Dead Hunger VII_The Reign of Isis

by Eric A. Shelman

  “Both of them?” asked Gem.

  “Both?” asked Vikki. “Oh, no. You didn’t know. Another was born an hour ago!”

  “Is she a Hybrid?”

  “Yes, Gem,” said Vikki. “The recruiting Max and Isis did before they left really touched a nerve. More stepped up later.”

  Isis suddenly turned, her eyes flashing. “Give them WAT-5. Do it now! It’s the only way to stop their call!”

  Gem responded immediately. “Vikki, tell Doc Scofield they need to take WAT-5 now. Right now. Just shave some dust off and put it in their mouths with your fingers. Hurry!”

  “Got it!” said Vikki. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  There was no need for notification. In less than a minute, the crowd died down. The gunfire continued for several minutes afterward, but as the Magas stood facing the pit, the Hungerers and Mothers within stood perfectly still.

  All at once, they slowly shifted, rotating as though by command. As Flex stared at the crowd, he saw they all now stared as one toward him, Gem, Hemp, Charlie and the Magas.

  And the single Mago. Max.

  *****

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Trina and Taylor neared the point that Kevin Reeves, the former mayor of Concord, New Hampshire, had told them to bring the rounds.

  As they ran by an alley, Trina looked to her right. A man stood there, magazines on the ground at his feet. He wore a dark hoodie and was picking the mags up from the ground and stuffing them into his jacket pockets.

  “Hey, Tay,” said Trina. “C’mon. That guy dropped his stuff.”

  Taylor looked over at the man. “We’re going to meet Kevin. You need help?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Arm’s hurt and I dropped this stuff.”

  They hurried over to him and bent down, grabbing magazines along with him.”

  “Where you taking these?” asked Trina.

  “To the cage,” he said.

  “Cage?” asked Trina. “What … the pit?”

  “So that’s what you call it,” said the man. He stood up and looked Trina in the eyes. He held a 9mm Glock in her face.

  “Did you really think I’d just go away?” he asked, smiling.

  “You piece of shit,” said Taylor, reaching for her holstered gun. The man the girls knew as Maestro turned the barrel from Trina to Taylor and fired, knocking Taylor backward into the street. She lay still.

  “No!” shouted Trina, her heart racing as she watched blood flowing from her childhood friend’s supine body, now motionless.

  Maestro grabbed her by the neck and jammed the hot gun barrel to her head. “Drop all of your weapons,” he commanded.

  Trina reached down and removed her gun, dropping it on the ground. She withdrew her EB-coated knife and another small revolver from her back pocket. Last, she slung the pack off her shoulder, containing all of the full magazines.

  “Now you’ll come with me, you pitiful bitch,” he said, pushing her ahead of him. “You go first.”

  He pushed Trina up the hillside, his gun pressed against the base of her skull. “If you even slip,” he growled, “I’ll happily put a goddamned bullet into your brain.”

  Trina staggered, leaned forward to steady herself with her hands, and clawed her way up the hillside to the fence trail. She considered trying to kick straight out behind her, but the 9mm was pressed firmly against her. Too risky.

  What have I done? she asked herself, knowing the answer. I’ve given the sadistic bastard leverage.

  *****

  Maestro pushed the girl along the trail; now he could see clearly into the cage.

  The pit.

  Inside were Mothers and Hungerers. They had all turned in one direction, and Maestro immediately knew why.

  The Magas. His Magas. They were in control again. Soon they would again be in his control and under his command.

  He pushed the girl closer and closer to the southwest corner of the fenced city of Kingman, Kansas, standing high on the hill overlooking the pit.

  *****

  Gem stared at the orderly zombies in the pit and was again amazed at all of their discoveries. The bad and the good seemed to come one on top of the other.

  She thought of Flex Jr. and how much he loved to come down and work on the shafts; he would use a file to keep them razor sharp, and he never shied away from a day of hard work. His father had been a good example of that.

