Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  Her daughter came out … changed. The first things you noticed were her little red eyes, but shortly after she was born, she grew a set of teeth that were near adult sized. She would only eat meat, and she never slept. She grew at twice the rate of a normal human, and she started talkin’ almost right out of the womb.

  She’s fourteen years old now, but looks twenty-eight or so. Max is also a Hybrid; he’s the son of my best bud, Hemp. Hemp’s wife, Charlie, was sprayed by a Mother while they were tryin’ to escape a destroyed house and get to alternate shelter, all the while holdin’ that baby inside her. Charlie’s water had already broken, but a hurricane was tearin’ the place up and there’d been no choice in movin’ her to safety.

  Max has also grown at about the same rate as Isis, and he has most of her other characteristics, too.

  These Hybrids have a special relationship with the Mothers. As little babies, they were like sirens calling to the strange zombies. The moment they took their first breaths, the Mothers sensed them and came to them.

  It could not be stopped. The kids couldn’t control it, and we dealt with the onslaught of rotters. I say the onslaught because it wasn’t just Mothers who showed up; the Mothers have some strange symbiotic relationship with the normal zombies.

  They can direct them where they want them to go. They often do just that. And they did it a shit-ton when Isis and Max were babies. Eventually, around the age of four, the kids learned to stop the siren call.

  Isis figured out that the reason they were drawn to her and Max was because the Mothers, with their rotting, zombie babies squirming within them, truly believed that Isis and Max were their babies. They were drawn with a preternatural, maternal instinct, and came for them; a pull they could no more ignore than a zombie could turn away from fresh, blood-engorged meat.

  We eventually learned their weakness, though. It was as logical as hell, but it still took us a few years to try it.

  Estrogen blockers. Standard issue, estrogen blocking drugs. We figured out how to create a liquid version of the drug and deliver it into their systems by poking them with saturated knife tips or by using flechette-type shotgun shells doused with the drug.

  They melt, hiss and pop worse than their dumber counterparts do after contact with urushiol. It ends them.

  So that’s about it.

  Kingman, Kansas. Our sanctuary for over a decade. I’m pretty sure in the world before zombies, it was kind of a dead place – no pun intended – but now it’s brimming with grateful life.

  We’ve kept our ammo stocks up, livin’ in Kingman. With the safety of the fence around us, and the zombie killin’ pit doin’ most of the necessary destruction of the abnormals for us, we’ve built quite a cache. There were a ton of places to get fresh ammunition in nearby Wichita, so over the years, we stored it right, kept it dry and built up one hell of a stock in nearly every caliber.

  One of the worst things to happen during our tenure in Kingman was the loss of our son, Flex Sheridan Jr. Later that same week, we lost some other fine people here, dealing with a madman that called himself Maestro. He’s dead, thanks to Gem and a whole lot of other brave folks.

  We kinda thought that battle was our last major hurdle. We’d figured out how to deal with the zombies. At least we thought we had.

  We were wrong.

  *****

  I think Nelson Moore covered our story, pretty much right up to the middle of something that took us completely by surprise.

  A new onslaught. The Mothers and Hungerers came out of the blue with absolutely no warning. We didn’t know why or how. When it began, only two things were certain: We were surrounded, and our fences would not hold them.

  Welcome to what we now call The Cleansing. No, I’m not tellin’ the story myself. Lots of folks had input on this one, so suffice it to say this volume was a joint effort.

  Somewhere, Nelson just smiled.

  *****

  CHAPTER ONE

  January 1, 2029

  Nelson’s voice came over the radio, a loud engine noise behind him, threatening to overpower his message to the group.

  “Dudes, they’re coming! Thousands of them!”

  Flex gripped the radio and looked at Gem. “Nelson, come again! I don’t think I caught that right.”

  “You did, bro! Flex, man, the rotters are coming from every direction. I mean every direction. We need to get everyone who can’t fight into the bunkers, like now!”

  “If what he says is true, he’s right,” said Hemp, who stood over Max.

