The Hunger (Book 5): Decayed

by Brant, Jason

  Cass stayed silent beside him, her eyes red and watery. A single tear fell from one, disappearing into the growing pool of crimson.

  “No one will hurt him,” Eifort repeated, voice trembling but strong. “You can let go, baby. I’ll protect him. You can let go.”

  Under his hands, Lance felt Brown’s heart slow.

  It paused, beat once more, and stopped.

  The doc’s eyes lowered a few millimeters, then froze, staring blindly off into the distance.

  “Doc?” Lance stared down at his unmoving friend. “Doc?”

  Eifort burst into tears, lowering her face until it rested on her husband’s. She nuzzled her forehead into his cheek. Her hands worked against his, rubbing his knuckles, his fingers.

  Lance realized the chaos around them had abated. At first, he assumed his focus on Doc Brown had muffled the battle, blotted out everything else, but now he realized the fight had moved away from them. When he heard the stairwell door close, he knew Higgins and his men had headed upstairs.

  “Motherfucker,” Cass whispered. “Motherfucker!”

  Holding the barrel of her rifle, she jammed the butt into the floor, using it like a crutch to stand. She’d taken an unsteady step away from them when Lance reached out for her.

  Without a word, she ripped her arm out of his grasp and kept going, her attention laser focused on the door to the stairwell.

  Lance finally took his other hand off his friend’s chest.

  Inspected the blood covering him.

  It was still warm.

  He wanted to cry and scream, rage and mourn.

  Lance wanted to kill.

  Doc Brown had gone to hell and back with them. They’d met on the first day of the infection, barely surviving a horror show at a hospital. Together, they’d fled cities, states, and even the country. They’d called boats and islands and farms home.

  The doc had delivered Dragon.

  And now he was gone, just another dead body at the end of the world.

  Lance reached out to console Eifort, but stayed his hand. He didn’t know what he could possibly say that would help. Grief racked her body, her sobs loud in the quiet lobby. She took her husband’s face in both her hands, rubbing her thumbs across his cheeks as she rocked back and forth.

  “Stay with him,” Lance finally whispered as he stood. His best friend’s blood soaked through his jeans, the fabric sticking to his skin. “I’ll get Finn.”

  Eifort didn’t respond.

  She only cried.

  Spotting Doc Brown’s rifle on the other side of the desk, Lance limped over to it.

  Lifted it off the floor.

  Checked the mag.

  Lots of rounds.

  Doc’s last words had been about protecting his son.

  Lance would do just that, no matter what the cost.

  He started for the stairs, a scowl twisting his lips.

  36

  Bill’s body flipped end over end through the air as it tumbled down the exterior of The Light. He’d finally released Brandon as they both cleared the edge of the railing in a free fall.

  Brandon had only descended a few feet when he jerked to a stop with such force he felt another stitch in his chest pop. He dangled upside down, his arms swinging below his head. His momentum bounced him off the side of the building.

  That didn’t feel great.

  “Goddamn, kid!” The Wildman grunted above him. “Yer… heavier… than you… look.”

  Brandon pushed off the wall, looking up between his feet. The Wildman had both hands wrapped around Brandon’s legs. He almost yelled holy crap, but couldn’t manage to form words. Hanging upside down outside a building, held in place by a man who didn’t look like he could beat Charlie in an arm-wrestling match, had turned him mute.

  An immense sensation of disorientation dizzied Brandon as he stared down the wall of The Light. It was a long fall to the sidewalk below. Bill’s mangled body was a pile of twisted limbs in the snow.

  Seeing the corpse broke his paralysis.

  “Pull me up!” Brandon started hyperventilating. “Help!”

  “The hell you… think I’m… tryin’ to do?” The exertion had turned The Wildman’s face an ugly shade of purple. His eyes bugged out, teeth bared in a grimace. “You gotta… help me!”

  A gust of wind lifted Brandon away from the building. His arms waved around as he tried to swim back to the wall. Against all odds, his air-swimming maneuver didn’t work. While he swung out, he spotted the source of the gunfire below.

