

### Book 1 of the Dead Hunger Series

## Dead Hunger:

## The Flex Sheridan Chronicle

## By Eric A. Shelman

### Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle

By Eric A. Shelman

Published by Eric A. Shelman at Smashwords

Copyright 2010

Dolphin Moon Publishing

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters contained herein are fictional, and all similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

ISBN 9781466045866

## Prologue

Jamie Leighton. Redhead, 5'8" tall. Fair skin, slight build. Pretty green eyes, and long fingers.

Anything – no, everything – but ordinary. But to the casual observer, there was nothing extraordinary about her. Most of the time she was Baby to her husband Jack, Mom to her two girls, Jesse, 8, and Trina, 6, and she was just beautiful to me. I miss her.

When she first turned, the aftermath was terrifying. I swore I'd help her if it was the last thing I ever did. Turns out it wasn't the last thing or the first thing or any goddamned thing, because there was and is a shitload of stuff to do and it never seems to get to be a smaller shitload.

I'm Flex Sheridan. Jamie used to share my last name with me. My baby sister.

I'll tell you how this started. The process will introduce you to me and my friends, but your guess will be as good as mine as to what comes next for us in this bizarre new world. Any other time I'd sound crazy as shit, but if you're reading this, then you know I'm not.

The dead have risen. Either that or they never quite made it into the ground, but either way I'll tell you this: They're out there and they are hungry. And getting hungrier every day. They are persistent. And they have more ingenuity and instinct than I'd have ever given them credit for in the beginning.

And they have some abilities that concern us greatly.

I'd started using the term abnormals to describe them because Jamie's one of them. As much as I knew they were similar to – fuck that, they were zombies and there's no way to get around it – I couldn't bear calling them that name. It seemed to be disrespectful to my sister. Hemp and Gem humored me in that respect initially, but we all eventually gave up the ruse. Zombies they were, and zombies they would ever be until intense brain trauma.

But even in the beginning, in the heat of a good fight, we all slipped the Z word occasionally. I sure as hell didn't treat any of these zombies with any semblance of the kindness that I gave my sister. Not even close. And my sister was so not my sister anymore.

I've been reluctant to use the word zombie, because I don't want to give this recount of our experiences anything like a comic feel. There's nothing funny about it, and again – if you're alive to read this, then you know that already. There is not much laughing going on these days.

Nowadays the only person who can make me laugh is Gem. Gemina Cardoza is her full name, but she hates it. Says her name sounds like a syrup spokesperson. So she goes by Gem, which is fine by me, because she is my precious gem, that's for sure.

She's out rounding up supplies with Charlie right now. You might wonder, in a world where zombie-like creatures are wandering the earth, why I'd let her go with someone else besides me. That's because you don't know Gem, and you don't know Charlie. If you did, you wouldn't wonder. I'm wearing the other half of our two-ways, and if they get in any trouble, I'll get a double-tap on the talk button. That means they've run into some of them. If I get a triple tap next, that means they've dispatched them by bullet or arrow, and we're back to cool.

But if I get a single tap first, or after the double tap, that means COME NOW WE'RE FUCKED and that means no time for punctuation or mixed case letters.

We carry automatic weapons and other fun toys, and we've got pretty good experience using them. Heck, we're even teaching the six-year-old how to handle a gun, and surprisingly, she's coming along pretty well. Nonetheless, none of us have gotten killed or wounded yet, and we're skilled enough that we don't waste a lot of ammo.

Fuck if I didn't knock on some wood after I wrote that just now.

If I hear a single tap on that walkie, or even think I heard one, then as many of us as are left at the base head out fast. We have an itinerary. I know where they're going. We have flare guns, too. I know where to look and when I see the flare, I head for it. Our vehicles are fortified and fast, and we make good time. We're always heavily armed when we're out in the wild world.

We got each other's backs. In this world, you need a partner or you're dead. Gem is mine. And I'm hers.

And now we have little Trina and of course Bunsen and her brood. But that'll come later. That part should be told a little at a time.

Hemphill Chatsworth is one of us, part of our posse, if you will. He goes by Hemp and he's British. That doesn't mean anything to you or me, but I'm telling you to explain his name. He's definitely not southern born.

Hemp's 32 years old and he's a scientist. He's got two degrees that have come in very handy since the plague, or whatever you want to call it, came along. He's got a Biology degree with a major in Epidemiology. He couldn't have gotten that shit more perfect except that he also got his Engineering degree. Mechanical engineering. So not only did the son-of-a-bitch want to know how the human body worked, he wanted to know how machines worked and how to design them. His mind works in images. We talk about something we need – in particular, something to wipe out large numbers of zombies at once, and he visualizes it; creates it in his mind. We've yet to build any of them, but Gem, our resident artist, has laid out some sketches of his equipment, and I know they'll be effective. These raw blueprints are structured in his mind's eye, and Gem's hands help make them a buildable reality.

With Hemp's two degrees, clearly his parents had too much money, but now he's ours; mine and Gem's, and nobody better ever try to take him away from us.

And it's only recently that we met. But if he tries to leave, we'll either follow him or kill him. Okay, I'm kidding there. Killing him would do no good, but that's how strongly we feel about Hemp. We've got a good partnership, though, and if he needs something, Gem and I are going to do our damndest to get it for him. Either way, he's not going anywhere without us. The guy is a genius, and we can use a good genius for like – forever.

Go ahead. Picture him. You'll be wrong. The guy looks just like a So-Cal surfer. He's around 5'10", sandy blonde hair, muscular. His father was half Irish and half Indian, so he has dark skin, but his mother was a petite blonde, so he's got that towhead thing going on. And he got his mom's blue eyes. So far he's borderline single, but it looks like that's about to change. The right woman for a guy is definitely harder to come by these days, but Gem and I are thinking that's worked itself out.

Yep. Charlie's a girl. I think I'd like to tell that part of the story in order, too. But suffice it to say she loves her heavy metal rock, she is proficient with a crossbow, and we're pretty sure that Hemp digs her. And besides that, Gem and I are convinced that her apprenticeship with Hemp in the lab isn't solely because she has a fascination with science.

Wow. All that shit happened in less than four days. Unbelievable.

So you'll meet Charlie later. But with or without a woman, Hemp has his lab, and it really is his world. Like a kid at Disneyland, he has to force himself to leave it, or be dragged out.

No radio taps from Gem or Charlie so far, and that's good. If they double tap me, I won't be good for shit until the triple comes. In fact, I'm already about to jump out of my skin and into my truck.

So while Gem and Charlie are out hunting-gathering, Hemp's in the mobile lab, and I'm working on this, you ought to get to know me. I'm writing this down, and I'm trying to include all the words exchanged between us along the way so you can see how we dealt with things. This was all new, so we had nothing at all upon which to base how we should react to anything that happened.

Now, we've got lots to do, so there's not a ton of time for me to get into the beginning of this – well, my beginning. Everyone's is different. Equally horrible, I'm sure – I don't have any copyright on that shit – but different.

With a name like Flex, people remember me. But just because of the name. Physically, I'm nothing too oddball. Six feet tall, medium build. 45 years old. I got a square jaw and a goatee, green eyes. I keep my hair trimmed short because Gem or I do the cutting and it's easier. Overall, I'm your generic American male.

Jamie was born about six years after me. She'll be thirty-nine on her next birthday, but one way or the other, I'm pretty sure she won't be celebrating it.

Right now I'm in Georgia, back home. And since it's July, it's hot. But just over three days ago, when I first found out that Jamie needed my help, I jammed to Florida. And since I can only tell this part of the story from my perspective, then that's what you're gonna hear. Brace yourself.

It's fucked up.

CHAPTER ONE

Flex Sheridan's Chronicle

Late June, 2011

"Hey, Flex," her voice said, recognizing my number on her cell phone. She sounded tired.

"Afternoon, beautiful. How are my girls? I was thinking about heading down to see you guys. It's been six months."

Jamie sighed. "I'm not sure now's a good time, Flex. Jack and the girls are fine, but I have a headache. A doozie." She sounded more distracted than disappointed.

"That sucks," I said. "Migraine?"

There was a pause on the line. "Yes and no . . . not really. Not the normal one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how . . . fuck! Fuck!"

"Jamie, what's wrong?" She never cussed, and two fucks in a row was unheard of. There was more silence.

"Jamie?"

"I'm here," her voice came, weaker. "I didn't have the prisms, you know? How I always see prisms in my peripheral vision before one of these comes on? I felt restless, not able to sleep, but having dreams while I was wide awake, like fantasies of . . . of . . . I hate to even say it, but, like cannibalism. Scared the heck out of me, Flex. I don't . . . " She trailed off again.

I waited, but had to prompt her.

"Like what? Nightmares?" I asked.

"I don't know. Not like normal nightmares. These were like flashes. Pictures. Images. Just brief, terrible . . . Fuck! Hold on."

"Jamie, are you okay? You should be in bed!"

The line was still live, but she said nothing. I heard her breathing, raspy, short.

"Flex?" She was back.

"I'm here, Jamie."

"I'm not right," she said, sounding distracted. "I'm so fucking hungry. I'm ravenous, Flex. Like I'm starving!"

"And you're dropping the F-bomb more than I've ever heard you. What's that about?"

"If you knew, Flex. If you knew how this felt! The dreams were terrible, dark visions of . . . I don't know. Hell, maybe. Darkness. Evil. I felt it. I woke up soaked, and the covers were wrapped around me like I was spinning in my bed. Jack said he tried to wake me, but I just kept mumbling and thrashing."

"Jamie, I want you to get to bed. I'm coming over. Right now I'm in Atlanta, so it'll take me about 5 hours to get to Gainesville from here."

"Flex, you don't have to come. I'll . . . I'll . . . FUCK!"

The phone dropped. I heard screaming. First it was the terrible sound of Jamie screaming. Next I heard what sounded like a door slamming against a wall.

My fingers gripped the phone like a vice. Then I heard Jack's voice in the room, calling for Jamie. I heard some bumping sounds, and then his voice, louder, into the mouthpiece.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Jack! It's me, Flex. What's happened to Jamie? She was telling me about her headache, some dreams she had last night, and then she just screamed. Where is she?"

Jack's breathing was panicked. "I heard it from my desk in the bedroom, and ran in here. The phone was on the floor, and the door's wide open. She doesn't do that because of the swimming pool and the girls. Flex, hold on. Let me check on Jesse and Trina."

I held the phone for what seemed to be ten minutes, though it could not have been more than one. His voice finally came back on the line.

"They're fine. In their room. Flex, I have to go. I have –"

There was a loud noise. Crashing. Crunching. A splintering of wood. My fingers – hell, my whole hand was white from the grip I had on my cell. The words I heard right before the line went dead sent an icy chill from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

"Jamie! No! What are you – Jamie!" It was Jack's voice.

Then just four words from my sister.

"I'm so fucking hungry –" and a loud, wet sound, followed by a deafening thump as the phone apparently hit the floor.

I held onto the phone and listened. I screamed for Jamie, pleading for someone to pick up the dropped cell, but it sounded muffled, as though something were on top of it, blocking the receiver.

And I'm thankful. The sound I heard next was like the one just before the thump, but almost more final – a dull, wet impact. Then squishing-slurping sounds. Throaty groans, seemingly of some kind of pleasure.

I didn't know what it meant then. I sure do now.

I held onto the phone for a good ten minutes, listening in horror before I heard a sound that rocked me nearly off my feet.

Jesse and Trina screaming. Ear piercing shrieks. A reaction of horror, pure and unadulterated.

I flipped the phone shut, jammed it into my pocket and bolted out of my house and into my Chevy. I fired it up and sent rocks spinning as I headed for the main road. I hit the I85 south in ten minutes and looked at my watch. It was 4:00 PM. My tears didn't start to fall until the interstate changed to I75 and I pushed it up to 95 miles an hour.

I did not bother to dial the house again. The minutes passed like hours.

*****

It wasn't possible to keep up the speed all the way. I had to stop for gas twice. The old Suburban wasn't built for efficiency, and fuel prices sucked ass.

I crossed the state line around 7:30. It was still light out because of Daylight Savings Time, and probably would be until just before 9:00 at night. Good. I wanted light, and lots of it.

Writing this, I'm really thinking back on that day – one of the blackest days of my life – and I realize that on the road to Gainesville, some shit should have caught my attention that just didn't.

There were fewer cars on the road, but there were more accidents than usual. Bad ones. Had it been an ordinary day there were probably six or seven times I would've pulled over to either help or see if everyone was okay, but that particular day I had my own problems, and I was distracted. I'm sure I missed a lot of what was happening along the way.

When I think back to that drive, I remember seeing at least three cars completely flipped over, sitting on the shoulder or smack in the middle of I75 on their roofs. I must have been in some kind of shock not to really wonder about it. All that aside, there were other signs.

Thanks to the self-service credit card readers at gas pumps and quarter-operated air pumps for the tires, you never even have to speak to the attendants at most gas stations. So I should have found it odd that the attendant began staggering out of his little room toward me as I was getting back in the Suburban, but it barely registered at the time. I knew I'd paid up, finished my fueling, and didn't give him a second thought. I looked at him, threw him a quick wave, but I didn't see him Not really. He was probably only two feet behind my truck when I hit the gas.

And now that I think back, there was something wrong with him. His jerky movements, the strangeness of his eyes. His purposeful intent as he approached me. His eyes weren't really . . . what's the word?

They weren't there.

In retrospect – fucking hindsight again – I'm damned lucky. I was carrying only a 5-shot Smith & Wesson .38 Special at the time, and while it would have been plenty of firepower, there'd have been no reason to think I needed it until it was too late.

They say the lightning strike most likely to kill somebody is the first lightning strike of the storm. That's because it's when people least expect it. For me, the zombie at the gas station was the first lightning strike. And I was just lucky enough to be out of its reach.

No sense in looking back. But what I'm saying is the signs were there. It had begun and I had no clue. I told Jamie I was in Atlanta – well, that's not entirely correct. I'm outside of Atlanta, in an area called Lula. It's unincorporated, sparsely populated, and only about 20 minutes outside of civilization. But for that 20 minutes of driving, there's nothing. So where I live feels pretty isolated.

And these days I tend to like it that way.

You should know that at this point I hadn't reconnected with Gem yet. I was on my own, having had my way with a number of women through the years, and lots of them having had their way with me. In fact, it seems women had just plain had it with me.

Not that I was a bad guy. I never slept with a woman I didn't believe I cared for at the time. How long that went on depended a lot on them. I wasn't attracted to the completely dependent type with no interests other than me, the kind that sat around and waited for me to decide what to do, and I didn't like the ones that seemed not to really care if I was there or not. I was seeking a balance; a woman who had her own life and interests, had an interest in mine, but who didn't hang everything on my plans, and who didn't hang on my every word.

That was Gem. She was the best fit I'd ever had. Beautiful and tough. Comfortable and easy. No guilt, no pressure, but great sex. And when I had something for work that I needed to do, she was genuinely interested.

Hell, I was only an electrician, but if I had a circuit layout to design, she'd sit there and drink coffee and just watch me lay it out as though what I did was art, a creation. In a way, I guess it was, but not like her stuff. She was a true artist. Paint and clay ran through her veins.

She'd always been an artist and illustrator, but the latter was more for architectural design, and it bored the shit out of her. It was a way to make money when her art wasn't moving in the local galleries, but there was too much structure and no freedom of expression. I could always tell when she was working on building illustrations; she was grouchy and cussed a lot. She'd put down her weed for coffee and the edginess showed. But even her architectural drawings were amazing to me; the perspective, the shading. No bullshit. She was and is pure artistry, and I got into watching her do her thing. When she got into her own creations, whether with paint, clay, copper or paper, she blew my mind. The woman could make a shit statue that blew my mind, for Christ's sake. As for her mind, it functioned in this world, but also in an alternate world; we'll call it the abstract world. She saw things differently. Nothing sequential about her – she had her own approach, is about the only way I can explain it. She shifted the order to suit her brain and made it work even better out of order.

A genius in her own right. And I lost her. I didn't even realize how important she was to me until I did. I guess I'll explain that later. Back to the problem of the day. Shit. The problem of the rest of time, unless something drastic changes. The Zombie problem. There. I used the word, and if you laugh, then it's years later and the problem is just a footnote in history.

And you have no fucking idea how insane it really was.

*****

I pulled up to 45 Randall Street in Gainesville at 8:42. Light was fading with the fast dropping sun, now a glow on the horizon. I'd wanted to get there earlier, but I was there now, and that was all that mattered. I threw the transmission into park when I slid to a stop ten feet from the door.

The screen door was closed, but the front door remained open. There was something splattered on the screen and I ignored it as I had all the bad signs along the way.

"Jamie!" I yelled, slamming the door of the truck as I sprinted toward the house. I looked around. Her house was isolated from the neighbors by virtue of her acre lot and a heavy growth of trees all around. The single streetlight on the gravel road just at the entrance of her driveway was just flickering into life as the sun dropped completely. No lights were on in the house, but I could still see okay; the sky still glowed a light blue, but would soon fade to a moonless black.

I felt the .38 in the back of my pants, but I didn't pull it out. It was Jamie and Jack's house, for God's sake. I'd never need it here. I approached the front porch and jumped the steps, landing outside the door. I grabbed the screen door handle and my hand immediately became wet with something cold, slick.

I pulled back suddenly, and rubbed my fingers together. The wetness felt familiar. It was dark inside now, and I couldn't see through the netting of the screen, so I wiped my hand on my jeans and pulled the door open. As I took two steps into the room my hand fell on the light switch, and I flipped it to the 'on' position.

And suddenly my feet were slipping like a goddamned cartoon coyote, as I tried fruitlessly to backpedal. The blood drained from my face, and I felt pale and weak. My left boot abruptly gripped the rough floorboards and I was propelled backward through the door and onto my back, sliding all the way down the two steps into the dirt. I heard screaming, then realized it was me.

I scrambled back to my feet and ran to the truck where I grabbed my cell phone off the dash. I opened it and punched in 911.

It rang several times before the familiar tone sounded, followed by a voice that said, "All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later."

I threw it back inside my truck and slammed the door. My hand moved to rub the pain where the .38 had jammed into my back when I fell. I removed the gun, and though I knew it was loaded, I flipped it open and checked anyway. With 911 down and out, I was on my own.

My right hand shook as I aimed the revolver toward the light filtering through the blood-spattered screen door. I willed myself to go back inside. I didn't want to. I wanted to go back in there as much as I wanted to sit down in a sadistic dentist's chair and have a root canal without anesthesia, but I didn't have any choice.

I pulled the door open again, felt the wetness, this time all too aware what it really was. It was everywhere. Blood. Jack's blood. Who else's? Jesse's? Trina's? Where the hell was Jamie, and who did this?

Moving along the wall, I looked down and took in the scene. Jack's body lay sprawled on the floor, his shirt torn open. His chest had been splayed open, and it was fairly easy to tell what the weapon was, because it was still embedded in his abdomen. The small hand axe's wooden handle had smeared, bloody handprints on it. What appeared to be small handprints. Not a child's kind of small.

A woman's. Jamie's kind of small.

But it was not the axe in his stomach, nor the gaping hole that should have revealed Jack's heart but didn't – now it was just an empty pocket – that drew my attention. It was his head. A serrated steak knife lay beside it, and the dome shaped chunk of the top of Jack's skull lay just behind the body. It had been sawed off with the knife.

I turned and puked into the sink in the counter behind me. I puked my guts and kept puking until nothing else came out. Then I dry heaved a few times just for good measure. There was nothing left.

I had to see what the prize was. Why cut open his head? Why cut open his chest? I could see the heart was gone – it was just a dark hole. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and slid along the wall back toward the door and bent down, my gun aimed down the dark hallway just in case.

"Holy hell," I said. "Holy fucking hell." His head was empty. The brain was gone. I'm no doctor, and I didn't have to be to know what I was seeing was the nub of the brain stem.

What had Jack done? Had he gotten mixed up in some gambling shit? Borrowed money from the wrong people? He fucking delivered coffee or something! He was about the most benign guy I'd ever met. Who would want to kill him, and where the hell were Jamie and the girls?

I strained to focus, trying to get my heart to stop slamming so hard in my chest. It was still about 80 times faster than normal, but the gun in my hand calmed me a little, and allowed me to take in the rest of the scene.

There were footprints. They looked like women's shoes. Flats. About Jamie's size. Tracking through the blood. There were what appeared to be knee prints, too. And hand prints. I didn't know what to think. Had Jamie come in and found him like this and dropped to her knees beside him? I refused to think about what I'd heard Jamie's voice say on the phone nearly 6 hours ago now.

I'm so fucking hungry . . .

I needed to find the girls. I backed away from the horror scene splayed out in the entry and moved into the hallway, gun held out. I flipped on the light and the yellow glow washed down the hallway and bathed the living room, chasing away the shadows. Both were empty. I wanted to call the girls, but the last thing I wanted them to do was to run into that room and see what I'd seen.

But they already had, hadn't they? I'd heard them screaming over the phone line.

"Jamie! Jesse! Trina!" I called. "It's Uncle Flex! Don't be afraid. Come on out here if you hear me. I'll get you out of here!"

Nothing.

I moved down the hallway. There were two bedrooms down there. One just up on the left side. Directly across from that entry there were two double bi-fold doors where the laundry room was. Not much room in there. Washer. Dryer. A large sink. Down at the end there was a door outside, a bathroom on the left, and the other bedroom on the right side. That was the master bedroom.

As I approached the first bedroom door, I heard a low thump. I stopped. There was no wall switch in this room. There was a lamp plugged into an outlet. I'd stayed in this room a lot because while it was the girls' room, when I'd visit, the girls would share a bed and I'd sleep in the other twin sized setup, my feet hanging off the end of the tiny mattress. The lamp was right between the two beds, but the darkness was complete, and I didn't want to stumble around, giving up my present location to whoever had done this thing.

And I didn't bring a damned flashlight.

"Jesse?" I whispered. If she was here, and she was hiding, I didn't want to frighten her anymore than she already was. "Trina? It's Uncle Flex. If you're in here, come to me now. I'm right by the door."

Something slammed into my legs and I felt it closing around me. I almost staggered back, but caught myself on the doorframe with my free hand. I recognized the feel of little arms around my upper legs.

"Uncle Flex," came the tiny voice. "Mommy's . . . scaring me."

I knelt down and pulled little Trina into my arms. "Shh, baby. I got you now. Is your sister in here with you?"

Her body shuddered in my grip and I pulled her tighter to me. I felt her shaking her head no. "Mommy took her. Mommy's real sick." She wouldn't speak above an airy whisper.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart. I'm taking you outside."

She pressed her face into my shoulder as I scooped her into my arms and stood, backing out of the room and into the hallway again. I hurried down the hall toward the door, holding her tight to me with one hand, and the gun barrel leading the way like an arrowhead. As I got into the entry where Jack's body lay sprawled and exposed, she sensed it. Trina pressed her face tighter into me. I pushed open the screen door and walked directly to the Suburban. I looked in all directions. If Jamie somehow did do this, it was her I looked for. In my mind it was still impossible. A maniac had done this; had broken in, killed Jack, and taken Jamie and Jesse while Trina hid. The 6-year old was just confused and frightened.

But I had seen the handprints. The footprints. There was something really fucked up and inexplicable going on. I pulled open the truck's door and deposited Trina gently inside. She held onto my arms as I tried to let her go.

"Baby, I have to find your sister and mama, so you stay –"

"Don't find mama don't find mama don't find mama," she stammered, hyperventilating, her body shaking.

"Okay, Trina. Okay. If I find her, I won't bring her here, but I think she's sick, honey."

Trina, her hair over her face and her eyes wide, said "She took Jess. She's gonna eat Jess. She was eating daddy." Then she erupted into tears.

I stared at her. I didn't know what to say to her. What she had just said was my greatest fear, and what my crazy, freaked out brain was thinking since I'd seen the horrifying scene in the entry and connected that with what I'd heard on the phone, but I wasn't in that mindset then. I was not programmed to believe that human beings – human beings in my family that I loved – could be out there killing other human beings that I loved and . . . and eating them.

"Stay here," I told her. And when I close the door, I want you to lock it and lay down on the floor over there. And stay down. Understand?"

She nodded. I kissed her little cheek, rubbed the back of her head with my hand, and pulled away. "On the floor now." She obeyed, and I pushed down the lock and closed the door until I heard it latch.

Then I headed out into the moonless night, looking for my sister and my niece. And not really wanting to find them.

CHAPTER TWO

I walked away from the Suburban, turning back once more to make sure Trina had her head down. No sign of her. Good.

No calling out to anyone this time. As quiet as I could be. I needed my heart and my brain, and even more than that, Trina needed me to keep them, so stealth was my new modus operandi.

I planned to go back inside the house where I would have light. I'd not yet completed my search there, and before I considered going into the back yard, I would be bathing that area in the light from the back porch – and the switch was only accessible from inside.

Holding the Smith & Wesson out in front of me, I used one finger to hook around the slimy screen door handle. I didn't want any more of that blood on me. I'd already touched enough and seen enough. I had no idea how much more I'd see as the next days passed.

I eased the door open. Everything inside was as it had been. With a last glance toward my truck, I went inside and guided the door closed quietly behind me. I moved back down the hall and stopped by the kitchen.

A flashlight. Who didn't have one in the junk drawer? I went in and opened it. Sure, I knew which one it was – I'd been here a thousand times – and as soon as I opened the drawer I saw the four inch LED light with the rubber power button. I pushed it, and that sucker lit up like a tiny football stadium.

I smiled then. I was proud of myself. I have no idea when the next time I smiled was. I might have done it for Trina – to make her feel like everything was okay, but it wasn't real. I may have done it for Gem, when I saw her again – no maybe about it; I did smile when I saw Gem again, but that's for later.

The hallway was foreboding, and I didn't get why. I knew there were still unexplored places down there, but it was so out of place for me to feel anything but comfort and a desire for a beer in this home. All I'd ever experienced before this night was love in this place. Now I could add terror and relief to that list. But right now I was back to the terror part. I was an electrician, and the worst thing I usually run into is the odd spider or rat.

I stopped across from the laundry room and stared for a moment at the closed bi-fold doors. The hall light was still burning, so I didn't need my flashlight yet. I pulled open one of the doors, and in the silence of the house, it squealed like a 16 penny nail being dragged over a chalkboard.

Then I saw the dress. It was hanging out of the closed washer lid. I'd seen the dress before. I'd seen Jesse wearing it. My breath caught in my throat, and I transferred my gun to my left hand and pointed it down toward the end of the empty hallway where the door to the back patio was, just to make sure I was ready in case someone – or something – appeared there.

I turned my eyes back to the washer. The closed lid. Jesse's dress. It no longer looked like a washer, but like a coffin. A crypt. Then I snapped, realizing I had to take action and shake off the bullshit fear I was experiencing. One more glance down the hall.

Empty. Back to the washer. I pulled that lid up as fast as I could. The washer was turned off, but the tub was filled with dirty water. Rust colored. The dress was white with red polka dots, so it could have been the color running into the water, but my heart pounded out the words in my ears: It's Jesse in there.

My jaw was sore from clenching my teeth together, and my gun hand was shaking. I tugged firmly on that dress, sure I'd feel the resistance of a little girl's dead body weighing it down. But it slid out easily and fell to the floor.

An involuntary sigh of relief left my body. Back to relief. Thank God. It was so much better than the terror part. The dress was not on Jesse. The dress was just a dress, and I didn't care how it got like that. I moved away from the utility room and further down the hall. I pulled the mini flashlight out of my pocket and shined it into the bathroom on the left at the end of the hall. Nothing in there. No closets big enough to hide in, so I pushed the door back to make sure nothing – okay, nobody – hid behind it, and then pulled it softly closed. I shined the light toward the master bedroom and saw nothing. As I went to reach inside to hit the light switch, I heard a sound, like a metallic reverberation and a thud. My hand froze.

It sounded kind of random, like it was being made by a something, not a someone. I discovered I was holding my breath again, and my sore jaw reminded me not to clench my teeth so tightly. I checked behind me again, down the hall, looked at the bathroom door. I reached over and tried to turn the knob to the patio door. It was locked. Everything was as it had been just a moment ago, which really shouldn't have surprised or relieved me, but it did both. I felt with my fingers along the wall of the bedroom, found and flipped the light switch up, and the room came into view. Nobody lay in wait. The metallic banging sound persisted.

Then I looked down and saw them. How could I have missed them? The bloody footprints that led into the bedroom did not appear until they stained this carpeting. The carpeting in the hallway had been a deep brown, and the blood, having dried to a darker color, was not readily visible. But as I looked back behind me, I saw not only the blood on the floor, but the blood on the walls. How could I have missed it? My heart pounded in my chest suddenly, and I could hear it in my ears. It drowned out every other sound and I gripped the revolver with both hands, swinging it to all corners of the room, my eyes falling toward the floor as I stepped after the bloody footprints. They led to the window.

It was open. The sheer curtains were blowing into the room, and the half-open aluminum mini blinds were banging against the wall. The bloody handprints were all around the window, on the sheers, and on the sill. I saw a footprint on the sill and I guessed what had happened.

Trina had slipped into her bedroom closet, or under a bed while running from her mother. Jesse had run into the back room and was trapped when her mother, covered in blood and God knew what kind of gore, came in behind her. Jesse opened the window and scrambled through it, and she had been pursued by something that was no longer her mother, but something . . . something hungry. Something with a hunger that apparently could not be satisfied.

I wanted to turn on the light, but there was no time. If there was any chance – any chance at all that Jesse was alive – that Jamie was not responsible for this and that she was alive, I had to find them. I had wasted enough time.

I pulled the flashlight and pushed the button, lighting the 10 mini LED lights. I stepped through the window and onto the back patio. The hall door would have taken me out to the same area, but I wanted the benefit of following the bloody footprints directly. I didn't want to have to pick up the trail again.

I shone the light down. They were fading now, but every now and then there was a dark chunk of something on the concrete pool deck, and the trail led toward the dark water of the pool. And then away.

When Jack and Jamie had been discussing putting in a pool, she'd mentioned considering a black-bottomed pool. I'd heard that wasn't the best idea, because chlorine would fade it in time, but she did it anyway. What it served to do was to make the pool appear as black and murky as a pond when the moon was non-existent. But I could see the bloody footprints stopped on the edge of the water, and then several prints and chunks of gore were centralized on the edge.

Jamie – or what used to be Jamie – stopped here. For a long time. Watching? Waiting?

Fuck. Jesse.

I jammed the gun into my pants and dove into the water. I could see nothing, but I swam hard to the bottom and ran my hands along it at the deepest point, moving side to side until – until my hands fell on cloth. And skin. I screamed underwater, the bubbles escaping my mouth, and I pulled on the child's body, lifting her out of the watery prison, toward the surface. When I broke through I had her pressed against me, her lifeless, limp body. I paddled with my free arm, struggling up the inclined bottom of the pool until I was in the shallow end and could walk more easily. When I reached the edge, I rested my niece's body down on the pool deck and leaned over her, pressing my hands on her chest, pumping, pumping, but feeling nothing in response.

I realized with each compression I was saying, "Come on! Come on! Breathe!" but I couldn't stop myself. It was as if my very words could force this little girl to come back to life. Breathing hard, I finally gave up. I dropped my head down beside hers and I cried, pulling her cheek to mine. Cold. But her body was intact. She was not torn open. She had not been attacked.

She had drowned.

And when I looked up, I saw what was, at one time, my sister staring back at me. She stood just outside of the pool enclosure, her skin pale white, her cap-sleeved tee shirt torn and bloody, her mouth open to reveal gnashing teeth that looked like they were always chewing, chewing, eating, eating.

"Jamie," I said softly. "Jamie, it's me, Flex."

Her eyes filled with something like concern for just a split second. Then she started to tear at the screening, trying to get to where we were. The door was right in front of her, but it was closed.

And she spoke as she did this. Not clear. Garbled. But the words I could still make out.

"I'm hungry hungry starving hungry hungry . . ." Her eyes glowed, but there was no light reflecting in them. The pupils were dilated huge, so that no irises were visible, only black. Against her pale white skin, this increased the oddness of it. Her hair, once so shiny and beautiful, was stringy and even beginning to fall out in places. What had happened to her had happened fast. I couldn't imagine that we'd spoken on the phone just earlier that day.

"Jamie, baby. It's me, Flex! I'll help you! You're sick, sis. Just sick. Sit down there on the grass, and I'll get someone to help you! Just stay there and –"

I stopped talking. She didn't hear anything, and her guttural grunts and moans as she continued tearing down the screen mesh just obscured what I was trying to get across. She was making headway through the screen and as it broke through, she began her scramble over the lower crossbar.

I looked at her, then looked at sweet Jesse's limp body lying on the concrete in front of me, and there was no way I was going to let this . . . this thing get to her. I'd never forgive myself. I pulled Jesse's soaked body into my arms and back into the water. I carried her to the deep end and let her body slip beneath the surface to the dark bottom again.

As I headed back toward the shallow end, the Jamie-thing had made it through and was staggering toward the pool. I stood about five feet from the edge and watched her. As she reached the edge of the pool again, she stopped and stared down.

Afraid? Unable to judge the water, perhaps even confused as to what it was?

In my mind I kept thinking cure. The gun was in my hand, but I knew I would not be using it on my sister. Whatever she was, whatever she'd become, she was Jamie, my kid sister, and I loved her more than anyone else on this entire planet. She had not killed her daughter directly, though clearly she'd been the cause of her death. But I had to use that logic; she was incapable, even at this strange stage of metamorphosis, or whatever it was, of killing her own child.

And so I had to capture her somehow. Get her to a doctor.

Something.

As I stared at her an idea began to formulate. She stood stock still, staring into the water toward me, her teeth gnashing, gnashing. I was horrified to see her so far gone.

I could not get too near her. Trina was relying on me, and if this was contagious, it wouldn't do to become infected. If not airborne, it could be transferred by bodily fluids, and Jamie looked to be capable of spreading her share of them right now. She could not be allowed to be too near me or Trina.

I stood there, the idea continuing to take shape. The pool cover was a bubble wrap type material, only thicker. It was rolled up on a long cylinder at the deep end of the pool, operated by a hand crank. If I wanted to pull it out, I had only to grab onto it and start to pull it across the pool. I could safely work in the water, because apparently Jamie did not want to work in the water. I looked at the large roll and felt in the front pocket of my jeans. My pocket knife was there.

I looked at the Jamie-thing again, gauging her reluctance to come in after me, and while I could read nothing in her features, she hadn't moved. Aside from her mouth, she stood perfectly still. Occasionally she moaned, and the gnashing was constant. Her face did not turn away from me. I can't say she saw me, but she knew exactly where I was.

I turned and cupped the knife in my hand and swam to the far edge. As I reached it, I leaned out and took the bubble plastic in my hand and pushed off the edge back toward the middle of the pool, unspooling it behind me. When my feet could touch the bottom again, I stood, one eye on Jamie and the other on my work. With my pocket knife, I began cutting the plastic off at about an eight foot length. It was about fourteen feet wide. Still light and easy to work with. I had just finished cutting through the last two feet and had started rolling it up so that the width would become my length. When I glanced back toward Jamie I saw that she was no longer alone.

There was a man walking up behind her.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Stay away from her!" The man didn't falter. His gait was strange. Unsteady, jerky. Jamie, apparently sensing his presence behind her, turned her body and head to see him, but did not step out of his path. Her movement was enough to allow me to see his face.

He was her. They were the same. My God, he had the disease too, and he seemed more determined. Chills shot so fast down my spine I was surprised the pool didn't ripple as they sped past the water line. I pocketed the knife and pulled the gun out of the back of my pants, then shook what water I could from it. The man-creature walked around Jamie as though he didn't see her, his eyes on me. He walked to the pool's edge, just opposite where I stood. Jamie had remained at the corner, eyes on me, but had never walked the edge to be closer.

He may have been hungrier than even she was. His teeth and jaws also gnashed and worked at chewing nothing, and he had the same eyes. His feet now hung over the edge of the pool's coping, and he looked from my face to the surface of the water.

"Hey, you, ya fuck! You're not coming in here," I yelled, my voice tremulous. "Get out of here, or I'll put a bullet –"

And it was as if he dared me to do it. Suddenly he was falling forward, his body stiff as a board, his eyes staring through me as he plummeted toward the dark water and into my sanctuary. His eyes were somehow black, yet aglow with an internal light of their own. His jaws working back and forth, up and down, anticipating my flesh. Mid-fall, I jerked my arm up and pulled the trigger hard, shooting him square in the forehead. Two more quick pulls of the trigger and his left eye was blown out of the socket and his right cheekbone disintegrated.

The booming sound shook me to the bone as I gripped the bubble wrap in my hands and pushed back away from where his body splashed into the water. I scrambled to the opposite side and pressed myself against the pool wall. Jamie still had not moved, or even seemed to have noticed the encounter at all. As the thing's body floated toward me, now motionless, I nudged it away from me with the now rolled up bubble wrap. When I was sure it was floating away – and to the shallow end of the pool, for I did not want it to sink down anywhere near my Jesse – I scrambled out of the water. I still didn't know whether this horror was transmitted via air, fluid, or what, but I didn't want to be in any water this thing might secrete his fluids into.

Once I was out, Jamie started toward me. It was the water she was afraid of, this woman who was once a hell of a swimmer. But now I was out, and she was still hungry, because her guttural words came again, and she stepped slowly, erratically toward me. Not fast, but steady. I tucked my gun back into the back of my pants and hefted the roll of bubble wrap. It was rolled up like a rug, long and stiff enough for me to use as a tool to push her away.

If I could push her down, then I would execute my plan.

Or try, at least.

Starting around the back side of the pool, I hurried around it and soon was in the middle of the yard, between the pool and the patio. Jamie's eyes stayed on me, and she jerked steadily toward me.

"Hungry hungry hungry . . ."

But it sounded like "ungy ungy ungy."

Suddenly I was overwhelmed. My sister was messed up – majorly messed up, and I started to cry. I backed up as she staggered toward me, and it broke my heart to know she would kill me against her will, that she loved me and she would fucking kill me and never even have any conscious awareness she'd done it. I prodded her with the bubble wrap, and she staggered backward. When she was off balance, I pushed her with it again.

I spun around to her side and pushed her toward the side yard fence with the roll, and this time she did fall over. As she moaned out loud, and her newfound lack of coordination made it a struggle to roll onto her stomach so she could pull her knees under her and get up, I stood over her and flipped open the roll of bubble wrap like an evacuation slide on an airplane. Like a lizard's tongue, it uncoiled on her opposite side, all fourteen feet of it. Her prone body was parallel to the eight foot length, and I kicked her square in the center of her back, push-rolling her onto the sheeting. Another kick and she was far enough on the sheeting that I could grab the edge, which I pulled over her flailing arms. I then rolled her over onto her stomach again. Her arms were forced down to her sides, and I gained more confidence as I rolled her further and further along the fourteen foot length of the plastic, tighter and tighter. By the time I got to the end, she was a mummy entombed in the roll, unable to move, and unable to bite or get to me with mouth or hands.

Her moans grew more frantic, but were muffled now.

I lay on top of the roll, feeling her struggling beneath me, but to no avail; my breath heaved and my heart pounded. I was still crying, but now most of it was with relief. I had no idea what I'd do with her, but I had her. I had her.

Maybe I could find someone to help her.

*****

Cinching the sheeting together where I ran out of length, I struggled to drag the bundle containing my sister toward the house. An old garden hose lay coiled there, and I picked it up to test it for usefulness. The rubber was still soft enough to use for my purposes, so I cut an 8' length of it and split it lengthwise with my pocketknife. Now I had two pieces pliable enough to tie like a rope. I sat on the roll with Jamie's body inside it, and tied one length tightly around the end where her head was, and repeated the procedure where her feet were.

I took note that she was quiet now. But I felt her shifting within, so could tell she was still alive – if that was even a word I could use to describe her anymore. At the time, I really didn't know.

As I did this, I kept my eye on the pool and on the yard beyond where I sat working, because if there had been one curious zombie-neighbor, there could be more. And I wasn't comfortable anymore with just the .38 and three more rounds of ammo. I needed way more firepower if this was as widespread as I had begun to fear.

Trina was on my mind. She was locked in the truck, and should be safe if she just stayed put, but she was six years old and not extremely logical. I felt a sudden sense of dread and urgency even greater than what had seemed to become the new normal.

I stood and looked down at the roll containing Jamie. Slight movement. No insane struggling, no screaming. Stillness. Silence. I could take a moment and go check on Trina.

My gun was in my hand as I opened the screen door and walked around the corner to the side yard. The rear of the Suburban was visible, and looked okay. I broke into a slight jog and seconds later I was at the truck. I knocked softly on the window so as not to frighten Trina. A second later I saw her little face appear before mine behind the glass. She waved her little hand back and forth, her mouth unsmiling. I pointed at the lock, and she pulled it up.

I opened the door. "Hey, baby. Good girl."

"Did you find Jesse and mommy?" she asked.

I didn't want to have this conversation, so I lied to her, the way adults are supposed to lie to kids when what they've got to tell them would shatter their worlds.

