The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (147 page)

“Good,” she said, taking my hand.  She smiled at me, and turned to watch Nelson Moore, the smile lingering on her lips.  “But we have another person now,” she said.  “So I hope it’s enough.”

Nelson worked his way to another female that was closing in.  None of these had much in the way of the pink eye vapor.  Food had apparently been scarce, and they hadn’t been able to eat enough to generate it.

It was a good sign for us.  We would have to keep an eye out for the red-eyed women, though.  And obviously pregnant females.  They were a game changer.

Nelson blasted this girl in the face, too.  Even from twenty-five yards, I could see her facial features dissolve into themselves and run down her chin and neck.  Her body took three very clumsy steps before falling forward and remaining still.

“Nelson!” I called.  “I got this one.”

I pulled the Walther out and held it out.  Sighting in on another man who staggered toward us with a machete embedded in his clavicle, I lowered the gun for a moment. 

“I know that guy, “I said, as Nelson walked up to stand beside us. 

“You know him?” asked Nelson?

“I … well, he was at the church before everything went to hell.  He came, ate some of the food and proclaimed his intention to go the lean and mean route.”

“Now he’s focused on the mean,” said Nelson.

“Yeah, eating us is pretty mean,” said Serena.  “So kill it already.”

“Somebody clearly already tried,” I said.  “It’s just proof that you can be immune to the thing and still end up one of them.”  I raised the PPK, sighted him in – now at only fifteen yards – and dropped him in his tracks.  As he fell, the machete flipped out of his shoulder, the metal blade ringing as it hit the macadam.

“Jesus, let’s get you a bike and get back on the road,” I said.  “Killing these bastards is like picking up an entire bag of spilled rice one grain at a time.”

“If we don’t do it,” said Serena, “it falls to someone else.  As a group, we decided we all do our share.”

“I know, I know,” I said. 

This was a large Harley Davidson store, but it had been over a year since the apocalypse struck, and I hoped it still had a decent selection of bikes.

As we approached, we saw the front window was shattered.   Serena looked at it, moved to the left and tried the door.  It was unlocked.  Of course it was.  You broke a window to get in.  You left by the door.

I kept my gun in my hand, as did Serena.  Nelson had the
urushiol canister, which he held in his right hand like the weapon that it was.

Almost as soon as we walked inside, a partially rotted digger with nearly black skin and Donald Trump hair emerged from behind a row of fallen motorcycles, almost stumbling toward us with each jerky step. 

I raised my weapon and unceremoniously shot him in the head, spinning him clockwise and then putting him down on his face.  When the bullet blew through his skull, it almost looked like clay dust blew out the back, he was so dehydrated.

Another female in a pair of leather shorts and a leather, zipper-front vest was stuck beneath two of the bikes, its arms clawing at the chrome, plastic and rubber but lacking any cognizant strategy to get out from under the machines.

Nelson walked to her and shook his head as he put the tiniest splash of urushiol on the top of her exposed skull.  A hole formed, acting like a sink hole.  All the tissue around it began to fall into the hole as it grew larger, and before long, her limbs fell still.  There did not appear to be any more of the creatures in the immediate area, but we’d been surprised before.

The skeletal remains of at least eight victims lay around the room, and there were at least five other zombie cadaver remains that we came across in there.

It was easy to tell them, because the head trauma was a quick, visual diagnosis.

“Let’s pick you a bike and get back on the road,” I said to Nelson.  “We have a lot of riding to do before daylight and we haven’t gotten very far today.”

“Smaller is better,” said Nelson.  “What’s small in a Harley?” he asked.

“That one looks pretty small compared to the rest,” said Serena.  “I wonder if it’s okay?”

It was one of the bikes that had fallen in the row, but she was right.  It was a Sportster 1200 Low.

“Here, help me lift these other bikes off it,” I said.  Serena and Nelson joined me at the bike that had clearly caused the domino effect, and together, we stood the five bikes ahead of the Sportster back on their stands and after righting the 1200 Low, I rolled it around a skeleton and put its stand down.  I looked at it, and didn’t see anything bent or broken.  The mirror was tweaked, but I was able to makeshift it back into position.

The key was in it.  I turned it and pushed the auto start.  Another beautiful battery.  It started right up and fell into a rumble-purr.  I smiled at Nelson.  “Ever ride a bike this big?” I asked.

“No,” he said.  “But I rode dirt bikes when I was really young, and they were much heavier than I was, so I get the concept.”  He looked around at the other bikes at the dealership.  “Yeah.  It’s the smallest.  I’ll take it.  How is it on fuel?”

I shook the bike, and heard it splashing.  “We’ll top it off with our extra fuel.  We’ll need to fill those cans tomorrow.”

“I need something else,” said Serena.  “You guys get the bike ready, and top my tank off, too.”

When Serena walked back toward us, she carried a nice helmet.  She thrust it at Nelson.  “Be careful and do
not
need this,” she said.

“No worries,” said Nelson.  “I bounce.”

We got back on the road.  We would drive to Cookeville and stop for the night.  That would put us at   around 320 miles for the day.  That was enough.

*****

“It would be nice if Nelson could keep up a bit better,” I said in Serena’s helmet.  I hadn’t really thought about it, but we were able to have any conversation we wanted to as we rode, and Nelson was blissfully unaware.

“He’s not doing bad, considering his lack of experience,” said Serena.

“I know,” I said.  “He really hasn’t slowed us down that much.  It’s all these damned cars.  The way they’re facing every direction on both sides of the road makes it pretty hard to figure out where they thought they were evacuating to.”

“Not everyone has a plan,” said Serena.  “Sometimes it’s just
run
.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said, immediately thinking of Lisa.  Without her, I would not have had much direction, either.

