Dead Hunger III: The Chatsworth Chronicles by Eric A. Shelman

about Ham radios, other stuff.  I didn’t make too much of it, but I found it odd.”
    “I hope they die out there,” said Gem.
    Todd and Charlie had walked over, and Todd did appear to be alright .
    “Todd, you sure you’re okay ?” I asked.
    He nodded.  “Yeah.  Guys, I’m sorry.  I thought they were okay.  I didn’t think to worry about – ”
    “Todd,” interrupted Gem.  “ They overpowered you.  How would you know?”
    Her eyes suddenly shifted.  Then Charlie’s. 
    And then we all looked. 
    “What the hell?” said Flex, voicing what we all wondered.
    We hadn’t yet had time to tell them the worst of the news when an inky blackness appeared low on the distant horizon , swallowing the entire width of the highway as it grew closer and closer .  It looked like black paint was flowing along the concrete roadway toward us, some sort of freakish CGI animation.
    “What is it?” said Gem, transfixed.
    “I have no idea, but it looks like it’s coming this way at a good clip ,” said Charlie.
    Gem ran to the Crown Vic and leaned in the door.  She came back out with binoculars, and held them up to her eyes.
    “What is it, babe?” asked Flex.
    Gem gave the binoculars over to Flex.
    He looked.  “Are those . . .”
    “ They’re rats.”
    And as the blackness drew closer, we could indeed see that it was not one entity, but many smaller ones, moving together as one , covering the roadway in what appeared to be a solid sheet.
    Rats.  Moving toward us like a lava flow .
    “Get the hell in the car, everyone, now!” said Flex. 
    He didn’t have to tell us twice .   When we were in, he fired the engine and floored it.  Thirty seconds later Flex slammed on the brakes, the car behind the bus.  We all jumped out.
    The group gathered around us.
    “ Everyone, g et back in a vehicle,” I said, with as much urgency as I had ever mustered.  I pointed up the highway where the two lanes appeared to be alive.
    “ Get in any vehicle and be ready to move.  I don’t know why they’re advancing like they are , b ut that thing on the road that looks like a black lava flow is , in actuality, a mischief of rats.  To put it into language that many of you, and of course, Flex would understand, a mischief translates to a shitload.  I estimate their numbers at more than a thousand, but I could be off by half and I don’t have any interest in finding out why they’re acting in this manner or what they’ re after.”
    Nobody said a word or cracked a smile at my attempt at humor .  Instead, e veryone turned and charged for a vehicle .  We were back in with doors closed in under twenty seconds.   Engines fired, and we were rolling.
    Instinctively, everyone went back to original vehicle configurations, aside from Todd, who got in the bus with Dave, Lisa and their charges.
    From our vantage point in the lead of the caravan, I couldn’t see how close the rats had gotten before we were on the move.  To be honest, I didn’t want to know.
    But I now had two more things on my already jam-packed mind. 
    Rory and Pete and their intentions.
    The pile of rats we’d encountered in the warehouse charged back into my mind.  Dead.  Not decomposed.
    Charlie sat beside me again, staring.  Before I could say anything, she looked at me, touched me on the shoulder.  I turned to her, keeping one eye on the road ahead.
    “What, Charlie?”
    “Baby.  Are those zombie rats?”
    I shook my head, my face grim .  Unfortunately, I think we both already knew the answer ; I was just reluctant to put my thoughts into words.
    Charlie wasn’t.
    “Fucking zombie rats,” she said.  “Sweetie .   How many can there be ? ”
    The radio crackled, and I heard Flex’s voice.
    “Hemp, Dave.  Come in.”
    “I’m here,” said Dave.
    “Hey, Flex,” I said.  “I’ve a feeling I know what you want.”
    “Hemp, what are you thinking?  About the rats.”
    I looked at Charlie, then back at the road.  A green sign with