“Meet Jimmy Choo the Daewoo.”
“Huh?” asked Colton. “Who’s Jimmy Choo?”
“Some Asian fashion designer dude. I know it’s a little long, but if I just say Choo it sounds like I sneezed.”
“You try that out?”
“Yeah, and people blessed me.”
Gem shrugged. “That’s not a bad thing if you’re going into a gunfight.”
“True enough.”
Flex began breaking down Jimmy Choo the Daewoo, arranging the pieces in a row on the table in front of him.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think about your other son? The one who died? Flex Jr.?”
“Every day. Multiple times.”
Colton was quiet for almost a minute.
“Why?”
“Do I make you think of him?”
“Sure,” said Flex, smiling. “You pick up on stuff Gem and I do, just like he did. While we’re growin’ up, we mimic what we see and do things the way the ones raisin’ us do ‘em.”
“Flexy was smarter than Flex and I put together,” said Gem. “I think you are, too.”
“Can I clean my gun?” he asked, stuffing the last of the chorizo burrito into his mouth.
“If you don’t choke on that fucker,” said Flex. “Run get it.”
When he left the room, Gem put her hand on Flex’s arm. “Are you worried about tonight?”
He looked up to meet her eyes. “Maybe, a little.”
“You’re a lying sack of fuck,” said Gem.
Flex laughed out loud. “Damned straight. I’m scared as hell. Not sure why, I’ve had a good life.”
“I have a bad feeling. I feel like we’ve invited Satan and all his demons for a feast. And we’re the main course.”
“WAT-5 for everybody. If they still want to eat us, hopefully it’ll taint our meat.”
“What time are they supposed to come?” asked Gem.
“I guess just after dark. They’ll make their way from the woods around us. They freaked Wendy and Eileen out but good.”
“Hemp seems pretty confident in the thermite. Something about it melting steel into like molten lava.”
“Travis said somethin’ about him not thinkin’ they could lie,” said Flex. “I don’t believe that shit for a minute.”
He set several more pieces of the K-7 aside, picking them up one-by-one and cleaning each piece thoroughly.
Colton came back in carrying his Beretta M1951 and in his other hand, the Henry Golden Boy. He sat.
“You cleaned them last time you finished using them, right?” asked Gem.
“Yeah. But I like sitting here with you guys.”
They all worked on their guns for a long silent moment when Colton put his cleaning towel down. “I want to help. Tonight. I’m fast with this Henry, and you know I can make head shots almost every time. You’ve seen my targets.”
Gem’s face went slack, and Flex noticed. He stared at her, then turned to Colton. “You know how Flexy died, right? He got … well, let’s just say a little footloose and fancy-free. We’d been beating the zombies for so long, we didn’t see how things can turn on a dime.”
“Boy did they turn,” said Gem. “Worst day of my life, still. Including when I got bitten by a zombie.”
“Yeah, Uncle Hemp saved your ass with urushiol. Charlie told me that story a few times,” said Colton.
“Look,” said Flex. “Back to you helpin’ out. I’m okay with it. I want you back – way back – from the Mothers, though.”
“You can’t be under the pipes,” said Gem. “Remember to look up. If you’re under the pipes, you’re in the kill zone.”
She looked at Flex, and he knew she didn’t like it. But both of them knew the warnings they issued would be fresh in the boy’s mind.
“Hemp said the lights will probably pop or slag off the pipes before the thermite starts melting everything around it and pouring on the dead. It could get dark pretty fast.”
“Only a sliver of a moon tonight,” said Flex. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“Let’s get this done, then go have a last look around. See if we missed anything,” said Gem.
They finished cleaning their weapons with Gem humming Don’t Stop Believing by Journey.
If the past was any indicator, they never would.
*****
CHAPTER
FORTY -THREE
The mood all over Lula was morose; people on the periphery avoided talking about what was coming, just going about their days, albeit in silence. Those involved with the risky deceit of the powerful Mothers were focused and did not notice the mood of the other residents.