“Let’s pull off here,” I said.  “There’s a little motel there.  Maybe we can find an unaffected room.”

“Let’s stop here, where we know it’s clear,” said Serena.  “We should have a standard plan.”

They pulled over, and Nelson managed not to run into them as he rolled up and stopped.  His helmet had a clear half-face shield, and he was smiling big as he looked at us.

“I am embarrassed to say this,” he said, “But I really like this.  I just give that thing a little gas and I jam!”

“Live to ride, ride to live,” I said, pulling my helmet off.  “Glad you’re enjoying it.”

“I still won’t use a gun,” he said.

“We’ll keep working on you,” said Serena, smiling as she pulled the ponytail from her hair.  “We’re just going to this motel, Nelson.”

“That Knights Inn?” he asked, pointing.

“Yeah,” I said.  “It’s right off the exit.  We don’t need a lot of in-town driving.”

“Hope they don’t have a zombie infestation,” he said.

“We’ll handle it,” said Serena.  “I’d say a sweep’s in order no matter where we stop.  And in case there are any  of the red-eyes around, I suppose we should stick to the quieter methods of eliminating them.”

“They can hear?” asked Nelson.

“Hemp says their eardrums were pliable and alive,” I said.  “So we’re assuming it’s part of the advantage they have over the others.  Problem is, when they detect sounds, they can lead a battalion of the bastards to us.”

“So
urushiol it is,” said Serena.

“And stars – and Subdudo if necessary,” added Nelson.

I shook my head, smiling.  “If it gets that close and hand-to-hand, by all means use your Subdudo,” I said.  “But urushiol the others, and if you see a pregnant female or a red-eye, tell us, because a bullet is going to be necessary.  Are you sure you won’t carry a gun?”

Nelson shook his head.  “Guys, I got to where I am now without one.  I’m good.  Plus, you should
not
handle a firearm when you’re stoned.  I was taught this by my dad a long time ago.”

“Did he have guns?” I asked.

“No,” said Nelson.  “Just common sense.”

“Are you stoned now?”

“I ate a tiny bud, but I’ve got a good tolerance,”
admitted Nelson.  “It’s like my Xanax.”

I glared at him.  “Nelson, you can’t afford to be compromised out here.  No more of that shit until we’re in and secured for the night, okay?”

Nelson looked shocked.  “Dave, I don’t think you’ve seen me when I’m not stoned,” he said.  “This is my normal.  You want me to screw up, then make rules like that one.”

I looked at him, and realized he was probably right.  If he functioned with weed every day, he probably felt more in his right mind under the influence than not.  I liked weed in the old days, but it had mostly been a weekend release for me.

“Okay, Nelson,” I said.  “But if you get fucking eaten out here, I’m never going to be certain whether it was the weed or just bad luck.  It’s on you.”

“Dude, if you’re worried that I’m going to use it all, don’t.  I brought like a half a pound.”

I couldn’t help myself.  I laughed out loud.  “So that’s what’s in your backpack.”

Nelson smiled and shrugged.  “It’s a long trip, right?”

“Okay, are we ready?” asked Serena.

*****

Each of us donned a strap-on headlight from the seat compartment of Serena’s bike.  Light was fading, and the rooms would be dark.

The Knights Inn might have looked alright at first glance, but as we passed the pool area, we saw one female creature inside, moving along the fence line, watching us.  She was not pregnant, and only a portion of her bikini bottoms remained on her ravaged body, so this was not a guess.  No baby bump to speak of. 

The pool was now down to about half full, what with evaporation and whatever rain the area had endured over the last year.  The water was a murky greenish-black, and if it was zombie algae, then it looked just like all the rest. 

I wondered how many sets of bones could be found at the bottom.  I knew from Flex’s story that if not injured, they were not afraid to venture into the water, so even if those who had been by the pool thought to escape that way, it would have been their folly.

Around the pool there were eight chairs with towels, now as black and molded as the pool water itself.  There were several water bottles bunched up against one corner, and many floated in the water.  Wind, rain and just plain nature moving shit around.

Serena walked up to the creature behind the fence and unceremoniously squirted her in the forehead with the
urushiol.  The thing clutched at its new wounds with both bony hands, clawing into the hole created by the poisonous oil before collapsing in a hissing, popping lump.

Serena turned.  “Another one bites the dust,” she said.

“Queen!” shouted Nelson.  “Remind me to get an iPod.”

We walked to the lobby and peered in through the closed door.
It was not automatic.  Nelson pulled it softly and it opened about an inch.  He let it close again and looked at me and Serena.

“I don’t see a need to go in there,” I said.

“Agreed,” said Serena.  “I’m tired.  No sense in looking for a fight.”

“Okay, then … looks like the rooms are around this way,” said Nelson, pointing to the left side of the building.  “How are we going to get in?”

“Break a window?” asked Serena.

“Then we’re vulnerable,” I said.  “Maybe kick a door in and hope the flip-over lock still works?”

Nelson approached the first door.  “I know we’re trying to be quiet, but maybe just shoot out the jamb?”

I thought about it, and realized if the entire door trim piece came off, we wouldn’t be able to lock it once we got inside.  Just one shot to mess with the latch itself might make more sense.  “Yeah.  Get it over with, I guess.”  I pulled out the Walther and aimed it, when the curtains just beside us flipped aside, and two rotters’ faces pressed against the glass, snarling and clawing.   It was apparently a mother and son – or daughter.  The younger one was almost skinless, completely nude except for a hint of some sort of underwear, and the mom had on a robe, held on by a knotted belt.

We all jumped back, and I put a hand to my chest.

The monsters continued to scramble at the window as we stared.  “Holy shit,” I said,
breathing hard. 

“Double that,” said Serena.  “This is like living in a B horror movie.”