Gem flushed.
Then she shit. Not literally, even though the pregnancy had been doing some weird stuff to her lately.
“Girls,” she said. “Serena, Charlie. Grab the guns and get to the car. Serena, just go.”
“Wh– ,” Charlie began to ask, but stopped.
Because it was obvious. In the clear, winter air, the sun shining down on the distant
woods beyond
, figures were emerging from the forest.
Chills ran down Gem’s body, from head to toe.
“Gem,” Charlie whispered. “How many, you think?”
“Hundreds,” she replied. “Or more.”
“Girls, now! In the car!”
Gem shouted.
Gem stood and watched as more and more emerged. Where had they come from? So many of them.
“You too, mommy!” shouted Trina. “C’mon!”
“We can’t kill them all
,” said Charlie.
“
We need to tell Kev. Now.”
“Goes against everything we’ve done so far. Shit! I hate running.”
“Could be ratz among them,” said Serena. “You couldn’t see them from here. Let’s go, guys.” She mounted her bike and pulled her helmet on, firing the engine.
Gem turned, unclipping her radio and pressing the button. As she got into the car, she said, “Kev, if you ca
n hear me, we’ve got a problem.”
*****
Chapter Two
Flex, Hemp and Dave stood stock still.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. In
Concord
, most of the dead, either zombie or human, had been disposed of; Kev and company had firebombed the hospital because it had been so overrun, and in retrospect,
to burn it down
had been a horrible idea. People do dumb things when under insane stress, and the zombie apocalypse qualified
as a major source of tension and confusion
.
All those medical supplies gone, along with the equipment that Hemp could’ve used.
Flex scanned the room.
The few
creatures shuffling around in the
prison
lobby
had noticed
the
men’s
movement when
they
walked
in. The WAT-6 kept them from smelling
their
flesh and tissue
,
but
the zombies
still seemed to
associate
movement with possible food, so that initial moment when they turn
ed
their faces
in your direction
and even
move
d
toward you
could
be nerve-racking.
Hemp had noticed and commented in the past that the creatures, when in a group, constantly turned to glance at one another; even more so when actual food was in the vicinity.
As if to ask themselves,
Which of you is making my mouth water?
But if there was
ultimately
no enticing attraction, they simply went about their endless, shambling ways.
Still, it was wise to be keenly aware of their zombie eyes and direction of movement, just in case despite the WAT-6, their instincts to devour living flesh told them to attack you and consume yours.
Flex, Hemp and Dave
stood still,
their
guns poised to fire, awaiting confirmation that
they were not on the menu today.
With
his Glock in one hand and his noise-suppressed Walther in his other,
Dave said,
“I hate this part
.
It’s
unnerving.”
“You ain’t alone,” said Flex.”
A female guard, fully complemented with side
arm
and badge, a bullet hole in the side of her
cheek and an eye that
dangled from a few dark, dead tendrils
, moved between
Flex
and Dave.
“Easy, sister,”
Flex
said
, his voice low and unwavering
. “Hemp?”
“Yes, sir,” Hemp replied.
“You gonna want this one?”
Hemp turned his head and examined the guard. “No. She’s too damaged.”
“Good,” said Flex.
“Take a step back, Dave, would you?”
“My pleasure.”
Before moving,
Dave
reached down
, unsnapped the guard’s holster
and pulled the gun
out, turning it over in his hand.
“Not bad.
Glock 22.”
“Nice weapon,” said Hemp
.
“They use them because of the easy trigger pull.”
“Hmm,” said Dave. “Try this, Flex?” He held the gun out to Flex.
Flex shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He took the pistol.
Dave took his two steps back.
The guard turned toward Flex
. He calmly
raised the gun, placed it to her forehead, and fired. As he did so, he turned his body away, and
as the explosion echoed off the concrete walls, Flex
felt a spray of something hit his shoulder and side.
Then a
thud, followed by the renewed reek.
Flex coughed and gave the gun back to Dave, who now stared down at the expired guard-zombie as he took it.
“They smell worse and worse as time goes on,” said Flex.
“
Maybe, but the good news is there’s n
o vapor on these,” said Dave.
“There wouldn’t be,” said Hemp. “I imagine they haven’t eaten since these guys were consumed.”
Hemp motioned to the skeletal remains of what had to have been uninfecteds.
“Let’s try to find someplace less disgusting,” said Flex. They have to all be alive in the cells, right?”
“Not necessarily. If they share a cell, one could have turned, the other not. Food for a while, then carcass.”
“Lovely,” said Dave.
“Sooner we have her, the sooner we’re out of here. The men’s prison ought to be interesting,” said Hemp.
A ring of keys hung from a clip on the belt of the guard Flex had just re-killed. He bent down and unsnapped it, throwing it to Hemp.
