“You almost did anyway before we got you away from Maestro.”
“My father,” said Travis.
“In the broadest sense,” said Isis. “I have other names for men like him. And Travis, you are not like him.”
“I didn’t know him,” he said. There was no sadness in his eyes or his voice.
“That’s fortunate for you,” said Beauty.
“So Trav,” said Max. “I know we all agreed you’d keep whatever you hear from the Mothers quiet, but now’s the time to open up. Has it been a lot for you?”
Travis nodded. “If you mean the way they’ve been in my head, yeah. It’s hard to rest. They’re calling all the time. To others like them and to me. Maybe to others like me.”
“Well, I hear it too,” said Isis. “So does Max. Beauty, I don’t think I have to ask. Now,” she said, turning to Travis. “What do you mean about them calling to you? Do they say your name?”
“Sometimes. They know it.”
“Do you hear words?” It was Max this time.
“It feels like it, but it’s not like hearing a voice. The idea is suddenly in my head. Sometimes it’s just something they say, almost like they’re talking to someone else. Other times, they say my name … or something to get my attention. I’m not sure. Then when I hear it, I think I should go to where they are, but mommy always told me to ignore it.”
“We cannot ignore it anymore,” said Beauty, looking at Max and Isis, holding their eyes. “We must send Travis. We must send my boy.”
Max jumped to his feet. “Whoa, whoa. What the hell? We’re not sending anyone to them!”
Travis didn’t look frightened, and he didn’t look concerned. He just watched them with curiosity.
“Tell us why,” said Isis, turning to hose down Max with her glare.
“Because,” said Beauty, her long, dark hair silken around her shoulders. “When I look at him, I see a boy of around ten. When I close my eyes, I feel the presence of a toddler. Sometimes, when he speaks to me, inside my head I hear in stereo, his 3-1/2-year-old voice pacing every word.”
Isis looked at Max. “I thought it was just me.”
Max shrugged. “I never hear that.”
“You’ve never been a woman,” said Isis. “Max, it’s not your fault. Maybe it is still the estrogen changing us and making us different. Anyway, I hear it, too. It’s almost disconcerting, the two voices, almost perfectly in sync. One sounds like a ten-year-old boy, and the other sounds like his true age.”
“What can he do, Beauty?” asked Max. “Does he add value to what we’re trying to achieve?”
“Jesus, you sound like Steve Jobs in an Apple Computer meeting,” said Isis.
Turning to Beauty, she said, “The child is your son. I didn’t bring you here to work out some blood sacrifice. I thought we might create some sort of dragnet, with each of us stationing in different locations to give the people of Lula and other recent refugees a chance.”
“I understand why you are concerned,” said Beauty. “But we need to show you something.”
“What?” asked Max.
“Come,” said Beauty. She stood, and they followed suit.
*****
“Stop here,” said Beauty.
They stopped at the corner of the home’s detached garage, beside which grew a soaring oak tree with a canopy so large it shaded the attached garage and fifteen feet in front of it under a heavy, gray-black shadow.
Isis closed her eyes; the noise inside her head was so loud she could not recall a time when it filled her mind so.
“I know,” said Beauty. “It is hard. They do not stop.”
“It feels like they’re right here!” said Max.
“Travis,” said Beauty.
The boy walked slowly away from the garage and stopped, turning to the forest and shadows. He stood just at the edge of shadows and sunlight, then turned to face them once more. They could all see him clearly now.
His eyes glowed like rubies.
“Oh, my God,” said Max. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Watch!” It was Beauty.
They forced themselves to keep their eyes open against the constant bombardment in their minds.
Travis turned back to the woods beyond and stared. A moment later, crunching leaves and rustling in the thickets beyond could be heard. Then the branches nearest to the garage began snapping and thrashing.
Max reached for his weapon, and in his mind, he heard, Uncle Max, don’t.
It was the child voice of Travis. It was what the women heard, only he did not hear the deeper timbre 10-year-old vocal cords; only that of the child.
Twigs snapped and popped violently at the edge of the forest now, sounding like a mini tornado was wreaking its way across the forest floor.
A Mother burst out of the woods, stopping suddenly upon seeing the boy. She stood before Travis, remaining in the shade of the giant oak. She stared at him, as though in a trance. She took another step forward, her eyes red, but not nearly as much as those of Travis.
Suddenly, she opened her mouth and drew in a short, sharp breath.
She exhaled it as quickly as she had drawn it in, and drew in another, this one deeper. The rattle that accompanied it sounded like a hospice resident ready to succumb to many years of life’s wear and tear.
“Is she … breathing?” asked Isis. She turned to Beauty. “Did you know they were breathing? Where did you find her?”
“We didn’t,” said Beauty. “Not until this moment. Travis called her here.”
“What?” asked Max, keeping one eye on the female. He moved for his weapon again, and this time Beauty said aloud, “No, Max, please do as Travis instructed.”
“You heard what he said to me?” he asked, halting his motion immediately.
“Of course,” she said. “I hear all of his thoughts. Since he was born.”
“I heard it, too,” said Isis. “It didn’t register until just now, but I did. Maybe I didn’t realize it was thought rather than spoken.”
