The Hunger (Book 2): Consumed (18 page)

“Probably not.  Most of us don’t like the idea of power and government.  That’s why we live in the middle o’ nowhere.”

“But we aren’t the government.”  Brown spread his hands as if pleading his case.  “We’re just trying to survive the best we can.”

“Son, you might not realize it, but yinz
are
the government now.  This collection o’ people here is the biggest this side o’ Philly.  Hell, I’m not even sure Philly is still up and running.  Might be the biggest from here to New York.”

“But—”

“Ain’t no buts about it.  We helped you get rid of these bastards, but we ain’t no leaders.  Most of us will hightail it outta here in the morning.  It’s on you to take care o’ these people.”

Silence hung in the air between them.

Lance thought about what Nathaniel said, not wanting it to be true, though he realized it probably was.  They could order the people outside to leave, but that would kill them the same as a bullet to the head.

Cass stayed quiet during the exchange, but her good eye remained fixed on Lance.

He knew that she didn’t want to have any part of a large group of people.  She’d made that clear on multiple occasions.  And yet, here they were, discussing how best to govern.

Brown finally said, “What do mean by ‘get on the horn’?  How are you communicating with each other?”

“See that right there?” Nathaniel cocked his thumb toward one of the kitchen counters.

Everyone looked over.

A black box sat atop the counter.  Lance had dismissed it for some kind of kitchen appliance, like a toaster oven, but now he noticed dials and knobs on the front.

“Is that a radio?” Brown asked.

“You betcha.  That’s how we stay in contact with one another.  We’ve been quiet the past few weeks though, once we realized that Ralph was listening.  If one of us reported in, Ralph would know they were still alive and go take ‘em out.  Now that we have his place, I’ll get a hold o’ everyone again.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Lance asked.

“Son, that’s why they call us preppers.  We don’t seem so crazy now, do we?”

Lance grinned at him.  “I like your style, Nath—”

The radio squawked, cutting him off.

No one moved.  They stared at the black box.

“Mother Nest, are you in?”  A voice crackled from the radio.  “Mother Nest, this is Hawk.  We need to talk.  Are you in?”

Lance’s shoulders tensed.  He recognized the voice.

It was the man who’d once asked a teenager if they should murder Lance for no reason at all.

Ralph.

Cass asked, “They call themselves by codenames?  What a couple of pussies.”

“Should we answer?” Brown stood from his chair, eyes fixated on the radio.

“He’s going to come for us either way,” Nathaniel said.

Cass got up and went to the counter, grabbing a handheld microphone connected to the radio by a coiled wire.  “I’ll answer him.”

“Mother Nest, are you—”

“Hawk, this is Blonde Bitch.”

Silence came over the airwaves for thirty seconds before Ralph responded.

“Who is this?”

“Blonde Bitch.”

“Where’s Tony?”

“He’s taking a nap.”

More silence.

Cass said, “Sorry, I should be more specific.  He’s taking a
dirt
nap.”

“Who is this, goddamn it!”

“If I have to keep repeating myself, this is going to take forever.”

He didn’t respond for several more seconds.

“Is this the whore with Lance?”

“Ding ding ding.”

“I’m going to kill all of you.”

Lance walked around the table and took the mic.  He looked at Cass as he spoke into it.

“What do you think, Blonde Bitch?  Should we kill him or just leave him tied up in the freezer to get eaten alive?”

“Lance.”

“That’s right, asshole.  We killed your people, we have your compound, and tonight I’m going to sleep in your bed.”

“Listen to me, you little—”

“Blow me.”

Lance switched off the radio.

“Man, that felt good.  And Blonde Bitch?  Nice touch.”

Cass shrugged.  “Screw that guy.”

“Is it smart to poke the angry bear?” Brown asked.

“I think we already did that when Cass buried her axe in Tony’s chest.”  Lance went back to the table and collapsed in his chair.

“He’s going to come for us,” Nathaniel said.

Hinges squealed as the back door of the cabin opened.

Eifort appeared a moment later, shoving a handcuffed man in front of her.

“Mullins is dead.  We found what’s left of his torso in the woods.  A Vladdie got to him.”  She pushed the man into the center of the kitchen.  “This piece of garbage is Phillips.”

Brown pointed to the chair he’d been sitting in.  “Sit down, Mr. Phillips.  We’re going to have a little chat.”

––––––––

P
hillips sat in the chair, his face hard and emotionless.

His hair was black and disheveled with wisps of gray at the temples.  The beginning of crow’s feet stood out at the corners of his eyes.

Lance guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties.

“Do you understand the situation you’re in?” Brown asked.

“Yeah, you’re going to kill me.”

“We might.”

“So why the hell should I tell you shit?”

“Because if you do, we might
not
kill you.”  Brown’s voice was even and calm.  He stared directly into Phillips’ eyes.

Phillips held the gaze for a few seconds before looking at the floor.

The way Brown took charge of the situation amazed Lance.  He’d lived with the man for nearly two weeks and knew that he was resourceful and intelligent, but he’d never expected him to have such a take-charge kind of personality.

He’d hoped that Brown would become the leader of their little group, but he’d never pushed it.  Brown had a level head and always thought things through before making a decision.  He was the polar opposite of the way Lance viewed himself.

“You’ve done some terrible things, haven’t you?” Brown asked.

“I haven’t done shit.”

Brown dismissed him with a wave and looked up at Eifort.  “Throw him into the woods and bring me someone who is willing to speak.  Let the vampires deal with him.”

“No, wait!” Phillips raised his cuffed hands in front of him.  “I’m sorry!”

“Last chance,” Brown said.  “Have you done some terrible things?”

“Yes.”  His voice was small, his eyes fixated on a point between his feet.

“Why?”

“Because they told me to.”

Brown waited several seconds before responding.  “Why were you keeping daywalkers in a pit behind the cabin?”

“Daywalkers?”

“The newly infected.”

“Oh.  They experiment on them.  They also work as a good way to scare everyone in camp.  If we messed up, they said they’d feed us to
them
.”

“What kinds of experiments?”

“They tried to find the best ways to kill them.  Wanted to know if anything scared them.  Something like that.”

Lance leaned forward, listening intently.

“Did anything work?” Brown asked.

“Sorta, yeah.”  He looked up at Brown, who motioned for him to continue.  “Sunlight starts to hurt them after a few days.”

“We already know that,” Cass said.  Her fingers drummed on the table.

“They don’t like garlic.”

Lance frowned.  “Seriously?  That sounds like some movie bullshit.”

“I ain’t lying.  It doesn’t hurt them, but they can’t stand the smell.  There are bulbs of it hanging from all the trucks out there.  When they come by at night, they can’t smell the people inside.”

The baseball-sized objects hanging from the sides of the liquid tankers popped into Lance’s head.  He remembered asking Cass what they were.

Bulbs of garlic,
he thought.
Who knew?

“So that’s what keeps them away from the trucks?” Brown asked.

“Yeah.  We learned that in the first few days.”

“Does anything else work?”

“Anything that smells really strong will throw them off the scent, but garlic seems to work the best.  Dunno why.”

Brown nodded.  “You’re doing well, Phillips.  What else?  Does anything scare them?”

“Nothing.”

“What about weapons—does anything kill them better than something else?”

Lance expected him to say a wooden stake to the heart.

“Nah.  Knives, guns, whatever.  All works the same.  The sunlight really puts a hurtin’ on them when they fully change though.”

“What about Ralph?” Brown asked.  “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”  Phillips shifted in his seat. “Tony didn’t tell us that stuff.”

“Are you lying to us?”

“No, I swear!  He’s still recruiting people in Pittsburgh, I know that much.  And I think he’s looking for that guy on the radio.  You know who I’m talking about?  The Big Man of Edgewood.  Something like that.”

“The Wild Man of Monroeville,” Lance said.

“Yeah, him.”

“So he wants to kill the only man passing information along to the rest of the region?” Cass put the ice pack against her eye again.  “I can’t wait to kill this guy.”

