Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (33 page)

“Keep talkin’,” said Flex, interested.

“The diggers may have been affected before most living people, because they were in the ground, buried.  First ones exposed to the gas in doses that would reanimate them.  The ones that won’t reanimate are those who were either embalmed and their brains removed, or were immune to urushiol.  Or, as makes sense, those whose brains have entirely decomposed.  This means we don’t have to worry much about the dead who’ve been dead for years.  No scintilla of a brain, no chance at a second life, as it were.”

“This is amazing, Hemp!” I said.  “I’m not sure how this helps, but damn, it sure feels better to have an idea of what’s going on.”

“It will help, Gem.  Down the road it will help.  Urushiol will be the key, so long as it continues to work.”

My mind was spinning with the implications.  Before I could say the words, Cynthia said what I was thinking.

“So Hemp, the ones in the ground could be killed by, what?  A solution of water and this urushiol?  Heavy watering of all cemeteries?  Kill them while they’re still
buried
?”

“Yes,” he said.  “We can assume there are literally thousands and thousands that never broke free of the ground yet because the dirt is too solidly packed for them to
dig out
. 
Such as those buried in a
n area experiencing a drought, for instance.”

“Or fucking
Arizona
,” I added.

“Yes, or fucking
Arizona
,” Hemp confirmed.

“Okay,” said Flex.  “To put bullet points on this news.  Only 90% of the unembalmed buried folk out there have the chance to dig their way out.  The remainder will rest in peace forever because of their former immunity to the poison oil that I’ve really come to love.  The ones that do wake up will need the right conditions, such as rain or really heavy watering, to crawl out and feed.”

“I’m not saying they’re not determined,” said Hemp.  “But it could be a multi-month process, perhaps even a year or more.”

“I want to print this shit on a banner and fly it from a bi-plane,” I said.

“You’d largely be reaching the wrong audience,” said Hemp.  “But anyone we see must be given the solutions.  Guns are good, but an urushiol mist will do the trick, too.  Next thing we need to do is leave here.  But not until we do something.”

“Leave?” said Flex. 

I took him by the arm and held him.  Cyn looked at me, and our eyes met.  “I’ve been feeling that, too.”

Flex looked at me.  “You have?”

“Flex, we can’t stay here.  This knowledge has to be shared, and we’re not doing anything to help eradicate this mess by staying here.”

“She’s right, Flex,” said Charlie.  “What’s more, you already know it.”

Flex nodded.  He looked at me, then back at Hemp.  “Yeah.  It did feel good to be secure for a while.  But that’s not what good people do, is it?”

“The only thing necessary for evil to flourish if for good men to do nothing,” said Cynthia.

Hemp’s eyebrows raised.  “Very appropriate, Cyn.  A Brit named Edmund Burke said that.”

“There’s another quote that works here,” said Charlie.

“What’s that, babe?” asked Hemp.

“I have no damned idea who said it, but it was my Facebook quote for a while.”

“Stop.  You had Facebook?” I asked.

“Loved it.  Now I gotta do all my social networking with the only people I know,” she said, smiling. 

“So what’s the quote?” asked Flex.  “Like I need any more convincing.”

“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored,” Charlie said.

“Tell us what you found out in the lab after dinner,” said Cynthia.  “And don’t ask.  It’s leftovers.”

“It’s always leftovers,” said Flex.

“Another good reason to leave,” I said.

Flex took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and we headed to our meager pantry to see what looked bad.

*****

That evening Flex and I lay in bed.  Both on our backs, his arm around me as I played with his hand.  We often lay this way, our bodies touching from our shoulders all the way down to our feet.  I always got a sense of peace and safety with him like that.  I know it’s corny, but I won’t apologize for sharing it.  These days, with the world so fucked up and potential terror around every blind turn, these moments were priceless and so, so necessary.  I think they always were, but as life just rolled along and people came and went, it was easy to forget how much quiet moments with the one you loved could mean to your sanity.

Maybe that’s why the world sometimes seemed to have gone insane.  By the way, did I mention how much I loved the feeling of his warm breath on my head as he nestled his nose in my hair?  It’s awesome, and it’s for me.  Just me.

If I could etch these things into my memory I would.  I never wanted to forget them again.

My face turned up to look at him, I said, “Are you scared?”

He smiled.  “No.  If I get scared, I think of doing all of this without you by my side.”

“You’re a sappy bastard,” I said, kissing his hand.  His big, rough hand that somehow could be the softest thing that ever touched me.

“Maybe,” he said.  “I’m not scared, Gem.  I’m anxious I guess.  My mind spins with all we’ve got to face, where we’re going to go next.”

“Granite,” I said.

“I know.  And it might be a good idea.”

“So, where? 
New Hampshire
or
Vermont
?”

“Hemp says
New Hampshire
,” he said.  “
More granite.  But b
efore we leave he wants to make a bunch more of the urushiol mix.  Load up a bunch of fire extinguishers with the stuff.  I think he’s considering modifying the lab with water jets rather than guns.”

“I like guns,” I said.  “Can’t we do both?”

“There’s room, I think.”

“We can put it in the windshield washer, too.  Aim the jets out like we used to do to peoples’ cars to fuck with ‘em.”

Flex laughed, and it made me smile.  His laugh was deep and hearty, and I couldn’t hear it without smiling, too.

“You did that, too?” he as
k
ed.

“Hells, yes.”

He rubbed my arm, and without looking at him I could sense his smile.

