The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (141 page)

Suddenly I had the strong desire to call Lisa.  As I pulled the phone from my pocket, it rang.

I pushed the button and shouted into the receiver, “Lisa!  Are you okay?  Did you find mom?”

“Oh, Dave, you have to hurry!” my sister cried into the phone, tears in her voice.

“What’s wrong, Lisa?  Are you still in your room?”

“I am, but mom was screaming, Dave!  Right after you hung up before I heard her screaming!  She was screaming like she was being murdered!”

I gripped the phone.  “Lisa, why didn’t you call me then?”

“I couldn’t!” she said.  “I tried, but the recording kept saying the circuits were busy!”

I knew what it meant and I had to calm myself down.  Lisa had essentially just told me my mom was dead.  I’d seen enough to know what had probably happened.  Still, I asked the question:  “Do you hear her now?  Have you heard her in a while?”

“No,” she said.  “Not for a long time.  It was far away from my door.  At first she was screaming at me to stay in my room … then she … screamed like
that
.”  She burst into tears.

“I’m coming, Lisa.  I had to stop to get a gun and some gas, but I’m coming.  Don’t move, and don’t leave your room.  Don’t look outside anymore, Lisa.  I don’t want you to.”

“I already stopped, Dave.  I … just hurry.”

“I love you, Leese.”

“I love you, too,” she said.  “I’m glad you’re alright.  Hurry.  I need you.”

“Me, too. 
Call me if you get scared.  I’m on a bike, but I’ll put the phone on vibrate so I feel it.”

“
Okay.  Hurry.”

“I will,” I said.

I hung up the phone, opened the backpack, and rummaged around for a shirt.  Then I looked at the mini-mart.  Fuck it.  I’d just grab a tee-shirt and maybe a jacket from inside.  I held the gun in my hand with the sticky blood still there.  I’d wipe that off inside, too.  On one of the shirts I didn’t take.

As I approached the storefront, everything was still.  I wondered what I would find when I opened the door.

It was a Sunday.  That was good.  Most people slept in on Sundays.

And right at that moment, I didn’t want to be around most people.

*****

I stood by the door of the QuickShop mart, scanning the distance.  I saw a man running full steam down the middle of the highway about a quarter mile away.  A few moments later there were three of the slower moving things following.

Everywhere.

I ran back to my bike, got on and kicked the stand up, rolling it toward the pump stations.  This gas station was powered – I could see by the numbers glowing on the digital readouts – and I thought I should fill up.  I was lucky the pants I’d thrown on that morning had my wallet in them from the night before, because I had hoped to use my debit card to access the fuel. 

I rolled up beside them and kicked the stand down again, the smaller revolver in my left hand.  I’d decided this was a .22 caliber revolver.  I had only handled one years ago when I was about fourteen years old.  A friend of mine with a propensity for theft stole a .22 revolver from the house of a seasonal resident, and we went shooting it over one weekend.  That friend was in jail, last I heard.  Some people just never grow up – or at least they grow into something different than I did.

The other gun was probably a .45, as the rounds were quite large, and removing the magazine, I discovered that only the round that had killed the cop was missing.  It made me wonder why she hadn’t tried to take some of the things out before killing herself, but I hadn’t searched the car or beneath her body, so this may have been the second magazine she’d put into the weapon.

Judging from the condition of the creature in the cage behind her, she might have already discovered that the things did not die easily after firing a few rounds. 

I decided to save the .45 to use for dire situations – at least the six rounds that remained.  The .22 seemed to be effective enough if used accurately, so I’d resort to the bigger pistol only if I wasn’t putting down my attackers with the revolver.

I put the .22 on top of the pump and opened the gas cap.  I pulled out my wallet and removed my card, inserting it into the reader.  To my relief, it asked for my PIN, which I entered.  I selected premium, because I figured I might not have a hell of a lot of opportunities to use the card, and inserted the nozzle into the BMW’s tank.

When it was full, I was hesitant to flip the handle back down.  I needed backup fuel, and the only way I was going to get a small gas can was to go inside that minimart and get one. 

The unknown.  I was becoming adverse to the unknown.  The unknown sucked these days and that pretty much started today.

“Leona,” I said aloud.  “You can hear me now, I know you can.  You’re not what you were when I put you out of your misery … now you’re an angel or a spirit or whatever you always knew you’d become.”

I paused to wipe the corners of my mouth and scan the immediate area again.  “So what I’m saying, baby is that I
need
you.  Just like I needed you every day for the past five years and like I needed you for the rest of my life.  I’m going in now.  Just be there, okay?”

Dumb.  Maybe.  But it made me feel better and that’s all that mattered then.  I stuck the nozzle back into the open filler on the bike and rested it there.  I was going to fill at least a gallon can and have it on that bike with me come hell or high water.

I walked to the door, tucking the .22 away this time and pulling out the pistol.  I looked at the side of it and saw that it was indeed a Ruger .45 ACP.  I wanted to wipe the blood from the grip, but I’d get to that.  It would fire okay, and that’s all that mattered.

I was scared shitless.  I didn’t want to go in that damned store, but I needed some food, some water, some gas and a new shirt would be a nice topper. 

I stood there, took two more glances behind me, and pulled the door.

The store was locked.

I looked around for something – anything – to throw at it.  There was no auto repair attached to this station, so I didn’t find any camshafts or crankshafts lying around, but there were some pavers bordering a small garden off to the right of the store. 

That would do.  I ran over and grabbed one.

By the time I ran back, there was a face staring back at me where I had intended to chuck the paver.  It was a weird, dead-looking face with those strange, pink eyes.  This one seemed to be emitting the vapor like Denny had been.  I didn’t know what it was then, but I imagined it was toxic, like vaporized battery acid or something, and I did not want to breathe it in. 

