Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  Flex loved her dedication to her favorite weapon, and he also liked watching her use it.

  “Hold on just a sec,” said Charlie, looking at Flex and Gem. She rushed to the cabinet and pulled out a small MP3 player. She plugged the line out into the city-wide PA system’s input and spun the iPod around, settling on a playlist.

  “I know what she’s doing,” said Gem. “Not a bad idea, but keep it low enough that Serena’s announcements can still be heard over it.”

  “No duh,” said Charlie. She put it down and Frank Zappa’s Camarillo Brillo began to play.

  “Over-nite Sensation?” asked Gem, shaking her head.

  “If Zappa can’t drive them from this town,” said Charlie, “nothing can. Zombies have horrible taste.”

  Beauty’s look of confusion was noticed, but ignored by Flex. She would eventually understand sarcasm, but there wasn’t time to explain it then.

  Serena’s voice resonated above the music, and Flex said, “Okay, good volume. Lets move. Beauty?”

  “Yes, Flex?”

  “Don’t let that music stop.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “Flex,” said Gem, pushing the door open.

  “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “You’re driving.” She tossed him the keys.

  “Well,” said Flex, a smile spreading across his face as he snatched the key ring from the air. “Is it my birthday?”

  “I have a broken rib.”

  Flex shrugged. “Well, I’m still gonna feel a tad special, if that’s alright by you.”

  *****

  Isis released Max’s hand and stepped back. “I don’t understand. It worked this morning with the pump motor.”

  “Well, those are words I don’t hear come out of your mouth very often,” said Max, smiling. “But I agree. We figured this out a long time ago. We should have pulverized any seal and turned it into dust ten minutes ago. But that said, the motor was a much less ambitious undertaking than this. I’m wiped.”

  Isis turned to him. “Max, that means the Earth gas is emitting even slower now, and we are feeling the effects. What other explanation is there? We’ve lost some of our abilities.”

  Max’s face scrunched. “I don’t feel weaker, Isis. I feel normal.”

  “Which is a good thing,” she said. “It means we won’t weaken as humans. Unfortunately, it appears we are weakening as Hybrids.”

  “Well, this is a hell of a time for that to happen,” said Max, inspecting the wall. He moved his hands along the rough rock. “Didn’t they install some kind of access panel? Like a rock you slide or somewhere you push?”

  “Most likely, and the symbol with the sun and the all-seeing eye should mark it.”

  “Guess we do this the old fashioned way,” said Max. I’ll start …” He began to count bricks. “… five stones to the right. You start five to the left. We’ll work our way in. Bottom to top, then the next row. Just push on them, I don’t know – kick ‘em or something.”

  Isis nodded. They went to work.

  Max pushed on stone after stone, occasionally pulling out his pocket knife and sliding the tip between the six-inch square stones, other times taking his own advice and kicking them with his leather work boot.

  Isis pressed her hands to each stone, closing her eyes and manipulating her fingers over every square inch. She was becoming frustrated.

  “Max, I have another idea.”

  “What?”

  “Come on.” She stood and turned toward the stairway they had used to enter the basement.

  Max followed behind. A few moments later he said, “Really?”

  “So you can still read my mind,” she said. “Good. I pushed it and you received it. That means not all of our capabilities are reliant on the gas emitting in quantity.”

  “Cool, but you want to bring Mothers down here?”

  “At least two. Maybe more.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll see,” she said. “Got any of that beef jerky?”

  “You know I’m never without,” said Max. He reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew a packet. He passed two large chunks of dried beef to her and took a couple for himself.

  When they reached the main lobby, Isis stood inside the door, looking out. From where they were, they could only see the Bumper to Bumper Auto Parts store. At an angle, they could see the Santa Fe Depot and lines of railroad cars on Sherman Street.

  Several bodies staggered along at the end of Spruce. Isis hoped there would be Mothers among them somewhere.

  She reached out and took Max’s hands in hers. “Call them,” she said. “Call the Mothers with me.”

