The Hunger (Book 4): Ruined

by Brant, Jason

  That was assuming they could even find her in the makeshift jail.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Bill turned toward the door.

  “Hey.” Cass pressed against the bars.

  Bill peered over his shoulder. “What?”

  “You’re a good man. Don’t let her ruin you like this.”

  “She saved me. And not just from the demons.” His face hardened. “I just met you. Don’t get it twisted. If it comes down to you or her, I’m choosing her.”

  The door slammed behind him.

  “You’re wasting your time trying to talk your way out of this,” the girl from the next cell over said. “They won’t listen to a thing you have to say.”

  Cass pivoted toward her, taking deep breaths, trying to maintain her composure. The girl was young and pretty, but her eyes held a hardness that defied her petite appearance.

  Grabbing two of the bars before her, Cass leaned forward placing her forehead against the cold metal. Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for getting locked up. Lincoln was separated from his mother once again.

  Their short reunion was cut short because his mother, as always, struggled with her temper. Having a child had tamed much of Cass’ wild side, but her old ways still reared up from time to time.

  More often than not, she managed to direct her chaotic nature toward a positive outcome for her family, but it felt as if she’d lost complete control over the past few days.

  “I have to get out of here.” Cass raised her head. “Now.”

  The young lady laughed. “You and me both, girlfriend.”

  “How long have you been in here?”

  “It’s hard to tell. They don’t have a calendar hanging on the wall. A couple of weeks, maybe?”

  “Weeks?” Shock spread through Cass. “Why? What did you do to them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sounds about right.” Cass surveyed the room for something to help get out of there. Nothing was even within reaching distance, let alone an object that might do her any good.

  “I’m Charlie,” the girl said.

  “Cass.”

  “Cass? That’s a cool name. A lot cooler than Charlie.”

  Turning her attention back to the girl, Cass asked, “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  The bastards had locked a seventeen-year-old up. Cass struggled to understand how so many people in the camp could just go along with something like that. Was it blissful ignorance? Willful ignorance? Were they all like Bill—willing to ignore a lot of terrible things because it made his life easier and safer?

  “I’ll probably be ninety before I get out of here.” Charlie moved to a bench against the back wall, huffed, and plopped down. “I just want to go home.”

  Cass pulled at the bars, hoping for a little give.

  They didn’t even move a millimeter.

  Panic nibbled at her.

  If she didn’t get out of there soon, who knew what they would do with her friends.

  With Lincoln.

  She had to get everyone ready for when Lance arrived. They had to get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry when the chance presented itself. Valerie was clearly off her goddamn rocker, and who knew what she would do if she caught Lance and Megan.

  The need to scream in frustration bubbled up from her stomach.

  Rather than freak out, Cass decided to keep talking, hoping a little conversation would keep her calm. “Where’s home?”

  “The Light.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a building in Baltimore. We have power and food and Nintendo. And my boyfriend is there. Well, he’s just a friend, but I want him to be my boyfriend.”

  Cass asked, “What’s his name?”

  32

  “Brandon,” Lance whispered. “Get ready.”

  “I’m good to go.” The kid blew out a shaky breath. “I think.”

  “Just get the car.”

  Lance glanced around the back of the truck, watching Eifort stumble toward the oncoming vehicle. She held one hand over her breasts, covering them for the most part, and waved the other in the air to get the driver to stop.

  Hopefully it was a man driving and not a woman.

  When it came to pretty ladies, particularly if they were half nude, men were complete idiots. If a dude sat behind the wheel, he would stop when he caught sight of Eifort. Guaranteed.

  A woman might keep going, though.

  Not because she wouldn’t want to help someone in need, but because she’d probably see right through the ruse. Why in the hell would a topless lady be wandering down the middle of a highway at midday?

  A woman would most likely ask those questions.

  A man would try to sneak a peek at some boobs.

