Read Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle Online
Authors: Eric A. Shelman
Tags: #zombie apocalypse
There was one adequate generator left, and all the drywall we could use in the attached lumber department. I’d figured up the number of 4’ x 8’ pieces we’d need to finish putting walls on our bedrooms, and it all fit into the box van nicely.
Adjacent to the hardware store was an auto supply, so Hemp thought we should get some small 12 volt compressors in case we had tire issues anywhere, as well as Tire Seal for real emergencies. We got spare fan belts and radiator hoses while we were there, too.
Flex found a couple of 2,000,000 candlepower flashlights that would plug into our vehicles’ 12 volt power ports. For my part, I grabbed as many Little Tree air fresheners as I could – I wanted to hang them around wherever Hemp ended up keeping our rotter stock. It was literally like walking into a morgue. They just stank.
Lastly, Hemp said we should load up on all kinds of batteries. Mainly car batteries that he said could be strung together to make quite a power cell should we need to utilize them down the road. We loaded up a cart with thirty of the largest we could find.
But the best thing of all was the Farm Supply next door. They had the fabled, hand-crank fuel pump
s
that I’d been going on and on about since we set out from
Georgia
. We grabbed three of the pumps
, along with extension pipes in case we needed more depth capability, and hoses in the event we had to resort to siphoning out of car fuel tanks
.
We also got denim overalls for everyone in all sizes, and lots of other jackets and clothing. For Charlie’s part, there were several John Deere t-shirts – she chose almost exclusively black – that she grabbed, along with several pairs of cargo style jeans, also black. They even had a large tin bucket with a washboard, which was a power-efficient, though primitive way to clean our clothes.
We could now get our fuel out of the ground without power and be fully dressed while we did it.
Before we left, we moved most of the guns from the car over to the van. Hemp took the opportunity to take two nice Ruger .45 Autos and a shoulder holster for each, and he loaded them up, along with extra magazines. He was starting to look like a bad ass.
Our own James Bond.
We left the hardware store fully loaded, and our last stop was the grocery store. There was Winn-Dixie store on our route, completing our circle.
With me and Flex in the Crown Vic leading, we drove down a gravel road that took us right by a cemetery. I kept my eyes peeled on both sides of the road, and saw that Flex kept his eye on his rear view mirror. It’s a good thing he did, because he saw the box van pull to a stop.
“What the hell is he doing?” he asked.
“No idea,” I said. “Not an advisable place to stop.”
We saw Hemp emerge from the van and close the door. Charlie jumped out, too.
Flex quickly pulled the car over and parked. We got out to see Hemp running full speed toward the cemetery, which hadn’t seen any maintenance crews for a couple of months now, and was pretty overgrown and spooky looking.
The sign said it was the
Shambeau
Cope
Cemetery
, the old arched sign rusted, a pair of swing gates leading inside. Hemp ran toward it, raised one boot and kicked the deteriorated fence open with little resistance.
He now had both guns in his hands, and he ran deeper inside. I think we were all in shock, because the three of us stood there for probably twenty seconds before Flex screamed at him.
“Hemp! Get back here!”
Hemp didn’t acknowledge his call. He looked toward the ground and a few seconds later he fired his gun at something.
We could guess what he was shooting at, but the rain had stopped for a few days now, so the earth was firming up again. I grabbed Suzi the Uzi from the car and Flex pulled his K7 out and we ran. Charlie already had her crossbow, and we hauled ass through the gates behind him.
Charlie was the next to try. “Babe, what are you doing? Come out of there, please!” she cried, her legs pumping as she ran to get to him. Still, he didn’t turn.
Another shot. He ran further. Yet another.
As we came further into the graveyard, we saw what he was doing. Some of the undead had made their way partially out of their graves, and they struggled to pull the rest of their bodies clear of the solidifying ground. A few of them had only their knees remaining before they were free to crawl, walk and eventually eat human flesh.
A copse of trees and thicker brush lined the back fence of the cemetery, and Hemp was nearing the area. About every ten seconds he’d fire again, presumably killing another of the things that needed killing.
“This is stupid, Hemp! Max wouldn’t want this!” I shouted.
“Baby, come back out!” screamed Charlie, firing an arrow into the head of a zombie that had just freed itself and had gotten to its wobbly, bone-thin legs. It collapsed and she yanked the arrow back out, her eyes immediately searching again for Hemp.
Then Hemp stopped and looked down. He knelt and touched a plant of some kind
that had grown up through the back fence
. This allowed us to catch up to him, and we stood there, cautious of our surroundings, but also interested in what had caught his attention. He looked up at us.
“Look at this,” he said. “Poison Ivy.”
“So why are you touching it?” said Charlie.
“I’ve always been immune to it,” he said. A hand emerged from the earth two feet to Hemp’s left, and he eyed it for a moment before continuing. The hand clawed at the earth, and a moment later, a second hand came through. The rotted nails and exposed bones clawed into the earth.
Hemp went on: “But look at these leaves. The size of them. They’ve got to be more than twenty centimeters across. The three leaf configuration tells you it’s
t
oxicodendron radicans
.
Leaves three, let it be. Remember that? Berries white, poisonous sight?
Those are rhymes f
rom our childhood so that we’d remember to avoid it.”
“I do remember the rhymes, but
I’ve never heard of that plant. What’s
the big deal?” asked Charlie.
“It’s poison ivy, Charlie. And it
doesn’t get this big – ever. The leaves, I mean. The plants can grow into large shrubs, but the size of the leaves on such
an
immature plant doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m just not sure what this has to do with anything,” said Flex.
