Dead Hunger_The Cleansing

by Eric A. Shelman

  “You have to do it!” shouted Dave. “Vikki, we can’t stay here, and we need to talk to Reeves and figure something else out.”

  “Okay,” Vikki relented. “We’ll cram to the back, but bang loud. They’re making a racket at the door already!”

  Dave clipped the radio back to his belt. “Okay, let’s go.”

  They pushed open their doors, and Dave spun his body so his back was pushing against the mass of stinking bodies. He reached down and sprayed the urushiol blend behind him at his feet. When he heard the hissing and felt he crowd behind him break, he turned around and tucked his arms as best he could.

  To his left, Bug pushed slowly through the crowd, like a concertgoer trying to get closer to the stage. In his peripheral vision, he saw Punch moving around the front of the GTO.

  Dave held the soaker out and panned his spray at shoulder height, the stream from the powerful squirt gun splashing off the faces and necks of several abnormals. Like a building imploding, the bodies dropped away, clearing the path to the door.

  Then he saw her.

  No. He saw them.

  Three Mothers. One had been crouching down as though she had somehow known what the men intended to do. Dave tried to grasp the idea that somehow they instinctively knew to avoid the caustic liquid, even if it didn’t affect them as catastrophically as the regular Hungerers.

  “Watch out!” shouted Dave, glancing at his Uncle, who had pushed past two more rotters and appeared to be concentrating on not slipping in the goo at his feet.

  When Dave looked back, he only saw two Mothers. They had moved perhaps six feet from their previous locations. The third was gone from sight.

  They’re attacking, thought Dave. This is a strategy.

  “Bug!” shouted Punch, and Dave watched as his uncle began to turn. Before Bug could understand the reason for Punch’s warning, he dropped like a surfer pulled under by a great white shark.

  His arms flew into the air and he tried to keep upright by clutching at the gore-riddled clothing of the rotters on all sides of him. He fell from view.

  “No!” shouted Dave, pushing through the shuffling crowd. He tried to raise his Walther, but the bodies pushed in on him. His arms were pinned. Instead, he sprayed the soaker at whatever angle he could manage, only hitting the legs of the pressing horde.

  “Uncle Bug!” he screamed, new energy bursting from him. He pushed forward again, and as the crowd separated, he saw the Mother hunched over something, her fingers clawing and the back of her head turning side to side as she burrowed into her fleshy meal.

  Dave threw his body forward and slammed his knee into the Mother’s back. He heard her spine crack, but she clawed more frantically, burying her mouth into his uncle’s neck, tearing at the bloody sinew with feverish abandon.

  It was as if she knew it would be her final act, and she didn’t care; she wanted only to destroy and consume another living human being on her way out.

  Dave was again knocked away by the thrashing bodies around him, so he threw his elbows out on both sides, clearing enough space to raise the pistol. He fired at an angle, blowing the cap from the skull of the feeding Mother. He fired again and again, and didn’t stop until the Walther’s slide locked open. His head spun and he found he was dizzy.

  The dead Mother toppled sideways, her filthy yellow dress soaked with blood, some of it red and fresh, other stains dark brown and dried. As her body fell away, Dave saw his uncle’s dead stare, his eyes fixed sightless on the darkening sky above.

  “No,” Dave choked, but the word did not emerge. It died in his throat and he heard gunshots, as though from miles away. He dropped down beside his uncle, clutched and held him.

  A hand pulled Dave up by his collar so hard and fast that he didn’t have time to fight. The next thing he knew, he was being shoved through the door to City Hall, and again he was surrounded by bodies, only this time they were living and breathing.

  Everyone was talking excitedly. Some were wailing and yet others screamed.

  Dave collapsed to his knees and cried.

  *****

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Jesus, Grampa,” said Gem, slapping the dashboard with her hand and wincing from the stabbing pain in her side. “You fucking well know where they are, so use that accelerator! It’s the small pedal to the right of the brake.”

  “I swear it’s not worth drivin’ this thing with you in it,” said Flex, ignoring the laughter from the back seat.

