When I felt ready, I crouched down, most of my pressure on my left leg to prevent my body from blowing off the east side of the bridge. Forward movement was as slow as a parade of slugs, but I reached the car and lay flat on the tracks to get a look at how it was wedged.
It wasn’t just the axle. It had snapped, but the tire was flat and the rim had dented, conforming to the rail with the constant swinging in the wind. I almost got on my knees and tried to rock it, but came to my senses.
I didn’t know how long that car had been there, but it wasn’t going anywhere on my manpower alone.
I turned and motioned to Punch, pointing at the winch. I gave him a cranking motion with my hand and he understood. A moment later I saw the winch spin forward and the cable loosen.
I remembered how fortunate we were that it still worked at all, what with the Toyota’s electrical problems.
I crawl-shuffled the three feet back to the SUV and reached down for the cable. When I had it, I inspected the hook.
Then I had an idea. It would either work or kill one or both of us.
I dropped it again and started alongside the large vehicle again to get to the rear hatch.
I needed a crowbar and I needed a prayer.
I said the prayer while I watched the furious Catawba River eat away its banks, expanding its territory and destroying what once was, as so many things seemed to be doing lately.
Meanwhile, all I wanted was to be back with my wife, my son and my friends, on the solid ground that was now our home.
*****
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. We’d left the dungeon – now likely a swimming pool – around two hours before, and Charlie wasn’t in the throes of delivery yet. I hadn’t expected it, but Nelson and Dave seemed to think the baby was just going to fall out once the water broke. How do you get that age and not know anything about childbirth? While delivering Flexy hadn’t been as hard as some I’d heard about, the process still took almost ten hours after my water broke.
Tired and needing sleep, Nelson and Dave had curled up on the floor inside the Plexiglas walls that once housed Hemp’s zombie subjects. Lola seemed exhausted after her encounters with the zombies, and both Bunsen and Slider had needed some major toweling off and clean-up with peroxide once out of the rain. Now they both snored, sprawled out by the entry door, probably awaiting Flex.
We were the only zombies inside right now, and none of us had even bothered to peer out the windows in so long we had no idea what kind of undead population surrounded us now.
Maybe none. Maybe a hundred.
The mobile lab’s rocking and rolling with the wind had become the norm, and I suppose we all just came to accept it, like traveling in a ship on the ocean. I’m not certain anyone was particularly frightened it would flip onto its side, because despite the movement, our alert appeared to be at a terrorist alert level of GREEN, or whatever the lowest was.
I then wondered what the hell ever became of that lame system. Either way, we’d always be at the RED level these days. There was a 100% chance of being eaten if you went out unprepared.
For the moment, the fortified lab stayed put alongside my heavy, ballistic steel-sheathed Crown Victoria.
The basement had been relatively quiet in comparison; this was about as sketchy as being in a nylon tent with a family of bears outside. It just didn’t feel like enough, but it was where we were for the moment and there weren’t any other options.
“Darlin’, you just breathe easy and relax,” said Scofield, seated between Charlie’s legs. He gently withdrew his hand and said, “You’re only dilated around five centimeters. It’s gonna be a while yet.”
“I don’t want … my baby to be inside me …” she managed.
Hemp stood on her other side, her left hand clasped in his, looking directly into her red eyes. His face was intense and worried and scared, all at the same time.
I don’t see that a lot with a guy like Hemp.
He said, “Charlie, it’s out of our control. We can’t perform a C-section and this is your first child. It’s just going to take as long as it takes.”
“But … Isis,” she said.
“Our child will be who it will be,” said Hemp. “As long as he or she is healthy, nothing else matters but you.”
“He is my brother,” said Isis.
I looked at her, and my heart ached for Charlie. Isis was unique and special and beautiful, but she wasn’t normal.
