The Hunger (Book 5): Decayed

by Brant, Jason

  No one would do that, let alone a badass like Lance.

  The woman, whose name Brandon hadn’t learned yet, was giving The Wildman an earful. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, the woman shouted him down.

  No way had Lance ever married that nut, Brandon thought.

  The Wildman held his hands up in a pleading gesture, but she kept on giving him the business. Her finger jabbed at his chest, her mouth worked faster and faster.

  Megan followed his gaze, shook her head. “Liz is really fired up today. She doesn’t want him getting involved with this fight.”

  “She doesn’t seem very nice.”

  “Liz can be a bit difficult.” Megan turned to the window, resumed her fingernail meal. “She’s been worse lately. I don’t think she’s gotten over Lance and Cass having Lincoln.”

  “So it’s true?” Brandon’s eyes widened. “They were actually married before?”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  Liz shouted at Paul one last time before storming away. Disappearing into one of the makeshift bedrooms, she slammed the door shut behind her. The Wildman stood there, shaking his head, kicking at something on the floor.

  Scratching at the bandages covering his chest, Brandon tried to wrap his mind around the Lance, Cass, and Liz love triangle. It didn’t make any sense to him, but then again, he didn’t understand most things adults did.

  His philosophy was to keep things fun and simple.

  He wanted to play video games.

  Hang out with Charlie.

  Scavenge goods from the city for The Light.

  Rinse and repeat.

  Adults always complicated everything.

  Faint pops came from outside, so quiet Brandon almost missed them. He turned back to the window. “Was that more gunshots?”

  Megan ran her hands over her hair, fixed her ponytail. “I have to do something. I can’t sit here and hope for the best.”

  “I might be able to help yinz with that,” The Wildman said from behind them. “Got some ideas n’at.”

  Sometimes, Brandon wished he had an interpreter for the bizarre things that came out of The Wildman’s mouth. It sounded like a different language.

  “You want to help?” Megan faced The Wildman. “You don’t want to play Switzerland this time?”

  Brandon had no idea what that meant.

  “Hard to play Switzerland when they grabbed my ass and hauled me all over the damned state.” The Wildman shrugged. “‘Sides, I’ve kinda grown fond of some of yinz. We’re all one big, fucked-up family, right?”

  Megan gave him a weak smile. “That we are, Paul. That we are.”

  “Call me The Wildman ‘round here.” His eyes darted left and right, as if he expected to find someone listening to their conversation.

  The dude was supremely weird, as far as Brandon was concerned.

  “I’m not calling you that, Paul. It’s stupid.” Megan wiped her eyes again, clearing the watery sheen from them. “It makes you sound like you’re a pro-wrestler.”

  “It ain’t stupid. It’s secretive. You know my handle precedes me ‘round these parts.”

  “I don’t care.”

  The Wildman rolled his head back dramatically, staring at the ceiling. “Goddamn women always—”

  “What’s your idea?” Megan interrupted. “We don’t have time to argue over your ham-radio crap.”

  “It’s not cr—”

  “Paul.” Megan crossed her arms over her chest, glowered at The Wildman.

  “Fine. Goddamn. Everyone woman in this building is tearing me a new one today.” He stalked over to the window, then pointed at the spot where they’d left Adam’s body. “I noticed something out there earlier when those Bandit jagoffs beat feet. Yinz see that stuff in the street? The boxes?”

  “Maybe?” Brandon squinted as he peered through the window. Though the dust had started to clear, it still blocked much of the view. “Not really.”

  “Well, they’re there. I saw ‘em earlier. Found some binoculars to see what they were. Turns out someone was bringing back a drone this morning. Prob’ly the doc or Greg.”

  “Why would my husband have a drone?” Megan asked.

  “Hell if I know. Just saying that’s what it is.” The Wildman tapped his temple. “But that got me thinking. If I go out there and grab the thing, I could use it to fly out over the city, maybe spot where those Bandit bastards are.”

  Megan’s eyes widened. “We could get the drop on them.”

  “Maybe. If nothing else, we’d know what they were up to.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Megan started for the elevators, but The Wildman stopped her by taking hold of her forearm.

  “Hold on a minute. Running out there is what got everyone else in trouble. If we’re gonna redd up this situation, we gotta be smart about it.”

  Brandon frowned. “Did you just say redd up?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Redd up? It means redd up. The hell kinda question is that?”

  Megan gave Brandon an impatient glare. “It means ‘clean up.’” She leveled her gaze on The Wildman. “What are you getting at?”

  “Even if we go out there and grab the drone, it’s gonna take at least an hour or two to charge the battery. No way it still has juice in it after all these years. Hell, it might not even hold a charge worth a damn anymore. Dunno.” The Wildman let go of her. “‘Sides, we shouldn’t run outta here until we know it’s safe.”

  “I have a drone,” Brandon said. “It’s in my room… I think.”

  “You have a drone sitting around?” The Wildman asked.

  “Yeah. I tried to fly it a few times, but I suck at it. After I crashed it a second time, I just gave up and forgot about it. I did charge up the batteries in case I wanted to try again, though.” Brandon thought about it where it might be.

  A few months had gone by since his last attempt, and he couldn’t quite remember where he’d tossed it. He’d found it in an old electronics store a few blocks away. At the time, he’d thought it would be a good way to scope out some neighborhoods before he went on a scavenging run.

  Using a drone to check if a store had already been looted would have saved him a lot of time rather than hoofing it all the way up town to find out someone else had already snagged the good stuff.

  But he’d somehow managed to flip it upside down a few feet after takeoff the first time he’d tried to fly it. The propellers had broken off. The second time, he’d made it half a block away before he flew it into a traffic light. It had bounced off the street like a basketball. More propellers had shattered that time.

  He’d shelved it after that.

  “Does it still work?” The Wildman asked.

  “It did the last time I tried it.”

  “Worth a shot.” The Wildman nodded at Megan. “See if you can dig up a high-powered rifle from somewhere. Something with a big scope on it. We’ll meet you on the roof, see what we can see. If I can spot a few jagoffs with the drone, you might be able to pick ‘em off from up there.”

  “See you there in five.” Megan gave him a humorless grin. “Wildman.”

  15

  “Ouch.” Lance pressed his eyes closed. Pain radiated up and down his entire body. Literally from head to toe. He didn’t move for several seconds, just stayed in place and tried to determine if he’d suffered any major injuries.

  His muscles were sore.

  Back ached.

  Blood trickled out of a dozen cuts and scrapes.

  Nothing felt broken, though.

  So far as he could tell, anyway.

  His pulse thrummed in his temples, amplifying the pounding headache that worsened by the second. When he finally opened his eyes, he was facing the boutique-clothing shop they’d run through.

  Only it was upside down.

  Raising his head, hissing at the strain in his neck, the jackhammer inside his skull, he took in his surroundings. His body was spra
wled out across the roof of a SUV, his arms and legs splayed out. When he’d opened his eyes, his head had been hanging over the back.

  The entire top of the roof was smashed in, the filthy metal dented and warped.

  He looked up at the second floor above the hippie shop, spotted Cass staring out a window.

  “Are you okay?” she called down.

  “I—I think so.” Lance sat up. His body didn’t respond well to the movement. “Did I just fall out a window?”

  “No, you jumped out of a window. Like a dumbass. Just stay there till I get down to you.” Cass disappeared from the window.

  Sitting on top of the vehicle, Lance inspected the street around him. A fog clouded his thoughts, made it difficult to recall what had happened. He thought he might have knocked himself out.

  Probably had a concussion.

  Whatever.

  Emmett could sort him out.

  He attempted to piece together how he ended up on top of a car. During the fight in the apartment, he’d tried to slam Joe Bob into the wall, but had missed and driven them through a window. He kind of remembered the fall, but definitely couldn’t recall landing on the roof of the car.

  More blood ran into his eyes, the wound on his head seeping again.

