The Hunger (Book 3): Ravaged (11 page)

With most of the gas covering the middle and rear of the vehicle, Lance tossed it to the floor and staggered his way across the clothing and shoes. He was grateful that he’d worn heavy boots as he made his way to the front. His ankles held strong.

More gunfire came from outside.

As Lance stepped between the seats, a thought flitted through his mind. Wasn’t it the fumes of gasoline that were explosive and not the liquid itself? He’d been told that as a child, but he wasn’t sure how true it was.

He paused, his nose twitching at the stink coming from his pants and hands. His eyes locked on the flare as he stood there. If he got any closer, would he catch on fire?

“Shit.” Lance turned and stepped into the aisle again, intent on going out the side door.

As he reached the table, the door burst inward, the hinges giving way as it smashed against the steps.

A Vladdie climbed over it, saliva dripping from mangled lips. A small tuft of tangled hair hung over its empty eye sockets.

“Shit,” Lance whispered.

The beast’s head jerked around at the sound of his voice. It bellowed at him and jumped the rest of the way into the RV, stopping a few feet in front of him as he backed up. Its hooked, gnarly feet dug into the clothing beneath it.

Lance’s head bumped into the console above the dash.

The flare flickered beside him, burning a hole in the seat.

The stink of gas and searing fabric stung his nostrils.

He glanced at the passenger side door, saw it was locked and closed. The driver’s side was wide open.

Cass stood fifteen feet outside, screaming for him to hurry. She waved for him to come to her. Eifort fired at the side of the vehicle.

The Vladdie stepped closer.

“Fuck it.”

Lance grabbed the flare.

His hand caught fire. The legs of his pants went up a split second later. There was no pain.

“Suck on this.” Lance tossed the flare at the clothing under the vampire.

He leapt headfirst over the seat, diving through the open door.

The pressure of the flames bursting through the inside of the RV seemed to pull at the air around him as he crashed onto the ground.

Then he felt the heat.

The Vladdie shrieked as it stumbled into the front of the vehicle. It thrashed against the seats and dash, slapping at the flames engulfing it.

A small explosion rocked the back of the RV as the fire ignited what remained in the gas can.

Lance staggered to his feet and ran to Cass as the flames seared his hands and legs. Cass cried out, discarding her axe and flare.

He dropped to the grass and rolled over and over.

The agony set in as he stuffed his hands into his armpits to extinguish the flames.

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T
he smell of his own flesh burning brought bile into Lance’s throat.

He stared up at the sky as Cass and Eifort patted his legs, putting the flames out. The helicopter looped across his field of view before disappearing over the trees.

His hands felt cold and hot at the same time. The sensation reminded him of a time as a child when he’d stuck his finger on the red-hot end of a cigarette lighter in his mother’s car. The agony had lasted for nearly twenty minutes as he’d swirled his digit in a glass of ice water.

How long would this last?

Smoke blotted some of the stars above him as he watched them twinkle.

Flames from the RV licked the sky as the inferno grew. The Vladdie in the front seat fell out of the driver’s door and collapsed in the grass. Its skin bubbled and popped and sizzled. The stink wafting from it overpowered the stench of Lance’s well-done legs.

Cass bent over him. “Does it hurt?”

“Just a bit.” His voice was a croak.

The crowd that had surrounded the bonfire made their way over, protected by the conjoined light of both blazes. Brown jogged to Eifort and gave her a bear hug, lifting her from the ground and kissing her cheek. When his eyes fell upon Lance, he lowered her to the ground and knelt down.

“What happened?”

“Dumbass decided to light himself on fire.” Cass glared down at Lance, doing her best to look angry with him. The tear running down her cheek hinted at more than anger.

“Can you speak?” Brown asked him.

“Yeah.” Lance sat up with a grunt and held his hands up. The backs of his hands were pink. A few spots were worse, but his palms were fine. He would still be able to use them, but the pain made it hard to think.

His legs were worse.

Brown pulled at a portion of cloth that had burned into his shin.

Lance hissed. “Doc, I would appreciate if you didn’t do that right now.”