  They were at the clinic. Scofield was sitting in a chair in the corner, nothing for him to do. As Flex looked at him there, he thought the doc looked old.

  Flex realized they all were. Scofield wasn’t any spring chicken when they’d met, and that had been over a decade earlier.

  Taylor had been studying under Doc Scofield for a few years by then, and she was quite a viable medical professional in a world where more were desperately needed. She could draw blood, diagnose several common conditions, and even some that weren’t so common. If she became stumped at somebody’s symptoms, she went through the stacks of medical books that Jim had requested people gather in their travels. She was expert at CPR and even taught classes. Flex even attended some of them.

  He liked to jokingly call her ‘Nurse Ratched’ on the rare occasions she got ticked off, but the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest reference went right over her head.

  Flex said, “Jim, I think you should heed Nelson’s advice. Just get to the shelter.”

  “I’m here in case Hemp needs me,” protested Scofield. “We still don’t know what we can do for the Hybrids.”

  “Okay,” Flex said, “but if shit gets scary here, you need to get going. We need your ass alive.”

  Scofield pulled out his revolver. “I’ll be fine, plus you got Tay if I blow it and get myself killed. Let an old man help how he can. Believe me,” he said, jabbing a finger to his chest, “I’ll still be watchin’ out for old number one.”

  “Okay. Just be sure you do,” Flex said.

  Reeves had radioed a few moments earlier from City Hall, where the largest storm shelter in Kingman was located. It could accommodate around 150 people, and it was stocked with enough food and water for two weeks. It had been used on four occasions since they’d cleared the town, but just for storms.

  Not this.

  The Hybrids did not sleep. Ever. WAT-5 would put them out though, and there was a reason that Max was resting comfortably beside Isis, who had also taken a dose.

  Before Nelson and Rachel had taken to the sky in her ultralight plane, all of the Hybrids had become inundated with screams and cries in their heads that only they could hear. It was so intense that it was painful, even for the little ones. Hybrids are tough; when they’re in pain, everybody should be worried.

  We were appropriately freaked out. WAT-5 had been the only answer. They would not awaken until someone shook them back to consciousness.

  Hemp said, “Flex, radio Kevin and tell him to disrupt the siren and make the announcement several times. Tell him to instruct all the vulnerable to get on WAT-5, grab any emergency supplies they can carry, along with their sprayers of urushiol, and head for the nearest bunker.”

  “I got it,” said Charlie. She unclipped the radio from her belt and pushed the button.

  “Kevin! Kevin Reeves, come in!”

  “Charlie? It’s Kevin. Where are you?”

  “We’re at the clinic,” she said. “We’ve got all the Hybrids we could round up over here and gave them WAT-5.” She gave Reeves Flex’s instructions and he acknowledged.

  “Punch is here,” said Reeves. “He’s got a few boxes of the EB flechette shells. We’re going to distribute them. I saw a lot of Red Eyes along the fence while I was getting over here.”

  “Okay,” said Charlie. “Also announce that we’ll need our best fighters at their perimeter stations.”

  Kingman was not just an experiment. It was to be their final home, and the
y had no intention of abandoning it. During their regular town meetings, they had assigned sections of the perimeter fence to every capable man, woman, Hybrid and teenager in the town. If they had embraced their weapons training and were confident with a firearm, they got a section assigned to them.

  “Got it,” said Kevin. “I heard Nelson’s radio call. It sounds really bad. Is he on the ground yet?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie.

  “We are!” interrupted Nelson’s voice on the line. “Rachel’s coming to you guys. How’s Lita?”

  “She’s asleep,” said Charlie. “Poor thing was up so late last night and now she’s finally out.”

  “Okay, good,” said Nelson. “I’m heading to the urushiol trucks and then I’m hitting the fence line. I think we could use both trucks, though. Can Flex meet me at the yard?”

  Charlie turned. “That’s a damned good idea. Okay, Kevin. You get going. Nelson, I’ll tell Flex.”