  “Position the Magas on top of the catwalk,” said Hemp. “They will continue to draw them into the pit.”

  “How many more can it handle?” asked Charlie.

  “We can pack them in,” said Flex. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if they’re a little uncomfortable. I wonder how Nel and Dave are doin’ with that goddamned generator.”

  “Hemp, will the catwalk support the weight of all the Hybrids?” asked Gem.

  “Absolutely,” said Hemp. “The fence is just fencing, but the rest is all thick gauge, cold-rolled steel. It will support them and more.”

  Isis raised her arms and the Magas stared at her. “Follow me,” she said, turning and walking quickly toward the steps to the pit’s cage catwalk.

  The Magas followed.

  The men working on the diversion trough were making progress. They were two board lengths away from reaching the edge of the pit.

  “When you get it there, use nippers to cut away enough of the fence to be sure the water runs in unhindered,” said Hemp. “When that’s done, have the Sawzall ready and waiting. If the time comes, I’ll order you to cut the hole and start the flow.”

  The Magas reached the edge and began climbing the narrow stairway leading up to the catwalk. The two stackable resin chairs still sat in the middle, but as Isis reached them, she kicked them onto the cage itself and continued crossing to the other side, closest to the large urushiol and water tanks and the failed generator.

  “Wow, Flex,” said Gem. “Like shooting fish in a barrel. Now all we have to do is finish them. It’s so quiet.”

  “Our equipment needs to work before we can do that,” said Flex. “Nothing would’ve happened with that electrical system that I can think of, so they either got an injector problem or a fuel issue. What a time for all this shit to bite us in the ass.”

  “I’m afraid to get through this,” said Gem. “Worried about how I’m going to handle … you know. Once I don’t have anything else to think about or do I’m going to be an unbearable mess.”

  Flex put his arms around her. “We’ll be unbearable messes together, Gemina. I love you, and I’ve still got you and I still have Trina. As for Flexy, he made us better people. There’s no way in hell any part of his life was in vain.”

  Gem nodded, her face pressed into his chest. “Let’s get this over with then,” she said. “I think I’d like to lay down with you and cry for a few days. Then I’d like to sleep for a few weeks.”

  *****

  Isis moved as far to the south edge of the pit’s catwalk as she could, allowing Max, Beauty and Megan to move in beside her. Looking down, she saw a line of zombies flowing up the road, pushing their way through the spring-loaded gate. It looked as though nearly all of the Hoisington Mothers and Hungerers had entered, none of their singularly-focused minds recognizing it as a killing machine.

  Isis saw Nelson and Dave below her in the equipment area, hunched over the generator. Dave had the air intake removed and pushed the button, engaging the starter. It turned and kept winding, but the engine never started. The smell of diesel fuel wafted into the air as the pit reached capacity.

  Ten minutes passed. It seemed that once they either opened the trough or started the generator, the nightmare of the moment would end.

  Isis looked again at the roadway entering Kingman. The incoming line of Mothers and Hungerers had now dwindled to nothing, indicating the capacity of the pit was somewhere around 2000 bodies.

  Isis turned to see Hemp standing beside Charlie near the trough and the mouth of their inoperable diverter channel. Staring at him and conc
entrating, she pushed, They can’t start the motor, Uncle Hemp. Dump the urushiol into the new channel and open the trough to get it into the pit. We’ll take care of the Mothers afterward.

  She did not need acknowledgement to know that Hemp had received her communication. He put a hand to his head and turned to stare up at her. Isis smiled and waved.

  He moved the radio to his mouth and she heard “You never cease to surprise me, Isis.”

  He turned back and gave the command to George to start cutting.

  She heard the whine of the reciprocating saw’s blade chewing wood off in the distance.

  *****

  Gem’s radio crackled. She heard a voice that she did not recognize.

  “Anyone … anyone. Can you … hear me?”

  It was a female voice. Gem pushed the button. “This is Gem Cardoza. Who is this, please?”