Phillips only gave her a fleeting glance.  “Tony and Ralph don’t like how much power he has.  People listen to what he says.”

“They don’t like the competition,” Brown said.

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

“How many men does he have with him?”

“Twenty or so, the last time I saw him.”

“Three more questions, Phillips.  First, have you killed any innocent people because Ralph or Tony told you to?”

Phillips didn’t answer.  He just stared at the ground.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  Second, how many women here are already pregnant?”

“I dunno.  Ten or twenty.  Something like that.”

Lance wondered if ‘something like that’ was this man’s answer to every question he’d ever been asked.  Was he a piece of garbage?  Something like that.

“Third, are any of the unborn children here yours?  Have you raped any of these women?”

He didn’t answer again.  Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Brown looked to Eifort.  “Take him outside and chain him up somewhere visible.  I want the people out there to be able to see him.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Phillips said.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

They escorted a dejected Phillips back outside.

“We’re going to have to talk to the people out there.  Some of them are going to be extremely angry and traumatized.”  Brown paced around the kitchen. “There’s a lot to be done in a short amount of time.  We need to be prepared for when Ralph comes back.”

“What are we going to do about Phillips and the other animals out there?” Lance asked.

Nathaniel stood.  “We kill ‘em.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“We could leave it up to the people who were abused,” Cass suggested.

Brown simply nodded.  “We’ll deal with that in the morning.  For now, we need to see what we’re working with here.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“Where are his guns?  What about the security system he has set up?  There are cameras everywhere.”

“Sounds like a plan.”  Lance put his head on the table and closed his eyes.  Ever since they’d come inside, fatigue had been creeping up on him.  Almost being torn in half had a way of exhausting someone.

Not to mention the fistfights and stabbings.

“Lance?” Brown asked.  “You OK?”

“I’m fine.  I’ll help you search the place in a minute.  Just let me put my head down for a bit.  A little tired, you know?”

He listened as they hashed out a rough plan to search the grounds.  Nathaniel had a few ideas for where Ralph might hide a weapons cache or two.  Brown wanted to discuss how to deal with the people outside.

The next thing Lance knew, gunshots were going off in the distance.

He flinched, his tight muscles flexing.  Pain shot through his torso and radiated to his extremities.  The feeling was similar to when he’d been hit by the car.

How many weeks ago had that been?  He couldn’t remember.

Another gunshot.

Lance’s eyes popped up.  Bright light blinded him for a moment.

He looked around, disoriented.

“The hell?”

His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw the sun through a window on his right.  A blanket covered his legs.

With a groan, he sat up.  He was in a king or queen-size bed.  Maps, schematics, and newspaper clippings covered the walls.  A silver pistol rested on a nightstand beside the bed.

Lance swung his legs over the side and got up.  He tried to take a few steps, but his muscles were too tight and sore.  It took a few minutes of stretching before he felt nimble enough to move around.

People moved about the field outside the window.  They walked around the compound, carrying supplies, wood, and guns.

Lots of guns.

Almost everyone he could see was armed.

“Oh shit.”

Had Ralph stormed in during the night?  How could he have slept through that?

Lance grabbed the pistol from the nightstand and left the room, moving quickly so he wouldn’t be seen as he passed the windows.  He worked his way through the house as quietly as possible, ignoring the aches and pains in his feet.  His knuckles had scabbed over, the healing flesh stretching as he opened and closed his hands.

At the back door, he paused.  He opened it a crack and peered out.

People marched by, talking with one another as they carried large amounts of guns and food to different areas.

More gunshots cracked in the woods.

“Good morning, Mr. York.” The voice came from behind him.

He spun around, bringing the pistol up.

A woman stood in a hallway a few feet away, a spatula held in her hand.  She dropped it to the floor and lifted her hands above her head in surrender when she saw the pistol.

“Don’t shoot!”

“What’s going on here?” Lance peeked into a living room off to his right, seeing no one.

“What do you mean?”

“Who are you?”

“Ka-Kalena.”

“Where’s the doc?”

“Who?”

“Brown!  Emmett Brown!”