Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (34 page)

“I’m talking bigger than you’ll find out there.  I also need some drum heaters,” said Hemp. 

“Hemp, Hemp, Hemp,” said Charlie.  “Where the hell did you learn all this shit?”

Hemp smiled proudly at his woman’s admiration.

“I’ve always had a curious mind, Charlie.  You should be glad,” he said, winking.

She laughed.  “Why?”

“Because I was curious about you the minute Gem and Flex delivered you.”

“Have you figured me out yet?”

“It’s unlikely I ever will,” he said.  “But I’m going to keep on trying.”

“So no sense in delaying,” I said.  “I say we all go.  We know the road’s clear enough for the motorhome and trailer, so let’s pack everyone inside and get that part behind us.”

“Why everyone?” said Cyn.  “We could wait here, me and the girls.”

“Not a chance,” said Flex.  “Gem’s right.  Last time we left, we came back and had an army of rotters around the place.  Fuckers seem to come in waves, and I’m not up for going any
where with
out everyone right now.”

Cyn sighed, but nodded.  “Okay.”

“Get your weapons together, and bring as much ammo as you can carry,” said Charlie.  “Cyn?  You feeling good about the gun or the crossbow?”

“I think a gun,” she said.  “I like Gem’s Uzi, actually.”

“So much for all that crossbow training I did with you,” I said.

“Let me see Charlie in action if I must,” said Cyn.  “Maybe I’ll be convinced then.”

“Gotcha,” I said.  “
We do have another Uzi in stock, though. 
Flexy, you ready to go?”

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nope.  I have an idea, and I think Hemp’s going to be impressed.”

“What?” asked Hemp, eyebrows raised, hair still kind of spiky.

“I’m
going to build
some sickles,” he said.

“No need, my friend,” said Hemp.

“Why not?”

“Because if you didn’t notice, there’s a small farm supply store about a mile away in the same direction as the cemetery.  They should have some hand-held harvesting tools of some sort.  And gloves.  We might be immune, but I don’t see any reason to be more exposed to it than need be.”

“Fine,” said Hemp.  “I didn’t have a real design in my head anyway.  Just kept picturing the grim reaper.”

“That would do it, but these might be just a tad less imposing,” said Hemp.  “Function, rather than form.”

*****

We packed up and got ready to leave within half an hour.  Taylor and Trina were freaking out at getting to leave, and I mean that in a good way.  It wasn’t
Disneyland
, but you’d think it was.

When we rolled up the bay door, all was quiet.  No zombie hoards gawked at us from the fence, and we rolled out, all dressed for gardening. 

As Hemp said, Hank’s Farm Supply was about fifty yards off the road we’d taken on the way to the Michael’s store before.  Hemp must have had an eagle eye, because I’d thought it was a barn the first couple of times we’d passed it, and I thought it was a barn this time, too.

I easily missed the faded wood sign that, if read exactly, said:  H NK’S   ARM  SU PLY, telling people who lived around here and didn’t need any sign, that they’d arrived.

“Cyn, if you don’t mind,” said Flex, “me, Gem, Charlie and Hemp will go inside.  Will you stay with the girls?”

Cyn smiled and nodded.  “I know you guys think that bugs me, but it doesn’t.  It’s how I’m a part of this team,” she said.

“A big part,” I said.  “We’ll be back in a few.  Lock it, but be watching, and man the gun turret.  If you see any bullshit coming at you, blow it into tiny turds.”

“Got it,” she said, as we dropped out the door, closing it behind us.

The doors on the store were glass, but they were the newest looking thing on the place.  There was an old wagon wheel leaning against the peeling siding of the front wall of the ramshackle building, and the roof couldn’t last more than another few months, so many shingles were missing.

Flex tried the door.  It was locked.  He slung his gun over his shoulder and cupped his hands around his face as he peered through the glass, looking inside.

“They look stocked,” he said. 

“Give this one a kick,” said Hemp.  “The hinge side’ll probably break before the latch.”

Flex knocked with the side of his fist on the door, and we waited just a moment.   Flex looked at us, got back about five feet from the door, and gave it a running kick.

And then something happened.  At first I didn’t know exactly what.  As his foot hit the door, the glass exploded outward as a muffled explosion rang out. 

I watched Flex stop, the shattered safety glass all over the front of his shirt, an almost comical expression of surprise and confusion on his face, and his hand went to his shoulder.  He pulled it away and it was covered with blood.

“Flex!” I shouted.  “Flex, you’re bleeding!”

“Fuck,” said Flex.  “I think I’ve . . . been shot.”

He staggered back from the door and turned, leaning against the faded siding, his breath short.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you come in this building, just one inch,” a voice said from inside.  It was a man’s raspy voice, carrying with it a strong southern
drawl
. 

Hemp and Charlie got away from the doorway on the other side from Flex, and I knelt down beside him.

“We’re not here to hurt you, damn it!” I shouted into the shattered door.  “We’re looking for some supplies, that’s all!  You shot my husband!”

I don’t know why I said it.  Boyfriend and fiance’ sounded stupid, and it just came out.

“He was kickin’ in my door,” the voice said.  The man sounded old.  Really old.  And weak.

“He’s hurt!” said Charlie, her voice nearly a shriek.  “Flex, get back to the motor home and let Cyn look at you.  Now!”

I’d never heard Charlie so authoritative before.  Not since we’d met.  Flex was staring at the blood on his hand, and pushed himself to his feet.  I pulled him further away from the door and toward the motor home.

“Stay out of the doorway,” I said to the others.  “Keep trying to talk to him.”

I pulled Flex with me to the door and Cynthia, who must have been watching, came out and met us at the bottom.  She helped Flex up the steps and inside.  I followed.

“He was shot, Cyn,” I said.