“You’re a lock guy. Figure out which key to get us into the cell block area.”
“Get handcuffs too, Flex,” said Dave.
“Excellent idea,” said Hemp.
“
And,” Dave added, “
If it’s like most prison mo
vies I’ve watched, i
t’ll be an old, rusty skeleton key.”
Hemp flipped a key out of the thirty or so on
the ring. “Settle for a bright
chrome
,
slotted key?”
“Long as it opens the cells, sure," said Dave. "It's kinda what I had in mind, just newer."
"It's that awkward moment when you're full of shit and everyone knows it," said Flex, laughing.
Dave shrugged, smiling. "Caught."
Flex didn't laugh again for hours.
After some deliberation as to which way to the main cell block, Hemp pulled open the door that appeared most fortified. When it swung open, it was
apparent
they had
chosen correctly.
“Cell block A, B or C?” asked Dave.
“C for Charlie,” said Hemp.
Dave nodded. “I’m
good
with that,”
he said
.
The men moved toward the door marked C Block. The same key opened that door, and as they walked inside,
they all drew back at once.
The stench was putrid. Flex was the first to switch on his headlamp, and Dave and Hemp followed suit.
“What the fuck died in here?” Flex asked.
“Pretty much everything,” said Dave.
An eeri
e sight. Two levels of cells, all on the left side.
Exposed pipes along the ceiling.
Pitch black
, aside from the shine of their headlamp beams
.
The stench was horrific, and moaning could be heard like a constantly changing note, higher, lower, louder and softer.
Flex was sick of it already, but he knew in his heart that he’d be dealing with this crap for rest of his life. There were too many of the creatures, and with no government or military help, it would be up to the survivors to win or lose the battle against them.
He sighed and waved a hand forward. “After you, Mr. Gammon.”
“Yeah, thanks, Flex.”
Dave walked in, his
PPKs
holstered, the AK-47 now in his hands, a long, curved magazine jutting from the bottom. 30 rounds.
“Here, zombie, zombie, zombie.”
They didn’t have to go far. All of the lower cells were occupied.
In this prison, they made the women wear the standard, horizontal-striped prison garb. They were similar to hospital scrubs, but nobody would voluntarily choose this pattern.
Flex led the way deeper into the block. He looked into the cells, still amazed at the effect of the WAT-6. While the zombies inside noticed their movement, they had been starved for so long they had no vapor with which to try to subdue their visitors, and that allowed them the time to stand and observe.
The first woman was unrecognizable as such. Her hair had once been lon
g and blonde, but now lay in wisps and strands – some still connected to chunks of torn-out scalp – around the concrete cell floor. She paced to the bars and stared out at the men, her eyes deader than dead, not even the vaporous glow giving them life.
Raising her arms and clutching at the bars, Flex almost felt like she was aware of them.
Her top had been long torn away. Nothing remained except the tattered bottoms. Her feet were bare, the toenails missing, the feet almost black.
Flex turned to Hemp. “Man, why don’t they just deteriorate and rot into nothing?”
“I don’t think it would help if we knew,” replied Hemp. “I’ve never really gotten into any serious testing
, aside
from
what I did with Jamie, and I was pretty careful with her
.”
“And the two in the steel supply building. Don’t forget them,” said Flex. “I know you didn’t do much besides learn about urushiol from them, but Jesus Christ, that was a great discovery.
”
Urushiol
is
the component in poison ivy that
causes
the terrible, itching rash
on the
epidermis
of
90% of people who
come
in direct contact with it. The oil itself, when extracted and blended so that it
can
be sprayed or misted, also melted zombies where they stood, even in the smallest quantities.
“
I know you’ve put all the equipment together and built it, but y
ou need to get back into
that
lab
, Hemp,” said Dave. “If anyone can figure
this crap
out, you can.”
Flex
turned his gaze back to the female creature in the cell, who stood still, staring straight out. He swore her eyes were boring into his own. He
pulled his gun from his drop holster
and turned to Hemp
. “You don’t want her, do you?”
“No, but wait.”
Flex loved his
K7
, but with the WAT-6 there was no sense in being burdened with a weapon that took two hands. They had come here for zombies, and at least one would need to be herded out of here.
Flex held the gun but didn’t shoot. “
Wait for what
?”
“You want to destroy your eardrums?” Hemp asked. “The acoustics in here aren’t designed for gunshots.”
“Good call,” said Dave. “Just a tin cup dragging across the bars would echo like hell.”
Flex nudged him. “Okay,
so I revise what I said earlier. You watch too many prison movies from
the
1950s
.”
“Laugh if you will,” said Dave, withdrawing
a
gun from his
left leg
drop holster. “But remember
this baby? M
y PPK’s got a silencer. A little souvenir I got when Charlie and I were crashing stores looking for Hemp.”