The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (139 page)

Leona slowly turned, her mouth moving as though she were chewing, and her eyes met mine again.  Gone.  Dead.  My Leona was dead.  I pulled the gun from my pants and held it toward her, my hand trembling.

She seemed to hesitate.  Leona stopped completely and stared at my hand holding the gun.  I lowered it.  She resumed her trek toward me instantly, dragging her left leg and reaching out to me with both black-grey arms.

I raised the gun and pulled the trigger.  Yes, my eyes were closed.  I loved her with everything in me, which is why I pulled the trigger in the first place.

When I opened my eyes I expected to see her mid-fall, but she was now a foot from my arm, her teeth bared as she prepared to bite my gun hand.

I fired again, this time the bullet passing through her nose.  I hadn’t had time to close my eyes.  This time Leona fell and lay motionless.

I ran out of the room and slammed the door.

I turned my back to it and slid down to the floor, where I sat for an amount of time that I can’t calculate or comprehend.  In my mind, I had just shot the woman I loved.  A little while ago we had been making love together.

Or had
I
just been making love to
her
?  She hadn’t slept well that night.  I knew that from her tossing and turning in her covers.  I had barely slept because of her thrashing.  Leona was a sound sleeper, so it was unusual.  She’d moaned and cried out, but didn’t wake up.

I struggled to my feet and turned to face the closed door.  I leaned forward, my forehead resting against the cold wood.  My tears began to come again and I welcomed them.  Leona deserved all of them, for all of eternity – all I had left to cry. 

“I love you, Leona,” I whispered.  “I’ll miss you.  I’m so sorry this happened and I’m sorry I couldn’t just give myself to you.”  I was quiet for a moment and added, “Sorry I didn’t have the balls to do that for you.”

My tears came on too heavy for me to finish what I felt had to be said, tough I knew she was beyond my words now.  If her spirit was as powerful as I had always believed it to be, she was listening.

“Leona, you’re an eagle now, or a hawk, or some kind of goddamned bird of prey.  Whenever I see you soaring overhead, I’ll whisper your name, I promise.  That way you’ll know you still give me strength to go forward no matter what happens from here.”

I stood up straight again, my
breath beginning to settle a bit, but my mind ramping up; planning my next moves.

             
Chapter Two             

I rushed to the living room and found the remote for Denny’s huge 70” Sony television.  I hit the power button and flipped to Fox News.

The picture was sideways, and I could hear the voice of a remote anchor, but I could not see him.  The camera was moving, but it was pointed at the ground, and occasionally, a hand would swing into the picture.

This shit was happening in New York.  I was in Florida.  It was all over. 

The skin of the hand that I kept catching brief glimpses of looked strange.  I hit rewind until the hand swung back into view.

Thank God for DVR technology.  The hand paused on the screen when I hit the button, and I walked toward the TV.  It was riddled with veins, the nails dark.

Like
Leona.  Like Mrs. Dunaway.  Like Denny Steele.  I hit play again and watched intently.

“What are you doin’, Frank?  What the fuck’s wrong with you?  Same as these guys?  Stay back, Frank!  Stay back!”

But I could tell by watching that Frank the cameraman was going toward the anchor, not staying back.  The voice of the anchor  was still loud, as though he either still held a hand-held microphone, or he had a lapel mic on.

Now he was crying.  “Frank, it’s me, Shep!  If you’ll just sit down, I can try to find a – Frank!”

The camera fell to the ground and for a moment, nothing appeared in its line of sight.  Seconds later, I saw legs running through the shot, and a second pair – not running. 

Shambling.

It’s that awkward moment when suddenly we’re all the same, and it’s way more fucked up than the diversity some of us opposed in life.

But
I
wasn’t like
them
.  Not yet.

The guys had run out of the picture so I turned the channel.  Fucking Wheel of Fortune was on, and because it was pre-taped, everyone looked stupid, happy and normal.

I’d take that.  I’d take that if I could have my Leona back, because I was used to that shit already.  I’d be as brain dead as those contestants if it could be with my Leona the way she was before her headache kicked in.

Only thing is, Leona would never have accepted me that way.  She liked smart, crazy and strange, which is why I was her man.  Stupid, happy and normal and she’d have flushed me like an inverted goldfish.

Too late for that.  I’d already shot her in the face, hadn’t I?  I hadn’t even known then exactly what she had become, or any of the others.  I just instinctively knew that they were very dangerous.  None of them had taken a chunk out of me, but when a dog chases you with its teeth bared, you run, assuming the worst.

