Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  “Wow,” said Gem, when they reached the door.

  “Look at them all,” said Charlie.

  “That’s a lot of cleanup, dudes,” came a voice from behind them.

  They turned to see Nelson.

  “You save your pot, Nel?” asked Charlie.

  “Some of it,” he said. “Had it in a film container. The rest washed away in that damned tunnel.”

  “Flex said something about California,” said Gem.

  “Really?” asked Charlie. “Not to me.”

  “In his sleep,” said Gem.

  “I liked California,” said Nelson. “I mean, we didn’t really get to see the sights, but Mount Shasta was kinda awesome.”

  “What made you think of that?” asked Charlie.

  “The pot, what else?” said Gem. “Fruits and nuts, you know, like they say.”

  “They don’t get any nuttier than Nel,” said Charlie, slipping an arm around his waist.

  “I totally resemble that remark,” said Nelson, wrapping his arms around Charlie’s shoulders and hugging her. “Think it’s time to survey the town.”

  “Hemp’s already been out,” said Charlie. “Brought all the hazmat suits he had in storage, along with some containers to bring that well water up. He and Punch went out.”

  “How’s he doing?” asked Gem.

  “Punch is pretty torn up,” said Charlie. “I think he’s doing what he can to stay occupied. We eventually need to find Lily and get Lola prepared for …” Charlie could not finish the thought. She shook her head. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find enough of Bug’s body.”

  “It’s our worst day of loss,” said Gem.

  “Even worse than when we battled Maestro,” said Nelson. “Way worse.”

  Gem saw Trina across the room. She smiled and gave them all a wave. Taylor looked up and smiled at her while she passed out cups of water.

  Dave Gammon saw them and walked over. “Hi, guys,” he said. “Gem, how’s your rib?”

  She turned, and immediately thought of Bug. “It’s fine.” She put a hand on his arm. “Dave, I’m so sorry about your uncle. I don’t even know what to say. I loved him.”

  Dave’s lower lip quivered and he bit it. After swallowing hard, he said, “He loved all of you. I know he didn’t make it obvious, but if you hadn’t noticed, he was a man who didn’t mind being alone. That said, I still think he preferred your company to his solitude.”

  “I’m sad that he missed seeing this come to an end,” said Gem. “I would have liked to share this with him. In California, you saved him and Isis and he saved you. He deserved to reap the rewards of all he did to get us here.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s still with me,” said Dave. “And he’s with Isis, too. At least I’ve still got a part of him in her.”

  “Where is she anyway?” asked Nelson. “I haven’t seen her and Max all morning. Beauty either, come to think of it.”

  *****

  Max, Isis and Beauty stood on the steps of the Kingman County Courthouse. Along with the others, Isis stared out at the scene before them. After a few moments, Isis sat down, and Max and Beauty followed her lead.

  “This is kind of how I thought the end would be,” said Max. “Not that I believed it would actually ever end.”

  Isis seemed to hear his voice differently, and she looked at Max. “Max, your voice. It’s … flatter, somehow.”

  “It is because we are hearing only the audible sounds now,” said Beauty. “Not the internal voice that always accompanied it.”

  Isis realized the same change had affected Beauty’s voice and considered this for only a brief moment before realizing that her insight was correct. Without any effort, as Hybrids, the verbalized conversation had always been accompanied by the sound of the other Hybrids’ thoughts joining with their spoken words. This made the others like them sound almost as though their voices were vocal choruses.

  “That’s exactly it, Beauty,” Isis said. “The voice is now singular.” She looked at Max. “I think I like the sound of your voice, Mr. Chatsworth.”

  “It’ll take some getting used to, huh?” said Max. “Just for the record, you’ve always sounded like an angel to me.”

  Isis yawned.

  Max turned to her, shaking his head. “Am I boring you?” A split-second later he said, “Wait. Isis, did you just –” Max’s comment was interrupted when he, too, yawned.

  “Holy shit, I’m tired,” he said, smiling. “Isis, I’m fucking tired!”

  Isis felt the smile come without warning. She took Max’s hand in hers, squeezing it. When she turned to Beauty a moment later, the second generation Hybrid had her hand over her mouth, stretched open wide in her own yawn.

  Beauty’s extended yawn became a laugh, and she immediately blushed, shaking her head. “That feels really good!” she said, now with a rare smile on her lips.

  Isis realized it was the first time she’d ever seen or heard Beauty laugh, and it was definitely the first time she had seen her embarrassed.

  “Your laughter is a pretty sound,” she said. “Beauty, I hope we hear so much more of that as the years pass.”

  “I’ve seen others yawn before, but I had no reason for jealousy,” said Beauty. “Now I wonder what true sleep feels like. Not just from the WAT-5.”

  “I think we’re gonna find out pretty soon,” said Max. “Now that it’s hit me, I feel like I could pull up one of these steps and nod out.”

  “I wonder what this means for us,” said Isis. “Will our powers of recall lessen? Will we eat as others do? If it all begins again, will we return to what we once were?”

  “Whoa,” said Max. “One day at a time, as they say, I. I mean, just look at them all.” His eyes scanned the street at the motionless bodies of the Mothers and Hungerers. “At least we can survive without the gas. That’s the most important thing.”