“So tomorrow we go try to find some kind of machine to use that will allow him to extract a lot of oil.  And we have to collect more poison ivy.”

“We can all help,” I said.  “Since we’re immune.”

“I suppose we can,” he said.

“I plugged
New Hampshire
into the GPS,” I said.  “It’s over twelve hundred miles there.”

“It’s a hell of a drive,” said Flex.  “We’re going to want all the vehicles, and there’s no avoiding fuel stops this time.”

“You know I’m taking my badass Crown Vic,” I said.

“You and your Ford.”

“You love it.”

“Whatever.  How many hours straight driving is that?”

“GPS said about twenty hours with no pee breaks,” I answered.  “So where’s Hemp going to find this machine thingy to extract the oil?”

“Sounds like something a pharmaceutical manufacturer might have,” said Flex.  “Or a farmer.  I have no idea.”

“I’ll be Hemp has an idea.  Or he’ll design something.”

I leaned over and picked up a cigarette off the nightstand and lit it.  Flex took it almost immediately and snuffed it out.  “Not in your condition.”

My face dropped.  I felt like I’d just been caught stealing.

“Flex, I don’t know –”

“You are, Gem.”

“You can’t know that.”

He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at me.  Tears – yes, more fucking tears – were rolling from the corner of my eyes.

“I know.  You’re practically glowing, babe.”

Now I was smiling.  “Really?”

“You’re late, right?”

“Over a week and a half now.”

“No more smoking.  Weed or tobacco.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah, I was.  But I wasn’t sure it wasn’t just me and Charlie and Cyn syncing or something.  I heard that happens when women live together, but I’ve never lived around so many women for this long a time to find out.”

“That’s not it.  Your skin looks almost like it has a sheen.  And there’s a little tiny bump right there.”

He rubbed my tummy and I slapped his hand.

“No there’s not!”

“Yep.  Right there.
”
  He leaned his head down and planted a kiss on my navel. 

It’s an innie.  My navel, that is.

“I’m scared all over again, Flexy.”

“Don’t be.  I’ll take care of us,
babe
.”

“I’m not ready to tell anyone else,
okay? 
I miscarried before, a long time ago.  I want to make sure.”

“I remember,” he said.  “You told me.  Sure.  We can wait a bit.”

“And I don’t want to be on the road when it’s born.”

“You won’t be.  We’ll make it to where we’re going.  We’ll get somewhere, and there might be a doctor there who can deliver him.”

“Or her,” I said, smiling.

“Or her.  I don’t care, Gem.  And I don’t have any fears about it.”

“None?”

“No. But I lay here with you and look at how far we’ve come since you found me at Jamie’s, and it just baffles me how the best part of me came back just when the entire world took a shit.  Like I had to have you to get me through this.  I don’t know if I believe in fate or destiny or whatever – I certainly don’t know if I believe in God anymore – but somehow this was all supposed to happen at the same time.”

I didn’t say anything.  I just felt his hand on my stomach, rubbing it softly, and I drifted off to sleep.

I drifted off to sleep feeling as warm and safe as I never believed I could in a world such as the one that surrounded me now.

I only put this in my portion of the chronicle because you need to know that in this world of madness, there
is
still human emotion going on – not only happening, but flourishing.  I see it everyday in Hemp and Charlie, and I see the longing for it in Cynthia. 

So a reminder to anyone left out there reading this, and it’s going to sound as sappy as I accused Flex of being.

Where there’s love, there’s hope. 

*****

The next day was a busy one.  Our food supplies were really getting short now, and we’d made our trips outside less and less frequent.  As safe as we were, we’d resigned to leave and there was no doubt about that point.

“Meeting,” said Flex.  “Let’s gather at the picnic table.”

We let the girls go into their bedroom to play some Farkle, and we all sat down.
  The pups were all sprawled out on the concrete floor in slumber land.  Bunsen sat beside me panting softly.

“I asked Flex to gather you,” said Hemp.  “I understand the consensus is we’re going to resume our travels,” he said.  “I’ve got good news and bad news on that front.”

“Give us the bad news first,” said Cyn.

Hemp’s smile was almost invisible, but it was kind. 

“It’s actually the same news.  Before we leave I have to build something to extract larger amounts of urushiol oil from the poison ivy plants.  This won’t take long once I’ve built the tanks, which will basically be the same process as distilling your southern moonshine, but getting the supplies I need for the tanks might take a couple of days.”

“So the good and bad part of it?” asked Flex.

“We’re going to probably be here another week.  It’s bad because I know we’re all getting cabin fever, but at the same time, it gives us plenty of time to decide what to bring and what not to bring.  There is other bad news, though.”

“Hemp, seriously,” said Cyn.  “We’ve dealt with enough bad news that I don’t think you can faze us.”

Hemp shrugged.  “I have a tendency to be too slow in getting all my points out.  Sorry.”

Everyone smiled.  Hemp was a thinker, and he didn’t like to call meetings or dispense any information unless he had a clear idea of what he wanted to say.  It was what made the bastard so valuable.  You knew that by the time he put it out there, that he knew every step of his part of the plan, anyway.

“I need to get a lot of poison ivy, as I mentioned before.  And I mean a lot – enough to fill the portable workshop half full, maybe more.  The other thing I need is some large, stainless steel vessels.  If I can find some in the fifty-five gallon drum size, that would be ideal.  It’s going to take some searching.”

“Talk about water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,” said Flex.  “We’re in fucking moonshine country and there’s probably a still in good operation within a mile or two of here.  And we gotta build our own.”