He moved around Hemp and jammed the conduit into the pile. He withdrew it and did it again, and again. The last time he drew it up, a dark liquid oozed from it, and was soon rinsed clean from the pouring rain.
Hemp’s mind wasn’t on Nelson or his predicament. Once his leg was freed, he pushed himself from the ground with some difficulty and resumed his move toward his pregnant wife.
“I’m okay, I’m okay!” screamed Charlie over the sheets of wind that blasted her words away even before they were out of her mouth. I heard her, though. I thanked God.
“Keep going!” she yelled.
Hemp didn’t hear. He kept coming.
“Mother,” said Isis.
And as if from nowhere, she appeared. Right beside Charlie. Our beautiful, pregnant Charlie.
The creature had platinum blonde hair even when sopping wet. It might have ordinarily hung down to the middle of her back, but was currently being whipped nearly three feet with the wind. This creature had been lying on her back beneath a thin layer of shingle and broken plywood pieces.
What had Hemp named them? Hiders.
From this moment, what I’m about to tell you happened in such a lightning sequence that I don’t know how to express it so that it will be clear why so many of us could do so little to stop it.
Trina and Taylor’s shrill screams filled the air, their eyes on the creature beside Charlie. Rachel and Serena had somehow both made the same split-second decision. They had immediately fallen upon and draped themselves over the girls, using themselves as human shields.
Hemp was in front of Nelson, who had gone to retrieve Hemp’s MP5. Hemp was out of his mind; more than I had ever seen him. With a primordial scream, he charged the red-eye with as much speed as his feet could manage over the stacks of junk, and he leapt from a flat section of the collapsed roof toward the walking dead thing, his arms outstretched like an NFL tackle.
Without turning her head, the creature, which had appeared to be fully focused on Charlie, gave Hemp the rotter’s version of the Heisman. Her right arm pistoned out, slamming him squarely in the chest. His forward momentum halted like a Smart Car in a crash test, and he was thrown backward, where he hit the advancing Nelson Moore, throwing both men onto their backs amidst the rubble.
Neither rose to their feet immediately. I didn’t know why at the time, but my mind was still working to sort out the rapid turn of events.
Unaccosted now, the creature’s loose, dead skin rippled in the gusting wind and her eyes glowed red, but worse, she pushed out her strange vapor. It was useless with the gusty wind, and dissipated immediately.
Pulling the blanket more tightly over my son’s head, my pistol dropped to the ground, disappearing in a dark crevice at my feet. Unable to assist, I dropped down to my haunches and protected my child, willing someone – anyone – to stop the beast that focused on our Charlie.
Dave’s gun was trapped in his drop holster beneath him, but he scrambled to reach it and pull Charlie away from the monster at the same time.
He was not successful. He didn’t have enough range of motion, and the thing was already making her move.
The powerful abnormal’s hands shot out and pulled Charlie’s face toward her. Charlie fought her, but the creature was within three inches of her mouth and nose when she poured out the crimson mist, completely engulfing my friend’s face.
The wicked bitch never opened her mouth as if to kill Charlie or eat her. Instead, she seemed content to blast her with the red vapor that had, a little over a year ago, transformed Isis into a new species of human within the womb of her mother.
Lola screamed from behind me, “Gem, move!” and as I turned to see her, she stood with her long knife in her hand, preparing to throw it.
“No!” I shouted, fearing she would hit Charlie, and Lola hesitated, her eyes darting toward me.
We both looked up again at the sound of loose boards clattering ahead of us, and there was Bunsen, all four feet in the air, her wet fur matted and her teeth bared in a horrifying growl that I had no idea she was capable of.
When her feet touched down, her mouth closed on the neck of the red-eye. She then did what came naturally.
Bunsen’s powerful jaws twisted and tore at the sinewy veins of the creature’s neck, ripping away the muscle, causing the red-eye’s head to fall to one side.