  An armored military vehicle was parked in front of the building, a man sticking out of a hatch in the top. He fired into the lower levels of The Light. Brandon watched as men fell from the windows, landing in piles of broken glass.

  The machine gun atop the vehicle had torn the men to pieces, their limbs and innards strewn about.

  Between the heavy snowfall and the distance stretched between them, Brandon couldn’t see who stood behind the gun. If he had to guess, it was Higgins, King Douche of them all. As he watched fire belch from the end of the barrel, it occurred to him that if Higgins spotted them, he could cut them to ribbons instantly.

  The wind died, slamming Brandon against the building again. He flattened himself against it, praying another gust wouldn’t do that again.

  “What do you want me to do?” Brandon tried to calm down, but there was no chance in hell that was going to happen. “How can I help?”

  His legs slid several inches in The Wildman’s grip, jostling him in the air.

  The Wildman grunted under the strain of his weight as he squeezed Brandon’s calves tighter. “No… idea…”

  Brandon glanced in all directions, his head darting around like a bobblehead someone had flicked. There wasn’t anything within reach he could grab onto. The side of the building had wedges of sharpened metal welded to it, but none were close enough to be of any help. Even if they were, Brandon didn’t think he could use them without getting torn up.

  The nearest window was almost an entire floor below him. Even if he managed to get down there, which appeared impossible, he wouldn’t have the strength to break through the glass.

  He looked at The Wildman again. “You have to pull me up!”

  “Can’t.” The Wildman’s breathing came in ragged gasps. “Getting a…hernia just… holding on…”

  The longer he held Brandon’s weight, the more alien the shading of his face became. If they didn’t figure something out soon, he might have a heart attack.

  Brandon curled his upper body toward his waist in an awkward, upside-down crunch. He reached for The Wildman with his left hand. “Can you grab my wrist? If I can swing right side up, I can put my feet against the wall.”

  The Wildman took a deep breath. “If I let go with… one hand… you’ll fall.”

  “Do you have any other ideas?” Brandon asked.

  Without warning, The Wildman released Brandon’s legs with one arm. He grabbed hold of Brandon’s outstretched hand just as his weight began to plummet. Before Brandon could even react, The Wildman let go of his legs altogether and latched onto his wrist.

  Brandon’s body twisted and flipped in midair, his legs flopping, dangling under him. The impact of his lower body whiplashing around strained the shoulder of the arm he was hanging from.

  “What are you doing?” Brandon scrambled to get his feet against the wall of the building. His sneakers slid a few times before he got the right angle. “I almost fell!”

  “But you didn’t.” The Wildman pulled as Brandon climbed up.

  With his free hand grabbing the ledge, Brandon managed to haul himself over the railing. They collapsed to the roof, chests heaving, hearts racing.

  Brandon laid flat on his back, snowflakes landing in his gaping mouth. He blinked more away. His chest throbbed. Heat blossomed in his shoulder, ran down his arm. It felt like something almost gave way in the joint.

  The concussive gunshots finally stopped from below. A throaty engine roared as the m
ilitary vehicle came to life. Brandon hoped they were leaving. He feared what he would find when he managed to drag himself downstairs.

  “Could have warned me,” Brandon said between gasps.

  “Didn’t have time.” The Wildman wiped at his forehead with the back of his arm. “My grip was toast.”

  “You almost dropped me?” Brandon’s eyes widened. “How close was I to falling?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, it matters! I was—”

  An enormous crash rocked The Light, vibrations shaking the entire building. Brandon felt the impact reverberate through the roof.

  “Now what in the good goddamn was that?” The Wildman stood, lent a hand to Brandon. “Yinz have more craziness going on around in here in a day than we’ve had in years.”

  “Us?” Brandon gawked at him. “Nothing ever happened until you showed up.”

