But when he arrived back there, they had been gone. The entire trailer.
Telepathic power entered his mind; Maestro had seen the Magas do many amazing things since the very first one had been born. Perhaps they … transported.
After discovering them gone, he took dusty side roads. As clearer thoughts prevailed, he became certain who the real culprits were: The group that had invaded his city had taken them.
He would regain their allegiance. They loved him.
I can be sidetracked, he thought. But I can never be stopped.
He floored the old truck, eyeing the fast-dwindling fuel gauge, and turned left on NW 10th Avenue, just short of the Kingman city line. From there, he drove a short distance north and hung a right on West Kansas. In five minutes, he came to a high, steel fence rimmed with coiled razor wire.
The fence was not one he could gain a foothold to climb. He put the old ice cream truck in park and got out, leaving the engine running for the moment. If he had to take off, it would be unfortunate if it did not start.
Maestro walked along the fence line, pushing weeds back as he went, looking for a weak point or somewhere he could dig underneath.
Nothing.
“Damnit!” he shouted, staring at the town beyond. He could see people, so he ducked down a bit. They were far away and seemed focused to the south. It was where the Mothers and Hungerers would be entering, that he knew.
Maestro looked again at the truck. It was his only chance. He got back in the ice cream truck and put it in gear. He drove slowly forward until the front end touched the fence.
If Maestro assumed correctly, the fence was built to keep the walking dead out of the town of Kingman; it was not likely built to withstand a makeshift battering ram.
The truck bounced off it. He started a foot out. When he accelerated, he swore he felt it move.
“Yes!” he said, backing up two feet this time. He pulled forward again and this time he definitely felt the base give way a few inches. He threw the truck back in park and got out.
He knelt by the fence to see an approximate four-inch gap at the base. It had pushed inward for a width just about three-quarters as wide as the truck. Yes, the fence had been built strong and well, but this was just too easy.
He jumped back in and tried twice more, this time feeling it give almost a foot.
He grabbed the machete and jumped out of the truck. Maestro got down on his belly and crawled beneath the fence, utilizing what could not have been more than an eleven-inch space through which to crawl.
Once through, he reached back in, grabbed his machete and stood. There was a high ridge surrounding the town that appeared to be fabricated, and it was atop this raised area that the fence had been constructed. He glanced down its length and saw there was a trail there, probably for perimeter checks and fence maintenance.
Maestro guessed it would take him all the way to the south border of Kingman.
Maestro ran south. He would find a way to take this town.
*****
The caravan rolled on, with Flex and Gem taking over the piloting of the Hummer with the large trailer attached. Trina was not up for driving such a rig, and jumped at the chance to drive the Crown Vic instead.
“Do we have a plan when we get there?” asked Flex, looking at Gem.
“I guess that depends on this bunch of Hybrids,” said Gem. “If they’re really with us.”
“I feel bad leaving them in the trailer,” said Flex. “I mean, they agreed to help us and we haul ‘em around like Maestro did.”
“I think they get we didn’t have a choice,” said Gem. “Megan stayed with them, anyway.”
“It’s a good idea,” said Flex. “Don’t want to give them too much time alone to change their minds. Gem, get on the radio to Kingman. See what’s going on.”
Gem took the radio from the glove compartment. “What channel was Vikki on earlier?”
“Try 15.”
Gem did. She did not have to wait, because Vikki was already talking to someone. Next, they heard Hemp’s voice: “Tell them to add some fresh diesel from the tank, Vikki. They must get that generator started to pump the urushiol and estrogen blocker into the pit and activate the shafts!”
“Add more diesel,” she said. “Okay, I’ll tell them, but they’re thinking it’s electrical or something, and the damned thing just won’t fucking start! Hemp, the pit has more zombies in it than I’ve ever seen in one place, and that includes in Concord. Hurry!”
Gem looked at Flex. “I didn’t see a need to say anything,” she said. “I think we heard all we need to know.”
