by Mark Tufo
I watched the expression on Gem’s face. It was awesome to see her so interested in this. “Tell us about the engine, Hemp. Anything special?”
“It’s got all you need under the hood. A 4.6 liter V8 delivering around 240 horsepower. But the door panels are lined with B6 ballistic steel. Plus, there’s B4 steel on the roof, which will make it harder for me to –”
“But how do I fire the AK, and how do I know I’m aimed at what I want to kill?” Gem was back to the gun. One track mind.
“Really? You don’t think I’ve thought this through? How long have we known one another?” Hemp laughed.
Gem looked at her watch. “About 20 hours,” she said. “Okay, go on.”
“Alright. I’ve wired up a video sight that I’ll mount to the gun. It’s basically a camera. We’ll essentially have an A/B switch on the dashboard here, and when you hit B, the GPS monitor screen will turn into your gun sight. This gun, on the ball bearing ring mount, will spin all the way around and stay stable in any position.”
“And I fire it how?”
“You pull a handle. Just like an old time toilet flush or calling the porter on the Orient Express.”
“And this will be completed when?”
Hemp stuck a mask on his head and picked up the cutting torch and clipped it to his belt. With both hands, he hefted a circular steel plate about fifteen inches in diameter from the bench and climbed up on top of the car, walking on his knees up the hood, not leaving even the slightest impressions in the heavy duty exterior. He rested his steel plate in the center of the forward cockpit roof and used his striker to light the torch. Lowering his face shield, he said, “Believe it or not, a little more than half an hour.”
He started to cut with a shower of sparks.
*****
Gem was having some fun with the 360 degree submachine gun welded to the top of her Crown Victoria.
At first I had no idea how she was spotting the infecteds in the fading twilight; the trip had taken longer than we’d planned due to road blockages and alternate routes, so day had begun to melt into night, and there was no moon.
Then I remembered. These creatures had a strange, luminescent eye shine that threw me off; I’d seen it in the dead eyes of Jamie’s neighbor, the swimmer who got dead before he could breast stroke his way to my brain for perhaps his first meal of human grey matter.
But when Gem saw the eye shine glimmer in the night, she pushed the B button on the dash and swung her AK-toward the shine using the pivot handle Hemp had rigged up.
In a display – almost a cocky display, if you ask me – of confidence, Hemp had used a sharpie to draw crosshairs on the GPS monitor screen in the Crown Vic, so when she was lined up with the zombie, she’d yank her trigger handle down like a trucker blowing her horn at a passing rig.
And we not only saw crimson-brown sprays of zombie blood fly from their exploding heads as we passed, we saw their dropping bodies fall away, and nothing but Gem’s white toothy smile in the rear view mirror of my Suburban. She was really enjoying this, and was getting quite good at it.
Hemp was bringing up the rear in his mobile lab, which he had equipped with some items he believed he’d need in his efforts to help Jamie and discover a cure for this thing. It was a diesel pusher with a bangin’ motor and a stock turbo system that allowed it to eat up highway, never losing a beat.
I looked beside me. Trina slept, poor thing. I was going to put her with Gem, but she was sleeping anyway, and Gem was so into the gun that I knew she’d want to play with it on the way. Like I said before, when mama’s happy.
I grabbed my radio and pressed the talk button.
“Hey, guys. I want to stop at Home Depot and pick up another generator. I have one at my house, but I’d like to pick up the biggest one they have.”
“I hear they’re on sale,” Gem said. “Free to the living.”
“Walking dead need not apply,” Hemp said.
I thought of Jamie, still strapped to the goddamned trailer. Hemp had suggested we take her out and strap her down on the examination table he’d brought in his lab, but it wasn’t mounted yet, and I didn’t want to take any chances. We’d checked her again before leaving the CDC and she was okay. Alive in her present form of living, anyway. I didn’t want to change anything. We’d gotten her this far.
