The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation

by Demers, J. D.

  “Fish, no!” I said in sudden realization of what was about to happen.

  “I’m—” he started to say, but I cut him off.

  “You can’t! Listen to me,” I pleaded.

  “Don’t make this hard, kid.” Fish’s voice was shaking, as was the .45 in his hand.

  “Fish—” I began to plead again, but Cecil interrupted.

  “If you need me to do it, Fish, I will—”

  “Get out to the truck!” Fish roared, glaring at Cecil.

  “I’m just saying…” He started to argue, but the look in Fish’s eyes said it all. He would kill Cecil where he stood if he didn’t obey his order.

  “Okay,” he nodded, and then glanced at me with an odd look as he walked out into the reception area. I heard the front door open and shut again. It was just me, Fish, and Boomer now.

  I looked into Fish’s eyes. They had gone cold.

  “Fish, I’m telling you not to do this. I didn’t tell you before but—”

  He growled a loud and angry roar, reminiscent of a lion. His hand slammed against the wall, creating a dent in the drywall.

  “I’m sorry!” he said in a low snarl. “I should have been more careful. This is my fault.”

  “Fish, it’s okay. Look, I was trying to tell you, I’m immune. I have been from the beginning!”

  He breathed heavily. “Christian… Don’t beg. Don’t make it end like that.”

  Before I could say anything, I yelped in pain. Boomer had started to lick the wound.

  “See!” I exclaimed. “Boomer isn’t reacting to the bite. I told you, I can’t turn. I’ve been bit more than once!”

  Fish shook his head, partially lowering his gun. I could see that he didn’t believe me. Either that or he just didn’t hear me. He was fighting an internal struggle, not sure if he should kill me or not.

  “Fish… Please…”

  His face hardened again and he stared at me. Or rather, past me, as if he had decided something. He raised his .45 again and leveled at my head.

  “Take your gear off,” he whispered.

  “Fish—”

  “Take your gear off!” he roared. “All of it. Drop your gun.”

  I went silent. Tears started forming in my eyes. Not just because I thought I was going to die, but because I knew I may have been carrying humanity’s last hope.

  I slowly took off my vest and dropped my Glock to the ground in front of me. Boomer, who had been nursing my wound, turned to Fish. A low rumble formed in his throat. He knew something bad might be happening soon.

  “Back up,” he said, emphasizing with a wave of his pistol.

  I backed into the small receptionist area and unconsciously sat in the wheeled chair next to the desk.

  Cecil’s voice blared over Fish’s radio. “Fish, man, you have to hurry. It’s getting dark and the shadows are starting to move. Jenna’s having a shit fit!”

  Fish looked toward the exit and then back to me. He reached into his belt and pulled out his handcuffs.

  I saw a ray of hope through the bleakness before me. I thought he was going to cuff me and take me back to the camp.

  He tossed the cuffs to me and I caught them in my lap. I was about to speak, but he beat me to it.

  “Cuff yourself to the desk,” he said and glanced back out toward the front door.

  I followed his gaze and looked through the small receptionist window. The light outside had almost completely faded. The sun was close to going down.

  “Fish…” I moaned.

  Fish clinched his pistol and jabbed it in my direction. “Now!”

  I nodded and cuffed my left hand with one end and latched the other above a metal crossbeam on the side of the desk.

  Fish snatched my Glock up and ejected the magazine. He pulled back the slide and caught the bullet in midair as it ejected out of the port. Then, he dropped the Glock at my feet.

  His voice cracked as he spoke. “I… can’t. But… but you can. Promise me you will. For the sake of everyone at the camp. The kids…” he choked. “You have to, Christian.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I was entering self-preservation mode. I would say anything to not be shot.

  I nodded and stared down at my gun on the floor.

  Fish tossed the bullet on the desk and then grabbed my ammo vest, throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Boomer, come on,” he ordered my dog.

  Boomer didn’t move.

  “Boomer!” he called again.

