Chapter Two

 

 

 

 

 

By the time we opened the door, the woman who had pounded on it had begun to run away, pulling what appeared to be a young girl behind her. She was screaming, and looking behind her, so we followed her terrified stares.

Three creatures now angled toward her, staggering determinedly after them, but still thirty yards away.

I leaned down to grab my Daewoo, which was in its standard location by the door, and hurried onto the porch and down the steps.

“Stop!” I called after the pair, but Gem had already passed me, saying, “You get the rotters, babe. I’ll go after them.”

I chambered a round and raised the weapon, walking briskly toward the oncoming mini-horde. I stopped. I didn’t want to fire the gun and awaken everyone in the house, but it couldn’t be helped. It’s not my instinct to grab urushiol or a baseball bat.

I turned and saw that Gem had reached the woman and girl, and was now guiding them toward the front door. I waited.

Once they were inside, I advanced on the flesh-hungry creatures, who were now advancing on me. When they were ten feet away and saw the weapon in my hands, they hesitated, as I had grown used to. Once again, without the red-eyes to guide them, they had nothing more up their blood-soaked, tattered sleeves than the ability to recognize danger. In other words, they had no plan B.

I was glad. I fired, holding down the trigger in full auto mode. With a side-to-side sweep, I blew their faces into a spray of the now familiar red-black, chunky mist, each of the ghouls collapsing in their own unique, walking dead way.

I made a mental note to add their cleanup to our list of immediate tasks, and went back inside.

I was concerned, though. No doubt about that. This was four of them in under three hours. We hadn’t seen those kinds of numbers in that short a timeframe in quite a long time. I wondered it this was Isis at work as I mounted the steps and went back inside the house.

The girl was sick. I could see it in her musculature, her eyes and her complexion. She breathed with difficulty and had bouts of sneezing.

After ten minutes, Hemp said, “Take little Flexy into the other room, would you?”

Gem, her eyes filled with worry, said, “Hemp? What’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m not certain,” he said. “I’ll need to speak with … what is your name, ma’am?”

“Raylene Hackett,” she said, still out of breath from her narrow escape. “That’s my daughter, Gina.”

Gem hurried out of the room, our son clutched in her arms.

“How old is Gina, Mrs. Hackett?” asked Hemp, concern in his eyes. He lifted the child’s eyelids and peered into each of them.

I didn’t like the look on his face one bit.

The woman looked confused. “I … I don’t know what month it is,” she said, crying. “She’s either four or five, depending on that. Her birthday’s September 21^st.”

“Then she’s still four,” said Hemp. “Flex, can you get Doc Scofield on the radio?”

Scofield had decided to stay locally, and lived in a house about an eighth of a mile from us. He had a moped that he used to get back and forth, so could be here in a few minutes.

“I’ll get on it,” I said. I went into the kitchen and pulled the handheld out of the drawer. We kept them on because they didn’t draw a heck of a lot of power when they weren’t transmitting or receiving, and these had essentially become our telephones.

Scofield answered in thirty seconds and I told him to hightail it over as fast as he could.

I went back into the living room, and Hemp was still kneeling down by the sick girl. “Hemp, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Hemp nodded, touched the girl’s cheek, and stood. “Mrs. Hackett, take her over to the couch and let her lie down. We’ll be right back in.”

She was following our instructions as we rounded the corner into the laundry room, now equipped with not only the electric washer and dryer, but also a wash tub and an old-fashioned washboard. We still used the electric utilities, but only when there were large amounts of laundry to do. When it was one or two pieces, we hand washed to save the generator fuel. We had yet to install the solar panels we intended to pilfer from somewhere.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. “Girl’s pretty sick, huh?”

“It could be a flu,” said Hemp. “I don’t like the look of it at all. What did Doc Scofield say?”

“He’ll be right over,” I answered. “He’s leaving now.”

When we returned to the living room, Bug was there with Isis, who stood in front of Gina and gnawed on a piece of beef jerky. Gina sneezed.