  Isis became aware of Max’s body, their sides touching as they sat on the courthouse steps. Without being aware she had done it, she realized she had rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  She felt his arm slip around her, and the tears came without warning. The young man beside her would be her husband one day; he had said so and she had wanted that.

  But Isis had never really believed it possible. In the reality that was a world teeming with the hungry dead, it seemed foolhardy to believe she could let the problems that faced humankind fade to the background while she experienced joy.

  Of course Isis was aware that others did it; it was just that she had always seen herself and Max as the protectors; the first line of defense when attacks ensued.

  It was a role she had accepted and become accustomed to; she realized she would miss it to some degree.

  The rewards of its absence, though, she thought. Like the moment she was now experiencing. She nestled her cheek against Max’s shoulder again and felt his head rest against hers for a moment.

  She turned her eyes to watch Max’s. As he stared out at the carnage in the street, she wondered how there could ever be anyone else who could know her as he did.

  Something troubling entered her thoughts and she vocalized it, lifting her head. “Max, Beauty,” she said. “I wonder how we will age from now on. Will it occur just as with everyone else?”

  The question was rhetorical. Of course only time would tell. She turned to watch Beauty.

  She stared out at the hundreds of bodies within view, her face stolid and unreadable.

  “Beauty?” asked Max, following Isis’ gaze. “How are you feeling?”

  “Besides tired, I feel kind of strange,” said Beauty, turning toward them, her expression one of concern. “I’ve never experienced such peace in my mind. There has always, from the day I was born, been sounds, voices. The agony of others, mostly. Those sounds have always been in my mind, and now they are silent. I hear … birds. Silence.”

  The three sat there for a long time. Isis’ mind turned to her father. She had pushed it away for long enough. She
had to find him and she knew Dave should be with her for that task.

  Just as she was ready to stand and return to the armory to find her cousin, their attention was drawn to four figures walking up the center of Main Street.

  “It’s my mom and dad and Aunt Gem and Uncle Flex,” said Max. “Chalk up one for our eyesight. That’s still good.”

  The group was still three quarters of a mile away. As they drew near, the three stood and walked to the bottom of the steps to meet them. Everyone exchanged hugs, careful to avoid the bodies at their feet.

  Flex looked from Isis to Max. “You guys look good with white eyes,” he said. “Isis, I’m real sorry about your dad. Have you found him yet?”

  “We haven’t looked,” she said. “I’m going to get David and we’ll do it together.”

  “If you need any help, you let us know. We’re going to round up everyone we lost over the next couple of days I think. Not sure about the rest of it.”

  Isis nodded. “I understand. Is there a question about remaining here, in Kingman?”

  Gem leaned forward. “Isis, I know with that memory of yours that you fully recall you and Max are the only reason we came here at all. It was because of the central location and your early belief that more of you would need to be created and sent out into the states to kill as many Mothers and Hungerers as possible. That need is gone.”

  Isis nodded and looked around them again for effect. “The plan to create additional Hybrids was interrupted by Maestro for the most part,” she said. “And yes, this is a mess. I do not believe this will be common in other places. Because of us and the Hybrid babies, we had quite an infusion of Mothers and Hungerers before it all came to an end.”

  “Abandoned areas may be easier to restore,” said Hemp. “As you said, Isis, there will be fewer dead abnormals to dispose of. We’ll also want to find a location where we can restore the power grid.”

  “We’ll be selecting a new home based on completely different needs, won’t we?” asked Charlie. “Not for protection necessarily, and not for our ability to branch out. This time purely for resources and the condition of the location.”

  “I know where I’d like to go,” said Flex.

  “Where, Flex?” asked Gem.

  “Back to Lula,” he said.

  Gem said nothing, but squeezed Flex’s arm. Isis wasn’t sure whether that was confirmation that she was on board, or if it was her signal that they could talk about it later.

  “We’ll head back to the armory now,” said Isis. “Be careful.”

  “I’m hopin’ you don’t know something I don’t,” said Flex. “But just for the record, I’m plannin’ on being less careful than I’ve been in years.”

  *****

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Over the next several days, they found all of their dead neighbors. Many others were found alive, hiding in attics and basements, the interiors of nearly all of the houses containing them filled with dead rotters that once searched for them in their last, desperate hours of their second lives.

  All in all, they had lost 214 people, many of whom had settled into the safe haven of Kingman to live their lives in relative calm. They did not have fighting skills, nor did many of them have the desire to learn, and chose instead to offer help where they were comfortable giving it; growing food, organizing events and providing services.

  Flex realized that these same, good people had simply been unequipped to fend off the massive numbers of the risen dead when they came to call.

  Because the tunnels were used as a primary pathway of escape, the criss-crossing, subterranean passageways held the bodies of many of these people. There were still dozens unaccounted for. Flex also knew that many of the bodies they had found dead down there were so entirely without flesh; so ravaged beyond recognition, they would never be identified.

  Many other townspeople – along with the zombies – had been whisked away by the rushing channels, no doubt dumped into the Susquehanna River and washed downstream, never to be seen again.