  Boomer, sensing the conflict, bared his teeth at Fish.

  “Fine… Be zombie food,” he mumbled, then looked back up at me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he started to move toward the exit.

  Maybe I should have called out to him. Maybe pleading my case some more would convince him. I stayed silent. There was no reason to push him into making a decision that may not be in my favor.

  I watched the front door close behind him as he left, and let out a sigh of relief. I was still alive.

  The sound of the truck’s engine revved outside, and then slowly disappeared.

  I started to breathe easier as adrenaline started to ease. However, with the excitement dying down, the wound on my shin started to send a pulsing wave of pain up my leg.

  Boomer whined and sniffed around the wound as I clasped my right hand on it. I instinctively moved my left hand but was given a painful reminder that it was still handcuffed to the desk.

  I pulled up my pant leg and examined my shin. The bite wasn’t that bad. About a square inch of skin was missing, but it didn’t go too deep. My pants probably prevented the zombie from getting a good hold with its teeth.

  Hanging on the chair was a thin, pink sweater, most likely belonging to the receptionist that used to work at the dental office. I grabbed it and pulled out my long knife. After cutting a few strips off of the garment, I wrapped up my shin. It needed to be properly cleaned, but I didn’t have any water or anything else that would sterilize the wound. I’m sure there was stuff for that further back in the dentist office. The handcuffs, however, prevented me for searching the area.

  “I have to get out of these,” I told Boomer, raising my left hand and displaying the cuff wrapped around my wrist. His ears perked as the moans of the dead started to echo outside the building. Night was here and the dead were awake.

  He whined softly and lay down, as if telling me it was futile to try and escape.

  “Thanks for your support,” I sighed.

  My first thought was the Glock lying at my feet. I grabbed it and chambered the round Fish had tossed on the desk.

  Fearing a ricochet, but having no way to shield myself, I winced as I pointed the pistol at the chain of the handcuffs.

  CHUNK.

  The suppressed Glock fired its only shot. The cuff reverberated around my wrist as the round slammed into the chain of the handcuffs.

  Removing my flashlight from my hat, I illuminated the chain on the handcuffs.

  “Well, shit,” I moaned. The chain had a small dent in it, and that was about it.

  “Of course, Fish wouldn’t leave me armed if he thought I could shoot the chain.”

  Boomer lightly huffed as if he was saying ‘I told you so’.

  I examined the cuff and saw the hole where the key went. Searching the desk, I found a pile of paperclips in the top drawer. I had to make an attempt to pick it.

  I tried for thirty minutes before I gave up.

  “This isn’t the movies,” I moaned.

  Boomer looked up at me, panting.

  I started to lose track of time as I sat and contemplated. I thought about the crappy situation I was in. Those thoughts changed to why I was in it. At first, I blamed Fish. After all, if he would have listened to me… but those thoughts faded as I realized that, in his situation, would I have listened?

  Yes, I thought, I would have listened. I am not Fish.

  It was tough watching our old roommate, Judy, change into a scab. But at least I knew there was no saving her. Gonza
les was beyond help, too. We saw him changing before our eyes. But Fish didn’t wait to see if I changed, or bring me with him. Maybe he couldn’t bear the thought of watching me change? Maybe he knew staying in the dental office past sundown was suicide.

  I guess I couldn’t blame him.

  I’m sure the thought of taking me with him crossed his mind, but he wasn’t the only one. Would Jenna and Cecil agree to take me? Cecil had offered to put a bullet in me already.

  He did what he thought was right, a voice echoed in my head. You’re not dead yet.

  My conscience had been comfortably quiet since we had made a home of Camp Holly. Life wasn’t back to normal, but it was safe. There were no big horrors there, or scares. No one had died except recently and I probably didn’t need it. Evidently the voice in my head thought it was time to calm my soul.

  I had turned off the flashlight after I gave up on picking the handcuffs. I turned it back on and examined the small receptionist office. The voice was right. I wasn’t dead yet.