  “It’s … Tay.”

  “Tay? Tay, where are you? What’s wrong?”

  Gem glanced back at Flex, her eyes searching the streets. He was focused on the work on the diverter channel. She remembered the girls told them they were going to get more ammo to Kevin Reeves.

  After a moan, Taylor said, “I’m … I’ve been shot, Aunt Gem. Trina was with me … he’s got her.”

  “Who’s got her?” asked Gem, frantic. Forgetting Flex, she started running west, toward the path the girls had taken.

  “Maestro,” said Taylor, her voice frightened and weak.

  Gem ran faster.

  “Gem!” called Flex behind her, but she did not stop.

  “Tay, tell me where you are! I’ll get someone to you!”

  “I’m on … Sugar Street, I’m pretty sure,” she said. “Gem … hurry. I can’t … push …”

  She stopped talking. Gem pushed her transmit button again. “Taylor!”

  There was no answer.

  “Where the hell are you going?” asked Charlie from behind her. Gem spun around.

  “Charlie, Charlie!” she shouted. “He has Trina! Tay’s been shot!”

  Charlie’s eyes lit up like hot coals. “What? Who shot her? Is she alive?”

  “Yes, on Sugar Street,” said Gem. “Come on!”

  The two ran full tilt along W E Avenue. As they ran, Gem saw Charlie pull her crossbow from her back and load up an arrow without slowing. She caught up with Gem as they reached Sugar Street. They both looked both ways.

  “There!” shouted Gem. “On the ground by that alley!”

  They ran to where she lay and crouched down beside her. Charlie lifted her head and lightly slapped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Mom,” she said.

  “Tay, where are you hit?”

  “My … chest, Mom. Mom, he has Trina!”

  “Shh,” said Gem. She pushed the button. “Jim, I need you at Sugar Street near the old bicycle shop. Tay’s been shot. Push a gurney over, please! Hurry!”

  Vikki came on. “He’s in the other room, Gem,” she said. “Is she alright? Oh, my God!”

  “She’s alive,” said Gem. “We need the rolling gurney now!”

  “I’ll get it and get Doc and we’ll be there!” she said. “Just stay there and wave us down if you see us!”

  “Charlie will wait for you,” said Gem, her eyes on Charlie.

  Charlie returned her gaze for a long moment. “Gem, what about Trina?” she asked.

  Gem looked down and touched Taylor’s face. “Tay, baby, which way did the man go with Trina? Do you know?”

  Taylor opened her eyes and said, “Help me … lift my head.”

  Charlie did.

  “That trail,” she said, her eyes staring toward the hill. “I just saw them go up that trail before I passed out.”

  Gem ran.

  *****

  Maestro had reached the highest point on the trail next to the fence line, almost dead even with the pit. There was a clearing where he could stand, but for now he crouched down, the feisty, young blonde girl’s hair balled in his left fist and his gun’s barrel pressed firmly into her head with his right.

  “You the type to do what a man tells you to do?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m way compliant,” said Trina. “A man speaks and I just listen. He says jump and I ask him, “How fucking high, asshole?”

  Maestro drew back his hand and knocked her in the temple with the butt of the 9mm. As he watched, her eyes rolled back and her body went limp.

  The Magas – his Magas – had been walked onto a catwalk that ran from one end of the caged pit to the other, and now just stood there, calming the Mothers and in turn, ordering them to calm the Hungerers. The reasoning for the catwalk was unclear, but it did not matter anyway.

  He was ready to take them back.

  Maestro unzipped the stolen hoodie and pulled it over his head. On his face, Maestro felt the sticky wetness of the blood that had leaked from the sweatshirt’s former owner onto the light jacket. He breathed deeply, hoping the metallic scent of blood would strengthen him.

  He removed his pants and underwear, too. He would show all of them that he required nothing but that with which he was born in order to resume his role as Maestro.

  Maestro bent down to check the girl again. She was unconscious. Perfect.

