The Hunger (Book 5): Decayed

by Brant, Jason

  Beyond them, The Light stretched toward the sky, the snowstorm enveloping it.

  The APC was parked between Cass and the building. It was about fifty yards in front of The Light, parked with the front end pointed at the entrance. Higgins’ torso extended out of the top hatch, both his hands on the mounted machine gun. Flames spewed from the muzzle like dragon’s breath.

  Many of the windows on the front of the building had cracked. Dozens were missing entirely. Two men stood at opposing edges of an open space on the third floor, returning fire with semi-automatic rifles.

  As Lance hobbled toward his wife, he watched as one of the men in the window was ripped apart by Higgins’ bullets. The rounds caught him in the torso, nearly cutting him in half.

  The body fell from the window, flopping to the sidewalk in front of the main entrance. His legs twisted in a different direction from his upper body, almost separating the two, only strips of mangled flesh holding the pieces together.

  Before the second man could take cover, Higgins angled the gun in his direction. He never stopped firing as he swiveled the weapon, the bullets tearing through glass and metal, destroying everything they touched.

  The bullets severed one of the man’s arms.

  Obliterated his rifle.

  Blew a crater through his chest.

  The man flew backward, disappearing into the third floor.

  Watching the ease with which Higgins destroyed The Light’s defenses overwhelmed Lance. Round after round mauled the entire building, eradicating everything they touched. His boy was in there somewhere, helpless and afraid, waiting for his parents to save him.

  Parental fear gripped Lance, overriding his concerns over King. Releasing the cult leader, he raced for his wife. If they didn’t stop him soon, Higgins would tear the whole goddamn place down.

  Lance hobbled across the open space between them, hoping Higgins wouldn’t look over his shoulder. Without any cover, he’d be easy pickings for the ex-con.

  King ran past him, sprinting as quickly as his pudgy legs would allow. Without the use of his arms, his goofy running motion resembled some kind of performance art. He reached the others first, throwing himself against the wall for cover.

  An inferno raged in Lance’s knee as he limped closer to the others. He could barely stand to put any weight on it, each step mangling the joint worse. When he finally reached the building, he leaned against it, lifting his foot off the ground, hissing through his teeth.

  The pizza king said something, but Lance couldn’t hear him over the thunderous gunfire. He didn’t care what the little maggot had to say anyway.

  Eifort slid around the corner into the open, aiming her rifle at Higgins. After a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into eternity, she squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet dinged off the APC a few inches below Higgins’ waist. Sparks flew from the impact.

  The machine gun ceased firing.

  Higgins spun his head around, spotted their group. He shouted, “Hello there! Glad you made it in time for the grand finale.”

  Eifort popped off another round. This one ricocheted off Higgins’ gun as he swung it around. Higgins released the weapon for a second, letting it sag on its mount, as he shook his hands out.

  “Bitch,” he yelled. “That hurt like holy hell.”

  He grabbed the handles of the machine gun again, pointed the muzzle at them.

  “Get back!” Lance lunged from his hiding place, grabbed Eifort by the shoulder. He hauled them back to the side of the building. Their legs tangled, dumping them onto the sidewalk as Higgins unleashed automatic fire.

  Cass dove beside them, half landing on top of Lance, half on Eifort. She tried to wriggle to the side, but only succeeded in squirming around on Lance’s crotch.

  A sex joke popped in his head.

  In a different circumstance, he would have let it fly, but he was preoccupied with survival at the moment. That didn’t stop him at any other time, but he figured no one could have heard him over the booming machine gun anyway.

  Higgins destroyed the corner of their building, the sidewalk beside it.

  Dust and debris billowed around them as Lance crawled away from the barrage. The destruction moved closer as the bullets tore away the building. Doc Brown looped his arms under his wife’s shoulders and heaved her up, tossing her farther away from the gunfire.

  King’s mouth worked in an unheard scream. He stood alone, no one guarding him. If he wanted to escape, he could have fled at any time.

