Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle (2 page)

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 s
he 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 . . . n
ot 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 p
iercing
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 attendant
s
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 di
dn’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 n
eeded 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 minute
s 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 w
ent 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.