Bunsen released her and repositioned to bite even deeper into her collarbone, shaking her like a favorite chew toy. After two or three seconds of jerking her back and forth, Bunsen released the zombie. The once-powerful rotter fell onto her back, revealing a neck that was shredded like Mexican carnitas, but the head that sat upon that neck was far from dead.
Seeing this, Bunsen growled again and advanced. The creature’s arm thrust out, snatching her front foreleg and upending Bunsen. When our determined girl fell onto her side, she opened her mouth, plunged her snout forward and chomped down on the monster’s face, her massive mouth tearing her cold, gray face open from her right eye socket to her left cheek. Bunsen’s jaw muscles worked, almost scissoring side-to-side until her mouth was almost closed, her teeth deeply embedded in the red-eye’s flesh. Her wet, matted fur was now crimson and pink with diluted zombie blood.
And then Slider was there, single-minded and as vicious as any junkyard dog protecting his territory and his pack. He focused on the creature’s feet and legs, biting and snarling and tearing away at the putrid flesh, occasionally stopping and waiting to see if it was still moving.
Bunsen’s last bite must have destroyed some crucial part of the blonde creature’s brain, because the dead bitch went limp and fell away, rolling into a gap formed in the destroyed wood, metal and shingles. She didn’t move.
Hemp was beside Charlie. “Oh, my God, darling, are you alright?” he asked. “I’m so sorry! I was up there, I couldn’t get to you!”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m dizzy … and like … confused.”
In a burst of what could only have a combination of shock and adrenaline, Dave was back on his feet and scooped up Charlie. This time he didn’t wait for any goddamned conga line; he ran over the debris like an urban street performer, reached the edge of the house and dropped out of sight.
Hemp seemed a bit flabbergasted, if you want to know the truth. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d asked Dave to carry Charlie, and Hemp was no stranger to how much Dave cared for her.
That aside, we all ran then, wanting to be out of the path of the zombies and the shitstorm that rained down upon us relentlessly.
Two minutes later, we all crowded inside the mobile lab, sealing the vents and closing the doors behind us. The generator had been running so it was cool. Dave rested Charlie in the chair that Hemp had built for her, and she lay there, her chest rising and falling fast, her head back and her eyes closed.
Everyone wheezed like their lungs were on fire. Trina and Taylor were still both in tears, and I gave my soundly sleeping boy to Lola and moved to console Trina in my arms. Serena had her arms wrapped around Taylor, who seemed to be settling a bit.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered. “We’re all going to be okay.” It wasn’t the first time I had lied to my daughter.
The wind continued to howl, and debris slammed against the side of the heavy-duty motor home. Haunted eyes took silent inventories, not only of their friends and loved ones, but of their cuts and scratches. Infection was not welcome here. Infection could make you die.
“The storm seems to be moving faster,” said Hemp, addressing us. “That’s a good thing. It means that in a few hours it may be past us and we’ll begin to experience less wind and rain. I’d guess that by late tonight we’ll be in the clear.”
Everyone nodded. “Hemp, sir?” asked Rachel, using respect so typical of members of our military. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are we going from here? I was so happy to see such a warm home and to meet you all. I’m sure you’re all devastated.”
Hemp looked at Rachel – all 4’11” of her �
�� and said, “This may be a cliché, but it’s always something,” he said. “We’ve yet to get someplace and just settle in for any amount of time before something goes wrong.”
“Maybe you need to do an analysis of states with the lowest population and the fewest natural disasters,” said Lola. “Raise our likelihood of survival.”
“Perhaps it would be safer for a while,” said Hemp. “But once the red-eyes found us, it would be the same old, same old.”
Lola shrugged. “It’d give us time to fortify against them before they showed up. There are a lot of us now. More workers get more done. I’m a good worker.”
“I’m sure you are, Lola,” said Hemp. “For now, I suggest you all get out of your wet clothing. There are towels in the cabinet on the right, two doors from the rear. Wring your things out and hang them, and they should be good and dry to wear later. Modesty will have to be set aside for the moment, and a towel will cover you just fine until your clothing is wearable again.”
