The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured (19 page)

Cass went to bed after a while, giving him another warning about going back in the hall. Lance laughed off her threat, though he knew she wasn’t joking.

Leaving the television on, Lance curled up on the plastic-covered couch and watched images of the armageddon until he dozed. Fitful dreams kept him restless, tormenting him throughout the night.

He awoke in total darkness an indeterminate amount of time later, the talons of panic hooking into his mind as he tried to get his bearings.

“Lance, get up!”

“What’s going on?” He sat up, the crinkle of plastic reminding him that he’d fallen asleep in a meth lab. “Why’s it so dark?”

“The power must have gone out while we were sleeping.” Her voice came from down the hall. “I can’t see a thing. This goddamn crack den doesn’t have any windows.”

Lance hadn’t noticed that while getting his tour earlier, but the total darkness surrounding him confirmed it. “Did you see any flashlights or candles in the kitchen?”

“No, but I didn’t go through the drawers or anything.”

“You check in there and I’ll fumble my way through the lab.” Lance got up, holding his hands in front of him like a mindless zombie. He stumbled across the living room, banging his knees against the chair and almost falling over.

Cass’ ransacking of the kitchen filtered through the rooms, followed by her loud swearing as she stuck her hand in something gross.

Lance walked groin first into the edge of the large table holding the chemistry equipment. The air whooshed from his lungs as he bent over, his stomach already flipping from the impact. He grabbed his crotch and turned around, cracking his head off a glass piece of some kind, sending it crashing to the floor.

“You OK?” Cass yelled from the kitchen.

“No!”

“What happened?”

“The table jumped out of nowhere and hit me in the balls.”

“Dumbass.”

The blow sank deeper in his gut. He fought against dry heaves.

Cass continued thrashing the kitchen.

After a minute or so, Lance ran one of his hands across the table, searching for a lighter or flashlight. His other hand stayed on his balls, protecting them from any further impacts.

He didn’t know what he was looking for.

His fingers brushed against tubes, vials, and burners. He continued his exploration for a moment before backtracking, feeling the burner again. A small knob connected to the long stem, near the bottom. Lance twisted it, hearing the hiss of gas.

Running his hands over the area beside it, Lance felt two, thin metal rods that connected together. He picked them up, squeezing the two pieces together. It sparked, giving him a flash of beakers and bottles.

“Gotcha.” Lance found the Bunsen burner again, surprised at how well he navigated in total darkness. Holding the striker above the business end of the burner, Lance twisted the knob again, gas escaping.

The flame ignited in a quick flash, bathing the desk in a soft glow.

“I’ve got some light in here.”

“Bring it to me. I can’t see a damn thing back here.”

“I can’t. It’s a burner on the table.”

Cass worked her way through the apartment, finally making it back through the living room. She held the pistol in her right hand.

“So I guess that’s the last of the power for, I don’t know, ever?” Lance leaned against the wall, watching Cass.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“We could try to find some candles and bring them back here,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Or we could see if the football stadium is still safe.”

“How long did we sleep?” Cass walked over to the next hallway, looking toward the barricaded door. “Holy shit, I can see light under the door. We slept through the entire night.”

The lack of power further strengthened Lance’s desire to leave. Slinking around in the dark of the city, scrounging for scraps, didn’t feel like the best way to spend the last few days of his life. Realizing that he would die, and probably soon, made the decision easier, rather than harder.

“Cass, I really don’t want to do this alone, but I’m going to leave. Now. I understand that it’s probably safer here, for the time being at least. Having said that, I don’t want to live like a rat, as you so eloquently put it. If I’m going to die, then I want it to be while I’m fighting to get to a better life. Living in the mountains without power or running water is going to be tough—maybe impossible. But at least I’ll die knowing that I took one last shot. One last shot at not wasting away, doing nothing, like I always have.”

“OK,” she said with a shrug.

Lance gaped at her. “That’s it? OK? I gave that whole speech to try to sway you, and it actually worked? No argument?”