"No, baby. I think maybe your mommy felt better and they went and hid. I'm hoping they took your daddy's car and drove to Jacksonville." This was a lot of bullshit that she'd likely have trouble sorting through. I was just talking off the top of my head so had no idea what I'd said the moment it was out of my mouth. I hoped she wouldn't ask any questions and test my powers of recall, and I got lucky.

She nodded. "I hope she's better. Maybe she was pretending, like at Halloween."

"I think you're right, honey. Just play-scary, like Halloween. Now I have something to do that's going to take me about an hour. But first I've got to hook your daddy's trailer up my car so we can bring some stuff with us. I want you to stay right here, just like you were, and if you feel the car bouncing and stuff, it's just me. Get back on the floor and see if you can go to sleep for awhile, okay?"

She nodded. I looked at her for a moment. "Baby, wait right here, okay? Just a sec."

She nodded. I locked and closed the door again, and ran back inside the house. I ran right by the scene in the entry and to the girls' bedroom. I grabbed the two twin sized Disney Princess comforters from the beds and ran back to the truck. I unlocked it with my key and pulled the door open. Her head popped up.

"Here, Trinie," I said, using my pet name for her. "I know it's warm out, but I want you out of sight. Cover yourself with this and stay on the floor, okay?"

She nodded, her blonde hair bouncing with her cute little head. "Okay, Uncle Flexy." That was her pet name for me.

"On the floor," I said. I pushed the lock knob down again and closed the door tight.

The trailer was parked up against the side of the house. I didn't want to start the truck's engine because of the noise, so I lifted the tongue of the trailer and walked backward, rolling it over the uneven ground toward my Suburban. I passed the truck and spun the trailer slowly around, then dropped it down onto the tow ball, snapping the latch into place. I plugged in the electrical connector just to be safe. Hauling what I planned to haul, it wouldn't be smart to get pulled over, though I kind of doubted that dead running lights were something the police would be concerned with right now. They'd be more likely to take you for a criminal if you were hunched over somebody sawing the top of their skull off with a steak knife.

That job complete, I had three more tasks left before I could get my ass on the road. I was exhausted, but the adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, and sleep was the last thing on my mind.

My next task was to bury Jesse. That sweet little girl who loved to play checkers with me. The one who really taught me the rules of hopscotch, and who could beat me at both even when I wasn't letting her.

But first I needed to get Jamie secured in the back of the equipment hauler. I went back inside the screened pool enclosure and lifted one end of the cylindrical shaped sarcophagus I created for Jamie, then dragged it behind me as I walked backward toward the Suburban. The plastic slid fairly easily over the ground, and I got her to the trailer in just over a minute. I lowered the rear hatch, which converted into a ramp, and dragged her up onto it. There were two coils of nylon rope in on the trailer, so I tied one length around the center of the bundle in case the hose slipped or loosened. No loud noises from Jamie so far, but I could still feel slight movement, so I knew she was alive – or at least not completely dead. Afterward, I lashed the bundle containing my former sister to the passenger-side railing of the open trailer using the steel tie-down rings.

She would not be going anywhere. I didn't know what to do with her. This wouldn't do for very long, but I didn't have any choice, and this was all I could do right now.

Before I could lay Jesse to rest, I had to retrieve her from the bottom of the pool, but it would not do to have her body lying exposed in case it drew more of them. I would be better off digging her grave and getting her afterward.

I walked around to the side of the pool enclosure to the small shed. It wasn't locked, and inside was everything I'd need. There was a tarp, but I didn't want to wrap her body in that. I grabbed a spade shovel and took note of the empty space that I believed once accommodated the small axe that was now inside the house – or more specifically, embedded in Jack's flesh.

I walked back out and tested the earth in several spots. It had rained earlier, so the ground was moist, to my relief. I started digging the grave for my darling Jesse directly behind the shed. The rear fence blocked sight of me from anybody who might still be alive, or anyone who might want to come at me for whatever reason – I still wasn't completely sure, at least at that point, what was happening. I would love to be as blind to the new dangers of the world as I was at that particular moment in time, but I'm no fool. The saying used to go 'what you don't know can't hurt you,' but it's changed in this world. Now it's 'what you don't know can eat you.'

From my vantage point, I could look around the corner and see the cab of my truck, so that made me feel better about leaving Jamie so close to Trina.

The grave was not too big. Just about four and a half feet long by two feet wide. I wanted to make it about another foot deep, but I didn't have the time or, as it turned out, the energy. The adrenaline had started to dissipate, after all. Using the shovel as a support, I propped it outside the hole and leaned on it as I stepped up and out.

"Flex?"

The unexpected voice made me draw back, and I almost fell back into the small grave.

She stood barely five feet in front of me. It was Gem.

"Jesus Christ, Flex! It is you!" She ran to me and I threw the shovel down and took her into my arms. I wrapped them around her and squeezed her so tight to me that I almost couldn't breathe. We didn't say a word for the longest time, and when she pulled away from me, I looked into her face, her eyes.

She kissed me gently on the mouth, then pulled back, her eyes meeting mine, a question in them.

I broke the silence, but there was nothing awkward about it. "Gem, I've been thinking about you. And here you are. God I missed you."

"Me, too," she said. Then: "Flex, I'm scared. Uncle Rogelio is . . . one of them, and there were so many of them in Miami that I had to get out of there. He killed my Aunt Ana, Flex! I can't tell you how. . . You do know what's happening to people, right?" She searched my eyes, waiting for my answer.

I nodded. "Gem, I know. This is the only firsthand experience I've had so far. It's fucking bad here."

Gem shook her head. "I know, Flex. You were on my mind for weeks before this all happened, but once I realized something bizarre was going on, I knew I had to find you."

"Gem, I'm glad you're here, and there's a lot I need to tell you – none of it good. Jamie's one of them. She killed Jack, near as I can tell, and Jesse . . . well, Jess is dead. She drowned in the pool trying to escape her mom."

Gem's face fell, and tears immediately formed in her eyes. "Oh, Flex. Oh, my God. Not little Jess." Her expression became more distressed. "Where's Trina? Is she okay?"

I nodded and pulled her against me again. She put her head on my chest and I breathed her in. "Trina's in my truck, locked in, lying on the floor. She's a good little hider, and she's been really good, listening to what I've told her to do."

Gem held onto me for another long moment, then pulled back. "So this . . . grave. It's for Jess?"

I nodded. "She's still in the pool. I didn't want to get her until . . . you know." I looked at the grave. "I think it's good enough now."

"Give me your keys," she said. "I need to go to Trina."

I fished them out of my pocket and handed them to her. "I'm glad you're here, Gem. You are the one person I needed to see now. I think the only person."

She shrugged. "It was the same with me. Go get her, and I'll sit with Trina for a bit. But don't finish this without me. I want to see her."

I nodded and headed toward the pool, turning back to watch her walk to the Suburban. The one that got away was back. I must not have done everything wrong.

I reached the edge of the pool again and scanned the water. The zombie I'd killed was caught in the side ladder. He'd floated into it and his arm was caught, so he was not sinking down to where Jesse's body lay. I entered at the steps and just walked in. When I was chest deep, I dove down and found her again.

*****

Back at the Suburban, I tapped on the window. Trina sat beside Gem, another of her favorite big people in the world, and was talking animatedly. I noticed a machine gun of some type on the dashboard, and noted to myself that this was not my weapon. Gem rolled down the window.

"Is that an Uzi?" I asked, shaking my head. "I'm ready. Bring that other comforter with you."

She nodded. No words were necessary. Gem pulled the twin comforter from the floorboard, and turned to Trina. "On the floor, door locked, not a peep, right?"

"Like I'm playing hide and seek," Trina said, smiling.

"Just like that," Gem responded. "Shhh."

"Shhh," repeated Trina, crawling onto the floor. Gem dropped the other comforter on top of her and rolled the driver's side window back up. She got out of the truck, clicked the lock and closed the door.

"Let's go," she said.

Back at the gravesite Gem knelt down over Jesse's body. I had rested her on her back and had done my best to straighten her clothes and hair. Despite her condition, her hair and clothes soaking wet, she still looked beautiful.

"I never should have had to see you like this, Jesse," Gem said. She stroked the child's face and hair, then lowered her face to Jesse's and kissed her cheek, then her forehead. "Rest in peace, little rabbit, you."

It was what she'd always called Jesse. Jesse loved it, because she loved rabbits. In fact, against her mother's better judgment, Gem had convinced Jamie to let her read Watership Down to Jesse, who from the beginning, adored the tale of Fiver, Hazel and their warren of rabbits.

When Gem was done with her goodbyes, I knelt down beside Jesse and touched her face. I dropped down and put her cheek against mine. "I love you, little one. And I want you to know that wasn't your mama you were running from. She loves you. Your mama would never do anything to hurt you."

I stared down at her for a long time, kissed her cheek and stood. "Let's wrap her."

Gem spread out the comforter and I picked Jesse up and placed her on it. Gem carefully folded the blanket over and around her, tucking it in tightly on all sides. Together, we lifted her and placed her inside the grave.

In silence, we covered her body with soil until only a mound of earth was visible before us.

"Jamie's in the equipment hauler hooked up to the Suburban."

"How?" asked Gem.

"Wrapped in a big bubble wrap sheet. A piece of the pool cover. Like a mummy."

Gem stared at me. I knew the question in her eyes before she vocalized it.

"Because, Gem, I can't leave her. I have to see if she can be cured . . . something. I can't just shoot her, and I won't leave her to do what she did to – well, I just can't."

"I get that, babe. If you're sure she's secure, that's good enough for me."

She had the sub machine gun slung over her shoulder and with her crazy long locks, she reminded me of a female Rambo.

"I miss hearing you call me babe, Gem," I said. "I've missed it for a long time."

"Well, you won't miss it anymore, babe. Because I've felt exactly the same since the last time I saw you. Now let's get out of here. I smell fire."

CHAPTER THREE

With Trina out cold between us, I drove. I turned toward Georgia. There were two reasons. Gem had said Miami was a mess, and it was also a dead end. Without a boat you couldn't get anywhere from south Florida – but I suppose hiding out in the Everglades wasn't the worst of ideas. Who knows? Maybe the Seminole tribe had some ideas of how to deal with this crap.

The Center for Disease Control was on Clifton Road in Atlanta, and I knew exactly how to get there, even without the GPS. Plus, it was my stomping grounds, and the location of my house seemed like a benefit right about now.

Gem had been right about fire. The air was thick with smoke and the horizon glowed with the light of several of them burning all around us. Perhaps some people were trying to dispatch the zombies by burning down the buildings that contained them. I knew we needed more firepower to deal with this. At least I did. Gem's gun was perfection.

"We need to get off at one of the downtown exits and hit a pawn shop," I said. We'll find some guns there, I'd imagine."

"You really should think bigger," Gem said, smiling at me. I couldn't help but return it.

"Bigger?"

"Police station. Evidence locker. Big city. Lots of confiscated automatic weapons in evidence lockers."

"What have you been up to since I last saw you?" I asked.

"This and that," she said. "I've got some friends on the force, and the best guns and the best weed comes from the evidence lockers."

"So we're kind of counting on this epidemic having taken out these police stations so we can get in and get the weapons, right?"

Gem shrugged. "You should have seen Miami, Flex. I'm lucky to be here now. Uncle Rogelio was gone – gone. I should have killed him – I really should have, I loved that bastard, and I couldn't. I had stayed overnight at his place, and when I woke up in the morning, he . . . it was . . ."

I put a hand over hers. "Later, Gem. You don't need to go over it now. Let's worry about staying alive first."

We decided to stay on the semi-deserted side roads as much as possible, which wasn't that difficult from Gainesville. I75, the main highway through Florida, was packed to the gills – all four lanes. I wasn't keen on stopping the car at all, much less sitting in traffic. And I knew I'd need gas a couple of times before reaching home again. We'd have to look for either somewhere entirely unaffected by the zombie problem – as best we could judge, or a place where the devastation was complete and everybody was already dead. We clearly preferred the former.

Either way, I had zero intention of sitting on the freeway for days on end, as if a Category 5 hurricane was bearing down on the state and every soul was leaving. The satellites were still orbiting around the planet Earth, and Gem had brought her GPS with her, so it got us quite effectively off the main grid and onto State Route 24 to State Route 26, eventually dumping us out onto US-19, where we would hit Tallahassee. And with 181,000 people, there might be a decent cache of lethal street weapons in the main downtown police station.

But again, we were counting on some easy way in and out, and if it proved to be a mess, we would not risk little Trina. We'd make do with the guns we had to get us to Atlanta. The CDC seemed like a logical place to start.

*****

It was impossible to stay completely off the grid, and as we encountered people, everyone was either freaked out and fleeing, or freaking someone else out, causing them to flee. Or causing them to die. We had talked a bit when we first left Jamie's house and had decided not to be heroes. The world had changed today, and people were pretty much on their own. We'd just have to worry about us for now.

If we saw a child being pursued by one of them, or if one was in immediate danger, we'd play it by ear. We knew that. But around us, right here just in the state of Florida, there were thousands of children in danger right now. Logically, we knew we'd better just worry about the little girl sitting between us at the moment.

When we hit the city limits it became obvious that we were going to have trouble shielding Trina from what was happening around us. A child could only take so much horror, and this one had seen enough from her own mother to carry her for the rest of her life.

I pulled the car over in a secluded spot. Jamming the gear lever into park, I looked at Gem and mouthed the words, "We need something for her." I put the palms of my hands together and put them to my cheek with my eyes closed. I quickly looked down at Trina, who was staring blankly through the front windshield. We needed to put this kid to sleep. Even on the floorboard of the truck she could hear what was happening, and at this point I don't know what exactly I expected would happen. I just had a feeling that stuff would be happening.

Gem nodded and punched the GPS a few times, pulling up Points of Interest. She entered Pharmacy and got several. There was one just five minutes away. A Walgreens.

"Okay," I said. "Let's get there first. Then after we're done getting what we need – or trying a second pharmacy, you use that trick to pull up a police or FBI building in this area."

The GPS worked flawlessly. We pulled up to the Walgreens in the exact time it estimated.

Gem looked around, scanning the parking lot and beyond. I did the same. There were seven cars in the lot, so it had to be a 24-hour location. I guessed at least three or four of the cars belonged to employees.

I looked at my watch and saw it was 1:30 in the morning.

"You go inside, Flex. Take my gun. I'll take your .38 and stay here with Trini."

"If the employees know what's happening with these things, I might be able to convince them to help."

"And if not?"

"You're my secret weapon. If I can't convince them with charm and good looks, then I'll show them your gun and tell them that for fucking sure they'd rather deal with me than you. Of course, that would carry more weight if they actually knew you."

"Good cop, bad cop. Got it. Go get the stuff, but don't be stupid. There are lots of pharmacies."

"Here." I handed her the .38 and she passed me the Uzi. "There are only three rounds left in it, but I've got a box of fifty in the glove compartment."

"Check. Reloading now." Gem popped open the glove compartment.

After closing the door, I banged on the glass with the heel of my hand and said in a loud enough voice to penetrate the glass, "If everything goes to shit, I want you to take off. The keys are in the ignition. Just go if you see trouble. I won't say not to check on me later if you can, but don't wait, Gem. Go."

Gem nodded, and I didn't believe her for one second.

Walking to the entrance of the store, I looked back at the truck and scanned the parking lot again. I pulled on the door handle, but it was locked. Slinging the rifle over my shoulder, I put my cupped hands to the door, and peered in. The fluorescent lights blazed, lighting up every aisle like daytime, but nobody was visible inside.

At first glance, that is. Then I saw it. Near the entrance to aisle 5. A foot on the floor sticking out of the row of merchandise. I'm sure it was connected to a body, but I could only see the foot from outside. I could see some blood by the foot, but not much. I imagined there was much more near the source of the deadly wound – if the owner of the foot was indeed dead. It didn't move, so it was my conclusion that it was so.

Now I scanned the rest of the store more carefully. On the same wall as the entrance door, to my extreme right, was a middle aged woman who had apparently been pouring coins into the machine that tallies how much change you saved in your peanut butter jar over the last year, and gives you a receipt to convert that change into paper money. She never got her receipt. Her throat was ripped open, and she lay on her back. Had it been just her throat, I might have been able to lie to myself and make up some other reason she was dead, but her eyes were . . . gone. The two sockets had been torn at and – what? hammered on? – until the skull beneath cracked and pushed inward, and the two individual sockets joined together.

I turned and headed back to the Suburban and motioned to Gem to roll down the window fast. She did.

"Dead people inside. I'm not comfortable leaving you out here. This is getting sketchier by the minute."

"Babe, it got sketchy for me in Miami, but I know you're just getting used to all of it. Did you see anyone alive . . . or, well, moving?"

I shook my head.

"Then get what you need and hurry. We'll be fine. Just do me a favor and check on your trailer cargo before you go back inside. And if they have an electronics department, pick up some of those two-way radios. They come in pairs, and tourists like to buy them."

"Are you sure you'll be –"

"Go," she said, sternly.

She rolled up the window again and showed me the Smith & Wesson. She'd already put Trina back on the floor beneath the comforter again.

I went to the trailer and reached down to check the tie-downs holding Jamie. She-It was moaning now, a steady, low hum almost, seemingly vibrating the bundle. If she was starving before, now she had to be near insatiable with hunger. I felt like a kid who had found a turtle. I had no idea how to feed it or what it would eat.

The truth was, subconsciously I knew what it would eat, but if that was how it was going to be, then my sister would die. I would not be feeding her that. Ever.

Satisfied she was secure and harmless to the occupants of my truck, I ran back to the store entrance again. I saw two flashlight beams in the distance about a quarter mile away, but they bobbed off in the opposite direction. I had no idea what percentage of the population had succumbed to this sickness or whatever it was, but if it was just ten percent, it was still a huge problem.

I reached the door, held Gem's Uzi out in front of me and kicked it hard. The latch snapped and I pulled it outward, swinging it open easily. In Florida, all doors, either commercial or residential, pulled outward. Hurricane force winds could easily blow doors in if not, so this was an ordinance. From the outside, they're all pulls.

I stepped inside the store and swung the barrel of the rifle from side to side, moving toward the front of the store. I went to the cashier's counter which ran the entire length of that wall, from the side where the registers were located to the photo processing department on the far end. Leaning over the counter and scanning the length, I saw nobody back there, either crouching there hiding, or dead. I almost instinctively called out, but I checked myself. No sense in alerting any of the . . . I just didn't know how to think of them yet. The infected.

Moving along the front row, I found a hinged access flap and lifted it to get behind the counter. I grabbed three or four of the cloth shopping bags and some flashlights hanging on pegs on the wall, and took handfuls of the right batteries for them. On instinct, I snatched four packs of Marlboro reds from the cigarette rack. I'd quit years ago, but fuck it. My last worry right now might be cancer. I tossed six or seven Bic lighters in the bags, too. No telling when making fire would become important again, besides lighting my smokes.

I scanned the length of the aisles as I moved laterally along the store, but saw no movement. I laid the gun on the counter quickly, then undid my belt buckle and pulled the wide leather belt almost all the way off. I re-threaded it, feeding it through the handle loops of one bag on my right hip, then through my back belt loops and through the handles of the other two bags before re-buckling it. I didn't need to try to shoot and hold bags, too. I hefted the gun again and continued moving down the front toward the opposite wall from the entry. That was where the photo and electronics department was. And right where Gem said they'd be were the two-way radios. I grabbed two sets and threw them in the bag. Likewise, I took about ten two-packs of 9 volt alkalines and added them to my shopping bag.

I turned to head toward the pharmacy when I stopped dead in my tracks. They had been relatively quiet, but in my defense, James Taylor was playing over the speaker system in the store, so I might not have heard them over Fire and Rain. Three of them. Two women and a man – or three of the infected that might have once been described in these human terms. Now, since the infection – since the hunger – their skin was yellowish gray, and the veins, blue-black and very visible now, ran like little roadmaps under the thin opaque skin. They were on top of a man who was dead, and they were gnawing on him, deep into him. He was very dead. There was almost nothing left of him, but these were apparently very efficient eating machines, and felt he was still worth the time and effort.

While I can't say it was steady, my gun was pointed directly at them, and I stared. I didn't fire. It was a morbid fascination. In the back of my mind, I thought: How sweet. They're sharing.

I'm not entirely sure why, because there were other bodies around, and each could have had their own. So why this one? What was especially attractive about this flesh? It appeared to have been a white man, but there wasn't enough of him left to determine age. His clothes looked blue collar, and there's a certain diet associated with middle vs. upper class, possibly more meat and fried foods as you made your way down the food chain – which was a strange choice of words, I admit – from elitist wealthy to dirt-poor. Could it be his diet just gave him a more irresistible fragrance?

All of this took place in a split-second in my head. I made a mental note of this sharing behavior. Something I might mention to the CDC personnel when we got up there, if anyone was there to meet us who might want the information.

My eyes sharply focused on the three diners, I stepped slowly backward until I was out of the aisle, then cut over by three rows, reaching the body of the man attached to the foot I'd seen from outside the store. In his open palm, partially on the floor, lay a gun. It was a 9mm Glock. I reached down and picked it up, and from my new angle, I discovered how he had died.

With the Glock. He had taken his own life at the sight of the creatures eating his customers. An efficient single bullet to the temple. His name, according to his nametag, was Tony.

Thanks for the gun, Tony.

I looked behind and in front of me, then in both directions over the top of the aisles. No immediate danger. I leaned the rifle against one of the aisle-long merchandise racks and popped the magazine. It was a 17-round mag and it was missing three. One in the chamber, so he'd fired only twice. So fifteen rounds at ready. I shoved the pistol into the front waistband of my pants and fed the Uzi's strap back over my shoulder, holding it in firing position as I made my way down the aisle again. The pharmacy wasn't necessarily what I needed. Just half a Benadryl allergy pill would put Trina out long enough for us to get her away from the scary stuff, and that included our scary conversations about the scary stuff. Jamie had mentioned to me some months earlier that she'd used this amount for Trina's allergies in the past, and she tolerated it well, though it did pretty much send her to la-la land.

As I scanned the ceiling-hung signs to find the location of allergy medications, I heard it and froze.

Shuffling sounds came seemingly from all directions, and all at once. I looked behind me at Tony's body, sprawled on the floor at the entrance to my aisle, and realized there was no time to get back there. I knelt down and aimed the weapon.

And then they appeared. At the opposite end of the aisle. Five of them. Two females and three males. Meat and gore stained the front of their clothes, and I recognized a couple of them as the ones who had been dining in the far aisle. Onward to fresh meat, and I suppose that was me.

As though confirming this, they stared at me. Gnashing. Just like Jamie. And her neighbor. It was as if their lips would no longer cover their teeth, maybe like the skin had been purged of all moisture, and the now parched lips just dried out and pulled back. No matter, the teeth just showed, and it added to the visual horror of the presentation. And to make matters worse, their black, dead tongues flitted in and out intermittently as the gnashing went on. This group was moving steadily toward me, and not as slowly as I would have liked. A fast shuffle. Textbook zombie lore, but just a bit faster. The difference between watching INDY racing on television and in real life. You just can't get a feel for how fast the fuckers really go.

I turned to make a break toward the front of the store, but stopped short. Two more stood by that end of the aisle, and they, too, stared at me. Were they operating like a wolf pack? Working together to trap me? They may not give me much credit, but had I been faced with this crap without a gun, I'd have leapt over the top of the merchandise rack and into the next aisle on adrenaline alone, and would've still had enough energy left over to run the Walgreens floor polisher for an hour or two.

The two new zombies didn't seem to care about Tony's body. They ignored it and started moving up the aisle toward me. Having had only one encounter with these things before, and believing in my mind that Jamie did hear me, no matter about her lack of response, I tried an appeal.

I held the gun up, my finger on the trigger, and I talked loud. "Look. I want out of here, and I don't need to fuck anyone up in the process," I looked for signs of understanding, acknowledgement. It didn't appear that was going to be the case. As I stood dead center, the seven infected shuffled toward me, their pace neither slower nor faster, and not one of them attempting any negotiations with me.

"Stop the fuck right there!" I screamed at the two coming up on my rear, but they kept sliding toward me, gnashing, flitting, and looking very hungry.

I sprayed the Uzi's 600 round-per-minute blast at them for a split second, aiming low. The rounds tore through their midsections, and nearly cut them in half. They flew backward and dropped to the floor.

Two down, I thought.

And as I watched in amazement, these zombie things began crawling with their arms and hands, dragging their destroyed bodies toward me, resuming their even slower, but no less determined progress up the aisle in my direction.

I looked back at the five, who were now within fourteen feet of me. I didn't know how much ammo was in Gem's gun, and I didn't have time to check now, but I now figured that head shots were my best option. To test my theory, I pulled out the Glock, turned toward the two crawlers, took four steps toward them so I wouldn't miss, and put a bullet in each of their skulls. A reddish-black fluid leaked out, and they lay motionless, gnashless.

Then I turned, slung the rifle around to rest against my back, and with my shopping bags dangling from my belt and the Glock in my hand, I walked determinedly toward the five zombies walking toward me, and I stopped six feet in front of them.

"Last fuckin' chance," I said.

Two more shuffles and I'd had it. Five taps, five bullets in five brains. I had a pile of five zombies in front of me.

I could have stood there for a long time, looking at that pile of dead bodies. But the longer I stood there looking at them, the more they just looked like people. Like I'd just murdered five human beings right there in the Walgreens.

But they weren't that, were they? Not by the time I got to them – or when they almost got to me. They weren't people anymore at all.

They were creatures. Damned TV zombies, only real. I wanted to know stuff, like did they have heartbeats, audible skills, any vocal skills. I'd heard Jamie moaning, but these had been quiet or unintelligible.

Jamie. Jamie the zombie.

My mind suddenly snapped to the present and I realized if there were seven in here, there could be more. I ran down each aisle, the Glock ready. Eight rounds left, plus what remained in the machine gun. I found nobody else, but I did find the Benadryl. I put three bottles in my bag, then ran to the food aisle and put several cans of pop-top canned chili, some canned tamales, two six-packs of water, and two boxes of Cheerios under my arm.

Heart healthy. To balance out the chili and tamales.

I ran from the store to the truck, all my goodies bouncing on my belt. Gem had flung the door open and slid to the passenger side again before I got there. Focusing on the open door, I tripped on something and nearly fell into the cab. Two bodies lay outside the passenger door, stacked almost on top of one another.

"What the fuck, Gem!" I said, slamming the door.

Her face was calm. "They came up on the driver's side, and Trina saw them. I pushed her back down, got out the other door, walked around to your side and put two bullets in their heads."

I stared at her.

"Flex, they were fucking with Trina. With this baby girl who's had her share of being fucked with. I did what I had to do."

"No apology expected or deserved, baby. Thank you."

"We fired at exactly the same time," she said. "I heard your gun discharge at the same time I shot these two. You're lucky I could restrain myself from going inside, but I have a good sixth sense, and I knew you were okay."

"So I guess we're through keeping the scary talk in hushed tones? Trini? You okay, baby?"

Gem shook her head. "She fainted, Flex. The poor thing fainted when she saw those lipless fucks outside the door."

I tossed all the stuff into the back seat. "We'll talk about what happened inside later. I think we'd better start taking some notes. For now, I think you should wake her up and make her take half of one of these." I pulled the Benadryl out of the bag and gave the bottle to her. Gem lifted Trina from the floor and bounced her in her lap gently. Trina moaned.

"Are there any more of those things in there?" Gem asked.

"None . . . moving anymore. But I can tell you, there were more of them in there than us. And all the ones like us were – "

I looked at Trina, who was stirring awake from Gem's bouncing. I just ran my finger across my neck in a slashing motion.

"I get it," she said.

I nodded. "Oh, and I got us a new gun." I spun the tires and headed north. "It works pretty good."

Gem put 'Police Stations' in the Points of Interest in the GPS and we pulled out.

"Want some chili?" I asked.

She hit the "GO" button, and the GPS routed it.

"It says we'll be there in ten minutes," she said. "I'm pretty sure I can eat a can of chili in ten minutes."

CHAPTER FOUR

We turned the headlights off as we rolled into the area where the police station was located. It was a somewhat residential street, East 7th Avenue. The police station was on the corner of that road and Officer Ponce Avenue, and a sign indicating PARKING featured an arrow pointing down the latter.

It was now almost 2:30 in the morning, and neither of us was familiar with Tallahassee. We had put the radio on and heard static on too many stations. There was a news radio station out of Orlando that was still broadcasting, and they had a pretty strong signal, because it was still coming in.

They were calling it a virus, and they said it started as a migraine-like head pain, then attacked the temporal lobe of the brain first, and quickly. This was, they reported, the portion of the brain that held memory. Destroying that first made the victims forget who they or their loved ones were.

This worried me, because it was the logical first step in making anyone fair game. No sensitivities or emotions, no soft spot for anyone. Husband. Wife. Child. All just food. As for what exactly made them hunger for flesh, it wasn't really being talked about – not openly. It was inferred but not specifically mentioned, because it was essentially cannibalism, and people frowned on that shit even if you were in a plane crash in the mountains in the snow and had to eat your pilot.

The next thing destroyed by the virus was the hypothalamus portion of the brain, where hunger and thirst were controlled. Only it did not destroy it, per se, rather it ramped it up to the extreme. This portion of the brain, according to the reporter, who seemed to have learned a ton of brain info in the last several hours, also controlled the heart, lungs, and other involuntary actions we humans so easily perform.

But it stopped these. Again, not so much spoken, but implied by the talking heads. So the virus killed off your memory, shut down your involuntary bodily functions, and made you ravenous.

Sorry, but sound the buzzer please. BZZZZZZZZT! Symptom number two should kill you dead, and nobody seemed to have an answer for why the fuck you could continue to walk around without breathing and with no heartbeat. And I swear, from my confrontation with them in the store, I saw their nostrils flaring as they held their eyes on me, so they could smell. They can smell.

And did this disease affect the actual dead? And if the answer was yes, did they reanimate? What happened if you just died naturally? Did this act like a safety net?

Not so fast, partner. Heaven can wait, 'cause I gotcha. Now get out there and eat, because you're starving!

If it did affect the dead, did it only do this prior to embalming? There were too many questions running around in my head, and to be honest, the fucking radio was freaking me out a bit. I had enough just looking at some of these victims on the side of the road. Gem had a death grip on the butt of that 9mm, and I had the .38 between my legs.

Lights still out, I turned left on Officer Ponce Way, and the parking lot entrance was about 100 yards down on the left. I stopped at the pivoting barrier and realized in seconds that the power was out, and pulling the parking card was not going to get me anywhere. I gunned the engine and slammed through the flimsy pressboard arm with the stop sign painted on it, and flew into the parking lot, the trailer bouncing over the speed bump behind me. I cringed, remembering Jamie on that trailer.

No cars moved in the lot and nobody crept around that we could see. The parking lot served three buildings, and snaked between them.

"We'll need more ammo for the Uzi," said Gem. "Maybe at the station."

"If we can get in," I said. "The three of us are okay, so maybe some of them are, too."

Gem nodded agreement. "But it doesn't mean they won't help us, either. If things are as bad as we believe, they may welcome the assistance of any . . . well, normals out there. They must realize there's nothing to do but kill –"

Gem stopped talking suddenly, and looked ashamed. I touched her hand. "Look. I said when we left Jamie's, I had hope. I still hold onto some of it. Hell, I've got this fantasy that I unwrap her from that pool cover shit, and she's back to normal, like I made her some sort of cocoon or something, but I know in my heart . . . well, I don't even want to vocalize it."

"I don't blame you for not wanting to give up yet, Flex. I love her, too."

"Okay. I know you do, Gem. Now, the game plan. This is it."

The building on the left was large and concrete. There were several police cars parked in front. No activity. No fewer than eight dead bodies lay on the stone steps leading inside. All had massive head wounds but three of them. Those three had no heads at all.

Gem pointed. "There's an alley. Turn in there."

I did, and it was even darker here. But it did curve around and run behind the main building. There were three open spaces in a row, and I pulled the Suburban and trailer combo into them and threw it into park.

Gem had installed batteries in the flashes and the walkies while I drove. Twice along the way I'd had to run the truck/trailer combo off the road to get around stopped vehicles, and the flashlights came in very handy to see just where an open path was.

I clipped a radio on my belt. We'd already chosen channel 19 and tested them. Range was advertised to be over twenty miles, but I doubted it. Besides that, I didn't plan on ever being that far away from Gem again.

"Let me go," Gem said.

"I don't think so." I reached for her arm as she leaned Trina against me and opened the door. She wasn't smiling.

"You can't stop me, babe. You've got Trina to consider and I made it all the way from Miami to Gainesville on my own. That's quite a story, and when we finally do stop and sit and have a nice cup of coffee, I'll share with you some of the shit I saw and dealt with on my way to find your ass, including where this innocent little girl of yours got this kickass gun."

She got out and held the door, the rifle slung over her shoulder and the Glock in her other hand. "So pardon my rant, but if you think you've got some advantage on me mentally, I'll remind you that you don't. As for physically, you are nicely built, but pound for pound, I am quite powerful myself."

She shut the door and before she could walk away I waved at her to open it again. She did.

"What?"

"You'll need this." I unclipped the walkie from my belt and handed it to her. Then I unclipped the other one off the visor. "Won't do you too much good if I'm talkin' to myself, will it?"

"Smartass," she said, slamming the door and throwing me a sarcastic salute as she headed into the station building.

I watched her walk away. I was worried, but I smiled. Damn, I loved that woman. It was good to have her back.

*****

She was gone five minutes before I spoke to her. "Update, babe. You in?"

Gem came right on. The signal was perfect, and she was crystal clear. "Not yet. I've been keeping against the walls, and the back entrances are all secured. I'm going around to the front."

I shook my head. With each step she was farther away, and the more nervous I got. I couldn't lose her again. "If you get in, then find your way to the back and unlock those doors. If you get in trouble, I have to get in fast."

"When I get in, babe, I'll do that. Want me to stay on, give you live updates?"

"As long as you don't alert anyone of your presence, sure. Keep an eye."

There was silence for the next ten minutes. I sunk down low in the seat. The Benadryl had done its job, and Trina was out like a light. As I scanned the street, I absently stroked her blonde hair, and found myself saying a silent prayer for her future. I included myself and Gem – and threw in the rest of humanity just for good measure.

The radio crackled to life. "Babe, I'm in. Remember all the dead people on the front steps?"

"It hasn't slipped my mind, Gem."

"They probably fled from here. It looks like a slaughterhouse. Cops dead everywhere, guns in hand. Looks like they got knocked out or something, then they were attacked. Weird. Almost like they were gassed, then eaten."

"Really? I'd expect cops to shoot center mass like they're trained, but none of this would've happened that fast. They should have had time to fire again and try a head shot I'd think."

"I don't know, Flex," Gem said. "Looks like they just passed out and then got eaten."

"Jesus," I said. "Gem, hurry and get out of there."

It was quiet for too long. "Gem," I said. "You there?"

"Yeah, Flex. I am. I hear some noises coming from the back of the building. Closer to you."

"I want you to get this back door unlocked. Do you think you can find these doors and avoid whoever's making the noise?"

"I sounds like someone yelling for help," she said. "I should help them, Flex."

"I agree, baby. But get that door open first. And when you do, use your flashlight to signal to me it's unlocked. You might need to prop it so it doesn't auto-lock."

Gem knew her shit, so there was no reason for me to worry. I expected within ten minutes I'd see the signal flashes, but I kept asking myself how many rounds I'd fired from the Uzi inside the Walgreens.

At 10 rounds per second, you could empty the entire 32 round magazine in 3.2 seconds. Had I cut down the two zombies at the drugstore in the .2 seconds? A full half second? Time flies when you're firing a sub machine gun. I had no idea. I hoped she checked the mag and I hoped it was full when I first saw the gun. She had the Glock, but I knew she only had limited rounds left in it. Then it struck me. She was in a fucking police station. There would be guns on every downed officer. I let out a sigh of relief. There it was again. Blessed relief.

I rolled my window down an inch so I could hear noise from outside. The area, as far as the eye could see, was eerily quiet and motionless. I was glad. I heard a sudden click.

I looked left at the building, and two quick flashes of light shone from the doors. More relief. I clicked on. "Beautiful, baby. Thanks. Did you find out who was yelling?"

"It's right around the corner. I've got the walkie turned way down. Trina still down?"

"Like a has-been fighter in his comeback bout. Did you grab any more guns?"

Despite her being quiet, I heard a low laugh over the radio. "Do I look like an octopus? I got a couple Berettas. It looks clear from here – think you can carry Trina over here real quick and take this stuff from me?"

I looked around. "Sure. Hold on. I reached an arm beneath the sleeping girl and pulled her onto my chest, her head tucking in beside mine. I pulled the .38 off the dash and hooked my finger around the handle and opened the door of the Suburban. Closing the door only lightly, I ran toward the building, Trina bouncing in my arms.

"Probably not the smartest thing we've done," I said. Give 'em here."

She pulled my pants away from my waist and tucked one, then the second gun inside my waistband. "You're a regular man of steel," she said. "Okay. You're loaded for bear. Get back to the truck."

I looked at her. "Sure you don't want to trade? You've done good, babe. Let me go finish up?"

"I've already got the layout, Flex. I'll just –"

"Help! Help me, somebody help me! Can you hear me?" The voice echoed through the police building.

"Jesus, Flex! Get back to the truck!"

"Bullshit," I said, pushing her inside and pulling the door shut behind me.

"Trina is with you, Flex. Trina!"

"Yes, and you're with me, too. And you're protective of this little girl, and you know as well as I do that she'll never be safer than when she's near you and you're armed. So move."

Gem glared at me again, and headed down the brick-lined hallway, painted in a glossy white. At the end of the hallway there was a door to the left. She unhooked a key ring from her belt and unlocked it.

"Is that a police belt?"

"A sergeant was wearing it, and he had the key. Skeleton key. Opens every door in the place."

"Damn, you're good," I said. And I meant it.

We hurried through the door and turned left, then right. There was another steel door with a reinforced glass view hole. I looked down, and saw two bodies on the floor about halfway down the hallway. The door at the far end was held open with a chair. Nobody moved. "Guess we go in, huh?" I said.

Gem nodded and inserted the key, turning it until a metallic click sounded. She pushed and it opened quietly.

The moment we stepped through the door, a voice came from one of the cells. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

We stopped short and analyzed the layout. Six cells down on the right, six on the left. We could see a nose sticking through the bars halfway down on the right. Then hands waved. "Hey, down here! Down here!"

The voice had a British accent. The hands didn't look rough, but smooth. In Florida, in June, the arms were covered by long sleeves, folded back at the wrist – about as casual as a long-sleeved shirt wearer who was comfortable in them might get.

"Who are you?" Gem called, as we approached the cell.

Trina was still out cold, dead weight in my arms, as I held my .38 pointed at the body of one of the uniform-clad officers on the cell block floor.

"Chatsworth," he said. "Hemphill Chatsworth."

We stepped into his view, me holding a little girl, sweating up a storm, and Gem, a hot Latin woman, also soaked with sweat, hefting an Uzi. We must have been a sight.

"Hemphill Chatsworth," said Gem, smiling. "Now that's a mouthful."

The man nodded, and even smiled slightly. "Hemp. Hemp to people who know me."

"What are you doing in this cell, Hemp?" I asked. "What went wrong in your life that you ended up in jail?"

"First off he goes by Hemp," Gem said. "Drug dealer, naturally."

"No, no," he said. "I shut the cell door. Locked myself in. I'm just glad it was open in the first place so I could get away from them." He bent down and brought up his hand holding a stainless steel .45 Automatic.

I tensed as Gem swung her Uzi quickly, pointing it at his head. "Drop that shit now!"

Hemp did. He flung the gun to the other side of the cell and it skittered off the concrete floor and into the wall. "It's empty! Empty!" he shouted, cowering.

"Why'd you grab it!" Gem said, her muscles tense as she held the gun on him.

"To show you if I was supposed to be in here I would not have a damned gun!" he said, holding his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture.

Gem's muscles relaxed. So did mine. She looked at me and shrugged. "Makes sense."

"I agree," I said. "I'm glad this kid's on Benadryl. Fuck me."

Gem lowered the weapon, glanced again at the propped door, then turned back to the British man in the cage. "Who were you trying to get away from? When was this?"

Gem stepped back and aimed the Uzi toward the open door where the chair lay angled and propped beneath the doorknob. Chatsworth must have noticed Gem eyeing the door nervously.

"I put that chair there when I ran in. I was afraid I'd be locked in if it latched, and then this happened. I've lost track of time, and – Jesus, I forgot I even had a watch on." He looked at his watch. "I've been in here about an hour now. These two were coming after me, and I shot them in the leg to start – thought it might deter them – but they didn't take their eyes off me, and kept coming. It wasn't like they saw me – more like they were drawn to me. I shot one in the chest, and he still kept coming. Christ, what the devil is happening here?"

"So you figured out the head shot is all that kills them," I said. "Good. It doesn't take long. You take out both of these?"

Hemp nodded. "Yes, but I only got the one in the head. The other—"

"Flex, MOVE!" Gem's voice was panicked, and she pulled me hard toward her and yanked me against the concrete wall next to Hemp's cell. As my back contacted the wall and I dropped my gun to keep from losing my grip on Trina, I saw why. The zombie on the cell block floor had begun to move and had pulled itself toward me until its gaping, gnashing mouth must have been inches from my ankle. Fucking inches.

Gem leapt back and pulled the trigger of the Uzi, holding it down as at least 25 high velocity rounds separated the zombie's head from his shoulders and nearly shattered our eardrums, echoing in the brick and steel block. When it was over, she leaned against the cell, breathing hard, her shoulders heaving.

I stood there speechless, as did Hemp. He sat on his knees, staring at her back, and a second later she turned and glared at Hemp. "Did you get the other one in the head? Are you fucking sure?"

I moved Trina into one arm and reached out and took the Uzi from her. "Here." I put Trina in her arms. "I got this. Relax." I walked over to the body lying directly across the narrow block, up against the opposite bank of cells. With my foot, I kicked the body over so it rolled onto its back. Yep. It was a one of them. The teeth were pulled back, the eyes staring blankly and sunken, the black veins running over every inch of its body.

There were two bullet holes. One in its forehead, and the other in the now destroyed chin. I lowered the barrel of the Uzi to his cranium to make sure. I gave it a short burst and felt better.

"Okay," I said. "Let's get our friend out of that cage and go get us some evidence."

CHAPTER FIVE

Hemp was no pussy. I could tell right away. He grabbed the empty .45 from the cell floor and tucked it in his pants.

"Popular gun," Hemp said. "If we don't find any ammo in evidence, I can find a bit on some of the police officers."

I led this time, and once we got on the second floor through a stairwell, the signs directing us to evidence were pretty clear. It was on the third floor. We stayed keenly aware of sounds other than ours, and kept our gun barrels high. Only head shots were of any value. This had become instinct now. I imagine even Hemp – especially Hemp – had learned that lesson. He brought up the rear as the only guy without a loaded weapon.

Then I remembered. Hell, how could I forget? I reached into my waistband and handed him one of the Berettas. "Check the magazine."

I hadn't considered that Hemp may have never handled a gun before except during his emergency in the cell, but he quickly pressed the magazine release button, dropping it into his hand. He looked at the side of the mag at the view slots counted the rounds, and slammed the mag back home.

I shook my head. "Good. You seem to know your way around a pistol. Now just remember to aim high and don't shoot if we're in the general direction you're pointing."

"Understood," Hemp confirmed.

I took Trina from Gem again. She was getting awfully heavy, and I was ready to get this done and get back on the road.

"This is it," Gem said. She put her key in the lock and turned it. The lock spun and the door clicked open. Our crew of Ghostbusters, or whatever we were these days, walked in. The power was out – not sure why, but the emergency lights were running on fast fading batteries and were no longer very bright. The lighting was equivalent to that of a romantic restaurant and the more time that passed, the worse it would be come. Flashlights were effective, but they also screamed "I'M RIGHT FUCKING HERE!" to anyone within view.

"I'll get the back wall and first couple of aisles. Hemp, get these two. We're looking for badass firearms and ammo of any and all kinds."

Gem found a two-tiered rolling cart with a rubber-lined surface. Perfect to transport our swag. I headed down the far wall, and Gem hit the middle. I could hear her sliding some drawers open, and Hemp was already investigating his rows.

I reached a wide, metal two-door cabinet around three-quarters of the way down the aisle. It was locked, but it did not appear to be designed for strength, because I was able to force the flimsy knob to turn. I yanked hard on the handle and the door popped open.

I stood back and whistled, throwing my caution of the things that ate people to the wind. And then I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants. Trina started to stir in my arms and I tried to contain myself. But I had a damned good reason.

I'd hit the motherload.

*****

"This one is a US built weapon, the Calico M960," Hemp said. His sandy, almost white-blonde hair hung into his eyes and he shook it back to the side. "The beauty of it is the high-capacity, helical-feed magazine. This firearm holds . . . hold on."

He went back to the cabinet and sorted through a few of the boxes. When he turned around again he had a round, steel magazine in his hand. "This one holds 100 rounds. There's a fifty in there too, but I thought this one might make us all a bit happier. With a full magazine it's going to be quite heavy – not something you'd want to run too far with."

Gem looked at me. She was holding Trina again, who was more awake, but nodding off now and then. She shrugged, then asked, "And you know all this because you do what for a living?"

"Scientist," he said. "Biology degree with a focus on epidemiology, primarily. That's why I'm so interested in this infection, or whatever it is. Everything I learn and observe might help me understand more about it. How it spreads, what it does."

"So you study human epidemics, that sort of thing?" I asked.

Hemp nodded. He was just under six feet tall, and a good looking guy. I liked him immediately.

"But how do you know about guns?" I asked. "That's the obvious question."

Hemp smiled. "I've had a fascination with guns of all kinds for years. It's part of the reason I got my second degree in mechanical engineering. My father used to pick me up broken guns from pawn shops – got them for next to nothing. When I was six, I'd break them down, figure out how to re-bore the cylinders, steel wool the rods, and I'd basically restore them. By the time I turned thirteen I was more interested in machine guns. They were much more interesting and complex, and being a teenager, my dad felt I was responsible enough to start breaking them down. I got a part time job and started paying for them myself, but my dad still had to go make the purchase." He smiled.

My eyebrows could not have gotten higher. Gem said it first. "So you've got degrees in epidemiology and mechanical engineering. Flex, our stories suck compared to his. Hemp, Flex Sheridan there is an electrician, but don't sell him short – he does do commercial work, too. I'm an artist. I work in several mediums, but none of them will immediately help us out of the shit storm that has befallen the state of Florida, and I'm assuming the entire world. So if I could, I'd handcuff you to Flex now and keep you with us, because I think you are going to be very helpful."

"You said a bad word," Trina said in a very soft voice.

"Sorry, baby," Gem said, stroking her hair. "Gemmy's had a hard day."

Hemp threw his hands out to his sides, the magazine still clutched in his left. "I don't have to be convinced here," he said. "You are the only uninfecteds I've seen, and the fact that we're not all victims of it means there's a reason. I don't know what it is, but it might be something we have in common, or maybe it affects people at different rates, based on diet, physiology, whatever. But as for me, I just drove down to Florida from Atlanta all by myself to check out the Kennedy Space Center. I've got no wife or kids, and I don't even have a girlfriend right now. So don't take this wrong, but you will do just fine."

"Safety in numbers?" Gem pulled up a wooden chair and sat in it with Trina resting against her shoulder, awake still, but staring into space.

Hemp nodded. "You already saved me once. I might have starved to death in that cell."

"I'd like to chit-chat all day," I said. "But we need to find out which weapons we have matching ammo for and stack 'em in that cart right there. Then we need to work our way down the stairs somehow, get back to the Suburban and get out of here. I think it's about as weird as hell that we haven't run into more of these things, but we're bound to hit some big numbers sometime. The sooner we're mobile, the better I'm going to feel."

"Especially with this one," Gem said, bouncing Trina on her knee.

We all got to work. Soon, all of our weapons carried the weight of full magazines.

And we had plenty of ammo and firepower to spare.

*****

We left the police station without incident at around 4:30 in the morning. We made it to the Suburban without encountering any people or any infecteds, and I had them all get inside the SUV while I checked on Jamie.

My gun at ready, and found Jamie still in her cocoon, undisturbed. I thought again about her hunger. She wasn't moaning now. I placed my hand on the bundle and said "Sis, if I can somehow wake you from this nightmare, I will. I promise you." I got back in the driver's seat. I was still wide awake.

After stopping at a gas station that clearly still had power, and being surprised that my swipe credit card still activated the pump, I got back in and started the engine.

I told Hemp what the situation was as we rolled along Thomasville Road, AKA Interstate 61, heading north. Gem volunteered to sit in the back seat with Trina, while Hemp sat in front.

"I want to warn you, Flex," said Hemp. "I'll talk about this with you, fully realizing it's sensitive. When I refer to your sister, I am going use the same terminology and analyses that I would with regard to any of the infected, so please, do your best to forget that she is so closely related. It's not my intention to offend."

"I got it," I said. "Understood."

"Okay, the first thing I want to tell you is that the likelihood that there will be a cure anytime soon for such a widespread, fast-moving disease – we'll call it that for now for lack of a better term – is almost nil."

He paused for a moment, as though to allow it to sink into my thick brain. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, so it was probably smart of him. I said nothing, but nodded at him.

"Okay, now, think odds. Of the people who are capable of finding the cure to this, scientists such as myself – and many of them far smarter than me, I might add – a large portion are inevitably becoming infected. It's the odds playing out, which means there is at least a 50/50 chance that the person who was going to discover the cure for this, if one can be found, is one of the infected."

Gem added, "And judging from what we've run into already, I'd say it's much greater odds than 50/50. I'd put it at closer to 90/10. And that's conservative. We've literally run into nobody alive who was calling for help but you."

Thomasville Road turned into Interstate 319. Along the way we came across several of the dead-but-not-dead things, but we encountered no living human beings. This was dashing our hopes, encounter by encounter. By the time we passed, they were too far behind us to be a threat. Most were . . . eating, and a little distracted.

"I don't know about leaving them all alive. They'd kill any of us, so aren't they the enemy?" Gem looked at me. "I'm sorry, Flex. But –"

"Gem, you don't have to walk on eggshells with me. But I don't want to call them zombies, or creatures or monsters, or anything like it. How about . . . let's call them abnormals for now."

Hemp nodded. "Abnormals. That works. And Flex, let me share with you that I think it's good we have one of them subdued. The only way a cure of any kind will be found is if they can be analyzed, examined."

"I don't want her hurt in any way, Hemp. Not one hair. I'm worried about her hunger. She could –"

I stopped talking. I wasn't sure she could die. I didn't know enough. I looked at Hemp. "Can she die?"

"She can be killed, as you know already, with trauma to the head – most likely the brain. But as for starvation? It's too soon. They are clearly ravenous. This is what drives them. And that's important for you to remember about your sister. This is not a vindictive or vengeful thing, what they're doing. They are hungry, and that's all they are."

I nodded. "Wolves and bears can't be blamed for killing, either. It's a survival instinct. But they kill just the same, and when their populations get too high, it's hunting season. Gem's right." I felt her hand on my shoulder. I was glad for it. What I said next, I didn't want to say. But I knew it was true.

"We've got to kill them all."

But when we reached the state line, that seemed next to impossible. We needed fuel again, saw a Texaco sign brightly lit, and had gotten off at the first exit inside Georgia.

At least 50 of them blocked the road, some hunched over bodies, feasting. Others moving toward our truck. Some moved slowly, lackadaisically, but others, if it were possible, seemed excited at the prospect of us, and moved at a faster clip. I hoped it was just my imagination.

"Holy fuck," said Gem.

"You said another really bad word, Gemmy."

"Baby, you get on the floor. Now."

"Get the 100-rounders," I said. "We're going to need them."

Hemp already had one in each hand and Gem's was leaning against her door. With the abnormals twenty-five feet from the Suburban, we opened the doors and stepped into our biggest battle yet.

*****

"Where the fuck did they all come from?" I called out, and Gem, already firing into the group, answered.

"Not sure babe, but I plan to send as many as I can to Hell!" She took aim and blasted the heads off of three of them that were within twenty feet.

Hemp did know his weapons. He charged forward toward them for a good, predictable shot, and in six short bursts, took seven of them down. For my part, I'd taken five out, and from our first estimate, we should've had right around thirty-five to go. We were wrong. There were dozens of them outside of our line of fire, making their way toward us along the shoulder behind the many cars that either crashed or had been hastily parked there. In my peripheral vision, I could see a few of them flanking us, and that didn't make any sense at all for things with just one emotion – hunger.

"Hemp, do you see what's happening?" I ran back to the truck and yanked open the door. "Trina, no matter what you hear, you keep your head down, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Uncle Flexy," she answered from under her comforter.

"Okay, sweetheart." I pulled the key and leaned over and pushed the lock down on the passenger side, then locked the driver's door and slammed it. I wanted to leave the rear doors open for quick access to the other weapons and ammo in case we needed them.

"Hemp, what do you think?" I called. Gem was focused. I glanced at her every now and then, in between shots.

"I think I'm glad we got these high-capacity magazines," he said. "It's going to be close."

"Gem, watch! There's two on your right!" I had my share of them working their way on my left, too, so took careful aim in the lightening sky and brought down six more in a spray of crimson that painted the gravel red.

We were in a isosceles triangle formation with Hemp out front, Gem on the right side of the Suburban, and me on the left. Hemp was using his M960 efficiently, and with minimal use of rounds, he was taking them out down the middle, leaving the side trackers to us. There was a car just to Gem's right, and that's how they got so close to her.

Gem turned and blew the heads completely off the two closest when they were just feet away from her. The light breeze blew the blood spray back toward her and she turned away momentarily to keep it out of her face. As she did so, she saw two more behind her. I had ducked down low to see beneath the Suburban, and saw their legs moving toward her. I heard her gun click.

"Run toward Hemp!" I shouted at Gem, and dropped to my stomach on the pavement. I fired a long burst, turning the creatures' legs into stumps. Then I ran around the truck and turned their gnashing faces and heads into pulp. "That's the fucking way we do it, asshole!" I shouted. This fucker had almost gotten the jump on my woman, and that shit was NOT acceptable.

"Gem!" She turned toward me, gratitude on her face. I threw my gun to her and she deftly caught it. In one swift motion she turned and took out no fewer than ten of the slow walkers on her right. I was back at the car, yanking the rear door open to grab another fully loaded rifle. This was one of the newest machine guns in the mix, A Daewoo K7 from the early 2000's. It only had a 32 round magazine on it, so I set it to the three-round burst mode. With speed, I could take out two or three of them per burst.

I slammed the door in time to turn and find one of them almost right behind me. Behind him were four more, coming out of the ditch from behind an old Nissan Sentra. I shot him in the mouth, and his head broke into two sloppy halves that slid down his body. As he fell, the others came into my sights, and I used two more quick bursts to take them down.

One of them could have been no older than sixteen years. I stared at the body on the ground for a moment. Somebody's son. Maybe they'd been on their way down to Orlando to see Disney World for the first time.

But this was no longer that family. These were not people now, and it was becoming clearer to me with every one of them I . . . murdered.

Stop that shit, Flex. Stop it.

Subconsciously I heard the gunfire all around me grow more and more infrequent. I shook off my heavy thoughts and ran around the rear of the trailer, scanned the freeway exit we'd driven up as far as I could see, then ran around the other side of the Suburban where Gem was in the process of shooting what used to be a woman wearing a "I'm With Stupid" shirt featuring an arrow pointing up. Stupid went down in a pool of muck.

"How we doin', guys?" Gem called, her eyes peeled for movement, her head moving side to side as she focused on the fading shadows around her.

I respected that woman more than ever. I never knew what was inside her, her strength, the pure will she possessed. I knew she had all the things I wanted, but I had no idea she also had what I needed. Everything I needed. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, but we hadn't had the time since this whole thing began. When we got back to my house, I'd make the time.

"Good," Hemp said. "I'm thinking . . . almost afraid to say it, but I'm thinking we've got them."

I checked the area behind the cars again, and walked forward. Hemp followed while Gem stayed near the Suburban and peered inside to check on Trina. Hemp and I scouted about fifty yards or so out in front of our vehicle. We both got to our knees and searched under the cars. All the bodies we encountered were either half-eaten human beings or abnormals with serious – and I mean deadly serious – head trauma.

"Hemp," I said, pointing at a Toyota Highlander that was rocking back and forth. I used hand motions to him as we separated and approached the vehicle from two sides. I saw the cause of the rocking almost immediately. Feet stuck out of the rear passenger side door. We'd been unable to see it as we walked by earlier on the other side of a crashed minivan.

I walked slowly, gun held at ready, and moved closer so I could see what was happening inside. When I finally could see, I wasn't sure what I was seeing.

It looked like a man in the throes of a fight with a polar bearskin rug. He moaned and thrashed, and I stood there for a moment in shock at the sight. But if he was alive, I needed to get to him. I leaned my gun against the van and reached down and grabbed both his ankles. Before I realized that his skin mashed like putty in my grip, I was pulling him out of the SUV. When his body rolled over as he slid off the seat and onto the ground, I saw his gnashing, bloody teeth, and massive bite marks in his vein-riddled face.

Faster than I could have imagined possible, he leaned forward, his hand snatching for my wrist, and he had me. His grip was much stronger than I could have imagined, and he was also far more flexible, bending almost in half to bring his horrifying face to where his hand held me. His mouth stretched open, his nose wrinkled and his lidless eyes grew wide as he prepared to take a bite of me.

An explosion rang out beside my ear, and I felt the burn of hot powder, followed by a high-pitched ringing, like a fucking tuning fork was embedded in my brain.

The hand loosened, and I fell back hard. I recall thinking I was going to hit my head on the pavement and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

It was the last thing I remember until I felt the wet towel on my face.

Only it wasn't a towel.

*****

"Flex. Flex, baby, wake up."

It was . . . could it be? Gem's voice?

"C'mon, baby. You're the one who's always on a time schedule. All your structure and bullshit. We gotta go."

Something wet slid across my mouth and cheek. Was Gem licking me? I tried to open my eyes, and found they worked. Light flooded into them, and I saw a white and pink blur over me. I squeezed them closed again, flushing away the haze, and opened them. Another lick. A big one.

"Jesus, you two, get that thing away from me!" I wasn't even sure what it was yet, but it was licking me.

"C'mon, now," said Hemp's voice.

I opened my eyes again, and this time I saw Hemp pulling the collar of a giant white dog with blood matted in the fur on its chin and all along its front legs and chest.

"Is he okay?" I asked. "Where the hell did he come from?"

Gem answered. "Well, a couple of things first. He's a she, and you saved her, Flex. Damned zombie was – sorry, I mean abnormal – was trying to eat her for breakfast."

Cobwebs still abounded in my head. "Shit, that was the rug? I didn't know what I was seeing! I thought the guy was freaking out, trying to bury himself under a big fur rug or something. When I grabbed his legs, it felt wrong, but . . . fucknuts!"

"Fucknuts?" Hemp said, amused. "This is what you come up with after almost being partially eaten?"

Gem looked at Hemp and smiled. "It's an inside joke. It's a pretty universal exclamation, actually."

"The thing was gnawing on this big girl's leg, and she was taking off a good portion of his face," Hemp said.

"And you were letting her lick me? What if she's infected?"

Hemp might as well have called me a moron. His face went absolutely sarcastic, and the only thing he left out was rolling his eyes. "Flex. We've driven across north Florida and did you see one zombie – shit – abnormal dog? Did you see any dogs feasting on human flesh the entire way? This tells me – and granted, I'm only a scientist who specializes in epidemics – that it doesn't spread to dogs. Perhaps other animals, but not canines. You'll be fine."

I sat up and stretched out my arms. "How's Trina?"

Gem held out her hand to me and I took it. "She's great. I fed her a few handfuls of Cheerios and some of the fruit rollups you got. Then I gave her a Benadryl, and she's back out."

"Did she see any of –"

"No," Gem said. I rolled up a blanket in the side window put the sunshade in the windshield. She's okay. And I want to take this girl with us, too."

"What the hell is it?" I stared at the dog. "She's big, and fat as hell."

Hemp laughed. "She's a Great Pyrenees, and she's pregnant."

I brushed off my pants and looked from Hemp to Gem to the giant blood red and white cotton ball looking up at me, panting and smiling. "Well, if we aren't turning into one big fucking happy family."

"I'll drive," Gem said. "You look like you could use a can of chili and a nap."

I didn't argue.

CHAPTER SIX

We made it to the CDC in Atlanta well into the morning. Our encounters with others, either alive or otherwise, was limited. Nothing seemed to make sense. Visible people on the streets were almost non-existent, aside from the abnormals – it was as though the survivors were holing up somewhere, avoiding the creatures that seemed to have only one purpose.

The guard gate at the entrance to the Center for Disease Control complex of buildings was far more fortified than the flimsy bar we'd breached to enter the parking lot at the police building back in Tallahassee. As we approached the barrier and small building, we saw a man inside, slumped over his keyboard, the back of his head and neck raw meat and being worried by a swarm of flies. Hemp and I got out of the truck and cautiously approached the open door. One of the abnormals was on the ground with a hole in the back of its skull, apparently caught in the act of feasting on the guard.

"Wonder if the head shot was lucky, or from experience," Hemp pondered.

"Bothers me that the radio is dark now," I said. It had been nothing but static and canned music from automated stations for the last two hours. "That means that as far as these radio towers can transmit, life has changed."

A sound came in the distance. A high-pitched, yet deep shriek.

"What the fuck is that?" I asked, and Hemp answered, the engineer that he was.

"Airliner!" he shouted.

It grew louder and louder as Hemp and I turned and looked all around us. The deep, rumbling sound became ear-shattering, a deafening roar. We instinctively ducked down and ran back to the truck, our knees bent and our eyes scanning the sky. Over the horizon from behind the gate entrance, an enormous Japan Air passenger plane came into view, no higher than half a mile off the ground, losing altitude fast. The trajectory had it coming right over the top of us, but we had no idea how fast it was dropping.

"What the fuck?" yelled Gem through the open window. She had no view of the sky from inside the Suburban, but turned in her seat and saw the plane looming larger than life through the rear window, and heading straight for the truck.

"Jesus Christ!" she cried, and instinctively threw herself over Trina as they both tucked down, pressing their bodies into the seat. The enormous Boeing 777, now no more than five hundred feet above, thundered directly overhead, beginning to angle sharply to the left. The left wing cut through the top of the guard building we were just in, and it shattered into a million pieces that blew into the sky, mostly following the trajectory of the plane itself.

Hitting the guard building did nothing to the plane's momentum or angle, insignificant as it was in size and construction. Hemp and I had dropped down onto our stomachs beside the truck, our necks craned as we watched the plane rocket overhead slanting to a greater and greater degree. The whooshing jet blast kicked a torrent of dust and gravel up into our faces, sandblasting the truck, and nearly blowing us beneath it, even as it rocked the entire vehicle on its suspension. Then, within an eighth mile, the tip of the huge wing punched into the paved drive ahead, sending chunks of asphalt as big as Volkswagens flying into the air.

The huge plane with its nearly 200 foot wingspan cartwheeled three times before exploding in a ball of flame and searing heat that blasted our dazed faces even from that distance. Its speed ensured forward momentum, though, and it eventually slammed into the solid concrete CDC building identified with a large sign as Building #1. The walls collapsed into a fiery mishmash of stone, metal and bodies as the aircraft finally came to rest, now unrecognizable in its complete destruction.

Hemp and I shook off the dust and dirt as we slowly got to our feet, unable to take our eyes off the devastation. Then I thought of the girls.

"Holy shit," I said, pulling open the door of the SUV. "You guys okay?"

"Had to happen," Gem said. "Pilots aren't immune, are they?"

"He was probably headed to land at Hartsfield-Jackson," said Hemp. "Didn't quite make it."

We all knew, but didn't really discuss the fact that there was more than one possibility. Either the pilot had become infected or the co-pilot had metamorphosed and had attacked him. The other scenario is that while the flight attendants were accessing the cockpit, multiple passengers overtook him or her, and all hell ensued.

"Well, we can scratch that building off our list," I said.

"Not too big a deal," said Hemp. "It's mostly administrative. "I mean, it would not be where people would go if there was an outbreak of some kind. The buildings with secure airtight bunkers are deeper within the complex."

"Did you spend a lot of time here?" Gem asked.

"Absolutely. I did quite a bit of work here during the swine flu scare, as well as some pretty intense research on some other viruses that were never shared with the public."

"Doesn't keeping epidemics from the public defeat the purpose of the CDC?" I asked. "Aren't they supposed to tell the public how to avoid contracting diseases and viruses?"

Hemp looked somber. "Flex, there was no preventing the ones I'm referring to. It only would have served to send people into a panic. But that said, the one that seems to have gained a footing – this one – is more devastating than any I saw. If not for us, I'd call this one a world-ender."

"If not for us?"

Gem interjected. "I think Hemp means that with us alive and uninfected, there's a chance this thing runs its course. People like us will be left to repopulate and rebuild."

"It remains to be seen how long these people last once they've become infected. I won't know anything until I'm able to study some of them; learn about their new physiology, heart, lungs, brains, motor skills, communication skills, if any."

I shook my head. "I don't think there are any communication skills. Just body language, and that's always the same. I'm hungry, and you're food."

Gem smiled at me. "Flexy, was that a joke?"

"Fuck, don't I wish," I said. "Let's get through this barrier and past that mess and see what we find in these other buildings. Hemp, lead the way, brother."

"First things first," he said. He walked over to the automatic barrier and analyzed it for a moment. Then he removed a plastic cover, pulled a lever, and the gate unlatched. A moment later he was rolling it open.

"You are an engineer," Gem said.

It had taken him under sixty seconds.

"Yes, I am," he said, smiling.

The heat from the blazing aircraft could be felt through the side windows of the Suburban as we drove past the tangled wreckage. There were torsos, trunks, arms, legs, and various other unidentifiable body parts strewn among the seats, metal and burning plastic chunks. We had to skirt over a hundred and fifty feet to the left just to get the Suburban past the debris.

"That was close," Gem said, hugging Trina to her side. "You okay, baby?"

Trina looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah. But I'm hungry."

"We'll get some food when we stop. Want more Cheerios?"

"I guess. Do we have any milk and sugar?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie. Maybe Gemmy will stop and get us some. It might not be that cold, though."

"Okay," Trina said.

I was a bit worried about her. She seemed to be in shock. I was no expert, but wouldn't be surprised. I was even happier to have Gem with her. Trina loved Gem.

"Pull up here, to Building #3," Hemp said. "If their emergency systems are up, then they've got cameras and should be able to see us at the entry. There are two large bunkers beneath this building, with storage garages, and laboratories are on the upper levels. We should be able to achieve whatever we might expect right here."

"And what do we expect?" I asked. "I don't think I really had any idea. Just seemed like the place to go."

"Equipment, maybe some explanations, too. If anybody here is still . . . well, human." Hemp shrugged. "And you're right. It's our best bet."

We got out of the Suburban and Gem scooped up Trina and carried her in her arms. We relegated the dog to the vehicle for the time being – there was not much sense in having her running around in her condition, not sure exactly what might come around the next bend.

There were no abnormals around – at least not yet – so we felt relatively safe, what with the tremendous firepower we'd obtained, now strapped across our shoulders. Gem, holding Trina, had settled for the Glock tucked into her waistband, her precious Uzi left behind for the time being.

The door looked secure. The camera was there as Hemp said it would be, and we all looked up at it and waved our arms. Gem had had an idea for a sign, which we made in the truck before coming out. It said:

UNINFECTED.

NEED HELP!

I had a black Sharpie in the glove compartment and we'd used the inside cover of the old Suburban's maintenance record book. It wasn't that big, but it should do it if anyone was inside to read it. While we realized it would be clear we were not one of them, we wanted to stress the point that we were well aware of them.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

Everyone was quiet for a moment. "Yes. Sounds like a generator," said Hemp.

"Then somebody's alive?" Gem said.

"Here's hoping." I pounded on the door, and we stood back and looked again at the camera. I thrust the sign right in front of the camera again.

An intercom clicked. "Dr. Chatsworth, is that you?"

Hemp's eyes brightened. "Uh, yes, it is. Who is that, please?"

"It's Max, Dr. Chats – I mean, Max Romero!"

"Max, God it's good to hear your voice. Can you allow us to come in? What's the situation inside?"

"Jesus, Dr. Chatsworth. I can't tell you how happy I am you're here. I'm . . . well, I'm locked inside one of the labs right now. Some of our people were infected, and I barely made it in here. Jesus, Dr. Franklin Lang – or what used to be Dr. Lang – attacked me. And what the hell was that noise? About ten minutes ago I heard a loud rumbling sound and the ground actually shook beneath my feet!"

Gem spoke up. "A passenger plane crashed outside and slid into your building number one. It was an enormous explosion."

"Jesus. I was on the phone with Dr. Snipes and Dr. Wilder. They were in building one working on some documentation. I guess they're . . ."

"They're gone, I'm afraid," said Gem. "That building is rubble, and what's not destroyed is burning. I'm sorry."

The smoke was beginning to build where we stood, and it was getting thick and hard to breathe. There was a light breeze blowing the smoke and fumes in our direction, and along with the wind created by the fire itself, I knew we couldn't stay out here for long. I tried to be tolerant as Hemp got a feel for the landscape of things.

Hemp looked at us and shook his head. "They weren't exactly friends, but I did work closely with Dr. Lang. He was an excellent scientist. Max, do you have control of the door switch from there?"

"Yes, Dr. Chatsworth, I can buzz the door from here, but you have to be careful. I see you've got weapons, and that's good, because at this point, I have no idea what you'll find in the unsecured areas of the building."

"What of the EIS staff?" Hemp asked. He turned to us and said "Epidemic Intelligence Service. These are the ones to get busy when a new threat appears." He looked again at the camera. "Have any of them been able to initiate an analysis of this?"

I was getting impatient. "I hate to interrupt Hemp, but would you mind if he buzzes us in? We're pretty exposed out here."

Gem spoke up. "Flex, we'd better get as much information as we can before we go inside. Hemp's talking to him now, but once we gain access, we have no idea what we're going to run into or if we'll ever get to him at all." She looked up at the camera and shrugged. "Sorry, Max, but there's no guarantee we'll make it to you or that you'll be alive if and when we do get there."

"I understand," Max said. "What else can I tell you, Dr. Chatsworth?"

"Can you tell me if the abnormals – that's what we're calling them for the time being – are concentrated or more prevalent in a particular area of the building? So we can avoid it if possible?"

The click came again. "This started yesterday evening," said Max. "I was having some dinner in the cafeteria, and it seemed as though after some initial complaints about headaches – severe, migraine-type headaches from what I understand – those who had them just dropped. Like they passed out. When they got back up, they'd . . . well, they'd just changed. Eyes, skin, motor skills."

"That fast," said Hemp. "Reminds me of what I saw in the Tallahassee police station. I'd seen some of them farther along outside, which is why I went in for help. But inside the police station, everything was chaos. I went in for help, and ended up . . . well, you know."

Max came on again. "Two of the cafeteria staff attacked Dr. Hanzek, and I sat there holding a sandwich in the back of the room, not sure what was happening. Then I saw they were trying to eat him, and he was screaming. But Dr. Chatsworth, they weren't just trying. They were eating him."

Max spoke rapidly, and I felt for him. He was the first uninfected we'd come across, and this is what we were all feeling. A sense of dread and confusion about what was happening to the world as we had known it.

"I just got up and ran. That's when I almost collided with Dr. Lang, who looked the same as the others. I didn't notice at first, I was so in shock from what had just happened. I started to say something to him, but it was clear he was gone. He grabbed my shirt and I tried to pull his arm off me, and his skin . . . it was mushy or something. His eyes were vapid, nothing there, but I got the impression he could still see me. I was able to fight my way free of him, and I just ran in here and activated the lock."

Hemp looked worried. "Max, how long has the generator been running?"

Click. "About sixteen hours now. But it feeds from multiple huge underground LP tanks, so it can literally run for a couple of weeks."

"Good," Hemp said. "If it shuts down, the door locks release. Max, when's the last time you heard noise from outside the lab where you are?"

"Not since about six hours ago. There's a small refrigerator in here, so I've got some food and water, but no weapons. I wasn't willing to venture outside here and check the status."

I spoke. "There's evidence that some of the abnormals made it outside, but we don't know where they came from. Hemp? Do you think you have everything you need for now?"

He nodded. "Yes, I believe so. Max, we're going to come in now, so activate the lock release. Which lab are you in? We'll try to get to you first."

"Second level, lab 202. I don't think I'd recommend taking the elevator. You won't know what you'll be facing when the doors open, but I'll leave that to you. Top of the stairs, right hallway, 2nd door on the left."

"Okay, hit it. We'll be there as soon as we can."

The solenoid hummed and the bolt retracted. We pulled the door open and went inside.

*****

We stepped inside and looked in both directions. I felt better with a death grip on one of the several Daewoo K7s we'd confiscated, and Hemp was trying out one of the three Heckler and Koch MP5s we'd nabbed.

The H&K was the most widely used submachine gun among law enforcement, and looked pretty badass besides. Nice and compact, with a 30-round magazine and a 2-round burst setting, Hemp had a full magazine installed and two jammed in his belt.

Gem brought up the rear with Trina in her arms. She looked exhausted, and I knew she'd never say anything. I knew from experience that Trina, despite weighing only about 40 pounds, could start to feel very heavy after hauling her around for just a short while.

"Baby, are you okay with carrying her?" I asked.

Gem nodded, but pulled back and looked at Trina. "Trini, baby, do you think you'd like to walk and hold Gemmy's hand for a little while?"

"Uh huh," she said. "I can walk. Where are we?"

"We're in a big building, and we're going to a laboratory to see friend of Hemp's." Gem put her down and she looked up at us and held out her hand. Gem took it.

"I'm not tired," she said, yawning.

"I know you're not, baby. You don't get tired because you're a big girl."

I smiled at Gem. "Stay about eight to ten feet behind us. If anything's up here, we'll dispatch it before you two know what happened."

"Stairwell's on the left here. Or do you want to take the elevator?" asked Hemp.

Unlike most buildings with backup power systems, this facility had a large generator capable of running nearly every piece of powered equipment that might ordinarily operate, with the exception of some minor, non-essential devices. As Hemp told us on the road, they could have to survive in this building for some time, and the capability to continue the experiments necessary to find an antidote to any given virus or infection was crucial.

"I think your friend might be right," I said. "Let's forget the elevator. We can push the doors open and get the lay of the land. That way we can avoid the 'Here's Johnny!' factor and enter at our own speed."

"Stairwell's here," Hemp said. He pulled open the door to the left of the entry. Steel corrugated steps led up to the second level in two flights. Hemp craned his neck, pointing his gun up the well. We could see through the steel stair treads, and it appeared to be deserted. Hemp confirmed it and waved us onward.

"Hemp, you go first. I'm bringing up the rear. Gem, you and Trina between us."

We got organized and headed up. It was a quick trip up the 20 steps to the second floor landing. Hemp held his MP5 pointed upward, and his hand on the door. "Everyone ready?" he asked.

We nodded. He pulled. It didn't move. Our eyes fell on the card reader mounted on the wall to the left of the door and all of us groaned at once.

"Fuck. I forgot about this." Hemp looked guilty.

"I see our vernacular is catching on. Don't worry about it. We'll just take the elevator," I said.

"That won't work, either. We're going to have to get a card off . . . well, a body, if we can find one. The elevator will open, but you won't be able to make it go anywhere unless you've got a swipe card."

"Well, to be fair, Max might have reminded us of that," I said.

Gem sighed. "I think we can chalk it up to a bit of stress and give him a pass on that oversight."

"I'll go back down and find something somewhere," I said. Hemp waved his hand.

"Nope. Me. I know where to look, I know how to handle this weapon, and I should've thought about it. You three stay here, and I'll be right back. I don't think this will take too long."

"Okay, buddy. Be careful," I said. "If you're not back in ten, we're coming after you."

"I'll be back in five," he said, smiling. He trotted down the stairs with more energy that I was feeling, and Gem and I watched him disappear down the stairwell and around the corner.

"Bollocks!"

I looked at Gem and shrugged. She smiled at me.

"What's wrong, Hemp," she called.

"I can't get out." His voice echoed up the concrete and steel stairwell.

"That door's locked too? I thought this was a fire escape." Gem looked confused.

"Hold on," Hemp called up. "Okay, okay. I got it. The doors to the interior levels lock automatically. There's another door down here that leads outside, so I just have to go out and have Max let me in again. Sit tight. Start your ten minute counter."

But I didn't have to wait ten minutes. We heard the door click open and Hemp screamed. Just as we heard the first rounds explode out of the barrel of his MP5, the door clicked closed and we heard nothing but silence again.

"Hemp!" I yelled. Nothing. He was outside with whatever had caused him to discharge his weapon.

"Stay here, Gem," I yelled as I started down the metal stairs, taking them two at a time. "Keep your Glock ready."

I reached the first floor landing and pushed the door bar slowly. The door opened, and smoky, fuel-enriched oxygen and sunlight poured through. I saw nothing straight ahead, but as I stepped completely out, the wall behind my head exploded, a diagonal zipper pattern appearing on the surface just above me. I dove to the ground, landing on my elbow and hip and swung my rifle in the direction of the incoming rounds, and fired off a two second burst that put twenty rounds in the direction of what I hoped was the source.

I was apparently pretty close, because the gunfire stopped long enough for me to jump back to my feet and run for a small alcove in the building's wall to the right of the door. "Hemp!" I shouted.

"Over here," he said, and it sounded like he was just on the other side of the outcropping behind which I was concealed.

"Cover me!" I called, and it was followed by machine gun fire. I dove around the outcropping and back to the solid brick wall, and he was beside me, crouched down, slamming another magazine into his Heckler and Koch.

"Where are they?" I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.

"In one of the patrol Jeeps," Hemp said. "I'm not sure why they're shooting at me, except maybe they're a tad on edge about now."

"Did you try to identify yourself?"

"They can't hear anything over their own gunfire, unfortunately. We're just going to have to –"

His words were cut off when the open-cab Jeep drove past again and two uniformed men, one brandishing a machine gun of his own, came back into view. Hemp and I said nothing. We both raised our weapons and sent a continuous barrage of lead at the vehicle and its occupants.

The driver was clearly hit. Crimson spray erupted from his head and his body flew out and rolled as the small truck spun sharply toward us, and onto two wheels. My gun was empty, but Hemp had deftly ejected his magazine and slammed another one in. As the jeep's undercarriage and fuel tank were exposed, Hemp fired into it, turning it into an instantaneous fireball.

We watched it for a moment, hoping there wasn't another vehicle behind it. After two minutes of no movement or activity, we approached the body of the man who had flown free of the burning four-wheeler. Hemp knelt beside the man.

"We've got our key card," he said. "I just hate that we had to kill more uninfecteds to get it."

"They didn't give us a choice," Hemp. "You know that."

"I know. But I've a feeling we're going to be alone enough in this world. I can't stand making it more so."

I patted him on the back and he stood. The key card Hemp held in his hand had the metallic strip intact, but a clean 9mm bullet hole ran right through the man's photograph. His name was Louis Franklin, he looked to be about 24 years old, and thankfully, Hemp did not know him or his family.

CHAPTER SEVEN

We went back to the truck, checked on the dog, who was lost in what was apparently a pretty good dream when we arrived, and loaded up on ammo again. We'd not intended on using so much in one fell swoop, which just served to remind us that you never knew what you were going to encounter, so better to be over prepared, even if it meant carrying a little extra weight.

We closed the door and started back toward Building #2's entry door.

"You going to name the dog?" Hemp asked.

"I think we'll let Trina do that," I said. "She needs something to occupy that little mind of hers besides her family. She's never going to see them again – at least from what it looks like now."

Hemp put a hand on my shoulder as we approached the entrance door. We wouldn't need to be buzzed in this time. Hemp swiped the card. "Flex, I know we're all clinging to a bit of hope here, but you do realize your sister's condition is unlikely to ever be reversed, don't you?"

I pulled the door open about an inch and looked at him. "I know that. In my heart I know that holding on to this particle of hope is foolish, but meeting you and learning your background has given me that much more hope," I said, holding my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Just that much, but it's enough. I can't even tell you what she means to me."

"Let's go find Max," Hemp said, nodding at the door. "He may be able to give us more, which might further our ability to make a game plan."

I pulled it open and we went inside, and back into the stairwell.

When we got back to the second floor landing, Gem was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, and Trina curled up against her. The Glock was in her hand, resting against her knee.

"Finally," she said, getting to her feet. "What happened out there?"

"Couple of guards just started shooting at us. Had some pretty high-powered guns themselves, but we got the jump on them, because one was driving and only one was shooting."

Hemp swiped the card to the second level and the door latch clicked. He pulled it open and poked his head into the hallway. "Clear," he said.

We moved out into the hallway as a unit, same formation as before with Hemp in the lead, Gem pulling Trina along by her hand, and me bringing up the rear. The level was clear. The lab in which Max was locked was just 50 yards down the hall, and we made it there without incident. Hemp rapped on the door.

A round face peered through the wire-reinforced glass, then smiled. A moment later the lock clicked, and the door swung in.

"Dr. Chatsworth!" shouted Max, as though he had found a long-lost friend. He took Hemp's hand and clasped it with both of his. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you!"

Max Romero was a short man, around five-and-a-half feet tall, bald with hair on both sides of his head. He wore wire framed round glasses, and his skin was a medium brown tone as a result of his Mexican heritage.

"Max, please meet Gem, Flex and little Trina here. We've got a dog in the car, but no name for her yet."

Max took everyone's hand and shook them as introductions were made, except for Trina, whom he patted on top of the head, letting his hand pause on her cheek. "It's so good to meet all of you. It's been harrowing here all by myself. I've kept my eye on that camera, but you're the only ones to show up so far."

"We met a couple of your guards downstairs just now," I said. "Unfortunately, they tried to kill me and Hemp, and we had to turn it around on them."

Max looked confused for a moment. "Hemp? Oh, Hemp! Sorry, Dr. Chatsworth. I knew you went by that, but our relationship has always been on more of a professional level."

"Please," Hemp said. "Just call me Hemp at this point. Max, what have you learned about this thing? Anything?"

Max shook his head slowly. "Not much, I'm afraid. The headaches that precede the main symptoms, which can drive you crazy on their own, are powerful. A couple of colleagues I was speaking with had the headaches, and trying to ask them questions about it was like trying to get a 2-month old puppy to focus on learning a trick. The pain was intense and completely distracting. At that time, I had no idea what it would become."

"Did they say anything about dreams?"

Max's eyes went round. "Yes, they did, as a matter of fact. Horrible dreams the night before. Then they woke up with the headache, and . . . well, we know what comes next."

"Do you have a plan, Max?" Gem asked the question. Her eyes were intense. "What you're going to do?"

He nodded. "I made a commitment to the CDC, and as an extension of that, to the American people. So, if you can help me secure at least this building, I'd be content staying here and helping direct anyone else who might come this way looking for help."

"It is the most logical place," I said. "It's the first place I considered coming. Even before I ran into Hemp, here."

"I've got what's basically a Ham radio here, and I've set it to automatically scan the frequencies. I've heard a few snippets of people talking. As far away as Texas. So there are others out there."

"Have you spoken to any of them?" I asked.

Max nodded. "Only so far as to tell them that the infection is here in Georgia, too. And that for all intents and purposes, the CDC is out of commission. If they stop by, I can direct them to where I know the uninfecteds are located, but there's no sense in them coming here if we're unable to offer any real assistance."

I nodded, knowing he was right. It would be good for people to know what frequency the CDC was on, so that Max could give out any information he was able, but as for them coming here, it wasn't helpful. The living, uninfected needed to get together with others. Safety in numbers.

"I'm concerned about your generator, Max. You're not going to be able to stay here long if that runs out. You said a couple of weeks. Is there enough food here to hold you?

"Absolutely. I could eat here for a couple of months, since the generator also keeps our main freezer going. But that gen is going to have about another 11 days before it shuts down hard, and for good."

"How do you refuel it?" Gem asked.

"We have some huge above-ground LP tanks here, as well. Not feeding to the generator supply tanks, but we keep the additional LP gas on hand for many other uses. Burners, heaters, torches. Behind this building."

"How far from the generator tanks?" Hemp asked.

"I have no idea where the gen tanks are buried, but I assume they're close to the gens themselves. Northeast corner of the building. And the above-ground tanks are on the same side of the building, but about a hundred or so yards away."

"Okay," Hemp said. "Max, are you staying here? Or do you want to join us?"

Max didn't hesitate. "I have to stay, Dr. Chatsworth. I feel an obligation."

"Okay, then. I thought you'd feel that way," Hemp nodded. "But here's what we're going to try to do." He turned to me. "Flex, if we can find enough black pipe, I want to run it from the spare tanks to the feed for the underground LP tanks. Depending on the size and how full they are, that ought to keep Max here up and running for up to a month or more if power draw is minimized."

"Yeah," I said. "And in a month, we never know what course this thing might take. The infecteds might all be dead, and at that point Max could leave the building safely."

"It could go the other way, too." Max looked at Hemp with concern in his eyes.

"Let's hope not," Hemp said. "Max, are there any of the mobile labs downstairs? Those converted motor homes?"

Max nodded. "We have six of them down there. One is brand new. A 2011 that we just took delivery on. Nice 40 foot with four slide-outs."

"I know this might go against your grain, but would you mind if we took one?" Hemp looked directly into Max's eyes.

Max laughed. "Dr. Chatsworth, if you're going to take the time to increase my lifeline here, then of course you can take what you need! Having you out there working on this thing is about all I can ask for. I know you'll do what you can to find a cure or a way to stop this thing. Don't ask, just take."

"I think I've got an idea," Gem said. "Trina, I want you to stay here with Dr. Romero, okay? He's going to give you a soda." She looked at Max and nodded, and he nodded back. "We're going to go out and clear the rest of this building of anything we find."

Max walked us to a building layout diagram on the wall. He pointed. "We're here right now. Above ground there's one level above this floor, this level, and the first floor. Below ground we have the garages where the mobile labs and other vehicles are located. I'd guess you start at the top, work your way down. The key card you have should get you into restricted areas, too."

"Any areas we should stay out of? Perhaps due to airborne contaminates?"

Max shook his head. "No experimentation with anything extraordinary right now. You're safe, aside from the obvious."

"Okay," I said. Let's get this done. Then, if we're smart, we'll secure all the doors, get a nice long nap, re-pipe the LP gas line, and pick our lab and go."

"I need a bigger gun before we do this," Gem said. "And I'd like to bring our furry girl inside, too." She smiled.

We had our plan. We went outside to get the dog and Gem's favorite Uzi.

*****

After returning to the lab with no confrontations of any kind, we began to wonder where all the infecteds were. Max had told us that there were 110 to 130 people in building #2 at any given time, particularly at the time of the first encounter with those who had turned into whatever they had become.

Hemp had also been vocalizing his questions about how the virus or infection might evolve, and how quickly it might happen. Would these creatures become more aggressive? Smarter? Would their senses evolve with their growing hunger, allowing them to better find their prey?

Too many questions and not enough answers – yet. But they would come, we knew, in time.

"Elevator this time?" Hemp said.

"Why not? We're loaded up with magazines and we'll need to preserve energy," Gem said.

"Let's go," I said. "This building's not going to clear itself."

We got into the elevator, which was already on the 2nd floor. Hemp slid the card and the lights flashed on. He hit the 3 button and the hydraulics kicked in.

We rose smoothly to the top floor and the car stopped. The doors didn't open immediately, but when they did, we all involuntarily jumped back.

The room was filled with feasting infecteds. Blood and gore was strewn all around the landing, and bloody handprints were smeared on the walls. The stench blasted us in the face the moment the doors opened, and Hemp began slamming the palm of his hand on the second floor button again the moment he laid eyes on the horrifying scene in front of us.

Then, all at once, every creature within eyeshot raised their dead faces and looked right at us.

"Fuck. Hemp, swipe the card! The card!" Gem's gun was held out in front of her, but she didn't pull the trigger. None of the infecteds had moved yet, but from our short distance away, it was uncanny how we could see their dead-looking nostrils flare to twice their former size.

Smelling us.

Then they were on the move. Simultaneously, it seemed. The things stood straight up, and as though listening to one command, they all moved toward us at once.

Too fast. Gem fired her Uzi at about a five and a half foot height, and took out six abnormals with one lateral spray of bullets. Their heads turned into pulp and their bodies twisted to the left and right depending on how they were hit. One of the creatures survived the shot only taking a hit in the shoulder, and as his body spun around, he launched himself forward toward the elevator door.

And then the man-thing was lying on the elevator floor between us, its disgusting mouth constantly masticating, its remaining teeth scraping along the leather outer of my shoe as its hand reached out and snatched hold of Hemp's leg. He was dressed in a lab coat, once white, but now smeared with gore and blood. Grey matter sprinkled the shoulders, and he immediately lost a tooth trying to bite through my leather boots as I tried to kick him loose.

"I don't want to shoot your foot!" Gem shouted, then threw her submachine gun over her shoulder and pulled the Glock from her waistband. She put it against the thing's head, angling the barrel away from my foot, and fired.

The shot rang in our ears in the confines of the elevator car and the thing's head exploded, its body crumpling to the floor. The doors closed, then bounced open, hitting the creature's legs.

"Jesus, we have to move him – in or out!"

More of the things were moving toward us from a distant hall.

"Let's get out, then!" Gem shouted. "We came up here to clear the floor, right?" Her voice was high-pitched and her accent was prominent under stress. I looked at Hemp and we knew she was right. He yanked his leg free of the dead thing's grip, and we all jumped out, our weapons back in the kill position.

"Stand back, cover this area in thirds!" I shouted. "I got left, Gem, you get the middle, and Hemp, get the right!"

Two of them, formerly young women, which was fairly evident from the long, flowing blonde hair on one of them and the above-the-knee length skirt on the other, were munching on another woman, this one older, evident by the grey hair and a mustard-colored pantsuit. The young women's legs were grey-green with the now familiar roadmap of veins running just beneath the opaque skin. One had been doing a good job on the center of the woman's back, specifically the fleshy part at the waist, and the other had been gnawing on the side of the woman's neck. Aside from their jaws pulling the meat from her body in stringy mouthfuls, the woman's body lay still. She was now dead – mercifully so.

But I must have smelled better, because they were drawn to me without question. The flaring nostrils as they rushed toward me mesmerized me for a moment, and in each of them I saw Jamie. I held my weapon out, wanting to pull the trigger, but wondering in the back of my mind who once loved them, who might be unaffected and be at home, barricaded in the house, perhaps even calling their cell phones wondering why they weren't answering, but fearing – no, knowing – the worst had happened.

Now they moved. Almost as though they were supercharged by electrical probes, they rushed toward me in a jerky-quick motion. I was still trying to put who they once were straight in my mind when I heard that voice – the grounding voice – call out.

It was Gem. "Flex, shoot them!"

I did, finally. I sprayed them with two quick two-round bursts, dropping them for the last time in a splatter-spray of red and gray, along with a mist of unknown fluids that added to the horrific stench in the room – the stench of decaying flesh and the unbreath of the undead.

Hemp had just fired on and extinguished the hunger of two more abnormals heading straight for him, their incisors working and grinding together in anticipation of fresh flesh. That finished his magazine, and he ejected it and tried to snap another in, but he didn't see the abnormal that had just slid around the corner – and I mean slid, leaving a slimy, bloody smear-print of its body along the wall.

This was apparently a janitor, wearing grey coveralls and a name tag that I could not read from my vantage point. Had that tag been on his head rather than his chest, I'd have blown it apart.

"Hemp, DUCK!" I screamed, and he dropped down onto his haunches, the creature toppling over him rather than into him. It was like the old Dick Van Dyke show where the actor tripped over the ottoman and onto the carpet, only there was no comic return to his feet this time. Rather the thing flipped over and landed on its back looking rather surprised – if that was possible – to see me standing over it with my Heckler and Koch.

The surprise disappeared when I blew hits head apart, inadvertently splattering Hemp with the thing's brains and maybe the left eyeball.

I looked up again, and then over at Gem. She was eyeing me, too – there seemed to be a lull. Taking a quick count, it appeared we'd killed at least 22 of them, and gaining confidence and experience, we'd kept our ammo usage to a minimum.

Gem came over to where I stood as I held out a helping hand to Hemp. He took it and pulled himself back to his feet.

"Thanks," he said. "I owe you one."

"We're gonna need a fucking calculator if we start that shit, friend. It's on me."

"I hope Trina and Max are okay," Gem said. "Why did they concentrate up here?"

"More labs up here, plus the cafeteria and staff lounge is on this level," said Hemp. "Makes sense, really."

"But why right here?"

"Look at all the bodies," I said. "All the uninfecteds. They obviously ran for the elevator, and perhaps some just couldn't get in fast enough. A pileup at the doors, an attack from the abnormals, and the feast ensued."

"This area became the food court," Gem said, not smiling. "But some had to make it, right? Max can't be the only one who got away."

Hemp shrugged. "I don't know if Max thought of it – but he's got a PA system there where he can announce throughout all the buildings. I'm fairly certain the abnormals can't hear and understand language, so he should start making hourly announcements saying where he is."

"That could be his plan for after we leave," Gem said. "But for now, we need to sweep the rest of this floor. Is there much left, Hemp?"

"I'm guessing most of the abnormals made their way toward the scent of food, but let's stick together and go room by room anyway. If we find anyone else, we can escort them down to Max."

"What if they're infected and haven't turned yet?"

"And Max? What if he's infected and . . . "

"Fuck this. You guys clear the floor. I'm going back to Trina."

I nodded. She was right. I trusted the Max I'd met downstairs, but we didn't know enough about this illness or virus or disease or whatever the hell it was to have any real knowledge about its gestation period.

"Go, baby. We'll hurry this up and be back down. Got more ammo?"

She lifted her top and showed me her waistband – two more full magazines inside. "Got it," she said. "See you boys down there."

The elevator doors slid open again, having hit the creature's legs that still protruded from it. Gem stepped in over him, and Hemp and I grabbed the thing's legs and pulled it out of the elevator. Hemp then reached in, slid his card, and Gem hit the button for the second floor.

She waved, looked into my eyes with concern, and the doors closed. I hated that part. I hated any part where Gem wasn't with me.

I did not want to lose her again.

*****

Hemp and I continued our way through the third level. We cleared the cafeteria and the lounge, only having to use another twenty rounds combined. We encountered fourteen more abnormals, and all-told on that level, we had found twenty-four uninfecteds who had ultimately become sustenance for the afflicted.

We worked our way back to the elevator, and I looked again at the scene laid out on the landing. The smell was putrid and the floor ran wet with blood and raw, human meat. Entrails snaked out of abdomens, and grey matter of the abnormals whose heads we'd blown apart splattered everything. We had to be extremely careful not to slip in it.

As Hemp pushed the elevator call button, my eyes were drawn again to the two young women – well, formerly young women – that I had shot. Then my eyes went to the woman they had been eating.

But she was gone. Or more accurately, her body was gone.

Hemp approached and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Elevator's here," he said. Then: "Flex, what's wrong?"

I turned to face him. "I don't know how, but the woman these two were eating is gone." I pointed at the bodies of the two abnormals I'd taken out. "There was a woman in a mustard –"

I never finished my sentence. Hemp reached toward me with his short but muscular right arm, grabbed my shirt and yanked me toward him. I was taken by surprise as the academic weapons expert sidestepped me and practically threw me inside the open elevator. As I hit the back wall, still in disbelief, he swung his K7 straight out and blew the head off the woman in the mustard pantsuit. When this was done, he looked at me as he held the elevator door open.

Hemp's eyes were disbelieving. "She was dead? Are you sure?" He looked at her body and clearly saw the chewed hole in her side and back.

I nodded my head frantically. "She's half eaten, Hemp. Yes, I'm sure she was dead."

"Agreed, but she wasn't dead just then," he said. "Which means being eaten is only enough to spread the infection, not to actually kill. So we've got a job to do before we head back down."

I knew immediately what he meant. We had at least twenty-five head shots to administer before we could get back down to the second level, check on Gem, Trina and Max, and proceed with our plan.

We got started. It was done in less than five minutes.

*****

Everything was fine when we returned to the lab. The 2nd floor was still quiet, and Max hadn't turned into one of them and eaten Trina or Gem yet. I could tell by the way Gem was hanging onto that Uzi that it was unlikely anyone or anything would get the jump on her.

After verifying that the girls were okay, Hemp and I moved back into the second floor hall. The south hallway led to a connecting tunnel that would once have taken you to Building #1, but the door at the end was closed, and we could smell fire. Building #1 must have been engulfed in flames by now. Since the tunnel was constructed entirely of steel and glass, there was little risk that the fire would spread to Building #2 from that point.

There were small offices and closets located here, and after searching them, we'd be finished with the 2nd floor. Storage closets on the left side and four offices, two on each side of the hallway.

"I'll take the offices on the right, and you get the others. We'll split the closets.

Hemp nodded and pulled open the door to the office closest to him. I did the same. I flicked on the light, and saw movement from the corner of my eye.

I swung my Daewoo toward the far corner desk. "Stand up. If you understand my voice, you're in no danger."

I saw the tips of delicate fingers at first, then the hands, followed by arms in a white lab coat, blonde hair, and then a face. It was the extremely frightened face of a young woman on the edge of sanity. Her eyes wide, her lip quivering, she began sobbing when she saw me.

"You can put your arms down," I said. I moved quickly around the rest of the small office, and saw nothing. When I walked to her and looked down, I realized what had sent her into a panic. One of the abnormals, a bullet hole cleanly in the center of its forehead, lay crumpled by her feet. It, too, wore a lab coat. The name tag on that one said Professor Anthony Mihalovich.

I assumed a guard had come in on a search while the woman was hidden, encountered the former professor, and had either become familiar with what had to be done to kill the creatures, or got lucky. Either way, this woman was alive, and not one of the abnormals because of that single bullet hole in Mihalovich's head.

I took her arm with my hand and gently pulled until her legs involuntarily moved away from the thing. "Come on," I said. "Come over here."

She let me lead her, her head drooped, her eyes on the ground. I stopped about two feet from the door and stood in front of her. I lifted the young woman's chin gently with my fingers. "Look at me," I said.

She lifted her fearful face to mine. Her eyes darted between mine.

"What's your name?" I asked, softly.

"Cynthia Preston," she said in a flat, monotone.

"My name's Flex Sheridan and I'm here to help you. You're going to be okay, Cynthia. Trust me on that. Now let's get out of here."

I met Hemp in the hallway. The adjacent office was vacant, and Hemp had already checked out the other office on my side. The closets also proved to be empty – nobody hiding there. But at least we had one more uninfected – one more hope for humankind.

But still the odds for our existence did not look good. The number of infecteds clearly outnumbered the others. And now that we knew the symptoms could be passed through a bite or perhaps even scratches, I was beginning to have my doubts about any sort of positive outcome.

But I couldn't let Cynthia know that.

"We'll have to examine you for cuts and scratches back in the lab," I told her. "Don't worry – there's a woman with us who'll take care of that."

She nodded. We went.

*****

"Floors two and three are clear?" asked Max.

Hemp nodded. "Yes. All clear. Now we just have to complete the first floor sweep and hope the garage level is safe."

Gem came back in the room with Cynthia Preston. She had been in a small office – all glass, but they stood behind some filing cabinets for the physical inspection.

"She's got some small cuts, but not from human contact so far as I can tell," Gem said. "No bites or scratches that might have come from teeth or nails."

"Any headache?" asked Max.

"No, not at all," Cynthia said. "I'm exhausted, but my head feels fine."

She had clearly calmed down somewhat. Hemp and I had dropped her off with Max, Gem and Trina, then we'd completed the other hallway and room searches. Not many areas to get to without swipe cards, so if you weren't in one of the labs when the transmutation hit you, you didn't likely access one afterward.

"I'd suggest you stay here with Max. We're going to set it up so he's got power available to him for over a month, and there should be plenty of food. Nobody knows how long this will go on, but the CDC is the best place to be."

She nodded. "I'm only an assistant, but when this started, I heard things. People I worked with were leaving, rushing home to check on their families. The main outbreak happened on the third floor, and some made it down and out and I guess to their cars."

She sat heavily into one of the rolling lab chairs. "My mother is at home, taking care of my daughter, Taylor." Cynthia began to cry and Gem sat in another of the chairs and rolled up beside her.

"Cynthia, honey, how far away is she? Where's your mother?"

"Two miles," she said. "She lives two miles west of here."

Gem looked at me as she asked the next question. "Cynthia, how old is your daughter?"

I rolled my eyes.

"She's eight."

I tried to turn away from Gem's glare. "We have a lot of work to do," I said, knowing this wasn't going to go well for me somehow.

"Flex, I'll go. Trina can stay with Cynthia and Max, since both have already been checked out for cuts and bites – a quick run there and back. If her daughter and mom are okay, I'll bring them back with me."

Cynthia's face looked grateful. "I have to go with you, please," she said. Her eyes pleaded, too.

Gem wasn't done. "I have a GPS in the vehicle, Cynthia. You give me the address and you don't need to come. It is dangerous out there, and unless you're experienced with firearms, you'll be putting both of us at greater risk."

"Babe, would you mind stepping into the hallway with me for just a moment?" I asked.

She obliged. I let the door rest against the jamb without latching, and spoke in a low voice.

"You know the odds are against both of them being okay, right? And if one or the other is infected, we can assume it's over."

"I didn't assume you were infected. Or Trina. I came looking for you, which is what she wants to do, Flex. And if you don't mind, I'd like to assume we'll find them alive." Gem stopped talking for a moment, looked through the wire-reinforced window in the lab door at Cynthia Preston, and then back at me.

"And if they're not okay, at least she'll know, one way or the other. That's important."

I shook my head. "I can't stop you, can I? Even if I refuse you use of my truck?"

"I'll just find something else to use."

I wanted to laugh and kick her ass at the same time. Nothing had really changed, but looking at her now, her expression so defiant, I realized this was why I was nuts about her. Headstrong and a pain in the ass, but tough as hell and frightened of nothing.

So I kissed her. I pulled her face to mine and I closed my eyes and kissed the shit out of her. When I pulled away, her eyes opened slowly, and her mouth turned upward into a smile. She said nothing, but stared into my eyes.

"I know you're smart and tough, but I just got you back," I said.

She held both my wrists with her small, long-fingered hands. "And you won't lose me," she said.

"So you say. And I better not. But promise me you'll convince her to stay here. I don't want her to distract you and put you at risk any more than you will be. Okay?"

Gem nodded, then put her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine, softer this time. My lips parted, and I reveled in the taste of her, the softness of her mouth. We finished the kiss and I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against hers. "I love you, Gem. Make it fast, okay?"

She promised.

We went back inside, and Gem sat with Cynthia until the woman was nodding, tears rolling down her swollen cheeks.

She had agreed to stay and let Gem investigate. Gem wrote down the address and Cynthia's mother's full name. She jotted the name 'Taylor' down beside it. Her daughter. She produced a photograph from her wallet, taken from a purse she seemed surprised was still clutched in her hands.

"Take the Uzi and get plenty of spare mags from the truck before you head out. If you're not back in an hour, we're coming after you."

Give me forty-five minutes."

"Wait!" I called just as the door was closing. She stopped and I reached into my belt bag. "Take this. Its range won't be the advertised 20 miles, but it should work for two to three."

She took the walkie from me. "This place is well within that. Good. I like this."

"You like it," I said, smiling. "If you get into any trouble just hit that button and yell." I turned to Max. "There are other gassed up vehicles in that garage, right?"

"Absolutely. They keep them full and ready to roll. You might be impressed with the selection."

I turned back to Gem. "Okay, now that my brain is back in gear and I know we'll have a way to communicate and come after you if necessary, get going and hurry back."

The dog and I looked worriedly at the door as it closed. I looked from it to Trina, who was awake, but staring blankly at the floor."

"Trini, I think it's time to name that girl. She can't go through her life as dog. What if you were only called girl your whole life?"

Despite her exhaustion, she smiled. "That's silly, Uncle Flexy. Everybody's got a name."

I nodded toward the Great Pyrenees. "Not her. At least not one we know."

She smiled. "I'll think of something."

"And while you're at it, you should start thinking about seeing if Max has a bowl to give her some water. And you should start thinking about names for the puppies, too."

With that, she began looking around the room for much needed inspiration.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Because we needed to leave Trina, Cynthia and the dog without a name with Max, we were acutely aware that we were without Gem and the firepower she provided. We'd brought enough spare 9mm ammo with us that we felt satisfied we had enough, but I grabbed the first axe I found in a fire hose cabinet, and Hemp snatched another when we reached a second station.

If we ran into any uninfecteds, they would absolutely shit their pants. I imagined what we looked like. No sleep in a full day, sweating, dirty, bloody and bruised.

And brandishing submachine guns and axes.

I looked at Hemp. "Did you see the movie They Live?"

We stepped into the service elevator that ran down to the garage level. "No," he said. "Who's in it? Anyone I'd have heard of?"

"Not a chance," I said. "But there's a great line in it."

Hemp swiped his card, hitting the G button. The car began to fall smoothly. "And what's that?"

I smiled. "I came here to chew some bubble gum and kick some ass. And I'm all out of bubble gum."

"You Americans are all a bunch of John Waynes, aren't you?"

I shrugged and we both managed a good laugh.

When the doors slid open it was into wall of zombies.

There. I said it. Fucking zombies. I could use respectable terminology when I was dealing with Jamie, but right now, it was the first thing that came to mind.

Rapid decomposition of their skin had turned it pocked, wrinkled and flaky, and as they pushed against one another to access the oversized cargo elevator, the dead skin flew into the air like tiny winged gnats.

And they reeked.

"Get over! Over!" Hemp shouted, and I did. He swung his axe neck-height, and whacked the heads from the first two he hit, the axe blade embedding into a third's neck, the black-red blood spraying every visible surface. A disgusting stench that smelled like mold and shit accompanied the horrid mist.

The moan-scream the things made seemed unlike the sounds they emitted when we were shooting them, perhaps because they were dying differently. I made a mental note to mention my observation to Hemp later as I swung in a broad sweep from right to left and at a downward angle, chopping diagonally through the head of another lab-coated freak whose teeth were exposed all the way back to the molars on the left side, and who had bitten his tongue off; it was now hanging by a couple of blue veins out of the side of his gaping pie hole.

Thankfully, he dropped and I didn't have to stare at him for long. I'd only slammed into the collarbone of the next one, which drove him to his knees, a short round mechanic-looking man-monster with Phil on his embroidered name badge. I yanked the axe toward me and it sliced into his neck further then came free, but before I could pull it back for another swing, he was coming at me, jerking along on his knees.

Hemp had relinquished his axe and now swung the Daewoo submachine gun around. He took out the fat fucker coming at me first, then sprayed the door left to right and back, taking out six more of them. Shell casings rained down hot, peppering me and the zombies coming at us. As the front line of them fell we found five more right behind them, and now I had time to pull the H&K around to assist.

Good thing. Hemp's MP5 clicked, out of ammo as I sent round after round into the next layer of hungry predators outside the elevator. The pile was building now, and if there were more out there, then neither Hemp nor I could see them from our positions on the floor.

But as Hemp slammed his magazine back into the Daewoo, we did see something.

Something disturbing. The fat fucker was getting his nose chewed off.

By a head. A fucking head.

I looked at Hemp, and he followed my eyes back to the pile of zombies stacked in the elevator opening. As the doors attempted repeatedly to close, one side kept bumping the severed head of one of the undead creatures onto its face where it rolled until it hit the bump of the nose, then rolled back, again to be hit by the door, like a too-softly hit pinball falling back to the flippers.

And it gnashed, biting its tongue in half as we watched, a pus-blood-bile liquid running down its cheek as it did so. The eyes searched frantically for the food we knew it could still smell, and that food was us. And as we looked on in wonder and horror, the other severed head munched on the fat fucker's nose relentlessly, and was making impressive progress.

I shot the one on the right, and Hemp shot the one on the left. We stood up and took a very close look at the barricade we would have to clear before we could either begin our work on the gas line or meet the others we would have to slaughter.

I took a deep breath, then turned and puked in the corner of the elevator car. I heaved up an entire can of half-digested chili.

Hemp looked away and tried to breathe through his mouth.

And then he puked, too. Right on the fat fucker. When he was done, we wiped our putrid mouths on our sleeves and started kicking the bodies aside as best we could, making sure none of them were without severe brain trauma. Then we climbed the stack of really dead zombies.

At the top of the mound, we found we were in the clear. All told there had been another eighteen of them.

I was really beginning to wonder how outnumbered the uninfecteds in this world were.

And then I thought of Gem and reached for my radio.

*****

"Flex, I can't talk," she said. "I can't believe what I'm seeing."

My icy stare focused on nothing. I pressed the walkie transmit button almost hard enough to break the plastic.

"What's wrong?" I asked in a desperate whisper, because it seemed she was trying to be quiet, and it was automatic.

There was a pause. "Hold on," she said.

I did.

Then: "I had to move farther away from them before I felt comfortable talking. Listen, I think I've found Cynthia's daughter, Taylor. And she's alive. But Flex, I've never been so scared in my life. The things are fucking stockpiling bodies."

I wanted to check the batteries in the walkie, because I didn't want to hear what I thought I just did. "Gem. Are you in any danger now?"

"I'm not, or I don't think so, anyway. Not right now. But Flex, they're stacking dead bodies in the house. Like a meat locker."

"Is it cold in the house?"

"I have no idea, but this house has a generator running, so the A/C might be on. Looks like it's supplied from an underground tank or something, and they seem to know the difference."

"How many are there?"

"I've only seen eight or nine moving around, but the bodies are piled two deep as far as I can see into the house, and I can't figure out how they got so many. I mean, hasn't this only been going on for a couple of days?"

I jammed my finger on the transmit button again. "Gem, you'd better be sure you're safe. Secondly how the hell did you get close enough to see what you just described to me, and find the girl? That doesn't sound safe at all."

"Flex, I've got the binocs from your truck, so I scoped it out from a good distance away. If they've got a enhanced sense of smell, then it's either not as good as the binocular power or the wind is with me, or both. Anyway, I need you and Hemp if we're going to get this girl."

"Where is she, Gem?"

There was a long hesitation. When her voice came back through the speaker, it was cracking and on the edge of tears. "She's . . . Christ, she's beneath another body just inside the door, Flex. She's keeping her eyes squeezed shut, but once in a while, when one of them is behind her, she opens them. Fuck, Flex. I have to get her, but –"

"But you'll wait. I'm coming. I'm going to leave Hemp here to work on this gas line. We have to get this going so we can keep the promise we made to Max and get the hell to my house where we can start to put together a plan for our future."

"Okay," she said. "But Flex, hurry. This kid's going to be scarred for life, and I want – oh, shit."

I felt like I was wasting time. I needed to be there with her now. "What, Gem? What?"

"The son-of-a-bitch is – holy crap – he's dragging a body out of the next door neighbor's house, toward this one. Can they have that much awareness?"

I didn't know. I looked at Hemp and pressed the button so Gem could hear me. "Hemp, could these things know that preserving the bodies in a cool area would protect their food source? I mean, from what you've seen so far?"

Hemp shook his head. "I've not seen that kind of thought structure so far. The group movement, which looked coordinated, could have only been them all catching the whiff of a scent all at once. But self preservation? Food storage? Doesn't sound likely."

I held the button. "Did you hear that?"

She came back on. "I did, but unless this was some sort of Reverend Jim Jones, Guyana, Kool-Aid mass-suicide thing, then these people were captured and stacked by these freaks. And I'm only seeing a part of it. Now Hurry, Flex, or I'm going rogue."

"Got it. Get back to the truck. We'll do what we can for the girl when I get there and you're less likely to die in the process. Promise me?"

"Okay, but hurry. Head out the same gate we came through and turn right on the first access road. You take that same road two miles, then cut your engine, roll in and just park on the corner when you get to Oregon Street. I'll be watching for you."

"Got it babe," I said. "Ten minutes. I'll radio if it's going to be longer."

I clicked off. "Hemp, let's check out some of the beefier hard tops. I think I need protection that a ragtop Jeep's not going to provide."

*****

The Hummer 2 was perfect. Turns out the government still used them despite crazy gas prices, even while they preached hybrid technology to the masses. It had a full tank with six 5-gallon cans of extra gas anchored to a rack on the rear bumper.

Hemp had been running around the large garage investigating. The space was massive, and the walls that were not bay doors were loaded with racks of black pipe, PVC, flat steel, angle iron, and other fabrication materials. There were rolling tool chests jammed full of every kind of tool and corresponding cutting bit you could think of. Upon our first inspection of the stuff I knew he'd be in the Toys R Us of engineering.

He came back, winded. "Could get pretty crazy out there, Flex," Hemp said. "If you can spare about fifteen minutes and pitch in, I think I can make this ride a tad safer and more of what you John Wayne types might call bad ass."

I clicked on to Gem. "Babe, are you staying clear? How's the girl?"

"I can't see her from where I am now, Flex. Why?"

"I'll leave in about fifteen minutes. You've got to wait. It's an idea of Hemp's for the truck I'm bringing."

"Hurry, Flex. If you're not here in twenty, I'm loading up and going in after her."

I didn't say anything. I looked at Hemp. "What's the plan?"

Hemp used the striker to light the acetylene torch, then started heating four steel flat irons around one inch wide and fifteen inches long. When the steel glowed red, he started hammering on them. He had shrugged out of his Daewoo earlier, and now eyeballed the gun, hammering on the steel rods. He bent them the way he wanted them, and when he was done, all were identical. I was duly impressed.

"These mounts will bolt to the doors on both sides. You won't have side windows, but nothing should be able to get close enough to you for you to need them," he said as he drilled holes in the top of each u-shaped piece with the ultra sharp ¼" diamond-tipped bit. "They should rest nicely over the door panel when you roll down the windows."

Wearing leather gloves, he spun open the bench vise and repositioned the pieces, then pulled the drill press down again and again, drilling more holes at the ends of all four pieces. Then he unclamped them again and dropped the hot steel into a bucket of water beside the bench. They splashed in with a quick hiss and sank to the bottom.

"Give them a couple of seconds to cool then roll down the windows on the Hummer and center them on the door panels on both the driver and passenger sides. I'm using the Daewoo because the barrel is thick and cylindrical and will mount well using a couple of beefy U-bolts. Take two of these big metal screws for each one to mount them. There's a good driver drill right here."

He handed me a big Makita.

"You did two too many," I said.

"You don't think we're leaving your truck unprotected, do you? I'm doing it, I might as well whip out four of them. We've got enough of the K7s."

I shook my head. "Hemp, you are amazing, man." I grabbed the steel pieces out of the water and got the bolts and the driver bit I needed.

"When I screw through the door it's going to break the glass," I said.

"It doesn't matter. Let it shatter. Hurry, Gem's waiting for you. I'll finish the pivot pieces."

The mounts attached perfectly in less than five minutes. The windows did shatter with a loud pop as the screw pressure drove the tempered glass past its limit.

By the time I'd mounted them to the Hummer, Hemp had completed four heavy-duty U-Bolt mounts. He had found oversized wing nuts for quick installation and removal of the weapon on the pivoting bracket. Pure genius.

"I'll mount this one on the passenger side further out on the barrel, since you'll be the only one in the vehicle initially. You'll need to be able to fire the weapon from the driver's seat. These bolts are hardened steel, and will handle the kick without damaging the pivot or mount."

Hemp checked his watch. "You've got four more minutes to get out of here." He finished mounting the gun and tightened the wing nuts with a t-handled wrench that he handed to me afterward. "Try it out. Get in. You'll have to mount the other K7 when you get back to your truck. Do that first, okay? Before you go in."

I nodded and got inside the Hummer. Sitting comfortably in the driver's seat, I could hold my hand out and grip the weapon. When the magazine was empty, it would easily tilt up, allowing me to eject the mag and put in a new one.

"Bitchen," I said. "Fuckin' bitchen."

"We'll do your Suburban when you get back. Now go. I'll get started on the gas line."

I handed him my H&K and the extra mags. He dropped his Daewoo mags onto the passenger seat.

"Thanks, Hemp. We were lucky to run into you in that police station."

He nodded and smiled. "Go get 'em, cowboy."

I left with a minute and a half to spare.

Gem's directions were easy and perfect. When I drove up I parked and cut the engine. Gem was at my window in seconds.

"Sweet ride, babe. You were faster than I thought," she said, touching the bracket on the door panel.

"Hemp's quick. Gem, I can't even tell you how good he is. Check it out." I leaned back so she could see the submachine gun mounted on the opposite door.

"Wow," she said. "Nice. Now let's go."

"Grab me another K7 real fast. I promised Hemp I'd do this first. It'll attach in less than a minute and you said I'm early."

She nodded and retrieved the gun. I rested it on the bracket, dropped the U-bolt down on top and slid the lower bracket on to it. Once the wing nuts were tight I tested the pivot and mount. It was perfect for either my left or right hand, depending on what the situation called for.

"Ready?" she asked.

I wasn't. I'd have rather stayed right there with my double machine gun-protected Hummer, but I nodded anyway. "Let's go get that little girl," I said.

With spare mags for the Uzi and the other MP5 I'd gotten out of the truck – mainly because I'd grown to like that gun quite a bit – we tested the wind for directional change as any golfer would. We tossed grass in the air.

We would approach the house from downwind just to be safe, and lucky for us that meant from the front of the house where the captives were being held.

For a moment I almost ran to check on Jamie on the trailer, but then immediately remembered that Gem had wisely unhooked the trailer from the hitch ball and left it in the parking lot back at the CDC. I'd seen it in my rear view mirror as I pulled out, and it appeared to be intact and secure.

Gem and I crouched down and stayed under cover. By the time we were devising a plan, we realized that many of the people in that house were still alive. Some were feigning sleep or death, we couldn't be sure. The old 'close your eyes and they can't see you' trick. The only problem with that was the zombies could clearly smell fresh meat, so your little jig would be up sooner than later.

"They're stocking them up, Flex. Like a fucking food bank. I've only seen the front rooms. I have no idea who, what, how many – none of it – from the beginning of the hallway to the back of the house."

I knew that we could take a good number out at low risk with our high-powered weapons, but when the mag emptied, there was that damned pesky delay where you had to eject and reload. That was an opportunity for them, and the more there were, the more likely you could be taken by surprise. And more than once it had seemed these things knew when you were more vulnerable. Or perhaps when you were less threatening.

"Okay, my plan sucks, but I don't have a better one right now. I say we start out at the house next door, see if any of these things are over there. That way we're not surprised if this turns out to be a house filled with zombies. If not, we go back to the storage house, do our best to stay downwind, and we kill any motherfucker that gets in our way."

"You're calling them zombies, Flexy."

"I know, and it's the only word that works. Now listen. We make sure we've killed every one of them in the near vicinity, then we start getting the live uninfecteds out of there. Starting with Taylor."

"What do you mean you don't have a better plan?" Gem asked. "That sounds like a kickass plan to me."

We executed it. To our relief, the house next door was empty. If any zombies were here, they had departed.

From the experience at the pharmacy, I had learned what I believed to be something these things had in common: They would not necessarily leave a meal to bite into another meal. In other words, as long as the meat they were currently chomping on was tasty and fresh, you could probably walk right by them and they would simply continue to feed. But if that blood ran dry, they would instantly look for the closest fresh meat.

And you didn't want that to be you.

The double-door entry stood wide open, revealing the double-stacked bodies just inside.

"I can't tell how far it goes back. Maybe it's just two or three deep," whispered Gem.

"We'll start at the front. I'll try to get Taylor first, and we'll start pulling them out."

Gem nodded. "Maybe we can snap them out of it enough to run. Then we'll start shooting the shit out of the place, and run when we're out of ammo."

"That's worse than my plan," I said. "Ever heard of stealth?"

I was surprised at no encounters. Gem had counted eight or nine earlier, but now they were nowhere to be seen. I couldn't wait any longer. I crouched and ran low into the doorway. I saw the woman on top of Taylor was breathing rapidly, but her eyes were squeezed closed. I touched her shoulder and she tensed and screamed.

"I'm going to get you out of here," I whispered. "Now relax and let me move you."

I felt the woman's body relax more, but not completely. I crouched down, threw her over my shoulder. Then, under the burden of her weight, I leaned down and tapped the little girl on the arm.

"Is your name Taylor?" I asked.

With her eyes squeezed shut, she nodded.

"Okay, baby girl. You'll be out of here in a minute. We're going to take you to your mother."

I stood up again and headed for the door. I carried the woman fifteen feet away from the house, lowered her to the ground and said, "Keep moving. You're downwind, but there could be more out there. Hide, but keep an eye on us in case we need help."

We needed a better plan than this.

I turned and saw Gem pulling Cynthia's daughter out. She had slung the gun over her shoulder and now held the girl in her arms and carried her to where I had just dropped the other woman, who had followed instructions. I could no longer see her from my vantage point.

I had no idea if her scent could be detected by the zombies, but the wind was blowing from the direction of the house, so things still looked good for our little operation at this point.

Kneeling beside the girl Gem said, "Now you see that truck, where I'm pointing over there? You run as fast as you can to that truck and you get inside, okay? The one with windows, not the other one. I'm going to take you to your mama once we're done here. Tuck down on the floor, throw that blanket over you, and don't move, okay?"

As the girl nodded and took off running unsteadily toward the Suburban, I admired the child's uncanny resilience in the face of things that would drive many adults to lunacy. You know, stuff like zombies taking over the streets.

And she was the second brave child I'd encountered since this thing started. It gave me hope.

Ready to go back inside, I scanned the yard in front of the house and saw some movement around the back left corner. Almost imperceptible. And only for a split-second. It was, I believed, a hand. It swung into view and disappeared again.

Gem made her way to my side after watching that the girl made it to the truck. Neither of us knew what happened to the first woman, but we'd told her to find cover and hide and she apparently had. Good advice taken for a change.

"Have you got a plan yet, or are we sticking to mine?" Gem asked.

"Just going with yours. Have any revisions?"

"As a matter of fact, I think I do, Flex-man. We've got lots of gasoline and not far to drive back to the CDC. Once we get all the live ones out of that death house, I want to torch that sucker."

I nodded. "Good, but we can't just have our refugees run to the four winds, we have to have a centralized place they can go to get away from these things. Somewhere air tight where they can't be detected through scent."

Gem was quiet a minute. I was thinking, too. Then at the same time, we both said: "7-Eleven!"

"They usually have a walk-in cooler, right?" Gem asked.

"Yep, and we passed one about ¼ mile up the road on the way here. Problem solved." I stroked her hair. "Like minds," I said. "Let's go."

We hurried to the Hummer and its cache of gasoline. Quickly, we unstrapped two of the Jerry cans and hauled them with us back to the house. I kept my eye on that left corner but saw nothing more. I still wasn't satisfied.

For now we put the cans to the left side of the front entry. As we brought our guns around to kill position again, I touched Gem on the shoulder. "Baby, you realize we're probably not going to be able to get them all to safety. Some of them look pretty frail."

"I know, but as many as we can get," she said. "And the others . . . the ones who can't make it. Flex, we can't let them die at the hands of these things."

I knew she was right, but I did not want to execute innocent people. We were in a fucked up position. We both wanted to take them all.

We went back in, our plan to focus on the ones who could hear and respond. It seemed until we touched them that they were in some sort of trance, dazed, or perhaps just too frightened to move – for fear of being dragged away or killed on the spot. Who am I kidding. Eaten on the spot. I couldn't blame them.

"You keep clearing them out," I told Gem. "I saw something around the side of the house a few minutes ago. Just fire your weapon if you need me."

I moved slowly along the side of the house, looking in the windows as I moved along the wall. All the other rooms had been empty of people aside from the two front rooms stacked with people.

But now, peering low through the window of the back bedroom, I saw something my mind wouldn't comprehend. I did not want to be seeing it at all.

The nine zombies that Gem had originally seen were all here, apparently, and they were feeding. Each was face-deep in a human carcass, except for one. It was no carcass. This human being was alive, and as I stood at the window, the victim's face turned in my direction, his eyes pleaded, his teeth clenched – his brain intact, for now.

The creature was tearing at the fleshy part of the man's left calf, ripping long tendrils of arteries and chunks of fat out at each pull of the jaw. Like a nature video of lions or hyenas feeding, only horrifically different.

I dropped down onto the ground, my heart pounding, my breath stutter-stepping in and out of my lungs. Fuck. I couldn't shoot or I'd get all their attention.

I crouched and ran back to the front of the house. Gem had gotten another six people out, and some of the men who had been atop the pile were now helping her get the others rousted from their terrified slumber. Another fifteen people were stirring. The rooms were not large, and there were perhaps twenty or so people remaining.

Eleven would not be moving. They were already dead. Heart attacks, strokes, whatever. Their fear was over.

"Damn, Gem. Good. Unbelievable."

She was exhausted. "What did you find?"

"I found the nine you saw earlier. The back room is the feeding room, clearly."

"Feeding room? What the fuck?"

"I don't know. All I know is all nine are there, and they're eating. One guy is still alive, but I couldn't put him out of his misery. Let's get the rest of the ones that are going to make it out of here."

We worked for another fifteen minutes. None of the creatures in the back of the house were apparently willing to leave their meals to investigate.

"Did you leave Hemp a radio?" Gem asked.

"I couldn't. You have the other package in the Suburban."

"Shit! Okay. I just don't want him coming here now. I hope he trusts us to take care of ourselves."

I nodded. "Nothing we can do, but yeah. I hope so, too. He's got enough to occupy him there. And he's armed, so I think he'll be okay just in case there are some abnormals we didn't find. That garage was a mess."

The crowd of near-victims we'd freed were making their way toward the convenience store at a speed I would have liked to triple down on, and they'd picked up the first woman we pulled out. Before they took off, I'd gone to the Suburban, checked on Taylor and pulled two AK-47s we'd acquisitioned from the Tallahassee evidence locker and given them to two of the more qualified survivors. One was a woman, Marion, in her mid-forties, and the other was a young man in his early thirties, Bobby. Both were ex-military. They brought up the front and rear. I knew with hustle, they could be at the 7-Eleven in ten minutes, but hustle was in short supply within the group of refugees.

Then we heard it. The low moan.

It sounded like a low, deep hum. I looked at Gem.

"What is it?" she asked. We both stared out into the now bright day.

And then we saw them. They were coming from both sides of the neighboring houses. Pouring from around the corners, some turning toward the departing group, and some toward us.

"There are too many of them," Gem said. "If they get to that group they'll slaughter them!"

I watched helplessly. We were now upwind from the zombies and the group of people heading out. One or two of the group had now noticed the creatures behind them and had screamed. Those screams now turned into a cacophony of screams as the entire group started to run with all they had. Several of them fell, and were being trampled by the others in a desperate attempt not to be taken back to that house under any circumstances.

"Gem!" I shouted. "Here!" I pulled out my pocket knife. I flipped the blade open and ran a long cut down my forearm. Then another. The blood flowed immediately. I then switched hands and cut my other arm in the same way. "Now you, Gem. Hurry."

Gem took the knife, pulled up her sheer long sleeves and ran two long, quick cuts, deeper than I would have done it, down both arms. "We'll draw them to us with the smell of fresh blood," she said. "Good idea."

And it didn't take long. With the warm blood running from our arms in rivulets, dropping onto the worn porch's wood slats, the wind carried the scent to the creatures, and now they had all turned toward us.

The hum intensified. Low moans of hunger and the anticipation of ecstasy.

"You wanted to torch it," I said. "Let's draw them in."

The creatures were moving faster as a single unit now, their motions erratic and unsteady, but unwavering. There must have been at least a hundred of them. Men, women, children. All now the same. No political differences, no religious differences. No races. Finally, Rodney King's ancient comment "Why can't we all just get along?" had come true. They all agreed on one thing.

Human flesh was tasty and they wanted it. No argument.

CHAPTER NINE

Gem and I grabbed the Jerry cans and untwisted the caps. We doused each side of the porch and moved inside the house. We'd gotten all the living out. Some did not make it beyond the front yard before succumbing, but at least we wouldn't have to worry about burning anyone alive.

Together we moved through the front two rooms, one eye always on the front of the house. We splashed the pungent gasoline on the remaining bodies, the walls, and the floor. Plenty left. Our plan might work.

They were only fifty yards away now. Coming fast. Well, fast for them.

And then we saw it. The bodies of the dead were beginning to move. Almost imperceptible at first. A twitch of a finger. Neck. A foot.

"Shit! Do you see this, Gem?"

Her face was aghast. "I checked those three for a pulse, Flex. All dead. All of them."

"And I checked the others. The one on the far side of the room, almost in the hallway, started to get to his feet. His face turned, and the skin was pallid, the lips drawn, the eyes white and unseeing.

The nostrils flared.

I walked fast toward it and fired one shot into its brain. It fell in a heap.

I hurried back to the porch and with the blade, drew another long cut down my forearm. I wanted to keep them coming at all costs. That one hurt. I ran back inside.

"They're here, babe. Put some coffee on," I said. "Oh, did you get that pastry pack at Costco we talked about?"

"Very fucking funny, sweetheart. Focus," Gem said, the humor in her voice imperceptible.

We walked cautiously through the front rooms, cognizant of the twitching, awakening things on the floor, but believing we had the time advantage. They'd already been soaked in gasoline, so should torch easily when we started the fire.

We moved down the hallway. I splashed the gas on the left wall, and Gem on the right. We came to an open door and Gem involuntarily jumped back.

I whispered, "The other side rooms were empty. This is the feeding room, apparently."

"Jesus Christ," said Gem.

The man I'd seen earlier had died now. I could tell because half his brain, accessed through the gaping hole in the back of his neck, was in the creature's mouth that lay atop him.

Behind us the zombies had entered the house and were now crowding into the hallway.

"Let's clear a path," I said.

We put the gas cans, now 2/3 empty, on the ground, swung our machine guns around, and began to blow the brains out of the feeders. That took all of eight seconds.

Twelve feet behind us the thrum of zombie moans was loud, vibrating our eardrums. We grabbed our gas cans and continued the dousing of the house, as we stepped over zombie and human bodies on our way to the rear windows.

I reached the back wall, and with the last of my gas, splashed it as far as I could in all directions, then threw the can. Gem followed suit. She tossed her can then smashed out the lower half of the window with the butt of her gun and jumped out into the back yard.

I shattered the window behind me and waited. I wanted to see them come into the room. I wanted to know they were in here, because I wanted all hundred or so of these fuckers to fit inside this house for the big show.

When they were three feet from me, I turned and leapt out the window.

"I like it when a plan comes together," Gem said. Her face was tired, and her eyes never left the windows. She'd moved about eight feet away from the house, her gun leveled at the window she'd jumped out of.

"Let's light that sucker," I said. We fired our guns simultaneously through both windows.

Nothing.

We looked at each other. We fired again.

Still no fire.

"Fuck!" I shouted. "This always works in the movies!"

"I'll run to the suburban and get matches or a lighter or something," Gem shouted over the incessant hum-moaning. Some of them had reached the windows and were starting to come through. I used a quick burst on them, blowing their heads apart in a spray of gore. "Go!" I shouted.

I crouched down and kept moving my gun between both windows. Gem was running hard when she disappeared around the corner.

I picked off three more. My radio squealed. I pulled it off my belt and said, "Gem?"

Her voice came back on, low, but calm. "Flex, they're almost all inside now. Can you hold them in back there?"

I pushed the button. "Yeah, for a bit. I've got two magazines with me. How long?"

"Any second. There are about a dozen . . . there they go . . . okay. Okay. Get ready to get back, babe."

I shot five more as they fell from the window and attempted to get to their feet. I was getting very good at the cranial shots.

As I fired at another, a woman this time, that had tried to step out and fell on its face, I heard Gem's voice on the radio. "Okay, Flexy, jump back NOW!"

I fired once more, then turned and charged away from the building. An eruption went off behind me as the fume-filled house went up in an instant fireball with a phfwooomph! The sudden heat blasted my body and I smelled singed hair even as I put more distance between the house and myself.

I landed in the grass, and still gripping my gun, rolled onto my stomach. The last one I'd fired on had not been hit, but she did catch fire with the ignition of the house. She came toward me, her hair on fire, and I raised my weapon again. I shot her square in the nose and the back of her head blew apart, like a biological firework packed with flesh, bone and hair.

Two more fell out of the window, scrambled – as much as they could scramble – to their feet, and staggered toward me. I cut them off at the legs, then walked easily up to them and fired a single round into each of their brains. I was fucking sick of the theatrics.

I just wanted the assholes to stay down and die already.

I heard gunfire from the front of the house as two more zombies dropped from the window.

"Give me a goddamned break, would you?" I shouted, getting irritated now. Gem might be in trouble, and I did not have the time for this shit, two-by-two.

I turned at looked at them. They weren't making much progress toward me – they were already in flames – but I provided final head shots to both of them just the same.

I turned, then stopped. Glanced at the windows again. Waited.

I reached for my radio to tell Gem I'd be coming and not to shoot me. But it wasn't there.

I scanned the ground. It must have fallen off my belt. I ran back toward the house and the four zombies I'd just taken out, and didn't see it.

More gunfire from the front. As long as I heard that I knew Gem was still okay.

I walked up to the prone zombie closest to the window. It was the most likely spot. I leaned back and kicked the squishy body over with my boot.

And there it was. A tad bloody, but still intact. I ripped a piece of the nearest zombie's shirt and used it as a insulator. Fucking wished I had latex gloves. That would be on my next shopping list at Walgreens.

I brought the radio close to my mouth, but not too close. I hit the button. "Gem, what's happening?"

I waited only a split-second before she answered. My heart immediately slowed when I heard her calm voice.

"Baby, I'm fine. Just some stragglers."

"Same here. I think I've got 'em all now," I said.

"Bastards stink," she said.

"Smell better when they're on fire," I answered, walking back around the house. "I'm coming around now. Don't shoot me."

I clipped the radio back on my belt. When I reached her she swung around with her rifle pointed at me.

"Whoa, Nelly."

"Need to announce yourself," she said. "I almost blew your head off."

"I thought I just did, on the radio."

"Sorry. Must have missed that part."

We stood together and looked out at the street leading to the 7-Eleven. There were no bodies in the road. Apparently the group of escapees had helped the fallen and continued to their destination.

"Let's go see what we can do to get them set up and get back to the CDC," I said. "Hemp's got to be worried by now."

"Do we know if one of that group is Cynthia's mother?"

I shook my head. "We'll let Taylor tell us when we get there. I sure hope so."

When we got back to the vehicles, Taylor was still under the blanket. She was fine. Gem drove her to the store, following behind me in my armed Hummer.

They had made it.

The cheers were subdued, but cheers nonetheless when we opened the door to the walk-in cooler and saw the tired, frightened eyes of our new friends.

It was a good feeling to see so many of us all at once.

"If you don't mind, we'd like to spend a few minutes with Marion and Bobby," I said, addressing the crowd of approximately twenty-five. "Only because they're military trained. Not to say there aren't others of you, but for now we'll go over some things with them and they can pass it along to you."

Everyone nodded tiredly, and Bobby and Marion stepped outside the cooler with us. "Look, we don't want to stay out here too long. Smells, you know. But there are some things you need to know to make it."

"First off," Gem said, "get more guns. You'll need as many as you can all carry and handle. Next, head shots. In the brain. It's the only thing that will kill them."

I nodded as Gem shared information. "Headaches. It seems to either come on with a massive headache, like a migraine, or how I just saw it happen. Upon the death of the uninfected."

Bobby and Marion stared at us. Bobby spoke. "When they . . . die?"

Gem nodded. "Within ten or fifteen minutes they're back. But not the same. Not at all the same."

"And the heads can live without the bodies, so we can't stress enough to inflict massive trauma on the brain. Cutting off he head just makes a dangerous bowling ball with teeth. You get bit, you become one. Scratched, we're pretty sure you become one. There's a lot we don't know, but just act like what we're telling you is gospel, and you should live to tell your grandkids about this."

"Where are you going?" Marion asked. "Can we come with you?"

I shook my head. "Guys, I'm just like you are. I'm not suited to be part of a big group. I don't have big plans at this point, and for Christ's sake, I don't want to be a leader. I think we'd like to remain a foursome. Well, plus our dog."

Gem stared at me. "They need help, Flex."

I stood at looked at Gem's eyes, the concern there. I looked back at the sunken eyes of Bobby, a short but solid, stocky man with a round face and dark hair parted at the side with his share of cowlicks. Marion stared back, her wire-rimmed glasses askew, hair pulled back in a pony. She was about 6'3" and towered over all of us by at least three inches. She scratched her freckled nose.

"Okay, look. What we've just shared with you will help you a lot. Get food, water, medicine whatever you can and stock up on non-perishables. I'm going to leave you with the Hummer we brought. It's set up with dual machine guns and should give you a hell of a fighting chance to get wherever you're going. But you – as a group – need to decide where that is. You must understand that we haven't got a clue where we're headed, much less where our next stop will be."

"And get some of these," Gem said, unclipping the radio from her belt. "Cell phones, as you already likely know, don't work anymore. Use channel 19. It's what we normally broadcast and listen on. Alternate is 16. These claim to have a range of thirty to thirty-five miles, but that's only if I'm standing on a mountain looking at you down in the valley. Otherwise, 1-3 miles on a good day. But on that good day, if you pick up any other groups in the area you can play it by ear."

"Find out the talents of the people in your group," I said. "Engineers, scientists, teachers, police, military. It'll tell you how to organize them. They're understandably traumatized, and right now they just have an overwhelming need to be back with their families, to rejoin their old lives. But those lives are history. They're gone forever. They have to realize it, or they'll die, and you might, too."

"Any questions?" Gem asked.

Bobby shook his head, then nodded. "Too many, I guess," he said. "You guys saved us back there. I don't even remember how I got in that house, but I remember everything from the moment you woke us up."

"We'll add that to the mystery of this whole, horrible thing," Gem said. "We're working with a pretty smart scientist, and the more information we gather about what and how these infecteds work, the more likely he'll develop a way to cure them or a way to destroy them. But know this: we're working on it."

We finished our explanations and shook hands with them. Before they went back inside, I pulled Marion aside.

"Marion, would you be able to go in there and see if you have a Lillian Middleton with you? Taylor's her granddaughter, and we found her mother back at the CDC."

Her face became hopeful. "Are there others there? Do they have a plan for this . . . this situation?"

I shook my head. "There's only one man that we found alive there. The others are turned or dead. Listen, I have to ask you something, because the basis for my question is probably the most important first step you could take. And I apologize for being a bit scattered here, but our friend is at the CDC and hasn't heard from us in around two hours. He's going to be worried."

"I understand," she said, bumping her glasses back up her nose with one finger. "What is it?"

"Has anyone complained about headaches since you all got here?"

"No, but what you said about the migraines – I knew it already. It's how – well, it's how my husband's began." Her eyes began to tear up. "I didn't make a connection."

"I'm sorry," I said. "There's nobody it's not going to touch."

"It's beginning to sink in," she said, fidgeting with the AK-47's strap.

Gem came out of the cooler and stood there listening to me, leaning against the wall as Taylor leaned against her legs. Her hands rested on the girl's shoulders. Her Uzi hung off the side of her body, the barrel angled toward the floor. There was a thoughtful expression on her face. I smiled at her briefly but continued with my conversation.

"Marion, you need to quietly determine with absolute certainty whether any of your people here have headaches. Or head pain of any kind. I'm not saying you have to take any action, but you'll want to keep an eye on them. A close eye. Someone should stand watch – probably more than one – through the night anyway, but monitor them, too. And you're going to want to get more weapons soon. We hit the evidence locker at the Tallahassee PD, but any large department should do it."

"How can we find you?"

"I don't know where we're going to be, but like I said, get either a ham radio, CB, or the handhelds. The range varies, but put them on scan and just listen. Ultimately, I think all three will be in use"

Gem chimed in. "He's right, Marion. The best way to survive is with numbers and firepower. Build your group as quickly as you can, and you and Bobby and whomever else you deem qualified should start working on a plan."

At that moment, a loud noise came from outside, like a freight train in the stillness of the new world day. Gem gave Taylor's hand quickly over to Marion, and we ran to the front door of the convenience store and unlocked it. Nobody was visible, but a lumbering, gleaming bus came charging up the street, then attempted to slow suddenly as it turned into the store parking lot. A heavy layer of gravel lay over the asphalt, and the multi-ton motor home could not decelerate fast enough for its sudden right turn. The driver whipped the wheel back to the left when the traction broke. But it was all too fast.

The Class A behemoth was at least forty feet long. It started sliding sideways through the gravel, its huge rear end careening toward the front of the store. The rear half of the monster slid at four times the speed of the rest of the bus, as though it were cracked like a whip.

Gem and I tucked and covered our faces as the gravel shot into the air in dusty clouds, peppering every glass and metal surface with tiny rocks and sand as it finally came to rest about a foot from the expansive glass panels of the 7-Eleven.

We fanned our hands in front of us to clear the dust. Hemp sat in the driver's seat, smiling broadly.

"Bloody fuck what a ride!" he yelled, sticking his head out of the window. "I didn't have any damned way to get hold of you, and you'd been gone over two hours! When I saw your cars I cranked the wheel!"

"And almost flipped this sucker over," said Gem.

"Isn't it fabulous?" Hemp beamed.

I looked at the gun turrets he'd engineered in the sides. Four of them, just awaiting firearms from our collection. I didn't have much doubt that Hemp had used his recollection of what guns remained in our arsenal to determine spacing, size and placement of the turrets.

I laughed, and the sound seemed oddly out of place. "Well, Hemp. I'm sure glad you came. But we were just leaving."

"We've found a bunch of uninfecteds, Hemp. Do you think you might have any questions for them?"

He shrugged from the motor home's cockpit. "I can think of something, I'm sure," he said. "Let me at them."

As Gem and I gathered up some food and medical items from the store shelves, we let Hemp go in the cooler and probe around a bit. He had a nice, gentle demeanor, and we knew he'd be the perfect debriefer. He spent about fifteen minutes asking various questions. From inside the cooler we'd hear his muffled British accent, then a muffled response. Of course if he learned anything he'd fill us in later.

Taylor's grandmother wasn't present in the room, which meant that she was one of the dead, the turned, or the burned. We did not mention her again.

When Hemp finished, he told them there were several buses at the CDC, and any one of them would carry them all. They had bars on the windows, so were somewhat fortified. They'd have that and the Hummer.

For us, the Suburban would be fitted with machine guns before long, too, so we'd still have a pretty well-protected rolling convoy of vehicles. Overall, everyone was in good shape.

I wanted to get to my house. I wasn't sure why, but it seemed like a good place to hole up and make a plan. Figure out what we would be doing for the foreseeable future. Train. Whatever. I just knew I wanted to get my ragtag group – my new family – to my house as soon as possible.

As Hemp came out, I touched his arm. "Hemp, how's that gas line coming?"

"I finished that. Straight shot, just six 20-foot lengths, some couplings, a couple of 90-degree elbows, a union, and some pipe dope. Done deal."

"And now you want me to ask what you did with the next hour and fifty minutes, right?

"Spent that on the gun turrets."

"On that motor home there," I confirmed.

"Not a motor home, chap. Mobile Lab." He grinned. "And I started playing with another vehicle after that. So there's some stuff to go over before we head out. We need some versatility in transportation, I think."

I returned the smile on Hemp's face that was so wide it threatened to split his head in two.

"First things first," I said. "Let's get this girl to her mother."

"I get to drive something with guns," Gem said.

I smiled. "Baby, that goes without saying. When mama's happy, everybody's happy."

CHAPTER TEN

We got back to the CDC garage without incident and pulled the Suburban and the mobile lab into the garage, rolling the door closed. It was now going on 4:00 in the afternoon. I wanted to get the hell out of here before nightfall. With the speed at which Hemp was capable of designing, fabricating and working, it wouldn't be a problem. The summer days were long, with daylight sticking around until near 8:30 PM. I figured we could be out of here by 6:00 or so, and Lula was only about 60 miles from the CDC.

We had only to hop on the I85 to the I985 to get there in just over an hour and a half – if all was clear on the road, and we didn't expect that. No more exits if we could avoid it, though. We didn't need a repeat of that offramp debacle.

The gas line that Hemp had run was expertly done, supported by several makeshift support platforms placed at strategic locations to relieve stress on the long pipe run. We could rest assured that Max would be supplied with a long-lasting supply of fuel for the generator. He might have to come down and service it a few times, and try to keep his power draw to a minimum, but he should be good for a month or more. There's no telling what the military might organize before that, or if this thing would run its course, which was my great hope.

We weren't bad at this, but we didn't want to do it for the rest of time.

We did our best to keep Taylor completely away from the gory remnants of the massive zombie kill we engaged in at the service elevator, so we took her into an interior hallway and we went up on the passenger elevator. When we arrived at Max's enclave, all was well.

It was extraordinarily well when Cynthia saw her daughter. She leapt out of her chair and ran to the door, falling down on her knees. She scooped Taylor into her arms and kissed her neck, face, lips and the top of her head. She felt her all over to make sure nothing was broken or hurt, and she pulled her to her again, and wrapped her arms around her in an embrace that I did not believe would end. I didn't blame her for a moment. This was her little girl.

Not a word was exchanged between them. The child's eyes were squeezed closed as though the nightmare was over and the good dream from which she did not want to awaken had begun. Over Taylor's head, Cynthia looked into our smiling faces; Gem, Hemp and I must have looked like three morons, our smiles fixed, our expressions tender.

"Thank you all so much," she mouthed. Her eyes said enough.

As though on queue, we all nodded and turned to head back downstairs. Before I left the room I said, "Max, I had to give away the Hummer. Found a bunch of uninfecteds about a mile and a half from here."

"That's good news," he said. "A good sign. Did you tell them I'm here?"

"It's great news, and yes, we did. They might contact you, so keep your radios on scan." I said. "But I'm going to need another vehicle, if you think you can spare it."

"We already worked it out, Flex," said Hemp. "You gotta check out the Crown Vic I got you."

"A fucking Ford?" I asked, incredulous.

"I guess you might describe it in those disparaging terms, but it's a rolling fortress. We need something kind of nimble and quick, but tough. The cops drive these things for a reason."

"Okay. You can convince me when we get back down there."

We waved to Max and Cynthia, who still held Taylor in her arms.

*****

"It's armored," Hemp said, smiling. He walked to the tool box and grabbed a small sledge hammer.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gem asked.

Hemp ignored her and raised his arm, slamming the six pound sledge into the windshield glass.

Nothing.

"Jesus," I said. "Airplane glass?"

Hemp nodded. "Exactly. Tested with frozen chickens fired at it at high speed."

"Fuck off," I said.

"True. It's called a Chicken Gun, but it's really sort of a cannon. Airplanes are only likely to hit birds in flight, so that's how they test the most vulnerable part, the cockpit windshield."

"Cool," Gem said. She took the sledge from Hemp and gave it a try. The windshield shuddered, but sounded with a dull thud and did not give or shatter.

"No guns," said Gem. "I'm driving the Suburban."

"I'll fix that," Hemp said. "Of course, but I think we'd feel better that of the three vehicles you drive this and take Trina. Nothing can get in or penetrate the car, at all. Period."

"But you're gonna mount a nice big gun on it, right?" Gem was serious.

"Well, we're limited right now on what we can mount because of what we have, but I think we've got enough to make you feel safe in this car."

Hemp walked to a work bench on the east side of the room and carried back what appeared to be a compact machine gun. "AK-47," he said. "The most widely produced assault rifle in the world. I've got a ball bearing mount planned, kind of like a Lazy Susan. This will allow the machine gun to sit directly center above the front cockpit area. It'll lock firmly into place when in the forward position, and that lines up the magazine for easy replacement. I'll cut a slot in the roof for the magazine to travel in as it turns. You see? I've already figured all this out."

I watched the expression on Gem's face. It was awesome to see her so interested in this. "Tell us about the engine, Hemp. Anything special?"

"It's got all you need under the hood. A 4.6 liter V8 delivering around 240 horsepower. But the door panels are lined with B6 ballistic steel. Plus, there's B4 steel on the roof, which will make it harder for me to –"

"But how do I fire the AK, and how do I know I'm aimed at what I want to kill?" Gem was back to the gun. One track mind.

"Really? You don't think I've thought this through? How long have we known one another?" Hemp laughed.

Gem looked at her watch. "About 20 hours," she said. "Okay, go on."

"Alright. I've wired up a video sight that I'll mount to the gun. It's basically a camera. We'll essentially have an A/B switch on the dashboard here, and when you hit B, the GPS monitor screen will turn into your gun sight. This gun, on the ball bearing ring mount, will spin all the way around and stay stable in any position."

"And I fire it how?"

"You pull a handle. Just like an old time toilet flush or calling the porter on the Orient Express."

"And this will be completed when?"

Hemp stuck a mask on his head and picked up the cutting torch and clipped it to his belt. With both hands, he hefted a circular steel plate about fifteen inches in diameter from the bench and climbed up on top of the car, walking on his knees up the hood, not leaving even the slightest impressions in the heavy duty exterior. He rested his steel plate in the center of the forward cockpit roof and used his striker to light the torch. Lowering his face shield, he said, "Believe it or not, a little more than half an hour."

He started to cut with a shower of sparks.

*****

Gem was having some fun with the 360 degree submachine gun welded to the top of her Crown Victoria.

At first I had no idea how she was spotting the infecteds in the fading twilight; the trip had taken longer than we'd planned due to road blockages and alternate routes, so day had begun to melt into night, and there was no moon.

Then I remembered. These creatures had a strange, luminescent eye shine that threw me off; I'd seen it in the dead eyes of Jamie's neighbor, the swimmer who got dead before he could breast stroke his way to my brain for perhaps his first meal of human grey matter.

But when Gem saw the eye shine glimmer in the night, she pushed the B button on the dash and swung her AK-toward the shine using the pivot handle Hemp had rigged up.

In a display – almost a cocky display, if you ask me – of confidence, Hemp had used a sharpie to draw crosshairs on the GPS monitor screen in the Crown Vic, so when she was lined up with the zombie, she'd yank her trigger handle down like a trucker blowing her horn at a passing rig.

And we not only saw crimson-brown sprays of zombie blood fly from their exploding heads as we passed, we saw their dropping bodies fall away, and nothing but Gem's white toothy smile in the rear view mirror of my Suburban. She was really enjoying this, and was getting quite good at it.

Hemp was bringing up the rear in his mobile lab, which he had equipped with some items he believed he'd need in his efforts to help Jamie and discover a cure for this thing. It was a diesel pusher with a bangin' motor and a stock turbo system that allowed it to eat up highway, never losing a beat.

I looked beside me. Trina slept, poor thing. I was going to put her with Gem, but she was sleeping anyway, and Gem was so into the gun that I knew she'd want to play with it on the way. Like I said before, when mama's happy.

I grabbed my radio and pressed the talk button.

"Hey, guys. I want to stop at Home Depot and pick up another generator. I have one at my house, but I'd like to pick up the biggest one they have."

"I hear they're on sale," Gem said. "Free to the living."

"Walking dead need not apply," Hemp said.

I thought of Jamie, still strapped to the goddamned trailer. Hemp had suggested we take her out and strap her down on the examination table he'd brought in his lab, but it wasn't mounted yet, and I didn't want to take any chances. We'd checked her again before leaving the CDC and she was okay. Alive in her present form of living, anyway. I didn't want to change anything. We'd gotten her this far.

A siren blared in the distance as we approached Lula. It did not appear to be any nearer or farther away at any given time, so we guessed it was just stuck on. I wondered about, but did not discuss aloud, the police officer who went with the car from which the siren blared. He'd once served his community, and since then he had either become the hunter or the hunted. I wasn't sure which I wished upon him.

When we arrived at the Home Depot, which was just three miles – three long, desolate miles – from my home, I ran inside, armed with my Daewoo. There was a pallet out front piled high with Generac 17,500 watt cart-mount generators, but the frames had to be assembled, so they weren't exactly portable yet. One was upended and had fallen halfway out of its box, as if someone had attempted to lift it and failed miserably. These suckers weighed almost 400 lbs, so a forklift would be needed to drop it onto my trailer.

I ran around to the garden center and pulled open the gate. I saw the lime green forklift fifteen feet to my left and ran for it. I jumped on, turned the key until it beeped, then fired the propane burning engine, which caught instantly. I drove that bitch like a bat out of hell through the gate and up to the stack.

I'd had enough fun in large buildings that initially appeared deserted. I didn't need to have any more.

I'd told Hemp to stay in the land yacht he was driving, but next thing I knew he was beside me, helping me shimmy the next undamaged generator over the tips of my raised forks.

"Thanks, pal. Appreciate it."

"Pal. Such a John Wayne word."

We slid the gen completely onto the forks, made sure it was balanced, and I jumped back in the driver's seat. "Get back in your shoebox. I got it from here."

In another minute I had the gen lowered onto the trailer. In another ten minutes we pulled up to my house, my ragtag group of survivors. It was time to do some planning, some training, and some learning.

I thought we had the right combination of talents to do just that.

*****

The first order of business when we arrived at my home, after getting our pregnant bitch settled on a soft pile of blankets on the front porch, was to get Jamie off that trailer and onto one of the exam tables in the mobile lab. I didn't want Trina seeing her.

Now keep in mind, I tried to get that damned dog to come into the house and settle in where it was cooler, but she was having none of it. Despite the tiny buns baking in her oven, she seemed to want to stand watch, albeit lying down.

As I had assumed would be the case, there was no power to my home. Gas was still flowing, and since I had a gas range and water heater, that worked out fine. My house was on a well with its own pump, and my whole house generator was in perfect working order as I always maintained it. There was a full underground tank filled with 500 gallons of propane, so we were prepared for baths or showers. When Gem put Trina down on a couch inside, she fell fast asleep, so Gem offered to help with Jamie. I reluctantly accepted. Gem hadn't seen her yet, and while she'd seen others like her – or in the same condition anyway, she had known Jamie. She had loved my sister.

Hemp was suddenly very CDC-like. His British accent was crisp and professional. "The most important thing, and I can't stress this point enough, is to not contact her with your hands, and do not let her scratch or bite you," he said.

He stood before the roll, and untied the ropes that held her to the trailer. "Flex, do you have any leather work gloves?"

"Of course. Four or five pairs."

"Get them, would you? I think Gem and I can manage to carry her into the lab."

I nodded and ran to the detached garage. I kept the K7 ready as well, not taking any chances. Nothing jumped out at me or otherwise tried to eat me. Within two minutes I was back at the converted motor home and Gem and Hemp were just getting Jamie's wrapped body in through the door.

I followed them inside. "Put her on top of the table and we'll get her secured before we cut away the bubble wrap," said Hemp.

"It's a pool cover, actually," I said. "It was pretty much all I had to work with."

"It was fine, Flex," Hemp said. "She couldn't see through it, nor could she claw or bite through it."

I pressed on the shape at both ends, then said, "Give me a hand. I need to end-for-end this. This side is her head."

Hemp and I turned it. "Gloves?" Gem asked.

"Yes. Everyone," Hemp answered.

Gem put her gloves on, and I followed suit. After we all had our miniscule protective gear on, Hemp approached Jamie's unsecured body with scissors.

"I need to cut a strip out of the middle so my cross restraints can be flat against the body rather than over the wrapping."

He began cutting across the center at what he estimated was her torso, until he'd exposed the forearm on each side and her clothing in the middle. About a three-inch strip was exposed. He took a nylon strap equipped with clip hooks on each side and secured one end to a steel ring on the left underside of the table, brought the strap over Jamie's body, and clipped the other end to the opposite tie-down ring. Then he pulled the loose length of nylon and drew it tight.

He repeated this further down, between her shins and her knees. When he was satisfied, he took the scissors again and looked at me and Gem.

"I've not seen her at all, but Flex, you haven't seen her since you wrapped her. I want to warn you, she may have changed."

"How so?" Gem asked.

"I don't know. But she might have experienced some further . . . well, decomposition or metamorphosis, whatever the case may be. I've yet to determine the biological makeup of the abnormals. Regular indicators, such as heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature, and lung functions haven't been measured. What I'm saying – and I can't believe I'm saying it – is if this is some sort of reanimation, which the living severed heads seem to indicate it may be – then it might be difficult for you to accept when you see her. Especially considering it's your sister."

"I saw a bit of the head thing back at Cynthia's house," Gem said. "That shit was disturbing."

I don't know why, but I laughed. Then Hemp smiled, and Gem looked at both of us and she burst into laughter.

"There's not a fucking thing about the past 36 hours that hasn't been disturbing," said Gem, rubbing her face with her gloved hands. Her exhaustion was present in her voice – even in her wonderful laugh.

"Baby, that's an understatement, and I'm having a hard time accepting any of this," I said. "But I have to, so please, cut this stuff away and let me see my sister."

Hemp nodded and began cutting from the feet up the center of the layers of plastic. Gem peeled it to the side as he cut from south to north, feet to head. When he got to the first strap, he cut beneath it and poked the scissor blade in above it and continued his cut. He repeated this as he got to the strap holding the chest.

He put down the scissors. "I want to restrain the head before we go on."

"Understood," I said. "Got what you need?"

Hemp nodded. He opened the drawer and withdrew a 2" strap, which he placed directly on top of the area where the forehead generally was, and repeated the steps to fasten and tighten it. He then took a large saw and cut away the excess length of bubble plastic that extended beyond the top of her head.

He began his cut from the top of the head toward the feet. Cutting essentially straight down between the eyes. As the plastic peeled away, we saw what nobody wanted to see, but the first thing we were bombarded with was the reek.

I thought it was the clothing at first; we'd not been this close to any of the ones we battled, but did get a pretty good whiff of the ones trying to get in the freight elevator.

But this smell was putrid; the smell of an advanced case of halitosis or gum disease on someone's breath. No, even that didn't cover it. The smell was like a dead body that was deteriorating and decomposing in front of us, cysts, pustules, oozing sores, and just plain rotting skin and tissue.

As saddened as I was, I ran to the small stainless sink and threw up. I turned on the water and the pump kicked in, and Gem quickly followed suit.

Hemp was steadfast, looking away to provide us our dignity, but nowhere near sick. Disease, epidemics, these things were his specialty. This is what he steeled himself to deal with, though he'd never dealt with anything like this before.

Returning to Jamie, I forced myself to analyze her. She had become worse. Much worse. I wasn't familiar with the course of typical decomposition, so didn't know whether or not what I was seeing fell into line with that. I only knew that nothing that looked like this should be alive in any way, or conscious of anything at all.

And it was at that very moment that I resolved to end her suffering as soon as humanly possible.

And I know that was an ironic choice of words.

Her eyes were dead, but not dead. They peered straight ahead, and as Hemp pulled away the remainder of the bubble wrap, she struggled to turn her head, the skin now rotting from it in patches, pulling away in spots and generally drying out, some of it falling away with the plastic.

And I saw, just briefly, the beginning of the glow that many of the creatures' eyes we'd seen had taken on. It looked almost like a chemical reaction, or some sort of mist. Then it was gone, and I wasn't sure that I hadn't imagined it.

Hemp hadn't noticed it. He was busy trying to unwrap her further.

Trying to look at anything but that face, I looked down at this thing, no longer recognizable as my kid sister. I stared at the plastic only, and as the three of us tugged and pulled the rest of the wrap away, she was suddenly there on the table, fully exposed.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream, no more skin even pretending to be lips; pulled completely back, her teeth and ulcer-covered gums exposed.

Her face suddenly and inexplicably jerked directly toward Hemp and her gnashing began anew, with a manic speed and force. Her teeth ground together so hard I watched in horror as one of her front teeth shattered, and the other half just fell out and into her throat. She seemed not to notice.

Her black, swollen tongue darted around within the cavern of her mouth, and her wrists struggled beneath the restraints that held her forearms, and I could see the potential for her to pull her arms out.

There were additional wrist straps we couldn't attach until the wrapping was gone, so I reached down quickly with my glove-clad hands and seized her right wrist, jamming it through the thick leather loop and cinching it tight around it. Gem did the same thing on the other side, and Hemp hurried around to repeat the actions on her ankles. Her head was pretty well secured, but after Hemp finished with her ankles, he pulled the head strap tighter for good measure.

I turned away then. Took three steps away from the table.

"Flex." It was Gem's voice. She said no more. She came up to me, pulled her gloves off, and pulled me against her. I resisted for a moment, but Gem knew me. She knew what I needed right then and it was her. With her cheek against mine, warm and comforting, I felt her breath on my neck and kept my eyes closed as she worked her soothing magic on my very soul. We stayed like that for what must have been five minutes.

Hemp was silent, giving us the time we needed. He was a good guy, and he understood. When I felt composed, I kissed Gem on the lips and touched my forehead to hers.

"Thanks, babe. I don't know how you do that."

"It did as much for me," she said, smiling.

I pulled away and walked back to the table. "Okay, tell me what you see, Professor." Gem pulled her gloves back on and stood beside me.

"Her fingernails are black, her skin is essentially rotting from its skeletal framework," Hemp said. "It's not the absolute norm for death, but for this level of death, it may well be. I've not seen any of the others this closely, and under this kind of lighting."

"How far can this go with her still able to... live?" I asked.

"I'm not sure you can call this state alive," Hemp answered. "I don't see any rise and fall of the chest, indicating there is no actual pulmonary function, no breathing."

I looked at Gem, who remained silent and solemn. "So, Hemp. She's essentially a dead person who is starving, and driven toward the taste of human flesh."

Hemp ignored my statement. "I feel odd leaving her like this, but I'm too tired to make any real progress with her tonight. I'd like to do some basic tests in the morning. Check some of those things we discussed earlier."

Gem removed her gloves again, then lifted my hands and pulled mine off. "Let's go get Trina bathed," she said. "I think you could use some cleanup, too."

She looked at Hemp. "Do you want to put a sheet or something over her?"

Hemp nodded. "I thought of that, and it might actually be a comfort to her rather than leaving her exposed." He shrugged. "I have no idea. At any rate, go ahead. See you in a bit. I'll lock this up and stand watch. When you're finished I'll have my shower."

*****

Gem and I planned to shower together, right after we set up a tub for Trina. I sat in a nearby chair as Gem washed her, and the little girl practically slept through the process.

I looked on at the gentleness with which Gem washed Trina's hair and sponged her back, and I fell more deeply in love with her right there. She would essentially be this baby girl's mama now, and I'd be her daddy. And I was proud to have this woman by my side. I didn't know if Jamie would ever be able to reclaim that job from Gem, but I did know that Gem would be the best mother ever.

And my mind turned to my sweet Jesse, Trina's eight-year-old sister. I thought of her, saw her beautiful smiling face in my mind's eye, and I fell into sobs. My body bent in half against its will, and I shuddered, tears leaking from my eyes, and I was unable to stop. I stood up quickly and left the room. I couldn't let Trina wonder where this sadness came from.

But I cried for Trina. And Jesse. And all who would miss her, and all who would never have the chance to know her. I cried for her mother who didn't mean to kill her little girl, and for Gem, who also loved little Jess. Her little rabbit. Well, now that rabbit would bound along the waving grasses of Watership Down for eternity.

My tears subsided, but when I felt Gem's hand on my back, I turned and folded into her arms, and we held each other tight. I buried my face in her neck and cried with her, and no words needed to be exchanged. Everything had changed, we'd lost those we loved, and had found each other again.

"I put Trina to bed," she said. "Hemp is standing watch while we shower."