  Just like Brandon was doing now. He tried to play it cool as he watched Eifort heading down the road, but Lance could tell Brandon hadn’t been in the presence of too many naked women.

  He just hoped the kid could contain his hormones long enough to do his job.

  The rumble of the engine drew closer.

  Lance spotted the glare of the oncoming vehicle a hundred yards or so away. The sun reflected off the windshield, forcing him squint at it.

  As best Lance could tell, it was a pickup truck of some kind.

  Eifort stopped and waved both hands, completely exposing herself.

  Lance squeezed the pistol in his grip, getting ready to spring out from behind the truck.

  The vehicle slowed as it approached Eifort. It stopped fifteen or twenty feet in front of her, and idled for several seconds. Dropping her hands, she squinted against the glare.

  “I need help,” she called. “Please!”

  Lance saw Greg sliding forward beside a car, crouched to stay out of sight.

  “Please,” Eifort said again. “I’m not infected, but I’m starving and thirsty!”

  Lance held a hand up, cutting off the glare so he could get a better look at the truck. It was a filthy gray monster of a vehicle. Extended cab and bed. Big ass tires. Lights mounted on the roof, a hefty rack stretching across the grill.

  He figured maybe eight men could fit in there if they squeezed together.

  He hoped for four or less.

  The front passenger door opened.

  A pair of dirty boots clomped down on the road. A man’s voice hollered, “You armed?”

  Lance couldn’t see the face the voice belonged to from his position. He stayed in place, waiting until someone approached Eifort. If he tried to attack them while they remained in the truck, they would have the tactical advantage.

  “No!” Eifort took a shaky step forward. “A bunch of men killed my friend back there, but I managed to escape and—”

  “Stay where you are,” the man yelled. “Get your hands up and turn around slowly.”

  Eifort did as she was told, spinning in a circle to show the men that she didn’t have a weapon on her. “Please! Just a little food and water!”

  Lance motioned for the kid to work down the line of cars to get closer to the men. He didn’t like the scared-shitless expression on Brandon’s face. Though he was grateful the kid had followed them, saved them even, he feared the boy’s inexperience in these kinds of situations could prove disastrous.

  The kid gave him a nod, paused for a moment to compose himself, then stayed low as he moved to the next car.

  “Get on your knees,” the man barked. “If you so much as move, we’ll have to fire. Understand me?”

  “Y-yes sir.” Eifort kept her hands high as she knelt. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  The man didn’t close his door, but walked around it and left it ajar. The door behind him opened and someone else exited, though Lance didn’t have much of a view of them.

  Lance pawed at the sweat running into his eyes.

  His heartbeat accelerated as he waited for the right moment to spring their trap. It occurred to him that not long ago, the idea of jumping a couple of men with guns would have horrified him. Now h
e didn’t bat an eye at the idea of his friend stripping down so they could jack someone’s vehicle to go after his kidnapped family.

  His life had taken a series of hard turns a few miles back, and he’d ended up somewhere so foreign he couldn’t even recognize his whereabouts.

  Or how he’d arrived here.

  “How did you get out here in the middle of nowhere?” the man asked as he cautiously edged toward Eifort.

  He held a pistol out in front of him as he scanned the cars lining the road. The smell of a trap had caught his attention. Lance hoped that a pair of boobs would keep him from being too vigilant.

  “When they sh-sh-shot Anna, I just r-ran and ran.” Eifort’s voice quivered. “They chased me for a long time, but I haven’t heard them all morning now. C-can you h-help me?”

  If they pulled this off, Lance planned to nominate Eifort for an Academy Award.

  The second man came into view, his tennis shoes and blue jeans all Lance could see in the space between the cars. Neither of their faces were visible.

  Whoever sat behind the wheel hadn’t moved.

  Stopping a few cars down, Brandon gave Lance a quick nod. He hunkered behind the trunk of a sedan that used to be white but was now a rusted gray. His new position had him behind the men accosting Eifort. Even though he’d moved much closer to the truck, he still had some space to cover when they jumped out of their hiding places.