“Bug,” said Hemp, an edge in his voice. “Please take Isis back to your room. I’ll explain later.”

“Sorry, man. Heard what sounded like gunshots and laid there for a while, but Isis wanted to roam.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Hemp. “The girl’s sick, and we don’t want it to spread to anyone else.”

Bug eyed her for a moment, said, “Nice to meet you guys,” and scooped up Isis. He nodded to us and left the room. Isis called, “Bye bye, little girl!”

Gina did not laugh or even smile, and hadn’t said a word since she’d come into the house. She was out of it, miserable and obviously very ill.

Hemp sat on the chair across from them and I took another one. “Ma’am,” he said. “I have an important question for you.”

“What is it?” asked Raylene. Her hair was a tangled mess, and bits of grass and leaves were caught in it. Her eyes were an interesting, almost royal blue, and their intensity fell in sharp contrast to her dirty, gaunt face. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

Hemp shook his head. “The doctor, a man named Jim Scofield, is on the way now. I’d prefer to consult with him before I reach a conclusion that may be incorrect.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Raylene,” I said, “Where did you come from? Before you got here?”

She swiped at her tears, which seemed to be leaking from her eyes constantly. She wasn’t sobbing, but I guessed she was so damned glad to be indoors in a safe place that she was an emotional wreck.

“I don’t know how far I come,” she said. “I was with my daddy up until about three nights ago – that’s how I figure the days, because nights are so scary – but he got turned.”

Hemp shot me a quick glance, and I acknowledged it and ignored it at the same time.

“What do you mean by turned?” asked Hemp, his voice soothing and non-threatening.

I figured he knew the answer to that question, but I didn’t blame him for asking.

“An old man, a neighbor from down the street, came by the house the other day. He was sneezing and sick, like my Gina. We knew him since I was a little girl. His name was Roy Dickens, and I guess he was about the oldest man I’ve ever known.”

“Did he pass away?” asked Hemp. “From the sickness?”

She shook her head. “Didn’t get a chance. He was all bundled up when he got there, sayin’ he was cold and not feelin’ good. He scared us when he first showed up because he had a machete in his hand, and we thought he was crazy.”

I looked at her, and she met my eyes with hers. “What do you mean he didn’t get the chance?” I asked.

“We told him he could stay on the couch that night, but he’d have to go find another place in the mornin’,” she said. “We didn’t have a hotel – at least that’s what daddy said – and we had to take care of our own. He was nice enough about it, but he started complainin’ about a bad headache along with everything else that seemed wrong with him. When he took off his jacket, I saw bite marks on his arms.”

“Did your father see them?” Hemp asked, glancing at me again.

She shook her head. “No, and I didn’t say anything. He was leavin’ in the mornin’ and I didn’t want to be cruel. I thought daddy might kick him out.”

I shook my head. “I’m guessing he changed in the night?” I asked.

She looked at Gina, who now lay back on the sofa, her eyes open only to narrow slits. Looking at her sick daughter, I had no illusions that Gina could hear or comprehend anything we said just then.

Raylene’s tears came in a torrent. “I heard this terrible screamin’ in the middle of the night, and I grabbed Gina. She wasn’t sick then, she was just fine. She was half asleep, and I’m glad of it. I ran to my daddy’s bedroom, and Mr. Dickens was on top of daddy, growlin’ like a dog.”

She stopped speaking for a bit and stroked her child’s hair, but Gina didn’t notice as far as I could tell. After a pause to cry some quiet tears, she continued, her voice shaking.

“It was pretty dark, but with the moonlight comin’ through the window I could see my daddy on his back on the bed with Mr. Dickens on top of him, bitin’ him. Daddy had his shotgun in his hand, but he couldn’t do nothin’ with it. It fell on the ground and he was screamin’ and screamin’. I stood there screamin’, too, but then Mr. Dickens turned to look at me. His eyes were red, and there was this smoke puffin’ out of them, and I just ran with Gina and I never looked back.”

“It was the best thing to do for you and your daughter,” said Hemp, reassuringly. “I’m sure you know by now that once you’re bitten, if untreated, a transformation takes place.”

“He wasn’t bitin’ him,” she whispered. “Mr. Dickens was eatin’ him.”

Her tears became shudders and I realized that Hemp had never asked the question he wanted to ask. A knock came on the door. I got up and walked to it, checked the peephole, and let Doc Scofield in.

He nodded to me and said, “Hey, Flex. Good to see you.” I shook his hand and looked over toward the girl. “Thanks for comin’, Doc. She’s over there. Name’s Gina.”

Scofield hurried over and struggled to kneel down in front of the couch. Gina’s head was resting in her mother’s lap. Scofield used his stethoscope and listened to her heart and her breathing, and we just sat there, letting him finish in silence.

“I’m Jim Scofield, ma’am,” he said. “Sorry about your girl. How long has she been like this?” he asked.

Jim’s kind eyes met hers, and I was sure they set her at ease. He was good at that.

“I’m Raylene Hackett,” she said. “Gina took a turn about a day after I left our house. I guess it’s been about three days now.”

“Has it gotten progressively worse?” he asked.

“Progressively?”

“I’m sorry,” said Scofield. “I mean to ask if it keeps getting worse from the day before. She hasn’t seemed any better one day to the next?”

Raylene shook her head. “We haven’t had much food since we run, so we’re both pretty weak. This is the worst she’s been. I’m worried about her. I had to pull her along all day today, ‘cause I don’t have the strength to carry her anymore.”

Scofield reached inside of his bag to get something, and the girl sneezed. Her mother had seen it coming and put her hand over the child’s mouth. When she pulled it away, there was a fine, red mist on her skin.

“Is she bleeding?” I asked.

Gina moaned and her eyes flittered open, but remained unfocused. She yawned, and this provided Scofield the opportunity to use the item he’d removed from his bag. He turned on the penlight and shone it into her open mouth.

Hemp leaned forward and put a gentle hand on her jaw, keeping her mouth open a little longer as he looked inside.

There was a change in Hemp then. Right then. I saw it as clearly as I saw those three rotters comin’ toward me outside. He then slid his hands onto her neck, feeling her glands. “Swollen,” he said, looking at Scofield and me.

Scofield shifted in his seat. I saw a change in him, too.

“Is it a flu or something?” Raylene asked.

Fuck. I wished it was the flu. But my instincts had already told me something dangerous had entered our home.

“Raylene,” said Hemp, his voice low and steady. “Did you have Gina immunized as a baby?”

“Shots, you mean?”

“Exactly,” said Hemp.

She shook her head. “No, because everybody was sayin’ that there’s so much autism around that it’s from all those vaccinations and stuff they’re pumpin’ into the kids. She was born at home and I didn’t have any of that stuff done and she’s always been fine.”

I stood up and paced the room. I thought about Gem, and I thought about my son.

Hemp’s expression remained as neutral as he could muster, but I knew the man. The next thing he said confirmed my fears.

“Jim, do you have a surgical mask or something similar in that bag?”

“I do,” said Jim, pulling one out. He tore open the plastic and gave it to Hemp.

Hemp took it and put it over the girl’s nose and mouth.

“What’s wrong?” asked Raylene. “Is my baby gonna be alright?”

“Just a few more questions, first,” said Hemp. “How old was the neighbor who came over that night? The Dickens fellow.”

Scofield looked confused. “This must’ve been stuff you talked about before I got here,” he said. “What neighbor?”

Hemp nodded and said, “A neighbor of theirs came over the night she ran from her house,” he said. “She said he was sick.”

“I’m pretty sure he was in his eighties,” said Raylene. “Pretty spry before, though.”

“Did he exhibit similar symptoms to Gina?”

She thought for a moment. “Sneezin’, temperature, high-pitched breathin’. Yeah, now that you mention it. I thought she probably got it from bein’ around him.”

“What do you know about his family?” asked Hemp. “Did they see physicians regularly?

