The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured (22 page)

Cass took his hand, groaning as he jerked her to her feet. “Easy, dumbass—I have a helluva a headache.” Her words slurred as she spoke, eyes still cloudy.

Lance didn’t argue with her. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, shoving her toward the open door. She put her foot on the first of two steps leading into the back of the truck, but her movements were lethargic. Knowing they were out of time, he knelt down, placed his hands under her ass, and pushed as hard as he could.

Her light frame flew into the back of the truck, landing with a thud on the metal floor.

“Don’t touch my ass, you stupid mother—”

Lance grabbed the open door, about to pull himself inside, when he felt the touch of cold metal on his neck.

“Step away from the door,” the man said.

“We can—”

“You said ‘fuck me’.”

“I watched you shoot that guy.” Lance licked his lips. He caught Cass’ gaze, saw her eyes clear when she spotted the shotgun.

“Let him go, hillbilly.”

Dozens of feet clopped across the pavement by the front of the truck. Lance knew they had seconds before the daywalkers took them.

“Shut up, bitch. I’ll—”

Lance grabbed the Rambo-style knife from the sheath on his hip and spun around. His right elbow caught the barrel of the shotgun, shoving it aside as it roared. The deafening blast went off by his ear, filling his head with a high-pitched ringing.

He continued spinning on his heel, coming face-to-face with his would-be murderer. They locked eyes as Lance drove the ten-inch blade into the man’s sternum. The razor-sharp edge slid in with surprising ease, stopping only when the hilt jammed against skin.

The air exploded from the man’s lungs, his eyes widening, mouth falling slack.

Warmth ran over Lance’s hand. He stared at the man’s face, forever etching his features into his memory. Deep lines across his forehead. Dark hair, graying at the temples. Slight belly hanging over his belt.

Lance pulled the knife free.

Red-tinged saliva spilled over the man’s lower lip.

The first daywalker appeared around the corner of the truck, grabbing at the dying man’s shoulders, sinking its teeth into the exposed flesh of his neck.

Lance stepped away, bending to grab the axe from the ground, and lunging for the back of the truck.

Cass grabbed the back of his shirt as he climbed in, pulling him clear of the door. Hands grabbed at his trailing feet.

He kicked them away, twisting around in time to see Cass boot one of the infected in the face. She slammed the door shut.

The back of the truck went dark.

They sat without speaking for a while, listening to the screams of the man outside. He lived for quite some time, pleading for death. It finally found him a few minutes later and he fell silent.

Lance found a bench on the left wall and sat on it, rocking back and forth, as he replayed the knifing in his mind. He couldn’t erase the image of the man’s shocked face as the blade pierced his body. Remembering the blood on his hand, Lance wiped at his pant legs frantically, overtaken by the need to clean himself of the deed.

Cass found him in the darkness. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “You didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill you. I saw it in his eyes.”

Lance thought about it for several seconds before responding. “There are so few of us left. We shouldn’t be killing each other. It’s different with them—the Vladdies—than it is with a man.”

“It was him or us. You did the right thing.”

He understood what she was saying, but it didn’t make him feel much better.

The bench shifted as she sat beside him, unseen in the darkness.

“Care to tell me how we ended up in an armored car?”

As the daywalkers outside began to beat against the reinforced sides of the truck, Lance recounted the exploding office building.

––––––––

“Y
ou carried me that far?”

“I have the sore shoulders to prove it.”

To his shock, Cass hugged him. “Thanks. Dumbass.”

He laughed, despite the adrenaline shakes that still consumed his limbs. “I guess this makes us even.”

“So those guys did call in a bomb or an artillery strike?” Cass asked. “That means there’s someone out there still pulling the trigger, right?”

“I suppose. They did say that Heinz Field is hanging in there.”

“Yeah, but I doubt that they have a giant ass howitzer sitting at the fifty yard line.”

“True.”

Cass got up from the bench and moved around in the darkness, swearing as she stubbed her toes and banged her knees.

A dim light blinked on.