A siren blared in the distance as we approached Lula. It did not appear to be any nearer or farther away at any given time, so we guessed it was just stuck on. I wondered about, but did not discuss aloud, the police officer who went with the car from which the siren blared. He’d once served his community, and since then he had either become the hunter or the hunted. I wasn’t sure which I wished upon him.
When we arrived at the Home Depot, which was just three miles – three long, desolate miles – from my home, I ran inside, armed with my Daewoo. There was a pallet out front piled high with Generac 17,500 watt cart-mount generators, but the frames had to be assembled, so they weren’t exactly portable yet. One was upended and had fallen halfway out of its box, as if someone had attempted to lift it and failed miserably. These suckers weighed almost 400 lbs, so a forklift would be needed to drop it onto my trailer.
I ran around to the garden center and pulled open the gate. I saw the lime green forklift fifteen feet to my left and ran for it. I jumped on, turned the key until it beeped, then fired the propane burning engine, which caught instantly. I drove that bitch like a bat out of hell through the gate and up to the stack.
I’d had enough fun in large buildings that initially appeared deserted. I didn’t need to have any more.
I’d told Hemp to stay in the land yacht he was driving, but next thing I knew he was beside me, helping me shimmy the next undamaged generator over the tips of my raised forks.
“Thanks, pal. Appreciate it.”
“Pal. Such a John Wayne word.”
We slid the gen completely onto the forks, made sure it was balanced, and I jumped back in the driver’s seat. “Get back in your shoebox. I got it from here.”
In another minute I had the gen lowered onto the trailer. In another ten minutes we pulled up to my house, my ragtag group of survivors. It was time to do some planning, some training, and some learning.
I thought we had the right combination of talents to do just that.
*****
The first order of business when we arrived at my home, after getting our pregnant bitch settled on a soft pile of blankets on the front porch, was to get Jamie off that trailer and onto one of the exam tables in the mobile lab. I didn’t want Trina seeing her.
Now keep in mind, I tried to get that damned dog to come into the house and settle in where it was cooler, but she was having none of it. Despite the tiny buns baking in her oven, she seemed to want to stand watch, albeit lying down.
As I had assumed would be the case, there was no power to my home. Gas was still flowing, and since I had a gas range and water heater, that worked out fine. My house was on a well with its own pump, and my whole house generator was in perfect working order as I always maintained it. There was a full underground tank filled with 500 gallons of propane, so we were prepared for baths or showers. When Gem put Trina down on a couch inside, she fell fast asleep, so Gem offered to help with Jamie. I reluctantly accepted. Gem hadn’t seen her yet, and while she’d seen others like her – or in the same condition anyway, she had known Jamie. She had loved my sister.
Hemp was suddenly very CDC-like. His British accent was crisp and professional. “The most important thing, and I can’t stress this point enough, is to not contact her with your hands, and do not let her scratch or bite you,” he said.
He stood before the roll, and untied the ropes that held her to the trailer. “Flex, do you have any leather work gloves?”
“Of course. Four or five pairs.”
“Get them, would you? I think Gem and I can manage to carry her into the lab.”
I nodded and ran to the detached garage. I kept the K7 ready as well, not ta
king any chances. Nothing jumped out at me or otherwise tried to eat me. Within two minutes I was back at the converted motor home and Gem and Hemp were just getting Jamie’s wrapped body in through the door.
I followed them inside. “Put her on top of the table and we’ll get her secured before we cut away the bubble wrap,” said Hemp.
“It’s a pool cover, actually,” I said. “It was pretty much all I had to work with.”
“It was fine, Flex,” Hemp said. “She couldn’t see through it, nor could she claw or bite through it.”
I pressed on the shape at both ends, then said, “Give me a hand. I need to end-for-end this. This side is her head.”
Hemp and I turned it. “Gloves?” Gem asked.
“Yes. Everyone,” Hemp answered.
Gem put her gloves on, and I followed suit. After we all had our miniscule protective gear on, Hemp approached Jamie’s unsecured body with scissors.