Max kept his hand down by his right side, just to be ready in case he had to kill the powerful zombie.
The Red-Eye had instantly registered the motion of his hand, however, and her eyes shifted from Travis to Max. The creature’s gaze fell to his stilled hand, and after what felt like a full minute, but which was probably only six seconds, her eyes returned to Travis.
“She is breathing,” said Isis, her voice incredulous.
“It does not matter. She is under Travis’ control. Watch. Travis? Send her back.”
Travis looked at his mother. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“No, Travis. Wait a minute,” said Isis.
“Why?” asked Max. “I’d feel better if she were contained.”
“The garage next to this house is very strong and secure. It is why I chose this place to call her to us,” said Travis.
“She’s breathing, Max. That means she’s partially alive. We need to know –”
“If she has a heartbeat,” finished Max.
“Exactly,” said Isis. “Travis, can you get that close? Can you touch her?”
“I’m not sure how to do a heartbeat.”
“I’ll do it,” said Max.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” said Isis. “Do you remember who your mother is? You get killed and I’m screwed, blued and tattooed.”
Max said, “If you get killed, I’ll kill you when you turn into a zombie.”
Smiling, Isis said, “Travis, make her stay.”
“She’s not a dog,” said Travis, smiling.
“Junkyard dog maybe,” said Isis, knowing in her heart and in her head that the not-quite-dead woman in front of her had nothing to do with her current condition. She was a victim of a natural event
“Okay,” said Travis.
Isis approached the Red-Eye. The woman turned her head to Isis, and she studied her before attempting to feel her pulse. Looking into her face, she saw tiny, black veins just beneath the skin, bu
t some were lighter than others. Her skin was not leathery but appeared to have some level of suppleness to it.
Isis reached up to touch her cheek, and while the Red-Eye clearly stiffened, she moved neither her head nor her feet. She appeared to brace for it.
The touch.
Isis ran a finger down the side of her face, never moving her eyes away. She remembered vividly the story of Gem trying to appeal to their gentle sides when the zombie suddenly turned her face and Gem’s finger poked through her cheek and into her mouth. She lost part of her thumb, but Hemp cut the tip off and flooded the area with urushiol.
Gem didn’t turn. Isis didn’t want to chance it.
Touch, came the single word.
Isis staggered back.
Max raised his weapon. “What the fuck just happened?”
“Put it down, Max!” ordered Isis.
Max lowered the weapon again, and they all saw the Mother’s eyes on the barrel.
“She talked to me.”
“To you?”
“Did you guys hear it?”
“I did,” said Beauty, looking between Travis and Max. “You did not?”
“Not a thing,” said Max. “Just saw Isis jump back.”
“Which was dumb,” said Isis, moving back to her.
Once there, Isis raised her hand again and stroked her cheek once more. It twitched.
A chill ran down Isis’ spine. Sensitivity. Nerves.
She stared into the female’s eyes. “Are you alive?”
Alive, came the response.
Isis moved her finger down lower, removing her hand briefly as she positioned her fingers on the side of the female’s neck. Now Isis closed her eyes, concentrating.
Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum
Isis suddenly felt dizzy but maintained her composure. “What do you feel?” asked Beauty.
“I’m almost afraid to say. This changes a lot.”
“Are you saying she has a heartbeat?” asked Max.
“Respiration and cardiac activity. We need to tell Hemp right away. There may be … I don’t know. Something we can do. Some way to bargain with them rather than kill them.”
Truce.
Beauty and Isis stared at her. She had been listening, and she offered the single word representing what Isis had said.
Isis spoke to her. Not out loud. In her mind.
Are your kind coming to attack us? Because if you are, you will die. All of you. We know of your plan and we prepare even now. The world is big and there can be a place for you.
If there were thoughts behind her red eyes, none came forth at that moment. Perhaps what Isis had told her was news – she had believed their plan was unknown to the humans they hunted.
Isis continued: You need not perish. You think –
Therefore, I am, came the end of Isis’ sentence.
“So now you’re quoting René Descartes,” Isis said aloud.
We are, came the next message. We still are.
“What?” asked Max. “What’s happening?”
Isis turned. “You don’t hear any of this?”
“I hear your side,” said Max.
“I hear it,” said Beauty.
In response to the female’s last words, Isis thought, I know you are, because you are speaking to me. Please, trust us to come to an agreement with you. What is your name?
This time, she did not think her answer. Rather, she forced her mouth open to reveal teeth that while broken and chipped, were not in complete decay. This surprised Isis. She was about to speak when the creature before her beat her to the punch.
“I … am called … Lilith.”
Her voice was more of a croak than a combined tone created by healthy vocal cords. It came forth as though through vibration.
“I am Isis, Lilith,” she responded.
Closing her red eyes, she nodded.
Will you agree to trust us? To see if we can offer you something to allow you a place in this world? Isis returned to silent communication.
Lilith responded telepathically again: I am not the only voice that matters.
Who, then? asked Isis.
All.
“She could be lying,” said Beauty. “I had been lied to by Maestro. Many of our kind were loyal to him, even until the end.”