  The desk had the normal office supplies on it. A three-hole punch, stapler, file holders, a computer, and a bunch of other useless things that didn’t spell any hope for my situation.

  “What now, pup?” I said, petting Boomer on the back of his neck.

  There were filing cabinets behind me, but overall, the little reception area wasn’t any bigger than a normal sized bathroom.

  “Damn it!” I exclaimed, realizing I had forgotten about the .22 pistol I had holstered behind me. I pulled it out. Back up ammo was on the vest, but it still had ten rounds in it.

  I held it up, realizing how useless it was.

  “If the Glock couldn’t break the chain, this thing won’t even scratch it,” I complained to Boomer. Not to mention the pistol wasn’t silenced like my Glock. Even in doors, the sound would attract every zombie within a half a mile.

  Goosebumps spread across my arms as Boomer huffed and a rumble echoed from his chest.

  He quickly stood and cocked his head to the side.

  “What is it?” I whispered to him, knowing full well he was giving me zombie signs.

  “They’re outside, buddy,” I said. I pet him in an attempt to calm him down. “We’re safe if we’re quiet.”

  He turned his head and glared at me. It was his ‘you’re a dumbass’ look.

  Then I heard it. Movement was coming from the reception area.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  The zombies that were already put down when Fish and I first entered the building were lying in the lobby. How long had they been down? Did they already repair themselves?

  I looked around the receptionist’s desk again for a weapon. I had the .22, but really didn’t want to fire it and draw zombies from outside. I had the knife, but it was pretty much useless unless I was able to stab a moving zombie multiple times through the head. A feat that was hard with two hands, and I was limited to just one.

  I glanced through the small window that overlooked the lobby.

  The first appeared to be extremely decayed. It was naked and I was unable to tell what gender it was. It was lying face down and dragging itself toward the door leading to where I was and was almost out of view.

  The other was trying to stand, but seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty, as if the ability to use that function hadn’t been fully restored in the zombie yet.

  Boomer growled.

  “Shit,” I cursed again. The door leading to the reception area was still open.

  I moved over to the reception entry way and came to a halt as the handcuffs stretched to their limit. I could barely see into the hallway and glanced at the doorway leading to the lobby.

  The zombie was already halfway through and was only a few feet away from me. Boomer came up beside me and growled ferociously.

  The zombie answered with a guttural croak.

  I needed room, so I pulled on the desk. It slightly moved my direction. Yanking harder, it moved more and so I could stand fully erect in the receptionist’s archway. The door was still a couple of feet away, though.

  The zombie was almost to my feet and grabbed at my legs. Boomer jumped in and shredded the creature’s arm.

  The zombie was indifferent toward the damage done to its limb, and grabbed toward the new attacker.

  Boomer dodged back, barely avoiding the zombie’s clasping hands.

  I dropped the flashlight and pulled my knife.

  The zombie changed its target again, attacking the closest living thing. That thing was me.

  Luckily, the small flashlight was still bright enough to light up the small area, and I had no problem seeing the zombie. Before it could grab me, I slammed the knife into the back of its head.

  The zombie started to convulse, but quickly stopped as I twisted the knife in quick circles, scrambling the brain into stew.

  A loud bark rang in my ear as Boomer flashed past me.

  The other zombie found its footing, and was about two feet from falling on top of me.

  Boomer was quicker, though, and tackled the walking corpse before it had gotten to me.

  The two fell back into the door leading to the lobby, opening it completely.

  “Boomer, get back here,” I shrieked as the two, canine and dead, wrestled on the floor.

  I heard a yelp as the zombie bit into Boomer’s shoulder. Boomer quickly snapped at the zombie’s neck, tearing out its jugular and half the flesh surrounding it. But for a zombie, it did little more than slightly affect its muscle movement.

  “Boomer!” I called again.

  The canine jumped back to my side. In a wrestling match against a zombie, my poor dog couldn’t hope to win.