Lance turned away from it, letting his eyes adjust. He finally rotated back, looking up at the dome light, wondering how long they could use it before the truck’s battery died.

The temperature in the confined area rose quickly as they waited. Lance could feel himself sweating again, concern over dehydration rearing in his mind.

“Holy shit,” Cass said. She reached into an open bag and pulled out a large stack of cash. “Want to buy an island?”

“It figures.”

“What?”

“It figures that I would find a shitload of abandoned money now. I could have really used that a month ago. Now we might as well use it as toilet paper.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens.” Cass smiled at her pun. She rifled through a few more bags, finding rolls of coins.

Lance thought that ‘shit happens’ could be the new motto for the entire planet. If aliens ever visited the earth in the future, they would look upon the ruined cities and decaying bones of humanity and think, ‘shit happens’.

“How are you feeling, anyway?”

Cass stood, holding a hand to her stomach. “Nauseous and dizzy. Those are the signs of a concussion, right?”

“I have no idea. That was a big piece of building that hit you in the head though.”

“They always talked about post-concussion shit during the NFL games now, so I’m guessing that’s what I’m dealing with.”

Lance grinned at her. “Where have you been all of my life?”

“What? Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened even more, a combination of actual humor at the expression on her face and a bizarre reaction to knowing that he had just murdered a man. If someone asked him to explain what he felt, Lance didn’t think he could.

“No, I’m not flirting with you. I’m stuck inside an armored truck with cannibals outside trying to beat their way in, and I’m covered in the blood of a man I just stabbed. Getting laid isn’t exactly on my radar right now.”

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say that I wish my wife had been a bit more like you.”

“You’re married?” She glanced at his left hand. “Why don’t you wear a ring?”

The truck rocked as something ran into it, the thud vibrating through the floor and into Lance’s feet. He paused before responding, waiting to see if it would happen again.

It didn’t. Several dozen hands continued beating against the walls.

“We were at the tail end of a divorce when this happened. It’s been over for years though.”

“Oh. That sucks.” Cass sat on a bench across from him, crossing her legs, but not before Lance got a bit of a show. “She’s a big bitch then?”

“If I’d known that all it took to make you be nice to me was saving your life, I’d have pulled the hero shtick a little earlier.”

“Shut up, dumbass.” She let out a small laugh before pushing the heels of her hands against her temples.

“To answer your question, she’s a little bitchy, but I don’t blame her for hating me. I’m a colossal fuck up.”

“Did she die? When all of this happened?”

“Nah. She and her boyfriend, or whatever the hell they are, took off. They were going to the stadium the last I saw them. That was right when shit went south, so they probably made it.”

Cass watched him for a while. “I don’t think you’re a fuck up. You said something similar at the crack den. You have a shitty life?”

“First world problems, really. I haven’t been able to hold a job for years now. Wife resents me. No money. Unable to support us. Depressed.” Lance leaned back against the wall, but sat up again when the pummeling of the truck vibrated against his back. “I don’t know which came first though—her hating me, or me fucking up. Did I disgust her because I’m a loser, or did I become a loser because I disgusted her?”

They sat without speaking for a period of time that Lance couldn’t gauge. No access to the sun made it hard to judge.

“You survived the apocalypse, so far anyway. I’d say that makes you anything but a loser. You saved my ass.”

“I’m not sure that hiding in my apartment as people are slaughtered in the streets makes me much more than pond scum.”

“Bullshit. Everyone else was too stupid to do that. You carried an unconscious woman to safety. Fuck your ex—she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Lance laughed again. Despite the things that had just happened, and still were, he couldn’t help himself. Cass’ gruff personality and over-the-top way of talking had him grinning like a fool.

“That was half the problem. Too little of the fucking.”

“Oh shit. That’s the worst. I’m a woman, so I can get laid whenever I want. Dry spells are for idiots.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not talking about you, dumbass. Women can get laid whenever they want, so any of them who complain about not getting any are full of shit.”