“Heck no,” she said. “They were about as bumpkin as you could get. Even worse than us. He was the oldest in their family. They died young, as a rule.”

“Raylene, do you know if you were immunized as a child?” asked Scofield.

She shrugged. “I was born at St. Joseph’s, so I suppose so.”

Scofield and Hemp looked at one another and both stood, Scofield with a good grunt accompanying the movement. He’d had quite a belly on him when we first met, but now his belt was pulled to its last hole, and I could see where he’d even punched two additional ones. His pants bagged on him.

“We’ll be right back,” said Hemp, nodding to me and Doc Scofield. We followed him into the other room and slid the pocket door closed.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“What I’m thinking is not good, Flex,” said Hemp. He turned toward Doc Scofield. “Jim, have you ever seen a case of Diphtheria?”

Scofield snapped his fingers. “That’s right, Hemp. That black, fiber-like coating in her throat. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before, but it was only in pictures from when I studied it. And that was a long time ago.”

“That’s what convinced me,” said Hemp. “Not to mention the bloody sneeze.”

“I don’t wanna be cruel, but we have to get her out of my house, fucking pronto,” I said.

“Can’t we just set her up in the basement?” asked Scofield. “It’s big enough, and I didn’t see any mold or anything down there.”

Hemp shook his head. “She appears to be in the midst of the most contagious phase of the disease, which is pretty much the entire duration,” he said. “Flex is right. She needs to be out of this house as soon as possible.”

I realized I was pissed, but I couldn’t blame anyone for it. Instead of blaming, I asked the obvious question. “Wasn’t this shit wiped out a long time ago?”

Hemp shook his head. “Diphtheria and other diseases can be contained, but not necessarily eradicated. Regular vaccinations, plus antitoxin, dealt with the problem when it did appear.”

“How can something like this fire up again, Hemp?” I asked. “It’s not like we don’t have enough to worry about these days.”

“When there is a breakdown of society and immunizations aren’t performed, these are the things that can rear their ugly heads again,” said Hemp. “I knew the answer to the question of her daughter’s vaccine status before I even asked. While Diphtheria has been controlled for many years, it has cropped back up a number of times since then.”

“Do we still get shots for that?” I asked.

“Yep,” said Scofield. “Diphtheria is part of the normal childhood boosters. I read about a case in Alaska – in the 1920s I think – where dog sleds were used to run the antitoxin from somewhere across the state to Nome. Whole communities were in danger of infection, which could’ve killed thousands. Not just Nome, but neighboring towns, too.”

“Jim’s right,” said Hemp. “They transported the serum over 600 miles via dog sled. In fact, the Iditarod is in commemoration of what was then called The Great Race of Mercy.”

I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Hemp, Doc,” I said, looking at the men, and looking scared, I knew. “How does it spread?”

Hemp looked grim. “Through the respiratory system, I’m afraid,” he said. “It can also be transferred in food, or by touch.”

“And exactly how contagious is it?” I asked, my muscles tense. I could only picture Flexy sitting in his playpen when Gina let out her bloody sneezes. Isis had been in there with her for a moment, too.

Hemp put a hand on my shoulder. “It is extremely contagious. And yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking the same thing. We need antitoxin for little Flex and Isis. And it can’t hurt us all to have a booster, too. But Flex,” he said, his voice grim. “We need it quickly.”

I immediately thought of Gem. She would freak out and there would be no calming her. My mind worked over the ways this could be hidden from her, but it just wasn’t possible to do that and keep our son safe, too. The sick girl and her mother needed to be out of the house immediately – before one more sneeze spread more of the disease – and I needed to get to where the antitoxin was.

Scofield said, “First order of business is to find a place for those two and to keep them both away from everyone else. Just to be safe. I’m guessing everybody’s had the proper shots, but we just don’t know what their parents did, and they were too young to know. Better safe than sorry.”

“What chance is there that you’re wrong about the Diphtheria, Hemp?” I asked.

