The Hunger (Book 3): Ravaged (21 page)

Someone shouted from outside. He ignored it, grabbing the table for support as a fresh wave of nausea ran through him.

On wobbly legs, he finally stood, wiping bile from his lips with the back of his hand.

Eifort ran into the room as Brown stepped over Jones’ body. He still refused to look at it.

“You shot him?” Eifort reached out and looped her arm around Brown’s waist. She guided him back to the kitchen. “What happened?”

“He found me emptying the cabinets. Tried to kill me. I didn’t have a choice.” Brown’s voice trembled. His emotions ran the gamut as he replayed the kill in his mind.

“Everyone outside heard it. They’ll be coming for us in a second. They took my rifle last night—where’s the gun you used?” When Brown didn’t respond, she put her hand on his chest. “Emmett, you didn’t have a choice. Where is the gun?”

“By the table.”

When she went back to the map-laden room, Brown leaned over the sink and turned the water on. He cupped his hands under the stream and splashed it to his face. The coolness helped clear his mind. He scrubbed at his face, watching as pink laces of water swirled down the drain.

Eifort came back with the pistol in her hand. She peered through the window above the sink. “Here they come. We need to go out the back.”

“I killed that man.” Brown relived the blood splattering across his face. Heard the thunder of the pistol in front of his face. “I shot him.”

“You did what you had to do to protect everyone outside. To protect me.” Her eyes cut to the window again. “We can talk about this later, but if we don’t get out of the cabin, we won’t stand a chance. I can’t take them all out with just this pistol.”

Brown straightened his back and nodded. “Let’s go.”

He felt every blow from the fight as he followed her down the hallway, working their way to the back door. His face throbbed, his shoulder bled.

His heart ached.

He knew Eifort was right, he didn’t have a choice, but taking the man’s life weighed on him nonetheless. He’d dedicated his entire life to helping people, not hurting them.

Eifort kneeled at the back door and opened it a crack, peeking into the yard. “Clear.” She turned back to him. “I have extra guns stored in the cab of the first tanker. I didn’t want to carry them around in case one of the soldiers got pissy. If we get one of the rifles, I might be able to pick two or three of them off as they come out the back.

“OK.” Brown took a deep breath. “Lead the way.”

Eifort put her hand against the door before stopping and turning back to him. She grabbed the front of his shirt and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. When she pulled back, she said, “I love you, Emmett.”

Immense relief washed over him at the touch of her soft lips. He felt reassured. “I love you too. Now let’s get these people out of here.”

Eifort held the pistol in both hands by her waist and slipped through the door. Brown followed, keeping a few feet between them. She stopped at the corner of the cabin and peered around the side.

“Shit,” she hissed. “The jackass in the tank is still there. He’s going to see us.”

Voices came from inside the cabin as men ran in the front door.

“We don’t have a choice,” Brown said.

“I can’t do anything to that tank. We have to hope he doesn’t decide to use it.”

“Can he operate it by himself?”

“He can shoot it by himself, yeah.”

“Damn.” Brown didn’t want to ‘hope’ that the man wouldn’t use the tank. That was a foolhardy plan if ever there was one.

Eifort pointed at a tanker fifty yards away. “That’s where the guns are. I’ll climb in and grab them. You keep going. Get everyone into their vehicles. Most of them were ready when I heard you fire the shot.”

“Got it. Be careful.”

“You too.” Eifort pushed off the wall and sprinted for the truck, her ponytail swishing from side to side.

Brown followed. His legs, still heavy from the fight, didn’t carry him as quickly as Eifort and he fell behind.

“They’re out here!” The voice came from the left. Brown didn’t look, but he knew it came from the man in the tank. “Stop right there, or I’ll fucking shoot!”

They kept running.

Eifort reached the truck and tore the door open. She grabbed the silver handle on the side of the cab and pulled herself up into the seat, disappearing inside.

Brown ran past the grill, his fear and adrenaline keeping his fatigue from overtaking him. He needed to stay in the open, to keep the man in the tank’s attention so he wouldn’t destroy the truck Megan had climbed in.

Only a few people stood in the field. The others had abandoned the camp or were in their vehicles, waiting for the signal to leave. Brown spotted a group of fifteen standing by a fire near the solar array. They watched him run, but didn’t make any effort to join him.

