by Alexa Dare
Not a damned thing.
***
In a bunker beneath a barn, Brody lugged out a pile of black three-ring binders. The local doctor who set up shop for the secret project used the living room-sized hole in the ground.
Cantrell had been right about a secret hidden beneath the barn floor. Only no aliens lived in the shed-like room, only the hay and faint manure fragrances from the barn overhead.
No outer space men, but plenty of scribbled notes. All on sheets of white copy paper, written in black ink. Doc, rest his soul, used magnets to change the brains of new mothers and to create powers in their unborn babies. Then, they even tested the process on people like Brody and his brother to enhance their intelligence .
Woo-woo sci-fi in the real world.
On a bench built out of two-by-fours and wooden planks, Brody spread out pages. The crude counter, more solid than a Sunday brunch table, covered most of one wall. Ah, man, what he wouldn’t give for fried chicken and mashed taters and brown gravy, with a yeast roll for sopping up the gravy.
There had to be info they might use to stop the zombies.
How the heck could you stop a virus? One which until the last few days didn’t exist? That somehow changed brain-eating dead people to talking dead who are able to plot and yet hung on to a love of snacking on people?
A lot of the jots and scrawls of the notes didn’t make sense.
Man, if only his mega thoughts hadn’t faded.
Before heading out, Abe lit, using matches since his fiery power was on hold, several oil lamps. wavering flickers of light, fueled by burning wicks, cast bright yellow upon the black and white pages, as shadows danced along the edges of the small room like smoky ghosts of the past of what the world had once been.
Had those issues hit as Brody’s brainwaves raced smart, he might have figured out the mystery. He tapped the tips of his fingers on a page filled with words lined out and faded pencil marks from eraser scrubs.
For a while, Brody lost himself in reading.
Sometime later, the boys rushed in through the access tunnel. Panting, smudged cheeks flushed, they cast quick looks toward each other.
“Water’s rising in the outer tunnels.” Abe raked soil from his raven hair in musty tufts.
“And the rain’s gone bad because of what it’s doing to stuff.” Junior tucked an arm behind his back.
“Go ahead, show him.” Abe elbowed the shorter boy’s upper arm.
Junior, his dark blond hair sticking up like corn silk , wagged his head. “Nah, you first.”
“Best you go before me.” Abe set the glow bottle on the counter.
“What’s up, guys?” Brody thumped a chunk of rock on the pile of pages, folded his arms, and propped his rear against the bench.
“Rocks, paper, scissors?” asked Abe.
“Where’s fire?” Junior grinned.
“Wanna know why there’s no fire in the game?” Abe, the kid that ruled flame, grinned. “Cause fire always wins.”
“You left out the water.”
Silence fell like the quiet after a mortar shell blast in the room.
“We’ll find Hannah and Darcy Lynn.” Junior’s lip trembled, then he jutted out his lower jaw. With a nod, he said, “Soon.”
“When our powers cycle again, that’s the top of the list” Brody ground the heels of his hands into his temples. The ache of the pressure brought tears to his eyes. “In the meantime, what do you two intend to tell me.”
“Fine, I’ll go first.” Abe held up a lidded glass mason jar.
Instead of canned green beans or chow-chow, trapped, a reddish-brown, long-bodied bug twitched its mini antennae.
“What is that? A beetle?”
“Some kind of roach.” Abe gripped the rim of the lid and offered the jar. “Touch the side.”
“This isn’t one of those scare-the-poop-out-of-me moments, is it?”
“We wish.” Junior didn’t take his gaze from the bug.
At the ready to pull back, Brody touched his shaky index finger to the smooth glass. “Why so warm?”
“Hold it up higher, Abe.” Junior edged back a step.
“Easy for you to say, the jar’s getting hot.”
Brody got a pair of cloth work gloves and handed one to Abe. Junior helped the older boy slide on the glove, and Abe swapped hands to grip the lid with his gloved hand.
From below, the roach looked like a plain old house pest. A flash sparked across the bottom of the jar.
