The Hunger (Book 3): Ravaged (24 page)

Eifort grabbed the gearshift and pressed the clutch in. “Do you think she’ll be able to catch up with us?”

“I hope so.” Brown turned back to the woman he’d fallen in love with during the worst of the times. He marveled not only at her beauty, but at her toughness, her ability to keep pushing through the hardships that befell them.

And how many beautiful women could drive a tractor trailer? He couldn’t have done it.

As Eifort got them moving, the truck jerking as she struggled with first gear, his mind wandered to Cass.

He hoped she was staring at Colt’s cooling carcass.

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T
he Bronco eased to the front of the caravan and stopped.

Paul manually rolled his window down, his shoulder working with each revolution of the crank. His hand mashed on the horn.

Three blasts echoed through the neighborhood.

“Hey, ya pussies!” Paul stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “See yinz in hell!”

The tires spun as the Bronco pulled away. They turned down a side street and disappeared a moment later.

The voices from behind the home grew louder.

Lance clicked off the safety on his pistol and waited. His heart hammered in his chest with such force that he was half-convinced the men would be able to hear it.

Licked his lips.

Aimed the pistol at the corner of the house.

Three men walked by, so close that Lance could have spit on them. They moved with a brisk pace, holding rifles in front of them.

“Who the hell was that?” one of them asked. “You think someone from the cabin followed us?”

“How would I know? I was back there with you, moron.” The tallest of the men stopped in the middle of the driveway. The others flanked him from both sides. “You heard the major—we’re to shoot anyone we see, no questions asked, so keep your eyes peeled. He’s afraid that pussy doctor might try to run today.”

Lance aimed at the leftmost man first. His arms grew fatigued as he sighted the middle of his back. If he didn’t do this now, his strength would fail.

He fired.

The recoil bucked the gun into the air.

He nearly lost his grip, though he managed to hang onto the pistol.

The first man dropped, his rifle clattering to the concrete.

The others spun around. Lance shot the second man in the shoulder, spinning him around like a top.

With a scream, the final soldier raised his gun and fired off half a dozen shots into the side of the house beside Lance. The crack of his rifle boomed for miles.

Lance shot him in the stomach and chest.

The man dropped to his knees, his finger still jerking the trigger of his gun. Concrete chipped from the driveway in front of him as bullets ricocheted away.

The branches of the bush scraped across Lance’s still-healing arms as he struggled to move from the front of the house. Tiny lines of blood welled in his burned flesh as he finally extricated himself from the overgrown landscaping.

Two of the men blubbered and held their wounds, their eyes wild with pain and shock. The tallest of the three dragged himself toward his rifle, a streak of crimson trailing behind him.

Lance staggered over to the men, ignoring their protests, and shot each one in the chest at close range. The cold-blooded nature of the executions made him feel like a hit man.

A murderer.

But he remembered who these men worked for, what orders they were just about to follow. Lance refused to allow guilt to slow him, not when these men deserved more than they got. He knew who was in that tunnel with Cass, and he would do whatever it took to get her back.

Muffled shouting came from the rear of the house. Lance gave the rifles a quick, wishful glance. He wanted to bend over and grab one, but he wasn’t certain he could wield them in his weakened state. The recoil might knock him on his ass.

The screaming grew louder as he meandered his way up the short driveway. His shot leg threatened to buckle with each agonizing step. The furnace of suffering in his chest burned white hot.

He couldn’t take much more.

Soil was strewn haphazardly around the backyard. Tall grass poked through mounds of dirt circling a large hole just beyond a swing set. Bags of gear circled the front of the opening. The shouts came from inside, drawing nearer with each second.

Lance leaned against the rear corner of the house. His legs struggled to hold his weight, so he grabbed hold of a downspout trailing the side of the home. The cool metal did little to refresh him.

A hand reached out of the hole, the fingers digging in the loose dirt for purchase. A man’s head and shoulders followed, his mouth contorting under the effort to pull himself out.

He rolled free and turned, reaching down for someone else. He pulled another man up and reached down again.

“Pull us out! Hurry!”

Lance recognized Adam’s voice.

