The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (126 page)

He got back in the truck.  “No guns in there, which must mean they took ‘em in.”

“That’s good?” asked Ian.

Flex turned.  “Fuck yes it’s good, dipshit,” he said.  “How could it be bad?”

“He’s just scared,” said Eddie.  “Be cool, Flex.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Ian, you shoot?”

“I’m pretty good.”

“Can you handle something bigger than a .22?”

“Since I was nine years old.  My dad used to take me hunting.”

Flex nodded.  “We’re gonna need to find a place to get in that’s not on fire,” he said.

“What did you see in the car, Flex?” asked Ian.

“Blood on the windshield and on the ground outside the driver’s side door,” said Flex.  “No airbag in that car.  Way too old.”

“I’m sure he never even thought of it,” said Ian.

“If he lives through this, he will next time,” said West.  “Now let’s go try to give him the chance to regret some past decisions.”

“Take as much ammo as you can carry,” said Flex.  “We can’t get any closer, so we’re going to have to go along the fence until we see a clear spot.”

“What’s the scoop?”  It was
Bell on the radio.

“Do me a favor, Waylon,” said Flex.  “Grab the battery-powered Sawzall from the back of my truck, and get up here,” said Flex.  “I don’t know if they went inside the prison before this fire started, but we’re gonna break into this bastard somewhere.”

*****

“Are you sure?” asked Hemp, his eyebrows raised.

Kimberly Dodd looked at Hemp and nodded.  “I am,” she said.  “The vapor didn’t hurt Lisa, right?  It just made her kinda hear them, right?”

Hemp looked at the woman who, even in this crazy world, often laughed easily and lifted the spirits of others who found their new existence a horrid one.

“If I’m being honest,” he said, “I will tell you that it allowed them to control her,” said Hemp.  “But that was pure vapor.  It’s completely different because it didn’t contain the urushiol or the ZG components.”

“ZG?” asked Kimberly.

“Zombie Gas,” said Scofield.  “Scientific term for the shit pumping out of the planet.”

Kimberly pulled her wavy, blonde hair tighter into her ponytail, and straightened her wire-rimmed glasses.  Her nervousness showed, but she showed no signs of backing out.

“I’m in, but tell me something, Professor Chatsworth.”

“Hemp, please.”

“Okay, Hemp.”  Kimberly bit her lip, and she looked at Vikki, who looked more frightened than she.  “Tell me what you
think
it might do.”

Hemp took a deep breath.  “There is no way to correlate what the WAT-5 does with this.  One vapor knocks you out.  In its multi-component form, it makes you olfactorily invisible.”

“So they can’t smell you,” said Kimberly.  “But if the new gas allows them to control you rather than knocks you out, what do you think?”

“Kimberly, you’re asking me the question to feel better about agreeing to take it.  I can’t answer it, so if you’re not willing to test it, then I understand.”

“I’ll take the shit,” said Vikki.  “You’re off the hook, Kimmy.”

“No!” shouted Kimberly.  “I’m just trying to get some idea what it does, Vik.”

“Then let’s both take it,” said Vikki.

Kimberly threw her hands in the air.  “Sure, then Victoria’s going to want to take it, and if something goes terribly wrong, there we’ll be, three zombie sisters, all in a goddamned row.”

“I really don’t have any suspicion it will change you into one of them,” said Hemp.  “None at all.  But I don’t need two of you to take, it, and in fact, I would not agree to it.  There’s no sense in it.”

“Does it knock you out like the WAT-5?” asked Kimberly.

Hemp shrugged.  “I’ll want you to sit down before taking it, just in case.”

“Okay.  Vik, you can come in, but I’m taking it.”

“I’ll get Victoria.”

“No, she’s busy keeping these people fed, and she’s a good ear for them, too,” said Kimberly, shaking her head.  “A damned softer heart never existed.  Let her keep doing what she’s been doing.  You can come out and update her.”

