The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (74 page)

She turned to Reeves.  “Kev, we need like a town hall or something.  Anyone who saw that helicopter, we need to talk to.  We have to at least figure out what direction it was flying when it left town.”

“It cut south when we saw it,” said Reeves.  “but it needed to gain altitude, and the trees were much shorter on the south side.  Flex had fired on it, so they were probably in a hurry.”

“Yeah,” said Jacko.  “Doesn’t mean he kept going that direction.”

“Let’s get in some cars and hit the streets,” said Dave.  “I’ll go all night if we need to.”

Flex slapped his hands on his jeans.  “Guys, have you forgotten we have a little rat problem and a zombie problem?  What we need before we start combing the streets is urushiol in bottles.”

“Then let’s get back to the brewery and drain off what’s extracted so far,” I said.  “Can we do that?”

“Yeah, Charlie,” said Gem.  “But there’s something else that needs to be done.  I think you need to be the one to do it.”

I looked at her.  I knew what she meant.  Right now, Trina and Taylor were with Lisa, Vikki, Kim and Victoria, in the study of the governor’s mansion. 

Taylor
had her shitty, bent-to-fuck-all cards, and I was sure they were playing a game of Fuck Off, shocking the onlookers, in particular, the three ladies in charge of their keep.  Lisa could handle it.

“Why me?”

“Because you can relate to her right now, and you’re going to tell her what you’re going through, and you two are going to cry together.  But not for long, because once I know you’ve told her, I’m coming over, too, to help soak up some of that horrible sadness.  I’ll take Trina away first.  This needs to be between the two of you.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” I asked, looking at this tough, beautiful woman who seemed to know the heart of a child so well, not to mention mine.  “Do you really know what you’re talking about?”

“Not half the time,” said Gem.  “But this time, I think so.”

I nodded.  “Okay.  But I want everyone else to get to the brewery except the five of us.  Dave?  Are you okay with it?  Fill some bottles with the zombie killing stuff?”

“Yeah, Charlie.  But hurry.  We’ll be looking for you.”

I got up and hugged Dave.  He was my favorite of the new people we’d found, him and his kinky beard and easy smile.  If I passed him on the street in
San Francisco, I’d just ask him for some weed, and I’d know he’d have it.

What’s more, I know he’d give it to me.

He hugged me back and smiled.  He nodded, his eyes perceptive.  “You’ll do fine.  Go help her through it.”

****

I watched from a distance, my man on my mind.  Gem leaned over and whispered in Trina’s arms, with Taylor watching her, curious.  Trina got up and took Gem’s hand, and they came to me. 

“Go,” she said.  “It’ll come to you.”

I walked over and went to the couch by the fireplace where they’d built a nice fire with the enormous stock of wood stacked on either side.  I patted the cushion beside me.

“Hey,
Tay.  Come here, okay?  I want to talk.”

She finished a difficult shuffle with her shitty cards and put them on the table, then ran to me.

Her red hair gleamed and shone in the flickering firelight.  Her mom had washed it just last night, and I think had given it a trim, too.  She looked adorable for a child living in the time of zombies.

“
Tay,” I said.  “I want to talk to you about your mom.”

“Is she here?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting, her very aura growing brighter.  “I feel like she’s been gone for days!”

“Well, she just left this morning with us,” I said.  “We went to … well, we went investigating around town.”

“What were you investigating?”

“Just getting the lay of the land.  Seeing how our new home was.  That’s all.”

“Is she here?” she asked.  “Or can I talk to her on the radio?”

I looked at her, then I knelt on the floor in front of her.  I swiped her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear and leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Tears came then.  I couldn’t stop them.  I looked at this child, her beautiful face, her intense green Irish eyes, and I hated to bring sadness into them.  And there it came anyway, seeing my tears.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?  Are you okay?”

I shook my head.  “I’m not okay,” I said.  “Neither are you,
Taylor.  We’re not okay right now.”

I put my arms around her and hugged her.  She shuddered under my grip.  In the hug, I turned to see Gem standing just around a distant corner, watching.  I shook my head just enough so she could tell I hadn’t done my job yet.

