She looked through. The thing that immediately caught her eye and repulsed her was a young boy, his dead face staring skyward, his eyes open wide. A mother had cracked open his skull and now busily consumed his brain, the gray matter squishing through her fingers as she shoved it into her mouth. When it was gone, she turned and melted back into the crowd.
A Hungerer moved in following her departure, tearing into the boy’s neck. Another two of them buried their faces into his midsection, having their fill.
Isis felt rage in the form of pressure building up inside of her, and she stared intently at the Hungerer at the boy’s neck.
As she focused her mind power, the creature stopped eating the boy, raised its head and turned to look toward the fence behind which she stood. Isis raised her right hand and formed the fingers like a claw, and the creature’s hand lifted too.
Its fingers plunged into its own pink eyes, and pushed in all the way to the third knuckle. Isis closed the claw into a tight fist, pulling her own hand hard backward, watching as the zombie just feet away from her tore its eye sockets and nasal cavity away with a brittle-sounding crack, now a dark access hole.
She then pushed her hand forward, watching as the creature reached inside its own head. With one more motion, she snapped her hand closed again and pulled backward.
The creature ripped whatever remained of its brain out of its dead body.
Like a rag doll, it collapsed to the concrete atop the two other Hungerers who continued to eat, oblivious.
Isis felt the rage inside of her subside. She still had enough fury left to want to destroy the entire horde of flesh-eaters, but instead, backed away from the fence. She knew it was their nature, and that being the case, they did not have a choice in what they did, what they ate or who they killed.
Something caught her eye and she looked toward Max, who was waving his arms and motioning her to come to him.
She ducked back through the weeds and moved as silently as possible.
*****
“Max!” said Charlie, pressing her face against the fence, an inch from his. “Baby, I was worried. Are you okay?”
“Mom, I’m fine,” said Max. “So far it’s all according to plan.”
“And what exactly is the plan?” asked Taylor. “I think being in here, we should probably be in on it.”
Flex shuffled around and moved Taylor away from the fence with a nudge. She glared at him, but her face softened a moment later.
“Sorry, Uncle Flex,” she said. “I don’t like it here. It’s fucking horrible.”
“It is, sweetheart,” he said. “We might have to wait until morning. Just mentally prepare yourself.”
“While it’s night, we should try to get out,” she whispered. “It’s going to be a lot harder in daylight, plus these fucks will have a better look at us.”
Flex whispered, “Please keep your voice down, Tay. If the Mothers hear you they may put those brains to work and figure out we don’t belong here.”
“We don’t belong here,” she whispered. “Plus, didn’t we come here to kill that Maestro guy?”
“Give us some more time to figure this out. When we followed along, we didn’t know we were gonna be put in a pen. Isis might have some ideas.”
Flex turned his attention to Gem, who was at the fence talking to Isis. She whispered, “They released like a hundred or so people in here. The elderly and very young boys and girls.”
“They’re feeding them the people they can’t use for anything else and the children they desire most,” said Isis. “Logic dictates that their reasons are twofold; they need to keep the Mothers fed and able to generate their vapor. In turn, they can continue to immerse the Hungerers in it, enhancing their telepathic control over them.”
“Plus, it seems to maintain the Hungerers’ ability to generate their knockout vapor and also minimizes their deterioration,” said Hemp.
“I don’t want to be in here when they feed again,” said Charlie. “Look at this,” she said. Her eyes moved briefly to what now amounted to meat clinging to the recognizable skeletal remains that lay all around them.
“So I’m guessing all those folks that got let in here were from Great Bend. Brought here for one purpose. Zombie food.”
“That does explain a few things,” said Hemp. “I couldn’t figure out why some of the dead were consumed and others weren’t. I’m guessing the abnormals there simply could not eat them all in the time allowed, and Maestro refused to leave those incapable of walking ten miles alive. Perhaps for fear they might make their way to neighboring settlements and alert others.”
“Like the people of Kingman?” asked Trina.
“Exactly,” said Punch.
“Any sign of Nel, you guys?”
Max shook his head. “We were hoping he was in here with you, but we didn’t see him either. We were watching you from the concession stand while you were on the field.”
“Why didn’t you guys come in?” asked Dave Gammon. “I thought you were.”
They could not crouch down to carry on a substantial conversation. If anyone was watching, the unnatural position would draw suspicion, so all of them simply walked slowly back and forth, mimicking the constantly moving Hungerers, speaking as they turned their heads away from the crowd behind them.
“After seeing Maestro come in with his captive Hybrids, I felt it was best that we remain on the outside,” said Isis. “Do you feel you’re in danger?”
“No,” said Hemp. “Not as long as the Mothers don’t get wise to us. I have a good supply of the eye drops and everyone has plenty of WAT-5. We can reapply our makeup by swiping some from the ghouls around us, though it might smell a bit worse than the concoction I use.”
“So he’s conditioning the Hungerers,” said Max. “I don’t know how often he does it, but we absolutely know the Mothers’ control over them increases with each immersion in their vapor emissions.”