  “She isn’t sunburned,” the second man said.

  “So what?” passenger number one asked.

  “If she’s been running out here in the sun all day, she’d have a sunburn.”

  Game over, Lance thought.

  He popped up and aimed his weapon at the second guy. “Drop your weapons!”

  In a heartbeat, Lance took in as many details as he could.

  The men standing in front of Eifort were tall, at least six feet, and had strong builds. Each held a rifle in their hands, the muzzles pointed at the road. The man in the front had comely blond hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow that made him look like some kind of a male model.

  Lanced aimed his pistol at the second guy who had dark, short hair and a jawline that would have made Captain America envious.

  Both of the men raised their guns and aimed at Lance’s chest.

  Passenger one bellowed, “You have two seconds to—”

  Greg stood up from behind the front panel of a minivan. He aimed over the hood, said, “Relax, bro, and no one will get hurt.”

  “We don’t want to harm you.” Eifort lowered her hands. “But we need your truck.”

  “Get the hell out of here, Joe,” the first man hollered over his shoulder. “Get Bill on the radio. Tell him to come and get us!”

  Lance heard the truck’s transmission switch into reverse.

  Brandon sprinted from his hiding place as the truck backed into a coupe parked on the shoulder. The passenger-side doors snapped closed from the impact.

  The driver slammed the truck into drive and mashed the accelerator again.

  In a flash, Brandon crossed the road and dove through the front passenger window headfirst. The speed and effortlessness of Brandon’s movement awed Lance. Had he tried to jump headfirst through anything, he would have broken his neck. The kid had moves for days.

  Sunlight glinted off the windshield again, making Lance grimace and avert his eyes. He couldn’t tell what was happening in the truck, but Brandon must have given the driver a hell of a struggle because the vehicle veered to the left and slammed into another car.

  The front crumpled under the weight of the truck and the heavy-duty cage protecting its grill. Crunching metal and squealing tires echoed down the road.

  Everyone’s attention turned to the crashing truck except Eifort’s.

  Lunging forward, she kicked the model wannabe in the crotch as hard as she could.

  A squeal that quickly turned into a combination of a groan and a scream escaped his lips. He fell to his knees, one hand dropping to his crunched jewels.

  Eifort snatched the rifle from his grip and flipped it around, aiming directly at the second man. “Drop it.”

  Lance marveled at her once again.

  When he’d first met her in Pittsburgh, he’d considered her a bad-ass soldier, but she’d risen to a whole new level over the years. She’d been a shy woman with a crush on an older doctor. Now she’d morphed into a Mama Bear who would kick the shit out of anyone who stood between her and her child.

  The second man shifted his aim from Lance to Eifort. “Not happening.”

  A roar came from the beefy engine as the driver mashed the gas pedal down. The tires spun on the pavement before the truck bucked forward, shoving the car entirely off the road. Smoke billowed out from the tires, the stink of burnt rubber filling the air.

  Lance spotted movement through the glare on the windshield, but couldn’t tell what was happening. With the barrel of his pistol, he motioned for Greg to help the kid out. Greg shifted his attention to the truck, starting to jog forward as the driver finally let off the accelerator.

  The engine died.

  Driver’s side door opened.

  Another big guy stepped out and raised his hands in the air, his gaze locked on the barrel of Greg’s gun. His thick shoulders were high and tight, his features twisted into a mask of anger and disgust.

  Brandon slid out of the door behind him as the man stepped away. He held a black handgun, aiming it at the driver’s back. Blood trickled from his nose. One of his eyes had already begun to swell.

  “You okay, kid?” Lance asked.

  “I’m good, but I need to learn how to fight.”

  Eifort said, “You have my word we won’t hurt you, but you have to drop the gun.”

