“He had thermite – I don’t know where he got it or what mix it was – and he brought it out and threw a bunch in the fire pit. When that sucker blew, it was a real party killer. I’d left by then, but I read about it the next day.”
“Nelson, how hard would it be to raise up the ½” pipe we’re laying out in a grid in the fortified zone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Rather than the pipes being on the ground, lifted up to say a 10-foot height.”
“Why?”
“It’s an idea I have. We’ll put candles on them to make them appear festive – serving a purpose.”
“Sounds festive as hell. Wouldn’t be that hard to use actual 11-watt bulbs or something, along with a gen. Easy to power bunches at that wattage. As for supporting the grid-work of pipes, we’d just need to use 90-degree tees on the corners and regular tees in the middle. Then we just use the downpipes as the legs. There are a bunch of those 90-degree tees at the hardware store. Nobody ever found a use for them.”
“Excellent. Now, about the thermite. I have two full drums. Once contains iron oxide, and the other a large amount that I’ve collected for tasks requiring very high heat. I have two large rolls of magnesium ribbon as well that we can use as a fuse of sorts, only it will start the action the second it is lit.”
“What do you have in mind, professor – I mean, brofessor?”
Hemp told Nelson exactly what he had in mind, and what else he needed to make it happen. Nelson listened carefully and did not forget a single word.
Hemp was counting on that.
*****
They were all Lilith; one name, one entity. When one knew, they all knew. When one agreed, they all agreed.
The living were concerned her kind could not refrain from killing their kind; using them as a food source.
The Red-Eyed Mothers operated on animal instinct. They were drawn by the human brain; not detected by breathing, utilizing the olfactory system, but rather utilizing the gustatory system – the sense of taste.
So finely tuned were these senses, they could easily detect the odor of a human brain as it manifested into tiny molecules and drifted through the air.
It was like a skunk’s scent in its uniqueness and ability to permeate the breeze for up to a mile, still detectable by humans, despite their inferior olfactory senses.
In the case of the Mothers, it was many, many miles. They could taste the enticement in the backs of their throats long before arriving at its location. They followed that taste until it grew stronger, telling them they were moving in the correct direction.
Other Mothers helped, too. They were one enormous organism; the flowing hordes close enough to one another shared more information, ensuring they were successful in their hunt.
They had been drawn to primates before; they served as a good substitute but were not in as great supply. They were also harder to catch.
Lilith closed her eyes after reaching her horde and burrowing in to recharge for several hours. When she emerged, all the Mothers were gathered around her.
A truce had been offered; they knew this, but none could understand how it was to work and still allow them to feed and thrive.
Each brain among them had a frequency, like the sound of an individual voice. While they only knew themselves as Lilith, each was different; as unique as a retina or DNA, or a fingerprint.
Hundreds listened now; many were still days away. Lilith knew she must wait for them. The living had not harmed her, which had confused her at first. She expected them to end her existence there, inside that enclosure.
Garage.
The word came, as many others had, forming in her mind over the passing days, months, and years.
Listen, Isis. Listen, Beauty. This she said to all of them, and in their heads, they heard the sweet, melodic voices of Isis and Beauty, who Lilith was certain did not realize they had company.
To listen in would be to evaluate their sincerity; to realize whether they could be trusted.
While they were alive, they had called themselves Hybrids. This was a foreign word to Lilith, but if it meant a bridge between the living and themselves, it meant they had a hand in creating the Hybrids, therefore the Mothers and Hungerers had unwitting allies within the ranks of the living.
The humans were planning a large meeting. They were inviting what they called the zombies or rotters or dead or Mothers or … Hungerers? Mothers and Hungerers. They had known these words – their words – somehow. It was what they called themselves.
Her kind would indulge them. They would meet them in their fortified area and make nice.
Isis said it would be, as she put it, “A display of solidarity.”
And they promised to bring food.
*****
Isis, Max, and Beauty headed over to see Hemp. He had just called them and said he had something important to share with them.
When they arrived, Hemp was outside, wiping his hands on a towel. He smiled and gave each of them a hug. He lingered a bit longer with Max and Isis than with Beauty. Beauty was not yet used to being held and squeezed by somebody without malice or other unwanted intent.
“Your shades,” said Hemp, his voice low. “Draw them tight.”
“Why?” asked Isis.
“I have something to tell you and I don’t need it shared.”
“With them?”
“Is there anybody else roiling around in your head?”
“I wasn’t aware anybody was, but if you like, the shade is drawn.”
“Mine, too,” said Beauty.
“I’m drawing mine, too,” said Max, “but I haven’t detected any intruders.”
“Let’s talk. Come inside.”
*****
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
The thoughts of the two females suddenly ceased; not at the same time, but individually, and close together.
The male – he was known as Max – was never as clear to them, but he had also ceased to broadcast his thoughts right around the same time.
The younger one named Travis still could be detected, and while his ponderings were clearer than Max’s, they were the ramblings of a young mind. A near baby.
Still, the thoughts of the young boy did not contradict what was planned; he was excited about the possibility of peace among the living and the others wandering the earth. Children were to be cherished and trusted. They were innocent and their corruption came after the world affected them.