  “Come on!” I said to him, motioning him back toward me. He reluctantly obeyed. The zombie, following the same instructions, began to pick itself back up and move into the hallway again.

  I had no options left. Boomer was hurt and the chances of me winning a one-on-one fight with a fully functioning zombie were slim, especially when I was holding a five inch knife in one hand while the other was handcuffed to a desk.

  I reached back and grabbed the .22 Ruger. Boomer was still in the opening to the receptionist area, growling at the creature. I leveled the pistol at the zombie’s head. It was only a few away and easily within lunging distance.

  I fired one shot, hitting it square between the eyes. The sound echoed off of the close-quartered hallway.

  The zombie shuddered and fell against the wall. I thought it was going to fall, but instead it convulsed some and stood erect again. The .22 didn’t have the concussive force of larger bullets, and though it could punch a hole through a skull, it didn’t have the kinetic energy needed to liquefy brain matter.

  It didn’t come straight at me this time, but stumbled along the wall. The .22 didn’t drop the zombie, but it definitely had an effect.

  Instinctively, I fired three more shots before it was able to touch me.

  The zombie crashed to the floor, twitching. Its head was right next to my foot. I lifted my boot and stomped a few times until its skull was crushed and it stopped moving entirely.

  Letting out a heavy breath, I backed up into the receptionist office again and bumped into the desk. I had pulled it halfway across the small office.

  Holstering the gun, I bent down and picked up the flashlight. On inspection of Boomer, I saw that his fur was matted in red blood and black ooze. It didn’t seem to be bleeding profusely, though.

  “Dammit,” I swore, “I have to get these damn cuffs off!”

  Boomer simply panted and lay down, leaving that issue to me.

  I pushed the desk back and sat in the chair again.

  “Karina was right,” I told Boomer. “I should have said something earlier.”

  Karina… I thought.

  “Karina,” I said aloud.

  “That’s it! Leverage!” I said excitedly. The memory of the two of us being trapped in the attic came back to me. She told me to use leverage to get the plywood off.

&nbs
p; I shined the flashlight under the desk and saw where the leg was bolted into the desktop. I didn’t have tools to unscrew it, but I did have a sturdy knife to wedge the leg from the top of the desk, right above where the cuff was latched above the crossbeam.

  I stuck the knife under the bolted area and started to push down. A light wrenching sound told me I was making progress, though slowly.

  Again, a low rumble coming from Boomer caused me to freeze.

  BANG, BANG!

  A heavy rapping sound was coming from the lobby. I looked through the small window and saw shadows moving around in the moonlight just outside the giant, damaged bay window. The zombies heard the gunfire and pinpointed where it had come from. They were trying to break down the window.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I muttered as I pressed harder on knife, desperately trying to free myself.

  The window cracked. I looked up just in time to see the whole window fall as one piece the lobby.

  Boomer was already up and growling at the entrance to the receptionist’s office.

  There was no time. The door leading back to Boomer and me stood wide open.

  I dropped the knife and pulled the desk again, trying to reach the door to the hallway to shut it.

  Boomer was right next to me. The desk became wedged in the small entryway to the receptionist’s office. I couldn’t move it another inch.

  I stretched my hand out toward the door, which unfortunately opened outward and away from me. I could hear the zombies climbing and crawling through the large opening and falling into the lobby.

  Boomer barked just as my fingers touched the back end of the door, near the hinges. I couldn’t get a good grip, but I was able to slowly push it. I had stretched as far as I could. The handcuffs were biting into my skin and I could feel blood trickle down my hand.

  The door was over halfway shut, but the leverage I had on pushing it disappeared as the back of the door’s corner was no longer accessible.

  “Damn it!” I cursed as I tried to stretch further to no avail.

  Boomer prowled into the hallway, hunched and growling ferociously. The zombies could be heard shuffling through the lobby and toward me.

  “Come on!” I growled, no longer feeling the pain in my wrist as I stretched forward.

  Boomer glanced up at me. A look of understanding pierced me, as if he knew what I was trying to do.