“So this Maestro knows the ins and outs of what creates an obedient zombie,” said Flex. “There’s something I didn’t think about, though.”
“What is that, Flex?” asked Isis.
“Us,” he said. “We’re not zombies, so we won’t be able to stay upright for too long before we get exhausted. Eventually we’ll be dead on our feet, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
“Good point,” said Hemp. “Isis? Any ideas?”
Isis shook her head. “Just lean against the fence when you can. Try to be inconspicuous about it. And stay clear of the Mothers. Even with your eye trick, they could get onto you. We’re all due for more WAT-5, too. I suggest you take yours now.”
“I hope Nel isn’t in trouble,” said Trina, turning toward the fence as she withdrew a plastic container from a pocket. She removed one WAT-5 and popped it in her mouth. She grimaced as she swallowed it.
“Wafer face,” said Taylor. “You made the wafer face.”
They had, since they were little girls, challenged one another not to make the wafer face, but no matter how used to the WAT-5 they got, the bitter taste always elicited the dreaded look.
“Yeah, eat yours, Tay,” said Trina, smiling. “I’ll be looking.” She looked at Flex. “I wish I didn’t come in here either. I’d go find Nelson.”
Flex saw Gem’s hand reach for Trina’s, and she held onto it for a moment before releasing it. “He’s smart, Trini,” she said. “And he can get back through that maze as easily as Max and Isis here.”
“If they don’t slide the gates around,” said Trina. “So what’s next? I really don’t want to wait until the morning. Can’t you get us out of here?”
“My wire cutters will be useless to cut through this fence, I’m afraid,” said Hemp. “Whether we can escape from here or not, some of us should make our way toward the gates where we entered and see if there are any guards posted there. If this Maestro is certain enough of the integrity of the enclosure, perhaps he doesn’t feel there’s a need.”
“I’ll go,” said Punch. “Dave, wanna j
oin me?”
Dave swallowed his WAT-5 and wiped his mouth with a filthy sleeve. “Sure,” he said.
“Careful, guys,” said Flex. “Blend in.”
*****
“While they do that, we’re going to try to find the Hybrids,” said Isis. “They are the key to everything. Without them, Maestro could not control the Mothers, and in turn, the Hungerers.”
“Okay,” said Flex, watching as Dave and Punch left, moving through the crowd, their arms hanging limp and their legs moving in listless jerks as the pack closed behind them. “If you find ‘em, what’s your plan from there?”
“Isis,” said Hemp. “They are enslaved, and we know they are intelligent, like you. If you can find some way to appeal to their desire for freedom, perhaps that can help you devise a plan of which they are a part.”
“They are all my age or younger,” said Isis. “Some looked far younger, but our knowledge tells us that while they appear fourteen or fifteen, they are likely only seven or eight years old.”
“How does that matter?” asked Gem.
“Because Gem,” said Isis, “No matter a person’s intelligence, they can still only know as much as they are allowed to learn. The young ones are capable of knowing as much as Max and I do, but it is not likely.”
“Because they were raised by a man who calls himself The Master,” said Gem.
“Correct,” said Isis. “A man such as that will demand 100% compliance and submission; he would not allow these Hybrids to know anything other than what he feels they need to know. In other words, they likely have no sense of what freedom is, versus captivity.”
“So your work will be cut out for you if you’re able to get near enough to them to communicate.”
“I’ll attempt a telepathic method at a distance,” she said. “I may be able to soften them before we get to that point.”
“But you’re dressed like a fucking zombie,” said Trina.
“They’re smart enough to understand why,” said Isis. “If they’re open to listening to me at all, that can be explained.”
Flex shook his head and glanced behind them. The shamblers continued their slow walk around the cage, paying them no mind. “How do you explain freedom to one who’s never had it?” he asked.
“You paint a picture,” said Isis. “You describe a world that is far different; far better than their own. Depending on how we find them, it should be possible to create a contrast.”
“Okay,” said Max. “Mom, we’re going now. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be okay if you are,” said Charlie. She put her fingers though the uprights and Max touched them.
“Love you, mom,” he said.
“Love you more,” said Charlie.
“Good bye, son,” said Hemp. “Goodbye, Isis. Be careful, and take care of this chap for us.”
“I count on him as much as he counts on me,” she said. With that, they turned away and disappeared into the tall, brown grass.
Flex watched them go. He decided he would walk the perimeter to get a feel for any weaknesses of their confines.
Gem and Trina went with him, while Charlie, Hemp and Taylor stayed put to be there when Dave and Punch returned.
*****
Isis and Max reached the south end of the field next to the fence. They had worn their dark sunglasses up until then, but if they were to play the part of the walking dead, they would need to come off.
Not many zombies still had their sunglasses sixteen years after the apocalypse. Into their pockets they went.
As they parted the tall grass in front of them, a street came into view. It was 8th Street, where the Hybrids had led the horde to their pen.
They stepped onto the asphalt, both scanning the ribbon of dark highway. Only a distant rotter moved, picked up over half a mile away by Max.
Isis swiped her hair behind her right ear and remained very still, listening.