“Hopefully you can do that,” said Vikki.  “Let’s go.”

“I need another,” said Hemp.  “Younger.  In her twenties would be ideal.”  He scanned the room and spotted a girl who looked about the right age.  He nodded toward her.  “Do you know her?”

Vikki and Kimberly looked over. 

“She’s kind of a bitch,” said Vikki.  “I don’t think she’ll do it.”

“How so?” asked Hemp.

“Well, she doesn’t like me, for one,” said Kimberly.  “Everybody likes me.  I.e., she’s a bitch.”

“What’s her name?” asked Hemp.”

“Dunno,” said Vikki.  “I just call her the bitch.”

“I think her name’s Rebecca or Becky or something like that.  Let me go talk to her,” said Scofield.  “She had a sprained ankle when I first saw her.  Got it wrapped for her, and she was pretty nice to me.”

“Is this like the story of the man who removed the thorn from the lion’s paw?” asked Vikki, smiling.  “She’ll always remember your kindness?

Scofield’s face contorted, then he shook his head.  “Nope.  Don’t think so.  The way my daddy told that story, a man took a thorn from the lion’s paw, thinkin’ it would be grateful.  It ate him right after.”

“True nature,” said Vikki.  “Good luck with the bitch.”

Scofield laughed despite himself and headed over.

“We’ll meet you in the lab,” said Hemp.  The doctor waved at him and kept walking.

*****

Flex stopped and looked around.  The fire had spread from the prison with the assistance of a cold northerly wind that bit into his face and hands.  The snow had stopped, but the dry grass was tall and an easy victim for the flames.

“That fire’s movin’,” said Flex.  “With this goddamned wind, no tellin’ how far it’ll go.”

“We going in here?” asked Bell.

Flex nodded.  “Yeah.  Everyone be ready.  There’s some rotters moving this way.”

It was hard to count how many were currently making their way toward them.  The grass had grown high within the confines of the prison yard, too, and just the shoulders and heads of some were visible.  If any had lost legs, they could still advance in a crawl, but they would be impossible to see until they were right at you.

Flex was also well aware that they’d taken less WAT-5 than usual, and the kids weren’t on it at all.  They were a definite draw for the hungry dead.

“Waylon, get that Sawzall going, and cut efficiently,” said Flex.  “I don’t know how much battery this is gonna take or if we’re gonna need it again.”

“You got it,” said Bell, and started cutting about head high, working his way downward.  The piercing, metallic sound of blade against heavy metal fence rang through the night.

“Let’s start taking ‘em out,” said Flex.  “Wait until you’ve got a clear head shot.”

The two kids raised their Rangemasters.  Flex looked down at them and saw their pockets bulged with extra rounds.  The rifles all had scopes and multi-round capability, and all of that made Flex feel better.

Four reports, four dead walkers down.

“Nice,” said Flex, raising his K7.  He’d put it on in single-shot mode to preserve ammo.  He took out another of the stinkers and checked Bell’s progress.

“Almost there,” said Bell, reading Flex’s mind.  The motor stopped, and the man flexed his fingers, then continued, cutting through the last seven inches.

“Grab the other side, Flex,” said West.  “Take a break, Waylon.”

Bell stepped back and Flex and West pushed the fence inward.  An easily passable gap presented itself.

“You guys first, and keep your weapons ready,” said Flex, waving the kids through.  They pushed through the fence and stood nervously aside.  Bell fed the Sawzall through first before pushing his more ample body through.

“Now you,” said Flex.

West moved in.  When all the men stood inside the fence, they looked where they had been.  The entire landscape, as far east as they could see, was ablaze.

“We need to hurry,” said West.  “We could get cut off.”

They instinctively ran toward the south corner of the building where the fire had not yet reached.  West led the group, with Flex next, followed by the kids, then Bell.

As they rounded the corner, pushing through waist deep grass, six flaming men staggered into view, all walking dead, formerly human torches, blind and hungry.  The paths they had taken flared up behind them, spreading the fire even more quickly. 