Nobody answered. Nobody got up. They just sat there nodding.
Hemp went to Charlie and reached out to stroke her cheek. “Charlie,” he said. “Sweetheart, open your eyes.”
“I’m afraid,” she said.
I walked over, still holding Trina’s hand in mine, and took Charlie’s with the other.
“Hey, Charlie. It’s me and Trina,” I said. “Now come on and open your eyes so you can see we’re all safe.”
“They sting,” she said.
“Blink them,” said Hemp. “Get some moisture coating them.”
She did. I couldn’t stop myself from gasping.
Bug walked slowly over, removing the blanket from Isis. When she came into view, her little red eyes were already on Charlie.
“Mother,” she said.
Charlie looked at us through her blood red eyes. Then she turned to look at Isis.
“Charlie,” said Hemp, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. “Charlie, I would have Jim perform a Caesarian section right this moment if we had the available blood, but we don’t. That means I need you to relax and see how fast you can deliver this baby.”
“Hemp,” she said, her crimson eyes tearing up. “Are my eyes … red?”
Hemp nodded and squeezed her hand. “You and the baby will be just fine,” he said. His eyes lit up and he ran to the work bench and opened the top right cabinet. He withdrew a plastic Tupperware container and popped the lid off.
“Here,” he said. “Eat this now. It’s one of the red-eye wafers that we gave Kimberly and Rebecca in the lab in Concord.”
“Will it work?” asked Charlie.
“You know it does,” I said. “At least it won’t make you want to do anything.”
“Just remember that it prevents you from being under their control, sweetheart. It won’t stop you from hearing their commands,” said Hemp. “The rest is what it is,” he said. “But that’s why I need you to relax. The sooner you give birth, the better for our child.”
“Isis,” said Bug. “Baby girl, you seeing anything?”
I think everyone that was awake turned to look at the pair at once. Bug looked around the room and shrugged.
“She’s such a chatterbox these days I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask,” he said, smiling.
He stood and carried her closer to Charlie, who managed a smile through her tears at the child’s small, strange face.
Very slowly, Isis’ serious expression changed. Her mouth turned up on the sides. She looked at Charlie’s stomach and back at Charlie. Then she pointed to Charlie’s stomach, looked at her father with a gleeful expression on her face and said, “Brother!”
She looked up at her father again, her face absolutely glowing and angelic. “Brother, daddy!” she said again.
Charlie passed out.
*****
We were a quarter of the way across the train bridge, and to me, the wind felt as though it would blow us off like a piece of lint at the mercy of a flicking finger.
“Just cruise,” I said, my firearms forgotten for the moment. They wouldn’t do me any more good in this situation than the death grip I had on the grab bar above my head. “Not that I ain’t in a hurry, you understand.”
“Looked wider from the road,” said Punch. “The pilot’s helping me keep nice and centered.”
We were still well away from the Volkswagen, but we could see it more clearly now. The color initially appeared to be red, but I could now see it was either primer or just rusted. The car was actually teetering on its final foothold, but refused to fall.
I hoped we could encourage it out of the way.
A blast of wind slammed our right side and Punch responded by holding the wheel tight. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, which was about as pointless with power steering as my involuntary actions.
He drew to a stop as we rolled to within twenty feet of the VW.
“What’s that there?” I asked.
“Where?” asked Punch.
“Behind that one wheel.”
He leaned forward and squinted. “Got binoculars in this rig?”
I could’ve slapped myself. “What the fuck,” I said, popping open the glove box. I pulled out the pair of camo Bushnells and put them to my eyes.
“It’s the fuckin’ rear axle,” I said. “Jammed right up against the rail. No wonder that bastard didn’t flip off the bridge.”
“Is it gonna make nudging it tougher?” asked Punch.
“I’d have to say yes,” I said. I looked at my watch. We’d left Piedmont Gas over four hours ago. It was now approaching 3:00. Gem had to be freaking out by now. I only hoped things were boring enough for her to have the time to worry about me.