  “Okay, but you guys don’t dick around,” said Moore. “If the clinic gets compromised, get your asses to the bunker at City Hall.”

  “We will, Nel. And don’t worry. We’ll watch your girl.”

  “Thanks. I’ll meet Flex there. Later dudes.”

  That was Nelson’s equivalent of “Out.”

  Flex went to Gem. She looked like she was about to jump out of her skin, but she was maintaining her cool while she chewed her lower lip and loaded magazines with rounds, stuffing them into boxes.

  “Gem, I’m meeting Nel. We’re going to douse the fence with the trucks.”

  She looked up at her husband. “I heard.” She did not look happy.

  “This is serious.”

  “I completely get that, and you know I’m not just sitting here and letting this happen.”

  “Does a broken rib mean anything to you?”

  “I won’t do more than I think I can,” she said.

  “Don’t hurt yourself worse,” Flex said, taking her hand in his and stopping her busy work. “In fact, come with me. I want to drop you at the bunker.”

  Gem shook her head, her brown eyes awash with worry. “I’ll take Colton over there if things get sketchy here. I’ll keep the radio on channel 9 like everyone else. If you call, I’ll answer.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You know where Dave and Serena are?”

  The door burst open and Dave ran in holding Lily, Jill Richman’s daughter. She was two years old, and the last Hybrid. She was out cold, so Flex assumed Dave had given her WAT-5.

  “I was just askin’ about you,” said Flex. “Where are Jill, Ben and Serena?”

  Dave rested Lily on a cot and covered her with a light blanket. She breathed deeply but did not awaken. “They were with me, but when Kevin’s announcement came, I told them to cut over to City Hall, to the bunker. Ben’s going to suit up and head back out.”

  Ben was Dave and Serena’s son. He was fourteen years old, and had already grown his hair half as long as his dad’s. He was a smart kid, and good with a rifle and scope. Flex had little doubt that Ben would grab his protective gear and weapons at City Hall and go right to his assigned section of perimeter fence.

  “And Serena actually listened to you?”

  “Jill was the problem,” said Dave, pointing at a sleeping girl on a cot. “She wanted Lily with her, but I convinced her that she’s safer here for the moment. We can get her to a bunker later. Better she stay asleep and avoid that noise in her head.”

  “WAT-5?”

  “Yeah. Gave her a half dose about fifteen minutes ago. She’ll be good for a while. She was wailing about not being able to stop the voices, so she didn’t fight me when I said to take it.”

  “Okay, Dave, I gotta go,” Flex said. “Talk to Hemp. Reeves is at City Hall, available by radio. They’ll tell you where you’re needed.”

  Dave nodded his head. “Go.”

  Flex ran back to Gem and kissed her cheek. “Be smart.”

  “You better,” she shot back.

  He snatched up his Daewoo and a satchel of spare mags and ran out the door.

  *****

  The truck yard was two blocks from Jim Scofield’s clinic. Flex headed north, then cut east at the first intersection.

  In the middle of the street stood a Mother, just fifteen yards ahead of him. Behind her, he heard the sound of an engine firing and revving.

  It was Nelson. He was already at the yard and had fired up the first truck. Flex raised his weapon and kept running, the stitch in his ankle aching from their battle with Maestro, as it always would when he did too much.

  The Mother sprung into the air just as he brought the weapon to bear, drawing a bead on her face. Her feet left the ground, her arms outstretched.

  Mid-run, Flex raised the barrel to follow her, but her leap was not what he had expected; it was half of what he knew the Mothers were capable of, and the moment he fired the weapon, he knew he had missed.

  She was back on the ground, untouched and now just five yards away. Flex quickly corrected and fired again.

  Her face exploded and she staggered twice more, nearly headless, and fell.

  In the distance, the other truck engine fired, and he managed a smile. Nel was getting the vehicle ready for him.

  When he reached the lot, Flex pushed the rolling fence wide open in preparation for their exit.