Colt came next. His head had a five o’clock shadow. Sweat covered his face and bulging neck.

Lance squeezed the handle of his pistol. His lips curled, exposing his teeth.

“Haul us up, you assholes!” Cass cried from below.

Relief rushed through Lance at the sound of her cry. His deepest concern was that Colt would hurt her down there, leaving her body for the Vladdies. He wanted to run to the hole, to pull her free, but he dare not expose himself yet. He wouldn’t have the strength to help her, so he needed to bide his time, to wait for the others to haul her up.

“Sorry, but this is the end of the line for you.” Colt gave the opening a small salute. “I’m sure this won’t come as much of a surprise. You were planning to do the same to me.”

“You mother—”

The rising shrillness of a dozen shrieks cut her off. Their cacophony came with such force that the foliage in the backyard seemed to tremble with it.

“Colt.” Lance stepped away from the house, the pistol aimed at the major’s back.

Colt peeked over his shoulder at the men standing behind him. He didn’t see Lance approaching. “What? Do you have the detonator ready?”

“Turn around, you fuck.” Lance kept moving forward, the hitch in his step worsening as he got closer. He stopped ten feet away.

Colt spun around. “What are you—?” His eyes widened when he saw Lance. His mouth dropped open. “Impossible.”

“You two. Get them out of there.”

Both of Colt’s men gaped at him, neither moving to help Cass, Joe, and Adam.

Lance fired a shot at their feet. “I won’t ask again.”

“What’s going on up there?” Cass asked.

More shrieks followed her voice. Lance felt a shiver run up his spine when he heard how close they were.

“Hurry! They’re right on top of us. Shine your flashlight on them!”

“Pull them up!” Lance hollered. The shout strained his chest, and his vision tunneled for a moment. He shook his head, willing himself to stay conscious. He couldn’t fail now, not when he was so close.

The men turned and reached into the hole. Joe came first, his face ashen and sweaty.

“You? How?” Joe turned toward the hole before Lance could answer.

“That’s what I want to know,” Colt said. “How are you standing here?”

Lance ignored him and watched as Joe and the two soldiers pulled Adam out of the hole.

Colt took a slow step to his left. Lance raised the pistol an inch higher, aiming at the major’s chest. Colt stopped mid-step, his mouth contorting in rage.

When Cass came out of the tunnel, Lance nearly collapsed. Her appearance, usually so planned and precise, was in a state of disarray that Lance hadn’t seen before

Her hair was matted and greasy. The white t-shirt had armpit stains and splotches of mud covering it. Strips were torn across the belly of the fabric. Her trusty axe was gone.

She crawled from the hole on all fours, getting some distance between her and the tunnel. When she was five feet away, she looked up.

The tension in her face disappeared when she saw Lance. “Dumbass?”

“Hey, bitch.” Lance gave her a small, pain-ridden smile. “Move to the side, will ya?”

Cass stared at him, dumbstruck, her lips forming a circle of bewilderment.

“How?” Colt asked again. “I shot you twice. Watched you die right there in the dirt.”

“What?” Cass’ head swiveled around as she looked back and forth from Colt to Lance. “I—”

A clawed, deformed hand snaked from the hole. Its powerful fingers laced around the ankle of one of Colt’s men. It yanked on his leg in a quick, snapping motion.

The man’s hip dislocated with an audible pop.

He dropped to the dirt, screaming in agony and clutching at the ruined joint as he was dragged into the darkness below.

Joe reached for the man. Their hands locked for a second before the man was ripped away, disappearing into the tunnel, his screams trailing behind.

“Get away from the opening.” Cass backpedaled toward Lance, their reunion temporarily shoved aside.

Colt’s hand moved to his waist, sliding around his back.

“You were right about one thing, Major.” Lance’s breathing slowed. He focused what little strength remained into his arm and shoulder, willing them to stop shaking. “I am a man of action.”

Lance pulled the trigger.

A ragged hole ripped into the side of Colt’s neck.

His hands slapped against the wound, a gag escaping him. He staggered sideways, stumbling toward the hole. Blood poured through his fingers. He stared at Lance with wild, fearful eyes.