All of the Liliths’ hands instinctively went down to feel the empty cavity where their bellies had been torn open and their dead babies ripped away.
The sun and moon would cycle four more times before they all gathered here. Patience. Burrow and build strength. Feed on the animals of the forest.
If the humans were lying, they would provide all the sustenance required when their deception was revealed – if it was.
*****
The next day, with all the buses in place, the primary task at hand was putting the new elbows on the piping and raising the entire grid-work up like an arbor over the enormous section of Main Street.
There was even more ½” pipe than they needed, stocked in every plumbing supply and big box hardware store. Hell, they could have gotten enough to run a line all the way to Atlanta if they’d needed it.
Nelson and Hemp walked through. They had told the people who needed to know of their plan, but that was it. They made their way to one of the four open ends of pipe at the four corners and made certain the right equipment was there.
The roll of magnesium tape had been nearly depleted, but it ran through the entire grid, twisted together at the joints before tightening the pipe. It did not need to be leak proof; everyone was told to hand tighten the pipes into the couplings and elbows except for the downpipes used as legs.
From the end of each corner, there was a foot of magnesium tape hanging down. Using a powerful vacuum at one of the corners and capping off two others, they ran a hose down into the barrel. When the
vacuum was started, it sucked up the heavy powder like water, distributing it throughout the system.
After a good 45 minutes, the vacuum began choking off, no longer able to intake the powder or more air.
The lines were filled. Nelson and Hemp stuffed a two-component sealant into the four open pipe ends, the magnesium tape hanging down, accessible and ready.
This completed, the day was half gone. Nelson and Hemp walked down Main, looking up at the makeshift arbor, when they heard, “Hey, space cadets!”
Both men looked up to see Flex and Gem coming toward them.
“Flex, bro! Hey, Gem!” shouted Nelson. “Nice, right?”
“Is it all charged up?” asked Flex.
“It is,” said Hemp. “Four feet grid, 3/16” holes drilled throughout. That took the longest, I think.”
“That’s a shit-ton of drilling,” said Gem. “Where’s Charlie, Hemp?”
“She’s still at the lab, cutting WAT-5 wafers with Beauty. Travis is back at Three Sisters with Vikki and Victoria, and Max and Isis are practicing their telepathy skills. They’re nervous about all of this.”
“They should be,” said Flex. “Nel, how you doing?”
“Fine as wine, bro,” said Nelson. “Tired, but we got a lot done. I’m pretty sure we’re doing the right thing.”
“Hell yes, it’s the right thing,” said Gem. “The only thing. We have to put an end to this.”
“Well, like Hemp said. If we get the feeling we can’t trust them, or if anything goes south during this meeting, we execute the plan.”
Hemp met both Gem’s and Flex’s eyes and they both turned away.
“What was that?” asked Nelson.
“What?” asked Flex.
“That … the look. What’s up?”
“Nel, it was a nervous look. It’s our first organized meeting with the zombies. Aren’t you a little nervous?”
“I was, until this,” he said, motioning to the grid-work above their heads. “You ever seen this stuff in action?”
“Videos on YouTube,” said Flex. “But not in a hell of a long time.”
“Okay, then,” said Nel. “Anyway, what’s next, Hemp?”
“Let’s collect the Christmas lights and string them along here. Only LED, though. They won’t strain the gen, though I don’t expect we’ll need them for long, and once the action begins.”
“If the action begins,” said Nelson.
“Yes,” said Hemp. “If.”
*****
Lula, Georgia was just five miles away. They would have pulled into town last night, but something happened that set them back over a hundred miles.
They had been driving on Harmony Church Road, also known as the 9 East, which was a peaceful little two-lane – sometimes three – with such overgrowth on the sides of the road they almost missed the enormous horde concealed by the tall weeds.
They had been cruising along State Road 19 when Eileen pointed out that street as a quicker alternative to their original plan.
They kept at a steady pace near dusk when Mila leaned forward and pointed toward the side of the road ahead. Doc Scofield had been driving, and he hadn’t even been aware she was awake, so when she said, “Look!” and jabbed her finger into the front seat, Doc almost opened his door and jumped out.
Mila was coming out of her shell, sharing more stories of her mother, Denise, who had been a police officer in Buffalo, New York. She pointed to her high, prominent cheekbones and said they were like her mama’s, and she bragged about how brave she was. When she tired of talking, she would sit back, her hands folded in her lap, and close her eyes.
She was content with the small group. Eileen Plover held her hand as they rode; not because Eileen felt it would comfort her, but because Mila would reach out and take it, playing with her fingernails and studying the length of her fingers.
Mila had been right to point out the rustling movement on the roadside, because a split-second later, the foliage collapsed and no fewer than two hundred rotters flooded into the street in front of them. Scofield didn’t slam on the brakes as one instinctively would; rather he floored the car and cranked the wheel hard left.
He would later say he saw the road was heavy with blown sand and gravel, so he knew the rear end would break free rather than sending the VW into a rollover, but Cole was pretty sure he just reacted and got lucky.