I pulled back, and held Taylor’s face in the palms of my hands.  “Taylor, something happened to your mom and Todd this morning.”

“Something … something terrible?” she said, the innocence of those words stabbing my heart.

I nodded.  “I wouldn’t know how else to put it, baby,” I whispered.  “Something terrible.”

The tears fell down her cheeks as her eyes bored into mine.  “Is she okay, Charlie?  Can I see her?  She’ll need me to be there with her, Charlie!”

I felt her muscles tense, and I slid my hands down her arms and held her firmly.  “Taylor, your mommy and Todd …. They didn’t make it.  They’re not alive anymore, baby.”

As I stared into that beautiful, innocent face, it went slack.  Then her eyes pleaded, and she shook her head.

“No, Charlie.  They didn’t
die
, did they?  When you said they’re not alive, are you saying they died?  My mommy is
dead
?”

“
Tay, I’m sorry, baby –”

She leapt from the couch and clenched her fists, standing in the middle of the room.  She stared at me, her face, her entire body suddenly tensed.  Her face turned red, and she screamed, “Mommy’s not dead!  My mommy’s not dead!  Bring her to me now!  I want to see my mommy!”

She screamed, and Gem ran over.  I ran to Taylor too, and we both knelt before her and wrapped our arms around her, squeezing her tight.  She fought us, but we held on, the three of us in a tight cluster, and it had to be more than half an hour before her body went slack and she withdrew into herself.

Taylor
had checked out.  Some great fucking job I did.  I never even shared with her that Hemp was missing, and I was sad and lost, too.  I vowed that I would not give up.  I would stay with her, talk to her and hold her until she started feeling again.  I would make her better.

I hoped, in time, we would all be better.

Chapter 10

The helicopter felt as though it were flying fairly low to the ground. I’m not sure why, because as far as I knew, there would be nobody attempting to track it.

The men who had abducted me kept the hood over my head.  No landmarks, no indicators of where I was being taken.

I sat there, the muffled beat of the rotor blades unable to drown out my sorrow.  My friends were behind me.

Charlie was behind me.  The only thing I could cling to was that no matter what, I knew where she was.  She was in Concord, New Hampshire.

Of course I worried.  She would not stay there indefinitely; that woman would hit the road with that bloody crossbow of hers and look for me. 

But she’d never find me like that, I knew.

I have an almost mechanical timer that runs in my head, and I can calculate time pretty much perfectly.  I remember doing it when my father went into the back rooms of those pawn shops.  I always felt he was in some danger there, because often the men scheduled to meet him there were not like him; they were not good men. 

So, I would walk around the outer area of the usually closed shop and look at everything, a counter going off in my head.  Fifteen minutes … a half hour … beyond.  I had no idea what I’d do with the information, or when I’d ask about him, but he always came out before I had to make the decision, so it was a moot point.

But the talent stuck.  We’d been flying for thirty minutes or so, and I felt as though we were nearing our destination.  I could feel the men moving around me, preparing.

The floor was heavily padded and carpeted.  The interior of the chopper was fairly plush, I could tell, just from the acoustics.

I was sure it was a Sikorsky, either an S-75 or an S-76.  I could easily tell it was a four-blade copter, just from the beat of the blades against the wind.

This was an executive helicopter, likely privately owned.

I felt the rotor angle and we began a sideways descent.  In a few more moments, we touched down and the rotors began to slow.

“Mr. Chatsworth, we’re going to lead you inside now.  You’ll have to continue to wear the hood for now.”

“I’m not really in a position to argue,” I said.  “Who are you?”

“Assistants,” he said. 

“Very informative, thanks.”

I could hear a generator running, because the helicopter engine had been cut.  It might have been multiple generators.  I smelled propane on the mild breeze.

This time only one man took me by the arm.  “Walk straight ahead,” he said.  “I’ll tell you if you need to turn.”

The man expertly directed me inside, and I was taken into what felt like a larger room.  Well-insulated, with soft carpet beneath my feet.  I was lowered into a chair.

“Your host will be with you in a moment,” the man who’d guided me inside said.  “Can I get you some water?”

“I can’t very well drink it wearing this thing, so I’ll pass.”

“Sorry,” he said.