Hemp shook his head. “Very little, I’m afraid. Just be glad she’s presenting with symptoms. Sometimes they have none at all. There would have been no warning.”

“Then you’re making me a list of any and all other vaccines I might need,” I said. “I’m leaving today. Tell me where I have to go.”

“Flex, we don’t know –” started Hemp.

“There’s lots we don’t know, but what I do know is I don’t want my son or Isis to die. That’s possible, right? This shit can kill you?”

Hemp nodded. “Whatever the mortality rate, it needs treatment.”

“What is the rate?” I asked.

Hemp shook his head. “Anywhere from 5% to 20%. Dependent upon age.”

“Younger’s worse, right?” I asked.

Hemp knew better than to paint shit with pastels with me, and said, “Let’s just say we’ll need to remove the infected girl and her mother from the house right away as Jim suggested and set them up somewhere else.”

“What about my guest house?” asked Jim. “Nobody’s in there, plus it’s clean. I didn’t have anything to do so I got it ready for company.”

I didn’t wait. I slid the door open and went into the living room. I felt every muscle in my body as tight as a drum, and none of them would unwind until I got on the road to find what we needed to protect my son.

“Raylene, we have a situation here, so do me a big favor and save any questions,” I began. “Let’s go ahead and get Gina up, and you’re gonna go with Doc Scofield here.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, violating my first mandate.

Hemp came in and knelt down beside the girl. She was stirring, and Hemp ran his hands gently up and down her legs until she winced. He looked at me briefly, then turned his attention back to the child, sliding up the pant leg on the leg that caused her pain.

I looked in horror as an oozing sore appeared beneath her clothing. It looked like a bloody crater made of raw flesh.

“This settles it,” said Hemp, nodding to me and Doc Scofield.

“Oh, my God!” screamed Raylene at the sight of the dripping, pus-coated lesion. Her cry was all it took for Gem to come charging into the room.

“What the hell’s going on?” asked Gem.

Hemp looked at Gem but said nothing. He had already pulled the girl’s pant leg back down, so she hadn’t gotten a glimpse of the horror that, left untreated, could come to our son.

Still on my feet, I staggered backward, steadying myself on a table. “Hurry, Hemp,” I gulped.

Hemp nodded and scooped up the little girl. He said nothing to Gem, just carried her out the front door with Raylene on his heels, crying. Doc Scofield followed them outside.

I heard gunshots almost instantly.

“What the fuck!” I shouted as I ran to the porch. Scofield had dispatched a male rotter who had been just outside the porch. Another one.

“Everybody needs to get on the fuckin’ WAT-5,” I yelled. “Jesus!”

It seemed every piece of shit for miles around had hit the fan today. Our friends and family had come home, the zombies started traipsing in like goddamned homing pigeons and a kid with Diphtheria had now infected our house.

“Flex, tell me what the hell is going on, please,” said Gem, her brown eyes piercing and stern. She wasn’t asking. The please was just a courtesy because she loved me.

“I know, Gem, and I will tell you,” I said, sweat pouring down my face. “First help me drag this goddamned couch out of here,” I said, running to the back door and sliding it open all the way.

“Why?” she asked. “Just tell me, Flex!”

I struggled to pull the couch myself, and felt myself spiraling out of control. I wanted to spare Gem the horrible knowledge of what might be as long as I could.

“Gemina, if you want to know what’s going on, just help me!” I screamed. “Where’s Flexy?”

Now her near-angry expression turned to fear. She knew me better than I knew myself. I never raised my voice to her unless we were in grave danger.

Her voice responded in a whisper. “In the nursery, sleeping.”

“Is he okay?” I asked, looking her in the eyes.

“What the hell do you mean, is he okay? He’s fine, Flex. What the hell? You’re scaring me to death!”

“Couch first,” I said, lifting one end. She got behind it and pushed, and I pulled it effortlessly to the door. When I got it onto the wood deck outside, I lifted it over the rail, ran around to the back side, and flipped it over, where it fell four feet to the sloped ground below, rolling away from the house.”

