The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (78 page)

“Low fuckin’ blow,” said Gem.  “Flex, she’s as capable as any of us.”

“What’s the plan?” said Flex.

“There’s only one plan, which I’m guessing is why you both came up with it at once.  One of us takes the urushiol, and makes a charge for the car.  Once we’re inside, we pull it up to the door, unlock all the doors and you guys make a break for it.”

“I’ve got a couple of modifications to that, but yeah,” said Dave.  “That was basically it.”

“What are the modifications?”

“Give me the bottle,” said Dave.

Flex stood back, smiling.  He loved it when people took initiative. 

“Hold out your leg,” said Dave.

I did.  He turned the nozzle to spray, and began wetting my shoes and pants below the knees with the liquid.  He sprayed all the way up to my thighs, and I could feel the cold wetness through my jeans.

“There,” he said.  “If nothing else, their feet will dissolve, and you’ll still be able to make it to the car.  If they try to bite, the minute their mouths squeeze the denim, their little heads are muck.”

“Dude, I really appreciate the blow-by-blow, but I gotta keep from over thinking this shit.  I’m better if I just go.”

“Me, too,” said Gem. 

“Charlie,” said Lisa.

I turned toward her face, so damned worried.  “Yeah?”

“Go fast.”

The chirp! chirp! of the car unlocking sounded as Gem hit the remote.  She handed me the keys.  “Run, bitch, run!”

“One more word, and we’ll trade pants and you can go,” I said, smiling, but not really feeling jovial.  All I knew is each step toward that car brought me closer to Hemp.

“Touché,” said Gem.  “Shutting the fuck up now.”

Flex turned the deadbolt and looked at me.  “Ready?”

“No, but open it anyway.”

“On three,” he said, and counted off.

I lowered the spray bottle toward where the opening would be.  The rats scurried around outside, their movements those of creatures that were single-minded and unafraid.

The door opened, and I sprayed as fast as my fingers would pump the lever.  The rats directly in front of the doors collapsed into goop as I leapt as far over the remaining rodents as I could.

My feet landed on their furry bodies and I struggled to stay upright; it was though I were running on top of dozens of small stuffed animals, rolling this way and that.  I thrust my legs outward and pushed off, crushing them beneath me.  I felt some gaining purchase on my pants and attempting to climb up my body, but none made it past my knees before falling away.

I pushed two more, three more huge steps.  I was five feet from the car now.  I began kicking outward, trying to clear a path as I felt them behind me, thousands of them, converging on me, the one aroma they craved, the food they needed so desperately.

Two feet, and I dropped my hand and sprayed all around my legs, the mist flattening them as the juice got in their eyes and ears.  I’d left the crossbow with the others; it would do me no good here.  I reached for the door handle and pulled it, dove inside and slammed the door, catching at least four or five of the ratty-come-latelys in the steel jaws, crushing their disgusting little heads, shattering their razor sharp teeth within their hungry, ever-seeking mouths.

Two had made it in, and attached themselves to my pant legs, but it was perhaps the worst decision they could’ve made.  They sizzled into slimy piles of fur and melted bone, and it was then that I realized they stunk like shit.  I wanted to roll down the window and throw them out, but these bastards were fluid and fast, and I didn’t know if any were on top of the car waiting to drop down on me – the part of me not protected by urushiol.

I looked at the building now, and saw everyone jumping in the air, cheering.  I smiled at them, realizing for the very first moment that surviving that twenty-five foot run was an amazing accomplishment.

I turned to look in the back seat, and leaned over to grab the spare walkie-talkie.  I held it up so they could see it, and saw Flex fumbling for his radio clipped to his belt. 

“Guys,” I said.  “I know you think that was a big deal, but let me tell you something.”

“What’s that, Charlie,” said Flex, a huge smile on his face.

“I’m gonna make that shit look like a walk in the park compared to how I’ll close the last twenty-five feet between me and my man.”

“When we get to him,” said Flex.  “I’m sure you will, Charlie.”

I nodded.  Flex had said when, not if.  That was because we were a group that didn’t deal in ifs.  We also didn’t deal in what-ifs.  We dealt in what is.  We had since we’d met, and we always would.