“I need to cut a strip out of the middle so my cross restraints can be flat against the body rather than over the wrapping.”
He began cutting across the center at what he estimated was her torso, until he’d exposed the forearm on each side and her clothing in the middle. About a three-inch strip was exposed. He took a nylon strap equipped with clip hooks on each side and secured one end to a steel ring on the left underside of the table, brought the strap over Jamie’s body, and clipped the other end to the opposite tie-down ring. Then he pulled the loose length of nylon and drew it tight.
He repeated this further down, between her shins and her knees. When he was satisfied, he took the scissors again and looked at me and Gem.
“I’ve not seen her at all, but Flex, you haven’t seen her since you wrapped her. I want to warn you, she may have changed.”
“How so?” Gem asked.
“I don’t know. But she might have experienced some further . . . well, decomposition or metamorphosis, whatever the case may be. I’ve yet to determine the biological makeup of the abnormals. Regular indicators, such as heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature, and lung functions haven’t been measured. What I’m saying – and I can’t believe I’m saying it – is if this is some sort of reanimation, which the living severed heads seem to indicate it may be – then it might be difficult for you to accept when you see her. Especially considering it’s your sister.”
“I saw a bit of the head thing back at Cynthia’s house,” Gem said. “That shit was disturbing.”
I don’t know why, but I laughed. Then Hemp smiled, and Gem looked at both of us and she burst into laughter.
“There’s not a fucking thing about the past 36 hours that hasn’t been disturbing,” said Gem, rubbing her face with her gloved hands. Her exhaustion was present in her voice – even in her wonderful laugh.
“Baby, that’s an understatement, and I’m having a hard time accepting any of this,” I said. “But I have to, so please, cut this stuff away and let me see my sister.”
Hemp nodded and began cutting from the feet up the center of the layers of plastic. Gem peeled it to the side as he cut from south to north, feet to head. When he got to the first strap, he cut beneath it and poked the scissor blade in above it and continued his cut. He repeated this as he got to the strap holding the chest.
He put down the scissors. “I want to restrain the head before we go on.”
“Understood,” I said. “Got what you need?”
Hemp nodded. He opened the drawer and withdrew a 2” strap, which he placed directly on top of the area where the forehead generally was, and repeated the steps to fasten and tighten it. He then took a large saw and cut away the excess length of bubble plastic that extended beyond the top of her head.
He began his cut from the top of the head toward the feet. Cutting essentially straight down between the eyes. As the plastic peeled away, we saw what nobody wanted to see, but the first thing we were bombarded with was the reek.
I thought it was the clothing at first; we’d not been this close to any of the ones we battled, but did get a pretty good whiff of the ones trying to get in the freight elevator.
But this smell was putrid; the smell of an advanced case of halitosis or gum disease on someone’s breath. No, even that didn’t cover it. The smell was like a dead body that was deteriorating and decomposing in front of us, cysts, pustules, oozing sores, and just plain rotting skin and tissue.
As saddened as I was, I ran to the small stainless sink and threw up. I turned on the water and the pump kicked in, and Gem quickly followed suit.
Hemp was steadfast, looking away to provide us our dignity, but nowhere near sick. Disease, epidemics, these things were his specialty. This is what he steeled himself to deal with, though he’d never dealt with anything like this before.
Returning to Jamie, I forced myself to analyze her. She had become worse. Much worse. I wasn’t familiar with the course of typical decomposition, so didn’t know whether or not what I was seeing fell into line with that. I only knew that nothing that looked like this should be alive in any way, or conscious of anything at all.
And it was at that very moment that I resolved to end her suffering as soon as humanly possible.
And I know that was an ironic choice of words.
Her eyes were dead, but not dead. They peered straight ahead, and as Hemp pulled away the remainder of the bubble wrap, she struggled to turn her head, the skin now rotting from it in patches, pulling away in spots and generally drying out, some of it falling away with the plastic.