That woke everyone up.
“What the fuck?” asked Jim Cole, out of a dead sleep.
“Zombie fuckers back there,” said Doc. “Mila saw ‘em, told me about it and saved our goddamned lives.”
“Thank you, Mila!” said Eileen. “Good eye.”
“They were moving for a long time, but I didn’t know what was doing it. I thought it was the wind, but then I saw the trees around us weren’t blowing.”
“Like I said, good eye,” repeated Eileen. “Not something I would’ve noticed.”
“What now?” asked Cole.
“We need a bigger highway to access a bridge. Only way over Lake Lanier,” said Scofield.
Eileen said, “I saw a northbound two-lane a couple miles back, but I don’t know where it goes.”
“Good condition?”
“Overgrown like everything else – weeds in the cracks – but it looked plenty wide enough, and still had pavement. Might get you to the 53.”
Eileen got out the map and unfolded it, turning on the overhead light. She said, “Sunflower Way.” She ran her finger along the jagged line that zigged and zagged, doubled back and wound along.
“This is going to be a long drive. We might need to pull in somewhere for the night.”
“I want to get there,” said Jim Cole. “Done driving, done riding, done waiting.”
“How far to the bridge over Lanier, Eileen?” asked Scofield.
She looked at the legend and measured. “About thirty miles. Once we’re over, we should be in for some smooth sailing.”
Doc Scofield said, “Right up here.” He turned right onto Sunflower Way. It was everything Eileen said it was.
Everyone drove in silence, thankful they had avoided the horde and never had to fire a shot. They eventually reached the transition to Dawsonville Highway – or the Georgia Highway 53.
They saw signs for little burgs called Westview, Springdale, and Holiday Hills just before the bridge. Seeing the way ahead was clear, Doc Scofield pressed the pedal with confidence.
Until he slammed it hard and skidded to a stop just five feet from a crevice. A dark gap in the middle of the bridge, the entire structure now noticeably listing to the north.
Part of the lane had collapsed into the lake below the 1,000-foot-long bridge. To the right, eight or nine feet of solid concrete remained, but the left edge had crumbled away from the left rail.
“Shit!” said Jim Cole. “Back up. Away from that hole.”
Jim eased the VW into reverse and rolled back about fifteen feet. Everyone got out.
Moving to the northern rail of the eastbound lane, separated from the westbound lanes by 35 feet of open air, Cole saw what had happened. The bow of what had to have been an enormous barge protruded from the lake, jutting toward the sky.
There was a small car crashed atop the marine wreckage far below, clearly having driven blindly into the gap and plunging to its demise.
“Look at the other side. That support on the north side is completely broken in half. You could jump up and down on that side and it would fall.”
“Back to square one,” said Eileen. “Sorry guys. This wasn’t on the map.”
“Hey, guys?”
“What’s up, Mila?” asked Doc Scofield. “You alright?”
He never looked at her. He was looking toward the east bank.
“We need to go.”
“We are. Just –”
“No, we need to go now!” she interrupted. “Look!”
Everyone looked at Mila, then followed her gaze.
It wasn’t 200 this time. This time it was at least 600. The mass
ive horde was thirty yards from stepping onto the bridge.
“We can’t beat them there,” said Doc Scofield. “Even if we had Evel Knievel driving.”
“Who?” asked Mila.
“Never mind,” said Cole, turning back to the gap in the bridge. “Doc, come here.”
They both hurried to the edge of the crumbling bridge. He eyed the remaining pavement on the southern edge. Scofield joined him and they leaned over to inspect what support it had.
“Part of that column is still under it,” said Cole. “The VW’s width is just shy of 6’. We got, what, Jimmy? Eight feet of roadway or so?”
The horde had now reached the bridge.
“How much you figure each of those bastards weigh?” asked Eileen, watching the zombies approach. They were still a good 400 feet away but moved steadily.
“85 pounds on a good day,” said Scofield. “Maybe 90 or more on some, if they just had a good meal. Why?”
“Because that’s a lot of weight,” said Cole. “Feel that?”
The bridge was moving. Side to side, ever-so-slightly.
“We’re swayin’,” said Scofield. “Come on. We’re not jumpin’ and we ain’t goin’ back, so we’d better drive like our lives depend on it.”
“They do I think,” said Mila.
“Smart girl. Jim, you take over,” said Scofield.
“Great. We die now, it’s my fault.”
“I’ll drive,” said Eileen.
Jim looked at her. “Really?”
She nodded her head.
“Okay,” said Cole. “You’re up. Make us proud.”
The horde was now around 150 feet behind them. They all got in, and for some insane reason, Eileen said, “Buckle up!” and everyone did.
She fired the engine and pulled the VW all the way to the right guardrail. She kept pulling right until the metallic scraping jarred them all to reality.
“Shit, that’s close enough, Eileen!” said Cole.
“Not if we want extra pavement,” she said.
“Slow and easy,” said Scofield.
“Not if you don’t want them crawling on your car,” said Mila, matter-of-factly.
Dead Hunger | Book 10 | The Remnants Page 32