  He spun the steering wheel and the Ford fishtailed onto Spruce Street, the courthouse coming into view.

  “There are Mothers on the steps,” said Charlie, pointing. “And look at the hordes moving toward them.”

  Flex pulled up to the curb and parked in an open spot. The parking lot was empty enough, but it was farther from the door. Several cars sat in the closest spaces, resting on flat, rotted tires that hadn’t rolled since 2011.

  Several zombies shambled toward them from all directions of the compass, and Gem saw several of them stagger and fall before she managed to exit the Crown Vic.

  “Babe, you should stay in the car,” said Flex. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”

  Gem glared. “Flexy, you know better. I’d trade weapons with Charlie, but I can’t load a bolt into the bow. It would be easier to take than Suzi.”

  “Thought that was Queenie,” said Charlie.

  “It was,” said Gem. “I missed Suzi. She kind of started it all.” She turned, manipulated the butt of the Uzi against her arm, and fired a three-round burst, taking out a walker within ten feet of her. The shirtless man with one arm, one ear and a chunk out of his side went down in a heap. “That didn’t hurt too much,” she said. “I think this might be Suzi after all.”

  She eyed the building and started walking, checking all her pockets for her offensive cache. She had a pump-action water pistol filled with urushiol blend, she had taken a WAT-5 and had three more doses with her, and she had four cargo pockets filled with more rounds for Suzi.

  The other three moved in behind her and passed her on the way up the steps.

  Flex stood at the top, looking down at her. “I’d carry you up, but that might hurt worse,” he said.

  “No doubt,” she said. “Charlie, kill that fucking Red-Eye, would you?”

  Charlie turned to see where Gem had indicated. “I don’t see her. Where is she?”

  “I spotted her, too,” said Hemp. “She just slipped behind the corner of the building there.” He moved toward the spot with his H&K at the ready.

  “No, let me,” said Charlie, mounting a red-marked bolt in her crossbow. “Love these things. Haven’t had much call to use them.”

  “Wait,” said Hemp. He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on. “Prescription. Hank made them for me last week.”

  “So sophisticated,” said Charlie. “Can you see now, old man?”

  “Yes, quite well, as a matter of fact. I was waiting for years for an optician to get to town. All those frames and glass just waiting to be ground down for us sight impaired oldsters.”

  “Time to get me a pair,” said Flex.

  Charlie practically danced toward the corner of the building, crouched, and peered around. Gem watched her, realizing they were all probably in better physical shape in this world than they ever would’ve been had the zombie apocalypse never happened.

  Charlie reached the corner, and in a single motion, she sprung off her right leg, raised the crossbow and fired.

  Gem reached the top of the steps and moved left, just catching the aftermath. Flex and Hemp stared.

  Both men were smiling at first, but their smiles faded.

  Gem had been prepared to smile, but instead, the Mother stood there, staring at the arrow protruding from her chest. She then reached up and wrapped her bony fingers around it, drawing it back out.

  She didn’t seem to notice or care that the arrowhead was tearing meat out of her on its wrong-way travel out of her body; she pulled until it came fre
e, a hunk of flesh dangling from the arrowhead, and dropped it on the ground at her feet.

  Gem raised her Uzi, but Charlie put her hand out. “No, wait.”

  “Charlie – “ Hemp began, but she interrupted him.

  “I got this, sweetie,” she said.

  The Mother seemed to look at all of them. Yellow, pus-like ooze leaked from the hole left by the arrow. It began slowly at first, then increased. Soon, the thick, putrid liquid sprayed from the hole as if building pressure. Everyone jogged in one direction or another to stay out of the stream of decayed bodily fluids.

  “God,” said Gem, her face scrunching in disgust. “It’s spewing from the other hole, too.”

  Sure enough, they all watched as the muck sprayed the wall behind the Mother, now shooting at least twelve feet straight out, splattering on the sidewalk around her. Suddenly, the hole expanded, and the chunky insides of the zombie exploded from her like a shower of sparks from a Roman candle.