“Me either,” I said. “And what you did was dangerous, Hemp. Jesus, I know you’re upset about Max, but –”
“I know. I know, you’re right,” he said. “But when I was in the van I saw something move over here and I know those bastards at the furniture store were diggers. I just . . .”
He didn’t finish.
“You needed to take out some aggressions,” said Charlie. “I know. It’s no worse than what I did at the CDC.”
Charlie took Hemp’s hand, and he shook her off quickly. “No, Charlie! Damn it!”
She looked hurt and stood up, looking down at him. Without a word, she turned and walked back toward the van.
Midway back to the van Charlie stopped, looking startled at something on the ground. She looked down at the ground, screamed “Fuck you!” and kicked whatever it was. She then turned her crossbow downward and fired. She stared at it for a second and walked away, leaving the arrow sticking up.
“Charlie, it’s not –” Hemp started to call, but stopped.
He turned to us. “I’ll explain it later. I’ve got the Poison Ivy oils on my hands now, which means they’re on hers. She’s going to get a nasty rash and blisters,”
“She is pissed,” said Flex. “She left an arrow behind.”
“Shit,” I said. “I’ll go tell her to clean her hands. I think I have some waterless hand cleaner in the car.”
“Too late,” said Hemp. “Once the oils penetrate the skin, you’re done. It’s got to run its course. But make sure she cleans the crossbow and doesn’t touch her face.”
“You tell her,” I said. “Now let’s get back to the car. I think we’ve pushed our luck here long enough.”
As if on cue, the clawing hands pushed into the earth and the top of a head emerged. Hemp pointed his .45 at it and blew the entire top off the rotting, reanimated corpse’s head. The poisonous plants behind it were misted with red-black blood.
As if that never happened, he turned back to us. “These leaves don’t make any sense, guys,” he said. “None at all. I want to take a plant back and do some testing.”
I shrugged. “Dig it up, but keep that shit away from me.”
“Me, too,” said Flex. “It might not be as bad as getting munched on, but I don’t need any more crap to deal with.”
“No worries,” he said, digging up the large plant and two baby ones, leaving the clumps of dirt around the root systems. “I’ll pot these later and do some experiments. Sorry for the impulsive shit.”
“Dude,” I said. “No need for apologies.”
“Dude,” repeated Hemp. “Even you female Yanks are so John Wayne.”
We made our way back to the vehicles. By the time we got to the grocery store, Charlie had already forgiven Hemp.
I was glad. Those two were fuckin’ cute together.
CHAPTER
NINE
We got back home – yes, it was home, so I might as well say it – safely with no further encounters. We’d seen evidence of other uninfecteds having cleared out many of the shelves in the grocery store, but there was plenty left and we loaded up four shopping carts with vacuum packed and canned goods, as well as pastas, sauces, and whatever else we thought we could use, including all the remaining small propane cylinders.
There was a Ross beside the Winn-Dixie, so we were able to get enough bedding and pillows for everyone, too. Charlie found lots of t-shirts with some of her favorite bands screen printed on them, and even replaced her favorite AC/DC shirt that she’d thrown in the grave with Jamie as her contribution to the ceremony.
We took the evening off, but the following day we got up and started building our bedroom walls. I was carrying one end of a sheet of drywall when Cynthia came up to me and Flex.
“I think you’d better come in the office,” she said in a low voice. “It’s Bill. I think he had another heart attack.”
Flex and I quickly leaned the 4 x 8 sheet of drywall against the metal studs and followed her inside.
Bill’s breathing was short and raspy. His hand was pressed against his chest, and his eyes were closed. I pulled up a chair beside where he lay and put my hand over his.
“Bill, how are you doing?” I asked.
“Not good,” came his weak reply. “I think . . . I think I’m getting ready to check out.”
His color was non-existent and he looked dead already. Suddenly, he arched his back and his eyes pinched tightly closed as he moaned in pain.
I looked at Flex, who stood beside me. I shook my head. “Go get Hemp.”
Flex left the room.
“Bill, Hemp has something to talk to you about. It’s important. Think you’re up to it?”
He nodded. “I can listen – don’t know how much I’ll have to contribute.”
“Okay.”
I
opened
a bottle of water and
put
it to his lips and he drank a
bit
. The door opened behind me and Flex came back in with Hemp at his side.
I stood
up and offered the chair to Hemp. He saw beside Bill.
“Hello, friend,” he said.
“Hi, Hemp.”
“I hear you’re not doing well,” said Hemp. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more we could do.”
“I’m ready to go,” said Bill. “I miss Irene. My kids.”
Hemp looked at me and Flex, then turned back to Bill. “I have an important question for you, Bill. A request.”
“Shoot.”
“You know what we’re dealing with here. This disease. I’m doing everything I can to learn more about it, but until it runs its course or we can find a way to defeat it, we’re at a disadvantage, even with our weapons.”
Bill
went into a coughing fit
, and Hemp waited for it to subside. He reached down and felt
the man’s
pulse for a moment, then looked at us and shook his head.
“I think you know, as you told Gem and Flex, that you’re nearing the end, Bill. I’m sorry, but there’s not really any other way to put it. I have an odd request, but I hope you’ll think of us and the kids before you answer.”
“Okay,” he said.
“First I need to know if you want us to perform CPR or any other life-saving
measures
should
you
go into cardiac arrest.”
Bill shook his head weakly. “Nope. None of that. Let me go.”
Hemp nodded, though Bill’s eyes were still closed.