A low growl emitted from her.
“She’s calling to them,” said Beauty. “I hear her.”
“What’s that sound like?”
“Let me give explaining that a shot,” said Max, turning to his mother. “I might not hear her like you do but to me it’s like a noise – like a duck call might sound to someone who’d never heard a duck before. Or the grunting sound an alligator makes. It’s meaningful only to those who can understand what it means.”
“So, it’s like the smell of weed to Nelson,” said Charlie. “Or fresh-baked brownies to me.”
“Something like that,” said Isis, stepping close to her. She walked right up to the Plexiglas and looked into the silken-haired dead woman’s eyes.
The red mist began to billow out of the Red-Eyes’ tear ducts, and it remained contained within the clear box.
“She’s still trying,” said Hemp.
When nothing came of her efforts, the mist slowly faded away. She stared hard at Isis, then turned to Beauty, her eyes meeting the younger woman’s.
Beauty turned away.
As she did so, the Red-Eye’s hands went down to her own stomach, which was covered by a ragged dress that was possibly once a maternity dress. While it was now in shredded strips, it still covered her.
Isis pushed her thoughts outward, her eyes boring into the creature’s. She lowered her gaze to the woman’s stomach and gave a lifting motion with both hands.
Hemp and Charlie both took an involuntary step back as the Red-Eye reached down with grey fingers, missing all of the nails, and clutched her dress.
Isis nodded and she raised it, pulling it up to her breasts.
She revealed her hollow belly, torn open so long ago to get at the dead baby within. It was long gone, and only the deep, black cavity it died in remained.
Overcome by emotion, Charlie ran outside.
Beauty followed.
The creature shrieked.
*****
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Jim Cole stared down at the trench that last night had been filled with the undead. It was empty now. He had to understand where they had gone. If he could do some recon, he could possibly help those in Lula and Kingman understand more about this new wave of the apocalypse.
“Doc, you awake?”
“Been awake for a while. What’s out there?”
“They’re gone. The swath where they trampled the weeds is pretty clear. Let’s have a quick bite and head out.”
Beyond the canned stuff they had, the pair had also brought MREs with them. They were tolerable – not great – and easy to transport.
They’d discovered the MREs in foil packets had survived and remained edible – they had kept them in the cool tunnels below Kingman, built by the Masons so many years before. The temperatures down there were cooler and allowed the supplies to last.
The wax-coated packets had not held up, and all those supplies had been thrown out after several years. Some had tried to eat them, but they were disgusting.
Doc Scofield and Jim both had the same thing – Maple Sausage. It was passable, and filled the hole in their bellies, but it wasn’t satisfying in any way.
After finishing their meager meals and hydrating, they opened the front door and stepped out into the morning light. The weather was clear and dry, and the wind was nonexistent.
The view from the second-floor window had more clearly showed the direction of travel of the horde; far better than the view at ground level. Once he got his bearings, he got back in the vehicle and pulled out the map.
“Yep,” said Cole. “Looks like they’re headed east.”
“They’re a long way from Lula,” said Scofield.
“I know. Let’s keep an eye out as we go, though.”
The VW’s engine fired with the first wind of the starter and settled into an idle. Jim piloted it back to Route 66, where he turned east.
“I want to get a lot of miles in today,” he said. “Hope you peed.”
Scofield looked at him. “I’m peein’ right now.”
Cole said nothing. He just smiled and watched the road ahead for any obstacles.
At the next exit, he turned off. “What are you doin’?” asked Scofield.
“Can’t help it,” said Cole. “I have to see if they hit Miller last night.”
“To each their own,” said Scofield. “I get to pick the radio station, though.”
“Box of CDs on the floor between your feet.”
Happy with something to do, Jimmy pulled the box up and unzipped it. “Hey, some good stuff in here.”
Jim turned down West 1st Street, following the signs to the library. In a small town like Miller, it would likely be in the center of the town, or pretty close. Normally, he would look for a courthouse, but the county seat wasn’t likely in Miller. The population sign read 594.
The signs were badly faded, but still readable.
“Doc,” said Cole. “You should raise your eyes.”
Scofield put down the jewel case containing Deep Purple’s Machine Head CD. “What’s that?”
The sun was blazing overhead, far above the cloudless sky already. Cole pulled the VW up to what he had believed was a body. The closer he got, more he realized he was half right.
It was shaped like a body, and it no doubt had been. Now it appeared to be more like ash. The shape had only an elastic band seemingly draped over the waist area of the remains.
“Need a closer look,” said Cole. He put the VW in park and got out. Bending down beside it, he reached down to pull the faded gray piece of material out.
“Champion,” said Cole. “Underwear.”
“Just the elastic band?”
Jim pulled it apart and it disintegrated. “Not anymore. It was just clinging together.”
“So old-ass underwear, no other clothes. Looks charred, but the elastic band ain’t burnt. Weird. Was that a rotter?”
“Wait,” said Cole. He reached down, dusted some of the ash away, and plucked out a piece of lead. “Bullet to the head,” he said.
“Probably been there for years,” said Scofield.
