Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (11 page)

We arrived at the industrial park and one building stood out like a sore thumb as exactly what we were looking for.  It was heavy corrugated steel with two large roll-up bay doors.  There was a concrete yard all around the building with a 12-foot fence, complete with barbed wire coiled around the top.  We all pulled up and parked outside the gates, which were closed.  It was the steel company.

We all emerged from our cars except for the girls, who I locked inside, as was my usual practice.  We stood outside the tall, locked gates next to Flex’s Suburban and stared at what might just be our new home.

“Looks pretty deserted,” I said.

“Yeah,” Hemp said.  “I wonder why.”

Flex looked at the parking lot for a minute, then snapped his fingers.  “It was a Sunday.”

“What?” I asked.

“The outbreak started on a Sunday, Gem.  The day I went to Jack and Jamie’s.  The day you found me.  It was a Sunday.”

“So nobody was at work.  Doesn’t look like a retail outlet, so it was closed,” said Max.

“Right,” said Hemp.  “Good, then.  Maybe we won’t have to kill anything inside.”

“Small favors,” I said.

Charlie looked a bit disappointed as she shifted the quiver on her back.

“Don’t you worry, girl,” Flex said.  “I have no doubt that we’ll run into something somewhere that needs an arrow in its head.”

“Alright,” said Charlie.  “But I’ll hang onto these until we clear the building if you don’t mind, okay?”

“Whatever floats your boat,” I said.  “Suzi stays right here, too.”  I dropped the Uzi down off my shoulder into firing position.  “Shall we
go through
this facility and see what’s what?”

Flex nodded, hoisting his Daewoo.  “
Sir Hemp? 
Do the honors?”  He nodded down at the heavy Master lock holding the two gate latches together.

“So it’s Sir, now, is it?  I’m afraid only the Queen of England can designate that title.”

“The Queen is dead!” shouted Flex.  “Long live Sir Hemphill Chatsworth!”

“Does have a nice ring to it,” said Hemp, smiling.

“Hold on,” Flex said.  “Look.  The chain’s hanging inside the fence.”

He was right.  Like someone locked the gate from the inside.

“Maybe there’s another gate,” said Max.

We all looked around, but this appeared to be the only entrance.

“I might need this after all,” said Charlie, tightening her grip on the crossbow.

“You might,” said Flex.  “Hemp, go ahead I guess.”

Hemp nodded and pulled a small leather pouch from his shirt pocket, unzipped it and withdrew one of the tools.  He reached through the upright pipes and pulled the lock and chain to the outside, inserted the L-shaped metal pick into the keyhole and worked it in the lock.  In less than ten seconds the lock clicked and the hasp fell from the body.

“Shit.  I was trying to make it look hard and failed miserably,” he said, smiling.

I noticed that Charlie was looking at Hemp like a proud girlfriend, which I guess is exactly what she was.  I resisted an urge to reach out and pinch both their cheeks.

“You gotta teach me that,” Flex said.  “No shit, and soon.”

Hemp slipped the lock from the chain and rolled the gate open wide enough for all the vehicles to drive through.

“If someone locked it from the inside,” Max said, “they’re still there.  Hopefully an uninfected did it for protection.”

“Good point, Max,” I said.  “Unless he or she was bitten or scratched before they got in here, then all bets are off.”  My hands tensed around the gun.

“Just be on guard everyone,” said Flex. 

We got back in our vehicles and drove in.  After Hemp drove the mobile lab and trailer inside, Flex jumped out of the Suburban and secured the gate again.

We pulled the caravan up to the building’s bay doors and parked.  This time we had to let Bunsen, our Great Pyrenees, as well as all the pups out for a potty break.  They’d done very well on the ride, and hadn’t had much outside time.  The pups were frolicking around even as we were all on edge.  None of us could help but smile, though.  The innocence of ignorance could be refreshing.

Trina and Taylor ran around with them, and it was good to see smiles on their tired little faces, too.