When he’d spread the word of their impending flight, several people had told him flatly that they wouldn’t leave the camp. They felt safer there than they ever had out on the road, and they would take their chances. He’d tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn’t have it.

Brown reached the first RV and saw a face staring at him through the windshield. He stopped in front of it, trying to get enough wind to yell loud so everyone could hear him.

“What’s going on, Doc?” The man in the RV stuck his head out of the driver’s side window. “Are we heading out?”

“Soon. Is everyone ready?” Brown wheezed.

“I think so, but—” The man’s face froze as he stared past Brown. He pulled his head inside the window again.

Brown spun around and saw the tank’s turret spinning toward him.

The back door of the cabin kicked open and two camouflaged men spilled out, shouting at Brown. They raised their rifles and took aim.

A shot rang out.

One of the men took a staggering step forward and fell to his knees. Another shot cracked. His head popped like a watermelon as his body spun and collapsed to the dirt.

The second man dove sideways as a third shot came from the tanker. He rolled and aimed his rifle at the truck, firing a dozen rounds.

“Megan!” Brown took a step toward the truck.

The barrel of the tank aimed at Brown, though it angled a few degrees over his head

He watched as it adjusted, lowering until it was point directly at his chest.

“Damn.”

Brown dove to the side as the tank rocked back, a thunderous roar coming from the barrel. Dust billowed in front it, hiding most of its bulk in a cloud.

The RV behind him exploded.

––––––––

L
ance struggled to stay conscious.

He barely had the strength to hold his head up as he hid behind the truck.

A groan escaped his lips. He closed his mouth and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Liz gave him a look that could have stripped paint off a wall.

The Wildman was prone on the concrete behind the Bronco. He slowly reached into his pack and pulled out a .45 and two magazines. He carefully slid one home and racked the slide.

“How many can you see?” Liz whispered to Lance.

“I don’t have a good angle. At least eight, maybe more. You?”

“Same.”

“Can you hear what they’re saying?”

“No.”

Lance watched as two more men climbed out of one of the LAVs. They pulled equipment and guns from the vehicles, sorting them in the street. Other voices came from the Jeep that arrived first, but his view of the vehicle was obstructed.

Paul shimmied to his right, taking aim with the pistol. Lance assumed he was only aiming in case they were spotted. This was a battle they couldn’t win. If there was one thing Lance had learned about the Wildman, though, it was that the name fit. He did things that made little sense to Liz and Lance.

He prayed Paul wasn’t dumb enough to pop off a shot.

Lance’s shallow breathing caught when he watched Cass walking down the street with Joe and Adam.

Her eyes had bags under them, her hair flat. The usual color in her skin was gone, replaced by an ashy, drawn quality that Lance had never seen in her before.

She didn’t have her axe.

That alone told him that things weren’t going well with Colt and his band of jerk weeds.

Liz reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. Lance quietly let his breath out again. He’d held it at the sight of Cass, his emotions threatening to get the best of him. It had only been a few days since he’d seen her, but he’d worried about her during every waking second.

The group stood in the middle of the road and talked for several minutes. Cass, Joe, and Adam all picked up bags and tossed them over their shoulders. Colt held Cass’ axe, brandishing it in a taunting manner.

Sweat broke out on Lance’s forehead as he glared at the man who’d nearly killed him. He hated having to hide behind vehicles, rather than shoot the bastard where he stood.

After what seemed an eternity, the group left the street, walking along the side of a small, single-story home less than a block from what remained of Paul’s hideout. They disappeared around the back, leaving their vehicles and a few bags.

Paul stood, brushing dust from pants. “Well, I didn’t see that coming. I suppose they’re gonna try and take out the nest n’at. Should give us a chance to get the hell out of here.”

“Won’t they hear our engines if we start the cars?” Liz asked as she got up.

“Probably,” Paul said. He wrinkled his nose as he thought about it. “Might be something we can do about that though.”

Lance cleared his throat. “Anyone care to help me up here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Paul bent down, taking Lance by the elbow. He grabbed hold and heaved Lance to his feet.

