The monster’s knees buckled forward and he dropped to his back beside Gem and lay still. She stared down at the corpse and held out her hand. Flex helped her up with a quick pull.
“You okay, babe?” asked Flex.
“Yeah,” said Gem. “Startled me is all. Won’t happen again.”
“It’s not a crime,” he said, turning to Hemp.
“Hemp,” whispered Flex. “I’ve noticed when I stab ‘em under the chin their knees tend to buckle. Is there some sort of connector between those places?”
“I’m not an acupuncturist Flex, but I promise to look into it if you remind me later.”
Flex shrugged. “Not important, pal. Old habits from the early days is all.”
“You sure you’re okay, mom?” asked Trina.
“Yeah, sweetie,” she answered, trying to wipe some of the muck from her hair. “Not sure why but I didn’t expect them in here. Guess they make their way in now and then.”
“Or it’s part of the obstacle,” said Punch.
“Just keep an eye out, mom,” said Trina.
“I will, Trini,” said Gem, resuming. She turned left, then right, then right, then passed a left and a right and made a second left, which she had marked as a 2L. It took them a full seven minutes to get through, but eventually a doorway revealing the town of Hoisington emerged.
“I have the night vision goggles,” said Punch, activating them. “Let me slide through and take a look.”
He stood at the door and scanned from left to right. A strange noise came from somewhere, but it was distant. There was nobody near the maze entrance.
“Looks clear,” he said. “Hey. There’s an auto supply store over there. Let’s get away from this maze and under cover.”
“I could use a crowbar,” said Dave. “Wonder how the stock is.”
*****
“Max, Isis, come in,” said Flex, into the radio.
A few seconds passed and Isis came on. “Are you in?”
“We are,” said Flex. “We’re inside this picked through Auto Parts store by the maze.”
“We’re at Hoisington High School. We’ve accessed a small building at the end of the football field,” said Isis. “I believe it was a concession stand, judging from the equipment inside. There are some holes in the front that we can see through.”
“Why did you set up there?” asked Flex.
“Because this is where they’re amassed,” said Isis. “Red mist coats the entire field. It’s thick and stationary, as though contained on its own. It doesn’t drift upward, nor does it seep through the fencing. It just … it stays. It defies logic when you think about the typical properties of a vapor.”
Flex looked at the others. The radio was very low to keep it from being overheard by anyone outside, but it was enough that everyone huddled around could hear it.
“So it’s like the auction house Hemp and I found in Concord,” said Flex. “Underneath that vapor are hundreds of zombies.”
“That’s the process by which the red-eyes advance their connection with the Hungerers,” said Hemp. “Flex, please. The radio.”
He held out his hand and Flex handed him the walkie-talkie.
“Max, Isis,” he began. “Have you seen any other movement? Lights, activity of any kind?”
“Max and I feel the focus is on this football field,” she said. “Coming through town we saw two or three Hungerers, but we’re on WAT-5, so they paid us no mind.”
“Isn’t the football field all overgrown?” asked Hemp.
“Hey, Dad, it’s me,” said Max. “Isis is checking something out. Anyway, for the Mothers to be using the football field for their conditioning sessions, someone is definitely cutting the grass. Otherwise, it would be tall enough to see above the vapor and it would be nearly impossible to lie down in it.”
The connection with the red-eyes seemed to have resulted in Isis and Max gleaning more detailed information than what could be gathered by an unaffected human from simply observing them. While Max had explained it one night as not being information intentionally shared, it was as though when in close proximity to them, an understanding of their actions was attained, almost by osmosis.
“So we have no idea where this Maestro is,” said Flex.
Hemp shook his head, then pushed the button. “It makes sense that we must cut off the proverbial head of the snake,” he said. “But first we’ve got to find it.”
“Hold on for a second dad,” said Max.
Everyone just stared at one another in silence until Max came back on. “Okay. I know we didn’t want to have to do this, but it’s time to put on your zombie outfits.”
