Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis

by Eric A. Shelman

  Never. She would save them or die trying.

  Charlie waited.

  *****

  Isis and Max found a nearby street with a number of small shops. Max, using the lock-picking ability taught him by his father, quickly defeated the locks of each store they wished to inspect.

  Despite the several stores they entered and rummaged through, including a stationery store and a post-office annex, she could not find what she sought.

  “Let’s go back to the stationery store,” she finally said. “We’re wasting time.”

  As they walked, staying in the shadows, Max said, “You sure it’ll have any effect?”

  “It affected me when I read it for the first time,” said Isis. “How did you feel?”

  Max shrugged. “It was a ballsy move, I have to give it to ‘em,” he said. “I’d like to think it could inspire them. I felt proud, even though I didn’t get to enjoy the world that resulted very much.”

  “They will understand it at its core,” said Isis. “But since we can’t find one, I’ll have to write it from memory.”

  When they reached the stationery store and pried open the door again, they went inside. Isis took a clean piece of parchment stationery paper and found a cartridge pen set. She inserted an ink cartridge and placed the angled, ball-point against the top of the paper. Her printing was in neat block letters and was quite legible.

  From memory, Isis recalled each word, understanding all too clearly their meaning. She wrote in straight, evenly spaced lines until the words filled the page.

  When completed, she folded it and tucked it into her pocket. She turned to Max. “These words inspired thousands initially, and millions since then. It should have no less effect on these captives. No matter the year, the face of tyranny remains the same.”

  “I never would’ve thought of it,” said Max. “Sure hope you’re right.”

  The radio clicked. “Shh,” said Isis.

  “That’s it?” asked Max.

  “Two clicks,” said Isis.

  “It’s my mom!” said Max, a smile spreading across his face. He grabbed the radio and pressed the button.

  “Mom!” he said. “It’s Max! Where are you?”

  Her voice came back steady, but low, the relief in her tone clear. “Oh, my God, you guys, I’m so happy you’re safe. You are okay, Max, right?”

  “I am, Mom,” he said. “Are you alright? We were across the street when Maestro took everyone.”

  “I’m inside a yellow house just off 9th Street,” she said. “There’s a detached garage and I hid everyone’s pack in there. Where are you guys? Do you know where they took everyone?”

  “We saw,” said Isis. “We’ve found more Hybrids. We’re trying to convince them to help us.”

  “Any luck?” asked Charlie.

  “We’re working on it,” said Isis. “Many of their powers likely exceed mine,” she added.

  “Isis thinks making them aware of what they don’t have in their present situation might sway their allegiance.”

  “Do you want me to come to you, or vice versa?” asked Charlie. “I have a bunch of WAT-5 and some of the other wafers, too. Lots of urushiol.”

  “Do you have the eye drops?” asked Isis. “Clearly for you, not us.”

  “I do,” she said. “The pink ones. We’ve seen that posing as a Mother is a bad idea.”

  “Exactly,” said Isis. “Maestro has taken them to an Applebee’s Restaurant on 6th Street.”

  “Applebee’s? Why?”

  “Lots of seating, who knows?” said Max. “Mom, there’s an aluminum siding shop almost directly south of the Applebee’s, but two streets down. It’s a beat up little building.”

  “Is it unlocked?” asked Charlie.

  “I don’t know, but there are a bunch of loose pieces of sheathing on the east side, away from the street,” said Max. “Just pull one out and slip behind it. Isis and I will meet you there. Go now.”

  “If I can make it across 8th Street without getting caught, I’ll be in the clear,” said Charlie. “See you in maybe half an hour. I’ll click you twice if I get into trouble.”

  *****

  Maestro paced back and forth, occasionally eyeing Gem with contempt he did not seem to have for anyone else.

  Gem didn’t care; if he focused on her, he might leave Trina and Taylor alone.

  Speaking of the girls, they both openly glared at him.