You always want your first baby – no, fuck that. You obviously want all of your babies to be healthy and normal. You pray for it every day whether you believe in God or not, and the closer you get to your delivery date, you begin to believe more and more that you did everything the way you were supposed to, the stars aligned, and your baby would be perfect.
Perfect. It’s what Flex and I had hoped and prayed for, and it’s what we got with our little boy. Charlie had done everything right and this goddamned cursed world got to her anyway. I asked myself every few seconds, why Charlie? Why her?
Why anyone? Because. Just because. It was the shit world in which we lived nowadays. And now a little baby was predicting the sex of an unborn child and we accepted it.
“Isis,” asked Rachel, as though reading my mind. “What do you mean when you say he’s your brother?”
“Isis isn’t alone,” she said.
“You were never alone, baby girl,” said Bug. “You’ll always have me.”
“I know, Daddy,” she said, and I swore she rolled her eyes. None of this – not the storm and its lightning and wind, not the zombies, not the prospect of Charlie’s baby changing within her – seemed to bother the child.
She was either very brave, or she could see the future whether she knew it or not. I suspected it was a whole shitload of both.
Isis had been standing at Bug’s knees, watching what was happening intently. The girls had been fidgety and alternately frightened and bored. Frightened when a lightning strike would hit nearby, and bored when it seemed everything was status quo.
I wasn’t so sure they didn’t actually enjoy being scared more. With Trina and Taylor, anything beat boredom. Whenever a loud thunderclap would shatter our nerves, they would scream and cover their faces, but when they took their hands away, they were always looking at one another and smiling in anticipation of the next.
Isis pursed her lips and Bug bent down to kiss them. She smiled big and turned purposefully to walk toward Charlie. Once there, she said, “Charlie, he’s happy.”
Charlie turned her head, seeming surprised that Isis was beside her. She had been looking at Hemp, who stared at them now, his eyes grateful. “Is he, Isis?” he asked.
Isis nodded and smiled again, showing every gleaming tooth. Not a spec of beef jerky hung from them.
“I feel him,” she said. “He cannot think to me now. He is too much a baby and does not know many words.”
“Many words?” I asked. “He knows some words now?”
“Only those I have thought to him,” said Isis. “Not many. He will not be able to speak them for some time.” She looked again at Charlie, the strange smile on her lips again.
Charlie managed a smile. “Isis,” she said. “Is he … like you?”
Isis nodded her head rapidly, a coy smile on her face. “Yes, but he is male.”
“Will he be … like you? Will he sleep, Isis? Will he eat asparagus and fruit? Will his eyes be red? Will he have … teeth like yours?” Charlie hesitated on that last question.
“Charlie,” I interrupted. “He’ll be beautiful.”
“He is beautiful,” said Isis. She smiled again. “Like me!”
“Come here, you goof,” said Bug, who looked like he could use a good pillow beneath his head. I saw him glance over toward where Dave and Nelson slept on the floor every once in a while, longing in his eyes.
“We’ll watch Isis,” I said. “Why don’t you drop down and take an hour or two.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about her,”
he said. “But I think we all need a new dose of WAT-5 before anybody does anything. We’re goin’ on six hours now.”
Hemp checked his watch. “Oh, my God,” he said. “I can’t believe I let that happen.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Bug. “All that means is I’ll actually get to sleep fast. That’s special for an old guy like me.”
Hemp reached into his pants pocket and his expression changed. He felt his other pocket, shock on his face.
“It’s not here,” he said.
“You sure?” I asked. “Hemp, you had them.”
“I know, I know,” he said, re-checking his pockets again. “but they’re gone. Probably during the altercation with the red-eye.”
“How many did we have left?” asked Charlie.
“Enough for at least ten more hours of protection,” said Hemp. “I’m sorry, everyone.”
“I lived without it for the better part of the last year,” said Lola. “Guess I’ll survive now, too.”
“I was hidin’ in a cave before, so I had no need for it,” said Bug. “Since I came out, it’s been the only thing that’s really set my mind at ease – especially with this one.” He bounced Isis in his arms.