I pushed the talk button again.  “I’ve got the other bottles of z-juice in here.  I’ll pull up close.  When I roll down the window, be ready to push the door open.  I’ll have two in the air to you.”

“Got it,” said Flex.

I put the car in gear and spun it around in a wide arc, then angled up over the curb.  I knocked the smoker’s ashtray over and it went rolling sideways, inadvertently crushing several rats beneath it.  These things didn’t avoid large things very well.  Fucked up reflexes, I assumed.

I pulled the car up so the passenger side was parallel to the glass, the door to the terminal centered with the center of the car.

“Ready?” I said into the radio. “I’m going to push both doors open as fast as I can, and you’d better be ready to receive.”

I saw Gem and Dave nod, and Flex clicked on and said, “Yep.  Go.”  He clipped the radio back on his belt, and I said a quick, rare prayer. 

I nodded at them and threw the rear door open and sprayed fast at the rats just outside the car.  I looked up and saw the door open and tossed that bottle to Flex, who deftly caught it and began spraying all around their feet.

I pushed the front door open and did the same thing.  I looked up, caught Lisa’s eye, and threw it right to her.  Her hand wrapped around it and she came down spraying.

I jumped back over to the driver’s seat and sprayed with all I had as the four charged toward the car.

They had only two steps to go, unlike my trip across the sea of rats.  I saw four zombies making their way along the sidewalk, and quickly pushed the B button on the GPS screen, lined them up, and blasted them with the AK-47.  All four went down in a spray of crimson and black.  The rats ignored them.

The ones that weren’t under them, that is.

Everyone was in, but some had brought friends.

“Fuck!” shouted Dave.  “Fucker bit me!”

I floored it.  “Spray the bite now, Dave.  Flex, are there any more?”

Flex was spraying like mad all over the floorboards, as was Lisa.  I tossed the bottle to Gem and she did the same as I powered the car out of the lot and back onto the main road out of the small airport.

Flex was in the back seat, and Gem had jumped in the front with me.  As I went to turn out, two more zombies staggered in front of the car, and I hit them head on.  One of them was almost entirely without skin, and the bones of his wrist were completely exposed, the dead tendons running between them in black strips.

One of them crumpled beneath the tires of the Crown Vic, and the other bounced onto the hood, for one brief moment its face directly in front of mine, just before its skull shattered against the ballistic glass and smeared my windshield almost beyond vision.  I used the mister and put the wipers on, bring the car up to sixty mile per hour.

“Diggers,” said Gem, almost hyperventilating.  “Fucking diggers.”

“Get your goddamned leg up here now, Dave!” said Flex, reaching into his pocket.

Dave didn’t argue.  I readjusted the mirror so I could glance back and see what was going on now and then.  I had only another mile back to the governor’s mansion.

“Get the bottle ready, Lisa,” said Flex, cutting up Dave’s pant leg with his pocket knife.  He pulled it away and revealed the small punctures.

“Shit!  They did get me,” said Dave, squeezing his eyes closed.  “Damn it!”

“Don’t worry, buddy.  But you’re gonna want to bite into that shirt of yours, and I mean now.”

Dave didn’t hesitate.  He pulled his shirt up, wadded it, and put it in his mouth.  Flex cut into him, slicing north to south like he was peeling a cucumber.  A quarter inch slice of Dave’s skin and the meat beneath it peeled away as Dave struggled against the blade, his eyes squeezed tight.

Flex took the pant leg and wiped at the blood.  He ran his finger over where he’d cut. 

“I don’t see the puncture anymore,” he said.  “It must not have gotten too far in, Dave.  Hang tight.  Lisa, spray the shit out of it and don’t stop until we get to the statehouse.  Gem, radio Kev.  Tell him we need some of the pure urushiol oil in a jar.  Tell him to have it ready when we pull up.”

“Cut more if you have to, Flex,” said Dave.  “It’s a small sacrifice to stay human, brother.”

Lisa continued to spray it with the mist.  She turned the nozzle to stream, and hit directly on the slice that Flex had taken.

I made turn into the compound, and the vehicles blocking the entry rolled back early enough that I didn’t even have to brake.  I slid the Ford up to the steps and threw it in park.

“Let’s get inside,” said Gem.  She pushed the button on her radio.  “We’re here, Kev.  Meet us at the door.”

“10-4,” said Reeves.  “I’m here already.”