  Isis felt Max open his shade the moment his eyes closed. She did the same.

  They beckoned to the Mothers.

  *****

  Punch and Dave rode in the front seat, and Bug had tucked in the back of the GTO.

  Tommy Pickett, a welder before the apocalypse, had designed an evil version of a cow catcher on the front of the GTO long ago, and as Punch came across rotters blocking his path, he yelled, “Hold on!” and plowed through them.

  This was a mechanical marvel; it had multiple elbows connected to universal joints, so that when Punch flipped a switch on the dashboard, it tripped a solenoid that engaged a ridged, brass wheel against the spinning driveshaft, starting a scissoring motion that essentially created a self-cleaning cow catcher.

  As the zombies were run down and body parts got jammed in the framework, the scissors would slice away at the bones until they snapped and fell out of the grid.

  Punch hit the switch and the mid-pitched whining began. He smiled as he watched body parts tumbling to the sides as he drove on.

  “Thank God for the grape sled,” he said. “We’ve hit like twenty of ‘em so far.”

  “Section 23 is down,” said Dave. “Good it’s a small one, but 24 looks like it’s ready to go, too.”

  The men looked as shadows blocked the light between the uprights, and the entire fence angled inward at greater than a thirty-degree angle.

  Bug put his hands on the backs of the seats and pulled himself forward. “Guys, this is one helluva shit storm we’re dealin’ with here. We need to take cover. All this is for nothing if we lose two or three more sections.”

  Punch pressed the gas angrily, fishtailing the rear tires in the melted, zombie muck. He pounded his fists on the steering wheel. “Shit! We’re only halfway around,” he said. “I know we told Hemp we’d reconnoiter the entire fence line if we could, but if you ask me, it’s pretty clear we’re already past the point of fighting. Let’s get back to the clinic and let them know. They need to get the hell out of there and somewhere secure.”

  *****

  “That enough for you?” asked Max, releasing Isis’ hands.

  Isis watched as four Mothers moved toward them from different streets. One came from the train depot itself, with several Hungerers staggering along behind her. Her red eyes should have appeared like lasers, but they were almost unnoticeable from that distance.

  Multitasking in her own way, Isis seemed to always be analyzing her relationship with Hemp Chatsworth’s son. He had matured greatly over the last two years, and she found him charming and handsome. Still, there was that feeling that they’d been too much like brother and sister for so long that giving into his desire – and to a degree, her own – seemed almost incestuous.

  She put it aside, as much as it would allow. It was always there, particularly when she found herself attracted to him, or smiling at something he said or did.

  She and Max moved to the top of the steps and continued calling individually. The closest mother, this one nude and her hair very wispy and thin, took the first steps of the courthouse, her eyes never leaving Isis and Max.

  When she reached the top, she began to drop in a crouch; a telltale sign she was preparing to leap toward them.

  Max said, “Oh, no you fucking don’t.”

  His eyes glowed red as he stared at her. Sudd
enly, her body was pushed violently sideways and up against the wall, her back pressed so hard against the building that her feet lifted from the ground.

  “Trust issues?” said Isis, smiling.

  “Since the day I was born,” said Max.

  “I don’t want more than two,” said Isis. “We don’t need to take any foolish risks.”

  Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pump spray bottle. “Pure estrogen blocker. We can throw a Mother-Hybrid dance down in that basement, and if they get out of hand, this chaperone will puree them.”

  “I love you, Max, but you’re sure more like your Uncle Flex than your father.”

  “I love you too, by the way,” he said quickly, offering her a wink. “And I’ll take that as a compliment,” he added, pulling the lock pick set from his pocket and waggling it in the air. “But I have my pop in me, too.”

  He stepped aside as the second Mother reached the top of the stairs. She was clothed, but the jeans she wore were nearly shredded, and her blouse could’ve once been any color; now it was gray. Her eyes remained fixed on Max’s, as though trying to understand why they were like hers.