“Everything?” asked Hemp.
“Eye drops, too.”
Flex shook his head. “Hemp, tell me you brought that nose shit with you.”
“Flex,” he said, “Whenever I anticipate needing to disguise myself as a zombie, I always bring it.”
There was a time that Hemp invented something called a BSN, or a Brain Scent Neutralizer. It was a helmet that when worn, sniffed the odor coming from a human head – such as the brain – and reversed and neutralized that odor. It was essentially the first attempt at being invisible to the abnormals, and it did work, though crudely. The WAT-5 negated the need for the outdated device.
In the meantime, after finding the need to “fit in” with the zombies now and again, Hemp was tired of gagging from the necessary muck and biological matter he had to smear on himself.
Necessity being the mother of invention, Hemp created something he called OSN. Olfactory Sense Neutralizer. It was used like a nasal mist and consisted of all natural ingredients. When applied, it eliminated a person’s sense of smell for up to two hours at a time.
“Thank God,” said Flex. “If I can’t smell it, I’m less likely to puke on someone.”
“Once you’re in character, remember to walk the part,” said Max. “Find a safe place to stash your stuff and use the sewn-in pockets to carry your weapons and spare rounds. Remember your knives, too.”
“Okay, Max,” said Hemp. “You’ll see us coming when we’re ready. I think we’ll wander over a few at a time so we don’t look out of place if anyone is watching.”
Hemp put down the radio and said, “Let’s suit up.”
With a universal groan, everyone unzipped the special compartments in their backpacks. These had been incorporated into everyone’s gear all over Kingman. It started with a plastic-lined pocket large enough to hold clothing that had been pilfered from the actual Hungerers themselves.
To avoid actual infection from the nasty, biological matter the creatures leaked onto their garments, they took digital photographs of the clothes from all angles once they were removed from their previous owners. Afterward, they washed them thoroughly. Most did not come very clean, but it didn’t matter. Once dry, the staining and markings they had washed out were reapplied using paints and stains. The result was uncanny. Perfect, in fact.
Everyone also carried a bag of what Hemp called the most benign biological matter he could come up with, though he would not say what exactly it was. It was used to smear over one’s exposed body parts, face included.
This costume muck was what triggered the gag reflex and required the OSN. Once they were dressed and their hair teased into 80’s hairstyles, along with a few twigs and leaves for good measure, the slime was applied.
It was the finishing touch. When they were done, Flex would have put a bullet into the skulls of any one of his companions if they approached him out of the blue.
Except Gem. He’d know her anywhere. Hell, he’d slept with her.
“Time to roll?” he asked. “See what this is all about?”
“Let’s do this, bro,” said Nelson.
“It’s that awkward moment when you’re dressed like a zombie but you’re not sure if the gig you’re going to is a costume party,” said Dave.
“If Max and Isis said it is, then it is,” said Trina.
“Roger that,” s
aid Dave.
“Okay, look the part, guys,” said Gem. “More moaning, less gum flapping.”
“Alright everyone,” said Flex. “Eye drops.”
The eye drops Hemp pulled out were pink, not red, because to masquerade as a Mother would not be wise; if Isis and Max could sense one another, there was a chance that the Mothers could, too. To disguise oneself as one of the powerful abnormals and come face-to-face with them might result in disaster.
They all applied the glowing, pink drops to their eyes and Flex tossed the bottle. Hemp had more, which was a good thing because it lasted about as long as the OSN so might have to be refreshed.
The disguise was complete.
“Hey, Hemp, why don’t you, Charlie, Dave and Taylor head out,” said Flex. “Spread all over the street, though. Don’t stay together.”
“I was going to suggest that to all of you,” said Hemp. “We’ll see you there. Don’t take too long.”
They left. Flex and the others watched them go, shambling down the street, slowly drifting apart as they moved north toward the high school. They looked perfect, in Flex’s humble opinion.