She stood facing me in the bathroom. I said nothing, but looked into her deep brown eyes and searched them. I did not have to look very long to see the love she felt for me.

My arms hung limp by my sides. Gem hooked her fingers beneath my tee shirt and pulled it up and over my head, then began unbuckling my belt. Just her touch aroused me in a way I couldn't explain. After all we'd been through, our thorough exhaustion, this woman being near me was almost enough to wipe it all away.

As she opened my belt and undid the button on my jeans, lowering the zipper and dropping them down around my ankles, I reached up and began to unbutton her sheer cotton blouse. I pushed it back off her shoulders, revealing her light brown, cotton bra. I unsnapped the front hook and peeled it away.

She had begun to undo her own jeans, and slid them easily off. She put her foot on my jeans, heaped around my ankles, and I stepped out of them. I reached out for her and pulled her warm, bare body against mine, only our underwear preventing full contact top to bottom. Warm. Soft. I hadn't felt her for so long, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm. She looked down between us.

"Flexy, we have to free this. Too constricting."

She turned and opened the door of the bathroom cabinet and withdrew a pair of scissors. She pulled my boxer briefs out on the side and cut slowly down with the scissors until they popped free of my leg. Then she repeated the same thing on the opposite side and they fell away.

"You don't do anything the traditional way, do you?" I said, smiling.

"What's the fun in that?" she said. "Now come in. You're a dirty boy and I'm going to get you nice and clean."

And she did. She used lather. Lots of lather.

*****

I slid on a fresh pair of jeans and walked out to check on Hemp after I recovered from my lovemaking session with Gem – the first in far too long, and an extended one at that. We fell back in bed afterward and Gem produced one of the packs of smokes that I'd grabbed from the pharmacy. We both lit one. It felt good; the stress of the past couple of days had taken its toll on both of us.

Hemp was standing, leaning against one of the porch columns, his Calico M960 hanging loosely in his hands.

"You probably want a shower and some rest," I said, opening the screen door and walking up next to him. "I guess I'd have heard if you'd had to use that thing," I said.

Hemp had clearly become fond of that weapon, and not just for its 50 and 100 round magazines. Because it blew the shit out of the enemy and was lightweight. Almost every fifth sentence out of Hemps mouth was how damned light it was.

"No need to shoot anything yet, and yes, about two days of sleep should do it," he said.

"Hemp, do you have a family? Here, I mean?"

"Don't have a family anywhere, Flex. No siblings, both parents passed away when I was just out of my teens."

"Sorry," I said. "But they did a good job with you. Likeable, smart. Were you ever married?"

Hemp laughed softly, but a deep sadness touched his eyes, too. "I was, my friend. I was. A beautiful woman, too. Too good for me. Married her when I was 24 and she died during childbirth. Along with my baby boy."

"Shit," I said, fishing a smoke from behind my ear. "I'm fuckin' sorry I brought it up, Hemp."

"No, she was the love of my life," he said. "Just the time I had with her was worth all the days before them. I haven't found anyone as good as her since, so I just . . . well, took a couple of years off, then just kind of played the field, as you Americans say."

"There's something to be said for that," I said. "But I just found Gem again – rather she found me – just before we found you. I'd been with her a couple of years and it ended over a year ago. When this shit hit the fan, apparently the only person we could think about was each other."

Hemp smiled and tossed me a pack of matches from the table beside the railing. "She's good for you. And you're good for her. And she's beautiful," he said.

I nodded. "No shit. Fuckin' beautiful. And a heart as big as Texas."

"I think I need someone," Hemp said. "This world is going to seem lonely enough from this point on. I have this longing all of a sudden to find someone I can't live without."

"Speakin' of that, we gotta make a plan I suppose," I said.

Hemp nodded, scanning the yard again. "Yes, sir. Back to reality. If we're going to be here a while, I'm going to want to pick up a couple of security camera sets and motion activated alarms and such. Battery backups, that sort of thing."

I nodded and slid down in the Adirondack chair on my front porch and Hemp plopped down in the chair beside me.

"I don't see a whole lot of value in hitting the road and leaving ourselves exposed. Things will likely only get worse as this thing goes along."

"I know," said Hemp. "The first group of people we found was frightened and cooperative. Grateful for our help. There will be others that want to take what we've accumulated and created. And that's aside from the abnormals."

We hadn't seen any activity around the house since our arrival. That wasn't to say the wind couldn't shift and alert a nearby abnormal or twenty, or a hundred for that matter, with an appetite, and we could become a destination for them at any time.

"My feeling, too. I think protection is our first rule of order."

"I've got some ideas for some equipment – weapons systems, I suppose. I'll need some of Gem's artistry skills, and since you're an electrician, you'll need to help with the wiring schematics for the powered machines."

"Shouldn't a lot of this stuff run without electricity? In case we're in a situation where we don't have that option?"

Hemp waved off my concern. "Absolutely. And I've got some ideas for crank-wound, kinetically-powered weapons systems that can either catapult or eject projectiles. Damaging projectiles."

I laughed out loud. I suppose the sex with Gem and the shower had brightened my outlook. I think I'd place the influence both things had on my demeanor in that order, leaning heavily on the sex with Gem. At the same time – and for the same reasons – I felt like I could collapse in a blissful heap at a moment's notice.

But it felt good to be having this conversation about our protection and our plans. Hemp's mind must have been devising and designing the entire time he was driving, because he'd filled six pages of tightly written notes in a legal pad he'd found in the kitchen just since Gem and I went in to get wet.

"Gem's getting some sleep now, Hemp. Why don't you get in and get a shower and some shuteye. At least three or four hours."

Hemp shook his head. "I won't need that much, Flex, but thanks. My mind is racing at 150 kilometers per hour, and I can't stop it. I'm thinking about your sister, how there's so much I need to do with regard to her, more weapons and surveillance systems –"

"Hemp, Hemp, slow down. You've done a lot – a fucking shitload of stuff so far. My aunt would've said we couldn't have done that in a month of Sundays, and she'd be right. So go in, have the shower, close your eyes for a while. We need that brain of yours to be fresh."

"I don't like the sound of that anymore, Flex." Hemp was smiling, but the truth behind that particular joke gave me, and I'm sure him, a bit of a shudder.

"Okay, let's say sharp," I said.

He stood and passed me the Calico. "Okay. I'll do it. Stay awake now, and fire that thing off if you see anything. I've got my MP5 to keep by my bed. Speaking of that, where am I sleeping?"

"There's a spare bedroom, end of the hall to the left. Only a full size, but I spent money on a good mattress for when Jamie and Jack – well, it's comfortable."

"Got it. Thanks. I'll go check on the pooch before I hit the shower."

"Name's Bunsen."

"Bunsen?"

"Yep. After the burner. Apparently our Trina spent a tad too much time with Max when deciding what to name the girl."

"Bunsen. Sounds like a boy name."

"If it works for a six-year-old girl and makes her happy, I think Bunsen will do just fine."

Hemp smiled, waved, and went inside. I propped the M960 on my leg, leaned back in the Adirondack and scanned the dark horizon for any moving shadows.

Or any flickers of eye shine.

The July night was hot and muggy, but the Georgia weather was the last thing on my mind that evening.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We slept in shifts, and there were no incidents through the night. By the time 8:00 AM rolled around, we'd all had enough and felt like drinking some coffee and feeling normal for the first time in a couple of days.

The spaced-out feeling of being up for two days hadn't completely left us, but Gem sure looked better, and Trina was chattering to Bunsen as though she were entirely human. That she was as big as a human was a fact. Pregnant, she was bigger than most.

Hemp came in through the front door and laid his gun down beside the table. "I'll have it with two sugars," He said, apparently assuming I'd deliver the coffee to him as he plopped down into the wood spindle-back chair. He found the remote on the table and clicked it. I had satellite, so if anyone was broadcasting at all, there might be some chance we'd get it.

But nothing showed up. Static on every channel. He clicked it off again, not wanting to waste generator fuel on nothing and took the cup of coffee I handed him.

"I'd have taken you for a tea man," I said.

"Most tea is for pussies. American tea, that is." He looked suddenly at Trina. "I'm sorry, young lady. That was rude of me."

"What's a pussy?" Trina asked, her eyes curious.

Gem stepped around the table and sat beside her. "It's a bad word for someone who's not brave," she said.

"Well put," I said.

She turned her head quickly toward Hemp and gave him that little girl's you said a bad word face.

He nodded and patted the top of her head. "I only meant that Earl Grey is about the only tea you can find here that a real man would drink. Trina, do I need to put a quarter in some jar somewhere?"

"Not this time," Trina said. "I didn't know that one. But I will next time," she added matter-of-factly.

"So what's the plan? We feel good enough that we don't need a lookout right now?" Gem glanced back and forth between me and Hemp.

"Gun's right here," Hemp said.

I patted mine, leaning against the kitchen island. "Mine, too."

Gem tossed her head toward the sofa where her Uzi rested. "Okay, I guess we can beat a few zomb – abnormals – to the punch."

"Regardless, the plan is to hit a Radio Shack or a Best Buy and see if we can get the camera systems we need," Hemp said. "I'd also like to set up some snares in the woods around here."

"Snares?"

Hemp nodded. "I know it seems kind of archaic, but there are woods on three sides of this property, as Flex knows, and that makes it fairly simple for someone who's driven to get very close to this house without being seen."

"But snares?" Gem wrinkled her nose at me as she took a deep sip from her hot coffee. Her expression quickly turned into one of utter bliss. She did love her coffee.

"I was up early, and with my trusty MP5 by my side, I took a walk along the woods line. There are clear paths where animals make their way, and these are the same paths that anything or anybody else will make their way."

"So booby-trap the obvious paths," Gem said. "And what about the poor animals?"

I sat down next to Gem at the table.

Hemp shrugged. "We'll need meat, Gem. Flex, what kind of animals you got in these woods anyway?"

"Oh, shit, that's right," Gem said, then slapped her hand over her mouth and smiled as Trina glared at her.

"A few bears, not too many. "Deer, some feral pigs. I guess a zombie or two."

"So you can joke about it but we have to call them abnormals? Great." Gem shook her head and swatted my arm, causing me to spill my coffee onto the table.

I shrugged. "I don't care anymore. What they are they are. What they are, Jamie is. After seeing her last night, I don't know how to balance terminology versus fear versus hatred versus survival instinct. I love her, but that is not her. Not anymore."

Gem's demeanor changed, and she got up and got a towel from the kitchen and wiped up my spilled coffee. "I'm sorry, baby."

I put my hand over hers and nodded. I never wanted her to feel bad, because I knew her heart and it was nothing but good.

Hemp chimed in, returning the conversation back to his intended task. "Okay, back to the snares. I know how to construct tripwire snares, large or small. If we're going after food, rabbits, small game, we can set some up on the smaller paths. The trails that lead to your yard, the bigger ones, we'll set up some heavier duty traps using some pretty large stones. I saw a few good ones out there that should work nicely. With the deteriorated condition of some of these infecteds, and the probability that they'll only get worse as time goes on, that still ought to do it. Considering we only need an upper branch capable of supporting that kind of weight, we should be able to set some of these up in pretty strategic locations."

"Are you hoping to use this system as protection? Doesn't seem very efficient," I said.

"I think he's looking to use it more as an early warning system that they're finding their way here, babe," Gem said. "If we start seeing them snared, we know they're onto our scent."

"Precisely," Hemp said.

"I guess it's better than packing mud cakes along the walkway and trying to get footprints," I said.

"What are we, six years old again?" Gem laughed.

"Hey, it was fun when I was six." I stood. "I say we get started today. But when we head out, I think I'd like to take the Crown Vic and we should all go. The dog we can lock in the house and we can leave Jamie in the lab."

"Bunsen," said Trina. "Her name's Bunsen."

"Got it. Bunsen," I said.

Gem, as was her custom, grabbed a note pad and made a list. First stop, Radio Shack. More walkies and batteries and surveillance camera systems.

Next stop, another police station. We needed to load up on more guns and ammo. Or a good pawn shop. Some of the shit they kept in the back could be interesting. Hell, even some of the ranch homes would have nice caches of weapons. We were in Georgia, and there was no shortage of guns here.

And Hemp wanted some medical equipment. Particularly an EEG machine. We put that on the list, but we weren't sure we would have the time, freedom of movement, or the ability to find everything on our list today. After writing a while, Gem looked up.

"What's the military doing about all of this you think?" she asked. "I have to believe some of them survived and are mobilizing."

"I haven't seen one plane or helicopter other than the one that almost crashed on us since this thing began," I said.

"That is almost impossibly unlikely," Hemp said. There should be crashed airliners and small craft littering the country."

"I'm sure if we travel far enough," I said, "we'll find them. But for now, let's get ready to go the store."

"Forget the useless wallets, just get the guns," Gem said, smiling as she hefted her Uzi.

"Note to self," I said. "Stop by the vinyl store and grab the Beatles' White Album. Someone needs to hear 'Happiness is a Warm Gun.'"

"I already know that," Gem smiled. "But happiness also involves my Flexy."

My house is a ranch, one story with four bedrooms and three baths. I built it a few years ago, and Gem was very familiar with the layout. It was pretty typical, and had a nice long front porch with two steps leading up and a wood railing on all sides except at the steps.

When I built it I was conscious of the fact that I was somewhat removed from any neighbors, so had security on my mind. The thick growth of trees in the surrounding forest was exactly what I wanted, and the only easy way in or out of my property was through a long, winding gravel drive. I'd graded it very flat, and any vehicle could access it with no problem. I'd kept the curves on the soft side, which is what allowed the huge mobile lab to make the drive up to the house.

There was a gate at the bottom, the wood swinging type, that I most often closed. I'd left it open when I headed out to Jamie and Jack's house because other things were on my mind, but if I had to leave for any extended period of time, I always closed and locked it.

I locked it when we left this time. Hemp suggested we replace the beefy Master Lock with a combo type that any one of us could open without a key. There was no telling what might happen; one of us might lose a key in a scuffle, and the growth on the sides of the fence was very thick, brambly and virtually impassable. Hemp was right again. Gem added the combo lock to the list.

As Hemp hopped back in the car after swinging the gate closed and securing the lock, Gem said, "Hemp, would barbell weights work in place of rocks? For your snares, I mean?"

Hemp nodded. "Good idea. I think 60 lbs per snare would work fine. If you can imagine having that much tension pulling one of your legs in the air, I guess you could figure out how hard it might be to free yourself from the snag."

"Try 40 lbs. I'm not that ambitious," Gem said.

"Fuck. It would take 150 lbs to tame that tiger," I said.

"Only if I were looking at you just out of my reach," Gem quipped.

I smiled and drove on. Hemp had a little smile on his face as he looked back and forth between me and Gem. I knew he was lonely, and I could tell he wished he had someone to banter with. Besides us, I mean. And it made sense. When he told me the story of his wife and son, I felt for him. He was a great guy, and I couldn't imagine that with his surfer looks and intellect that he wouldn't make any woman a bit weak in the knees.

Plus, he was funny. But what did I expect? The Monty Python guys were all Brits, and damn, they cracked the shit out of me.

As I left the gravel drive and hit the street I said, "I think we might just hit a local hardware store, and there's a Target there where we might get the rest. We've got some diverse needs."

I hit the gas and the Crown Vic's new tires bit into the pavement and screamed off like the son-of-a-bitch cop car it could've been.

Everyone inside smiled. Even Trina.

And I was rethinking Fords. It was a strange, new world, indeed.

*****

When we pulled into the hardware store parking lot, the door to the store hung open, tottering on one hinge. A body lay in the doorway face down, and we could see the back of the skull bashed in, a black mottled pool on the ground around it, clotted and thick.

The flies had not been affected. They still buzzed around in a swarm at our approach. None of us wanted to stay in the car, but Gem volunteered to keep Trina on her lap and play whatever game she wanted to play to occupy her.

On the way to town, Trina had asked us if we were on our way to pick up her mommy and Jesse. She didn't mention her father Jack, and it may be because in her mind she already knew he was gone. She had been in that house after all, and seeing him like that must have been a nightmare. We were all surprised she slept through the night last night, but she was exhausted, and perhaps even the nightmares couldn't overpower her need to rejuvenate.

In answer to her question I turned my eyes to Gem. She shook her head slowly, then looked into Trina's eyes. "We're still trying to find them, baby. Don't you worry. They both love you. Just remember that when you miss them."

Trina said nothing. We promised to get her some dollies at the store if she'd be good and stay with Gem. This seemed to make her forget for the time being.

Normally I hate to lie. Not this time. I wanted to lie to her forever. Make her believe they were still on this earth.

And it kept nagging at me. What we'd seen at the CDC. Those things coming back to life because we didn't destroy their brains.

I hadn't done anything to Jesse's brain. Had she crawled from her earthen grave, now one of them? Was she out there now, even as we faced the horrors of this modified existence, hungry, hungry, starving?

I put it out of my mind. We had to know more. I didn't want to picture my Jess like that. But it nagged.

Hemp and I stepped past the body, scattering the flies. I waved them away from my face – they had just been feasting on dead flesh and I didn't like the idea of them anywhere near my eyes or mouth. We had handheld flashlights, but I knew the first thing I wanted. First we reconnoitered the aisles to make sure none of the hungry dead were lying in wait, if they could even do that, and were relieved to find we were alone in the store.

It wasn't a big store, and at the entry the light filtering in through the storefront windows was enough to see by. About 15 aisles, a local store that specialized in the things the local people most often needed. Generators, plumbing parts, electrical. I headed for the flashlight section and found what I was looking for immediately. While the front of the store was bathed in light, the rear aisles wouldn't be. I grabbed all they had on the rack and went to the end cap where the AAA batteries were hung. I took down a 24 pack and popped it open and began loading batteries into a couple of the LED headlamps. Hemp had made his way to the aisle where the rope was stocked.

"Hemp! Where are you, buddy?"

"Aisle 7. Found some good high tensile, thin rope."

I turned into the aisle and met him. He'd taken a small shopping basket and had put six rolls of the rope in it. I gave him a headlamp.

"Bloody good idea, Flex." He strapped it on his head and slid the switch. The light was excellent and directed.

He said, "I need some very strong, thin fishing line or something. A fifty pound strength would work well if they have it."

"Aisle 12 is fishing and camping gear. You good here? I'm heading over to electrical. Stuff for wiring the cameras."

"Get as much video cable as you can," he said. I'd like to spread out our field of vision, so we'll probably have some long runs. Also get some splicing connectors, and if you can find them, some motion detectors. No sense in using the power unless they see something coming. Then they can kick on, and that'll draw our attention."

I moved around the edge of the row and made my way down to electrical, grabbing one of the light plastic shopping carts along the way. The kind with the long pole on top so you can't take them out through the door. Damned staff was too lazy to go retrieve them from the parking lot.

And now there was no staff. Good move, maybe.

I grabbed four motion detectors along the way, then came to the cable wire and pushed all the rolls off the hanging rods into my cart. Same with the connectors.

Then I had a thought. I knew the walkies were okay for a couple of miles at best with obstacles in the way. A super tall antenna would be a big help. The area where we were located wasn't too hilly, so if I could get an extension antenna wire up high enough, it would open up our distance, perhaps closer to the 28 miles promised by some of the newer walkies. I decided to get the cameras first, then look for something that I could build a makeshift antenna tower with.

"Nothing over here," Hemp called. "I'm going into the back to see if they've got extra stock. There's a hanger and price for the 50 lb, but it's empty. I'll use 30 lb if I have to, but I prefer stronger."

"Gotcha. I'm getting what we need here. Hey, Hemp! They have video surveillance kits! 6-camera, easy setup."

Hemp didn't reply. I unloaded three full sets for 18 cameras. That ought to do it. Hardware stores sure tried to cater to everyone's needs these days, and I was glad. Radio Shack was officially off the list.

Next, I went to the lock section and found a beefy, 2" hasp master lock with a four-number combination. I didn't figure the number would have to be that complex considering what we were trying to keep out. I dropped two of them in my basket, too.

Now for the antenna. I was thinking some ½" copper pipe, joined by couplings to a height of 100' might do it. So ten 10' sections were on my list. Along with the proper flux and solder and a nice soldering torch to sweat the pipe together. It could be assembled in less than an hour. Standing it up might be a trick, but I was sure Hemp would be able to figure it out. He was an engineer, after all.

I dropped the couplings, solder and torch in my basket, and grabbed the ten lengths of pipe and hefted them out to the Crown Victoria. They clearly weren't going to fit inside, so I put them down, ran back inside to grab some more rope, and headed back out. Gem helped me bundle them, then we used massive strips of duct tape to secure them to the top of the car just to the side of our mounted AK-47.

Okay, Gem's AK-47. She loved that thing.

The day was heating up. It was already around 80 degrees.

"Hemp!"

There was no reply. It had been over eight minutes. "Hemp!"

Still nothing.

I left my cart and swung my K7 around to kill position and stood stock still. I heard a bumping sound from the back of the store.

And I ran. I ran to the stockroom door and yanked it open, my headlight bathing each place I turned my head. The room was rectangular, and had several rows of shelves that ran nearly floor to ceiling. My light was nearly absorbed by the room, and only directly ahead of me was illuminated. Hemp was not anywhere in sight, and so far he hadn't answered. Chills began their trek up and down my spine.

"Hemp! Where are you? Can you hear me, man?"

Still nothing. A shuffle. Off to my left. I yelled again. "Hemp! Answer me or I might shoot you!"

I didn't think for a second that Hemp would think this was anything like funny. He wasn't a stupid man.

I turned left and walked quietly, looking down each aisle, my headlamp exposing anything that might move.

Nothing did.

A grunt.

I screamed like a native warrior and ran to the last aisle, turning the corner at speed. A large man, formerly alive but no longer, with peeling skin and reddish-pink glowing eyes, stood right there, stopped dead center at the beginning of the fifty-foot aisle. To stop my forward momentum so that I didn't crash into the thing, I dropped my gun to hang awkwardly from the shoulder strap, windmilling my arms madly as I struggled to reverse course.

The nostrils flared wide – very wide – and in its moment of what must have been surprise, it just stared down at me. He must have been at least 6'7", and because he was wearing basketball shorts and a jersey I assumed he'd been playing a little b-ball when his world changed. I felt like I was facing Larry Bird with flesh-eating virus.

His white-yellow teeth shone in my light, and he came at me the next split second, just as I began to make some progress away from him. He didn't physically move fast, but his sheer size made every step like two of mine. I was startled; he was too close. I continued my stagger backward, lost my balance again and fell, and as I looked up, he appeared to be ready to drop right on top of me.

I scrambled to my feet again and my gun clattered to the floor. As I scurried away, my left foot caught the weapon, kicking it in my intended direction of retreat. I turned my head back to see what chance I had of getting away when my light fell on a disturbing sight.

Hemp's shoes. The soles shone in my light. He was unconscious on the floor in the middle of the aisle.

I kicked the gun hard forward again as I continued to put distance between me and the lumbering zombie, whose eyes, even without the illumination from my headlamp, glowed after me. Then, in one fluid motion, I scooped the gun from the ground, rolled onto my back and blasted no fewer than 20 rounds into that huge, deteriorating, fat head of his, laying him down like a pile of bricks smashed by a wrecking ball.

As I watched the mass of meat and gore that used to be his face, I saw his eyes slowly fade to black. I stared for a moment. The shine was life. Somehow. In their eyes. I had not given it enough thought, I now knew. If Hemp was still alive, we would give it the analysis it deserved.

If he wasn't, I had no idea what we would do.

I knew the creature was gone, finally dead, therefore no longer a threat. I ran down the aisle closest to me, all the way to the end, and turned left. I still didn't want to skirt past the thing, no matter how sure I was that it was dead.

I got to the end aisle and saw Hemp on the floor. Kneeling down beside him, I took his arm and gently turned him over. He was out cold, but breathing.

He looked unharmed. Externally, at least. No blood. No injury. No scratches or bites that looked human inflicted. Tucking down, I pulled him up by the waist and somewhat to his feet. I bent forward and rested him over my right shoulder, then struggled to stand up. After nearly going over backward, I regained my balance and walk-jogged to the door of the stockroom, pushed through it, and back into the aisle where my cart was. I lowered Hemp inside the cart and he folded up on top of the cable.

Not wanting to make Hemp's trip in vain, I pushed over to his basket and loaded the stuff in his cart into mine, on top of him. Then I ran for the door.

I'm not sure why I was still spooked. I was almost certain that one creature was the only danger here, but it was like I was eight years old again, and I was conjuring up goblins and ghosts and a thousand arms reaching out to grab my shirttail and drag me into hell.

But I made it to the door. It did not occur to me at that moment, since I lacked complete and utter sanity, that the cart would not fit around the body in the doorway, or that the fucking metal rod that was sticking up would hit the door frame. So, in a perfectly logical scenario, I pushed that overloaded cart full speed through the entry door, the wheels slamming into the torn-up body on the ground and the 1" metal pipe attached to the cart slamming into the glass wall above the door. As a result, the cart containing Hemp and our precious supplies went into a stutter-flip, sending Hemp and all the crap piled on top of him tumbling to the ground.

I realized at the last second what had happened, and I tried to hang onto the cart, but all I did was slow it ever-so-slightly. Gem saw what had happened and practically leapt from the Crown Vic. She looked at me, her eyes wide.

"Jesus!" she shouted. "Are you guys alright?"

"I'm fine! He's unconscious. Get him into the car!"

I stopped, my breath burning my lungs with each draw, and looked behind me. Nothing in the store moved.

I realized she wouldn't be able to do it alone since Hemp was dead weight. I ran to Gem and helped her lift Hemp into the car. Then I slammed the door and went back to right the basket and pick up our strewn supplies. I would not sacrifice this stuff that we needed for self-preservation.

Less than thirty seconds later I had the stuff in the trunk of the Ford. I jumped back into the car and fired the engine.

"Fuck this. Let's get back to the house."

Gem was slapping Hemp in the face, and not softly. He would not wake up.

"Baby, he's not coming to!" she said. "What happened in there?"

"I can't talk right now," I said.

And nobody said a word until we got through the gate and into the security of my house again.

We stared at Hemp, who we'd laid on the couch.

And we waited.

With our guns at ready.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hemp didn't wake on his own. About 65 minutes after his encounter, Gem sat on the couch beside him and shook him gently by the shoulders. His eyes fluttered open and he moaned.

When he started to stir, Gem got quickly off the sofa, picked up her gun and held it, barrel pointed toward the floor.

"Man. What happened? Gem, why do you have your gun?"

We looked at him. We'd never heard the creatures speak other than in early stages and only to tell us how hungryhungryhungry they were, so we figured he was okay.

"You got got by a zombie," Gem said. "Sorry, but until I heard something intelligible out of you . . ."

"I got . . . got?"

"In the hardware store," I said. "You went into the stock room, I started to worry, and next thing I knew you were out on the floor and I was running from a dead basketball player."

Hemp tried to sit up, then abandoned the idea. He put a hand to his head. "I don't remember any of it. Just putting some things in my basket, and thinking I'd look in back for more stock."

"Bad move as it turns out," I said. "We either need a buddy system rule or just to approach every situation as if one of these things is around the corner. I'm very surprised this thing got the jump on you."

"I have no idea how it did. I don't remember seeing it at all. Bloody hell, I don't even remember the stock room."

"How are you feeling now?" Gem asked.

Hemp nodded. "Okay. The grogginess is going away pretty fast."

Gem snapped her fingers. "This is too familiar. It's exactly what we found with the people in Cynthia's house, stored for food. Exactly. They were out, save for a couple of them. Taylor was awake, but perhaps in a paralytic state. Flex?"

"Come to think of it, yes. Hemp, you were out, but the problem is, you didn't wake on your own until Gem shook you. And even that didn't work for well over an hour."

Hemp looked confused. "But how? Did it strangle me, cut off my oxygen supply?"

"Not a mark on you, buddy. Except on your elbow – a bruise. Probably from falling."

"I need to find out what this is."

I thought for a moment about the eye shine. Everyone had noticed it, and this was as good a time as any to bring it up.

"Hemp, have you thought about the eye shine aspect of these creatures? What causes it, and what, if anything, its purpose might be?"

"To be honest," Hemp said, "I've kind of avoided verbalizing about it too much because it made no sense. But I have tossed it around in my mind, and I will need to do some tests on Jamie if I want to come up with any answers."

Gem realized she was still holding her gun and leaned it against the end of the sofa. Trina walked into the room and bounced on her feet a full foot in the air.

"Bunsen is having her babies!" she shouted. "Two so far!"

Despite the seriousness of the discussion on the floor, we all smiled at this news. Even Hemp.

"Well, let's go get some warm towels and see if mama needs anything!" Gem said.

"The miracle of childbirth," Hemp said, rubbing his face with both hands and getting unsteadily to his feet.

Trina jumped in the air clapping her hands, and ran into the utility room where they had set up Bunsen on a large quilt. When they walked in, she was in the process of pushing out her fourth puppy. Two of the other three were already latched onto a nipple, and suckling away.

We all watched this with smiles on our faces. This was indeed the miracle of life, and we had no idea how many things would be born over the next year, how many would die, and how many would refuse to stay dead.

What we did know, by the time it was over, was that there were six more tiny souls on this planet than there were just a few moments ago, and it did our hearts good to see it. We let nature take its course, and Trina and the rest of us mourned to see the seventh pup come out stillborn.

It lay there and never moved. It was born dead, and after an hour we knew it would clearly stay dead. It was the first actual confirmation that this reanimation condition did not affect the canine population.

"They're so wet and sticky," said Trina.

"Yes, they are. Don't worry. Bunsen will get them cleaned up. We'll help her if she'll let us," Gem said.

"Aunt Gemmy, Bunsen is very nice. She'll really like it if we help her."

Gem pulled Trina into her lap on the folding chair she sat on as she watched the other squirming pups searching for nipples, finding them, and drinking of their mother's sustenance.

Hemp stood from his chair. "I have some work to do. Flex, if you think you can handle the camera installation, I'd like to do some stuff in the lab."

"I'm a fuckin' electrician, so I think I can handle some cable runs and wire connectors."

"Just fucking with you, old man," Hemp said, smiling.

"Hemp, I'm not sure about you going in there alone," Gem said. "Not after what happened at the store."

"I know. We need more bodies," said Hemp.

"I don't know if I'd put it like that," I said. "Maybe we need more warm bodies."

"Point taken. Okay, first things first," Hemp said. "I guess we should get the cameras up. That way we'll have a sense of security, and that will set us at ease."

"And keep us alive," added Gem. "Which sets me at great ease."

"Me, too," I said. "And I already have an alarm system in the house, so I'll just program it to chime when a door or window opens. I usually turn that off."

I walked over to the panel and punched the buttons, then tried the front door and a window. Beep Beep.

"Good," said Hemp. "Once the cameras are installed, I'd like to see if we can secure an EEG machine. I've got some ideas how to use it to do some testing – on Jamie, if that's okay with you, Flex."

"Hey, if your tests can help her, then there's no reason I can think of to say no. I'm sure she'd agree with us."

"How do you feel right now?" I asked Hemp.

"Good. No headache, nothing. No memory of it and no effects that I can pinpoint."

I looked at his eyes. Bright and normal. No mist. No glow.

"Good," I said. I want to go out and get that EEG machine now. We never got any more guns either, so I want to grab more of them eventually, and we sure as hell need some signal flares."

"Hemp, if you stay with Trina, Bunsen and the babies, Flexy and I can see about getting this stuff."

"Okay, but if you're looking for the EEG machine, will you know it when you see it?"

"Will it say "EEG?" asked Gem.

"Might say electroencephalography."

"Wanna write that down?" said Gem, smiling.

"Sure."

"The hospital in Gainesville is about 18 minutes away from here – eleven miles. We already know the road is pretty clear from here to there, so this shouldn't be a bad trip, so long as we're not ambushed or put to sleep."

"Or both," Gem said. "Nothing is getting closer than a dozen feet away from me. Not if Suzi has anything to say about it."

"Suzi?" I smiled.

"Suzi the Uzi."

"Cute. What rhymes with Daewoo?"

"Not even sure you're pronouncing it right," Gem said. "You're going to have to stick with K7."

"That's no fun. You ready?"

Gem shook her head. "Not yet." She went to Hemp and hugged him hard. He returned her embrace, and when she pulled away, she said, "Hemp, I can tell you I love you already. You're a good guy, and we appreciate being able to call you our friend."

She hugged him again and he smiled over her shoulder at me as I looked on.

"She's right, you know," I said. "Something about our situation has brought us close together fast."

They broke the embrace and Gem kissed him on the cheek.

Hemp blushed. "Just get the stuff and get back here. Anything goes wrong, then I want you to forget what you don't have and just get back."

"I have to go stock up on ammo and hug Trina," Gem said. "Then I'm ready. Give me three minutes, baby."

And she was ready in two.

*****

With a full stock of ammo, our walkies and a shitload of spit and vinegar, Gem and I headed out for what we hoped would be an uneventful eleven-mile drive.

"Road looks good," said Gem, scanning side to side, her hand gripping the K-7 mounted on the Suburban.

We'd brought the truck to haul any equipment we might pilfer, and while it had no side windows, it was damned well protected, just as the Hummer had been. I'd topped off the gas tank with four 5-gallon cans I had stored in my shed at the house. We'd brought the cans with us in case an opportunity to refill them presented itself. Lots of the rural farms had hand-crank fuel pumps plugged into their underground tanks for fueling up their tractors and other equipment.

"We're already halfway there," I said. It was now already 2:00 in the afternoon. The incident with Hemp had eaten up a good part of the day, followed by the more joyous incident with Bunsen and her new brood.

The road took a dip up ahead. Years ago a large sinkhole had opened up in the highway; it was nearly a half mile wide, and made the news all over the country. This hole was eventually filled in and paved over, but it had left in its wake a fairly steep downhill, then a peak that most people enjoyed driving over. The kids tended to haul ass down and up, trying to get their cars airborne. If they knew what that shit did to their suspension, they'd think better, but I knew damned well I'd do the same thing if I was nineteen. Fuck yes.

"Hold on, babydoll!" I shouted, and hit the gas. The big Suburban plunged down the hill, reaching about sixty miles per hour. I raced along the short valley, maintaining speed, and hit the uphill at sixty-five. I was pretty sure I'd get at least the front tires off the ground when I came up to the top of that hill.

"Baby, this is fun, but you can't see what's over that hill – be careful!"

And I realized she was right. Could be a wrecked car just out of sight, but I didn't remember seeing any on the way here, and I was committed now. I kept my foot on the gas and hit the top.

My front wheels did indeed leave the ground, and when they came down, Gem let out a rare scream and her door-mounted machine gun slammed into action, her finger hard on the trigger.

Because they were there. A dozen of them from my quick count, staggering in the middle of the street as though they had a destination in mind, and I immediately hoped it wasn't my place.

I saw them only as my bumper crashed into the heads of four of them, knocking them backward and undoubtedly putting four nice dents in my bumper. As my front tires met pavement and rolled over their crumpling bodies, I could almost feel my transmission housing, rear axle and tires catch them underneath, pushing them into and grinding them along the pavement. I visualized their twisting bodies caught beneath the Suburban, scraping against asphalt, bones shattering, already-damaged faces being torn up further.

But we also knew it wouldn't necessarily kill them.

We'd cleared them all and were about 300 yards away from them.

"Pull this fucker around, Flex!" shouted Gem. She ejected the empty magazine from the K-7 and smacked another into the gun as I stopped and spun the truck around to face them.

The others who didn't get run down had turned toward us, as though they had gotten a whiff of us and needed to have a taste. I started driving slowly toward them to give Gem a better shot.

I stopped about fifty feet away and said, "Wait, baby. Wait until they're a bit closer." I felt guilty. "Sorry for being an idiot. I thought we could use some fun."

Gem gawked at me. "Flexy, this crew of walking dead would've been here whether we were doing thirty miles per hour or seventy. Your speed is what immediately took out four of them."

"Thanks," I said. "Wait... not yet. Let them get a little closer."

"Keep the engine running, and I'll do that," Gem answered.

She spun her machine gun forward, as did I. We'd removed the side mirrors right after installing the guns, as we quickly discovered we didn't have the full range of motion that we needed. Problem solved.

Our eyes peeled straight ahead, our fingers rested on our respective triggers, I noticed the four I'd run over were trying to get back on their feet. Only two of them managed to stand, as the other two, a man in a tattered business suit and a woman in a police uniform, could only crawl on their elbows, the damage done by my Chevy evident.

But the other eight zombies were making decent progress. Three of them were completely nude, and I hadn't seen that before. It disturbed me; it just brought home that everything was gone. Their modesty, awareness, just everything they had ever known, and now it was just food that they craved.

"I want to shoot now," Gem said, when they were twenty feet in front of us.

It obviously wasn't a request. The reverberating, staccato sound of round after round exploding from Gem's window mount machine gun explained that to me in terms that I – and possibly other guns – could understand. I joined her. We took out seven of them, their heads exploding into particles of blood, brains and skull fragments, their bodies jerking like marionette dolls until they finally fell to the ground in heaps of gore.

But with the side mounts, there was one more son-of-a-bitch wearing an "Obama/Biden 2012" tee shirt that neither of us could hit.

"Fucker's in a no-kill zone," Gem said, grabbing Suzi from the floorboard. She hefted the Uzi and tried to lean out of the window for a shot, but the Daewoo mounted on the door frame blocked her.

"Fuck, Flex, I can't get him."

And he was at the hood. And he climbed onto the hood. And now he crawled directly toward the windshield, his dead face staring at us or through us, and we were freaked out and mesmerized at the same time.

He started mouthing the windshield, his bulbous tongue licking the smashed bugs there, trying to get to us, but unaware that the thick tempered glass wouldn't allow it.

I stared at the thing gnashing and sucking the glass, its nostrils flaring wide, and I turned on the windshield wipers. I know. It was dumb. This wasn't a bug I could just wipe away.

"Me or you," I whispered.

"You this time," Gem said, completely out of typical Gem fashion.

"Okay."

I opened my door and looked quickly behind the car to make sure none of them had come out from somewhere else to overwhelm us. None had. I swung the door closed and stepped to the side of the hood, my Daewoo leveled at its head. He was still pressed against the windshield, and I already regretted not having side windows. I wasn't going to accidentally blow out the windshield, that was for sure. I wished like hell that the Suburban had a gun like the Ford. I'd have to put it on Hemp's list.

"Here, freakshow," I said, in a sing-song voice. "Come on, you ugly fuck, I'm right here."

This one was an older man, thick in the middle, but still muscular. He was wearing Nike tennis shoes, which were probably what helped him gain enough purchase to climb up on the hood in the first place.

"You're scaring my woman, you asshole!" I finally yelled, and though my words likely had no affect, he finally looked directly at me.

And his eyes captured my attention. Even here, in the bright daylight, I could see a slight fog over them, yet they didn't appear obscured. I swore I could see this fog almost misting off them, like a low-hanging cloud on a field of grass. I shook it off and focused on the sight of my weapon.

He quit trying to bite through the glass. He started to crawl sideways across the hood toward me, and I backed up two steps.

My eyes on him, I also took some quick glances at the crawlers and walkers down the street. They were clearly hurting, for their progress was nowhere near as fast as their zombie counterparts. But they were coming. Like mosquitoes to a bug zapper.

And then I was suddenly very tired of this shit. I put the K-7 directly to the side of the thing's skull, and as its arm rose jerkily up to grab the gun, I blew all awareness – and half of its brain – clean out of its ugly fucking head. The blood and skull frags splattered onto the windshield, but it didn't crack or shatter. Gem reached over and hit the washer and wipers. Now the glass was smeared with bloody streaks until about the fifth swipe – then it cleared enough that I wouldn't have to clean it before driving.

But now I had a dead, bloody zombie sprawled on my hood like some kind of fucked up, morbid prize hunter. I might as well have mounted his destroyed head as a hood ornament.

I looked through the window and Gem shrugged and gave me a nervous smile. Then she did a little "pushing" motion with her hands, like I should get this thing off there.

I hopped back in the truck, threw it into reverse, and punched it. The body slid in its own muck, then rolled quickly off the hood, leaving a nice muddy-blood smear in its stead.

"The others are yours," I said, throwing the Chevy into drive. "Your window."

I came to within ten feet of them, cranked hard left, and lined Gem up. In a show of talent, she used very short bursts with her new best friend Suzi, and sent each one of them to the Hell they should have – and might have already been – living in.

When we got back on the road, we didn't say anything. I held her hand in mine as they rested on the seat between us. The hospital loomed ahead, and I knew then that our little shopping trip was just getting started.

And I was already fucking sick and tired of this new zombie world. I wondered when they would all be dead, or if they ever would be. I didn't know what had created them, what continued to create them, and how we had avoided becoming one of them. We'd all struggle to learn the answer. But one thing was for sure. I knew well that Hemp, Gem and I could not kill them all by ourselves and set the world back onto its faltering axis.

I pulled up to the emergency entrance and looked at Gem. She squeezed my hand again.

"I love you, baby," she said.

"I know. Right back atcha. Now let's get us an EEG machine and I'm thinking some pain killers."