  “So tell me why you came to my fine town of Hoisington,” he said, a smile on his face.

  “Just fucking passing through,” said Gem. “It’s time to show a little hospitality and let us go.”

  “Gem,” said Flex, shaking his head. “She’s upset,” he said to Maestro. “We’re not used to being held captive.”

  “And you would not be now had you not come here and tried to destroy my containment fencing. Now you will join us as either food or trustees or … well, these two might work for my other purposes. The angry one is too old.”

  “Not too old to kick your fuckin’ ass,” said Gem.

  Maestro laughed with a hiss, like the dry sound of leaves blowing across a sidewalk.

  “I think it’s time to let you know how serious this is,” he said. “Brian, bring in one of the Hungerers.”

  Gem shot a look at Flex, who shrugged, shaking his head. “Gem, you just need to cooperate,” he said.

  “Ah, advice you might have offered five minutes ago,” said the strange man. “Yes, yes, here they are.”

  Into the room, Brian, one of his men, led a ravaged rotter in on a rigid, six-foot stick with a thick, leather neck strap. This was a man, the shriveled skin of his arms black and pulled, and in his teeth, dark, stringy things dangled, looking like exactly what they most likely were; tendons and sinew from its previous meal.

  “Stand up and move over there,” said Maestro, pointing to the row of barstools.

  “Fuck you,” said Gem.

  “Now!” shouted Maestro, pulling out his gun. This appeared to be a .44 Magnum, reminiscent of the gun used by Dirty Harry in the popular film.

  He held the barrel pressed against Gem’s forehead and Flex leapt to his feet and fought his restraints.

  “No!” he said, desperation in his voice. “Gem, you just get your ass up and go over there. They won’t hurt you and you know it.”

  Gem nodded quickly and Maestro pulled the weapon away.

  “They won’t hurt her?” asked Maestro.

  Nobody answered him.

  “It’s what they do by the very nature of their hunger,” he said. “They will of course, kill her.”

  Gem wasn’t going to say anything. Her mind worked over what excuses she might invent. She walked over and begrudgingly sat on the barstool.

  Immediately, another man came over and snapped handcuffs on her right wrist, fed the cuff chain beneath the stool, and pulled her left wrist down to secure her there. Her arms were pulled down so tightly she could not straighten her back. In seconds it was painful.

  “Okay,” Brian. “Lead him to her, but I would suggest you get back immediately after you do.”

  Gem watched Maestro as his lackey led the zombie over. All the while, the creature was snapping at Brian, trying to defeat the restraint.

  Now the zombie stood right beside Gem. It kept staring at Brian.

  Brian looked at Maestro for a moment, before pushing the zombie directly up against Gem’s body.

  Gem forced a smile and choked back her disgust, nuzzling the rotter with her cheek, saying, “Sweetheart, you look just worn out. If you’re going to get some coffee, I could really use some, too.”

  “What the hell is going on here!” shouted Maestro, overturning an adjacent table that nearly hit one of his men. As the gunman dodged the tumbling furniture, Maestro charged up to where the rotter stood. It immediately tried to stagger toward him, and he held up the .44 and fired into the side of its skull, the black, tar-like goo splattering Gem’s face, chest and shoulders.

  “For fuck’s
sake!” shouted Gem. “Do you mind?” She spat the bitter-tasting crap from her lips and tried to wipe her mouth on her shoulder.

  “Why don’t they want you?” he asked. “Tell me or I’ll kill you right now!”

  “It’s garlic,” said Hemp. “Just plain garlic. We all take regular doses of garlic tablets. We’ve been clearing the shelves of them wherever we go, and we tell everyone to grow their own garlic. It protects us.”

  “Dude, we even broadcast about it like every couple of nights,” said Nelson. “Just to let everyone know how to stay safe.”

  “I don’t listen to radios,” said Maestro. “I prefer the excitement of discovery and self-preservation.”

