Bigfoot War 3: Food Chain (3 page)

Greg paused, casting a glance at the bedroom. “I love you, Anna,” he whispered and then stepped outside.

The door didn’t lock from the exterior side, but Anna would be safe within as he didn’t plan on going far from the house until later in the day. Greg headed around the corner of the house to check on their garden. Nothing had disturbed it overnight. Not that it mattered. What little had grown before the ground completely dried up was brown and dead and continuing to wither into nothingness. It was far too late in the season to harvest much more from it anyway.

Greg sat in the brown grass at the edge of the garden. What would they do? he wondered. Anna was right about their food problem. Without the harvest he’d been counting on, they’d never make it through the winter months. He was condemning them to a slow, painful, and maddening death if he couldn’t figure out an answer. Even if he was a better hunter there simply wasn’t enough real game in the area to sustain them. Greg knew they weren’t the last people on Earth no matter what Anna claimed. Though it felt like ancient history, a mere fifteen years had gone by since civilization had crumbled. The end had come hard and fast. One day everything was normal. Moms were driving their children to school, teenagers were texting away on their cells, and the stock market was beginning to pull out of a long recession. War raged on in the Middle East, reality shows dominated the channels, and porn filled the internet. Soccer games were played, monster trucks roared, and
Star Trek XII
was days from being released. Then, overnight, the virus came. The dead stopped being dead. They climbed out of hospital beds, car wrecks, and fresh graves hungry for the flesh of the living. For the first several hours of the apocalypse, everyone, including the media, pretended it wasn’t real and actually happening. Who could believe Bigfoot was real let alone the beasts carried in their blood a virus that meant the end of everything as humanity knew it? But when the sun rose the next day and one’s neighbors were pounding rotting fists on the front door, denial was no longer an option. All you could do was try to stay alive.

Things went downhill from there pretty rapidly. The C.D.C. claimed they had a plan. The military sprang into action. The president went so far as to authorize nuclear strikes on the United States’ major cities. Of course, he didn’t have to worry about fallout. He was supposedly safe and broadcasting from a nuclear bunker somewhere and anyone with half a brain could realize there wouldn’t be another election for a long, long time, if there ever was one again. Most folks were either hunkered down in their boarded-up homes and basements with prayers on their lips or on the run by that point.

He and Anna owned the house way out here in the middle of “Nowhere, North Carolina,” so they gathered what supplies they could, and made their way here with Eric in their arms. Eric had been eight years old then and thought the whole thing was utterly cool, like one of his video games come to life until he came face-to-face with the reality of it on the road. He grew up real fast. A lot faster than either of them would have liked.

Greg pushed the dark memories filling his head aside and got up. Like it or not, if they wanted to stay alive, they were going to be running again real soon.

* * *

“So what’s all this about?” Sebastian asked, blowing smoke from his homemade cigar into the morning air.

Josey
waved the smoke away from her. “Put that thing out,” she said.

Roberts chuckled at their exchange. Tattoos covered his long arms, symbols of pride. For
Josey
, her short-cropped, red hair only enhanced the toughness of her appearance.

“I’d like to see you tell General Thane that,” she said to
Josey
. The two of them had never really gotten on.
Josey
, though a soldier, remained very much the talk of the men around the city in a whole other sort of conversation than the ones usually had about Roberts.
Josey
was five years younger, just as in shape, but kept the demeanor of a woman off duty and not that of a stone cold killer.

“His cigarettes don’t stink half as much as the crap he’s smoking.”
Josey
gestured at Sebastian, who scowled at her in return for the remark.

“Not to mention,” Brian the fourth and final member the assembled group pointed out, “Thane would likely kill you where you stand if you told him that to his face.”

“Let me try this again,” Sebastian said, grinding out the tip of his cigar on the side of the APC they were all gathered around. “Anyone know why we’re all freezing our butts off out here?” He thumped the side of the APC with his hand. “I
ain’t
seen one of these outta the garage in years. Doesn’t the fact that it’s here freak you out a bit?”

“Maybe we’re taking a field trip.” Roberts grinned. “Going to pet the beasties.”

Brian went along with Roberts’s humor. “I hear there’s some of the dead still hanging around Disneyland.”

“Frag the dead, man.” Sebastian shook his head. “They
ain’t
nothing to worry about. Not enough of them left anymore.”

“Neither are the beasts, if you know how to deal with them,” Thane said, emerging from the shadows where he’d been watching them all. The others jumped at his sudden appearance. Sebastian,
Josey
, and Brian snapped to attention, but Roberts merely nodded at him though her grip on the huge battle axe she carried appeared to tighten.

“New Denver is home to nearly twelve hundred people. More than four hundred of them serve in the militia and the city guard. Each of you is the best at what you do. That’s why you’re here,” he told them. “Even if you don’t know him personally, I am sure all of you have heard of Wally Morgan.”

“Oh man,” Sebastian muttered under his breath, “don’t tell me he finally cracked.”

Thane ignored him, continuing on: “Three weeks ago, Wally simply disappeared. Since then, we’ve had no radio contact with him nor was he given any assignment by the council that there’s any record of. Hunters are granted a great deal of independence to decide what tasks they feel are needed to ensure the survival of this city and our species, so at first no one questioned his absence. However, the council gave me permission to do some digging given Wally’s history. It seems the fool went so far as to leave a letter in his quarters resigning his status.”

“You don’t quit being a Hunter,” Roberts growled, clearly disgusted.