“Gimme that radio, would you?” asked Flex.
She did, and he pushed the button again. “Hemp?”
“Yes, Flex.”
“I guess you guys have been talking. Tell me Isis has a plan. We’re less than a mile from the entrance to the pit.”
“She’s worried about Maestro’s whereabouts,” said Hemp. “She says he’s the only wild card.”
“Does she think the Hybrids are solid?” asked Flex. “That they’ll stick with us?”
“I’d be more comfortable with Maestro dead,” came Isis’ voice over the radio.
“She is right,” said Beauty from the back seat. “As long as he lives, we’re in danger.”
“I get that,” said Flex. “I mean, I get you feeling like that. He’s just a man now, though. He’s out there alone.”
Punch sat beside him. “Yeah, even if he finds the horde, he can’t control them at all with out those Magas, or Hybrids, or whatever we’re callin’ ‘em these days.”
“Wait!” said Gem.
Flex jumped in his seat and looked at her.
“Flex, turn here! Make a left!”
“Why, Gem?” he asked.
“Because, look!”
Flex had not been using high aim steering, or he would have seen the massive horde filling the roadway a half mile ahead, clogging up the road into Kingman. Like a colony of ants, they flowed like liquid toward the town, and they appeared to be only a quarter mile out now.
“Shit,” said Punch. “At that pace, they’ll be at the pit in less than half an hour.”
“Which means … shit.” Flex pushed the button again. “Vik, you listening?”
“Yes. Did you just say we haven’t seen your zombies yet?”
“That’s right,” said Flex. “The ones you’re seeing gotta be from Wichita and all the other points of the compass, because they ain’t from Hoisington.”
“What’s your plan, Gem?” asked Flex.
Gem sat up, excited. “Okay. Take the 11 to the 20 and head east. We’ll drop into town down Main Street. Push that button,” she said.
Flex depressed the transmit button. “Vikki, it’s Gem. Get some people at the Main Street gate on the north side of town. All the freaks are coming in along I-400 toward the pit.”
“I know it’s big, but how are we going to be able to fit them all in?” said Vikki. “I’m telling you, we might have to stack them!”
“Are there Mothers there?”
“Hell yes, there are Mothers here!” said Vikki. “Don’t get me wrong, I love babies, but these damned babies are going to get us killed!”
“Just do it,” said Gem.
“I have an idea,” came Hemp’s voice from the GTO.
Flex pushed the button again. “Give it up, Hemp.”
“Vikki, can you hear me?”
“Yes, yes. Go on, Hemp,” she said.
“Have some men go to our lumber storage and cart at least twenty-four of the twelve-foot by two-by-ten inch boards to our water trough,” he said. “Make sure they are positioned at the point closest to the pit.”
“You want twenty-four, 12-foot 2x10s at the trough as close to the pit as possible,” she said. “I got that, right?”
“Yes, and there’s more,” said Hemp.
“Okay, but everyone in town’s at the freaking pit! I don’t think they know what to do, but they’re there in case they think of s
omething!”
“Tell them we ordered them to do this and tell them it might save their lives, Vikki,” said Hemp. “Now, I also want someone to get to the urushiol plant and load up two drums of pure oil. Position them with the lumber, and remove the bung caps on both.”
“Okay, Hemp. How long until you’re here?” she asked.
“Fifteen minutes at the maximum,” said Flex. “We’re haulin’ ass, darlin’.”
“Hurry!” said Vikki.
“Quickly,” said Hemp. “Vikki, get everyone working, and remember, try some fresh diesel in the generator and have someone check if the fuel injectors are clogged up. Most of this will be unnecessary if we have that damned generator working!”
*****
Maestro crouched as he ran, for here and there, people would appear, running in the streets below him in the town proper. The weeds on the hillside had grown tall, though, and provided him much needed cover.
