Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle

by Eric A. Shelman

  *****

  I slid on a fresh pair of jeans and walked out to check on Hemp after I recovered from my lovemaking session with Gem – the first in far too long, and an extended one at that. We fell back in bed afterward and Gem produced one of the packs of smokes that I’d grabbed from the pharmacy. We both lit one. It felt good; the stress of the past couple of days had taken its toll on both of us.

  Hemp was standing, leaning against one of the porch columns, his Calico M960 hanging loosely in his hands.

  “You probably want a shower and some rest,” I said, opening the screen door and walking up next to him. “I guess I’d have heard if you’d had to use that thing,” I said.

  Hemp had clearly become fond of that weapon, and not just for its 50 and 100 round magazines. Because it blew the shit out of the enemy and was lightweight. Almost every fifth sentence out of Hemps mouth was how damned light it was.

  “No need to shoot anything yet, and yes, about two days of sleep should do it,” he said.

  “Hemp, do you have a family? Here, I mean?”

  “Don’t have a family anywhere, Flex. No siblings, both parents passed away when I was just out of my teens.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “But they did a good job with you. Likeable, smart. Were you ever married?”

  Hemp laughed softly, but a deep sadness touched his eyes, too. “I was, my friend. I was. A beautiful woman, too. Too good for me. Married her when I was 24 and she died during childbirth. Along with my baby boy.”

  “Shit,” I said, fishing a smoke from behind my ear. “I’m fuckin’ sorry I brought it up, Hemp.”

  “No, she was the love of my life,” he said. “Just the time I had with her was worth all the days before them. I haven’t found anyone as good as her since, so I just . . . well, took a couple of years off, then just kind of played the field, as you Americans say.”

  “There’s something to be said for that,” I said. “But I just found Gem again – rather she found me – just before we found you. I’d been with her a couple of years and it ended over a year ago. When this shit hit the fan, apparently the only person we could think about was each other.”

  Hemp smiled and tossed me a pack of matches from the table beside the railing. “She’s good for you. And you’re good for her. And she’s beautiful,” he said.

  I nodded. “No shit. Fuckin’ beautiful. And a heart as big as Texas.”

  “I think I need someone,” Hemp said. “This world is going to seem lonely enough from this point on. I have this longing all of a sudden to find someone I can’t live without.”

  “Speakin’ of that, we gotta make a plan I suppose,” I said.

  Hemp nodded, scanning the yard again. “Yes, sir. Back to reality. If we’re going to be here a while, I’m going to want to pick up a couple of security camera sets and motion activated alarms and such. Battery backups, that sort of thing.”

  I nodded and slid down in the Adirondack chair on my front porch and Hemp plopped down in the chair beside me.

  “I don’t see a whole lot of value in hitting the road and leaving ourselves exposed. Things will likely only get worse as this thing goes along.”

  “I know,” said Hemp. “The first group of people we found was frightened and cooperative. Grateful for our help. There will be others that want to take what we’ve accumulated and created. And that’s aside from the abnormals.”

  We hadn’t seen any activity around the house since our arrival. That wasn’t to say the wind couldn’t shift and alert a nearby abnormal or twenty, or a hundred for that matter, with an appetite, and we could become a destination for them at any time.

  “My feeling, too. I think protection is our first rule of order.”

  “I’ve got some ideas for some equipment – weapons systems, I suppose. I’ll need some of Gem’s artistry skills, and since you’re an electrician, you’ll need to help with the wiring schematics for the powered machines.”

  “Shouldn’t a lot of this stuff run without electricity? In case we’re in a situation where we don’t have that option?”

  Hemp waved off my concern. “Absolutely. And I’ve got some ideas for crank-wound, kinetically-powered weapons systems that can either catapult or eject projectiles. Damaging projectiles.”

  I laughed out loud. I suppose the sex with Gem and the shower had brightened my outlook. I think I’d place the influence both things had on my demeanor in that order, leaning heavily on the sex with Gem. At the same time – and for the same reasons – I felt like I could collapse in a blissful heap at a moment’s notice.

  But it felt good to be having this conversation about our protection and our plans. Hemp’s mind must have been devising and designing the entire time he was driving, because he’d filled six pages of tightly written notes in a legal pad he’d found in the kitchen just since Gem and I went in to get wet.

  “Gem’s getting some sleep now, Hemp. Why don’t you get in and get a shower and some shuteye. At least three or four hours.”

  Hemp shook his head. “I won’t need that much, Flex, but thanks. My mind is racing at 150 kilometers per hour, and I can’t stop it. I’m thinking about your sister, how there’s so much I need to do with regard to her, more weapons and surveillance systems –”

  “Hemp, Hemp, slow down. You’ve done a lot – a fucking shitload of stuff so far. My aunt would’ve said we couldn’t have done that in a month of Sundays, and she’d be right. So go in, have the shower, close your eyes for a while. We need that brain of yours to be fresh.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that anymore, Flex.” Hemp was smiling, but the truth behind that particular joke gave me, and I’m sure him, a bit of a shudder.

  “Okay, let’s say sharp,” I said.

  He stood and passed me the Calico. “Okay. I’ll do it. Stay awake now, and fire that thing off if you see anything. I’ve got my MP5 to keep by my bed. Speaking of that, where am I sleeping?”

  “There’s a spare bedroom, end of the hall to the left. Only a full size, but I spent money on a good mattress for when Jamie and Jack – well, it’s comfortable.”

  “Got it. Thanks. I’ll go check on the pooch before I hit the shower.”

  “Name’s Bunsen.”

  “Bunsen?”

  “Yep. After the burner. Apparently our Trina spent a tad too much time with Max when deciding what to name the girl.”

  “Bunsen. Sounds like a boy name.”

  “If it works for a six-year-old girl and makes her happy, I think Bunsen will do just fine.”

  Hemp smiled, waved, and went inside. I propped the M960 on my leg, leaned back in the Adirondack and scanned the dark horizon for any moving shadows.

  Or any flickers of eye shine.

  The July night was hot and muggy, but the Georgia weather was the last thing on my mind that evening.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN