The Hunger (Book 5): Decayed

by Brant, Jason

  Dust covered her clothes and exposed skin.

  She squinted against the particles attacking her eyes.

  Coughed up dark phlegm.

  Using her shirt, she covered her mouth and nose.

  If she was struggling with the crap in the air already, how bad must it have been for Lance? Cass tried to push the thought away, to focus on finding him, but failed miserably. Her mind flitted through all the scenarios of what might wait for her ahead.

  How close had he been to the explosion?

  Would he be wounded?

  Dead?

  “Lance!” Cass approached the first barricade where she’d seen the Bandits leave Adam’s body. A dead man was prone on the road, staring sightlessly into the dark sky. Blood pooled under him, red footprints leading away to the right.

  Cass followed the bloody trail farther into the dust. They disappeared a few yards later, just before they reached a sidewalk. Continuing in the same direction, she tried to search the area for more signs of Lance and the others, but couldn’t see anything.

  Chunks of brick and pavement dotted the sidewalk before her, growing in number and size as she walked on. The windows of the buildings she passed had shattered from the blast, the glass crunching under her boots.

  Debris and dust covered the dented cars.

  The destruction grew worse as Cass approached the next block. The facades of the buildings had massive hunks of stones and bricks missing. Doors had blown off their hinges.

  She spotted the body a few feet later.

  Bloody tissue had splattered behind it, leaving globs of discolored nastiness across the road. The dust had combined with the tissue to create a gelatinous streak. Cass’ attention locked on the body as she approached it, her mouth working as she whispered a prayer.

  The top of the head was missing.

  Gore had spilled from the gaping hole, forming a mound of brain and bone.

  So much dust covered the body that Cass couldn’t make out many details until she stood just a few feet away. The face was unrecognizable. Whatever had sheared off the top of the head had done a massive amount of damage to the facial features. She wouldn’t have recognized herself in that state, let alone anyone else.

  But the rest of the body didn’t resemble Lance.

  It was a man, but definitely not her husband.

  The dead man didn’t have Lance’s hard, lean frame.

  He wore different clothes. Different shoes.

  A heavy exhale escaped Cass as she scanned the area ahead. She felt dizzy and sick from the combination of relief at realizing the body wasn’t Lance’s, and dread at what she might find farther down the road.

  The pain in her back had melted to a dull throb she barely felt. She squeezed the rifle in her hands, grinding her palms against the cool metal.

  A voice came from nearby.

  Cass paused.

  Held her breath.

  Her pulse quickened.

  With her head cocked to the side, she listened for a few seconds, but didn’t hear anything save the jackhammering of her heart. She wanted to call out, to plead for Lance to speak up, but didn’t want to give away her position to anyone else who might be out there.

  The Bandits could have returned after the explosion, hoping to pick off any survivors.

  As she started toward the crater, she heard the voice again, louder this time.

  It was Emmett.

  Cass tried to break into a run, but her leg didn’t cooperate, and she almost toppled to the sidewalk. She slowed to a stumbling jog.

  “I can’t hear you, Doc. Can’t hear a goddamn thing!” Lance’s voice echoed through the street. “That explosion really kicked our asses.”

  Emmett hollered, “I need you to sit down. Your equilibrium is clearly off, and you’re bleeding all over the place.”

  Cass saw their silhouettes a moment later. They stood half a block away in the middle of the road.

  “Lance!” Cass forced her body to move faster.

  The details of the explosion became clearer as she approached.

  Lance and Emmett stood beside a damaged car, shrouded in dust and surrounded by debris. Greg sat in the street, his back leaning against the vehicle. He held his head in both hands, slowly massaging his ears with his palms. Emmett faced Lance, trying to force him to the ground.

  “What?” Lance yelled. “I said I can’t hear a goddamn—”

  He stopped shouting when he spotted Cass.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  Long hair, frosty and gray from the dust, hung on either side of Lance’s face. A line of blood ran from his scalp, cutting through the grime in the center of his forehead, coursing down until it dribbled from his nose. Crimson streaked his cheeks and lips.

  Lance broke into a run as Cass stopped in the middle of the street, her shoulders sagging as she fought against tears. The gun fell from her grip, clattering to the pavement. Lance teetered a bit, canting sideways a few steps as he tried to maintain his balance. When he reached her, he scooped her into his arms, hoisting her feet off the ground.

  Cass squeezed him tight.

  Her body wanted to melt against his, to finally let go of all the tension of the past few days. They’d gone through so much that she craved an emotional release, to finally light the fuse on the emotional powder keg she’d become.

  Lance’s heart beat wildly against her chest, threatening to break what little resolve she had left.

  When she felt the blood from his head wound patter against her shoulder, she forced herself to harden again. She pushed against him a bit until he finally let her down.

  The stream of red dribbling from his nose had dotted her filthy shirt.

  “You idiot.” Cass wanted to punch him in the chest, but she was afraid she might hurt him. The bloody, dusty man in front of her had the appearance of someone who’d gone through hell. “I told you not to come out here alone!”

  “What?” Lance yelled. “Can’t hear you.”

  Emmett stepped beside Lance. “They were close to the blast. Obviously, it has affected their hearing.”

  “What happened?” Cass asked.

  “No idea. I was checking on the wounded man at the barricade when the explosion happened. I found them just before you.”

  “Fucking head is killing me,” Lance said too loudly.

  “We need to get them back to The Light so I can examine them.” Emmett checked the wound above Lance’s forehead. “This isn’t too bad, but it needs cleaned and stitched.”

  Cass said, “I’ll get Greg.”

  As she hurried over to the destroyed car, Greg spotted her coming, struggled to his feet. He coughed, choking on the dusty air as he stood. Small pieces of glass fell from his shoulders.

  Beyond the car, Cass took in the massive crater in the sidewalk that reached halfway into the street. The buildings around the blast site were destroyed, their walls crumbled to the ground, interiors devastated.

  Massive chunks of concrete had crushed the other side of the car, denting the doors and pulverizing the windows. All the street signs within half a block were bent at odd angles. Garbage cans and benches were damaged, knocked over.

  The street resembled ground zero of a war zone.

  As Cass gaped at the crater, she realized that was exactly what they were standing in—a war zone.

  “They put a bomb in Adam’s body,” Lance said from behind her, his voice too loud. “I barely saw it in time. We got behind the car just as it went off.”

  Greg followed Cass’ gaze. His face hardened as he stared at the crater.

  “They put a bomb in Adam’s body?” Emmett asked, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Hey, I think I heard that. Feels like I just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.” Lance dug in his ears with his pinkies. He shook his head, dislodging loose shards of glass from his hair. “Anyone see my rifle?”

  “They tried to blow us up when we went for his body,” Greg said.

  C
ass scooped up the rifle as she tried to get a grasp on the situation. If the Bandits had placed a trap inside Adam’s body, then they were already several steps ahead. One trap meant there were probably others waiting.

  A gun cracked from the other side of the crater.

  The bullet punched through the driver’s side door beside Greg.

  “Did you hear something?” Lance asked.

  Cass grabbed his wrist, yanking him to the left as a handful of blasts roared in rapid succession. Bullets ricocheted off the road by their feet as they ran for the closest building. Emmett and Greg followed at their heels, Emmett having to help Greg with his balance.

  The gunfire intensified, dozens, maybe hundreds, of rounds flying past them, bouncing off brick and concrete.

  Lance’s legs wobbled as he struggled to keep up.

  Rubble covered the sidewalk in front of the nearest building, slowing them down as they scrabbled over it. A stabbing sensation cut into Cass’ hip as she stumbled over a hunk of concrete, barely able to keep from falling down due to the pain. Her back flared, sapping her strength.

  After she climbed over the last of the debris, she collapsed into a barbershop. Falling on her side, she slid across the linoleum floor, cutting through a thick layer of dust.

  Lance almost tripped over her before he managed to grab hold of a black leather chair, righting himself. His glanced around wildly, as if he still didn’t understand they were under fire.

  As Emmett cleared the rubble, a bullet ripped through Greg’s shoulder, sending him sideways into jagged hunks of brick. Blood sluiced the construction materials under him as he writhed in pain.

  The gunfire ceased as Emmett dragged Greg inside.

  Emmett hauled him to his feet, guiding him deeper into the barbershop. Lance hooked an arm under Cass, helping her up. They followed Doc Brown past chairs, piles of magazines, and rusted hair clippers.

  Blood soaked through Greg’s shirt.

  They passed a small doggie bed atop one of the swiveling chairs farther into the shop. A tiny dog’s sweater with strands of white fur stuck to it stretched across the faded top of the bed.

  Cass caught sight of herself in the long mirrors that lined either side of the room.

  They were a mess of dust and blood and dread.

  Voices called in mocking tones from the street.

  “Keep going,” Cass hissed as Emmett paused at a door in the rear of the room.

  He fumbled with the knob, yanking it left and right.

  “It’s locked!” Emmett left Greg leaning against the wall, cradling his wounded shoulder.

  He kicked at the door, his large foot hammering the wood beside the knob. The door quaked from the blow, but it didn’t break open.

  Cass slipped out of Lance’s grip and faced the front of the building, raising the rifle to her shoulder. She aimed in the direction of the voices as they grew louder.

  “We’re coming for you, bitch,” a man jeered from outside.

  Emmett kicked at the door again, cursed under his breath.

  A shadow appeared in the dust flitting through the street.

  Cass fired.

  11

  The blast from Cass’ rifle startled Lance as he tried to help Doc Brown kick the door open. He’d heard the gunfire outside, but it had sounded more like the distant popping of bubble wrap than an automatic weapon. At first, he hadn’t understood the situation, confused and woozy from the explosion, until Cass had dragged him across the street.

  Seeing Greg take a bullet had finally pulled him out of his stupor.

  His body didn’t want to fully cooperate, but his head had begun to clear. When his wife started shooting, he knew they were seconds away from the Bandits turning them into Swiss cheese.

  Lance reared back, then kicked the locked door in unison with Brown. They smashed it open, sending it careening against a wall inside the next room. Darkness yawned ahead, the room lacking any windows.

  “Move,” Lance yelled as he grabbed hold of Greg, hauling him away from the wall.

  Cass stepped backward, laying down suppressing fire at the street.

  Greg whimpered as Lance put an arm around his waist, guiding him through the door. Brown went into the dark room first, arms waving in front of him like a corny sci-fi monster.

  Light seeped in under a door on the far side of the room, the only thing visible as they wandered into the darkness. Doc Brown headed for the light, fumbling around until he found the handle, yanking it open. Blinding sunlight flooded the area, forcing Lance to hold a hand up to protect his eyes.

  After passing Greg off to the doc, he went back to his wife, his equilibrium still uncertain, and slammed the door closed as she hurried through it. Her dusty, disheveled appearance would have made him laugh if they weren’t under fire.

  The pissed-off, animalistic expression on her face gave him pause. He hoped her rage wouldn’t be directed at him later, even though he deserved it. He had run from The Light to help the others without thinking it through.

  She’d probably whoop his ass the first chance she got.

  The door rebounded off the frame and bounced back to his hands, the broken latch unable to secure itself in the jamb. Lance searched the area around them for something to barricade the door. They were in a combination of an office and a storage room. Cardboard boxes lined one wall, two desks and a few filing cabinets in front of another.

  “Hold the door!” Lance grabbed the nearest desk, dragged it away from the wall.