  “Both trucks are ready to go!” shouted Nel. “From the plane, it looked like most of them were coming from the west. Let’s start in the middle, around Ninnescah and Sugar Streets, and we’ll head north and south.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Flex called over the noise of the clattering diesel engines. “I’ll go south, toward the pit. You head north. Let’s set the valves.”

  Flex shut the huge ball valves off on the front and rear of the tank, leaving only the passenger’s side valves open. Nelson did the same, but in reverse, prepping his truck to blast the liquid from the driver’s side.

  They climbed into their rigs. Flex instinctively checked the gauges and grabbed his radio. “Full tanks, Nel, but it’s been a while, so you probably better start your agitators.”

  Hemp had installed internal mixing blades in the truck tanks to keep the urushiol oil from floating to the top of the blend. It fed from the bottom and without the agitators, they would just be spraying water. They didn’t have enough estrogen-blocking meds to use in the tanks, but each one did contain a small amount. For the most part, the trucks were used for killing standard issue rotters. Urushiol never went bad, so as long as it was disbursed in the water, it would kill them.

  “Let’s go!” Flex called, and put the transmission in gear. He drove out of the fence and cut left, then took his first right, heading toward the west perimeter.

  Flex was in the lead. When they reached Ninnescah Street, he looked up. It was just about five in the morning now, and the entire town was awake and moving. The fence on the hill ahead of him was bowing inward, and he swore he could see it flexing in and out, even as he stared at it in the pre-dawn light.

  He grabbed his radio. “Go, Nel. Angle the nozzles high, brother. When you get to the north fence, make a right and get as much of that side as you can. I’ll let you know what I find toward the pit.”

  “Right on, dude.” Nelson slid his window shut and revved the engine, cranking the wheel to the right, turning the huge water truck north.

  Flex turned south and pushed the button that started the water pump. The spray erupted from his right side, clearly shooting far enough, but not quite at a high enough angle to hit the fence. Instead, it was just blasting the low hillside upon which the fence was built.

  He pushed a lever beside the pump switch, and bumped it up twice. Glancing to his right, he saw his spray had corrected, and now the deadly liquid blend doused the fence from about the middle up.

  Perfect. With the other nozzles closed off, Flex had tremendous pressure, and with some other choice controls, he was able to get a wide spray without pushing too much water volume through. It was important
that he and Nelson cover as much lineal distance as possible.

  Once it was dialed in, he drove. The creatures pushing against the fence didn’t need a lot of the juice on them, so he cruised at a good clip.

  Glancing into his side mirror, he saw Nelson moving away, having dialed in his sprayers to hit the fence perfectly. He was making good time moving north.

  Ahead, Flex saw a section of fence – not large, maybe a foot-and-a-half wide – had fallen in. The razor wire snaked and coiled from the broken fence section back up to the portion that still stood, and dozens of rotters pushed through the small gap only to be sliced and hooked on the sharp barbs. Mindless creatures that they were, they fought on, unaware of the damage being done to their already thrashed bodies.

  Flex hit the brake and stopped for a moment, giving them a good soaking.

  Suddenly, he heard a slapping on his driver’s side window and jerked his head around. He’d been staring straight ahead and at the hillside since he began, and now turned to see Dave Gammon sitting on a scooter next to his truck. He slid the window to the side. “Dave, man. What’s going on?”

  “They woke Isis and Max up,” he said. “It’s tough on them right now – the noise and all – but they’re going to try to figure something out.”

  “What about the other Hybrids?”

  “Isis said she’s not sure if the younger ones can keep their shades drawn, so better to let them sleep.”

  “What about Lola?”

  “Oh, shit. She’s up,” said Gammon. “Woke up on her own and ran out.”

  “She okay?”

  “Yeah, she said she was going to find Punch.”

  “He was at City Hall getting ready to head out to his perimeter section.”

  “Okay,” Dave said, something catching his eye ahead.

  Flex followed his gaze, then shut his water off for a moment. “They’re here. Damnit, they’re fuckin’ inside.”

  “What the hell?” Dave asked.