  With an absentminded swipe of his arm, he smeared a red streak across his forehead and cheeks. The sleeve of his shirt came away wet and sticky.

  “Joe Bob?” Lance asked. “Where’d you go, you little prick?”

  Lance slid off the roof of the vehicle, feeling every inch of his fall. Though landing on a car wasn’t his idea of good luck, he knew that bouncing off the sidewalk or street would have sucked even worse. Just the fact that someone had abandoned their car so close to the building was a bit of blind luck.

  He hopped down to the road, groaning when his legs brushed his boys. He’d almost forgotten about Joe Bob’s cheap shot to the family jewels.

  Almost.

  A cowboy boot stuck out from the front of the vehicle, laying sideways on the curb.

  Lance staggered over to it, using the side of the SUV for balance. When he drew even with the passenger doors, he spotted the rest of Joe Bob.

  His lower body was all wrong.

  A compound fracture gave his right leg an extra joint halfway up the thigh. Blood soaked through his jeans. The left leg was bent at a ninety-degree angle in the middle of the shin.

  Joe Bob didn’t move as Lance approached.

  A shallow, dark pool expanded underneath his head.

  “Well, damn.” Lance stood by Joe Bob’s shoes. “You still with us?”

  He nudged at the broken shin with the toe of his boot.

  The Bandit didn’t react.

  “You moron!” Cass climbed out the broken window of the boutique shop, hobbled over to him. She had both the Bandits’ rifles with her.

  Her gait had worsened.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Lance gestured at Joe Bob’s mangled body. “I took care of it.”

  “You almost took care of yourself.” Cass socked him in the arm. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking he was about to shoot you in the face.” Lance patted the hood of the vehicle. “Besides, this puppy broke my fall.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder how you ever managed to talk me into sleeping with you.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You jumped my bones, remember? There I was, all defenseless in the back of an armored truck, when you practically ripped my clothes off. You were salivating at the thought of—”

  “Does he ever shut up?” Joe Bob groaned.

  They both looked down. In unison, they said, “No.”

  Joe Bob tried to lift his head, but couldn’t. His noggin rocked from side to side a few times, but that was the extent of it. He watched them out of droopy, bloodshot eyes. Lance didn’t think they had to worry about him anymore. The man would probably die from his wounds soon enough.

  “Why are you after us?” Cass asked. “What does Higgins want?”

  “Wants that sweet ass.” Joe Bob’s eyes closed. “Dumb bitch.”

  Cass placed the sole of her boot on Joe Bob’s third knee, the new one halfway down his shin, and pressed down.

  Joe Bob’s eyes shot open. Sucking in a ragged breath, he finally lifted his head from the street. Blood spurted from between his teeth, cords stuck out of his neck.

  When Cass released the pressure, he collapsed to the concrete, whimpering and shivering.

  Lance regarded his wife in awe. He’d expected some shit talking, maybe a few below-the-belt insults, but not torture. He hovered somewhere between being impressed and grossed out.

  “What else does he want?” Cass asked.

  “Nothin’. Just you.” Joe Bob’s chest quaked.

  Lance couldn’t tell if he was crying or if his body had slipped into shock. If Lance were the one laying in the middle of the street in a pool of his own blood with his legs twisted around like he was Gumby, he definitely would have bawled like a baby.

  “Don’t lie to me.” Cass nudged his other brand-new joint with her toe.

  He tried to squirm away from her, but only managed to slither a few inches. “Stop! Please, God! Stop!”

  “Jesus, Cass.” Lance considered taking a step away from his wife.

  For safety’s sake.

  Cass didn’t bother responding, but she did hand over one of the rifles. “Is Higgins working with Magnus King and his flock of morons?”

  It took Joe Bob quite a while to catch his breath. Tears streamed down the side of his head. Definitely crying. “Yeah, they’re with us. We picked ‘em up this morning. They gave us the body.” He looked at Lance. “That dumbfuck King wants you. Said he needed you alive—didn’t matter what it cost.”