  A tiny, green hand appeared at the opening now, followed by an equally tiny arm. The baby was emerging, the fingers flexing at the end of the appendage, the shoulders now pushing through a hole once no larger than a half-inch diameter.

  Charlie swung her crossbow around, mounted another bolt, and fired directly into the powerful female’s forehead. This time she dropped immediately to her knees, the impact with the concrete causing the living dead fetus to topple free of her body. The Mother fell forward atop the child, which clawed at the concrete, gnawing at the rotted umbilical cord attached to its stomach.

  Hemp hurried forward, withdrawing his knife from its sheath, the MP5 slung over his shoulder. He put one boot over the baby’s chest and leaned down to plunge the knife through its head. Leaning down, he plucked the arrows from the mess that was a threat no longer.

  He turned, his face dead serious. “Here are you arrows, Charlie,” he said holding them out.

  She took them and wiped them on her pant leg.

  Hemp shook his head. “That was a lot of time wasted on a single kill. Let’s try to keep focused here. Kingman is being overrun.”

  With that, Hemp walked toward the courthouse door.

  Gem, Flex and Charlie followed in silence.

  *****

  “Sorry, Hemp,” said Gem. “You’re right. We should’ve just perforated her with the Uzi.”

  “Way to have my back,” said Charlie, slapping Gem’s arm.

  Hemp looked at them, no trace of amusement on his face. “There’s no reason to be sorry. It’s just not a time for entertainment.”

  “It was productive entertainment,” said Charlie, a somewhat embarrassed smile on her lips.

  “Buddy, you know we like to keep it light when we can,” said Flex. “And I think when it’s just the four of us, we fall back into that relationship we had in the beginning of all this.”

  Hemp nodded. “I do understand, and you know I feel the same. But I love this town and I am proud of what we’ve built here. I don’t want to see it fall and have to find another place. I’m too damned old for that, and so are the three of you. Let’s fight and let’s win this time.”

  “We stay. They die,” said Gem.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m with you,” said Flex.

  “You know I’m with you,” said Charlie.

  “Basement,” said Hemp, pointing toward the door straight ahead of him.

  A low hum invaded their ears and tickled their feet. It came from the floor beneath them.

  “Is that … the Mothers’ vibration?” asked Charlie.

  “Let’s go,” said Hemp, running for the door.

  Gem walked gingerly behind, one hand on her broken rib and the other holding Suzi.

  A shriek suddenly blew apart the silence. While distant, it clearly originated from somewhere below them.

  “That sounded like Isis,” said Flex. “C’mon!”

  *****

  Isis dropped to her knees, her fists clenched and rare, red tears running down her face. With her face raised to the barren ceiling of the basement, she screamed.

  “Isis, what’s wrong?” asked Max, feeling his own fear growing. He glanced from Isis to the two Mothers they had captured and brought with them below. He now held the two at bay with his mind, but just barely; Max felt them focusing their power, threatening to break free of his control. In the cold basement, sweat poured from his face.

  Isis did not answer. Her screeches grew in intensity as she staggered in a circle, her hands pressed against the sides of her head as though she had no idea where she was or where she should go.

  “Please, Isis, you’re scaring the shit out of me!” Max cried, keeping some of his focus on the two Mothers, who both stared at Isis, their faces expressionless, but somehow curious.

  “I’m alone!” shouted Isis, her balled fists shaking. “My father is dead! I’ve lost him!” Now her screams turned to shuddering sobs and she dropped down onto all fours as her fingers scratched the stone floor. “Please, no, no, no … daddy.”

  “Max, Isis!” came a female voice, and Max looked up to see his parents, along with Flex and Gem, running toward them. Gem lagged behind the others, holding her side as she struggled to keep up.

  Charlie fell down beside Isis and threw an arm over her shoulder. “Isis, baby, calm down. What’s wrong?”

  She spoke in a soft voice, but Charlie’s eyes jerked toward the two Mothers pressed against the basement wall every couple of seconds.

