Afraid to voice the words, Dave thought, Something good. Life-changing, even.
Dave had chosen to carry the special child in that manner because the farther away from ground level the boy was, the better Dave felt.
In truth, Travis had been born into this world and likely felt no fear at all. He was quiet as he rode along. The child’s fingers played absently with the crew neck collar of Dave’s tee-shirt.
Dave was also silent, but that was because he was afraid to utter a sound, as if it might signal the Mothers and Hungerers to come to life and charge on them, but logic told him that they would have long ago done just that had they been capable of such an onslaught.
When they had first emerged from the tunnel and stood among the rubble of the collapsed building on the corner of West B Avenue and the alley that paralleled Main Street, Dave had stopped in his tracks. A pistol in his right hand and Beauty’s hand in his left, they scanned the streets, amazed at the scene.
Dead zombies with no apparent trauma. Either dead or weakened beyond the ability to move. It startled him. It looked like the pictures he’d seen where some religious leader made all of the members of his flock drink poisoned Kool-Aid.
Only these things should never have been walking at all. Never. Yet they had, for years.
Seeing a pathway ahead, Dave had led them through the cold night air to stand for a moment beside a brick building that still held some of the heat from the sun earlier that day. Their clothing was soaking wet from their push through the gathering water below, and they needed to warm up, at least for a few moments.
They remained there, absorbing what heat they could from the bricks. Dave kept his eye on the tunnel exit, and when he saw the rotters Travis had called to follow them draw near, he noticed something immediately.
In just a few staggering steps from the hole in the ground, they changed; they suddenly became disorganized and even … somehow confused.
There were not many Mothers in the trailing horde behind them, but there had to have been some for the Hungerers to follow Travis’ call. It may have been more instinctual hunger than the Mothers’ commands driving them after the three, but there was no way for Dave to know.
“You know what’s happening to them?” asked Dave.
“Yes,” said Beauty. “I believe I do.”
Dave stared at her. “Really? Tell me.”
“The earth gas is stopping. Perhaps it has completely stopped by now. Down below, in the tunnels, the gas had not yet dissipated. Up here, it is diluted with oxygen. The Mothers and Hungerers still possess some of their former strength down there,” she said. “Up here, they’re dying.”
“Do you feel alright?” asked Dave, concerned.
Beauty nodded. “Something is different. I feel strong, but also weaker, somehow.”
“C’mon,” he finally said, and they had turned left toward Main Street. A moment later they reached the corner and headed south. The group behind them thinned with each step, many of them collapsing among their rotten brethren as others managed to place one heavy foot before the other.
The horde had also grown silent. The moaning and gnashing that had always been a constant was now just the shuffling of feet.
That had been more than a half hour earlier. The night was moonless, but the bright stars provided some visibility, inadequate as it was. Dave was afraid to use a flashlight, so the trek was ultra slow going.
They had walked alongside one another, but reaching more congested areas where the bodies were clustered together, Dave moved ahead of Beauty. He searched the ground for safe spots to accommodate his steps, hoping she would follow suit.
Some seemed to be decomposing beyond what they had been while upright and vibrant; others still twitched and scratched at the ground, their instinctive hunger driving them to pull toward them; to never give up on their quest for human flesh and blood.
In a relatively clear spot again, Dave took Beauty’s hand and she squeezed his fingers. They were less than an eighth of a mile from the old armory building. A glance ahead told him that it would not be an easy trek.
Not if they weren’t careful. Heads still gnashed, though they made not a sound. The rank stench of decay that Dave had believed he had grown accustomed to, rose with a new vengeance from the street all around them. The cobblestones had also retained the heat of the day and despite the cold, pushed the odor upward like nasty cookies baking in a horrific oven.
In the distance stood a lone figure among the piles of bodies. Dave stopped. “Who … Beauty, can you see?”
He didn’t need to tell her what he was talking about. Only one figure remained upright.
“It is a Mother,” said Beauty. “Come.”
Dave did not question her. They walked until the Red-Eye stood just five feet away.
She wore no clothing. Her breasts had rotted from her chest, but her stomach protruded from her body over her rickety legs, no more than skin over bones.
“Her baby is dead,” said Travis. “She is confused. She waited for me.”
Dave turned around. None followed anymore.
They were only four now.
Because the abnormals had been drawn into the City Hall building and down through the bunker’s entrance to the tunnels, the street was littered with only half as many bodies as farther north in town.
Travis said, “Please lower me to the ground, David.”
Dave reached up and lifted the boy from his shoulders, but stopped midway and looked at Beauty. She nodded her approval. Dave put Travis down.
The boy – essentially a toddler – walked toward the Mother. Her eyes followed him but she did not move.
Beauty reached out and again clasped Dave’s hand in hers.
“You are dying,” said Travis. “You must know before that happens.”
With those words, Travis held his hands out and clawed at the air. The Mother’s own hands moved to her distended belly and ripped the flesh away. It was not difficult; like bloody papier-mâché, it peeled into ribbons and fell away.