“Holy shit!” said Bell.  “Somebody shoot ‘em!”

Flex raised his weapon and took two out.  The kids fired on the other three, and West took out the last one.  The bodies fell to the ground and burned.  Flex was suddenly very glad they were upwind from the creatures.

Zombies smelled like shit.  A burning zombie would linger in your nostrils and your brain for weeks. 

They stood in front of a steel door with a dead bolt, but no knob.  The keyhole mocked the group.

“How the hell are we planning to get inside?” asked West, before a light went on in his eyes.  “Wait!  Look for a guard.  Someone with keys.”

“It’s a shot,” said Flex, “and maybe all we’ve got.  But this fire’s getting worse, and we don’t have all night.  Ian, you go with West.  Eddie, you go with Bell.  Drop that saw , Waylon.  Get your pistol out.”

“What about you?” asked West.”

“You know the fuckin’ answer to that,” grinned Flex.  “Don’t worry.  I’m a crack shot these days.  Just stay out of the fire, and if it gets too fucked up, just get back here.”

“If we don’t find a guard with keys in five minutes, everyone get back here and we’ll try to shoot our way in,” said West.

“That shit’s easier in the movies,” said Flex.  “But sure.”

“Wait,” said Eddie.  “What do we do if we find keys?  How do we signal?”

Flex looked around, then at the roof of the prison.  “That big, metal satellite dish.  If you find keys, fire directly at the dish.  That should ring out pretty good.  Then we all get back to this door.”

They went their separate ways, and Flex made his way around the building, staying close to the wall.   The grass was easier to push through there. 

Guards could be anywhere.  They could be infected, too.  Who knows what happened to standard operating procedure at the prison when everything started going to shit.  Pandemonium.  Guards attacking other guards and prisoners.  Flex couldn’t imagine being locked in a cage, unarmed, uninfected and faced with dozens filled with the dead hunger that controlled their every move.

Flex saw another steel door ahead, on the south side of the building.  On its edge appeared a darker shadow, as though it were … open.

He pushed hard through the grass, and reached the door.  His fingers curled around it, and he pulled it wider.

Flex looked toward the sky and said, “You know, you are a bastard, but right now, thank you, Lord!”

He turned and ran, his legs feeling a new strength.  He leapt over the grass he’d crushed during his slog to the open door as he smashed even more of it, assuring they’d find the path back to it.

He rounded the corner in a leap, seeing the massive, shadowed figure in front of him too late.  Flex’s mind registered his mistake a split second before his forehead hit the giant’s chin, and he felt powerful arms clutching at his clothing.

But his momentum had been too great, and Flex bounced off the figure with almost equal speed, the fingers failing to gain purchase on his shirt.

It was slow motion.  Just like any sudden, dire situation seems to be.  Flex felt himself falling backward, his mind sending signals to his hands to grab the K7.

But the signals coming from his mind were perhaps as scrambled as the thoughts of the enormous zombie that now loomed over him.

Flex hit the ground and tried to roll away until he could gather his wits.  His ears rang, and as he tried to spin away, the tall grass cradled him in place like bowling alley gutter bumpers.

My gun, thought Flex.

The colossal monster stopped and turned.  Flex did not know what the reason was, but he took advantage of the few seconds he may have had to feel around him for his gun, which had flown from his hands at impact.

It was somewhere in the grass nearby, he knew, but even if only feet away, it was invisible and unobtainable at the moment.

When the long-dead man wearing bloody prison clothes began to walk away, Flex closed his eyes and once again thanked the God he had called a bastard just moments before.

And then he thanked Hemp. 

The WAT-5 was still working.

Flex struggled to his feet as the creature moved away, silhouetted by the distant, leaping flames.

He saw his gun, leaned over with a groan to retrieve it, and tried to focus.  From his vantage point, a small rounded edge of the satellite dish was visible.