With the sun climbing higher in the sky, it was a good time to check the trap area and make sure all was perfect. The Mothers and their Hungerer minions would be ensconced in their burrows, likely anticipating their emergence and subsequent encounter with destiny.
What destiny remained to be seen.
Standing on the tunnel covered with ¾” plywood and about an inch of dirt, Trina said, “I can’t tell. They’ve got the edges built up enough it just looks like the ground. If they’re not wearing heels, they shouldn’t clop suspiciously.”
“Barefoot bitches, mostly,” said Taylor. “Should be fine. I’m not sure our bait will be able to get in the tunnel fast enough so the Mothers don’t notice, though. What’s the plan there?”
Hemp and Flex walked over to the platform that was to serve as a dining table for the Mothers. It had been constructed after the pipe grid was completed, so placement of the ground-level components of the ruse were critical and could save lives.
Punch and Mark Weir had come up with a cool design. There was a long table built from plywood, approximately 80 feet back from the stage area. To accommodate the sacrificial offering of fresh, live humans, it had to be over fifty feet wide so the 24 volunteers could lay side-by-side.
They would appear to be restrained; if the Mothers inspected them before they had a chance to initiate the chain of events that would hopefully destroy them, they had to appear to be there involuntarily.
“Safe to walk on this?” asked Flex, indicating to the area in front of the feeding table.
“Yeah, the latches are closed,” said Punch. “I think … hold on. I don’t want to have to put all that dirt back.”
Punch had installed center pins on all the plywood pieces to allow access to the tunnel. Just a quick kick of the toe on the release latch and one side would pivot down, allowing tunnel access on both sides of the piece of wood.
The tunnel itself was five feet deep, so the 2-1/2’ of plywood that swung down would not touch ground, allowing them full access into the escape chute.
Punch gave the latch a kick, then jumped onto the plywood piece. It dropped away, and he landed easily on his feet and crouched down. “Shit,” he said. “Good thing you didn’t walk on it. You’d be on your ass.”
He leaned in and secured the latch. “Go ahead, Flex.”
Flex walked along the front of the table. “This run around the sides, too?”
“Yep. Like a U-shape. They stand on any side of it, they’re taking a tumble.”
They had built it so if the Mothers made it to the table before the pseudo-sacrifices had time to escape, the ground in front would drop toward the stage behind them, effectively putting them on their backsides in a 4’ deep hole. From there, the rest of their plan should take care of the creatures.
“Sounds solid,” said Flex.
“It should,” said Weir. “That’s treated plywood, so it’s extra hard. The dirt and gravel muffle any echo from beneath it. I’m not worried they’ll figure it out.”
“Nope,” said Punch. “Just generally worried about the whole thing.”
“You’re not alone,” said Hemp, walking up to stand beside Flex. He looked up at the piping. “Yes, that one is perfectly aligned with this trench. I think everything is in place.”
Nelson rode up on his electric sc
ooter and parked it, putting the kickstand down. He kept it on a solar charging station all the time and used it exclusively if he was alone. He used his golf cart when Lita and Rachel accompanied him.
“Jim, you and Charlie get on the music system. The more noise and distraction the better.”
“I’ll help with that,” said Nelson. “I read a book on it once. I can even set up quadraphonic sound.”
“I don’t think the zombie ladies will be on LSD Nel, but if they wanna drop some 4-way windowpane, we’ll keep that in mind.”
“You don’t think I know what that is,” said Nelson, a smirk on his face. “But I used to live on that shit.”
“That explains a lot,” said Punch. “What’s up, Nelly?”
“Just doing what you’re doing,” he said. “Checking everything twice. This is crazy. It’s like waiting for a hurricane. Once you get prepped, all you can do is worry.”
“You worried?” asked Flex.
“He has a right to be,” said Hemp. “Everyone should worry. Without fear, mistakes are made.”
“That’s a heck of a pep talk,” said Nelson, sliding a joint out of his pocket and lighting it with his Zippo. He took a big hit and pinched out the cherry, sliding it back in his shirt pocket. “Looks good, guys.”
