The Hunger (Book 5): Decayed

by Brant, Jason

  Brandon gave Fred and Bill a wave as they walked back to the stairwell.

  “Ahh, shitballs.” The Wildman huffed. “Battery is getting too low. The drone is automatically returning here before it runs out of charge.”

  “How many batteries do we have?” Megan’s jaw flared as she grabbed the screen. Pulled it closer to her to see.

  The Wildman raised his eyebrows at Brandon. “Kid?”

  “Two more,” Brandon said. “I might have a few in—”

  “Stop the drone!” Megan jabbed her finger at the screen. “I see someone!”

  “I can’t stop it,” The Wildman said, yanking the controller away from her. “If I don’t let it come straight back here, the battery will die and the thing’ll crash.”

  Megan ignored him. “Right there! Do you see that?”

  Brandon leaned closer.

  The drone flew down the middle of a wide, four-lane street with abandoned cars flanking the sidewalks on either side. Puddles of water filled potholes and coursed through grates. Several raindrops had landed on the lens, blurring the details on the left side of the screen.

  At first, Brandon didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  But then, a man jogged out from between two buildings.

  “That’s Emmett!” Megan tore her gaze from the screen, peering over the edge of the building. “Where is he?”

  “Five or six blocks away.” The Wildman pointed at the drone as it approached. “There! He’s just below that.”

  23

  Greg forgot about his broken body as he fled into the street. Pure terror overrode his pain while he stumbled off the sidewalk. He paused on the far side of a white sedan with only one remaining window.

  The Irish Pub stood behind him, the inside hidden from view. Greg searched the front for any sign of the Vladdie that had spoken to him. Nothing moved behind the windows, the open door.

  Ten seconds went by.

  Fifteen.

  The beast didn’t come for him.

  But it had spoken to him. Of that, he was certain.

  Even though Lance said that a Vladdie had threatened him while he was rescuing Adam, part of Greg hadn’t completely bought that story. A talking vampire was just too implausible.

  While he respected Lance more than he could ever articulate, Greg thought maybe he’d misheard the hisses and wails of the infected. Things had gone haywire that night—it would have been easy to misunderstand what he’d heard.

  He sure as hell believed the story now.

  The Vladdie had promised to eat him.

  Greg backed across the street, keeping his eyes on the bar.

  Movement caught his eye on the roof.

  The Vladdie’s head and shoulders appeared on the side of the building. It hopped to the edge of the roof, howled at the sky like a wolf. Its shriek carried through the city, a warning for any living thing nearby.

  Greg’s feet tangled. He landed on his ass, the jolt hurting his shoulder.

  He barely noticed the pain.

  The Vladdie cut off its lament, turning its head around in a slow arc, massive nostrils flaring. It paused, face angled toward Greg. “Rrunnnn. Rrunnnn awayyy, humannnn.”

  Greg was back on his feet before realizing he’d even moved. His attention remained locked on the Vladdie, his mind unable to comprehend what he saw.

  It stood in the daylight without issue.

  Smoke didn’t rise from its skin.

  The beast didn’t howl in pain or flee to the shadows.

  “Rrunnn.” The Vladdie shrieked again, its distended fangs glistening in the light.

  Greg ran.

  He wasn’t sure there was any point in running, since the beast could have caught him with ease. But when a talking, sun-proof vampire told him to run, by God, he would run.

  Even if he hadn’t lost an enormous amount of blood, he knew it could have caught him in a flash. He’d never been the fastest runner. In his current condition, he doubted he could outrun Lance’s toddler.

  He made it a handful of blocks, zigzagging until he lost all sense of direction before exhaustion forced him to stop. Collapsing to a bench inside a destroyed bus stop, Greg tried to catch his breath. The chilly air surprised him when he finally realized the weather had shifted while he wandered through a Vladdie nest.

  Ice covered everything.

  Greg glanced around, hoping he could figure out where he’d run to.

  Nothing was recognizable.

  Abandoned shops and restaurants of questionable quality lined the streets. The place resembled the kind of place he’d seen on The Wire several years ago.

  Red graffiti covered the side of a car across the street.

  Greg squinted at it, realized it was shoddy, barely legible writing.

  The tag read, BEWARE THE DEMON KING.

  “What does that mean?” Greg asked himself. “Who is the—”

  Then it clicked.

  He glanced in the direction he’d run from, then back at the spray paint.

  The Demon King.

  If a talking Vladdie couldn’t be described in such a way, then what could? He gulped as he stood up from the bench, stepping away from the warning. A shiver shook his entire body. The chilly air finally cut through his panic, curling his back and hunching his shoulders.

  He curled his good arm around his stomach, trying to contain what little body heat he could. It didn’t help.

  Ice landed on his head, coated everything around him.

  Walking to the closest intersection, he searched for The Light. Between the freezing rain and the dust in the air, he could barely see the next block, let alone the skyline of the Inner Harbor.

  Without any visual clues, he wasn’t sure which direction he should go. He feared he’d end up going the wrong way. Getting lost in the city. If the Bandits didn’t get him, then the Demon King would.

