. Feeling hair touch his wrist, he became certain it was a female, and as he kicked again, his hands curled beneath her arms.

  Flex prayed it was really Trina – not some ravenous abnormal that had floated nearby, or a Mother working her trickery – and he kicked back toward the surface, gripping the body tightly.

  To his relief, as he broke the surface, his eyes cleared and he saw that it was his beloved Trina! Her eyes were closed as he pulled her limp body to the edge. With all his might, Flex hoisted her up and out of the fast-rising water, resting her on her back. The ledge was now only an inch or so above the water’s surface.