“What the hell?” Brody ducked back.
“Found it near a puddle just inside the old mineshaft.” Abe’s weak grin never found his eyes.
Another spark flared. Sulfur-heavy tendrils of smoke rose inside the jar to seep out of the sides of the lid.
“The other glove.” Abe held out his free hand.
Unable to let go of the spare glove, Brody nodded when Junior tugged the rough cloth from out of his grip. Sourness burped from the upper part of Brody’s belly chasing away any more fried chicken ideas. “Don’t let it out.”
“A fire starter roach.” Abe lifted one corner of his mouth. He used the other glove to hold the jar and screwed the lid on tighter. “I’d be happy about it, if it weren’t so out-there and scary.”
“That’s not all.” Junior held out a clear sandwich bag filled out by air into a round bubble.
Beneath a twisted top, a brown blob sat in the lower curve.
“A worm?” Brody leaned close.
“Yep. The kind you dig up for fishing.” Junior lifted the bag high and tapped the side with his finger.
One end of the worm split long ways down the middle to about halfway down the worm’s body. Each upper body half drew back and writhed like tiny snakes. The sightless twin ends of a single worm body struck to smack repeatedly against the plastic.
“Strikes. Like biting snakes.” Brody stepped back. He bumped the high bench with his lower back and elbows. A sharp zing tingled up his arms and a flavor like flat soft drink swamped his molars. “No mouths or teeth. At least, not yet.”
“What’s going on?” Junior asked in a low, awed whisper.
“The high EMFs must be changing them. Their, uh, genes, um, genetics have altered. The rain might carry the energy charges.”
Brody’s eyes widened as his dull thoughts chugged. “Guys, it doesn’t take extra smarts to figure out the world’s turned bad, and things are going to get a whole lot worse.”
Chapter 5
Burnt hair stink and dead people smell chased her and the others through orange-glowing ground fog rising to meet the black-as-night clouds. The cold from the use of her ability fast fading, Hannah held on to Darcy Lynn’s and one of the little boy’s hands. Shrugging off shivers, Hannah tugged and ran.
Once outside the old brick-building school, they fled deep into the forest. They continued until Jeremiah and Isaiah huddled against a wide oak trunk, hugged each other, and fought to catch their breath in a light foggy mist.
Darcy Lynn, fingers curled to her palms, knelt, and lifted her face skyward. “It’s daytime, but it’s not, and the wind still won’t play.”
“She all right?” Peyton gripped a smaller tree, bent at the waist, and sucked in deep, fast breaths.
“Things being the way they are is hard for her.” Hannah actually felt sorry for the younger girl.
“Back in town they’re weeding out anyone eighteen and under. They blame us for—” Peyton shrugged her shoulder and tilted her head toward the old school.
“Why would they blame you?” Hannah sank to her knees. “Wait. What did you mean by weeding out?”
Peyton grunted. “Why don’t you kids go find some nuts and berries? Not sure if berries are ripe, but there might be some hickory nuts or a wild strawberry or two.”
“Darcy Lynn,” Hannah said, “hold their hands. Look for stuff that Junior showed you is safe to eat.”
Peyton nodded. “Best bring them for Hannah and me to check first.”
“I’m not a baby. When t
he wind plays with me, I’m the best of all.” Darcy Lynn pushed her damp hair out of her face. Shoving to her feet, she grabbed for the boys’ hands and the three of them moved farther along into the trees.
“What’s she mean about the wind?” asked Peyton.
“Nora will come after us.” Hannah darted glances through the sweet-scented pines and cedars toward the kids.
“Her or the guy with her or both.” Peyton shoved upright, crossed her arms, and stuck her chin forward.
Did the girl always have to act so big and bad?
“Guy?” asked Hannah.
“Heard him call himself Roderick. Then Yates. Then Doc whoever.” Peyton spun a finger near her temple and grimaced. “He’s not right in the head.”
“Is anyone anymore?” Damp mist settled on Hannah’s clothes and weighed down her already soaked bits of hair. Was this how it felt not to connect with water? She whispered, “What’s happening with the weeding out?”