After all the dogs eliminated and wore themselves out, Hemp and Cynthia got them rounded up and back in the lab.

“Cynthia,” I said.  “Since you’re the only one who doesn’t have any shooting experience, why don’t you wait in the Crown Vic for now.  We’ll come right out for you once we clear the building.  And don’t worry – you’re up for lessons once we get settled.”

“No problem,” she said.  “C’mon, girls.”

“I’m tired of being in the car,” said
Taylor
.

“Me, too,” said Trina.

“It’s just for a minute, girls,” said Cynthia.  “No argument.”  She held the door and they reluctantly got back inside, frowns on their formerly smiling faces.  She closed it and got in the front seat.

“Be safe,” she said, before closing the door.

“We’ve come this far,” said Max.  “Wouldn’t do to let our guard down now.”

The access door beside the large bay door was also locked, but in seconds Hemp had that one open, too.

“Everyone be alert,” said Flex.

We went inside.

Skylights adorned the ceiling every ten feet or so, so daylight streamed in making the huge building quite visible.  Huge 5-tiered racks supported I-beams, angle iron, metal tubing, and steel channel from end to end along the back wall.  There was an enormous open area with several large work tables and a clear path to drive large vehicles in through the bay doors, though no trucks were currently parked inside.  We’d noticed some heavy diesel-powered delivery trucks outside in the lot, but all were unloaded for the weekend.

All of us had our weapons at ready, including Max, who had taken the Glock that Charlie handed him.

“Gem and I will get the left side and why don’t you three start at the middle and work your way toward the other side,” said Flex.  “Yell if you get in trouble.”

“That’s not a problem,” said Max.  “Yelling I’m good at.  Handguns, not so much.”

“Stick with Hemp and Charlie then,” I said.  “Nothing’ll get by them.”  I put my hand on Flex’s shoulder and we made our way toward the office.

A gunshot rang out, and I heard and felt a bullet whiz within inches of me and Flex.

“Hit the floor!” shouted Flex as we went flat on our bellies.

The bullet ricocheted several times in the cavernous building and Flex shouted, “Don’t shoot!  We’re not a threat!”

“I’ll decide who’s a threat and who’s not,” the voice came back from the direction of the office.  It sounded weak.  Another shot rang out and this time the bullet died more quickly, ricocheting only once.  It was harrowing not knowing where it would go after the first bounce.  We stayed flat.

“There are women in here!” I shouted, hoping to appeal to the frightened man’s sense of chivalry.  “We’re just looking for shelter, for fuck’s sake!”

“Then put those guns down and show yourselves,” the voice said again.  Yes, tired.  Exhausted.

Flex looked at us and nodded.  “Let’s do it.  We don’t know exactly where he is, so he’s got the advantage.”

We all put our weapons on the ground and stood, our hands in the air.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” offered Hemp.  “We’ve got two little girls waiting in the car, sir.  We’re not a threat.”

“Walk slowly toward the office,” the voice said.  “I won’t shoot.”

All of us moved to the office lined with windows.  It was approximately twenty feet wide and maybe fourteen feet deep and the glass was
mostly
mirrored, so we couldn’t see inside
well enough to inspect the room beyond
.

“Close enough,” the man said.  “One of you can come in.”

“I’ll go,” said Hemp.  “Let me tell him who I am and what we’re trying to do.”

Flex nodded.  Charlie looked scared for him.

“I’m coming in, sir.”

Hemp walked, his hands in the air, and stopped.  “I’m going to lower my hand to open the door.”

“That’s fine,” said the voice.

Hemp opened the door and went inside.  We stood there with our hands in the air and waited.  My fucking arms were tired, and I was not comfortable without my Uzi in my hands.  Five minutes passed and the door opened. 

Hemp walked over to us.  “You can put your arms down,” he said.  “He’s sick.  I think it was a heart attack.”

“Are you sure it’s not –” I began.

“It’s not that,” Hemp said quickly.  “No bites or scratches.  He told me what happened, and it sounds like he had a heart attack.”  Hemp lowered his voice.  “I don’t think he’s got much time.  His vital signs are very weak.”

