The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (38 page)

Trina’s mouth fell open.  “Like now!  We don’t have those things now!”

“That’s right.  You’re living like your grandmas did,” I said.  “So now you know more what it was like.”

“There’s nobody to call anyway, right?” asked
Taylor.

I looked at Flex and Hemp.  Charlie spoke.

“Sure there is,” she said.  “I’m going to show you how to make your own phone that you can talk on from across this whole room.”

“Yeah?” asked Trina, excited.

“Yeah,” said Charlie.  “We’re gonna make them out of tin cans and string.”

“Wow,” said
Taylor.  “Can we make them now?”

“No, like Gemmy said, it’s bedtime.”

I stood up.  “Okay, to bed.  And when you girls wake up in the morning I’m going to have a surprise ready.  And the sooner you go to bed, the sooner you wake up and get to make your phones.”

“Surprises rock,” said
Taylor to Trina.  “Let’s go!”

They practically jumped up and ran to their room.  Taylor and Trina had insisted on sharing a room together, and they traded off between top and bottom bunks.  There was something about a climbing a ladder to go to sleep that kids just seemed to love.

We all smiled after them, Taylor’s red, curly locks bouncing, and Trina’s blonde hair, getting down nearly to her shoulder blades now, swinging from side-to-side as she ran alongside her new best friend.  With a quick, last wave, they ran into their room.

“What’s the surprise?” asked Flex.

“It’s Trina’s birthday tomorrow, Flexy,” I answered, punching him in the arm.

“Oh, my God,” he said.  “How the fuck did I forget that?”

“It’s a man thing,” I said.  “And the calendar seems to have gotten less important these days except to keep track of what kind of weather we’re in for.”

“Speaking of weather, it looks like rain again out there,” said Charlie.  “Sucks.”

We all knew why it sucked.  It sucked for the sole reason that the diggers would be making their way to the surface again if the ground became saturated enough.  More diggers meant more zombie congestion.

“I wonder how many of them are stuck two or three feet below the surface,” said Hemp.  “Waiting to break through.”

“Let’s hope the weather holds tonight,” said Flex.  “It’ll make our job at the cemetery easier.”

“I’ve got to make brownies,” I said.  “Birthday brownies for my Trini.  Bill had just enough butter and skim milk in the fridge.  It’s going to turn in a day or two, so I might as well use it up.  Then Flexy, you can help me make a card for her.”

“You’re the artist,” he said.

“Yes, but you’re my muse.”

“I know I am.  And why shouldn’t I be?”

I leaned toward him and put my mouth to his ear.

“I think the poison ivy made me horny,” I whispered.

“Almost everything makes me horny,” he whispered back.

I looked at my watch.  It was only just after 8:00.  It felt like 11:00.  That was just the new world, I suppose.   “I’ll hurry.”

I mixed the microwave brownies, had the generator and microwave fired up and the treats finished in less than an hour.  I used up the rest of the milk and butter, which were still fine, but approaching their last hours.

We worked on a little card using the watercolors.  I made a play on those stickers that you put on the back window of your cars, but with two men, three women, two little girls, 1 dog, five puppies, and four angels floating in the air above them. 

The angels were Trina’s mommy and daddy, her sister Jesse, and little Beaker – the one pup that didn’t make it.

Bright flowers abounded around the figures, and lots of hearts floated in the air with the angels – because Trina loved hearts.

Her 7
th
birthday should be special.  I’d grabbed a Farkle game from Michael’s, so that would be her little gift.  I made a mental note to get everyone’s birthday so I could add it to a calendar.

Just because the world had gone to shit didn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate the day of our births.

In fact, that very reason was why it was so important to celebrate the lives of those few lucky souls who had survived.

And we would. 

*****

CHAPTER
TWELVE

The next morning the girls were dead to the world – a term I hesitate to use nowadays, but that described the two perfectly.

I put a little birthday candle in the center of a brownie, and all the adults gathered together outside their door.  We also had a brownie for Taylor, minus the candle.

“Happy Birthday, Trina!” we all shouted, bursting into the room.  The little girls shot up out of bed, their blurry eyes having difficulty focusing.

“It’s . . . it’s my birthday?” said Trina.

“Yes, baby.  You’re seven years old today!”

Trina rubbed her eyes and slapped her hands on her knees.  “Shit!” she said.  “I forgot!”

“Well, baby,” said Flex, sitting on the bed beside her.  “That’s why you have us to remember the important things.  Bring it in, Gem!”

I carried in the two plates with brownies, Trina’s with the candle burning in the center.  I passed one to Taylor, who took it with a huge smile on her face.  Trina was just so excited I couldn’t keep one off mine, either.

“Oh, my gosh!” said Trina.  “Brownies, Taylor!”

“I know,” said Taylor, her mouth already full.

“I have to make a wish,” said Trina.  “I need to really think hard.”

I wanted to make some suggestions in case a 7-year-old’s wish pulled some weight with the powers that were, but I left the wish to her.  Turns out she did just fine.