“Well, everyone needs rest,” continued Hemp. “We have very limited food, but the water tanks were filled, so we’re okay in that department. Let’s hope Flex and Tony –”
He stopped. “Sorry, guys. Let’s hope Flex gets back soon. We’ve got the weapons and ammo that we have, but I’m afraid it’s not as much as we would choose.”
“I don’t like the wafers much anyway,” said Trina. “They make me want to puke sometimes,” she added.
“You never liked them, silly,” I said.
“I don’t like them either, but mommy says they keep us safe,” said Taylor. “Right, mommy?”
“Yes, baby,” said Charlie. “And don’t worry. We’ll have more soon.”
“Are you okay, mommy?” asked Taylor. She got up and went to Charlie, leaned against her and hugged her tightly.
“As long as I know you’re here with me,” said Charlie. “My brave, strong girl.”
Dave and Nelson had slept through the bad news, so Hemp went into the room and nudged them awake.
“Hey, dude,” said Nelson, yawning. “Is everything okay?
Dave rubbed his eyes. “What’s up, Hemp?”
“We’ve lost the remainder of the WAT-5,” he said. “I’m afraid we need to take stock of our weapons and ammo. I’d say we need to check outside to assess the situation, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter because we’re limited on what we have. When it’s gone, it’s gone.”
Dave lowered his voice and eyed Hemp. “Pretty dire. What happened to the WAT-5?”
Hemp took the hint and knelt down beside them. I had to know what the conversation was, so I went in with them and joined the huddle.
“I lost it when Nelson and I fell, I suppose,” said Hemp. “I guess it wasn’t stuffed very deeply in my pocket.”
“Nobody’s fault, Hemp,” said Dave. “Do we know what the situation outside is right now?”
“I haven’t looked, and I don’t recommend you do so either,” he said, keeping his voice low. “No sense in alarming anyone else if it’s dire.”
“True,” I said. “Once you look out, someone’s gonna ask what it’s like out there.”
“Exactly,” said Hemp. “Look. Flex should be back soon. I know we haven’t heard from him in a while, but if we can trust Isis, he’s still alive.”
“Thank God for her,” I said. “She’s my only peace of mind where Flex is concerned.”
Dave stood up and yawned, looking over at Charlie. Charlie turned her head and smiled back at him, giving him a little wave. He waved back. “Had that kid yet?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m thinking maybe some Sex Pistols would help me along.” She turned her eyes to Hemp.
“Back to sleep with me,” said Dave. “I’m more of a Bob Seger guy.”
“I dig The Grateful Dead,” said Nelson. “Got any of them?” he asked.
“Not in here, but I know a few record stores we can hit later,” said Charlie. “For now, get on that ammo inventory.”
“Sure,” said Nelson, tucking his hair behind his right ear. “Better to know where we stand. I have like six Ninja stars left.”
Bug went into the Plexiglas room with Dave and Nelson, pulled up a spot on the floor with a small stack of towels beneath his head and closed his eyes. “I’m wiped,” he said.
Isis had gone over to Rachel, who picked her up and sat her in her lap. “How are you, little one?” she asked, smiling.
“You’re a little grownup,” said Isis.
“I am. I’m only 4’11” tall.”
“You are much taller than that as a soul,” said Isis. “You have a good, kind heart.”
Rachel Reed looked at Isis and smiled. “Now how would you know anything about that?”
“I watched you,” said Isis. “You are small, but you are determined.”
“I am going to wake up very soon and tell everybody about the conversation I was having with a baby in my dream,” said Rachel. “I’m pretty sure about that.”
Isis reached over and tried to pinch Rachel. I could see what she was doing, but her little fingers weren’t coordinated enough to actually get any skin between them.
“What was that?” asked Rachel.
“I was pinching you so you would know you’re not dreaming,” said Isis. “I’m thirsty.”