A tiny, gray-brown arm appeared. A moment later, the entire fetus slid from her womb and she caught it in her hands, the umbilical cord rotted and broken.
“I’ve seen this before, but I’ll never get used to it,” said Dave, biting his lip.
Raising the dead child up to her face, the dying Mother dropped to her knees, her brittle kneecaps shattering beneath her. Her momentum carried her to the ground atop her broken legs and dead infant. She struggled with her last strength to grasp at the baby beneath her.
Her face turned toward Travis and her mouth opened. With a croak, she managed, “My … baby.” The eyes faded to black and her lower jaw fell away. She was dead.
Dave’s mouth fell open, and he knelt down in front of Travis, his hands on the child’s shoulders. “Can you … tell me what I just saw? And heard? I heard that, right? Because I don’t know if I believe it.”
“I do not know,” said the boy.
“Travis, come,” said Beauty, and he obeyed. She picked up her son. His eyes were no longer red. Dave looked at Beauty. Her eyes were also clear.
“Beauty,” he said. “Your … eyes. Travis’s, too.”
Beauty said, “I do not know what will become of us.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She raised her hand to feel what tickled her face, and saw the moisture on her fingertips.
She held Travis tightly to her and rocked him in her arms.
*****
Flex sat at a round table in the armory building, Gem and Trina on either side of him.
Gem reached forward and pulled his arm, extending it toward her. “Let me see it,” she said.
“I know what it is, and I know what did it,” said Flex. “Let’s just enjoy this time together.”
The front windows of the armory had been boarded up years before, after a tornado had ripped over it and blown the windows out. They could not see what was happening outside.
Hemp sat across from them, looking e
xhausted. There had been several cots stored there, along with the surplus food and water, and everyone had replenished.
Doc Scofield lay sleeping on a cot by the door.
“With the diminishing earth gas,” Hemp had begun, but Flex interrupted him.
“Nobody survives this shit,” said Flex. “All the flowery crap you can throw at me won’t change that.”
Gem leaned forward and held him. Flex held her back. Trina and Taylor cried with no sign of self-consciousness.
Hemp’s eyes were red from the many tears he had cried.
A knock came on the outside of the building.
They all looked at one another.
The knock became a pounding.
Flex eased Gem away and got to his feet. Hemp followed, along with several other townspeople, all carrying replenished weapons from the underground armory.
“Zombies don’t knock!” said Taylor, running toward the door. She reached it and called, “Hello? Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Beauty and Travis!” came Dave’s voice, the excitement more than perceptible. “Open up!”
“How are you out there right now?” asked Wayne Olsen, his gun at the ready.
“We’re the fuck out here because they’re all dead!” shouted Dave. “Open the damned door!”
“Technically, they’ve been dead,” said Taylor, reaching up to turn the deadbolt lock.
The moment the bolt slid away, the door jerked open and Dave and Beauty came in, Travis in her arms.
“It’s over. I can’t believe I’m the guy to tell you all this, but it’s fucking over. O-V-E-R!” Gammon spelled. “Come outside right now. All of you. Everyone!”
Hemp ran to the door and pushed through. Flex followed, and the entire room, save for Scofield, pushed through the doors and outside.
Bodies lay in the street. Nothing moved.
“Dude!” said Nelson. “You’re like fucking Rambo! Did you kill ‘em all?”
“I didn’t kill any of them, Nel,” said Dave. “They just … died. They’re dead. Lights out. Red eyes turned black. Look at Travis and Beauty. Look at them all.”
Everyone’s voices rose until it sounded like a crowd awaiting a concert to begin. People dared to move away from the safety of the building, walking into the street to inspect the dead to confirm it for themselves.
Hemp ran toward Flex. “Man, do you know what this means?”
“I think so,” said Flex. “I’m not … Hemp, I’m not going to turn, right? And don’t bullshit me, either.”
“Flex, I have become certain over these many years that the creatures were sustained solely by the earth gas. They did not need the food they ingested – they craved it, and it is what drew them to never stop seeking it – but it was not what kept them upright and alive. It was solely the gas. You, my friend will need antibiotics, but that’s it.”
Flex shook his head and stared at the floor. A moment later he looked up. “I’d pretty much accepted that I was gonna die. I almost slipped away from you guys and took myself out down in the tunnel.”
Hemp seemed to consider what Flex said for a moment. His eyes welled up and he opened his arms, pulling Flex in for a strong hug. Flex hugged him back with equal vigor.
“I’m glad you didn’t, friend,” said Hemp. “It would have been a terrible irony that on the same day we should rid ourselves of the worst of creatures, only to lose one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
Flex released Hemp and smiled at him. “None of us could’ve gotten through any of this without you, buddy.”
As the words left his lips, Gem slammed into Flex and quickly recoiled, screaming out in pain as she held her side.
She doubled over, breathing shallow breaths for a couple of seconds.
Flex said, “You okay, babe?”