“Exactly,” Thane said. “Our boy has gone AWOL and we’re about to show him the error in judgment he’s made as painfully as we can.”

“Hunting a Hunter. That’s crazy.” Brian frowned. “It won’t be easy.”

“That’s an understatement,”
Josey
said. “I’ve seen Wally in action. He’s deadlier than all of us put together.”

Thane moved like a blur.
Josey
moved to try to defend herself, but Thane was faster. His hand closed around her throat, slamming her backwards into the side of the APC before her
Glock
cleared its holster. It slipped from her hand and bounced onto the dirt at their feet as she struggled to breathe.

“What did you say?” Thane snarled at her, spittle flying onto her cheeks.

“Nothing . . . sir.”

Thane released her and turned to face the others as
Josey
rubbed at the red wounds forming on her skin.

“Wally’s good, but not unstoppable. He’s just a man and he will be brought to justice,” Thane said. “He’s got a large head start on us, but he’s on foot. We won’t be.”

“That’s great,” Brian said. “I don’t understand why I’m here, sir. The rest of you are all hardcore warriors. Sure, I’m qualified to drive that carrier, but so are you, sir.
Josey
there is, too. I’ve never really even seen combat except on the wall.”

“Mr. Evans,” Thane said, “you are quite likely the smartest man alive.”

Thane smirked as Brian’s mouth snapped shut and he blushed from the praise.

“I’ve read your file. You’re a qualified driver and pilot, yes, but more so you’re a field scientist and well-schooled in old world electronics. I’m told you’re rather gifted at getting old world tech to do what you want it to. I believe Wally’s ultimate destination is an underground complex which was open to civilians during the early days of the Fall. If I am right, your rather specific skills will be greatly needed.”

“Well, I guess that explains why nerd boy is here. I was beginning to wonder myself, to be honest,” Sebastian said and placed the remains of his cigar back between his lips. “So we gonna do this or what?”

* * *

The wind screamed through the forest as Wally searched for a place to take cover. A storm was coming. Lightning already danced in the black clouds rushing towards him from the horizon. They blotted out the sun, bringing an early darkness with them. He spotted a half-collapsed barn in the distance and poured on the speed in its direction. Wally knew there were caves nearby as well and knew what lived in them. Hopefully the weather would keep the beasts inside until he was clear of their territory. He didn’t plan on staying in the barn for very long, just long enough to better equip himself for the rain. His gut told him he’d be fine walking, but he needed to don his rain gear and double-check the waterproofing of his pack.

He noticed something moving in the shadows. He spun, popping a throwing dagger into his hand from the mechanism under his left sleeve. The beast stood over nine feet tall and shaggy brown hair covered it from head to toe. Its yellow eyes gleamed with rage. A low, guttural growl arose in its throat. It was a young one. This encounter could go either way depending on whether the beast was wise enough to walk away or not.

Wally cursed himself silently. He was losing his edge. He should have seen or heard it coming much before this.

Dropping his dagger, he opened his hands, keeping them where they were, and did his best to remain as still as possible. The beast and the Hunter stared at each other as the rain began to fall harder and faster around them. If the beast wanted a fight, he’d give it one. The hilt of his katana was within easy reach above his backpack. The beast’s breath came in long grunts, its shoulders rising and falling with each one.

Wally held his ground and waited. If the beast took him for easy prey, he’d have to spill its blood. He had no grudge against the beast and it was so close the odds were in its favor if it did come to violence. Rearing back its head, it roared so loudly the earth beneath Wally’s feet seemed to tremble. When Wally didn’t so much as flinch at its fury, the young beast snorted and turned its back on him, disappearing into the trees. Wally gave it a full minute to depart before he started to move again. When he was sure it was gone, he broke into a full-out sprint for the barn. As soon as he was under the cover of what remained of its time-worn roof, he shrugged his pack from his shoulders and tore it open. Though he was now drenched to the bone, the pack’s waterproofing had done its job. He dried his hands carefully and lifted the battered photo of
Bree
from the pack. Wally hadn’t touched her skin or tasted her lips in over a decade, but her simple beauty, captured in the snapshot of her on the beach, stopped his heart every time he looked at it. It was his fault they weren’t still together. His career had hamstrung their relationship and drove an ever-widening wedge of coldness between them. How many times had he neglected her while telling her she was all that mattered to him? When the end of the world came, he should’ve been there with her, but he was with his unit, trying to hold the ever-growing hordes of the dead at bay. Wally knew regret every day that had passed since the last time he saw
Bree
. He made sure the photo was safe and placed it back inside his pack. He donned his rain gear and sealed the pack shut again.

He knew from experience sometimes a ghost of the past could hurt you far more than any real life monster standing in front of you ever could. In the aftermath of the dead plague, he channeled his guilt into anger. Over the years, he had killed over a hundred of the beasts and sent thousands of the dead back to Hell, but none of that had brought
Bree
into his arms again. Everyone told him she was dead or something worse, but he refused to believe any such thing.
Bree
was a survivor and he could feel her in his heart. She was still alive somewhere and he would find her or die trying.

* * *

Greg raised the garage door. A silver and black Mustang sat inside. He walked to it and lovingly ran his palm over the metal of its hood, wiping away layers of dust in the process. He doubted Anna remembered it was here. Not so long ago, he’d invested a great deal of time in caring for it as well as he could, but after Eric’s . . . . He let the thought go, focusing on the car. The simple truth was he wasn’t a mechanic. For all his time and effort in those years gone by, he imagined it would fall apart if he tried to crank it.