In the distance, he saw something that at first confused him. It appeared to be a giant cage, but it also had a lid. It looked like an enormous, round aviary. He could see large crowds gathered on the outside, so could not see past the fence.
Maestro ran faster, his aching lungs protesting with every footfall and breath he took. He was now within an eighth of a mile of the structure and could make out some activity within what now appeared to be a caged pit of some kind.
As the crowd parted, he could see inside for brief spurts. Areas within the cage were crammed with people, pushing against one another, shifting and bumping. It was not full by any stretch of the imagination, but there had to have been six hundred or more men and women there, and a line continued to push in.
He ran further, and as the structure grew larger in his vision, he saw that they were not people. Their clothing was filthy and ragged. They were not alive. They were the Mothers and Hungerers, perhaps from Hoisington.
“Wait until I take control of the Magas,” he said aloud.
Just then, something caught his eye; a man in the street just below him, working behind a cart. His back was to Maestro, but as he shifted from foot to foot, bending down to scoop something out of a bag, Maestro could see he was loading up magazines with ammo. Maestro could make out several pistols on the top of the cart as the man stuffed magazine after magazine with live rounds.
Maestro looked to his left, finding a path down from the ridge. It was only fifteen feet or so to the bottom. He sidestepped down the hillside, working his way north a bit to stay out of open view of the man.
He reached the street and approached the corner of a building, where the man came into view again.
Maestro’s machete in hand, he stepped into the street and took slow steps toward him, his machete raised.
“Hey, you wanna take these and I’ll go get more magazines? They think they’ll need them at the pit for some reason.” He turned to stare into Maestro’s face.
Maestro smiled at him and kicked him hard in the groin. The man buckled forward and when he dropped to the ground, Maestro brought the machete high over his head with both hands and brought the blade down hard, slicing cleanly through the man’s neck with one deadly blow.
His head rolled away, coming to rest against the bump of the nose. The mouth worked two more pointless attempts at a breath before falling still. The arms and legs jerked and twitched, but Maestro grabbed the headless corpse by the shirt and pulled upward to keep the clothing out of the now flowing blood.
He tugged the body aside, away from the crimson pool, then walked around and grabbed the feet.
He muscled it behind the building and stripped the corpse, glancing around him often to make sure he was still alone. Maestro stuffed his own clothes into the tall grass and zipped up the hoodie he had taken from the dead man’s corpse.
Afterward, he went back to the table and snatched up two 9mm pistols with as many magazines as he could stuff in his pockets.
He pulled a plastic sheet from the top of the table and dropped it over the sticky pool. There was no reason to alert passersby that something had gone terribly wrong for a citizen of Kingman.
If Maestro had his way, it would be the first casualty of many.
*****
The gate swung inward and the three vehicles charged through. Flex drove the lead vehicle and piloted the Hummer straight down Main Street toward the pit.
“Get Hemp,” said Flex, his eyes on the road ahead. People ran south down Main with no exceptions. Most had weapons and spray bottles. Flex wondered if none of it was enough. They had the weapon that would stop all of this.
The Magas. The Hybrids.
Gem pushed the talk button. “Hemp, Charlie! Do you read?”
“Yeah, Gem,” said Charlie. “Hemp says head down to the trough nearest the pit. If the stuff is there, we need to get started.”
“Okay,” said Gem. “Have you heard from Reeves?”
“We caught him on channel 22,” said Charlie. “He asked for help distributing guns on the southwest corner of the pit.”
“Yeah, so who’s doing that?” asked Gem.
“Dave and Nel are going to drop Trini and Tay off with a bag of ammo, along with an extra shotgun filled with urushiol-soaked flechette rounds,” said Charlie.
“Jesus,” said Gem. “Can’t Dave and Nel switch with them? I’d rather they’re near us.”
“They insisted, Gem,” said Charlie.