  Isis took control of her, drawing her gaze from Max; her eyes were stronger and redder than the nude specimen, but when Max and Isis moved toward the building and opened the door, both stepped aside and allowed the Mothers to precede them into the courthouse.

  “Going down?” asked Max, sweeping his hand forward. “This way, ladies.”

  They reached the basement steps and descended the stairs, the Mothers leading the way.

  *****

  Isis’ radio crackled, voices breaking through growing static. “Max, Isis. Come in. Guys, we need you, so please come in!” It was Charlie’s voice.

  Max’s eyes went wide. They had not yet reached the bowels of the basement, so the radio transmission was still possible.

  While Isis took control of the Mothers, Max pressed the talk button. “Mom, it’s me.”

  “Max!”

  “Yeah, relax, mom. Sorry we didn’t tell you where we were going.”

  “You’re with Isis, right?”

  “Yeah. We’re at –”

  Isis smacked him.

  “What?” he said.

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for them to come here,” she said, eyeing the Mothers.

  “Hybrid or not, my quite capable, crossbow-crazy mom will kick your ass,” Max said, a sarcastic smile accompanying the quip. He keyed the radio. “We’re at the courthouse. In the basement. Careful, we called some Mothers, so there might be a crowd outside by the time you get here.”

  “Why would you do that?” asked Charlie.

  “Because we needed them to … just get here. In the basement. The door’s on your right when you come in. It’s marked. Turn left when you get to the bottom of the stairs and you’ll run into another, unmarked door that leads to the unfinished section of the basement. You’ll eventually run into us.”

  *****

  Punch drove the GTO, approaching Main Street at speed. They’d run down several of the walking dead, but more appeared around every corner. The closer they got to City Hall, the thicker the rotter crowd became.

  Dave fired from the front seat, the Uzi burning through magazine after magazine of rounds as the swarming rotters’ heads exploded into bloody flowers of black-red mist. After each impact, their emaciated bodies crumpled to the ground.

  “Handguns or water guns when possible, please!” shouted Punch, as he cranked the steering wheel onto north Main Street. “You’re blowing out my eardrums, Davey. Still got that suppressed Walther on you?”

  Bug sat behind him, his window up.

  Dave said, “Sorry, man. I see numbers, I go for the best weapon I have.”

  “It ain’t gonna matter,” said Punch. “Too many of ‘em, and I’m not even sure I can get close enough to the building to get us inside. We may need a backup plan.”

  “Bug, man, are you alright?” asked Punch, reaching back to slap the distracted man on the arm. “You’re not shooting and you’re not talking.”

  “I’m worried about Isis,” he said, staring out at the street.

  Dave wasn’t sure his uncle saw the zombies at all through his distraction. “Don’t worry about them, Unk,” he said. “Flex, Gem, Hemp and Charlie went looking for them. That’s like Kingman’s Fantastic Four. I’m telling you, they’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not like her to disappear like that,” said Bug.

  “I don’t have to tell you she’s no ordinary young woman,” said Dave.

  He rested the Uzi on the passenger seat floorboard and pulled his Walther PPK from his holster. He screwed the suppressor on it and took out three more nearby rotters.

  “Look out there,” said Bug. “The ones at the fence are pouring in, and I’ll bet there’s thousands more behind them.”

  “Defeatist crap if I’ve ever heard it,” said Punch, looking over his shoulder at Bug. “You know what that kinda shit does to me?”

  “What does it do?” Bug asked flatly.

  “Makes me extra determined, man. That’s what. You worried about Isis? That’s like me worrying about God. He’ll be just fine, and so will your daughter.”

  “So what’s your plan with all that determination?” asked Bug, turning in his seat to glare at Punch.

  Punch slammed on the brakes and Dave flew forward, catching himself on the dashboard with his hands. Bug didn’t see it coming and slammed into the back of Dave’s seat.

  “Uh, I didn’t think it was necessary to say this, but put on your goddamned seatbelts,” said Punch, with a little smile. “Safety first.”