Time seemed to slow in that moment, their gazes locked.

The other man dove for one of the equipment bags.

Adam, who had been frozen in place, watching Colt stagger around, dropped down and grabbed the bag. He yanked it away as the man’s fingers brushed it.

A Vladdie leapt from the hole, landing three feet from Adam and Joe. It roared at the sky as the sun charred its flesh. Its gray head blackened as it swung its arms around in wild, harried arcs.

“Watch out!” Joe shoved Adam aside, sending him spilling into the dirt.

One of the Vladdie’s arms smashed into Joe’s sternum. Ribs cracked loudly under the blow. Joe flew backward, sliding on his back in front of the hole.

His momentum carried him over the edge.

Shrieks of victory and hunger came from the darkness below. Joe cried out once, then fell silent.

Lance shot the Vladdie in the shoulder. It buckled under the impact, but recovered and howled again. Its forehead split as flesh peeled away under the sunlight. Drool oozed from the corners of its mouth like a rabid dog.

It grabbed the arm of Colt’s soldier as he tried to crawl away. It wrenched on his forearm, rending it to the side, giving his limb a new joint where one should never be. He cried out as he stared at his misshapen arm, his face a mask of horror and pain.

The beast leapt for the hole again, dragging the soldier behind it. They disappeared, kicking up dust as they slid over the edge.

Colt took another staggering step toward the tunnel.

One of his arms roved through the air in front of him like Frankenstein’s monster.

Blood coursed down his chest.

His mouth worked, but only gurgles escaped.

His eyes rolled to their whites.

He collapsed to his knees by the hole.

Cass stepped in front of him. “You should have played along, asshole.” She kicked him in the chest, driving him backward into oblivion.

Lance lowered the gun.

Coughed.

Spit up blood.

“Holy shit.” Adam backed away from the hole, his feet kicking up dirt. “Holy fucking shit!”

The ground continued to rumble from the ferocious roars of the infected. No more dared enter the sunlight, choosing to bay into the shadows below the surface.

Cass spun around. “Dumbass! You’re alive? How? What?” She charged him then, throwing her arms around his neck.

He grunted and stumbled backward, his shot leg unable to hold both of them. They fell onto the concrete with Cass landing on top of him. At the last moment, she curled her arms under him and managed to slow his fall, keeping him from cracking off the driveway with all of their weight.

His head still bounced though, and he saw stars for a moment. Cass straddled his waist, showering his face and neck with kisses.

“Easy, Cassie, easy.”

She ignored him and continued pecking, kissing, and whispering to him. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you were gone.”

Lance laughed through her barrage of affection.

Then he coughed up more blood.

“What’s wrong?” Cass leaned back. “Am I hurting you?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Colt shot me twice—no big deal.”

“Don’t joke at a time like this. Where did he shoot you?”

Lance tapped his chest. “Center mass. Once in my leg too. Then he kicked me into one of those holes. You giving him the same treatment was poetic justice, to say the least. What a dick bag that guy was.”

“So how are you still alive? That was days ago.” Adam walked over and stood by them, though he kept glancing back at the hole. “I mean, a shot to the chest should have been all she wrote, right?”

“It should have been, but the bullet missed all of my organs. Plus, I had some help.”

Cass climbed off him and stood, leaning over to help him get up. Tears ran down her filthy cheeks, but she wore the biggest smile that Lance had ever seen on her. Her hands shook as she lifted him to his feet.

Adam kept staring at the hole. “Poor Joe. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a good guy.”

“I only talked to him a few times, but he was a team player all the way. Never complained about anything, just did what needed done.”

They watched the opening of the tunnel for a few seconds in silence. Lance hoped that Joe would be the last man they’d lose, though he knew better. Having those around you die was the way things were now. Getting attached only led to heartache.

“Get me to the car. I’ll explain everything when I’m sitting down. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” Lance put his arms over Adam and Cass’ shoulders, taking much of the weight off his leg. It stretched the healing wound on his chest, but it was better than trying to walk by himself. “I’m sure the doc can help me out when we get back to the compound. I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”