If you’ve followed these chronicles, then you know that gas would knock me out and make me available for an immediate snack or allow the dude to save me for later.  Its hands clawed at the glass, and as I moved side to side, it followed me.  This fellow was on the shorter side, and appeared to have been from somewhere in the
Middle East. The skin around his eyes, while nothing like it must have been in ordinary life, was darker and sunken, and his hair was a flat black.

But ignoring all of that, the thing that used to be a man wore a plastic name badge that said Amal, which is all I really needed to look at, I suppose.

“Amal, you’re gonna want to step back from that glass, my friend,” I said, more to make me feel like I was comfortable enough to be a smart ass, more than I felt like being one.  This was the old
fake it until you make it
strategy.

It’s that awkward moment when you’re trying to psych yourself into doing something and even
you
see through your own bullshit.

My plan came together in my mind.  I figured that had there been any others like him in the store, they probably would have made their way over to the window to gawk at me, and they hadn’t.  It was time, because there were clearly more of them out here with me than there were inside with Amal.  I stepped back and raised my arm, the paver held firmly in my hand.

Aiming directly at Amal’s face, I threw it as hard as I could.  The glass exploded as it hit, throwing crystalline cubes of tempered glass in every direction, peppering the creature standing there, but not fazing him in the slightest.  All he knew was the restaurant was open.  He stepped through the mess, tripped over the lower frame, and fell on his face.

I leaned down with the .45 in both hands and pushed the gun into his skull.

Seriously.  My gun sank into his skull.  I pulled the trigger anyway, and the kick jacked my arms back into my shoulders as I staggered back two steps.

“Wow!” I said aloud.  “Wow,” I said again, in case I didn’t hear it.

Amal didn’t move, and nothing came after him through the shattered window.  I moved inside and went immediately to the front counter to grab some shopping bags.  I pulled two of them, rushed down the aisle to the water and threw four bottles in.  Then I grabbed two more. 

Fucking Zephyrhills.  Crap tasted like rust.  But it was better than what was going on in my mouth at the moment.

I took a bunch of pepperoni sticks and threw them in the bag, too.  There were some Lunchables there, and I remembered Gem’s chronicle.  I swear my journey was like hers.  I suppose there were only so many ways to eat your way to safety, and convenience was crucial.

Lunchables were the perfect on-the-go food.

I rounded the corner and saw oil filter wrenches, cloth gloves, Little Tree air fresheners and plastic gas cans.  I guessed a gallon of fuel might get me around 40 miles with a bike like the BMW, and the tank on it looked like it held just under five gallons.  So with an extra gallon, I’d be able to ride about 220 miles or so before I had to fill up again.  I still had over three hundred miles to go easy. 

Then I saw bungee cords and some two gallon cans.  Screw it, I thought.  I grabbed one can and a four-pack of bungees.  Even if I had to stop again, the farther I could get the better.

Then I saw a siphon hose kit and it hit me. 

The fact that I’m an idiot hit me, that is.  It was all I needed.  There would be plenty of cars around when I started getting low on fuel, so I’d take the kit and focus on sustenance.  I dropped the can, kept the bungees and took the siphon.

What a waste of brain power.  It was that very moment that I worried internally that I did not have a ton of mental fortitude to spare in a crisis like the one I faced. 

Screw it.  I was who I was, and I’d gotten that far.  I quickly moved down the aisle and grabbed a large bag of Cheetos.  As I stuffed that into my bag, I moved toward the Red Bull and pulled an entire six pack out of the cooler.

I was good on food and water – at least by my standards – so I moved back to the front of the store to keep an eye out.  Nothing out there was moving.  I ran to the bike, pulled a Red Bull, a water, and a Lunchable out of the bag, and put them on the ground.  I then wrapped the bags and strapped them behind the seat.  Not perfect, but stable.

I pulled the nozzle out of the BMW’s tank and flipped the handle back down, turning off the pump.  Nobody would be charging crap on my card if I had anything to say about it.

I snapped the cap back down and fired the motor.

Then, as I caught a glimpse of my own nipples out of the corner of my eye, I realized I was still shirtless.

I laughed and cursed myself at the same time.  I had seen the rack of stupid shirts inside and had run right by them. 

I bent down, grabbed the Red Bull and popped the lid.  I guzzled it down and tossed the can, then grabbed the water and the Lunchable.  Peeling the plastic off, I took the entire stack of mini turkey slices and stacked them on top of the tiny stack of crackers.  I stuffed the entire thing into my mouth and uncapped the water.  Then I ate a whole stack of cheese.

Washing that down, I quickly polished off the remainder of the Kraft treat, including a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup that somehow made its way into the package, and chased it all down with more water. 

If you knew me better, you’d know that Reese’s are my favorite food, and you know I was in a hurry to rush through it.

When I was done I felt some energy streaking through me that I did not think – for the first time in a while – was adrenaline related.

I dusted the crumbs from my chest and gunned the motor, jamming up to the storefront where I kicked the stand down and left the bike running. 

I was in and out in under fifteen seconds, and as I jogged toward the bike, I pulled the black, cap-sleeved shirt with “Pretty Young Thing” written in rhinestones across the chest over my head.

I looked down at myself and I actually laughed out loud. 

It turns out I needed a good laugh, but at that moment, I realized I did not want to stop again until fuel required it.  Despite the three staggering creatures I noticed down by the exit driveway, there was also an incapacitated cop car right there, and if I were to leave any ammo on the table in a world such as this one, I was a fool.

I ran back to the car and took a deep breath, holding it as I opened the driver’s door again.  I reached in, searched for the trunk release, found it and popped it.