Dave didn’t need help.  We all ran together, and once inside, Dave dropped onto his back and allowed another slice to be taken, and the pure urushiol oil to be administered directly to the cut.

When we’d done all we could, everybody collapsed on the floor, and looked at one another.

A few minutes later, Trina and Taylor came in.  Trina ran right over to Gem and threw her arms around her.

“Mommy, you’re back!”

“I’m back, baby.  Yes, I am.  How’s my girl?”

She looked at Gem, her eyes sad.  “I’m fine.  Tay is still sad, though.”

I went to
Taylor and sat beside her, then pulled her down onto my lap.  When she turned her face to mine, I put my forehead against hers.

“I’m hurting, too,
Tay.  I really am.  And I know you are.  But I’m going to promise you something, and it’s something your mommy would want me to promise you.”

She pulled away and met my eyes again.  “I don’t want to forget my mommy, Charlie?  I loved her so much, but I feel like she’s already going away.  I feel like I’m forgetting what she looks like!”

I pulled her to me, and held her tight. 

I whispered:  “We’re going to be happy again, just like your mommy would have wanted.  And we’re going to think of her when we need her strength, and when we do, she’ll always be there to give it.   Not only that, I predict that when you grow in to a woman, you’re going to look exactly like your mother, so that when you look in a mirror, you’re going to see her in the reflection.  And every time that happens, you’re going to remember her.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her tears began to pour from her green eyes, and she said, “I love you, Charlie.”

I held her against me.  My mind went to the face I never wanted to forget.

My Hemp.  I had to find him, and I would not wait forever to make that happen.

Chapter 12

“So, Professor Chatsworth,” said Carville, standing outside my cell, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.  “Are we ready to begin our research?”

He wore a Hugh Hefner style robe and his face held a pleasant expression.  It’s funny, now that I look back on it; I was always amused by this man and his way of dealing with the press, particularly when they were critical of him.  I even liked him.  I suppose it wasn’t uncommon to be fond of someone who said what they meant and who didn’t really care what the consequences would be.

So far, there had been none.  He won most arguments, and put the critics in their places with his success.

I stood there in my comfortable, white shoes, my scrubs and lab coat, and I’d have to admit, I did look ready for research.  What I really wanted was to escape this place and get back to the people who really needed me.

“There is no cure,” I said.  “I can piddle about in the lab all day, and perform busy work, but I can tell you that the simple fact is, your daughter and your brother are dead, and there will be no bringing them back to life.”

Carville stared at me through the acrylic barrier, and sipped his coffee.  He was a reasonable man who I knew appreciated straight talk.  He took a deep breath and let it out.

“Mr. Chatsworth, you know me, right?”

“I know of you.  I know the persona you’ve put out to the world, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

“Point taken,” he said, a minuscule smile on his lips.  “Well, here’s what you’ve probably gathered from what I’ve put out there.  I’m smart.  I’m fair.  Most people like and respect me, even if they’re a bit jealous of my success.  Would you agree so far?”

“Perhaps,” I said, “but what’s your point?”

“I’m also a ruthless businessman.  I don’t pull punches.  I negotiate, but I’m not afraid to walk away from a deal or do whatever it takes to make a deal I’m very serious about happen.”

I stared at him.  “I don’t see what this has to do with your family.  I’ve told you they are essentially dead.  Decomposition cannot be undone and death cannot be reversed.  Common sense should tell you that.”

Carville suddenly threw his coffee cup against the wall, shattering it into pieces, the coffee splattering over the textured finish like blood from a gunshot to the head.  He balled his fists at his sides and his voice shook as he spoke. 

“Common sense says this should never have happened in the first place!” he shouted, his features contorted in anger.  “You will see another side of me Professor.  If I don’t believe you’re doing everything in your power to cure Raymond and Veronica, you will see a side of me you’ll wish you never had.”

“So now I’m a slave just like the rest of your minions.  Is that it?  Because I don’t work well under those conditions, Mr. Carville.”

Carville pressed a button on a wall intercom.  Coffee ran down its face, but it still worked.  “Come,” he said into it.

As the men came up the hallway, Carville said, “These people need me.  When this thing hit and they came to me, it was because they knew me.  I can’t tell you the relief they showed when they discovered I was still alive and unaffected.  I made arrangements with them, and they’re free to leave whenever they like.”