Max waited.
“I hear them,” she said. “To the west.”
“Let’s cross then, and stay on the smaller streets,” said Max.
She nodded, and they began their slow trek across the asphalt roadway. The constant moans and snarls of the captive creatures diminished until they could not be heard at all and Max and Isis walked south down Principia Drive, turning right onto Lakeland.
“I feel them ahead,” she said.
They remained close to the buildings, but kept up the zombie walk ruse. Even in shadows it was possible for someone to figure out you had more in your noggin than a petrified chunk of gray matter.
“I feel them too, now,” said Max. “Very close. Very strong. Wish I had your senses, though.”
“We’re different,” said Isis. “Physiology determined how we developed, nothing else.”
“Still,” said Max. “Hey, look.” A round sign mounted in front of a low, brick building with glass entry doors read, Hoisington Police Headquarters.
Isis looked at Max. “The ultimate captivity. He keeps them in jail?”
“At least it’s a small town,” said Max. “It’ll be easier to get to them here than in a prison.”
Isis looked alongside the building. “We can go between these two buildings and around to the back. If we can’t figure it out from there, we’re going to have to go right in the front door.”
“Then we need to be prepared to kill some people,” said Max. He slid his bow out from under his thin jacket.
Isis withdrew her silenced Walther and fell in behind Max, who stepped into the shadows between the brick structures.
From off to their right, a rotter staggered toward them. Max raised the crossbow and put the bolt between its eyes, even in the semi-darkness.
“Nice,” said Isis. “Looks like I might make it back with a full magazine.”
Max knelt down, his boot on the face of the rotter. He withdrew the bolt and checked the tip before re-mounting it in his crossbow. He carried a Cobra 80-pound bow. It had a pistol grip design; it was small and easily concealable. The bolts were only 6-1/2”, but still flew with deadly accuracy at a blinding 160 feet per second.
Most importantly, it provided for a silent kill.
They moved around the rear of the building and saw two men in the distance. They were too far away to get a good look at them, but they were talking aloud as if they belonged here.
Max and Isis stopped in the shadows and waited for them to move out of sight.
*****
Nelson reached the maze. He was certain he would remember every turn and there were no obvious signs that it had been rearranged since they had come through almost two hours before. He scanned the area nearby and made a break for the entrance to the man-made labyrinth of twists and turns.
He did not make a fast break. A slow, shambling break. Now he was just a wayward Hungerer; a roaming inhabitant of Hoisington, Kansas.
Nelson stayed south of the huge horde of walkers that had been guided down 8th Street into a large, fenced facility. For a while, he had been able to keep his eye on Flex because of his height, but as the crowd moved and he found it necessary to duck temporarily into deeper shadows, by the time he got back into position, he could no longer find them.
He dared not click them or speak to them on the radio.
Nelson found himself too exposed on the south side and never checked out the east side of the pen. Instead, he kept his eyes peeled and remained concealed until he got to the west side fence. He remained crouched down and out of sight.
Nelson watched the crowd carefully, evaluating the make up of it and attempting to gather as much information as he could. Anything he could remember to tell Lola and Rachel might be of some help.
He randomly counted the Mothers to see what they were up against. When he got to forty-eight, he stopped. There were a lot of them, and the numbers did not make any sense. To reach that kind of number in an organic situation, it would take a crowd of around 1,600. There were perhaps a thousand, maybe as many as twelve hundred rotters here, but n
owhere near as many as would be required to result in that many Mothers.
When the living humans were forced into the cage, Nelson had to choke back tears and vomit. It was horrid. It was also when he realized his friends needed to escape and he could not do it alone.
Kingman was 96 miles away. If he jogged back to the Crown Vic, he could get in and be back in Kingman by 11:30 or midnight.
Maximum half hour there. And while Punch might not like it, he was bringing Lola back with him. Rachel too, if she was willing. He would let Sabrina know that Dave was fine and that she didn’t need to come, but he knew she would.
Lola still had a strong connection to the Red-Eyes, so she might pick things up and give them some sort of advantage. It didn’t hurt that her knife skills were off the charts.
*****
Punch and Dave returned to the northeast corner of the cage where Flex and the others waited.
“There’s four men at the front,” said Punch. “They’re not elevated, so can’t see into the cage for any distance. We glanced and kept our heads down, so we’re cool.”
“If we stay back in that northeast corner we’ll essentially be out of sight,” said Dave. “When I was trying to check out the guards I ran right into a damned Mother. Scared the shit out of me.”
“What did she do?” asked Taylor.
“I didn’t wait to see,” said Dave. “I backed the hell away from her and staggered my way into the crowd.”
“I followed him,” said Punch. “Bitches scare me, too, and I’m not afraid of much.”
“Do you believe you compromised yourself in any way?” asked Hemp.
“I don’t … oh, shit,” said Dave, staring past Hemp.
Hemp looked confused. “What is it?” He turned.
Behind him were two Mothers, fifteen feet away. Both stared toward the group, their red eyes intense and unwavering.
Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis Page 17