  “A little heads up to hold on would help next time,” said Dave, strapping on his belt.

  “Gotcha,” said Punch. “I thought it was obvious I woudn’t be driving through that,” he said nodding toward the windshield. “Should I go for it?”

  Dozens of zombies clustered around the door to City Hall, their massive numbers spilling out onto the adjacent sidewalk and street.

  “Wow. Fuck getting in there,” said Dave. “We need to worry about getting those people out. That building, even with the bunker, has to be jam packed.”

  “They’re not acting normal,” said Punch. “Look. They’re milling around. Everyone on WAT-5?”

  “I am,” said Dave, checking his watch. “Uncle Bug?”

  “Took my dose a bit ago,” he said. “Got some?”

  Dave reached down and unzipped his pocket, withdrawing a plastic bottle. He unsnapped the lid and shook out three wafers. “Here, guys. That’s all I got”

  Each took one. “Put this thing in park before you take that, Punch.”

  The GTO was already surrounded by abnormals, and Dave rolled up the window, tucking the gun away. He took his wafer and washed it down with a bottle of water. He passed it around and the other men took their doses. No one passed out, telling Dave they had all still been protected.

  “It’s going to be dark in an hour,” said Bug. “We need to get somewhere.”

  “These fuckers have got no direction,” said Punch. “From what Hemp said, that means there aren’t any Mothers around. We can risk it.”

  “I agree, but shorten our trip, man,” said Dave. “Pull up on the sidewalk and park alongside the building. I’d rather have your car close anyway.”

  Punch turned in his seat. “Shit. I can’t reverse. Too many bodies back there. Have to push forward best we can.”

  “Go for it, man,” said Dave.

  Punch put the car in drive and let his foot off the gas. Dave reached down and pushed the scissor activator, and the cow catcher became a slicer-dicer.

  “Cross your fingers and say some prayers,” said Punch, spinning the steering wheel to the right, angling toward the City Hall building, which they could no longer see through all the milling zombies.

  “Start grabbing the packs,” said Punch. “Bug, toss ours up here between us.”

  Bug hoisted the two backpacks ove
r the seat and Dave received them.

  “My idea is to use the super soakers. Spray the shit out of any who get too close to us, and concentrate the spray near the front door so we can clear them out and get inside.”

  Dave felt the front, passenger side wheel bump over the curb as he slid forward and shrugged into his backpack. He grabbed his weapons from the seat, gripping the Walther in his right hand and the super soaker in his left.

  The rear tire rolled up the curb, and now the car moved forward at an angle with two wheels on the sidewalk. The scissoring, blood-coated cow catcher on the front of the GTO slammed into the shambling Mothers and Hungerers, simultaneously shoving them aside and severing their arms and legs.

  As the car lumbered slowly forward, the newly broken bodies were crushed beneath the wheels. The engine strained as Punch gave it more gas to push though the horde; the sound of bones snapping was loud enough to be heard from inside the advancing muscle car.

  “Fuckin’ gnashin’ is intense,” said Bug, leaning forward. “Looks like they’re all chewin’ gum or somethin’.”

  “Which makes it even more dangerous,” said Dave. “Even if they’re not sensing us, the mouth of a downed rotter could chew into our ankles.”

  “That’s why I wear fuckin’ boots,” said Bug.

  Punch threw the car in park and cut the engine. “This is about as close as we’re gonna get. When we jump out, just spray the ground with urushiol first, and keep an eye out. Let’s go.”

  Dave saw they were parked about twelve feet from the door to City Hall. He picked up his radio and switched to channel 9. “Kevin, it’s Dave Gammon. You read?”

  “I’m here, Dave,” said Vikki Solms. “We’re packed to the gills in here. Where are you?”

  “I’m right outside the door with Punch and my uncle,” said Dave. “Vikki, get someone by the door and when we bang on it, unlock it.”

  “Dave, there are probably a hundred people in here who aren’t in the bunker! It’s going to be hard enough just to clear people back enough to open the door!”