The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (37 page)

I put her back down.  “I’ve got a surprise for you and Taylor,” I said.  “I got you some watercolor paints and paper.”

“Goody,” shouted
Taylor, her eyes wide.  “I’ve painted with watercolors before, Aunt Gemmy!”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah!  I painted birds at the ocean.  I know how to make a bird.  It’s like a W.”

“I know that, too,” said Trina.  “Just like a W with feathers.”

“Flip it over,” I said.  “I’m pretty sure you mean an M.”

The girls both drew in the air with their fingers. 
Taylor looked embarrassed first.  “Oh, that’s right.  You’re right,” she said.

“Embarrassing shit,” said Trina.

“I know,” said Taylor.

“Okay, we’ll do some painting later,” said Cynthia.  But it’s naptime for you guys right now.  Down for an hour.”

The lips almost hit the ground, but they went to their bunk bed without complaint.  There was no arguing with Cynthia and they both knew it.  None better than Taylor.

“Can we have a little meeting?” asked Hemp.  “I want to lay out what I’m thinking.”

We all nodded and sat at the inside picnic table.  Hemp, his balloons on the table beside him, began:

“The gas we’ve collected here might be the cause of this outbreak.  I don’t know for certain; it might be benign.  But this gas secreting from the ground is, so far as I can tell, the only phenomenon besides the fast-growing poison ivy that doesn’t jibe with nature.”

“Is it everywhere?” asked Cynthia.

“It’s here, it’s at a lake not far from here.  This means it’s coming out of the ground, too.  We only need the water to actually see evidence of it.”

“So . . . it’s everywhere then.”

“It may be far less in areas where much of the earth is hard granite or dense rock.  It would still permeate through fissures in the surface, but dilution would likely limit infection in areas such as this.”

“So,” said Flex.  “There might be many vulnerable, yet uninfected people in an area of the country where granite is the primary substrate.”

“Do you know where that is?” I asked.

“There are granite mines in Vermont,” said Flex.  “A friend of mine used to work in one.”

“That sounds cold,” I said.  “No granite at the beach?”

“We’re not talking another move, are we?” said Cynthia.  “Seriously?”

“Well,
New Hampshire is another option,” said Hemp.  “Lots of granite mining there, too.”

Flex looked at Hemp.  “Buddy, this is good knowledge to stock away,” he said.  “But they’re right.  I think we should stay put for now.  Now that we have some idea where there might be a lot of survivors, we can get our house in order and in time, think about what to do with that knowledge.”

“That makes sense,” said Hemp.  “I need to spend some uninterrupted time on my experiments anyway.  With the creatures in there,” he said indicating toward the permanent lab.

“What about the poison ivy?” I asked. 

“That reminds me,” he said.  “Charlie, any sign of a rash yet?”

“Nothin’, babe.”  She held out her hand.  No redness at all.

Hemp looked at all of us.  “The odds that Charlie and I are both immune to urushiol are astronomical.”

“Urush what?” I asked.

“Urushiol,” said Hemp.  Then he spelled it.  “U-R-U-S-H-I-O-L.  The active oils in poison ivy, oak, and sumac that cause the contact dermatitis.”

“Dermatitis?” Flex asked.

“The rash,” said Hemp.  “But it’s more than that.  It can, and often does, turn in to major blisters, sometimes quite large and ugly.”

“So what’s your theory?” I asked.

“I’d like to test all of us,” said Hemp.  “A few at a time.  Flex?  Wanna try it?”

“What’s the point?  You think that poison ivy caused this?”

Hemp laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation.  “No, not at all.  I’ll let you know what I’m thinking after we see the results of the test.”

“Okay.  But Gem, you’d better be ready to put salve on it if I blow up like a balloon.”

“Salve?  What are you, 70?”

“Okay, liniment.”

“80?”

“Fine!  Medicated lotion.”

“Now you’re talkin’.  Sure, I’ll rub that on you.”