“There,” I said. “We’ll burn the motherfucker later.”

“Flex!” said Gem. “Enough of this shit, and tell me what the hell is going on!” Her eyes now burned into me like open flames, and I went to her and pulled her into my arms. I felt her rigid body, none of the tension leaving her, despite the forced embrace.

I let go of her, walked to the table and sat down. She followed, her instincts telling her I was ready to share what I knew.

With one hand, I pulled out a chair for her, but as she reluctantly moved to sit down, I stopped her.

“Hold on. This involves Bug and Isis, too,” I said, “I’ll figure out how to put this, and you go get Charlie and Bug. Tell him to leave Isis with Trina and Taylor for now.”

“Is this you stalling?” asked Gem.

“No, this is me bein’ short and sweet. Once I’m done, I’m leaving.”

“Flex?” she said, sounding helpless. “What is it?”

“Get ‘em, babe,” I said. “Hurry.”

 

*****

 

Hemp had gotten Scofield, Raylene and Gina on their way, and had come back inside the house. He sat beside me, and Bug, Charlie and Gem sat across from us. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Hemp glanced toward the vacant space that the couch once occupied.

“Good,” he said. “I was going to suggest we do exactly that.”

“Hemp,” I said, “You think you can tell these guys what’s going on without freaking them out? ‘Cause I don’t think I’m gonna be too good at it.”

Hemp nodded and looked at the others. His expression was serious, but not as grim as what I figured mine looked like.

“I take it you’ve all heard of the disease called Diphtheria,” he said, looking at the others.

“Diphtheria?” said Gem, incredulous. “Wasn’t that eradicated? Like Polio?”

Hemp shook his head. “Controlled through immunizations, like Polio. One of the standard childhood boosters.”

“Isis hasn’t had any shots,” said Bug, his brows furrowed together as he rubbed his beard in a very familiar, Dave-like way.

“I suspected as much,” said Hemp.

“Is everyone susceptible?” asked Gem, her stare intense, her brown eyes open wide.

Hemp shrugged, and immediately held up his hands. “I’m sorry to shrug. I am confident that if you had your course of vaccinations as a child, you are protected, but as you know, as Bug said, we have some new members of the world here with us.”

Charlie sat there listening, her hands resting on her stomach, as round as a beach ball and so ready to pop you could bounce a quarter off it. It wasn’t like her not to ask questions, so I knew she was scared shitless.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” said Bug, jumping out of his seat and pacing back and forth. He stopped and turned back toward us. “I leave my damned bunker, surrounded by hundreds of zombies and shit, and walk into this? My girl’s at risk now?”

“Bug,” said Hemp, his voice soft and even, “I understand how you feel. Out of the frying pan and into the flames, so to speak. We’ve become a close group, and that includes Dave. You and Isis mean a lot to him, therefore, you automatically mean a lot to everyone here.”

“Okay, I get that,” said Bug. “But how does that change what happened and what we do about it?”

Hemp sighed and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands as he looked at all of us. “Only by letting you know that Isis is as important to all of us as Flex and Gem’s son and our future child. Believe that. And know that I’m not without ideas here, so let me get through this, and we’ll formulate a plan.”

Bug nodded and glanced toward the hallway where I knew Isis played in a room with the other kids.

Hemp turned to Gem. “Gem, try to remember that this is nobody’s fault. If blame must be assigned, you should look right here, at me.”

“I’m not trying to blame anyone,” she said. “I’m worried as shit, that’s all. And why would you take the blame anyway?”

“Shit happens,” said Charlie, breaking her silence. “And I’m not sure why I need to say that, considering what’s been hunting us for over a year now. Nobody’s to blame, least of all my husband.”

“I know that, sweetie,” said Gem. “Sorry.”

Charlie nodded.

Hemp continued. “The reason I say to blame me is because we’re such an isolated group I hadn’t considered that we needed the immunization supply in advance of our children’s births. You can’t vaccinate newborns anyway, and I thought we could wait until Charlie gave birth.”