“I wish for all of us to have a happy life and to meet friendly people.  And I wish for Uncle Flexy to marry Gemmy.”

She blew out the candles and we all clapped for her.

Flex looked at me, on his face a tender smile.  He leaned over and kissed Trina on the cheek even as she stuffed the first bite of brownie in.  He stood and walked up to me.

“What the hell is happening here?” asked Charlie.

“I think Trina’s going to get her wish,” said Hemp.

And Flex knelt down on one knee in front of me and took my hand.

Trina’s mouth fell open.  Brownie crumbs were readily visible both inside and outside of it.

“Gemina Maria Cardoza,” said Flex, his eyes looking directly into mine.  “I’ve known I loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you.  The first time I smelled your perfume, the first time I held your hand in mine, the first time I kissed you – all those times are some of the most important of my life.  I’ll never forget them.  None more than the first time I saw you again back in Gainesville, when my heart swelled again, and hope came back to me at a time when I was sure I was on the way to losing it forever.”

“Flex,” I said, squeezing his hand.  Tears came from my eyes, and I nervously looked around.  Everyone in the room was crying.  Even
Taylor.

“I want you to be my wife, Gem.  I want us to spend every remaining moment we have on this earth together, and I want us to raise Trina as our own daughter.  I want us to be a family, and if you’re willing, I’d love to give her a brother or sister, too.  You are everything in the world to me, and I’ve never uttered any words with such great truth behind them.  I’m asking you to make me the happiest man in the world, Gem.  Say yes.”

I nodded briskly, unable to form a word.  My lip was quivering too badly, my heart swelled in my chest.  I dropped to my knees in front of him and threw my arms around him.

“Yes,” I whispered.  “I’ll marry you, Flex Sheridan.  A hundred times, yes.”

He kissed me, and the applause around us brought yet more tears of joy.

Then he reached in his pocket and withdrew a plastic-wrapped package.  In it were toy rings.

“I asked Hemp to grab these from the party supply aisle at Michael’s,” said Flex.

He tore the package open and held it up.  I chose a plastic yellow ring with a red rose in the center.  He removed it from the package and I held out my left hand.

Flex slid the ring on my finger and I can’t tell you how close I came to actually fainting.  I looked at it, flexed my finger, and hugged him again.

He pulled back and looked at my hand as he held it.  “I’ll replace that with the biggest, best ring in the first jewelry store we come to,” he said.  “I promise.”

“This one will always be special,” I said.  “But replace it with the best you can find in a size seven.”

“Check.”

Gemina Sheridan.  Nothing could help that first name, but fuck if I wasn’t the happiest woman – possibly quite literally – in the world at that moment – right alongside the guy claiming to be happiest man.

“My wish came true in just a second!” said Trina.

“So did mine,” Flex and I said in unison.

I gave the Farkle game to Trina, wrapped in paper I’d decorated.   She squealed with delight and held it up for Taylor, who clapped her brownie smudged hands.

I cooked up some vacuum-packed bacon and some egg beaters and Hemp and Flex prepared for their trip into the wild world.

*****

The boys headed out, and I was feeling pretty antsy.  The rain had begun in earnest the night before at about four in the morning, and while each of our bedrooms had insulated ceilings, the pounding rain could be heard drumming against the high, metal roof of the steel supply building.

“Walkies, Crown Vic and the flare guns,” I said as Flex was strapping on his drop leg holsters.  “You’re more protected in my car for now.”

“Got it,” said Flex.  “Hey, do we have any trash bags?”

“Yep,” said Charlie, dashing into the office and returning with four of them.   “These to put the plants in?”

“Yeah,” said Flex.  “I’m not showing any signs of the rash yet, but if I am susceptible, I don’t want the shit all over me.  Gem, anything?”

I looked at my wrist.  There wasn’t even a red mark.  “Nothin’, babe.  Hemp might be right on this one.”

Hemp emerged from the mobile lab.  “Here,” he said, handing Flex one of the BSN helmets.  “This one’s fully charged.”

Flex took it.  “Anything else we need while we’re out?  I think we’re going to have to stop for gas.”

“I’m thinking candy bars,” said Charlie.  “If you can swing it.  Def not worth your lives, so play it smart.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Hemp.  “If a candy bar makes you as happy as that plastic ring made Gem, then you’re getting it.”

Charlie laughed, and I couldn’t help it, either.  I was marrying my Flexy.  I still couldn’t believe it.  What a difference six months makes.  In oh, so many ways.

As I watched Flex and Hemp getting geared up to go my heart was doing flip-flops.  I didn’t want him to go.  I wanted to drag him into my room and make love with him all day.  Watching him walk out the door knowing he was to be my husband tore me up inside.  Just the mere thought of losing him now put my hackles up like a threatened wolf.

But I knew Flexy could take care of himself.  There was no doubt.  He’d done it both with and without my help, or the help of others.  He’d saved our asses more times than we could count, too.  So he’d be fine.

“Sugar, babe,” he said, tapping his lips with a finger.