“A twister went through near here. The wind would have been crazy even if it didn’t touch this part of town.”
Scofield looked around. The town was dilapidated to be sure, but the buildings were intact in the rural village. “Good point,” he said. “Plus, any number of storms would’ve washed that stuff away.”
“Something else to share with Hemp,” said Cole.
“Not even sure how to explain that,” said Doc Scofield, looking down the street. “Looks like more down there. Over there by that old gas station, and one in front of that NAPA store.”
“We’ll just tell Hemp and them what we saw. Let them figure out what it means. This place is eerie. Let’s roll out of here.” He stood and opened the car door of the Volkswagen.
“Wait!” came an echoing male voice from somewhere. It was not possible to tell from which direction, but it was close.
*****
“I think it’s best you all stay out of there,” said Hemp. “She is not attempting communication with you. I’m not sure she possesses enough mental capacity to even do so.”
“Some of them talked just before they died,” said Isis. “You all saw it in Kingman. The Mothers.”
“It was a sign we did not heed,” said Hemp. “A phenomenon with more implications than we realized.”
“To be fair, we were just so relieved they were down and out.”
“Down,” said Isis. “Clearly not as out as we believed.”
“I’ll study her for a few more days. Head out on your run down to Athens. Beauty, will you go to Three Sister’s Bar and see if you can gather together a good crew to help Nelson secure Lula as best we can, against any eventuality? I think he’s already got Jax on board.”
Beauty nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ll go with her,” said Charlie. “I don’t really want to go back in there eit
her.” As she took Beauty’s arm and began to walk away, she turned back and called, “Be careful, love munch.”
“Mom!” said Max. “Love munch?”
“It’s a pet name,” said Charlie, smiling. “The reason behind it isn’t for virgin ears.”
Max eyed Isis, shaking his head. Isis said, “We won’t be long in Athens. We just want to see what’s going on at the hot springs and check on everyone.”
*****
The propane-powered forklifts were perfect. To move and lift the buses had seemed like it would require some enormous equipment. But when they dug deeper into the adjacent buildings, they found the rows of large Hyster and Toyota forklifts.
Each forklift had plenty of towing capacity and the buses had all been moved, so they already had the necessary holes and all the connectors and linkages to make it work. There were several tow bars to bolt to the front of the buses.
Best of all, there were well-stored tanks – big tanks – of propane. Jax had been worried they would have leaked out over the years, but the tanks were wrapped in clear plastic, pristine, and viable.
It was a great find for the whole town. They had several vehicles that had been converted over to LPG, which does not degrade like gasoline or diesel.
Because the wheels were flat on all of the buses – or entirely missing – they had to use dollies for the rears, but this made moving them even more of a breeze.
From Hood Street to the east, to Main Street on the south side, to Banks Street on the west side, to Carter on the north.
Total distance, about a mile-and-a-half. It didn’t protect nearly all of Lula, but it was a central area that anyone could get to quickly, so if things started to go south, they would all be able to find shelter within that perimeter, which encompassed around 14 city blocks. Within that area were at least 70 houses.
Calculating in his head, Nelson looked at Jax.
“What?”
Nelson shook his head. “That’s about 7,900 feet. Each bus is right around 40 feet, plus we have a whole bunch of containers over at Chaser Transport.”
“Shit, how many is that?”
“That, my fellow longhaired friend, is right around 180. We’re gonna need help, but I think we can come up with enough. There’s this place, gotta be a hundred here, easy. Then at the transport place there’s another 80 containers. We can find others parked at loading docks and stuff. We’ll just start with the inventory we have and branch out from there.”
“Cool, I guess,” said Jax. “If we run short, maybe we can move a train car or two over.”
“You think a bus is heavy?” asked Nel. “Containers are bad enough. Train cars weigh anywhere from 30 to 80 tons. Nope. They’re gonna have to stay right where they are.”
One of the big events in Lula every year was the Railroad Days Festival. Flex used to enter the chili cook-off every year, and while he never won, he took 2nd or 3rd place consistently, out of around 30 or more entries.
The city of Lula, Georgia wouldn’t exist without the railroad, as many years earlier, it was a junction of the main line that ran from Atlanta to Greenville to Charlotte. There was also a 39-mile branch line that ran down to Athens. All of this supported a busy hotel and a lot of restaurants in the city that were long gone before the gas began leaking from the earth, changing everything.
Parked in the center of town at the depot that had been converted to a historical center before the zombie apocalypse, were dozens of train cars; they ranged from the engine and caboose, to dining cars and freight cars.
All of them were heavy and going nowhere. The engines were out-of-service for so long, they would take full rebuilds to get working again, but the cars had been restored for the community to enjoy and remember the past.
“That’s heavy as shit,” said Jax.
“Density-wise, much heavier,” said Nelson.
“Wanna start?” asked Jax.
“Yeah, why not?” said Nelson. “We’ll just pull the first couple over, set them, and recruit while we’re in town. Hemp radioed. Said Beauty and Charlie were going to work on that. These two should do to start. Let’s grab a couple dollies for the rears.”