Punch said, “Flex, get off there. I need to get the latch open before we put all this dirt back. Last check.”
Flex stepped off and Punch reached in to undo the latch. It pulled back with a click, and the earth surrounding the table shifted slightly before stilling again.
Climbing out of the tunnel, which ran underneath the westernmost line of buses, he pivoted the top back up, secured the latch, and began kicking the dirt back in place.
Nelson grabbed a shovel, as did Mark Weir. Together, they had it looking undisturbed in another ten minutes.
*****
The stage was constructed using twenty-eight 55-gallon drums arranged in a rectangle, with thick plywood built onto a 2x4 framework.
They had draped down a large piece of fabric along the front, and Vikki Solms and Victoria Hansen – the remaining proprietors of Three Sisters Bar, had lettered it MOTHERS OF LULA ALLIANCE.
Corny, but designed to convince anyone not in on it they were naïve and serious. Or just plain stupid.
Gem carried the speaker stand, placing it in the front left corner, then placed the other on the right. She found the Fender Passport speakers and lifted them up.
“Flex, come here!” she said.
Flex was standing in front with Wendy Potvin and Eileen Plover, who both carried their weapons slung over their shoulders. “Right away, darlin’,” he said.
“That’s a good boy,” said Eileen with a chuckle. Turning to Wendy, she said, “She’s got him right where she wants him.”
“I don’t blame her. I’d pretty much take him anywhere.”
“Gem would only kill you a little,” said Eileen. “I figured that out on day one. She’s a badass bitch and he’s her man.”
“Saw you had your eye on Punch,” said Wendy. “Not bad.”
Eileen smiled, a slight blush accompanying it.
Wendy said, “No. Not already.”
“Day two,” said Eileen. “Sorry. I was horny as hell and he was hot and willing. He has a solar shower, and let me use it. I called him while I was in the shower, and he came. Then he came again. But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.”
Wendy laughed. “For now, I’ll have to live vicariously through you. Sex? I don’t remember much, but I intend to refresh my memory ASAP if we live through this shit. Did you use protection?”
“Hell no.”
“That’s the best.”
“Hell yeah.”
Up on stage, the wires were run from the PA head to the speakers and microphone, which was placed front and center. No grid-work extended to within twenty feet of the stage area.
Behind the stage, Nelson, Jim Cole, and Punch Magee set the dozens of boxes in place. They angled them as needed and untapped all the fuses, extending them. Before long, everything was in place. No amount of further planning could ensure their survival. At a certain point, it was up to the powers of fate.
*****
CHAPTER FORTY -FOUR
With each progression of the sun across the sky, the group grew more nervous. Of course they would station shooters at strategic locations – Colton being one of them with his .22 Henry and his Beretta should things get closer – but it felt to Hemp like no amount of preparation was enough.
As they sat inside Three Sisters Bar discussing their final plan, the attendee list was a who’s who of Lula, Georgia – at least since the apocalypse started.
Flex Sheridan couldn’t say he was much of a presence in the town before the original outbreak in 2009, but he sure was the cornerstone today.
Flex and Gem had arrived with Colton in tow; the boy had his Henry rifle in an on-the-back carry rifle scabbard Punch had made for him out of cowhide.
Doc Scofield and Nelson were there, along with Rachel and Lita. Nelson was more serious than many had ever seen him. He was more depressed than most when he learned the apocalypse had flared up again but had done everything in his power to help them prepare for their defense – and offense.
Trina and Taylor had arrived with Dave Gammon, Max, and Isis, and while Dave and Max were outnumbered by beautiful, powerful young women, neither appeared intimidated in any way. All were armed to the teeth and dressed for tonight’s battle. As for Serena, she had been fighting a flu bug for several days, and it appeared to be ready to break. She was safely ensconced at the home she and Dave and their children shared, and it happened to be in the fortified zone.
This made Dave comfortable enough to lock her inside and join the others in whatever battle was coming.
