Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle by Eric A. Shelman Page B

didn’t blame her.
    I reached up, and w ith a quick jerk of the trigger cord, the thing’s head exploded from its body and it collapsed in a heap of rotten clothing, dried blood and brittle bones .
    I locked the gun back into forward position and calmly put the car in drive.
    We pulled away, all of us feeling quite a bit less optimistic about the future than we had just twenty minutes earlier.
    Of that I have no doubt at all .
     
    *****
     
    We re-entered the freeway about three miles up the road at the next onramp and made it to the outskirts of Birmingham just after nightfall.  The weather was warm – steamy, really – and we were all exhausted.
    Trina and Taylor had fallen asleep, having worn one another out with the rock, paper, scissors game.  What should have been just over a two-hour drive had turned into four. 
    By the time we got there I wanted to wad up the paper, take the rock and scissors, and toss all that shit out the window.
    But we still needed a place to put up our feet.  I was thinking for the night we could find a house that seemed well-protected.  I radioed Flex.
    “Babe?  I’m thinking a house might work for tonight.  Wanna look for a residential area?”
    “Or a motel,” he said.  They’d only have one entry per room, so if we can get a few rooms next to one another it might keep us from having to guard too many approaches.”
    “Good idea,” said Hemp, listening in.  “And this thing is getting low on fuel, so my kingdom for some diesel.”
    “Gem, we’re going to need that hand pump.  We might be able to get diesel right out of the ground at a gas station.”
    “Screw that, Flex.  You’re an electrician, right?  Why don’t you just run a cable from our generator to the electric panel on the station pumps?  Shut off all the breakers we don’t need and leave the pump power on.”
    “That’s why I married you,” he said.
    I clicked the walkie again.  “You didn’t marry me, mister.”
    “I’m gonna.  Just you wait and see,” he said, a smile in his voice.
    I think I got those chills again, but this time it was for a good reason.  A nice reason, I should say.
    Hemp pulled into a Kangaroo Express with a sign showing diesel fuel.  It was on a street littered with stalled vehicles called Tallapoosa Street .  When we pu lled to a stop I looked around in all directions.  I knew everyone else was doing the same thing.
    Where were all the ghouls?  They had to be here somewhere.  The air was still, which meant our scent wouldn’t be blowing in all directions like chum in shark-infested water, but I didn’t want to be outside for long no matter what.
    “When I get out, lock it, Cynthia.  And let them sleep, okay?”
    “Okay.  Can I help?”
    “Just stay with the girls.  That’s a big enough help,” I said.  “Once we get you trained, you can help in different ways, okay?”
    She smiled and nodded.  I tried to remember that we all had our terrible stories of how this all began, and hadn’t really learned much about hers yet.  When she was willing to talk about it I’d sit with her.
    I checked the Uzi’s magazine, and it was right where I’d left it; full.  I put the strap over my shoulder and got out of the car.  Flex waited outside for me, and Hemp had pulled the motor home up to the diesel pump.  It was unlocked, but as expected, there was no power.
    Charlie got out of the Suburban with the crossbow slung over her shoulder and walked to where we gathered.
    “There should be a bypass key for the pumps,” said Flex.  “I’ll look for it inside.”
    He wore one of the headlamps but hadn’t turned it on yet.  He gave one to me and I passed it to Charlie.  I unstrapped the one that was wrapped around the barrel of my Uzi and put it on.
    “Okay.  Hemp,” I called.  “Stay by your van and you’ll know by the bells and whistles when you’re ready to pump.”
    “I’ll scream if anything goes wrong,” he said, smiling.
    We went inside the