Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle (37 page)

Seconds later, everyone was standing at the door looking out at me.  I
had run outside and now stood with my
foot on the pig
’
s shoulder (which I would be calling dibs on soon) and held my Uzi high in the air.

There were no cameras available to record my Kodak moment. 
“You can thank me later,” I said.  “When you’re telling someone whether you want it limp or crispy.”

Flex found a tag on the pig’s
ear
.

“Escapee, I guess,” he said.  “That’s good.  It means she ate the right food.  Sometimes the feral pigs can be kind of gamey.”

“Gamey or not, let’s get that
sucker field dressed and the
meat in that lab fridge and fast,” I said.

“You really should be the one to clean it, babe
,” said Flex.  “
It’s your kill.”

“
I’m not sentimental.
  Clean it, Flexy.”

Flex cleaned the pig and we got it well-wrapped in plastic sheeting from the portable workshop.  It was a good amount of
protein
, and if we could preserve it with enough ice, we’d have fresh meat for days.

Hemp continued processing batch after batch, and by the time we were ready to leave,
only a couple hours of daylight remained
.  The entire process had taken longer than we anticipated, but nobody wanted to let any of the plants go to waste – not if
the oil
was as important as Hemp said – and powerful. 

As we pulled out and prepared to turn left to head back to the steel supply, Flex put a hand on Hemp’s shoulder.

“Hemp,” he said.

“Yes, Flex?”

“I want to go back to
that Winn-Dixie
,” he said.

“Next to Michael’s?” I asked.  “There’s a shitload of zombies there.”

“Yes there are,” said Flex.  “And I want to kill them.”

“They’re locked inside, right?” Charlie said.  “They’re not harming anyone in there are they?”

“It’s wrong to leave any of them moving,” said Flex.  “These things kill us.  At best we’re only 10% of the population, but when you include the dead ones walking around out there, I’m pretty sure it’s more like 6%.  So no, they don’t get a pass with me.  I want them dead.”

“We’ve got daylight left,” said Hemp.  “It will be a good chance
to test our solution
.
 
I can inject a couple of CCs of it into the fire sprinkler system, then we can overcharge it with our compressor and pop the heads.”

“You’re the
engineer
,” said Flex.  “It’s not that far from here, right?”

“
Not at all
.  Have you there in fifteen minutes.”

And so we went on a zombie snuffing mission.

*****

When we pulled into the parking lot of the
Winn-Dixie
, we didn’t see the zombie dad with his zombie son.  But there were four other stragglers shuffling around the parking lot, rummaging around in cars occupied by long-stripped cadavers that offered no sustenance for them any longer.  I wasn’t sure whether bone marrow was a tasty treat for them, but so far I hadn’t seen any of them walking around with anything resembling turkey legs.

I was happy to join Charlie on the side-mounted machine guns, though.  We had to be careful not to let any of our rounds fly into the front glass panes of the grocery store.  There were dozens of the creatures in there, and we wanted them contained.

“Pull straight down that middle aisle, Hemp,” Flex said.  “That’s going to line up a couple
of rotters
on each side.  I’ll tell you when.”

He didn’t have to.  I had them in my sights.  “Girls, put your hands over your ears now.  This is going to be loud.

Flex came behind me and dropped a pair of ear protectors on my head, then slipped a pair over Charlie’s, too.

“Fire away,” he yelled.

And we did. 

“Watch for the shells!” called Charlie.

Behind me I heard Charlie’s gun roar to life, and heard the brass cartridges ricocheting off the interior of the motor home.  As for me, I lined up the first ghoul, a hunched over man who was missing a foot and his pants.

I unintentionally stitched a line of rounds up his spine but adjusted fast and stuck my landing by exploding his head like an overripe watermelon.  His body continued two shuffling steps before tipping in the direction of the missing foot.

The second rotter on my side was, in her previous life, probably a housewife.  I beaded in on her as she turned to look right at the motor home, and it seemed, at me.  I hesitated for only a second, my mind beginning to go where it always seemed to – the thoughts of who this woman used to be in her former life.

Hesitation was dangerous.  I quickly erased my sympathetic thoughts and did what we’d become accustomed to doing.  I blew her head apart with a quick two-round burst of the Daewoo.

She collapsed onto the macadam of the parking lot and I let the gun swing down into his unmanned position.

Cynthia was already sweeping all the brass into a dustpan.

And that was it.  Hemp drove around to the back side of the building and looked for the sprinkler pipe.  It was marked well with a valve above it.   He parked.

“Flex, you in good enough shape to give me a hand?”

Flex nodded.  “Depends.  What do you need?”

“I’m hoping there’s a relief valve at the top of this pipe,” he said.  “The system’s probably lost pressure by now, so if I climb on top of the rig and find what I’m looking for, that’s where I’ll introduce the oil.  While I do that, get the portable compressor out of the rear starboard hatch and get it connected to the 110 volt power.”

With the guys outside, Charlie minded the starboard side gun and I climbed up on top with Suzi.  Hemp raided the toolbox and scurried up the ladder after me.  He’d parked the rig close enough to the building that the port side wasn’t big enough for any abnormals to maneuver.  I watched Hemp with one eye and the driveway in both directions with the other.  No visitors so far.

“Got it!” shouted Hemp, clearly pleased.  He pulled a crescent wrench out of his pocket and began unscrewing a small brass valve.  A small plume of water sprayed out for a moment, then slowed to a drizzle, then stopped.

“Good,” he said.  “System’s still full.  All I need is a quarter inch of air in here, and I can add the oil.”

He waited to make sure the water didn’t surge out again, then removed the small syringe from his shirt pocket.  He put the needle in the hole and quickly pressed in the plunger, emptying it.