  “Well, should you ever wish to relax, then garlic, once built up in your system, will do the trick,” said Hemp.

  His tone was so sincere, Gem almost believed it herself.

  The despot who called himself Maestro did not. Not yet.

  “Garlic,” said Maestro. “Bullshit. Show me some.”

  “We lost it while running from your men and fighting the ones in your cage,” said Gem. “But I’m certain you have some in your stores.”

  Maestro looked at Brian. “Bring in another. I’m testing the rest of them.”

  *****

  Charlie shot quick glances to the east and west before running across 8th Street. She had brought her backpack with her, leaving everyone else’s safely hidden away for the moment. She brought along her small crossbow, identical to Max’s, and two more Glocks, along with the noise-suppressed Walther.

  While she was hesitant to do so, she carried all of their WAT-5 and two canisters of urushiol. She had stuffed her pack and pockets with as much ammo as she could carry, too.

  She slid between two buildings, came upon an alley and watched.

  A noise came from somewhere behind her. She ducked into the overgrown weeds, surprised by sharp burrs that clung to her ragged clothes and poked through the canvas tennis shoes she had chosen as part of her bloodied disguise. Sucking her breath between her teeth, she waited.

  Moments later, two men wearing military fatigues appeared, having walked in her exact path.

  “Where’d she go?” asked one of them. It was tough to see much in the dark, but the one that had spoken appeared to have a Swastika tattooed on his forearm.

  “She has to be around here somewhere,” said the other one. He was clearly younger than the inked man. “Boss thought there might be more of ‘em.”

  “Where the fuck did she go?” asked Swastika.

  Charlie wondered for a moment if they knew exactly where she was and this little conversation was just for show.

  “She looked kinda hot,” said the younger one. “Might get me a piece of it before we take her in.”

  Charlie could take no more. She jumped up and said, “Hey.”

  As they turned, she fired the small crossbow, putting the bolt right between Swastika boy’s eyes.

  As the other man fumbled to swing his rifle toward her, Charlie dropped her pack and the crossbow, and rushed him. Ducking behind him, she kicked the back of his leg, administered a quick, firm chop to the side of his neck as he tilted backward, and took out his other leg with a quick kick.

  He was on his back looking up when she dropped down on top of him, her Walther in her hand and pressed hard against his forehead.

  “That was all the piece you’ll get from this girl,” she said. “Yeah, I know. Thank Nel for that. He taught me. It’s Subdudo.”

  “Sub what?” the man said.

  “Tell me what goes on here and why,” said Charlie.

  “Patrols, for one,” said the man. “You ain’t got long before someone finds Billy dead there and shoots you in the head.”

  “In the meantime, let’s chat.” Charlie glanced up and down the street, pressing the barrel harder to his head while she did so. “By the way, I have nerve problems, particularly in my right index finger, which you might know as my trigger finger. Kinda twitches.”

  “Maestro tells us what to do and we do it,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” asked Charlie.

  “Tanner.”

  “Tanner, I’m Charlie. What does this Maestro tell you to do?”

  “You know, like find you. Fix the fence. We do pretty much what he tells us.”

  “Pretty much?”

  “I don’t know. If you let me go I won’t say anything.”

  “What’ll you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I let you go,” said Charlie, feigned frustration in her voice.

  “I’ll … just be quiet.”

  “Will you leave town right away and never come back?”

  “Sure, I guess so. If that’s what you want.”

  “Didn’t you say you were going to get a piece of me?”

  “I was just kiddin’, man,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “Have you ever gotten a piece of any of the girls he keeps captive?”

  “Only when I had permission,” the man said.

  “Who’s permission?”

  “Maestro’s permission.” Now it was his turn to be frustrated. “He’s in charge, like I said. Who else’s permission would I need?”

  Charlie pulled the trigger. The thwump! of the silenced shot contradicted the massive blood spray that fanned out behind his head.