“Nope. Staying in here was bad enough without being in the dark. Not sure why you had to tell me some little story about you wasting your life. Dumbass.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh. She even made their agreements difficult on him.

Cass disappeared through the living room again, returning a minute later with a pillow in her hands.

“What are you doing with that?” Lance asked.

“Setting it on fire.”

“Can I ask why?”

“So we can see in the bedroom while we grab some knives and my axe.”

The pillow burned well, giving them time to get back down the hall. Cass threw the flaming cloth down onto the bed, the mattress singeing from the flicks of flame.

Lance went straight for the katana. He frowned as he held it in his hands, realizing it was a cheap replica. If he hit anything with it, the blade would likely break off. He tossed it to the ground and dug through the chest of weapons.

He settled upon two knives, one long like a machete, and the other shorter with a serrated back, like the knife Rambo always used. Though they would do massive damage against a human adversary, and possibly even the mutating people of the day, the idea of attacking the creatures roaming the streets at night made him want to curl in a ball.

Cass put on the harness for the axe, using the buckles to hold it in place. The medieval weapon went in handle first, the flat side of the blade resting against her back. The leather flap lay across the top.

The mattress lit, smoke filling the smallish bedroom quickly. Cass grabbed a small pistol holster and clipped it to her belt, which rested unconnected atop her skirt.

“Why do you wear a belt that isn’t attached to anything?” Lance asked. Her fashion continued to astound him.

“Why not?”

“You shouldn’t answer a question with a question.”

“Do you want to stand here and burn to death while I answer all of your questions about the way I dress?” She went to the door, sliding the pistol into the holster. “Come on, dumbass.”

“Aren’t we going to put the bed out?”

“Let the fucker burn. It’ll probably go out on its own. If it doesn’t, then it might act like a bit of a distraction. Either way, we’re burning down a meth lab—the gods will forgive us.”

Lance followed her back to the chemistry set, stealing glances at her butt and exposed lower back, surprised at his inability to stop looking at her.

Six months ago was the last time he and Liz had even touched each other. She’d come home drunk one night, having spent the evening with an old high school acquaintance, and grabbed him out his favorite recliner, taking him into the bedroom. They hadn’t expressed an interest in each other since.

Realizing that his under-utilized sex drive was the likely culprit for his staring didn’t help Lance avert his eyes.

“If I turn around and find you looking at my ass, I’m going to kill you,” Cass said without turning around.

“I’m not,” Lance lied, still staring.

They arrived at the front door, pausing.

Cass turned to Lance. “I hope you’re right about leaving.”

“Me too.” He gripped the machete tighter in his right hand, the solidness of the handle giving him little confidence. “Aren’t you going to get the pistol ready?”

“No.” Cass lifted the axe from its holster by the blade, the process taking a bit more work than Lance would have liked. If she ever needed to get it ready in a hurry, she’d be screwed. “Guns are too loud. These things work off sound for the most part. I’m only going to use it as a last resort.”

“I’m impressed—that’s pretty damn smart.” He looked her over again, shocked that someone who dressed the way she did could be so quick on her feet. The old adage of never judging a book by its cover came to mind. “Did you say you were an artist before all of this happened?”

“Failed artist. Charcoal mostly.” She rolled her shoulders and neck, a faint popping coming from her joints. “Don’t do anything stupid when we get out there.”

“Failed?”

“I’m not looking to be friends. All I want is to survive another day. Can you handle that?”

Lance put a hand up in surrender. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Cassie.”

“I told you never to call me—” She stopped when she saw the broad grin spreading across his face. “Dumbass.”

Lance grabbed the 2x4 locking the door in place and lifted it free, dropping it to the floor.

The door eased open, light flooding the dank hallway. Flies buzzed around the dead bodies of the three Vladdies in the alley, their skin already darkening from exposure.

Cass snaked through the door, looking both ways. “Clear.”

They moved to the mouth of the alley in a hurry, their footfalls silent.