“Punch, Nel, you guys bring up the rear. Me, Trina and Gem will go.”
“I’m gonna tuck these night vision goggles in my pants,” said Punch. “Might come in handy.”
“Everyone got the EB sheathes on?” asked Dave.
It stood for estrogen blocker. With a town chock with Mothers, it would be perhaps the most crucial weapon, Flex knew.
“If you don’t, get ‘em on now,” said Flex. “Trini, Gem, you good?”
Gem looked at him and nodded. Her hair was festooned with twigs, leaves and dirt, and her face smeared with zombie blood. She managed a closed-mouth smile. Flex wanted to kiss her, but his sense of taste was intact, and he knew he would get some of that rank concoction in his mouth. So he nodded instead, returning her smile.
“This is exciting,” said Trina.
“It’s dangerous,” Nelson reminded her. “We don’t know who this dude is.”
“I get that,” she said. “but this shit gets my adrenaline pumping.” She looked at Flex and Gem. “Let’s get going already.”
They set out. Walking like a zombie was necessary, but it wasn’t easy. Dragging a leg or hunching over while you tried to maintain forward momentum could be taxing over a half-mile or so.
The radio under Flex’s rancid shirt crackled to life. “Flex, come in.”
Flex moved to the side of the road as though staggering. Gem and Trina took the cue also stopping in inconspicuous locations.
Flex pushed the button, eyeing the streets around him. “Yeah, Isis,” he whispered. “We’re all on the way there.”
“I need to make you aware,” she said. “People are coming from the west side of town. There are probably fifteen men with guns and one man without. There are women, too, but none of them have guns.”
“Maestro?” asked Flex. “The guy without a gun?”
“That was my first thought,” said Isis. “He is essentially surrounded. They’re going to the football field.”
“If they’ve got a handle on this shit, why do they need all the guns?”
“Maybe just to be ready in case people like us come to see what kind of society is being created in Hoisington, Kansas,” said Isis.
“And by whom,” said Flex. “Can you recommend a safe place?”
“It appears they are headed to the stone building beneath the bleachers,” she said. “But I’m not radioing you with instructions to abort. I want you to re-double your commitment.”
“How so?” asked Flex.
“You need to slip beneath the vapor and join the others on the field.
A chill ran down Flex’s back. It was one thing looking like them. It was another thing entirely to lay side-by-side with them beneath a red-eye vapor that after fifteen years, they still did not entirely understand.
“Isis, what about the vapor?”
“The men do not have to worry about being affected,” she said. “Have all the women take the red-eye wafers you brought with you. That way, even if affected, it will allow them to sense their intentions, which may be enough to assist us.”
Gem wandered over and slipped into the shadows behind him. Trina saw and did the same thing.
“What’s the hold up?” she asked.
“She wants us to lay under the vapor,” said Flex.
“Why?” asked Gem. The question was not unexpected by Flex.
He shrugged and pushed the button. “Why, Isis?”
“Because this Maestro, if that is who this man is, is not here to simply observe. I kind of get the sense he’s here to collect them. You need to be with them when that happens.”
“What about you?”
“We’ve both changed, too, and I used the red eye drops. Max, the pink.”
“Masquerading as a Mother?” asked Flex. “Have you done that before?”
“There’s never been a situation that called for it,” she said. “But I want to be in a position to see and hear what happens … when it happens.”
“One more question,” said Flex.
“What is it, Flex?” asked Isis.
“How did you get so smart at age fourteen?”
Isis smiled, but said nothing in response. She understood humor, and some things struck her funny, but overall, she was a serious girl with enormous responsibilities that she seemed to relish most of the time.
“Okay,” Flex said. “Fair enough. Be sure to muss up Max’s hair. You, my dear are fine leaving yours straight.”
“We’ll watch for you,” she said. “Be careful and don’t get caught. Hurry, Flex. I have a feeling that whatever is happening is going to happen soon.”