  Even as he frantically crawled away from the advancing barrage of destruction, Lance realized how desperate the pizza boy was to avoid the Demon King. Staying within striking distance of Higgins, who clearly wouldn’t mind killing him, was better than the possibility of running into the talking Vladdie.

  The gunfire cut off, echoes dissipating through the streets.

  A handful of smaller shots rang out.

  Higgins howled.

  Lance stumbled to his feet, peeked at the APC again.

  Higgins held his left arm, blood welling between his fingers. The ex-con jabbed a finger at The Light. “Ram those fuckers!”

  A handful of guards stood inside the front doors, popping off shots at Higgins. Most dinged off the military vehicle, ricocheting away.

  One hit the lid of the hatch beside Higgins’ chest.

  Cursing, he dropped down, disappearing from sight. His hand popped out of the hatch a split second later, slamming the door down above him. The APC lurched forward, the front end heaving several inches off the suspension.

  “What are they doing?” Cass asked. “Are they trying to escape?”

  Though Lance had heard Higgins’ order to ram the guards, he thought he’d misunderstood. Ramming a giant building with a vehicle, even an armored one, was beyond stupid. But as the APC accelerated toward The Light, reality settled in.

  Metal defensive structures surrounded the building. Rebar and sharpened I-beams jutted from the concrete, strategically placed to keep the infected away from the ground floor. Though they weren’t designed to defend against humans, they were close enough together to keep vehicles from getting within twenty feet of The Light.

  The sharpened metal would have popped tires, destroyed radiators, and mangled frames. Even a large SUV would have impaled itself on one of the pikes and died a leaky death.

  As they watched, the military-grade vehicle constructed with tons upon tons of armor and shielded mechanics plowed through the defenses. It barely slowed as it jounced over modified beams, bent rebar rods out of its way.

  The men inside the front door continued firing as it approached. They might as well have thrown rocks at it for all the good the bullets did.

  When they realized the vehicle wasn’t going to veer away, the guards attempted to dive out of its path.

  Two made it.

  Three didn’t.

  The massive tires rolled over two of them without a hitch, flattening them like pancakes. Gore spewed from under the tires. The vehicle struck the third guard, sending him flying through the air. His body flopped across the lobby floor like a boneless ragdoll.

  The glass front doors exploded as the vehicle smashed through them. Metal plates, welded in place behind the glass, were torn away, bending and twisting under the bulk of the APC.

  The vehicle disappeared as it drove into the shadowed lobby.

  Tires screeched.

  A massive collision shook the building.

  And then Higgins started shooting again.

  32

  The door behind Brandon burst open as he sprinted up the steps. Bill charged into the stairwell like a raging bull. Before he had a chance to take aim, Brandon cleared the next landing, kept ascending. The big man followed.

  If they’d been on a lower floor, Brandon had no doubt he could lose the larger, older guy with ease. It would only take a few flights to get space between them. But they were almost at the top of the building. There wasn’t enough of the stairwell left to get away from
him.

  Brandon’s options were slim as he hopped to the next landing, kept going.

  He could go to the roof, get help from The Wildman.

  It wasn’t more than a few hours ago when that yokel had told Brandon he wasn’t much of a fighter. Something about being in intelligence or whatever stupid, old-timer crap he’d said.

  Was The Wildman even armed? He couldn’t remember.

  Guns waited outside Emily’s office along with lots of ammo. If he could get there fast enough, he might be able to grab one and load it before Bill got there. He’d probably lose the gunfight, regardless of getting there first.

  He had terrible aim.

  Bill’s boots clomped on the stairs below him.

  If they faced off outside Emily’s office, Brandon didn’t think he’d have much of a chance. Even if he somehow ambushed Bill exiting the stairwell, the guy would mop the floor with him. Hopping in the elevator, assuming it was already waiting on his floor, and riding it down to the bottom seemed like the best option.

  But that would require abandoning The Wildman to an almost certain death.