I felt him untying the loosely tied drawstring at my neck. 

“I’m
Gary,” Mr. Chatsworth.  Allow me to apologize right up front for the way we got you here.”

He lifted the hood off, and the room swam into view.  I was in a mansion.  No other way to describe it.  Columns, gleaming brass accents, in a room that had to be at least twenty-four meters square.  The floor featured multiple levels and a sunken center section with an enormous fireplace that would probably accommodate a six-foot man standing up in its opening.  No fire burned in it now.

A large portrait hung over the fireplace, its gold leaf frame echoing an old-style elegance, and a smiling, yet serious face staring out at the room, erasing the mystery of the owner of the home in which I was being held captive.

It was Ryan Carville.  The multi-billionaire.

I was in northern Vermont.

I stared in disbelief at the man called Gary, who’d led me in and had removed my hood. 

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t accept your apology.  What does Mr. Carville want with me?”

The young man smiled in response.  “I’ll wait for him to tell you that,” he said.

I estimated Gary to be in his late twenties.  He had a goatee with no mustache, and his blonde hair was lightly stiffened with some hair product or another.  I imagined Gem and Charlie would either directly or privately scoff at him for bothering with it when staying alive had become primary and paramount to most of the remaining population; vanity was somewhere far down the list. His hands were soft-looking and clean, the nails manicured. 

He wasn’t one of the men who’d grabbed me.  He wore khakis and a white, long-sleeved, button down shirt with the Carville International logo embroidered above the left breast pocket, and there had been no time to change.

He didn’t look the part anyway.  Too soft.

“My friends need me,” I said.  “We’re working on some projects that could help all of us.”

“I’m fairly certain Mr. Carville knows what you’re working on, which should explain why you’re here.”

A man came into the room through a pair of double doors.  He was dressed in a dark suit with a maroon tie, and he walked toward me with his hand extended.

“Ah, Mr. Chatsworth!” he exclaimed, as he drew to within five feet.  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  I’ve heard so much about you.”

I was standing before I realized I had even done it.  British etiquette, I suppose.  Automatic.  I managed not to shake his hand, though.

“By doing what you’ve done, you’ve put my friends at risk,” I said.  “It’s inexcusable.”

Carville stared at me, an interesting expression on his face.  I’d seen it before; when a reporter had asked him a pointed question about one of his business ventures, and he had the answer, but just wasn’t ready to divulge it yet.

Either that, or he was simply sizing me up.  His reddish hair was neatly combed from a side part to the opposite side of his head, and his eyes were sharp and inquisitive.  He didn’t exactly smile, but his expression was not inhospitable.

“Then you’ve got some work to do, Mr. Chatsworth,” he said.  “When that work is done, you may go back to
Concord if you wish.”

“What work?” I asked.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have, what many are calling, a zombie problem.  And more recently a rat problem.  The latter of which surprised a good number of my staff.”

“Your staff?” I asked.  “Mr. Carville, how could you have a staff?  Over ninety percent of them had to have died, and I can’t imagine the others would continue to blindly serve you though all of this.”

Now he did smile.  “I know, I know.  It seems crazy, when the officials hired to keep the people safe cut out to fend for themselves.”

He paced over to the fireplace, and looked up at the portrait of him.  “I wonder if he’s dead.”

I was confused.  The portrait was of him.  “Excuse me?”

“The artist. 
Murray Finlayson.  He was wonderful.  I said I wonder if he’s dead, or if he’s one of them.”

“I need to know what you want with me.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

I was hungry, but I didn’t answer. 

“Look, Mr. Chatsworth.  If you know me from the news or practically anywhere else, then you know I’m a business man.  I’m fair, and I’ve made a lot of money without creating a ton of enemies.  That’s
because
I’m fair.  I give to charities, and I support my community.”

He turned to look at me.  “Can you agree to that?”

I considered it.  People tended to like Carville.  He was a billionaire, but he was a very well known New York real estate tycoon, and his name was emblazoned on many of the skyscrapers in the city.  He endeared himself to the public and the press with humor, going against the grain in politics, and basically acting invincible.

Which seemed to actually make him
more
invincible.