Wendy and Eileen had arrived with Jim Cole and Punch Magee, and the four had settled into the most distant table. Punch and Eileen were in a constant back-and-forth discussion, mostly sharing personal details as they got to know one another better.
Jim had taken a liking to Wendy Potvin; she was badass and not worried about tonight’s encounter in the slightest. She said she couldn’t wait, and Jim tried to act like he was just as gung-ho as her – but she saw through him.
Jim Cole was not a big, bad fighter. He acted when necessary, but he didn’t go looking for trouble. Wendy had nerves of steel. Maybe a good pair moving forward in the apocalyptic world.
Beauty and Travis slid into the chairs behind Max and Isis. They had been out practicing their communication skills all day and sending out feelers to see if any information came back from the Mothers.
They were the first ones Hemp wanted to hear from.
Vikki and Victoria flitted around the bar taking orders and bringing out snacks and drinks. There was a strange silence among the large crowd, but that was normal.
There was a communal focus underway. It was how they had won in the past. Never take your eye off the ball.
“Well,” said Hemp. “I know it has been a whirlwind, but the time has come. I’d say we begin with Max, Isis, Beauty and Travis telling us what they’ve learned.”
Max and Isis stood. Isis began: “Mostly we’ve been working on our internal communication. To explain, I’ll say there’s a process of working together one-on-one. That seems to allow each of us to … I don’t know … record the particular frequency of the other. What that means is, when I hear a voice in my head, I don’t always know who it is. This is how it was with Max and I early on. In my mind, I don’t hear the actual identifier, ‘Max’. I sense a certain waveform, I guess you can say. A pattern of speech. The words themselves come through a translation of the waveform pattern, and my mind converts that into thoughts I can understand.”
“That makes sense to me,” said Hemp.
“Do I need to understand that to kill these bitches tonight?” called Wendy Potvin from the far table.
“Thank fucking God somebody else said that,” said Gem. “If so, I’m screwed.�
�
Hemp smiled. “No, not at all. Isis is prepping us to understand her process.”
“Right,” said Isis. “Anyway, what we do first is spend one-on-one time together, until we have a clear idea of the brainwaves emitted from each person. Max and I had a good head start, obviously, and Beauty and I began that process before we defeated Maestro. Beauty hadn’t had much cause to work with Max, and Travis had never really practiced distant communication with anyone but his mother, so it was important.”
“So now when you hear anything from any of them, you know the identity of the person communicating with you?” asked Hemp.
All four nodded. “100% success rate,” said Travis. “I also helped them.”
They all turned to Travis, waiting for him to elaborate, but like most kids, he needed prompting.
“Trav, baby, what did you do to help them?” asked Charlie.
“Oh!” he said, as though surprised. “Sorry. I showed them how to project their telekinesis.”
“Tele-what?” asked Doc Scofield.
“It’s the ability to move things with one’s mind,” said Hemp. “Something I absolutely did not believe in until the apocalypse. I’d have been laughed out of my profession.”
“Anyway, we started with small stuff. Rocks, sticks. Then we moved to like basketballs. After that it was the golf cart, and ….”
“You moved a bus today!” yelled Nelson.
“You saw that?” asked Travis, smiling.
“Heck yeah! I was like, whoa, that bus is floating! I’d better lay off the smoke for a bit! I thought I was dehydrated or something.”
“Nah, that was us. Max, actually. We all got it before him, but when he figured it out, he did good.”
“What did you learn from the Mothers, Isis?” asked Hemp.
“Yeah, the most important intelligence,” said Flex.
Isis said, “Lilith is quiet. They’re there, and the numbers feel like more than they’ve indicated. There’s no doubt we will be outnumbered, and with the Hungerers, it will be on a massive scale.”
“But the Hungerers are useless without the Mothers now,” said Max. “We get that, 100%. They seem too lethargic to even sense and pursue food. Without the Mothers directing them, they’re like remote control monsters without anyone at the controls.”
Dead Hunger | Book 10 | The Remnants Page 36