When it’s people doing the same thing, and when a gunshot to the heart doesn’t do shit to stop them, you’d better assume that what’s coming is far worse than a dog bite.

I flipped again.  This time there was a reporter on who seemed to know something, and who seemed to be filming himself.  I came on in the middle, so missed what he said to start out.

“ … run and find a secure place.  From what I’ve found, just a closed door is enough, but lock it anyway.  If you hear someone asking to be let in, ask them if they were bitten or scratched, but if they can talk, they are not affected.”

I almost called out a question before realizing this man, who looked anything but the part of a reporter, was not available for questions.

“… reported odd dreams last night and many called in themselves or were called in by someone else.  I’m locked in here now, and there are a lot of noises outside.  I’ve heard some screaming, and I initially heard someone you all know begging for their life, but that ended … I don’t even want to say how.”

He was standing in front of a floor camera, and as he spoke, he kept jerking his head from side to side, as though watching for something.  His eyes were wild and his voice was not broadcast quality.  He answered why when he spoke next.

“I’m normally the operator of the camera here.  I came under attack when Janelle Jameson … changed.  She came in this morning saying that some man bit her on the subway, and we all chalked it up to typical
New York crazies.  Then …”

He stopped talking and turned his back to the camera.  He ran straight away from the lens, and you could see him off to the right grabbing something from the floor.  When he stood again, it looked like a broken boom microphone arm. 

He hefted it and swung it in a wide arc as another man, very thin, his shirt torn open, took the boom to the head and went down.  The man who had been talking to me pulled back his arms and swung that piece of metal downward as hard as he could.

And again.  And again.

Then he held the boom in his hands as he stared down at the body on the floor, breathing hard.  He swallowed hard and threw the boom onto the floor, then rushed back to the camera.

“Shit, you see what’s going on.  They attack you.  No talking, no nothing.  They jerk, they don’t move.  They move like they’re stiff, and when you hit them, they feel that way.  Their skin is mushy feeling, but they’re strong.  Their eyes glow, and some of them pump some shit out, but I haven’t been close enough to any of them to find out that’s about.”

His voice was rising in both pitch and speed.  I stood there, mesmerized, watching and listening to him, wishing I knew how to use all this information.

“I’m getting out of here if I can, and I’d recommend that anyone who can hear me now get moving and find your family.  Try their cell phones first.  If they answer, tell them to isolate and keep away from anyone else who either has a major headache or was bitten or scratched.  If they had horrible dreams last night, write them off.  It’s the only way to stay … the same.  Not like them.  Good luck.  I don’t even know why I stayed this long.”

I stood and stared as he walked away, feeling extraordinarily lonely for the first time since I realized that Leona wasn’t just a little sick.  I’d seen what Denny did to his wife and I’d seen how determined he was to get to me – likely to do the same thing.

And then I hadn’t shut the damned door to his house and they all came in.  Now
Leona was dead in the room with all the guns, and I just wanted to get as far away from there as I could.   I could not go back in there where she was.  Stupid, but I couldn’t.

Denny was a lot bigger than me, but I could fit into his clothes at least.  I wasn’t going back to my house; not with the broken front plate window where anybody – or anything – could get in with no resistance.  I needed speed, and I knew Denny had just the thing.

Let me tell you that Leona and I lived in a nice neighborhood.  Not because we could afford it, but because she knew the landlord and he intended to sell the house in a year.  In the meantime, he wanted to offset the mortgage, but didn’t want to rent it to people who would trash the place.

So we got it.  I’m telling this to explain to you that just because
we
struggled paycheck to paycheck, Denny Steele did not.  I jogged into his bedroom and went to the dresser.  I didn’t know which drawers were his, so I yanked them open until I saw underwear and socks.  I pulled a handful of each out and threw them on the bed.

Then I went through more drawers, but there were no jeans.  Then I remembered.  This dude would hang his jeans.  No way would he fold them.

I ran to the closet and hit the light switch.  There, against the wall, in the California Closet Organizer, was a straight row of jeans. 

Now Denny had gained weight over the last year or so, and I knew as well as I knew my own name that overweight people
never toss their clothes when they get too big, because they’re sure they’ll be able to fit into them again.

I went to the most inconvenient jeans hanging there, and sure enough, they were three sizes smaller in the waist.  Since we were about the same height, it was all good.  I took five pairs.

I pulled a bunch of shirts down.  There were both long and short-sleeved pullovers.  The wick-away-the-sweat kind, Under Armor or something.  I carried my wad into the bedroom and dumped it on the bed.  Then I ran back to the closet and looked up.

