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

shoulder and lied to him.
    “It’s okay, Bill.  We’ll help you.”
    He didn’t swallow my bullshit. 
    “I’m not going to make it.  I know that.  But I didn’t want to get eaten, so this is the better alternative to that,” he said.
    There was nothing to say.  Flex pulled a bottle of water from his belt and passed it to me.  I unscrewed the top and tilted it against Bill’s lips.  He drank it until the bottle was empty.
    “You guys have free reign,” said Bill, wiping his mouth with one dirty sleeve.  “Anything you need.”
    “The building’s clear I assume?” said Hemp.
    “It is.  I’m alone.  Haven’t been outside, but the gate was locked when I got here, so I assume they’re not climbing over barbed wire yet.  I had a lot of water and sodas and some frozen burgers and a little propane grill.  I’ve been living on frozen hamburger patties.  I don’t think I’ve taken a shit in days.  All that fuckin’ meat.”
    “Okay, Bill” said Flex.  “Thank you.  We’ll do what we can to help you.”
    Hemp nodded at Flex and me, and motioned toward the door.
    “Bill, we’ll be right back.   Do you guys want to go out and get Cynthia and the girls?”
    Max and Charlie nodded and followed us out.  When we were alone, Hemp looked at us squarely.  “He can help us,” he said, his face grim.
    “How?” I asked.
    “When he passes,” said Hemp.  “As soon as he passes.   Immediately thereafter.”
    “After?” I asked.
    “His brain,” whispered Hemp.
    Neither Flex nor I said anything.  We waited for him to explain.
    “For my BSN.  I’ll need a baseline for the scent of a fresh brain.  I had no idea how I’d get one, but now this.”
    “We need to ask him,” I said.  “I think I’d want to approve that before someone used mine.”
    “Yeah,” Flex said.  “The ethical thing to do.”
    “I just don’t know how to explain it to him,” said Flex.  “And I really don’t want to ask him now.  I think he’ll need to know us a bit better before I’d dare make such a bizarre request.”
    “If he starts to get worse, then we’ll have to,” I said.  “Let’s just keep him comfortable and play it by ear.”
    “Alright,” said Hemp.  “But it’s important.  If we let this opportunity get by us, we may not get another.”
     
    *****

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    The office was actually very nice inside, around 280 square feet with padded carpeting, beige fabric covered walls, a bathroom and a small kitchenette. 
    Bill explained that the large propane tank outside was almost full when the outbreak hit, but that ran the emergency generator.  He didn’t want to use crucial propane for cooking, so he used the small propane grill in the main building for cooking his burgers.  There were at least forty of the small gas cylinders remaining.
    We figured we could set up the office space as a living area eventually, and have a nice workshop inside with plenty of steel available for building defenses.  There were three welders of various types, several cutting torches and plenty of welding rods, helmets, gloves and other equipment.
    We manually rolled up one of the electric bay doors using the chain gear and pulled all the vehicles inside.  Flex spun the suburban around and faced it outward just in front of the main door in case we needed to make a quick exit for any reason.  Just in case.
    The place was dusty, though.  We didn’t need slight allergies blossoming into full-blown asthma, either for us or the girls, so we set about sweeping the place.  We found several 50lb bags of soy-based sweeping compound, so we put it in buckets and let Trina and Taylor have fun throwing it all over the floor while we followed, sweeping it back up.  It kept the dust down as advertised, and in two hours the huge concrete warehouse floor was clean.  It would be quite a job staying on top of it, though.
    Charlie and Hemp unloaded all the food from the various