The pit was now straight ahead, and the crowd filled the street. “I need off this road,” said Flex, easing the Hummer and trailer left at the next intersection. He made the turn smoothly, and at the second intersection, turned right. The trough ran along this road, called North Spruce. When he reached the stack of lumber and the drums, he eased onto the brake and pulled the Hummer to a stop.
“Okay, Beauty, let’s see what’s happening at the pit and you let me know how you think we should best use your sisters.”
When they got out, Isis and Max were there, frantically waving Beauty over.
Gunfire, both single-round and rapid-fire barrages rang out over the cacophony of sound that rose from the throngs of citizens and undead, and Flex wondered briefly if this was what it sounded like to the soldiers during some of the great battles of the U.S. Civil War.
Dave Gammon and Nelson Moore ran up, breathing hard, weapons strapped over their shoulders.
“We saw my uncle over by the pit!” shouted Dave. “Nel and I are going to see what we can do to help them start that damned generator!”
Before Flex could acknowledge them, they were off and running. The noise was insane. The crowd was animated and frantic, and the pit continued to fill with moaning, gnashing, snarling Hungerers. The Mothers were more elusive, typically blending in until they were in your face and it was too late.
Flex lifted his left leg and rubbed his ankle. The boot was working fairly well, but the pain was beginning to work its way into a throb.
“George!” shouted Hemp, at one of the men stacking a last piece of lumber near the trough. “Come here, please!”
He stood by the rear of the Magas trailer, and Flex ran up beside him and Charlie. Gem moved behind the trailer with Max, Isis and Beauty.
“George,” said Hemp. “I need you to use the lumber you brought to build a diverter trough,” he said. “Just nail the boards to one another at the ends, and make at least a three-foot wide trough. Nail the ends to the side of the main trough, and when you’re done, make sure it reaches all the way to the pit.”
“So you want me to create a channel from the main trough to the pit?”
“Exactly. I don’t know if we’ll need it, but also get a rechargeable reciprocating saw and be ready to cut the side of the trough away where our channel branches off, allowing the water to flow down to the pit.”
“What good will water do?” asked George.
“I think that’s where the drums of urushiol oil come in,” said Flex. “Hemp, you want ‘em to dump it in the water?”
“Exactly,” said Hemp. “If we c
an’t get the overhead sprayers and the shafts working, we can at least kill the Hungerers in there. The Mothers will be a different challenge.”
“Go, go!” shouted Flex. “Get two teams working on it fast, George!”
Flex ran to the rear of the Magas trailer, arriving as the doors swung open. Megan stood staring down at them. “We’re ready,” she said.
“Let’s get you all out of there,” said Flex, standing back.
The Magas climbed out. Their eyes never met Flex’s, and he silently hoped that one day he would gain their trust.
When they were all out, Isis said, “Let’s do this, ladies.”
“And gentleman,” said Max, smiling at Isis.
Flex saw something flash in her eyes; something he had never noticed before. It was almost a twinkle, accompanied by the slightest smile.
“Turn it on, girls,” said Gem. “Now would be good.”
The Magas, as one, closed their eyes. It was, Flex thought, similar to watching a huge flock of birds dart in a new direction all at once, or watching a school of fish do the same.
They were one.
They opened their eyes. All told the same story.
“What’s wrong?” asked Flex. “Nothing’s changed. Are they … I don’t know … commanding them or something?”
Hemp looked at the pit. “They still appear to be out of control. Isis, what is happening?”
“We’re issuing the commands,” she said. “They’re just not responding. They’re drawn somewhere else!”
“It is the babies,” said Megan. “They call a thousand times louder, which only causes the Mothers to want to escape their bonds and find them. We cannot defeat them.”
“Where are these children?” asked Beauty.
Gem took the radio from her belt, switched the channel and pressed the button. “Vikki! Vikki, where are you?”
“I’m helping distribute water!” said Vikki. “Why?”
“Where are the newborns?” asked Gem.
“They and their mothers are with Victoria and Doc Scofield at the clinic,” said Vikki.
Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis Page 34