“Kids are being hunted. The adults never bring any back. I doubt that they are just locking them away, don’t you?” Peyton scuffed the soles of her hiking boots over nettles and moss. “The wind thing... She’s one of them.”
“Was.” Hannah gnawed on and tasted the salty flavor of her lower lip. “Something happened when the storm blew up. She’s like any normal little girl now.”
Peyton’s eyes narrowed as if she pegged Darcy Lynn as threatening as the not-dead dead woman. “Can you believe the weird, whacked-out zombie lady called herself the Queen of the Dead?”
“Right. As if.” Hannah shrugged the shoulders of an awkward gawky body that no longer quite fit right. Until now, her connection with water existed as a part of who she was.
“You’re how old?” Peyton asked.
“Thirteen.” Hannah raised her chin. “Darcy Lynn’s seven.”
“The boys both held up three fingers when I asked them.” Peyton rolled her shoulders back and down. “I’m seventeen, going on thirty. That’s what my dad used to say. Before the neighbor shot him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He always said people don’t handle things well that they don’t fathom.” Peyton peered through the trees, first back toward the school, then at where the children hiked.
“He sounds like a smart dad. I never knew mine.” Odd how rain didn’t pour down when she was sad.
“Be thankful that you didn’t have to see him turn into a flesh-eating monster.” Peyton’s eyes squinted to pea size to shoot hate out of her eyeballs.
“No, I—” Hannah squirmed as if her own skin were made of itchy wool.
Peyton lunged. Grabbed the front of Hannah’s t-shirt and twisted the cloth. “You caused this, didn’t you? Dad would be alive if it weren’t for the likes of you.”
The teen girl snarled and leaned in until faint freckles over the bridge of her nose and the flecks of silver in her eyes came into focus and the raw hate in her eyes filled Hannah’s gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat. A focus on her shock and anger—no, she wasn’t afraid of this bully—didn’t change the weather. Inside her, Hannah reached out, finding nothing beyond the bounds of her flesh. She blurted out, “How can you stand to be trapped in your own skin?”
“What is it that you do?” Peyton asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Tears gathered. She blinked. No, she didn’t fear the bully girl. She. Would. Not. Cry.
“What about before?” Peyton shook her by the grip on her shirt.
“Water. Rain. Hail. Floods.”
“And the whiny kid?”
“She’s not a whiner. We’ve been through a lot. Like she said. The wind.” Hannah caught her lower lip between her teeth and held back on sharing about whirlwinds and such.
“You didn’t make them?”
“Them? If you mean the zombies. No.” Hannah leaned away from the hold on her, but her t-shirt no longer stretched. “We’d better get going.”
“Who?” Voice dropped to a growling rasp, Peyton edged her nose to almost touching. “Who did this to us?”
The ugly hate in the teenager’s eyes made. Hannah wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Instead, she said, “Nora’s son, Vincent.”
Peyton twisted the t-shirt material until her knuckles ground into Hannah’s collarbone. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Panic knotted in Hannah’s chest. “I don’t even know where my brother is.”
“Or Junior.” Darcy Lynn and the boys scrunched through the leaves from behind Hannah. “Abe plays with fire, Junior makes the earth wobble. Least ways, they could. Why are you wrinkling Hannah’s shirt? That’s not very nice.”
Peyton let go of the stretched material so quickly that Hannah fell back on her haunches.
“I tried to get the wind to blow and make her leave you alone. Why won’t the wind play?”
Hannah shot an I-told-you-so glare at Peyton. “See?”
“I can’t tell where they are either.” Darcy Lynn cupped berries in a pouch made from her folded-up shirt. Tart red juice stained her fingers and lips. Red dots bled through the fabric in fruit juice spots.
“You guys were told to let us check the berries first.”
The three little ones stared at their shoes.
“No belly ache or nothing,” one little boy said.
“No sick up neither.” The second, like he was gagging, stuck out his tongue.