I walked directly up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him as much sugar as he could take.  I, however, still wanted more.

“Be careful.”

“I will.  Got the Hempster by my side.”

“I remember the last time you two got in trouble.”

“It won’t be like that this time.  More guns.  More ammo.  Plus, our awareness level has at least doubled since then.”

“Don’t forget the BSNs,” said Hemp.  “Now with handy-dandy communications capabilities.”

“Ah, that’s right,” I said. 

Hemp had rigged up communication headsets within each helmet, all fixed to channel 5.  This way everyone knew that if the helmets were in use, that was the channel to listen in on.  In addition, Hemp had mounted the antenna he’d constructed at Flex’s place on the roof of the building to add range to our walkies, and all of our stationary communication devices were wired up to it.  In early tests, it appeared to work even better than before – but it was around twenty feet higher, which made a huge difference.  I suspected we’d be in range with the boys their entire trip.  Either via the small walkies or the CB radio mounted in the Ford.  Hemp had taken care of that, too.

I started rolling up the bay door as the guys got in the Crown Vic.  Hemp drove this time, and Flex sat, looking as sexy as ever, holding his Daewoo in his lap.  There was something about a man with a machine gun that gave me tingles you know where.

The rain was still coming down in buckets, and it splashed into the building as the car pulled out.

With a wave, I stood with Charlie and Cynthia as the car stopped at the gate.  Hemp got out and ran to the gate opened it, turning to us after.

“Next thing is a remote for this damned gate,” he shouted.

“Yeah,” Charlie called back.  “Add it to your to-do list!”

Hemp waved, jumped back in the car and drove it through.  Once they were through, Flex got out and closed and locked the gate again.  In a moment he was back in the car and the boys drove off into rainy morning.  We watched the car grow smaller and smaller,  and when it drove out of sight I pulled the chain and lowered the door again.

“I’ll monitor the radio,” I said.  “I can do that while I paint.” 

I had begun the painting of me and Flex that was in my head since I found him again.  It was an image that somehow had scorched itself on my brain, and I had to get it on canvas.

The image is of a woman, face somewhat obscured, facing the artist.  It is painted from the waist up, she has no clothes on and one arm raised, her hand holding her hair off her neck, her back slightly arched. 

A man is standing behind her, his chest against her back.  He has one hand on her shoulder and the other arm curled around her waist, just below the rib cage.  He is facing the artist, but only the top of his head is visible, as he is kissing the woman’s neck.

It is a moment of intimacy and sexuality.  As I drew the initial outline, I became one with the paint and canvas, and it was as though with each stroke I could feel Flex’s lips on my neck, smell his scent in my nostrils.  I could feel his hands on my shoulder and waist, and goosebumps – the good kind – rose all along my side from neck to thigh.

Talk about therapy.  This is the painting that would calm me when I was worried, long after it was completed.  I could just think about the image and feel the warmth and strength of his body; the combined crackle and spark of electricity when our skin came together.

The radio gave a burst of static and I heard a garbled transmission that I could just make out:  “Gem, do you read?”

I put my brush down on the pallet and grabbed the microphone.  “Flex?  Hemp?”

“It’s me, Gem.”  It was Flex.  “We’re at the cemetery and there are quite a few of these things digging their way out.  We shot a shitload of them with the roof-mount AK, but we’re going to have to go in if we want the ivy.”

“Be careful, Flex,” I said.  “Don’t you fucking dare get caught by surprise like last time.”

“We’ll be careful.  We learned our lesson, Gem.  If all goes well, we should only be here ten to fifteen minutes or so.”

“You going to kill all you see?”

“I think it’s wise, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said.  “If you can do it safely.”

“Shit.  Three more are crawling out, and it’s still raining.”

“Okay, pay attention, focus and finish, then get back here.”

“Maybe twenty minutes.  We’ll be careful.”

“Then you’re coming right back?”

“No – we have to get fuel.  This car needs a top off.”

“Okay, but stay away from the city, Flex.  See if you can find something more rural.”

“Got it.  Okay, we’re out.”

“Love you, baby.  Be careful.”

He didn’t say anything else.  Just clicked off.

I held the radio, just staring at it.  There was no sense trying to concentrate on the painting again; it would be pointless.  I looked at what I had done, and it was enough for now.  The background would be blurred out anyway, because the man and woman were the main subjects; nothing else mattered.

In that world, nothing did.  In our real world, so many other things mattered.  I would do a painting of Trina soon, and I couldn’t wait to see her beautiful little face reflected in the swirl of oil on canvas.  Everything about her would shine through.

“That’s awesome, Gem,” said Charlie, standing behind me.

I hadn’t noticed her walk up.  I turned and saw Cynthia standing beside her.

“Wow,” said Cynthia. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “Way to go yet before it’s done, but it’s us.  Me and Flexy.”

“Wow,” said Charlie.  “I can feel the passion.”

“I paint what I feel,” I said.  “I couldn’t paint that without passion.”

“What did they want?” asked Charlie.  “The guys.”