Lance sucked in a breath between gritted teeth. He couldn’t keep going for much longer. His chest hurt like hell, and he felt as if he might pass out.

“You two stay here,” Paul said. “Keep a look out in case those jagoffs come back. Whistle if you see somethin’.”

Lance leaned against the truck and watched Paul sneak down the road, moving toward the Jeep. He was hunched over, as if that somehow made him disappear, even though he wasn’t behind any cover.

He got to the Jeep and opened the passenger door. Leaning inside for a moment, he reappeared and held something up for Lance and Liz to see. Keys glinted in early morning sunlight. His toothy grin couldn’t have been much bigger.

Everyone left their vehicles unlocked, the keys dangling from the ignition nowadays. It wasn’t as if anyone was around to steal them.

Paul tossed the keys over the roof of the house behind him and then jogged back to the second vehicle, an LAV. He stood in front of it, scratching his head for a moment, before running back to Liz.

“Open your bag up,” he whispered. “I got two padlocks in there.”

“Padlocks? What? Why?” Liz gaped at him. “Why in God’s name would you have me lugging around padlocks?”

“I don’t have time to play twenty questions, woman. Give me the damn locks.” He looked to Lance. “They ain’t got a keyed ignition, so I gotta do something else to slow ‘em down.”

Liz grumbled as she rooted through the bag before brandishing the locks. She slammed them into his open hands without saying a word. Though she’d softened a lot since the events at the hospital, Lance could still see some of the bitchy tendencies he’d dealt with over the past decade.

With the locks in hand, Paul jogged back to the first LAV and climbed to the top. The hatch was open. He quietly closed it, then secured it in place with the padlock.

Lance grinned over at Liz. “He comes across like a dumb redneck, but the man knows his shit.”

“He definitely does. He’s still a pain in my ass though.”

The Wildman repeated the same procedure with the other LAV before taking the keys from the last vehicles and tossing them away. He came back to the Bronco, still grinning. “That’s gonna piss ‘em off when they get back. Even if they hear us start the truck, we’ll be long gone before they can shoot those locks off. Here, take these. You’ll need ‘em since this bastard has a flat.” He handed a lone set of keys to Lance. “It’s for the Suburban at the back of the line.”

Lance watched the side of the house where Cass had disappeared. He had no idea how he could get her away from those men.

“Throw the bags in the back,” Paul told Liz. “I’m going to take some of the supplies out of the truck with the flat and put it in this one. Then we’re gone.”

“Do you have an extra pistol I can use?” Lance asked. “I need to go get Cass.”

Liz had the back door open and was throwing a bag in when she stopped. “You can’t fight off all of those men.”

“She’s why I needed the truck to get to the camp. She’s here now, so I might as well do what I can here. He has more men at the compound.”

“But you can barely stand, let alone take out half a dozen men.”

Lance shrugged, but didn’t argue. He didn’t know how he’d do it, only that he had to try.

Liz turned to Paul. “We have to help him.”

“The hell we do. If he wants to get himself killed, that’s his business.”

“But—”

“He’s right, Liz,” Lance said. “You’ve done enough. Get out of here. I do have two requests though, Mr. Wildman.”

Paul sighed. “What? I don’t have time for this shit.”

“First, I need a pistol.”

“Fine.” Paul handed his over, along with an extra magazine. “What else? Can I go out and get you a pizza while I’m at it? Maybe a foot massage?”

“Help me get across the street and hidden beside that house. When you start the truck, give it three loud honks. I’ll be hiding when the men come to see what’s going on, and I should be able to get the jump on them.”

“That’s a stupid plan,” Paul said. “Gonna get you killed and bring extra attention on me.”

“Paul, stop being an asshole.” Liz closed the door and looked at Lance. “Of course we can do that. I’ll help you go now.”

“Yinz think I’m the asshole? I’m keepin’ everyone alive, and I’m the asshole?” He kept grumbling to himself as he moved gear from one Bronco to the next. “This is what I get for breaking my own damned rules.”

Liz lifted Lance’s right arm and draped it over her shoulder. They walked across the street at an agonizingly slow pace. Tears fell from Liz’s chin as they stepped onto the lawn of the house Cass had disappeared behind. “I feel like I’m leaving you here to die.”