Her eyes brightened. "I forgot all about the weed I stole from the evidence locker! Let's go. Now I have something to get back home for. Besides our family."

I shook my head and laughed, and we got out. And that was one more reason I loved my Gem.

She sure the fuck knew how to make me laugh.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The hospital was dark. Really dark. We'd worn the headlamps I'd gotten from the hardware store, and with fresh batteries, they were kickass. Plenty of light.

But the smell was putrid. I could practically see the ooze flowing out of the broken skulls of the decomposing bodies on the floor everywhere our eyes fell. I wasn't sure how it was done, but their brains, in every case, were absent from their skulls, cracked open like raw eggs. I wondered how they accessed this part of the human body, and then I knew.

It was clear. They did not use tools; I'd not seen any level of awareness or intelligence that would suggest they had this ability. It was a primal, instinctive action. They clearly slammed the heads of their victims into the floor until they cracked and shattered and provided access to the meat that these beings craved.

Gray matter. Brains.

I had no idea what this part of the human body provided them or what drew them to it. But based on what we saw, it was what they wanted. Had to have.

It was what they craved.

But Gem and I didn't want to see any more. We watched for movement as we made our way through the lobby and followed the signs to neurosurgery.

Gem walked slowly, moving her head from side to side, her light illuminating the hallway intersections we came to. So far nobody else appeared. And nothing else.

"You see why I did this now?" Gem asked.

"You mean put a headlamp on Suzi the Uzi?"

"Yep. I'll tell you why."

I hadn't asked, but I was up for some conversation.

"I did it because I might be shooting at some zombie or other, and hear something off to the other side. I don't necessarily want to have to find the fucker again if I look away and look back, so I want a light where I'm shooting, and one on my head, too."

"I never questioned your motives, Gem. I had no doubt that there was a logical reason."

I said this, all the while thinking it was actually a damned good idea, and I should've done the same thing. It would make her happy when I outfitted my K-7 with one.

My radio crackled, and I looked at Gem. "What the fuck?"

"Flex, you read me?"

It was Hemp's voice. I grabbed the radio from my belt and pushed the talk button.

"Hemp! Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at your place," he said, the voice crackly, but clear enough. "I got the antenna put together and up."

"Dude, that's eleven miles away! I thought for a minute you were out front or something. Beautiful!"

Gem almost clapped, but she didn't want to take her hands off Suzi.

"We're okay, Hemp. We're in the hospital, and it smells like a morgue that went out of business and abandoned about a thousand corpses, but so far no movers."

"Okay, good. I just wanted to test this, so get back to it. Have you found the EEG yet?"

"No, still heading to the right department."

"Alright. Trina's out here with me. The sunshine feels good, the gate's locked, and I'm well armed. We're fine here, but hurry your rear ends up and get back here safely, okay?"

"You got it, Hemp. Out."

"Out," came Hemp's voice.

I looked at Gem. "That guy kills me. Damned smart!"

"Why do you think I kissed him before we left?" she said.

We walked past a row of gurneys lined up in the hallway. All empty except one. That one had a body in it with something sticking out of its head. It didn't move.

Gem approached it and saw it was one of them, an infected. But it wasn't going anywhere now. The thing protruding from its head was an arrow. Gem looked at it in disbelief, then touched the arrow as though making sure it was real. Physical.

"Crossbow?" I asked.

"That, or fucking Robin Hood is roaming the building. Either way, someone took this one out. See how the arrow goes in at an angle?"

I leaned over to look, my light shining on the entry point, right through the eye socket.

"Yeah. It came from that way." I pointed down the hallway in our direction of travel.

Gem and I continued our slow progress down the corridor, stepping over puddles of muck and blood, watching for moving zombie heads or anything else that might either scare the shit out of us or pose actual danger.

Then we heard a door close up ahead. Not loud. A light click.

"I am so sick of hearing shit when we're in scary places!" Gem said, frustrated. "I'd like, just once, for you and me to be able to roam around a building filled with dead bodies and not be worried about bad shit happening."

"I feel your frustration, but I'm still compelled to find out what that was, aren't you?"

She nodded, but didn't take another step. "Yeah, exactly. That's my point. I can't resist it, but I can't help thinking that you and I don't get much quality time. Ugh."

"Ugh?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready to start walking?"

"I'm ready to start cursing in Spanish."

"Let's walk instead."

She took off, walking tentatively, and I followed. We weren't sure which door had closed, but we figured sounds didn't do much for the creatures, so we started calling out.

"Is anyone there? We're uninfected, and just trying to survive, like you," I began. "We can share information or help if you need it."

Gem tried next. "Look, dickweed, whoever you are. If you're a zombie, then get your ass out here where I can blow your head off. If you're not a zombie, we're not going to hurt you, 'cause that's not what we do."

"More good cop, bad cop?"

Gem shrugged.

A voice came from behind the door we stood directly in front of.

"What if I hurt you?"

Gem and I stared at one another. "A girl?" I whispered.

Gem nodded. "I think so," she whispered back.

"My name's Gem and the guy I'm with is Flex. We're staying at his place in Lula, about 11 miles from here. Are you okay?"

Nothing. Then, after about fifteen seconds: "I'm alright. I took a few of those fucks down, but I'm alright myself."

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"What have you got?" the voice said.

"Guns, food, power, shelter, picking up more every day."

"And a nice mobile lab, if that impresses you," added Gem.

The doorknob turned. Gem and I stepped back, our headlamps directed to the door, our guns at ready, but angled toward the floor. It opened fully and an arrow poked through.

"Would you drop that damned thing?" I asked.

"I will if you'll move your damned lights out of my eyes and lower those guns some more!"

We realized we were blinding the dirty blonde girl, so we directed the bright beams of light down at the floor by pivoting the mini lights on their hinges.

She lowered her weapon.

"So you're the crossbow girl," I said.

"We saw some of your handiwork," Gem said. "Good aim. How close were you when you took out the one down there?" She pointed at the gurney 25 yards back.

"I was right about here," she said. "Name's Charlene Sanders, but they call me Charlie."

"Who calls you that?" Gem asked.

The girl shrugged. Her AC/DC tee shirt was too small for her, but it looked clean. She looked a bit harried, but was clearly tough as nails and pretty hot, actually.

"I guess that's right," she said. "Nobody calls me that anymore. Unless you do."

"Flex Sheridan, Charlie. Nice to meet you." I held out my hand and she held her crossbow in one hand and shook mine.

"I'm Gem. Charlie, we'd like to help you if you'll trust us. We've got a very small group, but we're working on a lot of things to stay safe. You trying to get anywhere in particular?"

The girl shook her head. She looked about twenty-two years old, but this situation tended to make peoples' faces appear older. She might be as young as nineteen.

Charlie seemed to relax. "Making plans isn't working so well for me. I'm more about reacting right now than taking action. So yeah. I guess I could see if what you're doing is something I'd like to be doing."

"Where does your family live?" Gem asked.

"About ten miles from here," Charlie said. "Only child, my dad left when I was fifteen. My mom wasn't one of the infecteds as you seem to be calling them, but she's gone. I don't want to talk about it."

"My sister is infected," I said. "I love her. I can't bring myself to just casually start calling them zombies, but I can't kid myself – they're very zombie-like, so sometimes we slip. But I prefer to call them abnormals, infecteds, you know."

"I get it," Charlie said. "You're a good brother."

"I guess so. Okay," I said. "First things first. We need an EEG machine for our buddy."

"Who's your buddy?" she asked.

"His name's Hemp. British guy, good lookin', shitloads of brains."

She laughed, and it was genuine and more relaxed than I would've expected.

"Well, he should keep them under wraps, then. These things have a taste for them."

"I think we're going to get along just fine," said Gem, smiling. "Let's get our shit done and get out of this stink hole."

The three of us moved down the hallway and came to the door marked Neurosurgery. We pushed the door open slowly and shone our lights down the vacant hallway.

"Why did you come here, to the hospital?" I asked the newcomer.

"Shine your light down here," Charlie said, motioning to her thigh.

We both did, and it revealed a good tear in her pants that was soaked around the edges with blood. She pulled the tear apart, and we saw a deep gash that was still pumping blood.

"I'm like a fucking scented candle to these freaks," she said. "Like walking chum."

"Shit," said Gem. "We'll need to bandage that up fast. You feel okay?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. I was searching wrecked cars for supplies and when I left an old Volkswagen Thing, the damned tin body was split open and I caught an edge."

I laughed. "A Thing? I had no idea any of them were still on the road."

"I'm pretty sure it was the last one," Charlie said. "I'd never seen one before. Even after I got cut I had to look on the back to see what the hell it was."

"It was the fucking 70's, that's what it was. Everybody was so stoned they'd buy anything," Gem laughed.

It felt good to hear her laugh. I looked forward to a lifetime of it.

"Okay, let's find that machine and get the hell out of here."

*****

A few minutes later we reached a door that said neurology, and Charlie pushed through it with little hesitation. This girl would either fit right in with us or set us on edge every five minutes, and I just didn't know which yet.

Her crossbow held steady in front of her, she waited until our headlamps lit the room and told her it was clear before lowering it and looking back at us.

"Okay. What's this thing gonna look like anyway?"

I unclipped the radio from my belt. I wasn't sure this deep into the building if Hemp would still copy us, but I pushed the button anyway.

"Hemp, come in," I said. "Charlie wants to know what the EEG machine's going to look like."

Brief static. "Charlie?" came the answer.

Gem laughed, and I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Charlie," I said, holding the button down. "We've run into another uninfected, and she's a tough one. We'll be bringing her back to my place. So... can you describe the machine?"

"There will be a computer and monitor, for sure," he said. "You might see something electronic with several small holes in it – likely plastic, but it'll have the outline of a head on it. Telling you where each electrode plugs in."

I saw a computer on the other side of the room and went to it. What Hemp described was lying in a tray beside it.

"Fuck, Hemp. Tell me the name Cadwell Laboratories means something to you."

Static. "Yep. They are a manufacturer of a damned good machine. I think it's called the Easy II."

"Hold on," I said, picking up the device. "Well, you don't get the Easy II – this one's called the Easy III, so I think you've got the newer model. It's got a Dell computer system, and I think a 17" LCD monitor. Is that all right?"

Hemp came back on. "Perfect, Flex. Don't forget the electrodes and cables – everything. Is it on a cart?"

"It is," I said.

"Bring the whole thing. You don't know what's important and what's not, so we can avoid you choosing to leave something behind that I might need. And grab a second monitor if you can find one."

I said to Gem and Charlie, "This is it. What we came for. So let's get it unplugged, wrapped up and ready to move."

I returned my attention back to the walkie as Gem and Charlie started preparing the machine. "Anything else I can grab? Stuff we might need?"

"It wouldn't hurt to have pain meds and as much alcohol, bandages, gauze, you know – basic first aid stuff as you can carry," said Hemp. "There's some in the lab, but not enough for my taste."

Hemp was right. I had a small supply at the house, but this was a brand new, scary-as-shit world. We had no idea of the ratio between infecteds and uninfecteds, so it was feasible that hospitals could get emptied out of medications and first aid supplies. Drug stores abounded, but summer heat, fires, anything could destroy them or at the very least, degrade the quality. Hemp might know how to prolong the life of medications – some sort of storage method.

Luckily we had no diabetics among us – no need for regular injections or life-sustaining medications. Problems like that might serve to destroy another chunk of the remaining human population, but not from our group, anyway.

Gem and Charlie had the machine all ready, and we pushed for the door again. As we made our way back by the zombie with the arrow through his brain, I looked at Charlie and said, "Damned nice work, kid."

"Kid," she muttered. "Been hearing that shit all my life. I'm twenty-six."

Stopping off at two exam rooms along the way, we gathered the other supplies Hemp suggested. We didn't have any more encounters with the living dead, and while Gem and I were happy as shit about that, I think Charlie was a tad disappointed.

I think she loved that crossbow, and if the truth be known, I wanted to see her use it. I didn't know at that time how often I'd get to see that.

We still had to go back out into the world, and it was kind of eerie, the lack of the creatures, or life of any kind. The dogs had begun teaming up, and we'd seen a couple of small packs of them on the way to the hospital, but for the most part, the local animals were nocturnal, and well-hidden in daylight hours. Lula's population at last census in 2009 was just under 2,500.

Overall, I really couldn't have picked a better location to live in a situation like this; small town means fewer people, and that means fewer of them.

Fewer of us, too.

Gem seemed to voice my thoughts. "I wonder if they're holed up in another meat locker like the last group we found," she said. "With a food stock."

"I still don't know what that's about or how they had the organizational skills to put it together," I said. "They're single-minded, so far as I can tell. Cracking heads and eating food. I don't think they can fire generators or work a thermostat."

"Maybe not, but like the scariest fucking squirrels on the planet, they seem to like to forage and stock up a bunch of fresh brains in case of hard times."

The drive back to the house was uneventful. We saw a group of around ten infecteds lumbering around about two blocks from the hospital, but they didn't seem to have a particular direction in mind, and were utterly disorganized.

I pulled the car over and we all stared in their direction for a while. The light breeze was blowing in our faces, so we knew they could not catch wind of us. I imagined them close up, their hopeless jaws and teeth chewing on food that was not yet there to sustain them.

"Is that how it starts?" I asked aloud.

Gem shook her head and looked at Charlie.

"Maybe," said Charlie. "They turn into these things, wander aimlessly for a while, and then they begin to learn from their kind. Just like us, they learn those things they gotta do to survive."

"Shit," I said. "The punk rocker crossbow girl is waxing philosophical."

"I want to kill them."

"Not this time," I said. I want to get you back to my place."

Gem put an arm across Charlie's shoulder. "Babe, now I know we're going to get along just fine."

*****

We returned to my house, showed Charlie how to access the gate and lock it again, and drove in. Hemp sat in a glider-rocker on the front porch with Trina looking more miniature than usual in the large Adirondack chair beside him. She was drinking a juice box of lemonade, and he was drinking a beer.

When we drove up he stood and made his way to the Suburban, Trina following close behind.

"Hood's a mess," said Hemp. "Close call?"

"Yeah, I have to talk to you about the no-kill spot. We might need a roof mount on this one, too," Gem said, dropping out of the cab followed by Charlie, who got out of the passenger side rear door.

"Hey," she said, extending her right hand, but without releasing her crossbow, which was still gripped in her left.

"So you're the girl named Charlie," said Hemp, taking her hand. He then pulled her in for a hug and she didn't resist.

He spoke into her ear, but loud enough for me and Gem to hear, "I'm Hemp. And I've gotten just a bit more touchy-feely since I met these two. I appreciate living, breathing humans all the more, so please, excuse my invasion of your personal space, but I am truly happy to meet you."

After Hemp pulled back and let her go, Charlie said, "It's nice to meet you too, Hemp. Gem and Flex say you're a good guy, and from first impressions, I get that, too. Now who's this?" she asked, smiling at Trina.

"That little one is my niece Trina," I said.

"What's that?" Trina asked, pointing to the muck on the hood.

"It's paint," said Charlie. Then she knelt down and put the crossbow down in the dirt. She dusted her hands off and put them on Trina's shoulders. "You are such a little beauty," she said, smiling.

"Mommy says I'm a princess," Trina beamed. "My doggie just had puppies!"

"You're kidding me!" Charlie said, her eyes wide. "How many?"

"Like a hundred," Trina said. "Wanna come see? They're inside."

"A hundred puppies!" said Charlie, smiling up at the rest of us. She raised her eyebrows as if to ask if she could go with Trina.

We all nodded.

She stood and Trina put her hand in Charlie's without hesitation and led her toward the house.

Hemp picked up the crossbow. "Nice one," he said. "Can she use it?"

"Shit yes, she can use it," answered Gem. "I'm looking forward to having her show me how to use it."

Hemp spread his hands apart. "Well, let's take a look at that EEG! I appreciate that you brought a pretty girl home with you, but that is, after all, why you left in the first place."

"You're right, pal. But one thing – she's twenty-six, so you might want to treat her more like a woman than a girl. I think she'd appreciate it."

I noticed a slight smile touch Hemp's lips at that moment. It seems that came as good news.

We helped Hemp carry the equipment to the mobile lab. He put on a gas mask, checked on Jamie, and came back in the front area of the motor home.

"She's okay, but decomposition is continuing. I don't know if it's different when they're getting regular food, but it's not pretty, Flex."

"Should we feed her something?" I asked. "Hemp, she's basically been without anything at all to eat since I put her in that plastic. No matter what she is, she must be starving."

Gem took my hand in hers as we waited for an answer.

Hemp thought a long time before answering. "Flex, I don't know what she feels or doesn't feel. I know she is not alive in the typical sense. She has no heartbeat. With the EEG I intend to learn more about her brainwave activity, but for now, under restraint, she's not exhibiting any signs of pain or suffering."

I nodded slowly. "Okay. But as for my question of food. Would trying to feed her something alter any of your planned tests? Would it hurt anything?"

"I don't really know," Hemp answered. "The eye vapor or mist we discovered seems to be minimal. Her eyes are not very obscured, which means this vapor, whatever it is, is quite low. If feeding her increases this, that actually might be a good thing; I need to gather some sort of sample to analyze."

It all made good sense to me. His professional way of explaining the scientific side to me did help me set aside my emotions somewhat.

"So I hate to keep going back to this, but if we do feed her, what do we feed her?"

Hemp put up a finger and nodded. "I set a few small snares in the woods today after I worked on the antenna, so I might be able to come up with the brains or flesh of a rabbit or squirrel by morning. I can do an analysis of her condition before and after. You know, see if there's any change at all."

"Wear protection around her," Gem said. "We don't need you passing out again."

"I have been, and I will," Hemp said. "Been there, done that, as they say. Gem, about the physical touch aspect of it. You had to actually touch me before I awakened, correct?"

Gem nodded quickly. "Yes, but as I told you earlier, even that didn't work right away. But yes, it was the same as with the other people we found. Once we touched them, they awoke fairly easily; but it's as though they were content to sleep indefinitely until awakened. I'm only glad it was us who woke them instead of them."

I paced away from him and stared at the first aid supplies I'd dropped on the counter as I awaited Hemp's thoughts.

"So perhaps it's more of a light coma rather than a sleep," he said. "I might have to purposely expose myself to it with the EEG connected to me to see exactly what it does to my brain."

"Bullshit," Gem and I said in unison.

"I'm afraid it is very important, especially if this is one of the methods they use to subdue their victims."

"You've already been exposed once," I said. "We know it doesn't kill you, but we don't know if the effect is the same the second time. So it'll be my turn if we try it."

"Flex," Gem said, grabbing my arm. "Let's just assume this is how it works and figure out how to deal with it. I don't want you to do that!"

"Sorry, babe. I don't have a choice. I'll be fine. Hemp was, and he is."

Gem shook her head. "I don't know how it'll help anything."

"Kind of like sulking," I said. "I don't know how it'll help anything either, especially when I've made my decision."

Gem said nothing, but went to the door and left the motor home. I waited for her to look back, but she didn't.

And I knew it was only because she loved and cared for me, but I still felt empty standing there without her and her worried face.

"It's a plan. See if you catch anything tomorrow. If you do, we'll feed her and see if the vapor returns. If it does, I'm your man."

Hemp nodded. "Speaking of food, I'm hungry. Why don't we have an early dinner today."

I agreed. I was famished.

And I needed some Gem time. I couldn't stand it when that woman was upset with me. Just like old times. I loved the shit out of her, and I think I'd do almost anything to make her happy. Almost. But this was so important that she'd have to just come around.

We went in the house and brainstormed over the menu for those of us who had broader tastes than flesh and brains.

*****

Over the next day we set up the larger snares using Hemps uncanny knowledge of physics and counterweight. It was ingenious. We'd gone out to a local gym to gather the necessities that we'd been unable to get the previous trip out, and now had twenty of the plastic-coated, 20 lb barbell weights, and we'd also been able to secure some 50 lb braided fishing line. We had enough materials to construct around 10 large snares capable of capturing a man or woman. Using a small weight initially, we tossed the line over a heavy tree branch near the most likely courses of access to my property.

It sounds easier than it was. Many of the tree branches weren't heavy enough to support the weight, but eventually, we located enough strategically located trees to get the job done.

Once the line was over the branches, we tied two of the 20 lb weights to each one, and pulled the weights up about 10 feet. Once in the air, the natural friction created between the cord and the branch itself made it easier than I would have thought to hold it up there. Hemp suggested a 20 lb monofilament fishing line as our tripwire, and that was secured between two moderately heavy sticks stuck into the ground. A large slip-loop was placed on the ground around the tripwire, and when completed, we tested it by using a log that weighed around 80 lbs and about the thickness of a man's leg.

Once tripped, the left-side stick gave way, releasing the weights which dropped fast, drawing the slip-loop closed. One end of the log was snagged, and by virtue of the 40 lbs of counterweight, lifted easily into the air. The snag was tight as shit.

This would catch a zombie.

"Not a protective measure," Hemp said, reiterating his reasons for building them. "Not in the literal sense. If we catch one, chalk it up to a stray who got lucky. If we have a forest full, we'd better get the hell out of there."

"So no checking traps alone," I agreed. "Buddy system, fully armed and on alert."

The whole process took us over four hours, because all the branches were at different heights, and one design wouldn't work. Different lengths of cord, obstacles on the ground such as stumps and other things that might prevent the loop from closing as intended.

Hemp's smaller traps had yielded two small squirrels and a rabbit. We decided to save any rabbits for the humans, and use the squirrels to feed Jamie. We realized it might not be enough to create the vapor, but it was all we had. And we agreed not to let Trina see the rabbits ever. They'd remind her of her sister, and she'd cry because they were dead besides.

Hemp agreed to feed the squirrel to Jamie, and I was glad. I didn't want to do it, and I didn't want to watch it, though I didn't come out and say it. I was still mourning her loss, and while it didn't feel right in my soul to want to avoid seeing her, much less watch her eat forest rodents, I knew it was the best thing for my sanity.

I'd skinned and cleaned small game before, so I did the honors.

"You're pretty good at this stuff," Hemp said, watching as I stripped the hide off each squirrel.

"Practice, that's all," I said. "I've never messed with the heads, though. Shouldn't be more than a spoonful of gray matter in either one."

"I don't know what it is about the brain that these creatures need, but a squirrel brain should work as well as the next specie as far as makeup of the organ itself."

"Think you'll be able to eventually figure it out?" I asked.

Hemp shrugged. "Time will tell. I'm going to work on the EEG machine tomorrow morning, so I should have some sort of update for you after I'm able to hook it up and get some preliminary testing completed."

I finished dressing the squirrels and had each tiny skull split and the brains exposed. As I'd assumed, the brain was minuscule. Together, it might be a couple of mouthfuls.

Hemp took the metal platter I'd put the meat on and put his hand on the lab door.

"Ready, Flex?"

"No," I said. "Not really."

He looked at me. "Flex, I'll film the experiment. I have two small video cameras that came stocked in the lab. Let me set one up, run the feeding test, and if you feel you can handle it, we'll watch it together later. But if it does work, I'm going to want to test the eye vapor on you right away, just in case it dissipates over time."

"Sounds good," I said. "Perfect. Thanks, Hemp."

I went back to the house. As I walked the short distance, I saw Charlie coming along the path toward me. On her way to the lab. I stopped as she reached me.

"Hey," she said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," I said. "You going inside the lab?"

"I thought I would."

"Good," I said. "I really don't want him doing this by himself. He's got a few gas masks. Wear one."

"Absolutely."

She held her crossbow in her left hand and a Coca Cola in her right, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a set of scrubs, one of many we pilfered from the hospital. I realized, since she'd showered and gotten cleaned up, that she was quite an attractive young woman – even in the baggy outfit.

I knew that Hemp had noticed, too. He'd been showing her around the lab, and she'd taken a clear interest in his work, and I wasn't so sure she hadn't taken an interest in him, too. I hoped she had. In the short time we'd known her – just over a day – both Gem and I had grown to like her a lot.

I watched her continue toward the mobile lab, then waited until she'd rapped gently on the door and gone inside.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I was wiring up a perimeter camera to the entry fence with Gem standing guard with Suzi. Well, not so much standing guard. Really she was sitting in a folding lawn chair, slowly scanning the area outside our little compound for intruders.

We had a nice long run of cable on this camera, the farthest from the house – but we had plenty of wire, and when I pushed the shiny new connectors onto the terminals, the red light blinked on. This was not a panning camera, so I directed its wide-angle view down the gravel road so as not to miss anything or anyone taking the path of least resistance. It allowed a view of the drive itself, and an area of about 25 feet on either side, though it was virtually impassable beyond the drive.

The eye shine would show up a glowing white on the black and white monitors, but that would be like nickel-sized fireflies flitting around. It would be hard to miss on any camera.

I'd considered electrifying the fence, but the generator was under enough load, and I wasn't even sure how electricity would affect these creatures. Chalk it up to watching too much TV, but I'd have liked to do it anyway.

As I was packing up my small toolbox, the Crown Vic came barreling down the gravel drive, the idle gun locked into forward position and Hemp and Charlie's faces staring excitedly through the windshield. We didn't see Trina at first, but she was there, sitting between Charlie's legs, smiling at the bumpy ride.

The car stopped and they got out.

"It worked!" Hemp shouted as he approached us.

"Yes, it did," Charlie said. "Like immediately."

"What did?" Trina said. "What worked?"

Hemp tousled her hair. "Just an experiment Uncle Hemp's working on, that's all."

"The food, meager as it was, seemed to allow the stuff to regenerate," said Charlie. "We had masks on, and we're lucky we did."

"So it's time?" I asked. I could feel Gem's eyes on me as she stood, the Uzi slung over her shoulder. She'd begun to accept what I was going to do, but clearly didn't want to discuss it. She folded the lawn chair and went to the Suburban, opened the rear door and put it inside.

"It's time, my friend," he said. "I was able to capture a sample of the vapor, too. It's somewhat viscous, slightly thicker than the air, but I've determined where it originates."

Gem looked interested now. "Where, Hemp?" she asked.

Charlie was actually smiling. "From the tear ducts," she said. "It sprays from the tear ducts, almost like one of those water misters."

Hemp added, "When it's not in use, it still leaks out, coating the eye, which is what gives them the glow we see. It's kind of phosphorescent. Glow-in-the-dark."

I considered it for a moment. "Any tests you can do to determine the makeup of it?"

"There are some chemical analysis devices in the lab that should be able to break it down, but as for how long it'll take, I have no clue. While it's obviously organic, it's not something we have in our bodies, unless of course it's created in part by the decomposition of the body itself."

"This shit gets curiouser and curiouser," I said. "I'm done here. We might as well get this over with."

Hemp and Charlie got back in the Crown Vic, Trina in tow. I got in the Suburban, but Gem stood outside and stared at me through the open side window.

"I think I'll walk back."

"This is important," I said. I stared at her for a long time, saw the sadness in her eyes, and nodded.

"I'll be okay, baby. You know that in your heart."

"If you knew my heart, you wouldn't do this."

Anger overtook me unexpectedly.

"You know what? Get the fuck in the truck, babe. You're worried I might die or something, right? If that's the case, then I'm not going to let you walk back, lose the minute or so of time with me, and live to regret it the rest of your life. I fucking love you and whether you're mad at me or not does nothing to change that fact. So get in."

"You're so sexy when you tell me how it is," she said, a smile forming on her mouth.

She got in, put her hand on my leg, and I put the Chevy in gear.

I drove like I was 90 years old. Time with my Gem was more important than ever.

When I pulled up and parked, the other three were already standing outside the Ford. Charlie, with Trina's hand in hers, walked directly up to Gem.

"You want to go in while he does this?"

Gem shook her head. "I fucking love that man, Charlie. I'd try to kill her or rip her head off or something if I saw her doing anything to him, so no. I'll stay with Trina, you video this, and I'll see if I can bring myself to watch it later.

"Language," Trina said, glaring at Gem.

Charlie smiled and took Gem's hand. "I get it, and yes, of course I'll be there and if something goes wrong, I'll put an arrow in her head myself."

"Good." Gem turned to Hemp, who was unlocking the lab door.

"Film it," she said. "And don't leave anything out!"

Hemp winked at her and smiled. "Absolutely, Miss Cardoza. We can watch it later over popcorn."

I could see his light attitude set Gem's mind at ease. She laughed at the formality he'd used and came to me.

"Last chance to get out of it," she said.

I shook my head.

"You know me better," I said.

"Shit yes, I do. Wish I didn't."

"I'll be fine," I said. "The actual process should be quick. Then you can dote over me while I'm out."

"Try and stop me."

I put my hand behind her neck and pulled her to me, kissing her mouth and then resting my cheek against hers. The warm smoothness made me want to linger there, to nuzzle her, breathe in her sweetness, but I pulled away, gave her a quick peck on the forehead, and put one last squeeze on her hand before turning and walking up the steps and into the lab.

Hemp had placed a second gurney beside the one on which Jamie lay. The strapping of her extremities had been reworked to secure her well, but none of the straps dug into her ever-thinning skin. I stood there a moment looking down at this thing that was once my sister.

Her right eye, while still exhibiting the gaseous vapor layer over it, had caved into her head. The tear duct was not part of the disintegrating eye itself, so was not affected, but the glowing vapor just lay in a thicker pool there.

"Decomposition is bad. Getting worse," I said. I felt like I was stalling, just making conversation, but the smell was foul and putrid – too disgusting to ignore.

"The masks are becoming a necessity just to be inside the room with her," Hemp said. "After a few more tests, Flex, I don't know how long – "

"I know," I interrupted. I knew what he meant, and I had come around – almost. I'd almost come around, and come to the realization that my sister had to be put to rest.

And then we'd have to find some way to tell little Trina that she would never see her mommy again.

*****

"Okay, Flex, I want you to talk to me while whatever is happening takes place. Don't stop talking."

"Until I pass out, right?"

The many EEG electrodes were plugged into the machine, trailing like spaghetti to the rubber skull cap I wore.

"If you can keep talking after, then do so," he said.

Charlie smiled at this, her mask tight on her face. Hemp's mask was off for now, and I wasn't getting one. I was on the gurney, but Hemp had rolled it about five feet away from Jamie's until we were ready.

"Okay," I said. "Roll me over. I'm ready."

Charlie moved to the two cameras and pushed the buttons. Red lights shone on each.

"We're filming," she announced. "EEG machine recording."

"Good," Hemp said. "Sure you're ready?"

"Yes. Go," I said.

Hemp had loosened the strap on Jamie's head so that she could turn it. Her neck was still restrained, so there was no fear she could move far enough to get at me.

Hemp strapped his mask on and pulled the rubber straps tight. He pushed my gurney slowly beside Jamie's, and I lay there, our heads side by side.

I turned to face her.

And she turned to face me. The mist in her eyes glowed in the dimmed light, which Hemp had said might help to calm her and me.

"Jamie," I said. "I love you, and I always will. You're my sister first and what . . . you've become second."

Her teeth gnashed again, the newfound strength from her meager food intake bringing her back to her previous hungry self. But now it was worse, as the skin around her mouth was almost entirely gone, and her tongue was blistered and black. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"I feel nauseous," I said. "But I don't know if it's because . . . because . . . I don't know . . . "

"Flex? Are you okay?"

Hemp's muffled voice through his mask, but faint.

I felt weak, and my arms felt as though they were rubber. I couldn't lift them. And I realized I couldn't move my legs. It was hard to breath. I wanted to turn my head away, but my neck wouldn't work either.

"Paralyzed," I muttered.

And that was the last thing I remember.

I woke up late the next morning to Gem's hands on my shoulders, her palm lightly slapping my face. My body felt heavy, my head ached. But within ten minutes, I felt as though none of it happened, except that I was starving.

And not for brains. I smelled bacon and eggs.

Gem was sitting on the edge of the gurney next to me, but I was now inside the house. They'd rolled me over while I was out. I tried to sit up, but Gem held me down.

"Baby, relax for a little longer. Do you feel okay?"

"Let me sit up and I'll tell you."

She did. I swung my legs off the gurney and put my feet on the floor. I stood, felt shaky for a second or two, then gained my footing.

"I'm good, I think. Hungry as hell, but good."

"You didn't wake until we touched you," Hemp said. "Same as me and the group at the 7-Eleven."

"You said you were paralyzed," Charlie said. "Right before you went blank. Eyes open, but gone."

"Lights were dim, nobody home," Gem said, smiling.

Charlie was dressed in one of Hemp's shirts. Cambridge University Alumni. She looked cute, but I was sure she'd rather be wearing a Sex Pistols shirt or maybe The Clash, sticking with the British theme.

"So it seems to be a paralytic agent in the vapor," Hemp said. "Analysis is still underway."

"Whatever it is, it's effective," I said. "I didn't stand a chance, and I'm clearly not susceptible to the plague, virus, or whatever the hell it is."

Hemp sat down on the sofa and stared into space. "The virus itself is completely separate from this. This is some sort of side effect from decomposition and the condition, as far as I can tell. Perhaps like some sort of chloroform gas, but with additional interesting properties."

"Like the paralyzing effect," I suggested.

"Exactly."

"Well, I want some of that bacon and those eggs I smell. After that, I should be back to normal. Gem? You still mad at me?"

She shook her head. "The breakfast I'm about to plate for you should prove that I'm not. Plus . . . what I'll serve you later."

I smiled. And I looked forward to both.

"Coffee?"

"Of course, baby. A big mug."

And I ate enough for both of us.

*****

After I finished eating, Hemp and I went out to check our snare traps. All empty. We were relieved, to say the least. Finally, I asked about the video.

"It's interesting, Flex," Hemp said. "When you were close to her and the process began, I realized how I was taken so quickly by the one in the hardware store."

He paused a minute, as though the memory of that day disturbed him.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The mist . . . well, I think you've got to see it. Let's watch it and talk about it then, okay?"

"Sure," I said tentatively. "That's fine."

We walked back to the house, our guns at ready, but we didn't need them. The isolation of my property had done the trick for now. For now, but who knew how long that would last.

When we walked in, Gem was playing with Trina. Playing might be the wrong word; she was showing her a .22 caliber long barrel revolver. She looked up at me and smiled.

"I'm introducing her to firearms. Hope that's okay."

"It's empty, right?"

Gem looked at me, and I knew the look. I shrugged and laughed. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Yeah, she needs to know how to handle them, and I guess it can't be too soon."

"Good little gun, too. Takes the long rifle rounds. She should be able to handle this one with live ammo before too long."

Charlie was sitting on the other side watching the training session, and smiled at Hemp as he came in.

"Is it video time?" she asked.

"It is," he said. "I want to show him the vapor."

Trina held the empty .22 up and Gem instructed her.

"You see the little V shaped thingy closest to your eye? And you see that little I shaped thing at the end of the barrel? You want to point at something, make sure the I thing is right in the center of the V thing, and then pull the trigger very slowly until you hear a click."

Trina held the gun up more easily than I would have believed she could. It was a .22 Magnum Taurus revolver with a five inch barrel, and it weighed just under two pounds. It would be a pretty easy trigger pull, but I was wondering if we'd have to modify the grip to allow her little hand around it. When I heard the click as she pulled the trigger, and then another five subsequent clicks, I knew I was mistaken. The true test of her ability to handle it would come later, when we were actually willing to let her fire it.

"You have to learn the proper way to hold the gun, especially when you're not using it. The end you point must always be pointed away from people, and you never have your finger on the trigger unless you plan to fire it. Got it?"

Trina nodded. "I always point it away from people. Dogs, too?"

"Especially dogs," Gem said, smiling again.

"And my finger on the trigger."

"No, your finger off the trigger. When you're not ready to shoot it."

"Off the trigger."

"Right."

Charlie patted Gem on the leg and Gem smiled at her.

"You want to go watch the video with the guys? I'll watch Trina."

"I wanna go!" said Trina. "I wanna see a video!"

"You and I will watch a video in here, okay? We'll watch Lion King."

Trina's eyes lit up. "Can we watch Little Mermaid instead?"

Charlie smiled and held out her hand. "Of course. Little Mermaid it is."

"Goody!" she shouted.

I watched her holding the gun in one hand, and all the while she held the barrel away from everyone. I was instantly proud of her, assuming it was intentional.

"I have to put this away first," she said. She stood, opened the wood case, and holding the barrel away from everyone, she placed it in the box and closed the lid, spinning the double combination lock wheels.

She looked at every one in sequence. "Did I do it right?"

We all applauded. No more words needed to be said. Trina jumped in the air, grabbed Charlie by the hand and led her to the television. She knelt down and got the DVD out of the rack, removed it from the sleeve, and popped it in.

"We'll see you in a bit," Charlie said. "Enjoy the movie."

"You, too," said Gem, leading the way to the lab.

*****

Hemp pressed play on the DVD player and the flat panel LCD monitor showed the gurneys. It was split screen, as there were two cameras and that's how Hemp manipulated the recording.

One camera was behind our heads and high up, angling down at our faces. I still had difficulty looking at her, the non-stop jaw-moving, the black tongue visible behind the rotting teeth.

It was not, and is not my sister any longer, and in my heart I knew it was true. Even recovery, if it were possible, would leave her a vision of horror to her only remaining child. I would not, I knew, do that to either of them.

The other camera showed us from the foot of the gurneys, and showed our bodies in their entirety.

And that was the moment I turned my head to face her, and she turned to face me. I could see on both camera views the sheer vapor, its coral-colored mist seeming to become more dense and visible on the screen, rising from her eyes.

And then, with her face looking directly at me, her mouth movement intensifying, the mist seemed to become a spray, but in slow motion, such as a fog machine would billow it out. The lights were dimmed further in the room.

"I dimmed the lights to see if the eyes created the phosphorescent glow, or if the mist carried the properties on its own."

"Wow," said Gem. "It's the vapor. That's why her eyes weren't glowing before, when she hadn't eaten, right?"

Hemp nodded. "It seems nourishment, either from food eaten just before death or anytime after entering this state, is what is required for this particular component to trigger. It may evolve, too. Perhaps it increases in potency as they consume more food."

"Brains," I said. "Not food."

As we watched in silence, the directed mist overtook me, nearly engulfing my entire head. Suddenly, the image of me on the screen shuddered from head to foot, my neck straightened, and I was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Conversely, Jamie's body twisted and pulled against the restraints, her back arched to the extreme. Her arms and legs strained against the straps so powerfully that they cut into her rotting, ever-thinning skin. Around these gouges that would never heal, from beneath the straps, a blackish-red ooze leaked out and soaked into the white sheet and pad between her and the gurney.

And then, as soon as the desired effect had been achieved, the spray-mist slowed, then stopped. My eyes had closed, and now my body was limp, my breathing slow, my chest barely rising and falling.

The mist over my head dissipated slowly, the red cloud dissolving into nothing. I was out cold.

"You see, Flex," said Hemp, "it's as though she knew that the creation of the mist itself weakened her, so when it was no longer necessary, in other words, because you had succumbed, she stopped it."

"Fuck me," Gem said. "That means they can think. Like in that house, Flexy. The fact that they knocked all those people out to fucking eat their brains when they pleased tells us they know what they're capable of."

She snapped her fingers. "Unless it's instinctive, like a puppy searching for its mother's nipples right after being born." She shook her head in disgust at her own idea.

"You have something there," I said. "Right after they're born. These creatures are essentially born, aren't they? Hemp, could it be a transformation, complete with instinctive knowledge, like Gem said?"

"I've thought about it a lot," said Hemp. "Because as you know, I don't think of much else these days. But I searched for examples of it in nature, and about the closest thing I can come up with would be a comparison to a creature that morphs into something else on its own, such as a caterpillar into a butterfly, that instinctively knows how to fly even though it's never done so before."

"Jesus. I'm glad these fuckers can't fly," Gem said. "That would pretty much make me throw in the towel."

"I guess I'd start practicing my trap shooting," I said, taking Gem's hand. "Hemp, when will your testing of the vapor be complete?"

"Looks like it's winding down. I should have the results by tonight or tomorrow."

I nodded. "Good. I can tell you, and you probably experienced the same thing, there aren't any real after-effects. I didn't feel hung over, no headache, nothing. So whatever it is, it keeps you out until someone shakes you awake, but once you're awake, you're fine."

"Exactly," Hemp confirmed. "Except for the fact that the entire event seems to be fading from my memory. Though I know I did, I don't remember going into the stockroom anymore at all. No real memory of walking to the door, opening it, and then seeing the abnormal."

"Fuck it," I said. "Zombie."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, anyway. I just said abnormal."

"Do you think pushing the vapor like Jamie did weakens them for a time?" Gem asked.

Hemp considered the question. "She was straining very hard against the restraints, so there is effort involved. When Flex was out, she stopped and dropped back to the bed, fairly motionless. So I'd say the answer's yes."

"So they'd be vulnerable. I wonder if they have enough strength to vapor two people in rapid succession. Or at the same time," Gem said.

"We got a lot of shit to figure out," I said. "But we don't know what's important and what's not."

"Anything that can help us cure them, kill or otherwise defeat them is important, and right now, the more we know the better. Period. Even if we learn things that don't seem to help us, every piece of information is part of the puzzle, and ultimately, the solution." Hemp shrugged.

