Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (21 page)

I hit the door locks and we removed our BSN helmets, all staring at the storefront.  We could see all the faces from inside the grocery store pressed against the glass, and it was disturbing.  I fired the engine and gunned it.  The car dropped off the sidewalk with a thump and back in the parking lot, I swerved past the melee and we got back on the road home.

“We need to go back and kill them,” said Flex.  “I don’t like leaving that many alive. I don’t give a shit if they’re trapped or not.”

“Eradication,” said Hemp.  “It’s our duty to the world.”

I didn’t need to say anything about t
hat.  We all knew it was true.

“Guys, I know this seemed dumb, so thanks for giving me this.  I promise
this will make a difference to more than just me.”

Hemp leaned forward from the crowded back seat, his arm thrown over the canvases. 

“When you get a chance I’d like you to start laying out the schematic for my saw
blade machine,” he said.  “So Gem, you’re going to need some of that poster board.”

“After you get the tests started on the gas,” I said.

“Needless to say,” said Hemp.  “Speaking of which, the lake’s right here.”

I eased the car onto the shoulder of the road and as far into the field adjacent to the lake as I could without getting into muddy earth.  The area was as deserted as it had been on our way out.  I popped the trunk and Hemp got out
.  We had decided to skip the BSNs again for now.

Hemp
pulled out the funnel
and removed a balloon from the bag, stretched it several times and
fitted
it over
the small end.

“Need to weaken the rubber,” said Hemp.  “Want to make sure it’s not fighting the gas pressure.”

Hemp walked to the edge of the wat
er with me and Flex by his side.  He
knelt down, his nose wrinkled from the stench of the dead fish
, and
pushed the bell side of the funnel down into the lake water about a foot.  In seconds the balloon stood straight up on the end and began to slowly inflate.  When it was about a
two-
inch diameter, it seemed to stall.  Hemp pushed the funnel straight down about another four inches, and the makeshift receptacle grew to six inches.

He looked at Flex.  “Grab the balloon and tie if off.  I want one more.”

Flex pulled the balloon off the end of the funnel, pinching it in his fingers.  He tied it off and walked it back to the car, placing it inside the trunk.

Flex repeated the process and soon had another balloon filled with the mysterious gas.  I tied this one off, and Hemp stood. 

“Done.  Let’s get back,” he said.  “This is a major discovery, Gem.  And a damned good idea to get the sample.”

As we walked back to the car, I said “Just one more reason nobody should be without a Hemphill Chatsworth of their own.”

We made it back to the steel supply and those we’d left behind were very happy to see us.  We’d been gone nearly two hours.

“Jesus, guys,” said Charlie.  “I was beginning to get worried.”

She wore a Pearl Jam t-shirt she’d gotten from somewhere or other, the collar and sleeves customized by her to look tattered and torn.  She knew her style and looked absolutely hot in it.  Hemp went up to her and took her cheeks in his palms, planting a kiss on her lips.  She kissed him back, pressed her head to his chest and pulled back.

“You guys
get
what you needed?” she asked.

“Everything,” said Hemp.

“Including my art stuff,” I said.  “You’re going to meet a new side of Gemmy pretty soon.”

“The old side’s pretty fucking nice, Gemmy,” said Trina, hugging my legs.  “You’re my new mommy.”  Her little face looked up at me, a big smile planted there.

Cynthia shook her head, but smiled.  She still didn’t like the cussing very much, but she never said anything.  She didn’t allow
Taylor
to talk that way, but with all that was going on, I wasn’t about to tell Trina she couldn’t express herself.

“And you’re my little fucking girl,” I said, scooping her up in my arms.  I looked into her eyes, nuzzled her neck with my nose, puffing air in and out to tickle her, and she threw her shoulders up, goosebumps forming where I’d worked my magic.

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
k
new 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 grou
nd 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.