“Fuck this,” said Max. “We need my mom and dad. Now. Trav, put her in the garage.”
“Not yet,” said Beauty. “Travis, make her do something. Something she does not want to do.”
He turned to his mother. “Like what?”
“Just … something silly.”
Travis thought for a second, then smiled. He said, “Watch.”
He issued his command. In response, the female lifted her foot and extended her left leg out to the side, balancing there.
“Good?” asked Travis.
“More,” said Beauty.
Isis did not question why. She knew if they intended to bring Hemp in on this, it had to be safe. If they restrained the female, she may feel she was a prisoner, and that would not be conducive to any kind of deal – if one were possible at all.
They were zombies.
Albeit, different zombies, she thought.
After returning her left leg to its original position, Travis issued another command, and she extended her right leg out, holding it in the air.
She didn’t twitch or wobble. Strength. Control. A statue.
Dangerous, no matter how momentarily compliant.
“Put her in, Travis,” said Beauty.
He nodded. He silently gave the command for her to lower her leg, then she turned her back to them and walked into the garage. She had never left the shade.
Nor had she seemed to notice or fear the sunlight just beyond the shadow line.
“Beauty, do you mind if Travis comes with us to see Hemp?”
“No. I will return to the secure area to help. Travis, go with them.”
He kissed his mother goodbye and did what she told him to.
*****
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lilith. Isis wondered if it was a name taken since the apocalypse, or if it was her name, recalled from her living years before her heartbeat and respiration ceased, then restarted years later.
“It’s gotta be her name, right?” said Max, picking up on Isis’ thoughts.
“I don’t think she can lie,” said Travis.
“What gives you that idea?” asked Isis.
“My mom doesn’t lie.”
“Your mom’s a different animal altogether.” Max turned onto the gravel road leading to Flex’s gate. “Her honesty saved a lot of our group’s lives. She worked with us. Saved a lot of people.”
The lab was still located outside his place because Hemp and Charlie spent so much time there.
He pulled up and the lab door opened. Hemp came out wearing a vinyl apron of some kind, wiping his hands on a rag. He waved.
Max pulled over and parked, and he, Isis and Travis got out.
“To what do I owe the honor?”
“Almost afraid to tell you, but excited at the same time,” said Max. “Isis? Want to do the honors?”
“Nope,” she said. “Travis, you caught her. You tell him.”
“Can we sit down? This might take a bit.”
“Sure. Swivel seats are still working. Come on in. Don’t mind the smell of fresh-baked WAT-5.”
They all went in, and the four sat near the cockpit. “What’s up?”
“It’s the Mothers,” said Travis. “One in particular. Lilith.”
Hemp looked from Travis to Isis to his son. “Lilith? She has a name? Did you give it to her?”
They all shook their heads simultaneously.
“She … communicated it to you somehow? A ‘HELLO – MY NAME IS LILITH’ sticker on her shirt?”
“No, she said it. Out loud,” said Isis. “Dad, she can speak. She remembers. She has a heartbeat and respiration. She’s alive.”
Hemp leaned forward. “Does she need
the earth gas?” His eyes were intense for eyes that weren’t red.
“I get the feeling she does,” said Isis. “We didn’t talk about it, and if she does need it to live, she doesn’t need much, obviously.”
Hemp nodded. “She may not have any knowledge of it, or of how she came to be. She might just live in the moment, no questioning her origins. You say she’s basically alive. Does she still want to eat people?”
“I had control of her the whole time, but she didn’t challenge me,” said the 3-1/2-year-old who looked 10.
“He can make her do shit, like lift her leg and hold it there,” said Max.
“Max, language. There’s a 3-1/2-year-old here.”
“Fuck that, Uncle Hemp,” said Travis. “When Isis told me to, I read the big dictionary, but I also read the collegiate dictionary. All the slang words are there. And the urban dictionary. Then I read the encyclopedias.”
“Too many damned dictionaries out there these days,” said Hemp. “I preferred – and meant for him to read – the Miriam Webster. It’s all you need.”
“Maybe a hundred years ago,” said Isis.
“Meanwhile you were born into the apocalypse,” said Hemp. “When may I see her?”
“Now,” said Isis. “We should go to her, though.”
“She doesn’t need containment? I mean … I know you said Travis has control over her, but what if she’s faking it?”
The three looked at one another. The thought had never crossed their minds. “She … can’t be. That’s how he caught her in the first place. Just saw her in a burrow in the woods and made her come out. Then he walked her to the garage where she is now.”
“Which furthers my suspicions. The Mothers are very strong. What if she breaks out of the garage?”
“It’s concrete block,” said Travis. “It’s why I picked it. The doors are super thick.”
Hemp shrugged. “I need to formulate my questions. I think we may have an opportunity here. May I ask Flex and Gem to come along? And Charlie, perhaps?”
“If I tell her you didn’t say her name first, you’re in deep doo-doo, Dad.”
“But you won’t … right?” asked Hemp.
Max smiled, shaking his head. “Nope. But it’s one you owe me.”
“I’ll have a pee and radio the others. Write down the address and we’ll meet you over there.”
Dead Hunger | Book 10 | The Remnants Page 30