“And I realize none of you anticipated my girl,” said Bug.

“Little Flexy is just reaching the very minimum age to receive some of his vaccinations,” said Hemp. “Isis can have them now, of course.”

Gem’s expression softened. “First of all, is it an absolute that everyone who isn’t vaccinated against Diphtheria will get it?”

“It’s highly contagious,” said Hemp. “In multiple ways. The girls didn’t come out and see Gina, so they may be okay.”

Charlie got up and walked toward the hallway. “I’m going to make sure they don’t leave that room.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Hemp. “Isis was exposed and she’s with the girls now. The good news is, both Taylor and Trina are well within ten years of their Diphtheria immunization, so they’ll be just fine.”

“Isn’t it too late to vaccinate once it’s been contracted?” asked Gem.

Hemp gave her a weak smile. “Diphtheria is very treatable with antitoxin.”

“Which we get where?” asked Gem, her hands clutching one another nervously.

“The CDC mandates stockpiles in strategic areas around the country in the event of an outbreak, so from here, I believe the closest location would be the Hospital of the Carolinas in Charlotte, North Carolina.”

“I don’t want to be an asshole,” I said, “but what if there’s not any when I get there?”

Hemp looked at me like he hadn’t considered that.

“Yes, good point,” he said. “Flex, the next closest stockpile would be the Beaufort Naval Hospital, but I’d guess it’s over 200 miles from here.”

“I’m going to the closest place first,” I said. “How far’s Beaufort from that Carolinas hospital?”

“We’ll map it all out before you leave,” said Hemp. “With alternate routes, too, in the event of road blockages.”

“Vaccines and shit need refrigeration, right?” asked Bug. “Gotta stay cold? Doesn’t that mean most of that crap went bad right after the power went out?”

Gem’s eyes turned to steel. “Hemp?” she said, staring at the professor.

“Yes to most vaccines, no to the antitoxin,” said Hemp. “The Diphtheria antitoxin is freeze dried,” he said. “It’s kept in vials and is activated with saline.”

“Can it go bad?” asked Gem.

“Yes, but it has a long shelf life, and I’m certain all the supply in Charlotte wouldn’t be on the cusp of going bad.”

“Hemp,” said Gem, worry in her voice. “What about the other vaccines our kids will need? You said yes and no. Will they be viable? Can we get them at the same time?”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to be able to give this answer,” said Hemp. “And a couple of years ago, I would not have had good news.”

“Spit it out, buddy,” I said, fidgeting.

“Dr. Scott Cooper, whose lab is within the hospital facility in Charlotte, North Carolina, has been working on a breakthrough that has been long deemed crucial in societal collapse situations such as this. His goal was to develop extremely stabilized strains of all available vaccines that can withstand heat or freezing. In the past, refrigeration was required to maintain the viability of all vaccines. If the temperature of the vaccine fell below freezing or heated beyond a certain level, they became ineffective.”

“Did he do it?” asked Bug, optimism in his voice.

“It is my understanding that he was successful, using the same process across the board,” said Hemp. “I am not familiar with the details, as I wasn’t directly involved, but the FDA was reviewing his work and I understand they were close to approving it for mass distribution.”

“And I assume this is significant because he had his residency at the hospital I’m heading to?” I asked.

“Cooper has a lab at the Hospital of the Carolinas,” said Hemp. “And an office. I would guess he also has a supply of the vaccines we need.”

“That is wonderful news, Hemp,” said Gem. “But let’s get back to the Diphtheria, since that’s what’s scaring the shit out of me now. How long does it take to show symptoms after you’re exposed?” Gem asked.

“Gem, sometimes there are no symptoms,” said Hemp. “I don’t want anyone getting a false sense of security.”

“Oh,” said Gem, “I don’t think anyone’s all too secure about anything these days, so don’t worry about that. But with or without symptoms, what are we talking about?”

“Anywhere from one to four days,” said Hemp. “and I’m glad you got rid of the couch. “The germ can live outside of the body for a time. Not long, but long enough, so I want a bleach wipe-down out here, and any loose blankets –”

“Burned,” interrupted Gem. “Fire is what we do with any loose fucking blankets.”