  “That’s sweet,” Lance said. “Hope I get to say hi.”

  “What about Valerie? Is she a part of this?” Cass asked.

  Joe Bob didn’t reply.

  Cass lifted her leg to kick his broken body again.

  “Don’t!” Joe Bob managed to raise his arms, holding them in a warding-off gesture. “Please, no more!”

  Holding her foot in the air, Cass waited for him to answer. Lance noticed a grimace twisting into her mouth, and realized how much pain lifting her leg caused her. His concern for her back worsened every time he looked at her.

  “She’s talking to Higgins, yeah. But she ain’t down here with us. Just gave us some information on the dumb bi—” Joe Bob caught himself mid-slur. “Some information on the woman running The Light. She has something up her sleeve, but Joe Bob doesn’t know what.”

  Cass lowered her foot.

  “Why do you keep referring to yourself in the third person?” Lance asked. “And you don’t do it all the time, just occasionally. It’s weird.”

  A little blood bubbled between Joe Bob’s lips.

  It burst, reddening his mouth and whiskers.

  Lance knew he wouldn’t be around much longer. “You definitely aren’t Joe Bob Briggs. He was a smart-ass, but I’m fairly sure he wasn’t as big a dick as you. I never met him. Seemed cool, though. I miss the guy.”

  “For crying out loud.” Cass rolled her head in an exaggerated manner. “Would you get off this Joe Bob Briggs crap?”

  “What?” Lance shrugged. “I loved MonsterVision. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t him, you know? If it were, we could have talked about all those amazing B-movies he used to show. He had the hottest mail girls, too. One had the biggest boobs I’ve ever—”

  Lance cut himself off when he noticed Joe Bob’s eyes had closed, his chest had stopped rising and falling.

  Cass nudged his new knee again.

  Nothing.

  “Well, at least he died listening to you blather on about nothing.”

  Lance feigned shock. “It’s not nothing. MonsterVision made me the man I am today.”

  “And we’re all paying the price for that.” Cass bent, rubbed her hands over Joe Bob’s pants.

  “Now you’re feeling up a
dead guy.” Lance leaned against the SUV, thankful to take some strain off his battered body. “You’re making me jealous.”

  “I’m looking for keys or a radio or something, dumbass.” Cass dug one of her hands into the back pocket of Joe Bob’s pants, pulled out a wallet.

  “Why would he still carry a wallet?” Lanced asked, as he watched her rifle through it. “I’m guessing he didn’t need his library card anymore.”

  The wallet contained several women’s drivers’ licenses.

  Cass paused on each one, before carefully setting them on the street. “Bastard was probably keeping these as trophies.”

  “They might still be alive,” Lance said. “Higgins was pretty militant about taking all the women to Valerie, right? Maybe we can try to help them somehow.”

  “Maybe.”

  A few old credit cards and a picture of a beat-up Harley Davidson followed. Scrawled on the back of the photo were the words, “My Baby.” Cass tossed those to Joe Bob’s chest without a second glance.

  Next, she found a scrap of paper with a handful of addresses scribbled on it. Two had Aberdeen Proving Ground under the street name.

  “Is that a military base?” Cass asked.

  “No idea. We should ask Eifort. Maybe she’ll know.”

  Stuffing the driver’s licenses and the scrap of paper in her pocket, Cass went back to searching Joe Bob. She found a small knife and a set of keys with no indication as to what they went to.

  The wind picked up, chilling Lance. His shoulders hunched against it. He wished he’d brought a coat, but without a meteorologist to warn him about the upcoming weather, it was a little difficult to plan ahead. The long-sleeved shirt he wore was adequate yesterday, but it didn’t help much today.

  Lance watched the street in both directions as Cass kept rifling through Joe Bob’s stuff. The coast appeared clear so far, but he had little doubt someone would come looking soon enough. He’d thought the gunfire might attract more attention. A few Bandits had gone after Emmett and Greg, but he had no idea how many were lurking around the city.