Flex tucked the radio away. “Guys, come here, would you?”
Gem and Trina moved in close. He saw Nelson and Punch coming, glanced to the north to make sure the street was clear, then stepped into the roadway and waved to them.
They came over. “Hey,” said Flex. “New instructions from Isis. We all need to get to the football field and slide underneath the vapor with the other freaks. I know, don’t even say it.”
“Fuck,” said Punch.
“Dude, serious?” said Nelson. He reached into a dirty pocket and withdrew his pipe. Sliding into a small entrance alcove of the building, Flex heard the Zippo wheel striking on flint.
“I don’t think Hemp has his radio on right now, so if you’re feeling energetic, I need someone to run up there and let them know. They’re only about three minutes ahead.”
“I’ll go,” said Punch. He turned back to the street and looked in all directions. He shuffled across the street until the low buildings shadowed him, and put his feet into high gear.
“Okay, let’s move,” Flex said. “Let’s follow Punch’s lead. C’mon, Nel.”
Nelson stepped out of the alcove and exhaled a mouthful of smoke. “Right behind you, bro,” he said.
They all moved to the other side of the street, slow-shuffling together, which wasn’t altogether unusual for the walking dead. Now if the whole batch of them were running, that might draw some attention.
Flex got a stitch in his right ribcage and put one hand on it to push away the pain. It didn’t work. He pushed through and felt his sciatica screaming.
Getting old ain’t for pussies, he thought. He’d thought it before and he’d think it a thousand times before he died. Despite his fifty-eight years, he was in perhaps the best condition of his life. Still, the curses of age sought him out.
Hell, at least he still had all his hair, and he didn’t need to tap into the Viagra supplies left on the pharmacy shelves in quantity.
They ran until they saw deeper shadows off to the right. A zombie stepped out and waved. It was Gammon.
They all tucked in. “I’ve got my wire cutters,” said Hemp. “The field is on the other side of this building. Flex, radio Max and Isis and see if they can guide us to a good place to slip in undetected.”
<
br /> After a brief, quiet conversation, they moved south, crouched low along a path worn into fields of six-foot-tall grass, and followed the same path north.
Flex and Hemp stood briefly to get a bearing on their location.
“Let’s position ourselves about ten feet back from the north fence,” said Hemp. “We slip in behind the stored football sleds. See them there?”
“Got it,” said Punch.
“Everyone?”
“Are we staying together now?” asked Trina.
“Yes, but we mustn’t speak from here on out,” said Hemp. “I don’t care what happens. Keep quiet and if there’s a point where we can slip away for a quick strategy meeting, then so be it. If not, we must simply move with the crowd and blend in.”
“Everyone has a radio,” said Flex. “Gem, write this down. Nelson is one click. Charlie’s two. I’m three and Gem’s four. Punch is five, Hemp’s six, Dave’s seven, Taylor’s eight, Trina’s nine, and Max and Isis are ten and eleven. You read that, Isis? Everyone has to remember their numbers.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m eleven and Max is ten.”
“And what’s the purpose?” asked Taylor.
“If we get separated, we meet up at the parts store by the maze,” said Flex. “Get there somehow. It’s unlocked, we know that, and it’s unoccupied.”
“Okay, but what are the clicks for?”
“Everyone take out your radios now. Put them on the channel of the number I gave you. That is your channel. If we’re all together and you get separated, you’d better be on your channel. We’ll all turn our radios to the missing person’s channel, that way if you click in some pattern – you know, like you’d do a secret knock on a door – we’ll know it’s you.”
“Yes, then we’ll know it’s not random,” said Hemp. “If you see one of us at a distance and you wish to let us know, turn your radio to that person’s channel and click your specific number. That way they will know to look for you.”
“Understood,” said Nelson. “So we have no idea what’s about to happen here?”
Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis Page 14
