Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (23 page)

“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.”

“They’re at the cemetery.  More diggers coming up with the wet earth.”

Charlie’s face went stern, her body tensed up.  It was like she had suddenly become a coiled spring.

“Do they need us?”

I shook my head and touched her shoulder.  “Relax, Charlie.  Not now.  They’re fine.”

“They taking them out?”

“Yes.  As needed.”

“I want to be ready.”

Charlie turned and walked straight to the crew cab.  She pulled the crossbow from the back seat and checked her quiver for ammo.  When she was satisfied, she went to the bay door and pulled the chain to raise it up.

I shook my head and said to Cyn, “I love her, but she can get kind of intense.  I thought I was a badass.”

“Shit!” called Charlie, staring out the bay door, the rain splashing in.  “Gem, Cyn!  Come here!”

I jumped up and ran, with Cynthia right behind me.  When I got to the door my breath caught.

“Cyn, get the girls inside the mobile lab and tell them to lock themselves inside!”

“Okay,” said Cynthia.  She bolted to the office where the girls were playing Farkle on the floor.  As they were being hustled to the office I called, “Listen to Cyn, you two!  Stay put!”

I turned back to the scene outside.  Along the fence line there were dozens of them.  Dozens and dozens.  Their clothing hanging in tatters, filthy with blood, dirt and God knew what else.  They
ran into
each other
like ants in an ant farm, oblivious of
everything except the
three women who now stared at them
, and who undoubtedly smelled succulent
.

Their moans came as steadily as a long roll of thunder, and their mouths moved in that eerily familiar side-to-side gnashing that seemed to be a universal trait.  As before, much of their clothing was torn almost completely off; shirts hung down to knees, having been torn away during their climb from their deep, muddy graves.  In several cases, neckties still hung around the emaciated necks of the creatures, the polyester or silk not as easily degraded as the cotton shirts and other garments.

This whole area had been
clear just
forty-five minutes earlier.

“The girls are inside,” said Cynthia.  “Locked in.”

Charlie had her crossbow, but I looked her in the eyes and shook my head.

“Charlie, screw the crossbow for now,” I said. “Grab one of the AK-47s
and extra magazines,
and Cyn, get whatever you’re most comfortable with.  We’re not leaving this mess for the boys to deal with.”

I didn’t wait for an answer.  I grabbed Suzi – the name I’d given my Uzi – from the floor beside the canvas, glanced once more at the image there of me and Flexy, and ran toward the door.

I stopped and turned again.  I looked at the radio.

I’d promised Flex.  Hemp, too.  I went to it and hit the talk button one time, quickly.

That was it.  It was the “GET HERE NOW!” notification.  I hesitated. 

Then I hit it twice more.  Three clicks meant we were okay.  We’d be okay.  We just had some work to do first.

“
Cyn, s
trap on some
of the magazine belts and load them
up,” I said.  Cyn followed instructions, but Charlie already had several magazines for the AK in her cargo shorts, and had another five clips for my Uzi.  She gave them to me and I stuffed them in my pockets.