Dead Hunger IV: Evolution (35 page)

Dave was sure that should she become exposed to this new threat, they would
both
die in this room, for eventually he would have to sleep.

And she would be unable to disobey the
command issued by the female creatures just outside.

Open the door and let us in.

*****

Flex drove his truck, the AK-47 on the roof fully armed with extra magazines on the passenger side floorboard.  Hemp rode shotgun with his H&K MP-5 between his legs, eyes peeled for action.

Several times along the way, they had encountered what they’d begun to call
ratzphalt
.  The name was self-explanatory
to those familiar with the condition
, and Dave Gammon had coined the phrase. 

Ratzphalt
, or
shimmering ratzphalt
,
was a roadway completely covered with Ratz whose feet, and in many cases, legs, had completely dissolved; they had no ability to do anything but
move their heads
back and forth, and the residual urushiol had not yet eaten away enough of them to
terminate
their pseudo-
existence
permanently
. 

The ratz were dark in color and
were
so tightly packed on the streets, that from a distance it looked like the roadway was shimmering, or fluid.  When these areas were discovered
– usually by driving over them, especially at night –
the street sweeper trucks were dispatched to that area to douse the creatures with the final, killing
application
.

Hemp knew the ratz were still a great threat.  Many of them still occupied basements and attics where they were shielded from the urushiol spray, and there were many
alternate
ways to get around Concord, New Hampshire on sidewalks and overgrown lawns that
had not been sprayed.

So far it did not seem the ratz were adapting.  Hemp was relieved that the increase in intelligence he’d observed in the young female human zombies did not cross over to the rodent population.
  Anything in the survivors’ favor w
a
s a gift.

Charlie crossed his mind.  She was home with Gem.  Hemp felt good about that.  The further along in her pregnancy she got, the more he became protective of her.

And while he would have liked to be with her at the moment, H
emp was glad to be free of the lab and the house; it was good for him to get out on the road for the equivalent of busy work.  Killing zombies was
the new world, post-apocalypse
busy work, but this time he had a deeper motive:

The creatures were changing, and he needed to understand how and why.

“Striking out so far,” said Flex.  “I’m starting to wonder if our imaginations ran away with us.”

Hemp
shook his head.  “No, Flex.  Not at all.  The changes
in
them
are
absolutely real, and
they’re more
dangerous.  We need to find where they are hiding, and destroy them where they wait.”

“I say we burn it down and shoot anything with a head that tries to flee.”

“That’s fine, but remember they won’t die quickly.  If they happen to be on fire and move into other buildings, we might find the city of Concord engulfed in flames.”

“Shit,” said Flex.  “Good point.”

“Our fire department is
gone
,
” said Kev from the back seat.  “Back to people with buckets, for the most part
.”

“Kev, where’s the next building?”

The map crinkled in back, and Kev spoke up.  “Two more streets, turn right.  It’s an auction building.”

“What did they auction?” asked Hemp.  It didn’t matter.  Just conversation that one still needed to have in order to maintain some sort of normalcy, even if they were on the hunt for estrogen-charged,
once
pregnant zombies.

“Used cars.  It’s
a
pretty big
building
,” said Kev.
  “I don’t know if they had many cars in there when this crap hit.  Auctions are on the weekend and this hit on a Sunday.  It might have been over.”

The last building on their route had
been empty, but was quite large
and well-secured.  There would have been no way for the creatures to get inside, but
every building
had to be investigated anyway.  Upon
the men’s
departure, they had secured it again.  It was part of the plan; if the building was empty,
it had to be locked tight
so it could not be occupied by anyone
who did not possess a fully functioning
brain.

“This is it, Flex,” said Kev.  “On the left when you turn in.”

“Okay,” said Flex, spinning the wheel.  They’d
run into two
streets
of ratzphalt on the way, and the steering still felt mushy to Flex, as though the bodies had stuck to the tires.  It was more likely his imagination, he knew.

“Park back here, Flex,” said Hemp.  “Don’t get too close.  And cut the engine fast.”

“Why?”
Flex
stopped and
put the truck in park.

“You know from my recent lab experiences that some of them – I’m assuming only the formerly pregnant females – are recovering their auditory capabilities,” said Hemp.  “We need to be as stealth as possible.”

The men got out of Flex’s truck and
Hemp slung his MP5 over his shoulder
. 
Flex did the same with his Daewoo.  Kev had
gone a completely different route, choosing a
n
AR-57 PDW, designed by Rhineland Arms, but recently built in Tacoma, Washington.  The beauty of it was it came
packaged
with four fifty-round magazines, and
the weapon
decimated zombies like no tomorrow.

Hemp actually considered switching from his H&K when he
first saw Kev fire it. 
All in good time.  There were plenty of weapons to consider, and
unfortunately,
there would be a need for them for a good, long time.