"If there is a solution," said Gem.

"Yes. If there is one."

"God, I hope there is one. I'd like my world back." Gem took my hand and pulled me up out of my seat, then put her arms around my neck and kissed me there. I wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes.

I had her. No matter what happened, I had my Gem. And whatever battles lay ahead, we would fight them together.

Hemp, Charlie, me, Gem, and Trina.

And Bunsen.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"We're going shopping," Charlie announced, her crossbow strap over her shoulder.

Earlier, she had been in the yard with Gem showing her how to use the weapon. The sight on the bow was similar to a long rifle, but gauging the drop of the arrow at a given distance was the true trick. Bullets didn't fly near the same as a long shaft, so there was a learning curve.

From a distance, as I typed on this chronicle, I occasionally looked up and smiled at the two. Charlie had set up a target made out of some old, padded chair seats that were in my storage shed. One on top for the head, two side-by-side for center mass, and one lower for the groin area. She disregarded and provided no representation for the legs . . . I suppose she never considered shooting to maim.

"What are you shopping for this time?" I asked, leaning back from the desk, stretching.

"Canned meat, vacuum packed shit that'll last forever. We need to get stuff with high calories and lots of preservatives."

Today Charlie was wearing a tee shirt that said "Animals Taste Good," with silhouettes below the saying of a pig, a cow, and a chicken. With the shirt she wore her usual blue jeans with lots of holes.

Gem stuck her head in behind Charlie, Trina in tow.

"Did you see me with that crossbow, Flexy? I fucking kick ass with that thing."

"Gemmy!" said Trina. "Bad word!"

"Look, Trini," Gem said, kneeling down. You might not have noticed at your budding age, but sooner or later you're going to have to realize that we're in a new world."

I glared at her for a moment, and she held up one finger, telling me to let her finish. I silently agreed.

She continued: "First rule: In the new world, fuck is not a bad word. It's just a very versatile word that can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adjective. Shit is right there with it, and it can almost be used anywhere fuck can."

I laughed. "You may not be as good with the crossbow as Charlie, baby, but you sure know how not to waste a good global catastrophe."

"You watch," she said. "You take care of Trini, okay? After we get some food we're hitting Dick's Sporting Goods. I'm getting me a top-of-the-line crossbow. Charlie wants a new one too, now that they're affordable and all."

"And all," I echoed.

"How's the book coming?" asked Charlie.

I'd told everyone I was writing all of this down just in case something happened. I didn't know how many people in the world were safe enough to spend the time writing rather than running or worrying or just plain being eaten, but I didn't want to risk that nobody would. Surely there would be some future generations of humans that would want to know what some of us went through.

"Very good. I'm almost there, caught up. In fact, I am here. I'm going to have to wait for shit to happen before I can write more, actually. And if you don't mind, I'd like that shit to be boring, if you think you can help me out on that."

"We'll do our best," Gem said, leaning down to kiss my mouth. I rested my hand on her arm.

"Take your radios, weapons, flares, everything. And you know the drill. Double tap if you get into trouble."

I reached into my desk and pulled out my radio, flipping the power switch on.

"Remember, double tap the talk button if you encounter some of them, single tap after that if you need me to get to you fast, and triple tap me if the threat is eliminated.

"Double, then triple or single."

"Yes. Easy to remember. Single is quick and you need me there quick."

"Good," said Gem. "We're going now, dad."

"You are one funny girl. Be home by eleven."

They smiled and headed to the Suburban even though Gem preferred the Crown Vic. She clearly thought she needed payload capacity for this particular shopping trip.

As I watched them walk away, Gem with her reliable Suzi on her shoulder, Charlie with her weapon of choice, I marveled at what a tight group we'd become and how fast it had all happened. Charlie had only been with us a day and a half, but it was as though she had been with us for months. Hell, years.

I wondered if the honeymoon would end, or if we'd all just grow closer. I knew I'd never let Gem go again, and I knew instinctively that she felt exactly the same. We'd made that mistake once, and you don't get second chances dropping around to see if you wanted them all that often.

I won't need a third chance.

I started writing more as I remembered it. I filled in areas of the story, changed some stuff. Generally cleaned it up.

I flipped off the computer monitor as Hemp came into the dining room where I'd set up to write. Trina had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room, and remained out. Turns out the new world where fuck was no longer a dirty word really tired her out.

Gem and Charlie had been gone a long time and I was getting impatient. Shit, I know Gem is probably better on her own than me, and doubly so with Charlie by her side, but it doesn't mean I'm not smart enough to know anyone can get caught off guard now and then. I picked up my two-way and pushed the button.

Violating the "click to start" rule we'd agreed upon, I said, "Fuck me, Gem. Can't you guys check in now and then?"

I sat down on the sofa next to the lightly snoring Trina and waited. There was silence for at least twenty seconds before a response came, slightly sarcastic

"May I help you?" came over the radio.

I clicked on again, waving at Hemp to sit. "Just checking," I said. "How's it going?"

"We're five minutes out. And we only ran into a group of about eight of them. They didn't see us. We were downwind, and behind them, so . . . lucky."

"Where were they?" I asked.

She clicked back on and said, "I'll talk to you in a minute," then clicked off.

Just about six minutes later she and Charlie strode into the room. "How are you feeling?" Gem asked, leaning down to kiss me.

"Feel great," I said. "Perfect. What did you guys find?"

"What didn't we find?" asked Charlie. "Gem and I got kickass new bows, fuckin' titanium."

Trina stirred awake and looked up at Gem and Charlie: "Cool shit," she said. "What's tintimium?"

"Titanium," corrected Gem. "Very strong material. Fuckin' tough." She turned back to me. "You asked me where the zombies were," she said. "About two miles from here. The ones I saw. But I have to tell you, sweetie. Strange. Know how so many are starting to look worn and decomposed? Similar to Jamie, but exposed to the elements and other zombies, bumps, bruises, just the everyday shit of zombie life that can play hell on your complexion?"

"So these didn't look like that?"

She shook her head, and Charlie spoke up.

"These looked kind of strong. But if they only turned a week ago, then why? Who were they – where were they before they turned? Why did it take them so long? Isolation chamber? Nuthouse? In the International Space Station?"

"We need to capture one of them," Hemp said. "I could run some blood tests, other stuff. I need to run blood tests on all of us, too. See if I can find a common component we share that kept us all from getting this disease. DNA would be better, but there's no way I have what I need to run that kind of sophisticated testing. Nor the proper environment, really."

"It would give us a goal, anyway," I said. "Right now I feel like we're existing in a fucking Mad Max flick or something, just trying to survive and protect ourselves while the world outside becomes more and more of a wasteland."

"Not far off, babe," Gem said.

She reached back and pulled her long hair down from where it was tied, and it fell down past her shoulders, a brown cascade. I watched her move, smooth, graceful. She was Latin – Guatemalan, specifically. Her walk was smooth and fluid. Her hips swayed in a way that still distracted me and made me bump into stuff. I'd seen Hemp bump into stuff, too, but I didn't begrudge him that.

Charlie was beautiful enough that I actually almost fell down the steps of the lab as I watched her target practice with her crossbow. I am but a man. Gem would laugh if I told her. I'm pretty sure about that. I smiled at the thought then returned to reality.

"Did you get that EEG machine reconfigured for your new experiment?"

Hemp nodded. "Yes I did. That's why I came in, actually. Calibrated it and connected it to a display monitor, ran some tests too, with some pretty interesting results."

"What were the tests?" Gem asked.

"It's a visual, almost infrared image of the brain activity. Looks kind of like a sonogram in color. Would you like to see the recording?"

"Let's go," I said. I lightly slapped the top of Gem's leg, and stood.

We climbed up inside the mobile lab.

"I recorded it on the computer, so I'll just play it back. I was the benchmark brain," said Hemp.

"Not sure that's fair, Hemp. You're a smart fucker," Gem said, smiling.

"A brain's a brain as far as an EEG is concerned."

"This looks different than the layout you had with my test," I said, glancing at the closed door behind which Jamie lay on the stainless steel table.

"It is. Completely switched stuff around, but I had a different goal. Compartmentalization study."

Hemp leaned down and took the mouse. "Okay, first I set up a fan that would direct my body scent out through the exhaust vent system, completely away from the subject. The test results might have been skewed if Jamie were to smell me. Then I masked up and hooked the electrodes to Jamie's skull. Fully awake. I hooked the other set up to mine. Now keep in mind, there are certain brainwaves that are expected. I still get really nervous when they're fully active and aware and in the same room with me. Because of that, I would expect my brainwaves to shift depending on my proximity to them. Plain fear."

He clicked the mouse, and two boxes appeared on the screen, an oblong image within each. The colors within the static-like image shifted and changed. The one on the left said "Benchmark" above it, and the one on the right said "Subject." The left one was multi-colored and evenly spattered with every color, like a smooth, multi colored static. Constantly shifting, but somehow consistent.

"Wow," Gem said.

"Yeah, wow," I echoed. "What's with Jamie's side ? It's like a flat static maroon color. Almost perfectly still."

Hemp nodded. "For now. But wait until I step in front of it, into its line of sight. In about fifteen seconds."

We waited.

"Okay, now," he said.

But he didn't need to say anything. It was as if the brain waves in the subject became intensified and were suddenly channeled forward. The image condensed into a tight, almost flat, compressed group in the center, and it looked as if the static pixels were concentrated and pushing in one direction.

Gem pointed at the screen. "I take it the front of the head is in this direction?" She pointed to the top of the images.

"Correct," said Hemp. When it saw me, the image changed, and the brain waves kicked in, concentrated, as though they were directed at me – the source of its desired nourishment. Now look at mine, keeping in mind she was exhibiting some aggressive behavior, sending me a bit into panic mode."

We looked at his brain wave image, and noted that many of the colors within it had shifted. Red was the primary color now, and they were more erratic, like a colony of ants that had just been stomped on.

"That's fear," Hemp said. "Yours might look at bit different," he said. "I prefer the quiet and safety of a lab with all the protective gear, etcetera, so while I've killed my share, while unarmed I still don't feel comfortable around them, even when they're restrained."

"I don't think any of us will get used to it, Hemp," I said. "But what does this tell you?"

"It tells me that their focus is singular. It is for the food, and it's the only thing that affects their brains this way. I tried other things. Some of the machine guns. I attached them to a steel cart and rolled them in front of her, making sure I stayed out of her line of vision. First test in about five more seconds."

And then the image changed. Hemp's EEG readout had returned to its former pattern, having left the proximity zone that made him nervous, but Jamie's brainwaves changed entirely. Her brain seemed to compartmentalize; To concentrate into tighter configurations in certain quadrants of her brain.

"What the hell does that mean?" Gem said. She looked alarmed.

"Do they recognize danger?" I asked.

"It seems, to a degree, that they sense when they're confronted with something that could harm or kill them. And I've thought back to the situation you explained at your sister's house, when you first found her."

"What?" I asked.

"By the pool. You said she didn't enter the pool. Well, I checked her as I was re-securing the restraints, and she has a broken left arm. She's had it since we brought her here, which means it was probably broken before you even discovered her at the house."

I nodded. She had possibly done it during her climb through the window when she followed Jesse into the back yard. When she'd been clawing at the screen, she'd primarily used her right arm, and I didn't give it much thought at the time.

"So you're saying she sensed the danger her broken bone may cause her – she'd be unable to tread water – so she stayed out? That's all that kept her from me?"

"The other one came in, you said."

I was shaking my head in disbelief. "Yeah, but I thought it fell in. I really didn't think it intended to come after me."

"Was it conscious?" Gem asked. "Or instinctive? Do you think they have an awareness of their physical condition and capabilities?"

Hemp shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. Whether instinct or awareness, it makes them somewhat logical. And something that eats flesh and brains that also has any sort of logic is more dangerous. That's exactly why I wanted to show you this now."

"Jeez, Hemp. In just two days we've learned they can stockpile and organize to a degree, work together, they recognize external dangers to themselves, recognize their own internal limitations, whether it be injury or a mere lack of ability, and that they have a fucking knockout vapor that can mist out of their eyes. And besides all that, you've showed us conclusively that their brains are not only registering scent, which made sense, but now the sight of us makes them hungry."

"I'm sorry for all the grand news," Hemp said.

I slapped him on the back, and said "It's what you do, Hemp. It's why we all gotta stick together."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Over the following week we made several runs out to various hardware stores to gather supplies. In an industrial lot, we found a brand spanking new, heavy duty 6' x 24' box trailer. It had wood plank floors riveted down, and was perfect for our needs.

Everyone worked together on a project for the first time, even Trina. She'd haul welding rod as needed, and Gem and I worked to bolt things down, attach racks, and carry in stock. Charlie used a hole saw to cut in gun turrets like those in the lab just in case any of us – or all of us – got trapped in there and had to defend it. Above each turret, which were inserted at various levels to accommodate our varying heights, fisheye peepholes like the ones you'd install in your front door were mounted. That way we could use them to get a good view of our attackers.

We found a good deal on a 3500 watt generator which we mounted on top of the large, flat triangular tongue pad.

Everything was an excellent deal now. Retailers were practically giving the shit away.

While the gen was necessarily on the outside of the trailer for exhaust purposes, we cut in a locking hatch to access fuel, oil and power switches from inside the trailer.

This was to be our mobile garage. Hemp had begun designing things in his head – mostly large-scale zombie killing machines. We needed to have the ability to fabricate these items while we were on the move, and the only way to ensure it was to have a mobile garage travelling with us.

It was nearly as important – Gem thought it might be more important – than the lab. But with Hemp articulating his needs, Gem's artistry in putting the design down on paper, and my schematic layout abilities, we were a good team. After the blueprint was done, the plan was that Hemp, with help from all of us, would build them. Or, if we came across a group that we needed to trade with, these plans for the ACME Zombie Killer III, might get us some good stuff in return.

The first thing we installed were aluminum work benches. We'd be hauling it with the Suburban, so a turbo might be in order for that vehicle. Easy enough to install.

The rear work bench was actually located at the front end of the trailer opposite the doors, was 3' deep and the width of the trailer. It was the only of its kind. Beneath this table is where we installed the generator access hatch.

There was another 10' work bench made of aluminum; however it was only 2' deep. With the portable welder on its rolling cart, we'd be able to move it outside to weld any larger parts necessary.

On the interior and exterior of each side, Hemp manufactured racks that we bolted on for hauling wood and metal rods, flat, and angle iron and some 1" and 2" square metal tubing. PVC was plentiful, but not that necessary unless some plumbing work presented itself, so we did take a few lengths of that, too.

Per Hemp's specs, Gem and I brought in the necessities: Full Craftsman mechanics tool set, check. Arc Welder, Heliarc Welder, welding rod for both, Acetylene torch cart, air compressor. Power tools of all kinds, including but not limited to a scroll saw, table saw, compound miter saw, router, drill press, punches, chisels, pretty much everything we could think of that we might need. As weight was an issue, we didn't want to overstock. We could always toss anything that proved to be unnecessary if weight became an issue.

For cooling, we didn't want to use too much power, or any at all if it could be avoided. So for that, Hemp suggested the spinning vents that are typically mounted over the attic of a home. Wind blows, they spin and draw hot air out through the top. The normal process would be to work in the trailer with the doors open, but in this world anything could happen.

And we expected it would. So each spinning exhaust had a sliding hatch beneath it to close it off and prevent our scent from escaping, drawing any zombies to us.

Speaking of zombies, the machines we expected to design and build in this garage were to be for nothing else but killing.

Head trauma-type killing in particular.

Guns were nice, but there were times you needed more automated equipment, set off by much the same kind of tripwire as would set off the forest traps.

We'd yet to find anything in our human snares; that was good. We all enjoyed the feeling that we were alone out here, and the only time any of us really felt concern was when we found it necessary to head back out to gather supplies. But we did have our system, and we were beginning to get used to it.

Our encounters with the walking almost-dead seemed to be becoming more frequent. Many of the creatures who lumbered into Lula had come from surrounding areas, all of which were also small populations. Athens was fully 38 miles away and Atlanta was over 65.

But sure enough, when we went out, we inevitably ran into a group of them, usually spotting them from a distance because we were on the lookout, and more often than not, it was a larger group than the last we'd seen.

One evening we got a shout out on the HAM radio. It was the group we'd left the Hummer 2 with at the 7-Eleven. They'd secured their own HAM radio as we'd suggested, and we kept ours on constant scan, so when they made an attempt, we were able to pick them up.

Marion and Bobby were still leading the group. They'd gotten one of the buses from the CDC, and said they'd picked up another twelve uninfecteds so far. Three more of their former group had died, turned immediately to zombies, and had to be dispatched.

It was hard for them, we knew. In times like these, strangers can suddenly become very close, as we all discovered.

And while there was safety in numbers in typical scenarios, it seems the numbers of both zombies and otherwise were greater in the big city. I preferred my little hideaway.

We told them that we'd always be listening, and we'd try to keep them up to date on where we were and where we were headed. It wasn't that we wanted a larger group to slow us down, but it did feel good to know there were others out there, fighting and trying to survive, perhaps eventually returning the world to the living.

One evening, about three weeks after the whole thing began, Hemp and I sat together on the porch while the girls were looking at what to whip up for dinner. He was on the cushioned sofa, and I sat on the chain-hung wood swing bench, slowly moving forward and back.

We'd been laying out plans for a cool, kinetically activated machine that would spin 50 7-1/2" circular saw blades through the air at varying heights, but all ranging between 4'10" and 5'10". It would spin them out at an RPM of 1,750, at a forward speed of 150 MPH, and at a distance of about 100 feet before they became ineffective. This was all speculation, but I completely trusted Hemp's brain, and I knew he'd considered the weight, size and every other factor.

Wind was the one thing we'd be unable to control. This would likely be a weapon for a still day, but the closer you placed the machine to the tripwire, the more effective it would be. Heads would be a-shreddin'.

"I think it's time I said good bye," I said.

Hemp nodded. He knew what I meant.

"To Jamie."

Now it was my turn to nod.

"What she's going through is no way to exist, Flex. I know you know that. And recovery . . . well, I've already concluded it's not possible. Not at this advanced stage, anyway."

"And she was almost this bad three days after we found her," I said. "They go downhill fast."

"But they don't die without the brain trauma, and they seem to maintain enough strength to feed. Maybe not enough for the vapor, but again, the natural order of their abilities is get food, then get abilities to catch food easier."

Gem walked out of the house. She sat on the wood bench swing beside me and rested her hand on my knee.

"We're talking about Jamie," I said.

"Is it time?" she asked, her eyes focused on mine.

"It's past time. I know that."

"I love her, too, Flex. Everyone who knew her did."

"And nearly everyone who loves her is gone," I said. "Except for Trina and us."

"We'll have to tell her somehow. It's her mother, and Trina has to know she's gone."

"Yes, and I want to – I have to – tell her the truth. Not about the zombie shit, but that her mommy and sister died. She needs to come to terms with death."

Gem was quiet for a long time. She gently pushed the swing back and forth, one leg tucked beneath her, the other pushing off from the porch. Then she looked at me and squeezed my leg where her hand rested.

"One of the puppies isn't doing well," said Gem. "The one named Beaker. Runt male, stopped eating completely. Maybe wait until we see what happens there? A little introduction to death before the big one?"

"Well, if we can save it shouldn't we?" I asked. No sense in killing something just to make something else easier.

"Jesus, Flexy, don't you think we've tried bottle feeding? We weren't sacrificing the poor boy."

I laughed, and it was a quiet, insincere sound. "I know better. Sorry. I suppose little Beaker better figure out which way to go fast, then. I can't allow Jamie this existence much longer."

I hesitated. I didn't want to commit. It was like not wanting to say you're full because the dinner tastes so good you want to keep eating. Or not telling anyone you're quitting smoking because you know you won't be able to do it. I didn't want to say I would end my sister's life tonight, because I knew there was a damned good chance I'd fucking chicken out. But I steeled myself and formed the words anyway.

"Tonight, Gem. I want to let her be at peace tonight."

Gem's eyes welled up and she stared at the faded boards of my porch deck. She didn't look up. Then she stood from the bench swing and went back in the house. She wasn't mad. I knew she was thinking about her little Rabbit, her little Jesse, buried in that godforsaken hole at the only home she'd ever known. She was thinking about that little girl's father, whom she'd also known and loved, and she was thinking about all the other horrors we'd faced.

And now I was forced to vocalize that I had decided to kill my baby sister. Gem knew more than me.

She realized what making that decision would do to me even more than I did.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We could all feel it. It was palpable, like a putrid scent in the air or a low-hanging mist would be impossible to ignore. The solemnity of the task that lay ahead had us all on the edge of tears.

Even Hemp couldn't be consoled. He'd treated Jamie with a respect that none of us would have afforded to any of the other infecteds. He considered pain a factor when he poked, prodded, or attached things to her skin, or when he removed them.

He treated this thing like she was a member of the family, because she was.

I knew this. I'd seen it. And I appreciated it.

But how to do it; how to take her life, for as much of a life as it was. How to make sure it was clean and effective. Hemp had some ideas, but I needed to make sure it would be fast.

Our guns lying in the grass beside us beneath a 12' x 12' canopy set up with aluminum poles and thin guy wires, Hemp and I reclined in the grass watching the girls – and I mean all of them – working some target practice.

As they watched, Charlie walked to the target with a hammer and three nails. She hammered in a nail at the top of the plywood backboard, and two at the bottom left and right. Then she pulled a ½" diameter rope from around her waist and tied it around all three of them, essentially drawing an isosceles triangle.

She walked back and pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back.

"Ready?" she asked Trina.

Trina nodded.

"Don't blink."

"I won't," said Trina. Gem stood beside them and smiled.

Flex watched with intensity.

And Charlie counted quickly to three. One arrow flew, then another, and another. That fast.

And in each section of the triangle, the arrows pierced the center of the rope.

"Holy shit!" said Hemp.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," I said.

"Nice," said Gem. "I gotta learn that shit."

And so the girls continued practice.

Yes, even Trina. She had become excellent at holding the Taurus .22 steady, and her trigger pulls were almost tender for a child of her years. What none of us knew was if she would be prepared for the kick and the bang of a live round.

"I'd like to put a round in there for her," Gem called to me.

I nodded and held a thumbs up, then said, "Trini, this is a big deal, now you listen to Auntie Gem very carefully, okay?"

Trina had been listening to the heftier booms that the other guns made, though she was wearing ear protection as well as eye protection. She whipped off the earphones and said, "I get to shoot it? Really shoot it?"

"If you listen to Gemmy you can do it more than once," I said.

She leapt in the air again and again, and I did notice that as she held the gun, it remained pointed away from everyone. If she could do it at this excitement level, I think she was about trained.

Gem knelt down and slid a bullet into the cartridge. Then, looking quickly at me, she slid another in and snapped it closed again, spinning the cylinder around to take advantage of the loads. She then handed the gun back to Trina and turned her gently by the shoulders toward the nearest target.

"Now you NEVER shoot while someone is down range. If you see anyone who is not a bad person in the direction of your gun, keep the barrel down, away from them, and never shoot it. Now. Think you're ready to put a hole in that target?"

"Ready!" she shouted.

I could not wipe the smile from my face. This is exactly what I needed. Hemp was in a similar state. I slapped him on the arm, and we both smiled bigger.

Trina raised the gun with both little hands. She pulled back the hammer with both thumbs working together.

Her arms straight out, she held the gun steady.

"Trini, I want you to aim for the center dot. It's red. Just do the best you can, and remember how I told you to use the sights, okay?"

One eye was squeezed shut. "I got it in there now," she said. "The stick thing is balanced in the V thing. Can I shoot?"

"Remember the kick, baby," I said.

"Okay. Shoot," Gem said.

She fired the gun. A hole appeared two inches from the center of the target, and Trina staggered back one step, like an Olympic gymnast who'd just missed her landing with a slight over rotation.

"Did I hit it?" she asked?

Gem applauded, and Charlie laid down her weapon and did the same. Hemp and I stood and gave her the ovation she deserved.

"Yes! You nearly hit the bull's-eye!"

Trina knelt down, put the gun on the ground, then stood up, raised both hands in the air and jumped up, screaming, "Fuck yes, I did! Yay!"

And we all looked at each other and laughed our asses off.

After a few more shots and more respectful handling of the .22, we felt comfortable that Trina was getting the hang of it. Turns out she wasn't as good as her first shot, but her little arms were getting tired. She'd been playing with the empty gun long before she'd been allowed to load it, so we gave her some slack.

Gem, Charlie and Trina packed up their weapons and started talking about dinner and picking up some more fuel the next day. Waving at us, they headed for the house.

We waved back, but as Hemp started to get up, I took him by the arm, holding him there. The evening was fading to dusk, and Jamie wouldn't leave my mind.

"I think I'd like to do it, Hemp. No fanfare. A bullet to the brain. We know it works, we know it's quick. I don't want to try anything cute that makes her suffer in any way."

"Understood," he said. "Maybe let Gem say a goodbye, first?"

"I'm sure she'll come in with me. You don't have to. I think I'd actually prefer it be just me and Gem with her."

"I don't have any opposition to that, Flex. You both loved her. Makes sense. Charlie and I will stay with Trina, and you can have your talk with her after."

"I understand Beaker died about an hour ago," I said.

Hemp nodded. "Yeah. We didn't tell her yet. Thought we'd just remove the pup and tell her when she noticed. She knew he wasn't doing well, so we tried to prepare her by explaining that especially in dogs, with such large litters, it's quite common for some not to survive."

"And did she grasp that?"

"She got into the whole heaven thing, and of course we explained that all good people and animals go there when they die. Seemed like a good lead-in."

"Right. You're right. It was."

I looked at my watch. "I don't think I want to eat before I do this," I said. "I'm hungry, but so is she. The difference is, I'll get to eat eventually – if I can. She'll never get what she wants."

"I get it, Flex. Want me to send Gem out?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Please. Make sure Trina doesn't leave the house, and ask Gem to bring the .44 Magnum with her, if you would."

He nodded and stood, patted me on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then began walking toward the house.

I had my K7 with me, but whatever gun I used would be of no use to me anymore. And I loved the Daewoo, so I couldn't render it useless. All I needed was one good, well-placed round. The .44 would do the trick.

Hemp disappeared inside the house and I waited a moment in the fading daylight before mounting the steps to the lab.

*****

Gem came in a few moments later, the .44 tucked in her waistband, her Uzi in its usual position over her shoulder, held there by the new brightly colored and beaded strap she and Trina had worked on.

She put down her gun, took out the .44 and put it on one of the stainless tables, then she came to me and put her arms around my neck. She pressed her cheek to mine and we didn't say a word.

I realized I was shaking. The moment had come, and there was no backing out. I'd put if off for weeks, and some good had come out of that decision; all we'd learned, watching her progression and recording it so that we wouldn't forget.

I'd never watch the recordings again, but Hemp would find cause to, most likely. Good. The record of Jamie's last days should be of some use to humankind. The old Jamie would have wanted to do good. Only good. It was who she was.

I thought of being there with her in the room when Trina was born; she knew I had no kids and wasn't likely to, so she asked if I'd like to watch my niece come into the world. I'd never been present during a birth, and it was the miracle of life – and one I was grateful to see.

For that reason, Trina was special to me. I saw her just as the light of this bright world touched her for the first time, and at that moment, she touched my heart forever. I'd never known I had enough love inside my heart for this child too, as I'd already been surprised once with Jesse.

And now, as Gem pulled away and looked into my watering eyes, I knew the time had come and I needed to say my goodbyes.

I took Gem by the hand and we walked to the back room and opened the door. Hemp had re-secured Jamie's head, so she could not turn it. There were no lights on in this room, as the generator would continuously run out of fuel if we kept too many things running, so I took two candles from the nearby counter and lit them with a fireplace lighter kept with them for that purpose.

We went inside and placed one on each side of the table upon which my sister was strapped. The light flickered back and forth, its dimness mercifully concealing much of the deterioration of my sister's face and skin.

I moved beside her and without hesitation, rested my hand on her bare arm. She was cold; her skin rough and dry beneath my touch. But I slid my thumb over it just the same, and stroked her as tenderly as I could manage.

"Jamie . . ." I began. "It's me, Flex. Your brother. I'm the one who used to chase you with lizards when we were kids, who protected you when you felt threatened, and who loved you more than I believe I ever told you. I'm the one who you made so happy when you married Jack. I could see the love in his eyes and in your eyes, and I longed for that. And when you had Jesse, I fell in love with her. She was beautiful like you, and Jamie, she's at peace. You'll be with her real soon."

My eyes welled up and I had to stop. Gem took my other hand and held tight to me. I was shaking, and my watering eyes had become rivers. I was starting to sob, but I bit my lip and continued, as best I could.

"And your little Trina is just inside the house over there, my house. And Gem is back now, and I think we've got what you and Jack had, Jamie. We've got that kind of love, and we're taking good care of Trina. We plan to raise her just as you would've done."

"Except we're letting her say fuck," Gem said, smiling.

"Yes, except we're letting her say fuck," I repeated, and my laugh broke my sadness. "But she's a smart little one, Jamie. Like her mama. Smart. And beautiful, too. So I want you to go to sleep tonight, Jamie, and I want you to take Jesse's hand and be her mama again. She knows so well that you never meant to harm her."

Gem leaned forward and released my hand. "Jamie," she said. "I always loved you. I wanted to be a mommy like you someday . . . I just didn't realize I'd be called to be a mommy to your Trina. But Jamie, I promise you with everything in me, I'll always talk about you as an angel in heaven, and I'll let her know you're looking down on her, watching after her, and making sure she's safe. I promise you that, Jamie. And for that, I only want you to promise me one thing."

And Gem's tears began to flow in a torrent. I didn't think she'd be able to say the one more thing. But she closed her eyes and put a hand on Jamie's shoulder.

"You take good care of my little rabbit, okay? Take good care of her, please? And remind her how much your brother and I love her."

And with that, we both stood back. I went to the counter and picked up the gun. Gem took a thick sheet from the shelf against the wall and opened it into a quarter square, and laid it over Jamie's face, already dim in the candle light.

I placed the gun against her head, made sure I would hit her brain, and without hesitation, I fired once.

Then I fired again.

The echo of the .44 would stay with me forever.

The thing that had consumed my baby sister was dead.

And my Jamie was at peace.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Within fifteen seconds of the sound of the gunshots, the door to the lab opened, and Charlie came in with Hemp behind her. I looked, and saw Trina standing just outside at the bottom of the stairs.

Gem saw her too, and went to her and took her hand. Hemp came to me and put his hands on my shoulders, facing me.

"I'm sorry, mate. I know you loved her, and because you did, it was the right thing to do. Now you and Gem take Trina inside, and Charlie and I will prepare her body for burial."

I nodded. I thought I should say thank you, but I didn't think I could utter anything without breaking down. As I walked by her, Charlie held her hand out and I took it briefly. The small squeeze told me everything I needed to know and feel. I was so glad we found her and made her a part of our little family.

I took Gem's other hand and the three of us made our way back to the house. I'd forgotten my gun, but in typical Gem fashion, Suzi was hanging off her shoulder at ready.

It was more than three hours before Charlie and Hemp came back in. I didn't realize it had been so long until they returned. My mind was far away, and Trina had long gone to bed, leaving Gem and me in a comfortable silence – the silent thoughts of those we loved and would never see again.

"We dug the grave for a service tomorrow morning, Flex," Hemp said. "At the back of the yard."

"Near the tree line," Charlie added. "It's shady and beautiful there, so . . ."

"It's perfect," I said. "Thank you both so much for doing that for her, and for us."

They sat in the arm chairs opposite the sofa and leaned back, the sweat still glistening on their skin. It was now September in Georgia, and the nights were hot, too. Digging in this weather was not an easy task.

"We're a family," Charlie said. "I've felt it since I first arrived here at this house. I loved the two of you immediately, but meeting Hemp and Trina just drove it all home for me. I lost my blood family, but I'm not without."

Gem stood and went to Charlie. She held her arms out.

"Get up, you sweaty mess. I need a hug."

Charlie couldn't suppress a smile, and she stood with a grunt, and put her arms around Gem's neck, as Gem's arms wrapped tightly around her.

"This is going to sound really stupid," Gem said. She pulled away, put her palms on both of Charlie's cheeks, and said, "You're fucking awesome, and I love you, too."

Then she put her cheek to Charlie's, closed her eyes, and eventually pulled away and went back to her seat. Charlie fell back into her chair smiling.

"So tomorrow, then," I said. "First light?"

Hemp looked at me and nodded. "Sure. Let's get up early and dress in our Sunday best, for what they are. A light breakfast, then we'll have a service."

I smiled. "Tomorrow is Sunday, isn't it? That's appropriate. Jamie would've taken the girls to church while Jack would've played pool with his friends. She didn't care, though. She told me once that he worked so hard during the week that if he wanted to play pool rather than sit in a pew, then he deserved it. He loved her all the more for it."

"I'm exhausted," Gem said. She looked at her watch. It was 11:30. "Flex and I didn't even think about food tonight, so we'll look forward to that breakfast, light or heavy."

She held out her hand, and I groaned myself to my feet. "Night, guys. Thanks again. Love you both."

They both waved at me, and I let Gem pull me toward our bed.

Then she stopped short, pulled me back in the living room, grabbed Suzi, and proceeded back toward the bedroom, me in tow.

"I'm slipping. Getting too comfortable," she said.

As Gem and I lay in bed, my arm over her shoulder and our bodies tucked together, I said, "I never thought much about that Springsteen song, Atlantic City. But there's a repeating verse that I can't get out of my head."

"What's that, baby?"

"Now, baby, everything dies, honey, that's a fact  
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back..."

"That is eerie. I don't think I like that song anymore," Gem said.

Her breathing grew long and steady, and within a minute, I knew she was asleep. And I was right behind her.

*****

The next morning we all got up and did what we said we'd do. It was Sunday, so we put on our cleanest, if not our best clothes – it was time to do laundry, and we all hated it – and went in for breakfast. Hemp had learned to make bread sometime or other, and during the big bread machine craze I actually bought one, along with all the mixes needed.

Hemp put it to work and we had some nice bread, sliced just right. Charlie made some cinnamon toast with light butter, and coffee all around. It was perfect. But the hard part was about to happen, and I watched Trina gobble down her last piece of toast before clearing my throat.

"Trina, we have to talk to you about something."

"Are we not gonna be able to say fuck anymore?" she said, indignantly.

Gem shook her head. "That's not it, baby. You can still say it. It's about your mommy and big sister."

"Jesse? Mommy? Are they back?"

"No, they're not, Trini," I said. "There was . . . well, you know some of what's going on? How we carry guns around and we watch for bad people?"

"Yes. And always to listen to the adults when they tell me to do something because it's different now."

"Well," I said. "you always listened really good. But what I have to tell you is hard, because I love your mommy and Jesse, too."

I looked at Gem, and my words were stuck in my throat. She took my hand beneath the table and squeezed.

"Trina, your mommy and sister have gone to Heaven. They've become angels now, and they're watching over all of us now."

Trina stared at me, her eyes excited at first at the thought, but then her brow furrowed, and her little eyes wrinkled as much as little eyes can.

"They . . . died?"

Hearing the words come out of her lips caught me off guard. I hadn't been able to use the 'dead' or 'death' or 'died' words. But she had.

I nodded. "That's right, Trini. So you won't see them anymore – not in the physical sense, anyway. But whenever you see something that makes you smile or laugh, you'll know that they're smiling and laughing, too. That's how it works. They feel your joy, and it gives them joy, too."

She nodded, and Gem smiled at me.

"So when I'm happy, mommy and Jesse are happy? So if I'm happy all the time, so will they be?"

"I'm pretty sure it works just like that. I know we'll miss them, but I do have some picture albums here that we can look at when you want. And remember the video, too. Do you think that would make you sad, or do you think that would make you happy?"

Trina smiled. "I'd be happy to see them on a video."

Charlie said, "I tell you what, Trina. We're going to have a ceremony this morning where we get to say good bye to your mommy and sister. We're all going to take something that means a lot to us, put it in a hole in the ground, and we say a prayer over it, then cover it up. And then we say a prayer for your mommy and sister, too. And you can bring wildflowers."

"Beaker means a lot to me. Can I bury him in the hole?"

We all looked at one another in shock.

"You knew he died?" Hemp asked.

"Yeah," Trina said. "I found him yesterday. I figured it out."

"He was sick, baby," Charlie said. "He's at peace now. Sure you can bring him. We'll put him in a little box and you can decorate it if you like."

"Okay," she said. "I'll decorate it first, then we can put him in. I think that's better."

Charlie laughed. "Yes. Makes much more sense. I'll get you some markers and we'll get the kitchen cleaned up while you prepare the box."

*****

The ceremony was short and sweet. We'd all been through enough. Last night, Hemp and Charlie had wrapped Jamie's body tightly in stretch wrap that's normally used for palletized goods, making the cocoon airtight. They then dug the hole, put her in the grave, and covered her with about two feet of dirt. Two more feet remained to be filled, so as far as Trina knew, this was just a symbolic hole.

I had a tee-shirt from a Billy Vera and the Beaters concert that Jamie had given me, and I put that in the grave. Gem had a tattered copy of Watership Down that she had left at my place before we split up, and was delighted to find it. She knew it was the perfect tribute to her Rabbit, so she kissed it and dropped it in as well.

Hemp had picked up some Earl Grey tea at the store, and threw two teabags in – one for Jesse and one for Jamie. His British contribution.

And following in my footsteps, Charlie tossed in her beloved AC/DC concert tee shirt.

And finally, in a gloriously decorated little cardboard box, Trina knelt down and dropped the box containing her lost pup Beaker into the hole.

We stood back in silence, and I closed my eyes.

"We honor the lives of Jamie and Jesse, the love they shared and the light they shined on this Earth. As we stand here missing them in our hearts and souls, we also turn our faces to the heavens and know they're looking down upon us with love and hope for the future. God bless the two newest angels – our guardian angels – whose presence will give us comfort for the remainder of our lives."

Tears streamed down the faces of each of us. We all came together, arms around one another, and when our group embrace met its natural conclusion, Hemp and I picked up the shovels and began filling in the hole.

When the earth was mounded over the grave, Trina took the handful of tiny wildflowers she'd found and put them in the center of the grave.

She was a brave, strong little girl, like her mommy and sister. My heart ached for the loss we shared.

Then we all began walking back to the house.

Gem and Charlie got there first, with Trina between them, swinging on their hands. Hemp and I brought up the rear, our guns over our shoulders.

The girls had entered the house already, but when Hemp and I were twenty feet from the door, we heard a sound from beyond the tree line.

A snapping, crackling sound, the sound of a tree branch rustling. Startled moans.

Then again. And again.

The moans were constant now.

I looked toward the forest, then back at Hemp, then checked my gun even as he checked his. We both had additional magazines on us.

"You and me," I said. "Now."

"You've got to warn them," Hemp said.

He was right and I knew it. I ran to the door and stuck my head in. "Stay inside, get your weapons and wait for us."

Gem looked at me, her face pale. "Flex, what is –"

"No time," I interrupted. "Be ready, but stay inside."

I rejoined Hemp and we jogged toward the forest.

*****

As we ducked under the low-hanging branches, we scanned the line of traps. The four we could see had all snagged zombies. Three males and one female struggled against the snares, but to no avail. Hemp ran toward the first one and fired a shot into the thing's brain and it fell still.

I didn't like going in, but we'd committed. I ran to the second trap and as the woman-creature floundered there, snarling, snapping, and trying to scratch me with her remaining fingernails, I fired directly into her face, destroying it, and the brain behind it. That one also fell motionless.

And then we heard rustling all around us. I looked up to see twenty – no, at least thirty of them closing in.

We were surrounded.

Hemp ran to me, and we positioned ourselves back-to-back, our guns held up.

And we worked our way through magazine after magazine of ammo, knowing we would run out before they were all dead.

"The girls," I said, turning my head toward Hemp.

"I know," Hemp replied, in between shots.

"God help them," I said. "Please, let there be a God to help them."

I fired my weapon with intensity, exploding the heads of the zombies approaching me and Hemp from all sides, and I felt his back against me reverberating as he did the same.

My eyes glanced at the sky, and for just a brief moment, I prayed that the guardian angels that were once my Jesse and Jamie – the ones we promised Trina were there – really existed, that they were really looking down on us, and that they were truly guarding us.

All of us.

A new chapter of our war with the walking dead had begun.

### The End

### (Of The Beginning)

### Other Books By Eric A. Shelman

### And Dolphin Moon Publishing

### Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle

### Dead Hunger III: The Chatsworth Chronicles

### Dead Hunger IV: Evolution

### Dead Hunger V: The Road to California

### Dead Hunger VI: The Gathering Storm

### Dead Hunger VII: The Reign of Isis

### Dead Hunger VIII: Peace, Love & Zombies

### Dead Hunger IX: The Cleansing

### Out of the Darkness: The Story of Mary Ellen Wilson

### Case #1: The Mary Ellen Wilson Files

### Scabs: The Gemini Exception

### The Camera: Bloodthirst

### Shifting Fears

### A Reason To Kill

### The Witches of Laguna Beach

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