  The feet screeched across the floor, making him wince. Even though he couldn’t hear well yet, the high-pitched noise coming from the desk managed to send a shiver up his spine. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

  With her back to the door, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession, Cass watched him struggle with the furniture. Loud, jeering voices called from the barbershop. Lance was surprised he could hear them at all.

  Whether that meant his hearing was returning, or the men were getting extremely close, he couldn’t tell. He slid the desk in front of the door as Cass moved out of the way. It wasn’t the greatest barrier he’d ever seen, but he hoped it would slow their pursuers down long enough to escape.

  Taking his wife’s hand, he led her through the back of the building, exited the rear door. An alley led to another street behind the barbershop.

  Greg and Doc Brown approached the mouth of the alley and paused, glancing back at Cass and Lance.

  “Don’t wait for us!” Cass pulled the rear door closed behind them and shuffled ahead of Lance, the rifle swaying in her grip. As she caught up to the others, she peeled off to the right, stopping at the end of the alley.

  Brown hoisted Greg against him, taking on more of his weight. Greg’s legs buckled as Lance caught up to them. Blood had soaked through most of his shirt and discolored much of his jeans.

  “Now what?” Brown asked.

  As if in answer, the Bandits shot through the door behind them, bullets pinging off the brick walls.

  Lance shoved Doc Brown and Greg to the left side of the alley before diving to the right behind Cass. She’d taken position at the corner, returning fire, punching holes through the door.

  The cloudy air around them made it difficult for Lance to pick out which way they should run. A few buildings were visible in each direction, but the city ended in a gray wall everywhere he looked. Lance glanced to Brown for help, but the doc had an equally confused expression on his face.

  Greg clung to Brown with one arm, his other curled into his abdomen, his features twisted in pain.

  The gunfire ceased at both ends of the alley.

  Cass watched the door over the top of her rifle, waiting.

  “Fun, ain’t it?” someone called from the back of the barbershop. “We’re having a helluva time!”

  “Eat a dick,” Cass shouted.

  “I’d rather not,” the man said. “Might take a bite out of that pretty little ass of yours, though.”

  Cass sent another roun
d through the door.

  “I told you I’d make you pay for killing Wayne.” The man’s voice was calm, measured. “And I always keep my promises.”

  “Don’t worry about Wayne,” Cass said. “You’ll be seeing him soon, Higgins.”

  The door pushed open, not violently, but as if someone had twisted the knob and given it a little shove. It swung on its hinges until it was three quarters open, light illuminating part of the office beyond.

  Lance watched over Cass’ shoulder, careful not to stick his head too far around the corner.

  No one stood in the open door.

  “If you give yourselves up, I promise to make it fast for your friends.” Higgins loosed a maniacal laugh. “Can’t say I’ll do the same for you, though. Gonna have a good time with you. A good, long time.”

  “Are you done shit-talking the murderers?” Lance whispered to Cass. “Can we get out of here, please?”

  “No?” Higgins asked. “I’ll guess we’ll do it your way then. My boys’ll have fun with everyone. It’ll be red-panty night for all of us.”

  A hand flashed through the open door, tossing something into the alley. Through the filthy air, Lance couldn’t make out what it was until it landed on the concrete with a heavy thud. It rolled along a windy, meandering path.

  And then he realized what Higgins had thrown.

  A grenade.

  “Get down!” Lance grabbed Cass by both shoulders. Heaved her around the corner.

  They landed on the sidewalk, Lance atop her, covering her body with his. His hands wrapped over her head, protecting as much of her as he could.

  Doc Brown hadn’t seen what was thrown, but he dragged Greg away from the mouth of the alley all the same. They stumbled in the opposite direction of Lance and Cass, angling down the street.

  The concussive force of the grenade blast hammered Lance’s already damaged ears. The sidewalk vibrated under them. Filth billowed into the air.

  A ball of flame hadn’t erupted from the alley, and the building didn’t collapse as Lance had feared. From all the Schwarzenegger movies he’d watched, he’d expected the grenade to go off with the power of a bomb.