  The urge to sit on the sidewalk and weep hit him.

  While he stood in the middle of the street, fighting back the sudden swell of tears, he heard voices coming from around the corner. Greg looked down the street to his right, expecting to see a Bandit running straight for him.

  His day had consisted of one hit after another, so he assumed things would only get worse. But he didn’t spot anyone, save his own reflection in the display window of an office offering Unbeatable Rates.

  He heard at least two different people chatting nearby, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  The voices moved closer.

  Hobbling over to a parked minivan, Greg hunkered down behind the back bumper and peered through the broken rear windshield. The street remained empty. He scanned the area for something to use as a weapon, realized he still had the flashlight. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do with it, other than give someone a bit of a headache.

  Cass limped through the intersection. Soaking wet clothes clung to her shivering body. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, probably to keep warm. One of her legs dragged with each step.

  Lance was just behind her, a bag slung over his shoulder. Blood had soaked through his shirt and some of his pants. He wasn’t moving all that well either.

  A man followed them, pointing a gun at their backs.

  His leather jacket and shaggy hair and beard left little doubt about his association. He prodded Lance in the back with his rifle, shoving him forward.

  Lance continued yammering, his mouth never stopping, though Greg couldn’t make out anything he said. Cass stayed silent. The Bandit appeared annoyed.

  They marched down the center of the street, working their way through the intersection. None looked in Greg’s direction.

  As they passed the next building and disappeared from sight, Greg slumped against the back of the van. He weighed his options. Seeing Cass had given him hope for a moment before the Bandit had appeared. Now he had no idea what to do.

  Without a gun, he had little chance of saving them.

  Because he didn’t know which direction The Ligh
t was, he couldn’t head there for reinforcements. Following them was the only thing he could think of. Maybe an opportunity would present itself if he tailed them. That seemed incredibly stupid, particularly in his current condition. Even if a small window opened where he could save them, he wasn’t sure he could take advantage of it.

  He considered turning around and walking in the other direction, getting as far from the Bandits and the Demon King as possible. There wasn’t much he could do for himself just then, let alone Cass and Lance. Maybe he should save himself, figure the rest out later.

  The thought shamed him.

  His friends needed help.

  Adam had to be avenged.

  It was time for him to step up.

  Greg pushed away from the van with his good arm. He straightened out, grimacing at the aches and pains working him over from head to toe. With the flashlight gripped in his hand, he stalked into the intersection.

  He’d been a screw up his entire life.

  Not long ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about running the other way. Abandoning those who needed him wouldn’t have caused him any guilt.

  He kept thinking about Adam dying in his arms as he lurched up the road, damaged arm dangling by his side. The memories spurred him through the pain, through the desire to save himself, to flee the city and leave everyone behind.

  The presence of the Demon King loomed over him like an ominous cloud.

  Greg checked each rooftop, glanced in every doorway, as he followed his friends.

  24

  “I’m going to shoot you in the face if you don’t shut your damn mouth,” the man said through gritted teeth. “You haven’t stopped yapping for more than two seconds since I caught your stupid ass.”

  “If you’d answer some of my questions, I wouldn’t keep asking them over and over.” Lance saw the reflection of the Bandit behind them in a store-front window. The guy stayed at least five feet behind them at all times. He never moved close enough to make a play for his gun.

  With any luck, Lance’s constant harping would piss the guy off enough he’d make a mistake.

  Lance hoped that mistake would happen soon because he didn’t like the way Cass’ gait had devolved through the day. Though she’d managed to keep up with him, her leg was barely working. Her face had turned a nasty shade of red, and her hands hadn’t stopped shaking for the past five minutes.

  She’d tucked her hands into her armpits to keep warm, but the tips of her fingers were still visible. They’d turned blue.

  Tough as she was, even Cass couldn’t hide the pain twisting her body.

  The ice accumulating on the road had caused her to slip two different times. When Lance had reached out to right her, he’d earned a blow to the back from the butt of the Bandit’s rifle.

  Everything about their current situation made Lance feel like a complete failure.

  He couldn’t care for his wounded wife.

  Wasn’t there for his son.

  His friends were scattered, injured. One was dead.

  He’d walked them into another trap.

  Everything he’d touched over the past few days had turned to shit. Deciding to head into the Chesapeake Bay had screwed them over. Staying at The Light had put them in even more danger. Trying to recover Adam’s body had gotten them captured.

  What kind of a man couldn’t take care of his family and friends? What kind of leader constantly led everyone into terrible situations?

  “We’ll see how much yappin’ you do when you see what that freak show has in store for you.” The Bandit laughed as if he’d said something hilarious. “Hope I can be there to see that.”

  “Freak show?” Lance asked. “You mean Higgins? I’m guessing your boss wouldn’t be too happy to hear you talking about him like that.”

  “Goddamn, you people really are dumb. Course I’m not talking about Higgins. Talking about that moron, Maggot King.”

  Maggot King, Lance thought. Now that was kinda funny.