Gem’s agonized breaths turned into laughter. She stood upright, the joy finding her eyes for the first time since the New Year’s party, and picking up where she had left off, threw her arms around Flex’s neck, kissing him wherever her lips could reach.
“Baby, your rib,” he laughed. “Careful, Gemina.”
“My fucking rib, your fucking bite. None of it matters, Flex. They’re dead, and I’m not going to lose you. We’re all going to live, so nothing else matters now, at all.”
As Flex held his wife, he saw Punch walking toward Jill Richman, who sat hunched down against the wall inside the armory, her body heaving with sobs. She had been told of Lily’s fate, as they had shared the news with everyone else of Lola and all the others lost.
The former Marine knelt down beside her, then dropped to a sitting position. He put his arm around Jill’s shoulders and together they grieved for the ones they had loved and lost.
Celebrating felt wrong in the face of so many peoples’ agony, but Flex held his wife anyway, his eyes closed. A moment later he felt more arms slide around him, and opened them again to see Trina and Taylor, all squeezing together as one.
The tears came without warning.
Flex let them come.
*****
Flex lay beside Gem, listening to her soft snores. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning before the group had completed their head count of the Kingman survivors.
Of the more than 600 residents whom had once thrived in Kingman, they had accounted for only 421 of them. They reached several survivors by radio, now that they were above ground, and found that many of them had waged their own battles at the high school and the old Quality Inn; others fought to protect their families and friends in private residences; hiding in basements and attic spaces.
All of them told their stories of lost companions, but Flex realized there would be more stories to follow.
There would also be more survivors, he knew, but that would be sorted out when they got the generators going and broadcasted over the town’s public announcement system.
Gem was tucked close beside him, her head resting on his chest, and Flex’s fingers played over the skin of her back beneath the threadbare blanket. It was below forty degrees outside, and the closeness was necessary for warmth; but had it been ninety degrees, he still would have wanted her right there.
Nobody had wanted to go out on a supply run, and Flex didn’t blame them. They would stay put until the morning, then after a look at what faced them in the streets, they would figure out their next move.
“I hear you thinking,” said Gem, her voice a croak.
Flex rubbed her back. “Wheels are turnin’.”
“Do you think everything we’ve been through will slam us in the face now that it’s all over?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
Gem scooted back so that she could see his face. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “Flex, we’ve spent all these years running and surviving, fighting every day. Scavenging for food, fortifying our fences, all of it.”
“I know,” he said. “You and I haven’t been able to really just be us since the day I found you at Jack and Jamie’s.”
“To be accurate, I found you,” said Gem, patting his chest. “But yeah, that’s what I mean, babe. Will we even remember what it’s like to exist without the constant threats? Will we ever be able to … I don’t know … just live?”
Flex thought about her question, and realized the new chapter they faced wouldn’t be easy, either. Even without the constant threat of flesh-eating zombies, there would no doubt be other hazards to face.
The decomposition of the creatures was already happening fast. That would increase the likelihood of bacterial infections and disease. The bodies – no matter where they went – would need to be burned in mass graves.
That would be the first order of business – clearing the streets.
Clearing the streets where?
The question came to him and everything seemed to fall into place in his mind. He promised himself he would discuss it with Gem, Hemp, Charlie and the others in the morning, when they had time alone together.
“You’re lost in that he
ad of yours, aren’t you?” whispered Gem. She yawned and her breathing grew slow and steady.
Flex closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it did not come immediately.
In this new, abnormal-free world, there would still be dangers to face. After all, there were no police, no fire departments. There were no more ambulances responding to 911 calls.
There would be bad people. Flex knew this because over the years, a few of them had come to Kingman. Some had been turned away and others were killed at the gates after initiating a fight.
They had not been worth chronicling. They were blips of nasty on a radar that was mostly filled with good people who deserved the sanctuary of their town.
But if his group did what Flex had now come to believe was necessary, encounters would occur. They would have to be ready.
As Flex listened to Gem’s steady breathing, he formulated his thoughts and gave birth to his plan. Of course it was not set in stone; the input of the people he wanted at his side was crucial.
Before he had organized all of his thoughts, he slept.
*****
Light struck Gem’s eyes and they flitted open. The interior of the armory was bright, with natural sunlight filtering in through every gap in every board.
But it was too bright. Gem tried to sit up, but winced as her rib protested.
“Give me your hand, tough chick,” said Charlie, standing in front of her. “You look like shit.”
Gem smiled and held out her hands. Charlie pulled her up and she hugged her. “Now I have a question,” she said.
“What?” asked Charlie.
“Let’s face it. If there hadn’t been a zombie apocalypse, you never would’ve hung out with old farts like us, huh?”
“I became a fucking old fart hanging with the likes of you,” laughed Charlie. “But that said, no. You guys would not have been my first choice, but that only proves that I was an idiot.”
Charlie turned and watched the fifty people or so who stood at the doors. As another piece of plywood was removed, more light shone in. Together, the friends walked over, Gem holding tight to Charlie’s hand.
Dead Hunger_The Cleansing Page 26