  She leaned down close to the dead man and whispered her additional explanation. “You’d need the girl’s permission, Tanner. It’s called consent.”

  She stared down at the dead man’s face too long, realizing just how few living people she had ever killed. Of course, with her friends captive and these idiots working for the man that held them, she did not have a choice; she could not have locked them away someplace – there was no time for that. Simply wounding them would have only given them a chance to get to this Maestro fellow and tell him about her existence.

  She shook off the miniscule amount of guilt she felt for her actions and again checked both ways down the street. Charlie stood, tucking the gun away for the moment. She bent over and picked up her crossbow and pack, situating them on her back.

  She took Tanner’s feet and dragged his dead weight, inch by inch, into the grass where she had been hiding moments before. She did the same with Billy’s body. Once there, Charlie caught her breath, keeping an eye out for more patrols.

  After her heart rate settled, she checked their pockets and only found extra rounds of ammo. It was 9mm, so she took it.

  With a quick glance in each direction, she ran across the street. As she ducked down another alley, she saw the dark sign of Applebee’s two blocks to her west.

  She ran on through the night until she spotted the metal siding shop.

  *****

  “Mom!” said Max, when Charlie came into the room. “Wow, it’s good to see you!” He ran to her and she dropped her stuff to hug her son.

  Isis watched, a smile on her face. She wondered what it was like to have a mother. Her mother had died in childbirth, and while her dad had been a loving and dedicated father, there was something she noticed in mothers that made her long for them.

  Even the Mothers, with their natural, killing instincts, were drawn to her because of a preternatural, maternal pull of some kind.

  Charlie finally broke free of Max and walked over to Isis, holding open her arms. Isis stepped into her embrace, and Charlie kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Isis. I was worried about you two.”

  “Thank you, Charlie,” said Isis. “We’ve been listening. One gunshot came from the restaurant.”

  Charlie’s eyes drew together and her brow furrowed over them. “Did you see them go in?” she asked.

  “We did, but from a distance. When we noticed, we just saw Dave bringing up the rear. We know they’re in there, but we don’t know how many of this Maestro’s men are with them.”

  “Or if they’re gonna stay in there,” added Max. “I mean, what kind of home base is that?”

  “Not
a very good one,” agreed Charlie. “Look. I ran into a couple of Maestro’s lackeys on the way over here. It’s what held me up. One was a fucking skinhead and the other was a rapist. I’m not thinking this Maestro’s much better.”

  “What did you do with them?” asked Isis.

  Charlie just tilted her head and stared.

  “Okay,” said Isis. “I ask because it might not be long before Maestro realizes something happened to them. Once he’s sure there are more of us, he may change his strategy, whatever it may be.”

  “Good point,” said Charlie. “I checked their pockets and neither had radios. I wonder how they communicate here.”

  “Perhaps with runners,” said Isis. “Their operations seem to be in fairly close proximity to one another.”

  Charlie looked at Max and smiled. “Well, now we can figure out what to do. Did you guys have a plan?”

  Isis slipped the hand-written page from her pocket. “Just this,” she said.

  Charlie took it and opened it. She looked up at Isis, her face scrunched. “You think this Maestro guy will get sentimental about this?”

  Isis shook her head. “Not Maestro,” she said. “The Hybrids.”

  Charlie looked confused. “The ones at the football field? Where are they now?”

  “Not all of them were there,” said Max. “He either rotates which ones he uses or some have more skills for certain tasks. We’re not sure about that yet. Anyway, we found some others in a fenced basketball court at the police station. Just outside the jail, probably for inmates.”

  “Did you talk to them?” asked Charlie.

  “Yes,” said Isis. They were originally Alpha, Omega and Maga 7. I told them Alpha was now Alyssa, Omega was now Megan, and Maga 7 was to be named Beauty, which she is. All of the others are called Maga, followed by a number.”

  “Maga?” said Charlie. “Isn’t that the feminine form of magician in Spanish?”