Lance acted as if he was trying to peer up her skirt. “Are you sure there isn’t a penis in there somewhere? You talk more like a man than I do.”

“It’s true,” she said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. “How long has it been?”

“What?”

“Since you had sex?”

“Oh. That’s a little private. And embarrassing.”

“You mentioned it. Besides, who am I going to tell?” She looked around the dimly lit area. “You might have noticed that the world has ended.”

Lance stared at the floor. “Six months. Before that, it had probably been a year.”

Cass choked. “What? Once in a year and a half? That’s crazy! That can’t be good for your health.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know before a few days ago that she’d been dating an old friend of mine for the past eighteen months. That kind of explains why she didn’t have much interest.”

“Are you sure your dick even works anymore?”

That made Lance snort.

“You’re a real douche, ya know? Besides, why am I taking such abuse from someone dressed like a reject from the Village People?”

Cass rolled her eyes. “Back to the way I dress again.”

“Well, you do look like a fool. A sexy fool, but a fool nonetheless.”

“There you go, hitting on me again.”

“I’m not, honestly. Just being truthful. You don’t look so bright in that outfit.”

“That really sucks. Here I was, hoping I could finally get that country club membership too.”

Lance’s blood-covered hand felt sticky as the bodily fluid dried. He’d wiped as much of it away as he could, but it still bothered him. Getting up from the bench, he rolled his sore shoulders and turned the dome light on again. He went to the front corner of their metal sarcophagus.

“Seriously though, you said you were artist. Is that getup some kind of statement about freedom of expression?” Lance found a bag that looked different from the others and unzipped it.

Assorted gym gear was inside. Lance’s back was to Cass as he went through the bag, his widening grin hidden from her. He pulled out an apple, two protein bars, three bottles of water, and a small amount of white powder in a baggie—only touching the food with his non-bloody hand. He figured the white stuff to be creatine or a protein powder of some kind.

Saliva pooled under his tongue as he touched the food.

“Fine,” Cass said from behind him. “You told me about your sad sex life, so I might as well tell the truth about my shit as well.”

“Your shit? Did you have to take profanity lessons to learn how to swear so much?”

“Shut up, ya douche. Or don’t you want to hear my stupid story?”

“Sorry. Please go on.” He found an iPod and a sleeveless Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirt in the bag. Smelly sneakers, balled-up socks, a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and two towels filled out the rest of the contents.

“I started dressing like this to fit in with the morons in the art scene at Duquesne. When I dropped out, I kept wearing it because I was too poor for new clothes, and it’s actually really comfortable. And I like it—so shut up. Not everyone has to wear a suit or a dress.”

“I’m not judging,” Lance said.

“Yes, you are.”

Lance opened one of the bottles of water and tilted it over his bloody hand, pouring just enough to wet the skin. He grabbed the Pirates shirt and used it to wipe everything clean. He repeated the process again, careful of his water usage. The hand sanitizer went on next.

Cass continued, “I was raised in the middle of nowhere, about an hour outside of Erie.”

“That’s what you said yesterday. I would have thought you were a city girl through and through.”

“Nope. My dad raised me. Mom left before I was old enough to even remember what she looked like. I spent a lot of time hunting and fishing with my dad. By the time I was a teenager, I resented the tomboy upbringing.”

“So you decided to dress like a fool?”

“I’m going to kick your ass if you say that again. But yes, that was a big part of it. He died during my freshman year of college.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I never got to tell him I was sorry for being such a bitch to him. My mom left him in a tough spot, having to raise a stubborn girl by himself, and he died before I was smart enough to realize it.”

Lance turned around. “He knew.”

“Did he? I don’t know. I was mean to him up until the time I left. Really mean.”

“He knew.” Lance grabbed the water and food, holding them behind his back. He slid over to Cass, kneeling on the floor in front of her. “I have something that’ll cheer you up.”

“If you pull your dick out, I’m going to stab you.”

“What?” Lance chuckled, shaking his head. “You have problems.” He held the items out in front of his chest. “Behold. I bring you food and drink.”