  And yet, Flex also knew they would search anyway, perhaps miles of riverbank. It was what their fellow citizens deserved.

  Gem had been ordered by a recovering Doc Scofield to take it easy. She had exacerbated her broken rib and needed to give it time to heal. Flex made sure she didn’t violate the doctor’s orders.

  Over the next several days, Punch ran the backhoe that dug the final resting places for those killed during the onslaught. He worked tirelessly, and Flex was certain he threw himself into the work to keep his mind off the most important grave he would dig; the one for Lola.

  Those without family were buried in mass graves, as their bodies needed to be interned sooner rather than later to prevent new threats borne of rot and diseased flesh. Flies and other insects could consume it and spread bacteria far and wide.

  Isis, Max and the other Hybrids felt it was important to destroy their brains before laying them to rest, as did Hemp.

  Everyone else reluctantly agreed, even though it was painful to desecrate the corpses of old friends and neighbors by perforating their skulls with knives, rebar spikes and other instruments.

  Whether or not it made the survivors uncomfortable was not the issue; the guilt over the act itself did not match the level of discomfort they would feel if these same folks rose again to attack them if the gas ever resumed leaking from the planet.

  The odds of that happening, in Hemp’s opinion, were high. He had begun to believe that the gaseous substance that had reached the surface and affected change over humanity came from one enormous pocket of gas, deep within the planet. He explained it to Flex and the others as a huge balloon filled with air, and which bled off until the pocket flattened and sealed itself again. There are regions of the planet where very deep earthquakes occur, but because the majority of those areas are within the Middle East, with its remoteness and instability, not much study had been done so that scientists could understand them.

  Essentially, the deep earthquakes involved slow friction between several enormous, shifting plates; this millennia-old battle within the earth creates friction which, in turn, creates heat. That intense heat softens the earth around it, which is a process that often releases water that serves as a lubricant, causing further shifting.

  It’s an endless cycle. Around sixteen earthquakes such as these occur annually, but for the reasons mentioned above, they are not completely understood.

  To explain the stoppage of the leak, Hemp settled on the idea that this soft, lubricated earth – like superheated clay – eventually sealed the fissure that had allowed it to seep out. It would act as a natural petcock, cutting the flow until the valve was again reopened.

  Flex didn’t know if that was a good guess or a shit guess. He only knew he had no theories of his own, and if believing he’d figured it out made Hemp happy, well hell … he was happy, too. So long as that gas stayed put.

  The rotters were scooped up by bio fuel-powered backhoes and hauled to the pit. The fence was pulled down for easy access, and Justin Connors ran the steamroller that compacted their hundreds of bodies at the bottom. It was nasty work, but the enormous red-haired, bearded man, wearing a tight-fitting hazmat suit, seemed overjoyed to be involved. He was tireless. As more abnormals were dumped in, he’d flatten them into mush.

  When the pit was deemed full, the most plentiful accelerants were utilized to set them ablaze. Kerosene, paint thinners, anything they could find. Once they got going, their dry bones and flesh caught and burned so brightly, the glow could be seen anywhere in Kingman.

  Hell, probably in Wichita.

  Flex didn’t participate. He preferred to help with those he knew and cared about. The rotters had to be disposed of to prevent mass disease from spreading, but to him it was just busy work.

  The pit was filled three times before they had completed it. When the next wind came up, the ashes were blown away, perhaps fertilizer for the new world that would undoubtedly sprout from the madness of the past several y
ears.

  *****

  Private funerals were held for those with family. While Kevin Reeves’ funeral service was held in the town square, his body had been burned. After his death, the ravenous rotters had dragged him from beneath the heavy door. His ravaged corpse was found just inside the bunker, having been fed on by so many abnormals that only the old wedding ring that he still wore on his shredded left hand was all that was left to identify him.

  The funeral services for Brett Ulrich Gammon and Lolita Lane were held together. Dave Gammon had found Lola on the trip to rescue his uncle, and she had been instrumental in that entire process. Bug and Lola had always had a connection, and for that reason, it was appropriate they be near one another for eternity.

  The weather was cold enough that they were able to wrap and store the bodies in plastic stretch wrap to keep their deterioration to a minimum until they could be laid to rest.

  For these services, Flex drove the backhoe, scoring two deep channels in the earth, just beneath two soaring pine trees. Punch sat in the front row of plastic chairs, holding something in his hands.

  This was a place where Lola loved to come and shoot, and there was a nearby stuffed dummy protruding from the ground, upon which she used to hone her knife skills. Dozens of gashes were visible in the body-shaped, multi-layered burlap covering where she had issued pretend death stabs again and again.

  Serena and Isis sat in chairs placed beside Bug’s grave, holding dried flowers in their hands. Dave stood beside the seated women.

  Punch walked slowly to the street where Gem’s Crown Victoria was parked. He opened the rear door and leaned in to remove Lola’s body.

  He lifted her easily, thoroughly wrapped in cling film. Carrying her by himself, he dropped to one knee beside the grave on the left and rested her body there.

  Withdrawing a pocketknife from his pocket, he cut the film away, then pulled it from beneath her.