“I’m afraid if Flex is getting it, so are you,” said Hemp.  “We might as well get you both tested at the same time.”

“If this shit messes with my painting, Hemp, I’m going to line you up in Suzi’s sights and school you for fucking with my psychological release.”

“Then let’s get started,” said Hemp.  “It can take up to ten days to show signs of the rash, and the sooner we get started, the better.”

“In the meantime I can paint, right?”

“Right.”

We all went out back to the plant rack.  Hemp had moved the larger one to the top rack and the smaller to the bottom rack.  Now the plants were almost identical in size.  The one on the lower rack had gone into growth overdrive and had caught up to – perhaps slightly surpassed – the size of the other.

“This is conclusive,” said Hemp.  “Whatever is coming out of the ground is affecting this plant.  None of the other species of plants in that area looked out of the ordinary.  Just the poison ivy.”

“Why do you think?” I asked.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” said Hemp.  “It might be some sort of reaction that occurs when the gas and the urushiol intermix, but I can’t be sure. I’ve got to think of a method to test that theory.”

“What if you just combine the two,” asked Cynthia.  “You’ve got the gas, and you’ve got the plant.  If this is related, won’t they show some sort of physical reaction you can measure?”

Hemp smiled at Cynthia.  “You have been listening during your tenure at the CDC, haven’t you?”

“It’s hard not to,” she said, smiling back.  “You start to think you’re as clever as the scientists, but you know if the shit hit the fan you’d cower in a broom closet.”

“To be fair,” Flex said, “you cowered in an office.  And for good reason.  It saved your life.”

“I’ve never heard you say shit before,” I said.  “I’m kinda proud of you right now.”

“I suppose the zombie thing isn’t the only contagious disease out there right now.  We’ve got the FMV, too.”

“FMV?” I asked.

“Foul-Mouthed Virus.  Spread mouth-to-ear.”

“Fuckin’ A,” said Hemp.  “I caught it months ago.”

“Okay,” I said.  “Infect us.  With the poison ivy, of course.”

“Of course.  Guys, please extend your arms.”

We did.

Hemp removed a leaf from the plant and rubbed it briskly on our inner forearms. 

“If that doesn’t send you into a scratching fit and blisters, we’re on our way to the first major breakthrough of this living dead phenomenon.”

“Step one,” said Flex.  “That’s good.  Now let’s go design that machine that throws saw blades.  That sounds like a good step two.”

“I want chili,” I said.  “And it’s about dinnertime.”

“You’re going to turn into a can of chili,” said Charlie.

“There are worse fates, you know,” I said.  “I could prefer eating Charlie to eating Chili.”

“Touché,” she said.  “Fuckin’ touché.”

*****

Flex went outside for a perimeter check while I cooked dinner over the propane stove.  Chili, corn and a side of very young small early peas was on the dinner menu, as well as a canned bread loaf that provided some grains.  It tasted like grandma’s fruit loaf, but nobody complained except Trina and Taylor, and it was expected.

Flex didn’t find any nastiness outside.  The fence line was clear as it had been since our arrival, and our feeling that we’d found as good a place as any to stay alive was solidified – as much as you could be confident about anything these days.

After dinner Flex and I played backgammon.  I was better than him, and Cyn could kick both our asses.  I contend it’s a matter of the dice rolls, but after getting whooped by her four times in a row, I finally conceded that she just had a better strategy.

As we played, Hemp and Charlie came and sat at the picnic table with us.  The girls sat at the other end putting the watercolors to use, and were busy explaining to one another what their pictures were supposed to be.

“I’m going to need another run out there,” said Hemp.  “I need more poison ivy.”

“What for?” asked Flex.

“I want to extract the oils, and in order to do it we’ll need some vodka and more plants.  I hate to go back to the cemetery, but it’s about the only place I’ve seen it in abundance.”