  No one else was anywhere near the top of the building. Bill would simply walk to the roof, shoot the weird dude flying the drone, then probably destroy the solar panels.

  Without backup power, The Light would rely solely on hydroelectricity for their defenses. That seemed like a recipe for disaster. Any little hiccup in the system and they would be toast.

  As Brandon reached another landing, he opened a door leading to a storage floor, then kept going. He slowed as he ran up the next stairs, trying to stay as quiet as possible. With any luck, Bill would think he’d exited the stairwell.

  It didn’t work.

  Bill’s plodding steps raced right past the door. “Nice try, kid.”

  Only two doors remained above them.

  One led to Emily’s office, the other to the roof.

  “Keep this up and you’ll only die tired,” Bill huffed. “If you stop now, I promise to protect Charlie when you’re gone.”

  Brandon wanted to say something cool like, catch me if you can, butt plug, but he was too afraid to speak. With his luck, his voice would crack in the middle of the quip, anyway.

  When he reached the next floor, he slipped through door, raced inside. The elevator was set in the middle of the wall ahead. Brandon slid to a stop in front of the closed doors, hopping a bit as his sneakers found purchase on the linoleum.

  He reached out to jab at the call button.

  His finger paused over the button.

  According to the readout, the elevator was descending just a few floors beneath him. If he hit the button, it would glow while the elevator came up to him. He didn’t have time to wait for it.

  Had to hide somewhere.

  And if Bill burst through the door and saw the glowing elevator button, he’d know Brandon was still around somewhere. Rather than call for the elevator, Brandon spun and ran toward Emily’s office.

  As he reached the edge of the supplies, Brandon launched himself through the air, clearing the boxes of guns and ammo, flying over a stack of computer towers, and landing atop a mountain of toilet paper rolls.

  Every week for the past six months, he’d brought back at least one giant bag of TP for The Light. The other scavengers did the same. Fred always said toilet paper was more valuable than gold and almost as important as water.

  A handful of jumbo bags cushioned his landing.

  His weight crunched a few dozen rolls before he scrambled off the mound. He squirmed under the bags, pulling two over his body. The plastic wrapping crinkled as he tried to get in a decent hiding spot before Bill got there.

  Just as he stopped moving, the door to the stairwell flew open.

  He hadn’t grabbed a gun before hiding, because he didn’t think he’d have time. Hearing how quickly Bill had taken the stairs had proven him right. If he’d paused to grab a pistol, Bill would be shooting him in the back right now.

  “You’re starting to piss me off, kid.” Bill’s words were labored, his breathing ragged. “If I have to chase you up one more—goddamn it!”

  Brandon held his breath as he heard Bill stomp over to the elevator. There was less than twenty feet of space between them. Though he couldn’t see the traitorous bastard standing by the elevator, he could hear his out-of-shape butt gobbling in air.

  “Little shit’s smarter than I thought.” Bill stood by the closed doors for a few seconds, mumbling to himself.

  A burning sensation ignited in Brandon’s lungs as he waited for Bill to walk away. Though he was in great shape from spending his time running around the city, his lung capacity wasn’t all that great.

  He hadn’t gone swimming for years now. Even without people dumping tons of pollutants into the Chesapeake Bay anymore, the water wasn’t exactly clean. The idea of taking a dip in it wasn’t enticing.

  If he went for a swim off the Inner Harbor, he thought he might grow a second head.

  Beyond swimming, why would he ever practice holding his breath?

  Hiding from psychopaths was a good reason, apparently.

  If he got out of his current predicament alive, he planned to work on his lung capacity every day.

  Every.

  Single.

  Day.

  The burning in his chest became volcanic.

  Bill kept sucking in air like a greedy buttwad, while Brandon suffered nearby.

  After an eternity that probably didn’t last more than a few more seconds, Bill grunted, then headed for the stairs again. His footfalls were rapid, though he wasn’t running.