  “See?” Lance asked. “We agree that he’s a maggot. We should be friends.”

  The Bandit scoffed. “Don’t worry. Higgins is gonna be real friendly with your wife here.”

  “Fuck you,” Cass grunted between pain-ridden steps. “I’ll kill him just like I did your dipshit friend Wayne.”

  “That a fact?”

  “That’s a fact.” Cass paused, took a deep breath.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the Bandit said. “You aren’t that fast.”

  “You know what?” Cass started to turn, but Lance reached out and took her arm. She didn’t fight him much as he pulled her forward.

  Lance decided to keep yapping before she did anything stupid. “So Magnus King is in the city? How’d you drag his fat ass down here?”

  “Shut up and walk.” The Bandit refused to reply to Lance after that. He only barked directions at a few intersections, guiding them deeper into the city. It didn’t matter how much Lance poked and prodded him, the guy wouldn’t take the bait.

  Lance gave up eventually, falling silent. He took in the city around them, trying to remember the street names they passed, the restaurants and businesses. If he got a handle on their bearings, he might be able to navigate them back to The Light. Assuming they escaped.

  Having never been to Baltimore before, Lance was struck at the dichotomy of the buildings from one block to the next. They passed swanky brownstones lining one street, then rundown apartments with bar-covered windows the next. The stark contrast in wealth and status between different communities shocked him.

  The farther they walked, the worse Cass looked. Her shoulders had hunched. Her good leg wobbled with each step, fatigue slowing her down.

  “We can’t keep going,” Lance said as they passed a used bookstore. A handful of shelves were knocked over in front of the shop, old waterlogged books scattered about. The faded covers were unrecognizable from time and weather. “We’re too injured to march through the entire city. You have to let us rest.”

  Agony ripped through Lance’s knee.

  He collapsed to the concrete, clutching the joint.

  The Bandit stood over him, threatening to hit him with his rifle again. “We’re here, anyway.”

  “Then why you’d hit him, you bastard?” Cass struggled to bend down beside Lance, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Because I wanted to.” The Bandit put two fingers in his mouth. Whistled.

  A voice called out to them from above. “Higgins is just around the corner.”

  Lance spotted a scruffy man standing atop the bookshop, leaning over the side of the building to look down. He held a rifle with a scope attached to it.

  His smug face was very punchable.

  “Tell him I found his pets,” the Bandit standing over Lance said.

  “Tell him yourself, Earl. I’m not your goddamn gopher.” The guard leaned back and disappeared.

  “Earl?” Lance asked, his jaw clenched. The pain in his knee was enormous, smothering. “I’m getting beat up by another guy named Earl? How many idiots with the same name are in your gang, anyway? Does Higgins have some kind of Earl fetish?”

  The Bandit’s eyes narrowed. “How about I smash your head in, you stupid little—”

  “That’s enough.” Higgins appeared at the corner of the bookshop. Though he hadn’t appeared particularly dapper when they’d first met while Higgins was kidnapping his family, Lance could see how haggard he’d become over the last few days. His hair stood in all directions, his beard gnarly and wet. One of the sleeves in his leather jacket had a long tear running from the shoulder to his elbow. “Bring them over here.”

  “But his knee is busted up, and I don’t want—”

  “You should have thought of that before you hit him. Drag him over here if you have to.” Higgins disappeared around the corner without another word.

  Cass squeezed Lance’s shoulder.

  Their eyes met.

  Lance wanted to tell her it would be okay, that he’d fi
gure out a way to get them out of there. But he didn’t really believe that at the moment. Seeing Higgins hit him like a punch to the gut. They were alone with men who intended to kill them, or worse, and no one knew where they were.

  Doc Brown had seen Earl march them away, but Lance hadn’t spotted him since. He’d occasionally glanced over his shoulder, pretended to look at their captor, when he’d actually searched the street for the doc.

  Even if he had followed them, Brown wasn’t much of a fighter, armed or otherwise. He might be able to get the jump on one guy, but Lance had no idea how many Bandits were left. They’d killed several, but Higgins could have an entire brigade of assholes working for him.

  As he looked into his wife’s eyes, he felt dread welling up inside him.

  They were in deep shit.

  Earl grumbled as he bent to hook Lance around the elbow.

  Snarling, Cass shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch him.”

  “Then get his ass up.” Earl took a step back and leveled his rifle at them. “And be quick about it.”

  Lance slid the bag of explosives from his shoulder, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand with the extra weight. He winced as he struggled to push himself up with his good leg. Cass tried to hold some of his weight, but her own issues didn’t help. His jeans already felt tight around the joint as it swelled.

  Putting his arm around her shoulders, he let Cass guide him toward the corner of the bookstore. When they were a few steps ahead of Earl, she leaned her head low, whispered, “Someone is following us. Might be Greg. Could be Emmett though.”

  If Lance had been drinking water, he would have done a spit-take. Though he tried not to react to the news, he felt his body tense.

  Earl didn’t say anything.

  “Where?” Lance asked as quietly as he could.

  “End of the block.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “Not that I saw.”