More than twenty of the newly infected meandered around the street, bumping into cars or eating from tipped over trashcans. Two of them came down the sidewalk from the left, moving closer to Lance and Cass than he would have liked. Their skin hadn’t changed much yet, though their rambling, bizarre speech gave them away. Cass held a fist up as they approached.

They stood at the entrance to the alley, waiting.

The fresh victims shambled past them, talking to themselves as the madness set in.

Lance wondered why the Vladdies didn’t attack each other. Was there something about the infection that spoiled their meat in a way that kept them from cannibalizing each other?

Cass pointed down the street to the right. Lance nodded and they took off at a slow jog, weaving between stalled cars and husks of burned-out trucks.

Two blocks went by before one of the more advanced Vladdies noticed them.

It raised its arm, clawed fingers angled toward them, and shrieked.

Other heads popped up, ears cocking toward the high-pitched scream.

“Oh damn,” Cass muttered.

A group of Vladdies exploded into a gallop, some hunching at the waist, knuckles barely above the street. They sprinted toward Lance and Cass with murderous intent, teeth clicking in anticipation.

––––––––

L
ance took off, ignoring the ache in the bottom of his foot.

Cass kept pace, the large axe swaying back and forth as she held it in both arms.

“Bridge ahead,” Lance huffed.

“I see it.”

A rusted suspension bridge waited at an intersection a block away. Twisted metal curled into the air in the middle. Red and white striped sawhorses stood before the entrance with cars jammed around them.

“I think the military blew it up!”

Another shriek came from behind them, closer than Lance expected. Daring to glance over his shoulder, he nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw them closing the distance. Less than ten yards separated them from becoming the mutants’ lunch.

The gap in the bridge became clearer as they approached. Cracked concrete and severed rebar jutted from the point of the explosion.

“Shit, it’s too big for us to jump across!” Cass grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him to the left as they reached the intersection.

They ran past the jam of cars and trucks by the bridge. Blood splattered the windows and seats of some. Doors, ripped from their hinges, rocked in the street, moving slowly from the slight breeze.

The cadence of helicopter rotors came from somewhere above.

Lance looked to the sky as they ran, hoping to spot something close enough to see them. An airlift out of this hellhole might be their only chance.

Cass glanced behind them again, her eyes widening at what she saw. Lance couldn’t bring himself to look anymore, fearing what he would see.

“Look for somewhere to hide!” Cass’ breath came in ragged gasps as they ran on.

More of the infected wandered in front of brick buildings. The Ohio River roared on their right.

Lance searched the area for a shelter, but nothing stood out. Anything they could quickly break into wouldn’t hold back the growing hoard behind them.

The sound of the helicopter drew near as they cut across the street, running down the sidewalk, a row of trees obstructing their view of the river. Other noises drowned under the roar of the rotors.

“Where is it?” Lance shouted.

“I don’t know!”

They rushed by another building, the road widening to four lanes, two each way. A thin swath of woods covered both sides of the highway. Lance saw flashes of a large white office building through the trees.

“I think it’s over there!” Lance pointed toward the offices.

Automatic gunfire cracked from beyond the trees.

Cass cut across the grass median, and passed through a thin layer of underbrush. Lance followed, wondering what fresh hell they were about to run into.

They sprinted between the trees in a matter of seconds, their feet slapping against the pavement of a large parking lot.

A helicopter hovered by the side of the office building, fire barking from guns poking through its open doors.

Men dressed in black uniforms fled the building, firing short bursts from rifles. The helicopter spun around, giving the soldiers shooting from its side a clear angle at the men.

Lance hesitated at the sight, shocked at seeing so many living people in the same place.

Cass jerked him forward by his shirt. “Run!”

The armed men ran fifty yards into the parking lot and stopped, dropping to their knees and opening fire at the building behind them. A stream of bullets joined them from the helicopter.

Nothing followed them out of the office, so Lance couldn’t see what they fired at. He pressed on, the burning sensation in his quads growing with every step. His lungs spasmed in his chest, threatening to seize if he didn’t ease up soon.