“I know,” she said.  “I saw the door shatter.  Flex, sit here.”

Flex dropped down.

“Lay down, Flexy,” I said.

“Fuck!” said Flex.  “I don’t need this shit right now!”

“Take off your shirt,” said Cyn.

“Yeah, right,” I said.  I grabbed scissors from the drawer and cut up the center of his tee-shirt and pulled it away from him.  I balled it up and held it over the wound for now, which was a clean hole between the shoulder and the collarbone.  I pulled him up.

“Cyn, look behind him.”

“Clean through,” she said. 

“Can you breathe okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Fuck yes, it hurts!”

“I mean when you breathe, Flex.  Don’t get mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, and no, it doesn’t hurt when I breathe.  I’m sorry.  Damn it!”

“Jesus, Flex, it happened.  Stay here and we’ll figure out what to do.  Cyn, the alcohol is in that far right upper cabinet.  Clean him up, would you, and keep pressure on those wounds.  I’ll be back.”

“Be careful,” Flex grunted.  “Please.”

“I will,” I said.  I picked up my Uzi and ran back down the steps, slamming the door behind me.

I cant’ tell you how relieved I was that he wasn’t more seriously hurt. 

Hemp and Charlie had made some headway with the man inside.

“How is he?” asked Charlie when I got to the building.

“Pissed, mostly,” I said.  “In and out.  I think he’s going to be okay, but Hemp will have to see.  He’ll probably know better than me.  Either way he’s okay for now.”

The man spoke again.  “You can come in, but leave those damned gang guns outside.”

“
They’re
not gang guns,” said Hemp, his Briti
sh accent crisp.  “They’re
automatic weapons.”

“I don’t give a shit if they’re pick-up-sticks and dandelions, if you wanna come in my store, you’re gonna leave ‘em out there and come in with your hands up.”

“How bad do we need this stuff, Hemp?” I asked.

“It’ll save hours.  Literally.”

“If we just leave then Flex was shot for nothing,” said Charlie.

“Okay,” I called.  “We’re coming in.  Please don’t shoot us!”

“Do what I said and I won’t.  But you’re gonna plywood that door before you go.”

In a loud whisper, Charlie said, “He fucking shot the door and we have to fix it?”  She looked fit to be tied.

I shook my head and put my Uzi on the ground.  Hemp and Charlie did the same with their weapons and we moved slowly through the broken door.

A man who looked to be in his eighties, at least, sat in an old wood rocker beside the small checkout counter.  In his arms rested an old rifle of unknown manufacture.  From the looks of it, it might have served soldiers in the Civil War.

He wore overalls, long faded beyond any further fading, and his wire rimmed glasses might’ve once been brass, but now just looked brown.  He was bone thin, his hair was sparse and gray, and his hands didn’t shake one iota as he held the rifle on us.

“That’s far enough,” he said, as we made our way about five feet inside.  “What do you want?”

“This may sound silly,” Hemp said.  “But we’re just looking for some sickles.  Something to harvest some low plants.”

“You growin’ marijuana?”

I almost laughed out loud, but I was too pissed to form any semblance of a smile.

“No, sir,” said Hemp.  “We’ve discovered something to kill the . . . the . . . ”

“The fucking zombies,” said Charlie.  “We’ve found a way to kill the zombies and we need to harvest the plants to make some of it.”

“Shootin’ ‘em in the head does it,” said the old man.

“Are you Hank?” I asked.

“Yep.  So what can you kill ‘em with besides a gun?” he asked.

“It’s an oil,” said Hemp.  “It’s an extract from poison ivy, poison oak.   It’s called urushiol.”

Urushol,” he said.  “Sounds Japanese.”

“It’s actually a word derived from the Japanese language,” said Hemp.

I stood there listening to this conversation between this fucking bumpkin and our genius, and I was getting impatient.

“Sir, I have to interrupt, but you shot our friend Flex, and we don’t have a lot of time.  Can you help us?  We need some tools.”

“Now just hold on a minute, missy.  You said he was your husband outside, and just now you said he was your friend.  Which is he?  Who’d I shoot.”

“I can’t believe this!” I said.  “He’s my fucking fiance’.  Does that make anything any different?  If he fucking lives he’s going to be my husband, but I can tell you this mister, we’re trying to survive out there and we’re trying to kill these things before they kill us.  We’ve got two little girls out there, ages seven and eight, and we’re doing everything in our power to make sure they see eight and nine!  So do you mind treating us with just a tiny bit of compassion and just fucking help us for Gods’ sake?”

I was shaking, not from fear, but from anger.

The man slowly lowered his gun, resting the butt on the faded wood floor, holding the barrel in one hand.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

I fought my tears.  I was exhausted.  I just nodded.

“Everyone I know is dead,” the old man said.  “Either because they got killed by them, or because I killed ‘em.  So excuse me if I’m a little out of sorts.”

“We’re all a little out of sorts,” said Hemp.  “We’re sorry for startling you.”

“I’ve got some questions,” he said.  “Then I’ll give you what you need.  I won’t keep you long.”

Hemp nodded.  “Fair enough.”

“Hank?” I said.

“That’s me.”

“Can I get my gun?  I really don’t feel right without it.  If you’d have been where we’ve been you’d understand.”

“I understand good enough,” he said.  “Y’all go get your weapons.  Go check on your fella, your friend, husband, fiancé if you want to.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m here,” said Flex, standing at the door.  Though the day was cold, his shirt was undone, the padding and heavy gauze that Cynthia dressed his wound with visible beneath it.

“How are you, babe?” I asked.

Flex nodded at me with a smile and turned back to the store owner.  “I’m sorry we surprised you, sir,” he said.  “We’re leaving town soon and there are some things we really need to do before we go – for protection.”