“Everyone ready?” asked Flex.

The men scanned the area around the building and answered in the affirmative. 

“Close the doors quietly,” said Hemp. 

“Just
leave ‘em open then,” said Flex
.  “If they didn’t  hear the engine, then
we don’t need to chance losing our edge
.”

Hemp wondered what edge they actually had.  Everything depended on how fast the women were changing, and how fast he was able to discover all the changes taking place.

Surprises were not good.

“Keep the radio with us, Kev,” said Hemp.  “But turn the volume all the way down.  We don’t need that giving us away.”

“Okay, let’s go,” said Flex.  “All this shit and we don’t even know if anyone’s inside.”

The men approached the building.  It was metal, with three bay doors on the broad side of it, and two small entry doors.

The men walked around the building, listening.  No shuffling, moaning or other sounds met their ears, and they rounded the far corner. 
Basulto Auctions
was painted in broad, blue and red box letters on the side of the end wall. 

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Flex led as they moved along the wall, with Hemp in the middle and Kev bringing up the rear.  Flex stopped, looking down.

He turned to Hemp and Kev and pointed
to the ground
.

Hemp removed his gun and placed it carefully on the concrete beside the object to which Flex had pointed.

It was a
right
hand, and appeared to belong to that of a woman or girl.  It had
likely fallen off its former owner and had
landed palm down
.  It
was
severely
rotted
with
the
five fingers intact, but
missing all but one of the fingernails.  The one remaining
nail
was
on the thumb, and was
badly chipped and scraped, but clearly painted red.

Hemp
removed a pen from his shirt pocket and used it to flip the hand over.  The palm was badly scraped, but there was no sign of blood having leaked from the fairly deep wounds.

The body part
had come from one of the walking dead, having been largely deteriorated before severing.

Hemp looked up at Kev and Flex.  “I imagine the owner is inside this building.  It’s important that we do what we can to avoid being observed.”

They nodded and Hemp stood.  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a baggie.  From it, he took three WAT-6 wafers.  “We only have an hour left, give or take.  I don’t want to take any chances.  Here.”

The men took their wafers and ate them.  Hemp did the same.  Should they run out of protection inside the building, the enhanced abilities of the creatures within might allow instant detection of their presence.  The ensuing attack could be different than anything they had previously experienced.

They were essentially a new breed, these hiders.

Having swallowed their medicine, Hemp retrieved his weapon from the ground, took the lead and waved the men behind him.

Just around the next corner,
a door stood ajar.  H
emp held his hand up and crouched down low, peering through the crack, into the dim interior.

The odor within assaulted his senses.  It smelled like
rotted
flesh
, morgues and morgues full of it
.

At first he saw nothing.  He
waited a few seconds while his eyes adjusted to the diminished light and
scanned the room
.  It
looked empty.  There was a low wall, approximately three feet high, separating the outside edges of the building from the center area where the auction cars would be parked.  Hemp could see a few of the tops of the cars – there were only four
visible
– and not much else. 

Hemp almost stood u
p, but thought better.  Instead
he got on
his hands and knees
,
pulling
the door open wide enough so they could all crawl in
side,
single file
.

“Stay down,” he whispered.  “Smells ripe.”

Kev and Flex nodded.

I
f you imagine
a hockey rink, the
low
wall was approximately in the same configuration as the boards, minus the glass that sat on top to prevent players and pucks alike from flying
over and out
of
the playing
area
.  Hemp
again
turned and held his finger to his lips, then motioned toward his gun. 
He hoped the
message was clear:

For Christ’s sake, keep quiet and d
on’t let your gun
knock into anything.

He cr
awled as silently as he could.  Hemp reached an opening in the wall and peered around the corner.

A bright red mist coated the floor.  It had to be twelve to eighteen inches deep.  Hemp saw no creatures, and the reason why was implausible.

But it had to be true.

The
creatures
lay on the floor beneath the crimson mist
that they themselves produced
.

*****

Chapter Eleven

Gem’s eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping.  Slider and Bunsen were nestled against her and Charlie, who lay on the other side.  They had just finished watching a newer Disney movie with the girls on the portable DVD player, and for the life of her, Gem could not remember the title.

Now the girls were napping, and Gem was waiting for Flex’s voice to interrupt the silence that seemed to encapsulate the house.  She lay on her back, her hands on her tummy, occasionally smiling at the feeling of the child inside of her stretching, playing soccer, boxing, or whatever the hell it was doing in there.

“You awake?” said Charlie.

“Hell yes.  This shit drives me crazy.”

“Me, too,” said Charlie.  “I feel better that Flex and Hemp are together, but where the hell are Dave and Lisa?”