They worked in concert, firing the two large forklifts and getting the buses connected and rolling freely.
They took off toward town, lumbering down Cornelia Highway toward the city of Lula. It was six long miles.
Which is why they needed a lot of help.
*****
The man and woman approached Doc Scofield and Jim slowly. Both held rifles of some kind – each with scopes – and both wore what appeared to be military-style tactical backpacks. Jim Cole had noticed a military surplus store on the drive into downtown Miller. The packs might have come from there.
Their hands were raised – the guns were not being aimed at them.
“Just put down your weapons there if you don’t mind,” said Cole.
“Don’t think so,” said the man. “We’re friendlies but excuse me if we don’t know if you are yet.” He looked at the woman with him. She nodded and angled the barrel more sharply downward.
Scofield took the liberty of waving them over. “C’mon,” he said. “You look nice enough, and we don’t bite. Least not yet.”
This little joke broke the tension a bit as the couple smiled. Cole didn’t know them to be a couple; they were merely together, and that could mean anything these days. It didn’t mean they were friends or relatives; they were just survivors who had found one another.
“I’m Jim Cole and this here is Jim Scofield.”
“Pair of Jims,” said the man, smiling. “I’m Steven Smith. This here’s Eileen Plover.”
“Pardon me for saying, but that sounds like an alias,” said Cole. “Sure it’s not John Doe?”
Smith laughed. “I get that a lot. Nope. My parents just weren’t that creative. I always said with a last name like Smith I needed a first name along the lines of Damon or Lawson.”
“Steven, you do realize you can be whoever you want nowadays,” said the woman. “You want everyone to call you Lawson, that can happen.”
“What happened here?” asked Scofield, interrupting the banter. “You take down that scorcher?”
“Scorcher?” asked Smith. He was around 6’ tall with brown hair and dusky, blue eyes that looked like they’d seen one horror too many. His nose was partially bulbous, as though he’d spent many nights alone with a whiskey bottle.
In a world like this one had become, there were lots of folks like that.
Doc Scofield and Jim both turned and pointed at the human outline on the street. “Underwear boy?” asked Scofield.
Steven, looking confused, said, “Hold on.” He walked over to where the pile of ash was and knelt down. Touching it with his finger, he examined it. Standing, he walked back over to where the three waited.
“Ash,” he said.
“Hence, scorcher,” called Scofield.
“Eileen shot him, I’m pretty sure. It was a zombie. One of a bunch.”
“You only hit three?” Doc indicated to the other two ash piles he’d spotted earlier.
“We’re not that good with head shots,” said Eileen, who had dark, wavy hair. She looked a little older than Smith, and her demeanor told Cole they weren’t a couple. There were no brief touches or hand-holding, or even any standing close together.
Her face and arms were smeared with dirt, but her clothes looked brand new. “I can tell you a lot of them are walking around with a good load of lead in their arms and chests. I think this scope’s out of alignment or something,” she said, turning the rifle carefully in her hands. “We put them on and if we could find our asses with both hands, we might’ve killed more. They moved on.”
“With you shootin’ at ‘em?” asked Scofield.
“Yeah, that was strange,” said Steven. “In the old days, you shoot they kept coming. Not this time. We finally stopped firing when we figured out they were leaving. It was dark, so we didn’t realize it for a buncha minute
s.”
Jim Cole looked at Scofield. “Yeah, that’s weird. Normally they just follow the sound. They’d never have left if the reports from the guns were drawing them. How long ago was that?”
“About an hour before the sun came up. Never seen a horde move that fast,” said Smith.
His intense blue eyes projected confidence, but also a willingness to accept the knowledge of others.
“The dead ones might tell us why,” said Cole. “We heard they’re only moving at night now.”
“Think they have some sort of photosensitivity?” asked the woman. She was around five-and-a-half feet tall, also with blue eyes and brown hair like her traveling partner. She had the trill voice of a woman – not irritating though – more like a birdsong – with a tone much like Stevie Nicks when she was in her prime.
“Whatever it is,” offered Jim, “it pretty much tells us if we can keep them out in the open and hold out until morning in any given battle, we can survive to fight another day.”
“Y’all live around here?” asked Doc Scofield.
“No,” said the man. “We were in Springfield. It was really growing, lots of people coming there. Since everything stopped and the zombies died it was a good place to call home. Not long ago, people started talking about zombies again, seeing them at night.”
“At first,” said the woman, “we thought it was just stories, you know? Throwbacks to the fear we’d lived through. But it didn’t take long before they started documenting all the people who left Springfield without a word. Some were people I knew. That’s when I started to believe it. I know several people who just went missing that would’ve let me know before they left. They would’ve invited me to go, even.”
“So, two days ago we left,” said the man. “Me and Eileen had hung out a bit, so we were friends, as much as people are friends these days. I knew she was worried and so was I. We figured we’d find a little town like this to settle in. Less populated, less of a draw to whatever’s out there. Still close enough to Springfield we could head back in to trade for supplies or scavenge some of the houses on the outskirts.”
Dead Hunger | Book 10 | The Remnants Page 20