At least everyone back home already knew about Tony. I still couldn’t believe that Isis had known. I wondered then how much she knew. Did she know how he died, or only that he was no longer?
There was so much to learn about that child that I was afraid Hemp’s head might explode from the utter volume of data input as the next months and years passed. Of course all that knowledge depended on whether or not we could keep Isis safe.
Hell, if we could keep any of us safe.
I remembered Cara. I promised her I’d drop the antitoxin for her baby, too. Maybe I’d come back after I made sure my family was safe and the storm had passed.
All of this served to take my mind off what I had to face.
“Let’s try nudging it,” I said. “Maybe that axle’s just in the perfect position to keep it up here. We jog the whole car and it might just go.”
“We’re not gettin’ anywhere parked,” said Punch. He put it back into drive and eased forward again. Up and down, over the cross-ties we went, until we were five feet from the car.
“Sure we can’t skirt around it?” I asked, gauging the distance between the car’s rear bumper and the far edge of the tracks.
“You’re on the side that goes down first,” said Punch. “I can yank open my door and try to leap clear, but you’re done for.”
“Now I know why you offered to drive.”
“Nope,” he said. “Didn’t see the car.”
“You stallin’?”
“A little,” he said, smiling nervously.
“Big, bad Marine.”
Punch turned away from me, looked out the window, and gassed the Land Cruiser. It jolted forward and my legs pressed hard against the floorboards and my knuckles were white again.
He drew to within a foot of the VW and tapped the brakes lightly, easing up to the contact point. Then he rolled forward a couple of inches, bumping the Bug.
Instead of toppling over the side, the VW slid along the rail and stayed good and caught.
Worse, we were nudged to the right.
“Pilot’s angle is pushing us,” said Punch. “Maybe a hard jolt?”
“If we’re getting pushed right – which you reminded me is certain death for one Flex Sheridan – then be sure to turn into it when you push. Just don’t push too hard.”
/> He tried it again, just as a sustained gust that had to be ninety miles per hour or more rocked the Toyota and sent the VW swinging on that axle and wheel.
“Whoa, shit!” I said. “This is nuts!”
Punch gripped the wheel and tried it again. This time we slid a good six inches off to the right and the VW moved perhaps another two along the rail. I swore I felt the right rear tire sink a little bit. I looked out, but saw only air and raging water below.
“It’s not gonna work, buddy,” said Punch. “Fucker’s caught good, and we’re gonna throw ourselves off the bridge.”
“Fuck!” I said. “I got nothin’ inside I can pry it off with, either. Nothing long enough to give me enough leverage.”
“There’s only one option, man,” said Punch.
“I know where you’re goin’, and it makes sense. Just not suspended fifteen feet over a raging river in a goddamned hurricane.”
“We have to winch it,” he said, blabbing the very words I didn’t want to hear.
“And what happens when the car goes over and we’re hooked to it?”
“Geronimo?”
“You know that shit but you don’t know who the hell Steve McQueen is?”
“This is you stallin’ again,” said Punch.
“This is me thinkin’,” I said. “We need to figure out a way to use the winch to jostle that car free, and make sure we don’t go over with it. I gotta get out and look at how it’s caught.”
“I can do it, man,” said Punch. “I’m surefooted, like a goat.”
“You smell like a goat,” I said, forcing a smile. “I got it.”
I eased open the door and the rain sprayed my face like a showerhead. I made my first mistake and looked down. There was perhaps a foot and a half of track bed between my door and nothingness. With the rain pelting me head on, I slid out and planted my feet, the wind directing everything right in my face and eyes, but I needed both hands to cling to my perch and just plain had to suck it up. I couldn’t have heard anything, even if Punch had tried to talk to me.
I slid off to the side and slammed the door, then grabbed the side mirror to steady myself as I worked my way along the front fender, and finally onto the center of the tracks in front of the SUV. I clung to the cowcatcher’s steel grid for a moment or two, getting used to the strength of the wind.
Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm Page 28