“Okay, besides you, who’s going to get the antitoxin?” asked Hemp.

“Me,” I said. “Just me. I don’t want anyone slowin’ me down, and I’m goddamned motivated. I go alone.”

Gem stared at me. “Flex, that’s bullshit.”

“I think it’s obvious that you’re staying here with our son,” I said. “I’ll take a truck with a winch. We got that Land Cruiser that Hemp tricked out with the cow catcher, a heavy duty winch and the AK-47. I’ll be fine.”

“Take my Crown Vic,” said Gem. “Nothing can get in there.”

“Too low to the ground, Gem,” I said. “I need something with a higher suspension and four-wheel drive.”

Hemp had perfected the original design of the Crown Victoria and my first Suburban, and he’d fabricated some magazines with enormous capacity. The winch on the Toyota was bigger than any we’d used before, and it had a nice cow catcher, too. It was the vehicle to take and I had no doubt of that.

“You have to take someone,” said Charlie, standing in the hall. We hadn’t noticed she’d returned from the bedroom until we spoke.

“How are the girls?” asked Gem.

“They’re fine,” said Charlie. “Flex, you need someone to watch your back. Buddy system, remember.”

“Well, I’m not taking Hemp, because he needs to be here with Charlie. I’m not taking Dave or Nelson or any of the new crew because they just got home. I can do this, Gem. I can.”

A knock came on the door, only it wasn’t so much a knock as a frantic pounding.

I ran over and grabbed my gun again, then checked the peephole.

I pulled the door open. Tony Mallette’s big, white teeth met me, but there was a look of alarm on his face, not a smile.

“You see all these fuckin’ zombies out here, Flex?” he asked.

I leaned outside. Two were dead just on the edge of the property line. I saw another two moving in the distance, on their way.

“I didn’t hear you shoot ‘em,” I said.

Tony held up a silenced handgun. “I didn’t wanna bother anyone,” he said. “Used my suppressor.”

“And yet you’re here, botherin’ us.”

Tony’s eyes flashed, and his expression turned from pleasant to angry. I pulled the door open wide.

“You fall for my shit every time, Mallette,” I said, forcing a smile. “Get in here. We got some bad news.”

“It’s been a while since we seen numbers like this, Flexy,” said Tony, stepping inside.

“I’ll explain that later,” I said. “You up for a road trip, Tony?”

“With you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s important.”

“Who else?” asked Tony. His short-sleeved shirt was buttoned from just below his solar plexus, down. He’d removed most of his gold chains, but still wore two or three rope chains, and a serpentine with dangling, Italian cornicello, an amulet designed to ward off the evil eye.

I shook my head. “Nobody. Just you and me. We could have a big storm to deal with and we need speed over numbers.”

“When do we leave, brother?” asked Tony, the smile now spreading over his bright, white caps. “I like road trips.”

“As soon as you grab your shit. We should be back in a day at most, but bring enough for two or three.”

“What are we takin’?” he asked.

“The Land Cruiser.”

“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he said. He spun on his heel and jogged his leather work boots back to his Harley, threw his leg over, fired the engine and spun gravel as he left the yard.

I watched as he withdrew his gun again and rode along the dirt and rock road, close to where the straggler rotters were advancing. He braked, put his feet down, and took each of them out with well-placed shots to their brains. The red-black mist pluming from their shattered skulls was visible from my vantage point at the door.

“He’s a good guy, but he’s a trip,” said Gem over my shoulder. “He’ll be great to have along.”

“Feel better?” I said, turning to put my arms around her and close the door with my boot.

“Not until you’re both back,” she said. “With that antitoxin shit.”

“I know how important it is, babe. I’ll be careful and I’ll get what we need. I won’t come back without it.”

“It’s my biggest fear,” she said in my ear, her voice a whisper.

“It can’t match my biggest fears, Gem,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

 

*****