He looked down at the shattered coffee cup.  “I don’t like getting angry.  I’m a businessman, Professor.  It’s what I do.  These people work for me, helping me do what I feel I need to do in order to fix this mess, and in return I provide them food and shelter.  And safety.”

“It seems our arrangement is uniquely different,” I said.  “I can’t opt out of the tasks you want me to perform to
fix this mess
.”

He shrugged and nodded to the door and the guards opened it.  It wasn’t Rory and Pete this time, and I was glad.  I didn’t need to see their smug faces.  I stepped through.  Fighting would get me nowhere.  I needed to bide my time in the hope that my friends would discover where I was somehow, so if that meant passing the time by working in the most advanced lab that had ever been set up, then so be it.

It wasn’t as though I had much choice.

“Sorry for my outburst,” he said.  “I’m passionate, too.  “And I can’t begin to express how important they are to me.”

“I’m getting some inkling,” I said, walking toward the lab.  “Just a touch.”

****

Ryan Carville wasn’t a fool.  He was aware of the decomposition of those affected, and for that reason, kept the rooms in which his zombie charges were interned the temperature of a cadaver storage drawer at a morgue.  For this reason, I realized I would need more clothing than I had been provided to withstand the cold.

Carville was accommodating.   He immediately brought me top of the line thermal underwear – both top and bottoms – and his guards allowed me to put them on in a restroom down the hall.  The nitrile gloves I wore kept my hands relatively warm and functional, so I still had the required dexterity to perform any tasks that required it.

I had decided not to tell him about the Brain Scent Neutralizer helmets, my theories on the beginning of the plague, or much else of anything else.  I would use this time to try to learn more, with the hopes that before long, all hell would break loose and Flex and company would come in to grab me back. 

I know.  It was a long shot, and I knew it even then, but as I said, what choice did I really have?  Even discoveries made here could be hidden in gobbledygook if I wanted them to be, so even if significant progress were made, I didn’t necessarily have to share it with Carville if I didn’t want to.

But an experiment had indeed been on my mind, and I figured I may as well get started on it.  The first thing I needed was the knockout gas that could only be provided by the zombies.

I wasn’t sure how they’d done it, but Carville’s crew, at my request, had strapped his brother and daughter to gurneys and they were now placed in the large, open area in the center of the lab area.  The various machines, the MRI, the CT scanner, the X-ray equipment – all was separated in their own partitioned areas, the control panels mounted on the clear acrylic walls.

There were stainless steel counters along two walls, and atop these were placed the incubators, centrifuges, shakers, microscopes, heaters, hotplates, and dozens of other pieces that all served to kick start my thirst for more knowledge about these things.  I had the means and the subjects.

As I looked the place over, Carville came up the hall.  He was alone.

“How’s it going, Hemp?” he asked.

He normally called me professor, so this familiarity was new.  He stood before several perfectly round holes that had been drilled in the acrylic for the purpose of communicating with those inside.  I walked up to the wall.

“As well as can be expected,” I said.  “But I need something from you.”

“What?”

“I need specimens of the rats, both infected and uninfected.”

“My men told me about them,” he said, his face grim.  “Why do you need them?  You have these two.”

“True, but any experiments I have will need to be done on the rat test subjects.

“Understood.  But why the normal rats?”

I didn’t mind explaining this stuff to Flex and the others, but this was my captor.  I sighed.  “The problem with the rat population is potentially as serious as the human problem,” I said.  “So it’s equally as important that I have specimens, and I can’t use uninfected humans in that way, because the tests could be harmful.  As for the specimens, I intended to get them back in Concord, but I never got the chance.”

“What will you do with them?”

I waved a hand toward the gurneys where I’d covered the former Raymond and Veronica with sheets.  “Just as I can’t test on uninfected humans, I can’t very well experiment on these two,” I said.  “You don’t want them hurt.  For that reason, I need the uninfected rats for a baseline, and I need to first try any potential cures I formulate on the infected ones.”

Carville nodded.  “Understood.  I’ll send them out today.  Any suggestions on where to find them?”

“I’d say they’ll find you, but they’ve been running in fairly large numbers, so it will require caution on the part of your men.  I’d try setting up a regular rodent trap.  Perhaps of the paddle variety.”