  “Oh, really?” The Wildman crossed his arms over his chest. “Guess yinz never had any kidnappings n’at. Nothing but shits and giggles around here. Just video games and orgies downtown, right?”

  The way the man spoke befuddled Brandon. Downtown sounded more like dahntahn. And what did yinz mean? Or n’at? He was pretty certain those were made-up words. He didn’t even want to think about the mention of video games and orgies.

  The dude was super weird.

  Gunfire erupted again, though it was more muffled than before.

  Brandon carefully peered over the edge of the building, keeping his center of gravity as far from the railing as he could. He wondered if he was afraid of heights now. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think they drove that tank-thing into the building.”

  “They what?”

  “I think they drove—”

  “Heard you the first time. Was being rhetorical.” The Wildman pointed at the pistol Brandon had dropped on the roof. “Pick that thing up and let’s get moving. We got a clusterfuck to fix downstairs.”

  Brandon did as he was told. As he scooped up the gun, he spotted the drone parked under a solar panel. “Did you see what happened to Megan?”

  “Yah. They were chasing Higgins back here when the battery in the drone died. I was trying to wave ‘em down as they drove back, keep ‘em from running right up on that APC. But then Bill decided to go full-on traitorous asshole.” The Wildman opened the door leading to the stairs, gestured for Brandon to go first. “I thought you were running out there to catch up to them?”

  “I was.” Brandon only understood a fraction of what The Wildman said. He had no clue what APC was or how Megan and the others had acquired a vehicle. “I have more bad news.”

  “Don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “I found Becky dead in Emily’s office.”

  “Who the hell is Becky?”

  “She’s Emily’s assistant.” Brandon relayed the chain of events leading from the propped-open elevator, to discovering Fred’s body, to the showdown on the roof.

  “So you had a gun, but decided to go for a flying-dropkick off the top rope?” The Wildman shook his head. “You think you’re the Macho Man or something?”

  “What? No, I don’t think I’m a macho man. I just couldn’t bring myself to shoot someone in the back.”

  “Not a macho man. The Macho Man. You know, Randy Savage. Oohhh yeeaaahhhh.”

  Brandon stopped at the door one floor down. Emily’s office and the elevator waited inside. He turned back to the weirdo from Pittsburgh. “Are you okay? What is an oh yeah Dandy Savage?”

  “Dandy Savage? That’s a goddamn travesty, kid.” The Wildman yanked the door open, walked inside. “Can’t believe you never snapped into a Slim Jim.”

  The more they conversed, the more confused Brandon become. Now the guy was talking about hurting skinny dudes named Jim. He was afraid of what else might come out of The Wildman’s mouth if they kept talking, so he decided to stay quiet for a while.

  When they reached the elevator, Brandon hit the button to go down.

  Nothing happened.

  He punched it again.

  It didn’t even make a sound.

  “Guess we’re taking the stairs. Nothing better than dying tired.” The Wildman stopped by the supplies, kicking around at a few guns with his toe. “Dunno if I should use a rifle or a pistol. Or both.”

  Brandon didn’t wait for him.

  He descended the stairs as fast as he could, jumping from one landing to the next. The Wildman called after him when he was three floors down. He refused to slow down, pushing on.

  Until someone fired a gun near the bottom of the stairwell.

  The Bandits were working their way up.

  37

  Cass saw red as she limped across the lobby. Rage and revenge swallowed her whole. Her inability to think clearly had her storming toward the stairwell rather than using cover.

  If any of the Bandits saw her coming, they would have an easy shot.

  She didn’t care.

  All she could think about was getting to the children.

  And killing Higgins.

  Nothing else mattered.

  The overhead lights flickered on when she made it halfway across the lobby, the system running on some kind of timer. She hadn’t realized how dark the inside of the building had become until the lights displayed the carnage around her.

  Bodies were strewn about, whole chunks torn away.

  Arterial spray and gore splattered the walls, the floor.