And I saw, just briefly, the beginning of the glow that many of the creatures’ eyes we’d seen had taken on. It looked almost like a chemical reaction, or some sort of mist. Then it was gone, and I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t imagined it.
Hemp hadn’t noticed it. He was busy trying to unwrap her further.
Trying to look at anything but that face, I looked down at this thing, no longer recognizable as my kid sister. I stared at the plastic only, and as the three of us tugged and pulled the rest of the wrap away, she was suddenly there on the table, fully exposed.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, no more skin even pretending to be lips; pulled completely back, her teeth and ulcer-covered gums exposed.
Her face suddenly and inexplicably jerked directly toward Hemp and her gnashing began anew, with a manic speed and force. Her teeth ground together so hard I watched in horror as one of her front teeth shattered, and the other half just fell out and into her throat. She seemed not to notice.
Her black, swollen tongue darted around within the cavern of her mouth, and her wrists struggled beneath the restraints that held her forearms, and I could see the potential for her to pull her arms out.
There were additional wrist straps we couldn’t attach until the wrapping was gone, so I reached down quickly with my glove-clad hands and seized her right wrist, jamming it through the thick leather loop and cinching it tight around it. Gem did the same thing on the other side, and Hemp hurried around to repeat the actions on her ankles. Her head was pretty well secured, but after Hemp finished with her ankles, he pulled the head strap tighter for good measure.
I turned away then. Took three steps away from the table.
“Flex.” It was Gem’s voice. She said no more. She came up to me, pulled her gloves off, and pulled me against her. I resisted for a moment, but Gem knew me. She knew what I needed right then and it was her. With her cheek against mine, warm and comforting, I felt her breath on my neck and kept my eyes closed as she worked her soothing magic on my very soul. We stayed like that for what must have been five minutes.
Hemp was silent, giving us the time we needed. He was a good guy, and he understood. When I felt composed, I kissed Gem on the lips and touched my forehead to hers.
“Thanks, babe. I don’t know how you do that.”
“It did as much for me,” she said, smiling.
I pulled away and walked back to the table. “Okay, tell me what you see, Professor.” Gem pulled her gloves back on and stood beside me.
“Her fingernails are black, her skin is essentially rotting from its skeletal framework,” Hemp said. “It’s not the absolute norm for death, but for this level of death, it may well be. I’ve not seen any of the others this closely, and under this kind of lighting.”
“How far can this go with her still able to … live?” I asked.
“I’m not sure you can call this state alive,” Hemp answered. “I don’t see any rise and fall of the chest, indicating there is no actual pulmonary function, no breathing.”
I looked at Gem, who remained silent and solemn. “So, Hemp. She’s essentially a dead person who is starving, and driven toward the taste of human flesh.”
Hemp ignored my statement. “I feel odd leaving her like this, but I’m too tired to make any real progress with her tonight. I’d like to do some basic tests in the morning. Check some of those things we discussed earlier.”
Gem removed her gloves again, then lifted my hands and pulled mine off. “Let’s go get Trina bathed,” she said. “I think you could use some cleanup, too.”
She looked at Hemp. “Do you want to put a sheet or something over her?”
Hemp nodded. “I thought of that, and it might actually be a comfort to her rather than leaving her exposed.” He shrugged. “I have no idea. At any rate, go ahead. See you in a bit. I’ll lock this up and stand watch. When you’re finished I’ll have my shower.”
*****
Gem and I planned to shower together, right after we set up a tub for Trina. I sat in a nearby chair as Gem washed her, and the little girl practically slept through the process.
I looked on at the gentleness with which Gem washed Trina’s hair and sponged her back, and I fell more deeply in love with her right there. She would essentially be this baby girl’s mama now, and I’d be her daddy. And I was proud to have this woman by my side. I didn’t know if Jamie would ever be able to reclaim that job from Gem, but I did know that Gem would be the best mother ever.
