Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle

by Eric A. Shelman

  Over the following week we made several runs out to various hardware stores to gather supplies. In an industrial lot, we found a brand spanking new, heavy duty 6’ x 24’ box trailer. It had wood plank floors riveted down, and was perfect for our needs.

  Everyone worked together on a project for the first time, even Trina. She’d haul welding rod as needed, and Gem and I worked to bolt things down, attach racks, and carry in stock. Charlie used a hole saw to cut in gun turrets like those in the lab just in case any of us – or all of us – got trapped in there and had to defend it. Above each turret, which were inserted at various levels to accommodate our varying heights, fisheye peepholes like the ones you’d install in your front door were mounted. That way we could use them to get a good view of our attackers.

  We found a good deal on a 3500 watt generator which we mounted on top of the large, flat triangular tongue pad.

  Everything was an excellent deal now. Retailers were practically giving the shit away.

  While the gen was necessarily on the outside of the trailer for exhaust purposes, we cut in a locking hatch to access fuel, oil and power switches from inside the trailer.

  This was to be our mobile garage. Hemp had begun designing things in his head – mostly large-scale zombie killing machines. We needed to have the ability to fabricate these items while we were on the move, and the only way to ensure it was to have a mobile garage travelling with us.

  It was nearly as important – Gem thought it might be more important – than the lab. But with Hemp articulating his needs, Gem’s artistry in putting the design down on paper, and my schematic layout abilities, we were a good team. After the blueprint was done, the plan was that Hemp, with help from all of us, would build them. Or, if we came across a group that we needed to trade with, these plans for the ACME Zombie Killer III, might get us some good stuff in return.

  The first thing we installed were aluminum work benches. We’d be hauling it with the Suburban, so a turbo might be in order for that vehicle. Easy enough to install.

  The rear work bench was actually located at the front end of the trailer opposite the doors, was 3’ deep and the width of the trailer. It was the only of its kind. Beneath this table is where we installed the generator access hatch.

  There was another 10’ work bench made of aluminum; however it was only 2’ deep. With the portable welder on its rolling cart, we’d be able to move it outside to weld any larger parts necessary.

  On the interior and exterior of each side, Hemp manufactured racks that we bolted on for hauling wood and metal rods, flat, and angle iron and some 1” and 2” square metal tubing. PVC was plentiful, but not that necessary unless some plumbing work presented itself, so we did take a few lengths of that, too.

  Per Hemp’s specs, Gem and I brought in the necessities: Full Craftsman mechanics tool set, check. Arc Welder, Heliarc Welder, welding rod for both, Acetylene torch cart, air compressor. Power tools of all kinds, including but not limited to a scroll saw, table saw, compound miter saw, router, drill press, punches, chisels, pretty much everything we could think of that we might need. As weight was an issue, we didn’t want to overstock. We could always toss anything that proved to be unnecessary if weight became an issue.

  For cooling, we didn’t want to use too much power, or any at all if it could be avoided. So for that, Hemp suggested the spinning vents that are typically mounted over the attic of a home. Wind blows, they spin and draw hot air out through the top. The normal process would be to work in the trailer with the doors open, but in this world anything could happen.

  And we expected it would. So each spinning exhaust had a sliding hatch beneath it to close it off and prevent our scent from escaping, drawing any zombies to us.

  Speaking of zombies, the machines we expected to design and build in this garage were to be for nothing else but killing.

  Head trauma-type killing in particular.

  Guns were nice, but there were times you needed more automated equipment, set off by much the same kind of tripwire as would set off the forest traps.

  We’d yet to find anything in our human snares; that was good. We all enjoyed the feeling that we were alone out here, and the only time any of us really felt concern was when we found it necessary to head back out to gather supplies. But we did have our system, and we were beginning to get used to it.

  Our encounters with the walking almost-dead seemed to be becoming more frequent. Many of the creatures who lumbered into Lula had come from surrounding areas, all of which were also small populations. Athens was fully 38 miles away and Atlanta was over 65.

  But sure enough, when we went out, we inevitably ran into a group of them, usually spotting them from a distance because we were on the lookout, and more often than not, it was a larger group than the last we’d seen.

  One evening we got a shout out on the HAM radio. It was the group we’d left the Hummer 2 with at the 7-Eleven. They’d secured their own HAM radio as we’d suggested, and we kept ours on constant scan, so when they made an attempt, we were able to pick them up.