There were some duffels on the top, but I couldn’t reach them.  Then it hit me again.  Rich people.  Convenience.

I looked and found extension poles with convenient hooks on the ends.  I used one to lift the perfect, black backpack down and threw the pole on the ground.

It was called a
Porter Heat
.  I didn’t have any clue, but I was sure it was expensive as hell.  His shoes, which I had no doubt were also as expensive as fuck, would have to do.  For a guy his size, Denny had tiny ass feet.  I sat down and crammed my size twelves into his ten and a half loafers or whatever the hell they were.

A sense of extreme urgency struck me, and even though I knew where I intended to go, I needed to slow my ass down and make some kind of plan.  My mother and eighteen-year-old sister would need my help, and now that Leona was dead, they were all I had left.  I had no idea what had happened to Lisa’s dad because he wasn’t my blood, but if I was okay, I supposed there was a chance my mom and Lisa weren’t sick with this shit, either.  I guess I was subconsciously counting on any immunity being hereditary somehow.

It hit me.  My cell phone was at my house, but Mrs. Steele had one.  I ran into the kitchen with my packed duffle and dropped it on the floor.  I saw her purse on the counter and pulled the Gucci bag toward me.  I saw the bejeweled phone tucked inside and pulled it out.  The only numbers I had memorized were my mom’s cell and Lisa’s.

Lisa was never without her phone, while my mom would often let her battery die and leave it places.  I dialed Lisa’s number and waited.  She answered.

“Hello?” she said, her voice tired.

“Lisa?” I said, frantic.  “Lisa, are you okay?”

“Davey?” she asked.  “Where are you?  Did you get a new phone?”

“No, Lisa,” I said.  “Now be quiet  - and I mean really be quiet – and listen to me.  Do you have a television in your room?”

“How did you know I’m in my room?”

“Because you’re alive, Lisa … turn it on.”

“What?”

“Lisa, turn on the television, but lock your bedroom door first.  Hurry!”

“David, what’s wrong?  You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m freaked out, Lisa.  Please, just do what I’m saying.  I’m coming for you and mom.”

“Why?”

“Just turn on the TV.  Where’s mom?”

“In her room I guess, Davey.  Hold on,” she said.  “Okay.  Got it.  TV’s coming on.”

“Go to a news station or something.  Maybe local.  I can’t imagine every channel’s not either off the air or looping their broadcast.”

She was quiet, but I could hear the television.  “Lisa?”

“Dave, what’s going on?  What is this?  Some hoax?”

“Hoax?”  I was confused for a minute.  “Lisa, this isn’t a hoax.  This is an insane disease or something, and everyone is going crazy.  Leona … she’s … I don’t know how to say this.  She’s dead.”  I began to cry and knew I had to keep my shit together.

“David!  Leona’s dead?” asked Lisa, her voice incredulous.

“It’s big, Lisa.  Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.  What’s on the news right now?  What do you see?”

“They’re showing people staggering in the street.  It’s a view from a traffic camera.”

“Where’s the broadcast from?”

“Downtown Knoxville, I think.”

“Shit!” I said.  “Lisa, stay there.  Have you heard your dad?  Or mom?”

I mentioned it earlier, but Lisa had a different father than me.  I was from my mom’s first husband, who passed away.  Her dad was cool, but he wasn’t mine.  I knew she loved him a lot, and from what I knew, he was good to her.

Not that such former good behavior meant much right then.  Precedent had died.  Now it seemed to be a whole lot of
chase and terrorize your ass
, no matter what used to be the norm.

“I slept in this morning and my door’s been closed and locked.  You know I sleep with my iPod on, so I don’t hear anything.”

“When I hang up I want you to try mom’s cell phone, okay?”

“I can do it now,” she said.  “From the house phone.”

I hadn’t thought of that.  Leona and I had dumped our land line long ago.  “Do that, Lisa.  Call now.”

There was a pause on the line.  Then:  “I hear it ringing out there, but she’s not answering.”

“Just leave it ringing,” I said.  “Maybe she’s just asleep or something.”

“I’m going out there,” said Lisa. 

“No!” I shouted.  “Stay in there, Lisa.”

“I’m starving, Davey.  Are you sure this is everywhere?  I don’t hear anything strange.”

“I think they are, too, Lisa.  Starving.  The ones outside.”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen any others like
me
, Lisa.  Only like them.  Watch the news more if you have to convince yourself, but you’re safer in that room.  Keep an eye out through your window if you have to.  Do that now, okay?”