“Vodka we have,” I said.  “I made sure of that on our last run to the store.”

“Good,” said Hemp.  “Flex, you want to make the run with me?”

“Tomorrow morning good enough?”

“Fine with me,” said Hemp.  “Once I get the process underway I’d like to work with you, Gem.  Get that kinetic blade defense machine on paper.  Once we have it, I’ll start cutting the steel we need.”

It wasn’t the creative stuff I’d had in mind, but I loved seeing things go from nothing to something, and Hemp’s stuff was pretty cool.

“I want to take another of those AK-47s and mount one on top of the crew cab like the Crown Vic,” said Flex.  “So when you’re done with that, what do you think?”

“I’ve already got that design down,” said Hemp.  “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Cool.  So we make an early run tomorrow morning and git ‘er done,” said Flex.

“Get who done?” asked Hemp.

“Never mind,” said Flex laughing.  “You’re like the polar opposite of Larry the Cable Guy.”

“And I think I’m glad of it,” said Hemp, smiling.

“You are,” I added.

“Any sign of itching yet guys?”

We both looked at our wrists, and shrugged together.

“I thought you said it could take up to ten days or so,” said Flex. 

“Everybody reacts differently,” said Hemp. “If you’re very susceptible, you can show signs of a rash almost immediately.  Depends on your reaction to urushiol.”

“Speaking of that, what do you need the oils for?” I asked.

“I have some experiments in mind – some of the last with the infecteds we have.  It could be very important if you two prove to be immune to the poison, but I want to be ready just in case.”

“Are you giving the eye vapor any more thought?” asked Flex.  “Where it comes from?”

Hemp nodded.  “I can’t help but think it’s all tied together somehow.  As we discussed some time ago, I believe their awareness of its use is almost instinctive, but since that’s impossible to gauge, I’d really just like to find out what generates it.”

“Your analyzer finished with the sample from Jamie, right?  Spit out a breakdown?”

“It did,” said Hemp.  “But without a baseline or knowing what I’m looking for, some of the data can be ambiguous.  Now that I have urushiol in my sights, the data I’ve already collected might begin to make more sense.”

I made my last move and beat Flex at backgammon yet again.  He merely shrugged and put the pieces away, closing the case.

“No congratulations?” I asked.

“You only beat me by five that time.  You’re slipping.”

“Gem, I’d also like to design a deflector grill for both vehicles,” said Hemp.  “Picture the ones you’ll see on old steam locomotive engines.  Something that will sweep things – in this case bodies – off to the sides, away from the wheels.

“In case we run into another situation where we’ve got to run right through a gaggle of zombies,” I said.

“Gaggle?” said Flex.  “I’d think they’d be better described as a murder.”

“Murder, then,” said Hemp.  “But as Gem once said, if they could fly, then I think I’d even throw in the towel.”

“No shit,” I said.

“
Taylor can’t say shit like we can,” Trina said.  “Or fuck or damn or anything.”  Her cute little blue eyes twinkled.

“Well,” I said, patting her beautiful head.  “You seem to be saying all of those words less now.”

“They’re just words,” said Trina, matter-of-factly.  “I got lots of them.”

“That’s called a big vocabulary,” said Hemp.

“Vocalary,” said Trina.

“Close enough,” said Hemp.

“Okay, so the plan tomorrow is get out early, get our supplies and get back here.”

“Girls, let’s get you dressed for bed and say our good nights.”

“Shit, Gemmy,” said Trina.  “I’m not tired yet.”

“You will be once your head hits the pillow.  Now before you guys go, tell me what you painted.”

“Mine is my grandma,” said Taylor.  “She has blue hair.”

We all laughed as we looked at her picture.  The woman was discernible enough, wearing a long house dress and curly blue-grey hair.

“Is that you next to her?” I asked.

“Yes,” said
Taylor.  “She was beautiful, and she told me stories all the time about when she was little, way before the internet and cell phones.”