“Okay,” he said, screwing the valve back in fast.  “I’ll just be a few minutes, Gem.  Hang tight.”

He went back down the ladder and met Flex at the valve.  The small compressor was on the ground between the rig and the stand pipe.

“Flex, there’s a box of pipe fittings inside the workshop,” said Hemp.  “First drawer on the left in the rear workbench.  Get me a 2” to ¾” bell reducer, female on both ends, would you?”

“Coming up,” Flex said.

Flex got what Hemp needed from the trailer in less than thirty seconds. 

“Okay, undo that quick-disconnect fitting on that compressor hose,” said Hemp.

Flex did it.

“Now thread that ¾” end onto the other end of the hose.  When you’re done, we’ll screw the whole thing on this fitting here.  Once we plug the hose back on the compressor, we’re done.  Ready to blow the system.”

A little Teflon tape and another minute, and it was all set.

“Okay, if you want to watch, and I know I do, get your gun and follow me.  Cynthia and the girls should stay in the motorhome, because we have to leave it here to power the pump.”

“I’ll stay too,” said Charlie.  “Be careful.”

Hemp hesitated.  “You sure, Charlie?”

She nodded, and got out.  I heard her say to Hemp, “I think we leave them alone too much.  I don’t mind.”

“Cynthia,” Hemp called.  “Want to come see how this works?”

Hesitating just a moment, she nodded.  “Sure.”

“Here,” said Charlie, handing her the crossbow.  “Take this.  I hope you don’t need it.”

“Thanks, Charlie.  But I think I’ve got the gun down.  I need more lessons with that I think.”

Charlie handed her one of the MP5s.  “I like a woman who knows her limitations,” she said, smiling.

“Lock it up,” I said.  “I’ve got the walkie on my hip, so if anything goes wrong, just click me.”

Charlie nodded and closed the door.

“Fire that compressor,” said Hemp.  “And run with me.”

We broke into a jog toward the nearest corner of the building.  We could’ve shot one of the exterior access door locks from one of the other small stores, but surprises could await us there.  We didn’t need any of them.  It didn’t take long to round the corner, then come out on the front sidewalk.  Another equal run and we were standing in front of the
Winn-Dixie
store. 

They were still there, milling about the darkened store in their dead stupor.  Each of their eyes, as they looked up at us, had that reddish-pink glow, but so faint without food.  Even so, at the sight of us the glow seemed to increase to become more visible, perhaps only because of the fading sunlight and the shadows within.

And they congregated.  Staring, like reptiles in a terrarium they watched us hungrily, their fingers clawing at the glass that separated us, their nostrils flaring in an effort to smell us, to taste us with any senses available to them in this horrid existence.

“What’s happening?  Is it working?”

“It will take time for the buildup of pressure to stress the system to a breaking point,” said Hemp.  “Because they’re required to be rated identically, the sprinkler heads should all blow at the same time.”

Two more minutes passed.  Hemp looked at me.

“There must have been more drainage in the lines than I initially believed.  Gem, would you radio Charlie?  Ask her if the compressor is still on.”

I clicked on.  “Charlie, do you read?”

“Yep,” came the reply.  “Is it working?”

“I don’t know – or not yet.  Is the compressor on?”

I didn’t have to await her answer, for as she said the word ‘yes,’ all hell broke loose in the store.

Suddenly there was a torrent of water spraying down on the zombies within, and they didn’t like it one bit.  They fell over one another, looking skyward as though they were under assault.  The moans could be heard through the glass, and they began frantically knocking into one another, falling over the shopping carts lined up just on the other side of the window.

“Why isn’t it killing them?” Cynthia said, horrified.  “God, Hemp!”

“As the water flows the oil is disbursing,” he said.  “It might take a few seconds more.”

No sooner had the words left his lips did we see the first results.  One second a male rotter standing no more than two feet away from where we stood looked at the water cascading from the sprinkler lines.  A split-second later, his eyes burst from his skull and red-black-green brain matter and coagulated blood shot from every orifice in his head like gooey confetti from a party popper.

“Jesus!” shouted Cynthia.

One of the zombies made a shambling run directly toward the glass, his eyes oozing greenish fluid.  He slammed into a row of five nested carts, which overturned and
smashed
into the front glass, shattering it into a million cascading fragments.

The store was open and the dying zombies tumbled through the gaping hole.

“Run!” shouted Flex, and we did.  As fast as we could, we spun on our heels and charged toward the parking lot.  I glanced back and saw we didn’t have much to worry about.

The urushiol was working just as Dr. Hemp had told us it would.

A puddle of dark ooze flooded the sidewalk as the zombies fell where they stood, dying in massive numbers.  Their faces seemed to sink in on themselves as the innards that made them look close to human drained from their bodies, converting them into muck and jelly.

We’d all come to a stop now.  Standing there, we watched in amazement as one by one, the creatures collapsed to the ground and became sludge.

I took one look around the parking lot, put my gun on the ground, and walked up to Hemp, whose eyes were still locked on the store.  I grabbed him and hugged him hard.

“Whoa, Gem!  What’s that for?” he said.

I pulled back and kissed him on the mouth.  “Don’t you dare tell Charlie I did that, but I love you, Hemphill Chatsworth.  I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone as much as I love you right now.”

“Now that hurts,” said Flex, smiling.  When I let Hemp go, Flex grabbed him and planted a kiss on his mouth.

“I’ve never kissed a man before, but if there was ever a time, buddy.  This was it.  Thanks, my friend.”

Hemp’s smile was fixed like it was chiseled on a stone statue.  He looked at Cynthia.  “Next,” he said.