  In the dark, they’d appeared to be little more than lumps dotting the lobby. Now the full mayhem the APC had caused was illuminated in a gory display. They were fortunate that Higgins’ moronic men had crashed the vehicle into the elevator, getting the front tires stuck. If they’d managed to keep it operational, it would have cut down everyone who tried to stop them. Cass doubted The Light had the kind of firepower it would take to damage something so armored.

  She reached the door to the stairwell, pausing to listen inside.

  A firefight raged above her.

  A woman screamed, only to be cutoff by an explosion.

  Cass tore the door open, spotted a bearded thug at the top of the first set of stairs. He aimed a pistol at her, a gnarled grin peeking out of a gnarled beard.

  Lance grabbed her by the shoulder, tearing her away from the open door as the Bandit fired. The bullet hit the floor where she’d stood a millisecond before, tearing a chunk out of the linoleum.

  “Get it together,” Lance shouted over the gunfire. The battle above made it hard for Cass to hear him. “We can’t take these assholes out if we’re dead!”

  “Emmett is already dead.” Cass tore her arm away from Lance’s once again. “Get out of my way.”

  “Cassandra.” Lance leaned closer until his face hovered inches from hers.

  Hearing her full name cracked her shield of rage. Lance never called her that unless he was making a joke at her expense… or if his temper had reached a boiling point.

  “Lincoln and Finn are upstairs. If we’re going to get to them, we have to be careful.” Lance held her gaze, fire in his eyes. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.” Cass breathed through her nose, focused on calming down. If hearing her name had surprised her, then Lance’s use of Lincoln’s real name, instead of that Dragon nonsense, blew her away.

  No matter what happened to them, Lance always maintained his oddball sense of humor. When his wit disappeared, Cass knew that things had gone from bad to worse. And he was right—she had to pull it together.

  A dead momma bear couldn’t protect her cubs.

  “You good?” he asked.

  “No. But I’m with you.”

  The gunfire above them grew quieter, as if the shooters were moving farther away. It sounded as if the Bandits had exited the stairwell, entered the first story. Cass assumed they planned to go floor to floor, killing everyone they encountered.

  “Good.” Lance took a position by the door. “I’m going to dive to the other side,
get his attention. When he shoots at me, you take him out.”

  “That’s a stupid plan.” Cass got her rifle ready anyway. “Don’t get shot, dumbass.”

  Lance clenched his jaw, then lunged in front of the door. He stayed low, landing on his side, and slid to the other side.

  The Bandit inside popped off two shots, one embedding in the doorjamb. Cass popped out and sighted him.

  His shit-eating grin evaporated.

  Cass blew a hole in the center of his face, obliterating his features. She kept her gun pointed at the landing in case someone else appeared. “Got him.”

  “Plan wasn’t so dumb, after all.” Lance got up, brushed chunks of plaster from his hands.

  “Just because it worked doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid.” Cass glanced at Megan, saw her cradling Emmett’s head in her lap.

  Beyond her, Magnus King stood in the destroyed main doors. He watched Cass, a confused expression on his face. He didn’t seem to know if he should go with them or run away. At that moment, Cass didn’t give a damn what he did as long as he stayed out of her way.

  “She can handle him if he does something stupid,” Lance said.

  “I don’t like leaving her alone with that idiot. She has enough going on.” Cass knew Megan could kick his butt with both hands tied behind her back. The fact he was the one without the use of his arms made it all the easier. Even still, she didn’t want to abandon Megan in the lobby.

  She needed her friends now more than ever.

  But someone had to fight back.

  Someone had to save the children.

  Kill Higgins.

  Cass’ lip curled in anger as she turned back to the door. She stepped through it, taking the stairs as quickly as she could without jostling the end of her gun.

  No one else attacked them as they ascended. Her back leg dragged over the edge of each step, a stabbing pain slicing through her hip when she put her weight on it. Lance moved a little faster, passing her as they reached the first landing.

  His bad knee threatened to buckle with each step, but he pushed through the obvious discomfort. He used the railing to help him along. Sweat and blood and melted snow slicked every inch of his skin.