We all looked at one another.  The uninfected were dropping like flies, one way or the other.

“Can we help him?  Make him comfortable, at least?” Flex asked.

Hemp nodded to us and we followed him inside the office.
The man was in his mid to late seventies
with thinning grey hair
.  T
he pallor of his skin told more of the story Hemp had shared.  He lay on a cot with a rifle cradled in the crook of his elbow, his breathing short and raspy.  His clothes seemed to be three sizes t
o
o large for his wasted frame, likely from lack of proper nutrition.

“He was shooting through that hole in the glass,” said Hemp. 

There was a tray on a low counter and a hole so that the person outside could speak to the person in the office, like a pay window at a 24-hour convenience store in a bad neighborhood.

“I’m sorry for shooting at you,” he said.  “Name’s Bill Rockford.  I’ve been shut in here for longer than I can remember now.  You’re the first people I’ve seen.  Got a little jumpy I suppose.”

“Can’t blame you,” said Max.  “We’ve been a bit jumpy ourselves.”

“What’s it like out there?” he asked.

Flex answered.  “Dangerous, Bill.  Scary dangerous.  Are you okay?”

“No,” he said bluntly.  “Not okay at all.  My wife tried to attack me, I don’t know where my kids are – they both live out of state and I couldn’t reach either one of them after this started.  I ran and got in my truck and drove straight here.  Lucky I made it.  The shit I saw on the way scared the crap out of me.”

He coughed hard, swallowed something, then continued.

“About a mile from here I got these chest pains and I almost crashed.  But I made it.  Haven’t been worth shit since, but I made it.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.  I went to him and knelt beside him.

“I had to leave Kathy,” he said.  “She wasn’t my wife anymore.”  He started to cry, but only meager tears rolled out from his dehydrated body.  Bill shuddered as I put a hand on his shoulder and lied to him.

“It’s okay, Bill.  We’ll help you.”

He didn’t swallow my bullshit. 

“I’m not going to make it.  I know that.  But I didn’t want to get eaten, so this is the better alternative to that,” he said.

There was nothing to say.  Flex pulled a bottle of water from his belt and passed it to me.  I unscrewed the top and tilted it against Bill’s lips.  He drank it until the bottle was empty.

“You guys have free reign,” said Bill, wiping his mouth with one dirty sleeve.  “Anything you need.”

“The building’s clear I assume?” said Hemp.

“It is.  I’m alone.  Haven’t been outside, but the gate was locked when I got here, so I assume they’re not climbing over barbed wire yet.  I had a lot of water and sodas and some frozen burgers and a little propane grill.  I’ve been living on frozen hamburger patties.  I don’t think I’ve taken a shit in days.  All that fuckin’ meat.”

“Okay, Bill” said Flex.  “Thank you.  We’ll do what we can to help you.”

Hemp nodded at Flex and me, and motioned toward the door.

“Bill, we’ll be right back.   Do you guys want to go out and get Cynthia and the girls?”

Max and Charlie nodded and followed us out.  When we were alone, Hemp looked at us squarely.  “He
can
help us,” he said, his face grim.

“How?” I asked.

“When he passes,” said Hemp.  “As soon as he passes.   Immediately thereafter.”

“After?” I asked.

“His brain,” whispered Hemp.

Neither Flex nor I said anything.  We waited for him to explain.

“For my BSN.  I’ll need a baseline for the scent of a fresh brain.  I had no idea how I’d get one, but now this.”

“We need to ask him,” I said.  “I think I’d want to approve that before someone used mine.”

“Yeah,” Flex said.  “The ethical thing to do.”

“I just don’t know how to explain it to him,” said Flex.  “And I really don’t want to ask him now.  I think he’ll need to know us a bit better before I’d dare make such a bizarre request.”

“If he starts to get worse, then we’ll have to,” I said.  “Let’s just keep him comfortable and play it by ear.”