  Brandon thought his face would rupture at any moment when he finally heard the door to the stairwell rip open. Sparkles flashed in his vision. A weird ringing filled his ears. He forced himself to hold out for a few more heartbeats until he heard the click of the latch closing in place.

  Glorious air filled his lungs as he finally took the deepest breath of his life. He sounded like someone who’d just been resuscitated in a movie. It took a while for his head to clear, his chest to stop hurting.

  Oxygen was something he’d taken for granted his entire life.

  Not anymore.

  If diving into the Bay was what it took for him to strengthen his lungs, then he’d dive off one of the piers tomorrow.

  Turning into a double-headed monster be damned.

  Brandon tossed the toilet paper off him and hopped up, listening for Bill’s footsteps to come thundering back to the door. Didn’t hear anything. He hadn’t expected his ruse to work as well as it had. Bill must have thought the elevator had still been propped open until Brandon ran inside and took it down.

  As he got his breathing under control, and climbed over the stacks of supplies, he noticed the blood seeping through his shirt. A wet patch expanded in the middle of his chest. The fabric stuck to his skin.

  At least one of the stitches had popped.

  He would have looked, but he didn’t want to freak out at what he saw. The pain wasn’t too bad at the moment, so he forced himself to ignore the problem for the time being. He’d deal with it later, when the adrenaline wore off and the agony kicked in.

  The guns were a few feet away.

  Brandon inched over to a box of pistols and took one out.

  Grabbed a magazine.

  Slid it home.

  Filled his pockets with spare mags.

  Started for the elevator.

  The digital readout above the doors said it was on the third level. He hit the button, calling for it to return. The number ticked up as the elevator ascended.

  If Bill had taken the stairs down in hopes of catching him, then Brandon would be fine. The elevator in The Light was one of the fastest Brandon had ever used. There wasn’t a chance Bill could keep up, even with his big head start.

  The readout continued to climb.

  And then Brandon realized where Bill likely went.

  To the roof.

  Where he would easily kill The Wildman.


  “Damn it.” Brandon hesitated, knowing he should go help the weirdo with the weirder accent, but fear kept him rooted in place. “Damn it!”

  But he also knew Bill hadn’t gone up there for The Wildman. He wanted to destroy The Light’s power system. That was why he was in the battery backup room. If he went to the roof, he could smash the solar panels.

  Everyone in the building was in danger if Bill made it to the roof.

  The families.

  Kids.

  Charlie.

  Brandon groaned.

  Took a deep breath.

  And sprinted for the door.

  33

  Screams filled the wide-open area between Cass and The Light. Bloodcurdling death cries followed. Machine gun fire drowned them out a moment later as Higgins continued his slaughter.

  Cass prayed her son remained in their bedroom a few floors up, that Lilith hadn’t brought the children down to a lower level. Anyone in the lobby would be ripped to shreds.

  Megan and Emmett raced ahead of her, running full tilt toward the madness.

  Lance stayed by her side, limping on his swollen knee.

  Even Magnus King ran with them, though he cowered behind the others. He cursed their stupidity with every step. The idea of turning around and shooting him was intoxicating.

  They followed tracks left in the snow from the APC.

  Giant flakes cascaded from the sky, enveloping everything like a heavy blanket.

  The snow had accumulated on the roads, something of a surprise considering how warm it had been just a few days ago. If the pace of the snowfall didn’t slow soon, they’d have a serious foot or more in no time.

  Though Cass’ clothes were soaked, she barely felt the cold.

  Adrenaline and anger and fear warmed her body.

  The damage done to her back was a distant afterthought. Every ounce of her being coalesced around one goal—protecting her child. As she approached The Light, her intent focused on Higgins, she realized they had other problems broaching the horizon.

  Night was coming.

  Higgins had destroyed their lower defenses, creating a giant gap in the front of the building. The front door was gone, the metal plates behind it destroyed. Vladdies would pour inside with ease. Only light could keep the beasts at bay now.