  The second man glanced around at everyone as he thought it over. His shoulders slumped as he realized how utterly screwed he was. He dropped the rifle. It clattered against the concrete. “What do you want?”

  “Information.” Lance started forward, still aiming at him.

  “And your truck.” Eifort glanced over her shoulder to Lance. “Get my clothes, please. I’m tired of everyone staring at my chest.”

  Relief washed over Lance’s body as he lowered his gun. He tried to hide his emotions from the others, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. Though they’d managed to pull off their little carjacking, things could have gone south in a hurry. If even one of those men had felt froggy and fired a shot or two, Eifort might be face-down in the road right now.

  The man on his knees in front of Eifort blubbered something unintelligible and then dry-heaved. His eyes bugged out, and his mouth worked. Thankfully, he didn’t purge anything into the middle of the road.

  Lance grabbed Eifort’s clothes, keeping his gun ready, and tossed them to her. “Nice job.”

  “Feels gross doing this.”

  “I know, but we don’t have a choice.”

  “That’s why I did it.”

  As she pulled her clothes on, Brandon and Greg escorted the driver over to his two buddies. They forced all three men to get on their knees.

  Lance lifted the dropped rifle from the road and inspected it. He had no idea what make or model it was, but it had a full magazine of ammo and appeared well maintained. Eifort and Paul were the gun experts. They probably could have rattled off every minute detail about it.

  After leaning it against a car, Lance sat on the edge of the hood and focused on their captives. “Who’s Bill?”

  No one answered.

  The model-esque guy with the crushed manhood had stopped dry-heaving, but continued to sweat and whimper.

  “Obviously, he’s at whatever camp you’re from.” Lance pulled his sweaty hair away from his face. “But we need a little more information than that. How many men would Bill send to help you?”

  The driver spat on the road in front of him, giving Lance the ol’ stink eye.

  “Alrighty then.” Lance tried a different tact. “We don’t want to cause any trouble with your people, but we nee
d to talk to Valerie.”

  Two of the men glanced at each other, before quickly turning their attention back to the concrete. Whatever had passed between them confirmed to Lance they were from this Valerie woman’s place.

  Thank God for that.

  Fabio-Light kept whimpering.

  Lance hoped Eifort hadn’t ruptured the poor bastard’s testicles.

  No man deserved that.

  “We don’t want to tie you up and ransom you or hurt your camp or anything like that.” Lance put his pistol on the hood, hoping it would help him appear less threatening. “Our families and friends were kidnapped two days ago, and we think they were taken your way. We just want them back.”

  “We don’t kidnap people,” the driver said. “We stick to our own business.”

  “So people weren’t dropped off at your camp?” Eifort asked. “Two children, a pregnant woman—”

  “We aren’t telling you a goddamn thing.” Fabio-Light managed to get a few breaths in. “Might as well stop wasting your time.”

  “How do we talk to Valerie?” Lance asked.

  No one answered.

  Greg stepped closer to them, thrusting his pistol toward the driver. “Answer him, you asshole. Our best friend was kidnapped and murdered, and we know you had something to do with it!”

  “I already told you we don’t kidnap anyone!” The driver held his hands up, but kept his eyes down. “We just accept people who are brought to us and need—”

  “Shut up!” Fabio-Light took one hand off his balls to hit the driver in the chest.

  “We’re taking your truck and driving back there. You can come along, or we can drop you off over at that huge nest.” Lance gestured to the countryside. “Either way, we’re going to get our families back. What happens to you is entirely your decision.”

  Lance had no intention of giving them over to the Vladdies, but he wasn’t really sure what else he could say to get information out of them. He’d never been much of a liar, and he doubted he seemed sincere now.

  They had the truck, which was a huge win. With it, they could reach the camp in no time and scope things out. From there, they could formulate a plan to try to sneak into the compound. And they had Brandon. The kid could vault a fence or climb a building like Spider-Man. Their odds of infiltrating the camp were a lot higher now that he’d tagged along with them.