“Yeah,” said Carville.  “I’ve seen them.  Kind of sweeps them inside and traps them.  Bait?”

“Raw meat, preferably bloody.  If you’ve got access to any livestock – and I’m sure you’ve got something going in that department – use a piece of brain.”

Carville’s face revealed his disgust, but he said, “Okay.  We’ll work on that today.  How are we going to know which are uninfected?”

“I don’t have firsthand knowledge of this Mr. Carville.  I am making a scientific guess that because there are immune humans, there are also immune rats.  That being the case, I would think they’d be confused, to a degree, because what is happening in our society is also happening in theirs.  The affected rats are likely attacking and eating them, too, as long as there is nothing more enticing around to draw their appetites.”

“Such as?”

“Something larger, like a human.”

“So again, how do we know which are uninfected?”

“If you see a group of them, the rats that aren’t charging toward you will be the uninfected rats.  Unfortunately, if we are successful trapping them and have infecteds and uninfecteds in one cage, our uninfecteds won’t last very long.”

I stopped to think about it.  Ten seconds and it hit me.  Sometimes stress can make me less than sharp, so I have to pause my mind for a few seconds and walk around the problem to see it briefly from all sides.

“Okay, I’ve solved it.  Set up some humane rodent traps in places you’d ordinarily find rats, and use the traditional cheese bait in those.  The zombie rats won’t be drawn to those traps.   If there’s any kind of latch to disable the trap after one entry, then activate it.  Otherwise, the trapped rat might act as bait for the affected rats.  The other traps can be put anywhere you’ve seen the zombie rats in good numbers.  Just use a piece of bovine brain.  I’m pretty certain you’ll catch what I’m looking for.”

“Okay,” he said.  “We’ll get the traps and set them out.  There’s a farm supply nearby where we can probably find them.”

“Good,” I said.  I didn’t like being civil to the man who had kidnapped me, but I didn’t know how else to be.  Logic dictates that being obstinate never succeeded in helping anyone out of a bad situation.  Not before a judge, a jury, or an executioner.  I wasn’t sure which Carville was to me, but I had the sneaking suspicion that if pushed too far, he could be all three.

I wasn’t interested in testing my theory.

After he retreated down the hallway, I nodded to the two guards left to keep tabs on me.  They gave me a brief nod back, even a respectful smile.  I concluded that they were told I was the only person who could cure this condition, and if I succeeded, their world could start to return to normal.

The only guards that irritated me were Pete and Rory, and if I never saw either of them again, it would be too soon.  They were smug, wielding their granted power like a battle axe, and in my mind, they were far more dangerous than Carville.

I decided to take a look around the sizable lab and find areas I could conceal myself without looking suspicious.  But as I moved to the various areas, I saw there were tiny cameras, probably very high definition, in the ceiling. 

The drop ceiling.  Nearly eleven feet high, but suspended, acoustic ceilings that if accessed, could allow me hidden concealment as I made my way out of here.  It was something I should have noticed long ago, but I’d never been held prisoner more than I had since this zombie epidemic had begun, and I wasn’t used to searching for escape routes.

It’s not like I was James Bond or Jason Bourne.  I was geeky Professor Hemphill Chatsworth’s latest incarnation.  A bit more gun-totin’ badass than the previous incarnation, but still more brains than brawn.

The cameras might be blown out by some intentional voltage reversal in the electrical lines, which is something I could arrange, given the amount of equipment in the room.

I looked again at my zombie patients lying on the cart.  I pulled the sheet off Raymond Carville, and looked at him carefully.

Five straps held him down; one on his head, another over his chest, another directly over his waist, the next just above his knees, and the last at his ankles. 

His wrists were secured in thick, leather straps designed for the purpose.  He was as immobile as they come.

I had a sudden desire for music.  I don’t know why, but now I had to hear The Who’s ‘Goin’ Mobile.’  It’s funny how thoughts can jump from one place to another.

I looked at the guard, then walked up to the communication holes.  “Hey,” I beckoned.

The taller of the two – Frank, I believe his name was – nodded.  “Yep?”

“I know there’s an intercom.  Is there a music selection?”

“Hell yes, there is.  What you got in mind?”