  He moved into the clearing and stood tall, facing the row of Magas high on the catwalk. They would have the best view of him, high above the melee below.

  “Magas!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, raising his arms high over his head as a symphony conductor might do as the musical composition reached a final crescendo.

  As he watched, all of the Magas looked up to see him.

  Three-quarters of them fell to their knees.

  “I command you!” he shouted, not knowing whether they could physically hear him or if they had again tuned their minds to his.

  “Allow the Mothers to destroy their bonds!” he called. “Let them break the fence in which they are imprisoned!”

  Maestro closed his eyes and moved his arms and hands, conducting what he hoped would be the deadliest aria of his entire life.

  *****

  The vibration began beneath Isis’s feet and at first, she didn’t realize what was happening. When she glanced down into the pit, the dozens of red eyes staring back up at her answered her question. They were in their destruction mode, and it did not take long for the dirt walls of the pit to begin powdering away.

  The Magas then fell to their knees.

  “What are you doing?” called Isis. “You were told of freedom! You promised to help us!”

  One of the Magas who had not dropped to her knees pushed to Isis, He has again taken control. He has always been a malevolent God to us. Others and I still resist him.

  Isis followed her gaze and saw him. Maestro. He had again seized control of the majority of the Magas. Not all of them, but it was enough.

  Maestro stood almost directly across from her approximately two hundred feet away, perfectly nude, his arms raised and moving.

  As his arms danced in the air over his head as though conducting a symphony, the image of his demonic Maestro conjuring an orchestra of demons. It was very clear what his intention was.

  There were not enough of the brave, defiant Magas to overpower those who had succumbed again to Maestro’s control.

  “Magas!” Isis shouted, looking at the many kneeling followers of Maestro. “Remember the freedom we told you of? This Maestro is powerless without you! He will not hurt you again, ever! Resume the calming of the Mothers and you shall know freedom!”

  The words pushed into her head so thick that Isis felt her own brain would rupture. All were thoughts of fear and submission, excuses for being certain that to disobey Maestro would be to die or feel the agony of the deaths of others.

  Gunfire erupted and Maestro ducked down again, behind the grass to his right.

  The pulsation grew stronger. The Hungerers within the pit pushed toward the edges and clutched at the fence just above the five-foot tall dirt walls of the pit. Men and women s
tood on the outside, firing guns into their rotting faces, some using swords and machetes, others using sharpened rebar, an idea Dave had brought back from his trip to California.

  The fence began to collapse, section by section. The catwalk shifted under Isis’ feet and she shouted, “Max, Beauty, Megan! Follow me!”

  As the catwalk’s last weld vibrated to oblivion and snapped, the steel platform itself snapped and crashed onto the thin fencing beneath it. Square foot by square foot, the fencing sagged downward beneath the weight of the heavy steel, and the side walls above the hole bent inward, ready to fold.

  Isis leapt the fifteen feet to the ground and landed hard in a muddy patch of grass and weeds, and looked up to see Max trying to climb his way down instead. He scrambled down the side, and Megan stood at the edge now.

  “Megan, jump!” shouted Isis.

  She did not. She stood there and stared down.

  Isis dropped her hands to her sides and swept them backward. Megan flew from the edge and behind her came Beauty, who had seen Max’s climb and duplicated it.

  Megan had landed face down and Isis helped her up.

  “Are you alright?” asked Isis.

  “I am,” said Megan. “I think. Maestro must be stopped!”

  “We’ve lost your Magas,” said Isis.

  “More than we could afford to lose anyway,” said Max. “That damned fence isn’t gonna last much longer!”

  *****

  Maestro rose again after dropping back down at feeling the live rounds whizzing by his head. He had them now. It was no time to take a bullet.

  He moved to a different clearing further to the south and stood up again, his arms directing the destruction below.

  “Destroy this cage in which you are imprisoned!” shouted Maestro. “Magas, the Mothers have the power to bring it crashing down!”