  Marion and Bobby were still leading the group. They’d gotten one of the buses from the CDC, and said they’d picked up another twelve uninfecteds so far. Three more of their former group had died, turned immediately to zombies, and had to be dispatched.

  It was hard for them, we knew. In times like these, strangers can suddenly become very close, as we all discovered.

  And while there was safety in numbers in typical scenarios, it seems the numbers of both zombies and otherwise were greater in the big city. I preferred my little hideaway.

  We told them that we’d always be listening, and we’d try to keep them up to date on where we were and where we were headed. It wasn’t that we wanted a larger group to slow us down, but it did feel good to know there were others out there, fighting and trying to survive, perhaps eventually returning the world to the living.

  One evening, about three weeks after the whole thing began, Hemp and I sat together on the porch while the girls were looking at what to whip up for dinner. He was on the cushioned sofa, and I sat on the chain-hung wood swing bench, slowly moving forward and back.

  We’d been laying out plans for a cool, kinetically activated machine that would spin 50 7-1/2” circular saw blades through the air at varying heights, but all ranging between 4’10” and 5’10”. It would spin them out at an RPM of 1,750, at a forward speed of 150 MPH, and at a distance of about 100 feet before they became ineffective. This was all speculation, but I completely trusted Hemp’s brain, and I knew he’d considered the weight, size and every other factor.

  Wind was the one thing we’d be unable to control. This would likely be a weapon for a still day, but the closer you placed the machine to the tripwire, the more effective it would be. Heads would be a-shreddin’.

  “I think it’s time I said good bye,” I said.

  Hemp nodded. He knew what I meant.

  “To Jamie.”

  Now it was my turn to nod.

  “What she’s going through is no way to exist, Flex. I know you know that. And recovery . . . well, I’ve already concluded it’s not possible. Not at this advanced stage, anyway.”

  “And she was almost this bad three days after we found her,” I said. “They go downhill fast.”

  “But they don’t die without the brain trauma, and they seem to maintain enough strength to feed. Maybe not enough for the vapor, but again, the natural order of their abilities is get food, then get abilities to catch food easier.”

  Gem walked out of the house. She sat on the wood bench swing beside me and rested her hand on my knee.

  “We’re talking about Jamie,” I said.

  “Is it time?” she asked, her eyes focused on mine.

  “It’s past time. I know that.”

  “I love her, too, Flex. Everyone who knew her did.”

  “And nearly everyone who loves her is gone,” I said. “Except fo
r Trina and us.”

  “We’ll have to tell her somehow. It’s her mother, and Trina has to know she’s gone.”

  “Yes, and I want to – I have to – tell her the truth. Not about the zombie shit, but that her mommy and sister died. She needs to come to terms with death.”

  Gem was quiet for a long time. She gently pushed the swing back and forth, one leg tucked beneath her, the other pushing off from the porch. Then she looked at me and squeezed my leg where her hand rested.

  “One of the puppies isn’t doing well,” said Gem. “The one named Beaker. Runt male, stopped eating completely. Maybe wait until we see what happens there? A little introduction to death before the big one?”

  “Well, if we can save it shouldn’t we?” I asked. No sense in killing something just to make something else easier.

  “Jesus, Flexy, don’t you think we’ve tried bottle feeding? We weren’t sacrificing the poor boy.”

  I laughed, and it was a quiet, insincere sound. “I know better. Sorry. I suppose little Beaker better figure out which way to go fast, then. I can’t allow Jamie this existence much longer.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to commit. It was like not wanting to say you’re full because the dinner tastes so good you want to keep eating. Or not telling anyone you’re quitting smoking because you know you won’t be able to do it. I didn’t want to say I would end my sister’s life tonight, because I knew there was a damned good chance I’d fucking chicken out. But I steeled myself and formed the words anyway.

  “Tonight, Gem. I want to let her be at peace tonight.”

  Gem’s eyes welled up and she stared at the faded boards of my porch deck. She didn’t look up. Then she stood from the bench swing and went back in the house. She wasn’t mad. I knew she was thinking about her little Rabbit, her little Jesse, buried in that godforsaken hole at the only home she’d ever known. She was thinking about that little girl’s father, whom she’d also known and loved, and she was thinking about all the other horrors we’d faced.

  And now I was forced to vocalize that I had decided to kill my baby sister. Gem knew more than me.

  She realized what making that decision would do to me even more than I did.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN