Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis

by Eric A. Shelman

  As for gasoline, logic would dictate that it had all gone bad and that driving or running generators was a thing of the past. Perhaps so for other communities, but not for Kingman.

  Hemp had long insisted that gasoline always has the same amount of energy in it, no matter its condition. What it loses is its ability to vaporize, which is what it has to do within the carburetion system of an engine.

  What did Hemp do? Obviously, utilizing his brilliant mind, he developed highly advanced methods of storing mass quantities of gasoline in underground, aluminum tanks. They installed tank filtration and water separation systems to prevent the intrusion of moisture, and a certain amount of empty space was left in each tank to allow for expansion and contraction.

  Sometimes – on rare occasions – they required a starter fluid, such as ether, to fire the engine, but after that the gasoline would vaporize flawlessly.

  So it was life, sort of. Worse than in 2010, but shitloads better than in 2012.

  Flex sat in what people had begun to call his office in the old Kingman City Hall building. Gem and Hemp sat across from him.

  Gem took a last toke from the roach in her fingers and held it out for Flex, who let her drop it in his open hand. He pinched it between his fingers and got another hit off it before snuffing it out between his thumb and index finger and dropping it into the wastebasket.

  Clearly, they had not outlawed pot in their new world. To Flex, it was one of the best parts of calling the shots. If you didn’t like it, don’t move to Kingman – or move here and shut the fuck up about it. There was plenty to be thankful for, after all.

  Almost all of the core group that had tried to give Concord, New Hampshire a go were now in Kingman, including Kevin Reeves, the three sisters, Kimberly, Vikki and Victoria (formerly Jasmine) and the former kids of Concord.

  Not that you would recognize any of them anymore. It was, after all, thirteen post-apocalyptic years since Hurricane George struck and wiped out their former home. Hard labor, such as it took to survive in a world like this, could age a person.

  It was during that horrible storm and the Diphtheria outbreak of 2014 that Tony Mallette was lost, and Flex thought about him often. He would’ve been a great citizen of Kingman.

  Flex Sheridan barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, but he was in pretty good shape for an old man.

  Flex wasn’t the mayor of the town; they’d let Kevin Reeves take that job again because he had already garnered the respect of many from the days in Concord. There were a couple of cops, too, and a judge. Kingman also had a jail in which nobody had ever yet been incarcerated.

  Life in Kingman in 2027 was about as close to normal life as Flex and anyone else had seen since that fateful day he made the phone call to his kid sister, Jamie.

  Flex was 58 years old and Gem was 47. Flex thought about that sometimes, remembering how he thought he’d never make it to 46 or 47 after the world took such a strange turn.

  Charlie, who had been a mere 26 when they found her hiding in that hospital closet, was turning 40. Hemp just had his 46th birthday.

  Of all of this, the most rewarding thing beyond still being alive and in relatively good shape, was that his little Trina, the foul-mouthed girl who gave them so many laughs in a world that desperately needed them, was 21, and her pseudo-sister, Taylor, was 22.

  Oh, and were they formidable. Flex often called them the Gem and Charlie of Generation Z.

  Charlie didn’t mind the comparison, but she was quick to remind Flex that she wasn’t over the hill just yet. If it was possible, the woman had increased her crossbow skills. She also taught her son Max how to use the weapon, and the kid – who wasn’t so much a kid as everyone had expected he would be at age 13 – had now exceeded her abilities.

  Charlie, Taylor and Trina were out picking up supplies in a fast-dwindling neighboring town, and Flex was about to be off the clock, so to speak.

  “You know what they wanna talk about?” Flex asked. He wore boots that were currently propped up on the desk in front of him. He didn’t actually have a job in the building, but he’d agreed to station himself there for two hours a day, at least six days a week, in case new arrivals came in or folks had questions about how things worked in Kingman.

  “No clue,” said Gem. “I get kind of a bad feeling, though.”

  “I believe I know,” said Hemp. “Max hasn’t come right out and said anything, but I know him. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

  “Is it about leaving?” asked Gem. “I know they’re antsy. They think just repelling them or waiting for them to show up isn’t enough. They want to go to where they are and kill them.”

  Hemp nodded. “Yes, I know. They think it’s their duty,” he said. “I know Max believes they were created for that purpose.”

  “Think they were?” asked Flex.

  Hemp looked at Gem, who had recently cut her hair to shoulder length, her big brown eyes smiling back at him. “Well?” she asked, letting her mouth in on the smile.

  Hemp shrugged. “Perhaps, if you’re of the mind that everything happens for a reason.”

  “I am,” said Gem.

  “I have to agree,” said Flex. “We’ve been through some pretty shitty stuff and look where we are now. For fuck’s sake, people are talking about the spring planting season, Hemp.”

  “No argument here,” he said. “And I appreciate their sense of responsibility, but I can’t help but feel that even with their abilities, the task is too large.”

  “You got a solar calculator there, babe?” asked Gem, swiping her hair over her left ear as she leaned forward. Flex smiled as she did this because he found it sexy, even with the wisps of grey that now resided among her still mostly dark locks.

  “Hell yes,” he said. “Made in fucking China and still workin’. What you lookin’ at?”

  “Give it,” she said.

  He pushed it to her and Gem slid it in front of her. “Okay. It’s 2027, right? This shit started in … what, 2011?”

  “It began in June of 2011,” said Hemp.

  “Okay, so … that’s 27 minus 11 …”

  “Sixteen,” said Hemp.

  “Okay,” said Gem. “Multiply that times 365 days, and we’ve got … 5,840.” She looked up at Hemp. “Not so fucking fast on the big numbers are you, Einstein?”

  Hemp smiled, shook his head and put up his middle finger.

  “Now, now kids,” said Flex. “What are you up to, Gem?”

  “Figuring out how many rotters we’ve killed,” she said. “Let’s use a nice round number of thirty a day, every day since this thing started. Sound like too many or too few?”

  “To account for the days when we killed hundreds, just use a figure of fifty per day.”

  “Fine,” said Gem. “Fifty kills per day, including red-eyes and regular zombies –”

  “Mothers and Hungerers, according to Max and Isis,” said Flex.

  “They all stink the same,” said Gem. She punched the numbers into the calculator. When she was finished, she held it up.

  “292,000,” she said. “But that’s not the most important number.”

  “And what is the most important number, sweetheart?” asked Flex, his eyes bloodshot and narrow, but still attentive.

  Hemp said, “So if we started with approximately 279,000,000 infecteds and we’ve only killed, on the outside, 292,000 of them, what you’re saying is –”

  “What I’m saying is there is a shit-ton of zombies left to kill and what we’ve done is like nothing.”

  “Others have killed them,” said Flex. “We know that.”

  “Not enough,” said Gem.

  “Never enough,” said Hemp. “We can’t truly experience a normal world until the gas flow ceases. There’s a chance that mankind will simply have to await that and not rely on Max and Isis – or us.”

  The door opened and Max stepped in, a crossbow over his shoulder, partially obscuring an Ozzy Osbourne Blizzard of Oz concert tee shirt.

 
; Like mother like son, thought Flex, smiling.

  Behind him, Isis stepped in. Both of them smiled briefly, removed their sunglasses, and nodded hello. Their red eyes were intense and through them, the seriousness of their purpose was still evident.

  Max waved his hand in the air, fanning it. “Jeez, guys. If you’re gonna smoke weed in the city seat of government, you should really open a window.”

  “Government’s closed, buddy,” said Flex, smiling. “Thanks for getting here before I got off my shift.”

  “Our pleasure,” said Isis, smiling.

  She carried weapons infrequently; only when she headed directly into a confrontation with an extraordinary number of rotters. She knew how to use all weapons with precision, and she was an expert with everything they had in decent supply, but her natural abilities often negated the need for traditional defenses.

  Her favorite weapon was her mind, and she continued to hone her skills in that regard.

  “Hello, son,” said Hemp. “How are you, Isis?”

  “I’m fine, Uncle Hemp,” she said. “Hi, Flex, Gem.”

  Flex wasn’t sure why she called Hemp uncle, but not him and Gem. He never asked her, but attributed it to the fact that growing up so close in age to one another, Max was like a brother or cousin to her, and she saw Hemp as an uncle.

  Isis could only be described in one way. She was gorgeous. As a child, she had never wanted her hair cut, so over her fourteen years, it had become a wavy, platinum blond waterfall down to her hips. She often twisted it and put it on her head, but today she let it hang down, with just a rubber band on its tip.

  Isis had grown to a height of 6’-2”, and while she was technically a teenager if judged only by her years and human societal terms, she was not that at all. Isis had been nothing less than a mature woman from age twelve and by then had been menstruating since her eighth year.

  Max had developed similarly. He looked like the spitting image of Hemp with regard to his facial shape and his nose, but he had Charlie’s eyes and mouth. He was around 6’-1”, but at age thirteen, he was not yet done growing. He had a full beard, which was something even Hemp could not pull off.

  “Hey, pops,” said Max, leaning down to kiss his old man on the cheek. Flex thought it was cool. The kid never acted embarrassed to show affection to his father. “Hey, Uncle Flex, Aunt Gem,” he said.

  Flex and Gem both smiled at him. “Hey,” they said together.

  “We’re glad you’re all here,” said Isis. “My father is at home, but I didn’t want him here for this anyway. Where’s Aunt Charlie?”

  “She’s with Tay and Trina,” said Max. “Remember? They left this morning to go hunting.”

  “Yes,” said Isis. “I thought they might be back. I’m sorry she’s not here, but you can fill her in later.”

  “Pull up a chair, kids,” said Flex, pointing to the corners of the room. They did, and sat down.

  Max looked at Isis. She met the eyes of Flex, then Gem, then Hemp. She spoke:

  “Max and I have reached a decision that we feel is crucial, but that may have ethical considerations when considered by you and others.”

  Gem turned her head. “Like what kind of ethical considerations?”

  “First we have to examine the scope of the task before us,” said Isis.

  “Too late,” said Gem, holding up the calculator. “There aren’t enough zeroes on this Chinese piece of shit to actually show you the whole number, but there are roughly 278,708,000 Mothers and Hungerers left in the United States alone. Right?”

  “Precisely,” said Isis. “So you have considered it.

  “My shift is almost over, kids,” said Flex. What’s your proposal, ‘cause I can sense we’re gettin’ to one.”

  “Max and I have enhanced our skills over the years,” said Isis. “Some through maturity and some through training, but it’s pretty easy to conclude that we’re far more useful and dangerous to the Mothers and Hungerers than we were as younger children.”

  “No argument there,” said Hemp. “How does that relate to the numbers of infecteds?”

  Isis seemed reluctant to go on. Max reached out and took her by the hand and gave it a squeeze. She looked at him and smiled. Then she nodded.

  “Dad, what Isis is trying to say is that we don’t feel different,” said Max. “We were born like this and we don’t feel like outcasts and we don’t feel like … I dunno, freaks.”

  Hemp’s eyes grew concerned. “That’s because anyone who enters this community is immediately told about you and of your value to this community and keeping everyone safe. They learn about you at the same time they’re told about urushiol and WAT-5. You are not only wonderful, loving children and citizens of Kingman, Kansas, you are an important part of everyone’s survival.”

  “He can’t fish,” said Flex, winking.

  “What?” asked Hemp, missing the wink.

  “Kid can’t fish for shit,” said Flex. “I say we boot him to the curb.”

  “Could be my teacher, Uncle Flex,” said Max.

  Flex laughed and shook his head.

  “The bottom line,” said Isis, “is that it’s because of our abilities and our willingness –”

  Isis paused and bit her lip briefly before going on. Flex watched her face, and even in the interior of the building with only a propane lantern lighting the room, her skin was the consistency of cream, her features so goddess-like that she appeared to be more than merely human – which of course, she was.

  “Not willingness,” she said. “That was the wrong word. Eagerness. We’re eager to use our abilities because through them we see hope for the restoration of the world. Eventually, anyway.”

  Gem sat forward in her chair and brushed Isis’ hair away from her face, her smile gone for the moment. “Okay, then. It’s time to tell us. We got that you’re okay in your skin.”

  “We need more of us,” said Isis, all hesitation gone. “Many more. They have to be created, not only here, but across the country.”

  Gem’s face went white. Flex stared at Max and Isis. Hemp nodded.

  “I understand,” he said. “Furthermore, I agree with you and I’ve thought about it myself.”

  “You never said anything to me, buddy,” said Flex.

  “Me either,” said Gem. “Guys, do you really think people will agree to it?”

  Max was more animated now, and Flex wondered if he would like nothing more than to be one of many instead of one of only two.

  “I believe with some counseling, the pregnant women out there will agree to it,” said Isis. “Some of them, anyway. Maybe more than we think.”

  “You said across the country,” said Hemp.

  “Pops, I’d be leaving,” said Max. “We would both go.”

  “Max,” said Hemp, calmly. “You’re only thirteen.”

  “You know that’s not really true,” said Max, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I never really was thirteen. Or twelve. Or eleven.”

  “You were never really three,” said Hemp, his shoulders drooping, his eyes falling to the floor. “I realize that.”

  Max knelt down and rested his hand on Hemp’s arm. “Pops, you’re all set up here. We wouldn’t suggest this if we didn’t know you’d be safe without us.”

  “Are you going alone?” asked Gem. “You’ll need more than just the two of you, right?”

  Max took a slow, deep breath. “Yeah, that’s the other part.”

  “What?” asked Gem, getting on her feet now. She moved to sit on the corner of the desk, her jeans with holes in the knees and her beige, peasant blouse oversized for comfort.

  “Trina and Tay want to go with us,” said Isis, her face unreadable.

  Gem slid off the corner of the desk, caught herself, and steadied a hand on the corner. Flex noticed her visibly gulp, and a second later she dropped back into the leather chair opposite him, her face pale.

  Isis slid out of her chair and knelt in front of Gem, grasping her hands and squeezing th
em.

  “Gem,” she said. “There’s another reason we need to go, and soon.”

  Gem looked up. Flex and Hemp stared at Isis, too. “Spit it out, Isis,” said Flex.

  “We’ve just gotten back from the pit,” she said. “We’ve been calling the Mothers for two days, and they’re not coming.”

  Gem, Hemp and Flex all looked at one another. Max picked it up.

  “Guys, we gave it everything. We know they’re out there, but they’re not coming and we don’t know why.”

  “How do you know?” asked Flex.

  “We can feel them,” said Isis. “With the Hungerers, there are hundreds. Maybe more.”

  It was Gem’s turn to look even more worried. “I know you can call them and I know you can find them, but you never said you can estimate their numbers,” she said.

  “It’s like a resistance,” said Max. “Isis and I talked about it. We call them, but these aren’t responding. Instead, it feels as though we sense each and every individual who won’t succumb to our call.”

  “Do you have any idea why?” asked Hemp. “Anything in that head of yours churning?”

  Isis and Max both shook their heads. That made Flex more nervous about it. These particular teenagers were rarely dumbfounded.

  “So, anyway,” said Max. “We have to go after them. If the Mothers and Hungerers can resist us, they may be able to overpower us face to face. That’s what Isis thinks, anyway. That they’ve evolved even further somehow.”

  “Possibly into something we’re no longer equipped to face,” said Isis.

  “So you believe they’re aware we’re here,” said Hemp.

  Flex’s mind went back to the last time they thought life was going to be a breeze, and he was pretty sure Hemp’s did, too.

  “It makes sense,” Isis said. “We know from past experience that they are aware of Kingman and of the gathering of humanity here. Max and I both read your chronicles, and we’re well aware of what happened in Concord.”