I nodded.  “I’ll agree that you’re a fairly popular businessman.  But that has no bearing on what you’ve done today, because as you might imagine, you’re not very popular with me at the moment.”

“Understood,” he said.  He sat in the chair across from me.  “And understandable.  But I have a problem, and I need you to help me solve it.  Obviously we have more than one problem, but I’ve prioritized.”

“I need to let them know I’m okay,” I said.  “My wife is back there.”

“You got married?  Well, congratulations, Mr. Chatsworth.  I really feel as though I could call you Hemp, I feel like I’ve known you so long.”

“How on earth would you feel as if you know me?” I asked.  “We’ve never met.”

“Your broadcast from the steel supply warehouse in Alabama,” he replied.  “I must have listened to it a hundred times.  Hearing your voice was like seeing an old friend.”

My anger surged.  I stood up, my muscles tensed.  I pointed down at him and said, “Look here, you pompous fuck.  You’ve put my wife and my family at risk by taking me away from them.  I am the type of man who, if asked, would have most likely helped you, but this is unacceptable. If you want anything from me, then you’ll do as I say and let me contact them immediately.”

He waved at Gary who stood by the far door.  He pulled the door open and two armed men entered.

“I appreciate your passion, Mr. Chatsworth, but a threatening demeanor will not gain you favor among my people.”

“Your people?”

“Sit down, please.”

I stared down at him, then glanced again at the armed men.  They looked military, but it could just be the clothing.  Something about the way they held their firearms looked awfully like soldiers I’d seen on the news, and guarding the CDC during crises.

I dropped back into the chair.

“Better, Mr. Chatsworth.  Would you like to see one of the reasons I’ve brought you here?”

I let out my breath in a heavy sigh, and realized it sounded like defeat, even to me.  I didn’t like the feeling.  I’d not conceded any sort of defeat for many, many years, and I wouldn’t allow this man to change that.

“I get the distinct feeling it doesn’t matter what my answer is, so just show me.”

“Very well,” he said.  “All pretense and mystery goes away now, Mr. Chatsworth.  I’m as serious about the reason you’re here, as you are about returning to your friends and family.  Remember that.”

I didn’t know what to say.  He hadn’t told me why I was there yet.  Time would tell if there was a way out of this.  I stood again when he did.

Gary
opened the door and the armed men led the way.  I was surprised to see the entire home lit up as though power were not an issue.  Everything appeared to be functional, and there was even soft, classical music drifting from unseen speakers throughout the home.

We took an elevator down three floors.  There were five buttons on the control panel.  I’d come in on the roof apparently, and had no idea how many levels the home was.  We could be on the first floor or in a basement.

The doors slid open, and we stepped out.  The space was well-lit, but the lack of any windows told me we were indeed, in the basement of his mansion.   The men led the way, and we reached a huge Plexiglas wall.

Beyond it was a lab.  It must have been double the size of the main lab at the CDC, but there was good reason for it.  It contained every machine I’d ever seen, whether in a hospital or a lab.  There were no solid walls within; all were thick
Plexiglas or acrylic, and people in this room could be observed from anywhere, unless they were behind one of the machines, out of sight.

I looked at Carville.  “Did you put this together for me?”

“I did,” he answered.

“Why?”

“I could take no chances.  Every medical machine known to man is here,” he said.  “I made sure of it.”

“And are they functional?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Mr. Carville, these machines require calibration, delicate relocation methods.  One errant bump into a wall can knock lenses out of position, rendering them useless.  One maladjustment could do the same for any one of these machines.”

“They have been moved with extreme care, and installed by technicians who know how to use them,” he said.  “But they don’t know what
you
know, so other than setting the equipment up, they’re useless to me.”

“And what the hell do you think I know, Carville?  What exactly do you want me to do with all of this?”

“I’ll give you the project, and you will determine what to do with it.  Come.”

He walked on, and I looked behind me where the two men in fatigues followed us, carrying what appeared to be M4 Carbines.  The M4 was a powerful weapon that had essentially replaced the M16 used by most of the
US military for many years.  It was a compact version, shorter and lighter than the M16, but still accommodated a grenade launcher, even with a barrel a full three inches shorter.