“Well, let’s get you some water, how about?”
“Gem,” said Hemp. “You need some rest. I suggest you follow Bug’s lead and get some sleep.”
“Not until my girl here gives birth to that little papoose.”
Charlie’s face contorted as if on cue, and I saw the muscles in her legs tense. It brought giving birth to my son right back home.
“See? You’re about to pop him out any minute, like a Pop Tart.”
“Pop Tarts!” shouted Trina.
“She doesn’t have any,” said Taylor, rolling her eyes.”
“She might,” said Trina.
“I don’t,” I said. “It was an analogy.”
“What do those taste like?” asked Trina.
“Oh, my God,” said Taylor.
“Gem, why do you say him instead of her?” asked Charlie.
“I just doubt Isis is wrong about it,” I said. “That’s all. Doesn’t really matter anyway, right?”
“You’re right,” said Charlie. “It doesn’t matter what sex it is. But wake Doctor Jim, would you? I want him to check me again.”
Jim had drifted off, too. Everyone was exhausted, and in the relative safety of the mobile lab they were able to give in to their fatigue. Despite how comfortable he appeared, and ignoring his soft snores, I awoke Doc Scofield, who came to life like he’d been sleeping for six hours.
“Oh!” he said with a start. “How long was I out?”
“Five minutes,” said Hemp, smiling. “You are such a slacker. Your punishment is to measure my wife’s cervix.”
“Well,” said Scofield. “Why’d you wake me then? I can do that shit in my sleep.”
*****
Chapter Fourteen
I almost wanted to tether myself to something, the wind and rain was making it so difficult to keep my balance. Punch watched me from the truck, but what I was doing was a one-man job and he couldn’t really help. Still, I thought my plan was a good one.
I fed the winch cable out and worked the crowbar’s U-shaped end underneath the jammed VW wheel and axle. When I got it the way I wanted it, the long end of the crowbar stuck into the air, angled toward the Volkswagen.
I then slid the winch hook down over the crowbar and held it about ten inches from the base. I motioned to Punch to reel in the winch cable very slowly.
The motor kicked in and the slack in the cable began to wind into the winch. I held up my hand in a stop signal, and he did. I gave him a signal with my fist
that I thought meant to give the motor a quick bump.
Punch got it the first time. He bumped the motor of the winch, and the cable tensed, keeping the hook where I had placed it, the tension between the truck and the crowbar perfect to hold the hook where I had raised it.
I fought the wind and rain back to the Toyota and worked my way to the driver’s side.
“Okay, brother,” I said when he opened the window. “It’s ready. I don’t want you to use the winch power. You gotta back this sucker up fast. Just a foot or two should do.”
“You think it’ll flip that fucker off the bridge?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “Got it jammed under there perfectly. As long as the crowbar pulls straight back that rim’s gotta lift up and over.”
Punch looked at me. “You wanna give it a go?”
“Nah,” I said. “If this doesn’t work, I want to be able to blame someone else.”
“I guess if passin’ the blame is good enough for the POTUS, it’s good enough for you,” he said. “Okay. You wanna get inside? Don’t stand out there, man. If that cable snaps off there it could smack you.”
“Good call,” I said. I went around to the other door and slid in. I was making a real mess of the upholstery. I was immediately glad it wasn’t Gem’s car.
“Ready?” he said.
“Cross your fuckin’ fingers, Punch.”
“We got this,” said Punch. He put his foot on the brake and put the Land Cruiser in reverse. He looked me. “Let me see ‘em.”
I held up my crossed fingers, smiling.
“Good,” he said. He hit the gas without removing his foot from the brake pedal, and the Toyota shot backwards.
The cable held. The hook jerked the crowbar backward, and as the fulcrum created by my positioning of the steel rod engaged, the VW’s wheel lifted up nearly three inches.
It was enough.
Dead Hunger VI_The Gathering Storm Page 29