Several people stood around them in a circle, gaping down at Lance.

Adam stood behind Cass. “The infected are backing off for now. The helicopter flew away though.”

“Bro, that shit was fucking nuts. You’re like Dirty Harry or some shit.” Greg socked Adam in the shoulder. “Nice job with the fire, bro.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry, bro. I’m just—”

Brown looked over his shoulder. “Can you be quiet, please? We aren’t out of this yet. Find stuff to keep the fires going so we can make it to sunrise.”

“You got it, bro.”

Lance pointed at Eifort’s gun as Greg walked away. “Please shoot that guy. If he says bro one more time, I’m climbing back into that RV. Burning is better than listening to that.” He looked at his fried legs again. “Anyone have some booze or something? The pain is getting bad.”

“I have some in my tent,” Adam said. “I think the light is bright enough now to go get it.” He jogged off, using his flashlight to make sure the way was clear.

“What the hell happened in there? You were supposed to be right behind me,” Cass said.

“The Vladdie that jumped in the window punctured the gas can and dumped it on me. When I went to follow you, I realized that I couldn’t pick up the flare. It was blocking my way out.” He nodded at the still-burning vampire. “That son of a bitch came in when I was trying to go out the back.”

Eifort’s eyes scanned the area as she said, “We’re having a helluva run the past few nights.”

“At least we know the military guys aren’t going to try to kill us,” Cass said. “They just saved our asses.”

“I guess we owe them a bit of that scotch of yours, eh Doc?” Lance searched the tents for Adam, the mention of a drink reminding him how badly he wanted one.

“And a lot more than that.” Brown looked at his own hands, a deep frown sliding down his face. “I panicked back there. I’m sorry.”

“We all panicked, Doc.” Lance thought about standing, but his throbbing legs advised him otherwise.

“No. The three of you did what was necessary. I lost it and did nothing.”

Eifort bent over and kissed his forehead. “You were trained to heal people, and I was trained to kill them. We all have our skills.”

Brown just shook his head.

Lance would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t fighting the urge to vomit. The pain continued to grow as they sat and watched the flames.

Most of the survivors took a seat in the grass, their heads low, sobs shaking their shoulders. Guns were reloaded again, though few were fired. Bottles of water were passed around.

Brown poured water onto Lance’s legs. Flash bulbs went off in Lance’s vision as he sucked in a harsh breath.

After several minutes, Adam returned with a bottle of cheap vodka. Booze wasn’t a favorite of Lance’s, but he drank from the bottle like it was a Gatorade. The fire in his throat was nothing like that which had seared his legs.

“How’s the damage, Doc?” Lance was afraid to ask, but he had to know if he would be worthless for another month again. He knew that they couldn’t afford to have him feeding off them like a leech while he healed from another injury.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. You’re going to be in pain for quite a while, but you’ll be able to walk.”

Cass rubbed his back while he leaned against her. His system was winding down from the adrenaline rush of the fight, and his fear came tumbling back.

The faces of those dragged away kept popping up in his mind. He thought of the people he’d failed.

The boy whose body he’d found wedged in a tree.

Too many had died as they looked to him for leadership. And for what? So they could be slaughtered like so many others?

Lance sat, watching the fire and drinking, fighting against the torrent of emotions that threatened to break him.

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B
rown finished wrapping gauze around his legs while the sky began to brighten.

The pain, though fierce, was muted by the alcohol Lance sipped. The wounds weren’t as grave as they’d initially seemed.

The shrieks of the damned had died down an hour before, allowing people to cautiously work their way around the field. They found spots of blood and chunks of flesh. An entire leg was spotted behind the portable toilets.

Mothers wailed. Friends cursed their current lives.

Lance handed the bottle to Cass, who took a long pull before handing it back to Adam.

They needed to scavenge more bulbs and build protection around them. The idea of going back to work after such a stressful night had Lance wanting to scream. They needed a break, a pause in the madness, but their tormentors would never let up.

They’d never give an inch.

A groan escaped Lance as he stood. He moved his legs around, grimacing as the gauze brushed his skin.

His hands ached. 

Cass stared at the woods. “There were so many of them. I doubt they’re all in one big place like they’d been in Pittsburgh. There isn’t a subway system like there was in the city. We can’t just blow a tunnel this time.”

“I don’t even know what we—” Lance stopped talking when he heard an odd rumbling sound. He looked to the driveway. “What is that?”

“Sounds big,” Brown said. He stood beside Lance and peered toward the road.

The rumble grew louder for nearly a minute before they saw movement at the end of the driveway. A military vehicle of some kind turned in from the road. Two more followed behind it.

A tank pulled up the rear.

“I guess the military is here,” Lance mumbled.

Cass said, “You can say that again.”

“I guess the military is here.”

“Ass.”

Eifort had been pouring a bottle of water on her head when she saw the vehicles and stopped. Her hair dripped as she stood and watched.

“What kind of vehicle is that in the front?” Brown asked her.

“It’s an LAV.”

“They look like hardy vehicles.”

“Very.”

They drove toward the cabin, moving slowly, as if they were giving everyone at the compound time to see them. Those who had been moving about, repairing broken things and getting more ammunition from the bunker, halted and stared.

The lead vehicle pulled into the grass and stopped.

A hatch on the top opened.

A bald-headed man stood up through the hole and looked around. He had a massive, square jaw, the kind usually found on boxers or linebackers. A cigar poked from the corner of his mouth.

He grabbed the stogie with two fingers, lifting it into the air in a small salute toward those standing in front of the cabin. He wore a sleeveless Under Armour shirt.

Lance raised his hand and waved back. He tried not to shake his head at the man, who looked like a caricature of all the bad military movies Lance had seen. The shaved head, cigar, and angular face could have come straight out of a recruitment video.

The man hoisted himself from the hatch and stood on top of the LAV, peering around the clearing. A vein the size of a small snake ran from his forearm through his bicep and disappeared into his shoulder. He wore camouflage pants and black boots.

Dog tags hung around his neck.

The other vehicles pulled beside his and stopped. The tank idled beside the driveway, a metal monolith reminiscent of the old world, of the ways man used to wage war. Lance didn’t understand what use it would be against the infected.

“Howdy,” the man said. He hopped down and strode toward them.

Lance marveled at the thickness of his chest compared to his tiny waist. He wondered if he should blindfold Cass before the man got any closer, so that she wouldn’t realize what a wimp she’d been having sex with.

The man’s strut would have been comical if he didn’t look like such a bad ass.

Less than a dozen men climbed out of the other vehicles. They stayed there, milling about and inspecting their tires and the tank’s treads.

“Hello,” Brown said. His deep, resonant voice didn’t have a hint of trepidation. If he was as nervous as Lance, he didn’t show it. “I take it that was your helicopter last night?”

“It was.” The man stopped in front of Brown and offered his hand. “Major Frank Colt.”

Frank Colt
, Lance thought.
Even his name is hard
.

Brown took the major’s hand. “Emmett Brown.”

“Emmett Brown?” One corner of Colt’s mouth quirked. “You fuckin’ with me?”

“No.”

“Bet you’ve been hearing shit over that your whole life.”

“You have no idea.”

Colt looked over their small group, taking in each of them one at a time. He squinted at Cass the longest, his head cocking slightly when he saw her mohawk. “Interesting.”

Is he checking her out?
Lance wanted to slap his forehead for getting jealous at a time like this.

“I hope interesting is a good thing.” Cass stuck her hand out. “I’m Cass. This is Lance, and that’s Eifort.”

“Interesting is good. It’s not often that you see a woman with a bleach-blonde mohawk and a shirt with the anarchy sign painted on it. Particularly, not after the world has ended.” Colt spoke with a slight southern drawl, though it wasn’t pronounced enough that Lance could place where the man was from.

Virginia, maybe?

“I don’t bleach my hair.” Cass looked at her shirt. “And you’re the first person who has recognized this. I drew it on myself.”

“Fitting, all things considered.”

Fuck
.
Now this guy is smarter than I am too
?