Hannah sighed. “The guys have Brody. They’ll be fine.”
“What does this Brody guy do? Blow smoke out of his butt?”
The twins, not quite alike in size and looks, giggled.
“People don’t do that.” Darcy Lynn giggled too. A pout drew her mouth tight, and she asked, “Do they?”
“No, silly.” Hannah stood. She glanced about for a piece of tree branch or stone. Just in case. “He works with computers and gadgets. Or he did back when electronic stuff worked. He’s not like us.”
“But,” Darcy Lynn said, “he’s—”
“He’s one of our gang, even if he’s older. He’ll take care of the guys though.” She hoped. While she cast glances over the ground, she patted the bulges and twists of her t-shirt front into place.
Casual like, she scooped up a single berry from the pile in Darcy Lynn’s shirt and popped it into her mouth. The sweet-but-tart strawberry soaked her tongue.
Her darting gaze homed in on a broken branch near a tree root to the right. The outer corners of her lips twitched. If only a spring rain would join her inward smile.
“Where would we find this Vincent zombie-making guy?” Peyton asked.
“Last time we saw him,” said Hannah, “he was at the Rocky Top place.”
“Then that’s where we head.” Peyton turned in a half circle as if her nose were a compass pointer.
“Then let’s go before they find us.” Lifting up a small tree branch, Hannah faked using the crooked waist-high pole as a walking stick.
“We stop him first. Then we figure out a way to end her and the rest of them.” One side of her upper lip sneered and Peyton cut another glance back toward Nora-the-zombie’s way. Hand-in-hand with the boys, the older girl led the way.
Darcy Lynn crept behind the teen, while casting quick glances back at Hannah.
Stick in hand, ready to fight off the girl if forced to, she followed from the rear.
How dare this Peyton girl barge in and take over. Hannah might not control water for now, but bit-by-bit, she aimed to put Miss Bossy Pants in her place.
Chapter 6
Once the head of a covert project, Nora sat at a desk in an elementary-grade school principal’s office. For hours, by the light of kerosene lanterns during the early afternoon, she studied the decomposing flesh of her own lower arm.
Dead, but not.
Less supple. Blue tinged. Even masked by kerosene fumes, a road kill reek seeped from her pores.
Once freed from the storage room, she’d been taken to the principal’s office where a rickety wooden desk and faded red cha
irs sat on a black and white checkerboard-tiled floor.
Outside the unnatural, blackened sky held pale orange orbs to lead the world into the day after.
And in the midst of it all, Nora sat. Dead.
The Master of the Void, the fifth element, sent this disease to her. Her own son caused her to now exist in a rotting body.
How could he have done this to his own mother? To her?
No bodily fluids, except for a too-heavy flow of saliva, meant no tears.
In a pad used to teach ABCs, Nora jotted down the facts. Then wrote out catchy titles for her formal report slash zombie memoir.
Dead and Alive.
The Dead Side.
Surely, those that lived on would want to know the facts of such a change. From a normal young adult to giving birth to a special child. Then being able to stop hearts by a mere touch. Next, to joining the project. Lastly, to, well, her most recent state.
Physical effects included the ability to smell so intensely that she could savor the lamp fuel and—sniff, sniff—the flavor of fresh meat within the school walls.
Endless thoughts inside her head worked like hungry maggots feeding on her brain.
She wrote down a description of the mental effect.
Morbid, but precise.
Laying down her pen, she pressed the tips of her bluish fingers to the pad. Her murky nails shone purple on the pale green of the page.
How did she feel inside?
Buried deep within her corpse, Nora’s feelings coiled like a snake. Ready. Waiting to strike.
Anger, though deep, fueled her.
Hannah, Darcy Lynn, and their little friends would pay. They’d caused Nora’s corpse irreparable harm during their escape.
“Little brats.” She tapped the writing pad with her index finger. Flecks of her nail fell onto the paper.
Death was bad, but being dead and aware?
No such current report existed.
From outside the room, the odor of the living closed in.
Her outer nostrils quivered and her jaws clenched.