  Isis raised her head, spit and tears merging on her mouth and chin, her face red and agonized. “My daddy!” she cried out in agony. The young woman hyperventilated several breaths, then seemed to calm somewhat. “My daddy is dead,” she whimpered. “I’m all alone.”

  Charlie pulled her close, drying the powerful Hybrid’s tears on her shirt. She wrapped her arms around Isis’ head and held her through her sobs.

  As Flex absorbed Isis’ words, he realized the impact of them. A split-second later, he focused in on one of the words, realizing Isis had used a word for father that any adolescent might use.

  She had called Bug daddy. He had not heard her do so since she was a baby. Flex wasn’t sure why it struck him as it did, but it was one of the rare signs that while Isis appeared to be a full-grown woman, in some part of her psyche she was still only a young girl who had just lost her father.

  “How can you know?” Flex asked, trying to remain calm. “Isis, are you sure?”

  She nodded quickly, her tears flooding out again. “The moment his life force left his body,” she said, trembling, “I felt a great sense of loneliness. Extreme, heavy sadness. I feel as though part of my soul has been cut away.”

  “I know this is a bad time,” said Max. “I really do. But I either need to put these two Mothers to use, or I need to kill them. I’m running out of steam holding them here.”

  Isis sat up and wiped her eyes, still brimming with red tears. Still on her knees, she opened her arms and Charlie slipped off her crossbow and leaned in to wrap her in an embrace.

  Over Isis’ shoulder, Charlie looked at Max. “Just give her another minute,” she whispered. “She’s calming, I think.”

  A moment later, after Isis’ tears turned to quiet shaking, Charlie put her hands on the Hybrid’s shoulders, pushed her away so she could meet her eyes, and said, “Isis. You know what is done can’t be undone. You’ve known this world and its dangers since shortly after you were born; do not let this destroy you. If you’re right, and he really is gone, you need to remember the love he held for you; how he would want you to live and fight … and win.”

  “And you’re not alone,” said Max. “I love Uncle Bug and I hope you’re wrong about what you think happened to him, but no matter what, you’ve still got your cousin Dave, and you’ve got me.”

  She shook her head. “I am not wrong, Max. A Mother killed him.” Turning toward their captives, her eyes boring into them, Isis said, “Once you’ve finished with the task we have for you,” she said, her gaze fixed and angry, “I
will respond in kind.”

  She swiped at her eyes and appeared to compose herself.

  “Help me now, Isis?” asked Max. “I’m sorry, but please?”

  Charlie had remained on her knees, staring up at the powerful young woman. A moment later, Isis held out her hand and Charlie took it.

  Flex said, “I’m sorry, Isis. I’m sorry for all of us. Now tell us why we’re down here, because it sure as hell looks like this town needs us more above ground – and I mean that in more ways than one.”

  “I believe there is a tunnel system beneath Kingman,” whispered Isis. “I am almost certain of it. The Freemasons had a hand in constructing this town and some of its buildings, and there is more evidence in other towns in the area.”

  “Encyclopedia?”

  “And other books I’ve read since,” said Isis, steadying herself against the wall and rubbing her eyes with her hand. “I don’t think I ever understood how tears can sap your energy,” she added almost absently.

  Gem stepped forward and pulled Isis into a strong hug that lasted for nearly a minute. About halfway into it, Flex heard Gem whisper, “As you know, I’m all too familiar with the pain of losing someone you love beyond measure. I’m so sorry, Isis.”

  Isis nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Gem.”

  Flex gave it as much time as he felt possible before saying, “There’s one of those Masonic symbols on the Kingman Museum, too. I noticed it about a year ago. That thingy with the square and compass doohickey.”

  Isis’ red eyes brightened a bit, her sadness shifting just a little further toward determination. “I feel a vastness below us, but perhaps it is not accessible from here,” she said. “Max, perhaps the only way into the tunnels is there, in the museum!”

  Max sighed. “Look. We’ve got these two Mothers. Let’s figure it out right now. If all else fails, we can work our way toward the museum.”

  Gem’s eyes brightened. “That would be perfect! It’s just a few buildings from City Hall.”