Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites

by Tes Hilaire

  “You’ve never fed from a human?”

  I snap my mouth shut on my retort, my anger chilling to ice. I have fed from a human. Once. I’d been starving, having refused to feed after the change. Would have died if the vein hadn’t been slit by another, the wrist held over my parched mouth. I can still remember the crazed need to feed, the blooming rush of pleasure as I sunk my fangs into the vein, the loss of self as I greedily sucked the lamb’s life giving fluid. If I hadn’t been stopped…

  “There you go,” Brian says, turning his back on me dismissively as he moves to the next body.

  Heat floods my cheeks. I feel them, the numerous sets of eyes staring at me. I want to explain, want to justify myself, but can’t do so. Brian is right. I can’t escape what I am and therefore am inherently at odds with those who I would call my team. But he’s also wrong about me, because I’d rather let him stake me through the heart than ever devolve into a creature who could have been part of the horror around us.

  Needing something to do, I take the three steps necessary to bring me to one of the more gruesome kills in the room. A woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, has been gutted and dismembered, the core of her body lies on the floor, her glazed eyes staring up at a spray of blood on the desk beside her.

  My stomach flips over and tries to take a one way trip up my esophagus, but I force myself to bend down and turn her head to see the other side of her neck. No bite marks. Yeah, a powerful vamp could close them if they wanted, but why bother when you’re going to rip your prey apart afterwards?

  Clamping my teeth and breathing through my nose—yeah it smells bad, but better than tasting the bile that’s spilled out of her ruined abdomen—I do a cursory search over the less revolting wounds. Not a knife. Something more primitive.

  I’m about to stand, chalk this up to a mystery I can’t understand when a matted tuft of loose threads on the jagged hole around her ripped out shoulder catches my eye. I pluck it off, and rub it between my fingers. Not thread, fur. I bring it up to my noise, sniff. Dog. Did this woman actually have a pet? Odd, but not impossible I suppose. Standard practice had been to set the family pet free and hope for the best, but there were some who couldn’t bear parting with their life-long buddy. If this woman managed to keep her dog alive both through the initial outbreak and then the general time of starvation afterward, then she had been one tough cookie. Too bad it had ended like this.

  I stand, tucking the tuft of fur in my cargo pants. Somehow it seems right that I take it. A memento of this woman’s strength, a reminder of what I’m fighting for. Humanity and all the little illogical idiosyncrasies that go with it.

  When I look up it is to find John staring at me. His gaze drops to my pocket, a frown marring his forehead. Again the thought to explain crosses my mind, but I shove this away too. He’s probably never had a dog. He’s too practical and dogs are messy, eat you out of house and home, and way co-dependent. An image of my Old English Sheepdog, Shaggy, with his wagging bottom, slobbery tongue, and fur covered eyes hits like a painful sledgehammer to the chest. Poor dumb dog. He died trying to protect mom and dad. Maybe I can’t know this for sure, but in my heart I know that’s what happened to him.

  “Private Harper, is there any life in this building?” Convict asks from across the room.

  I draw my eyes away from John and look into Convict’s scowling face. “No.”

  “Can you tell about any of the nearby buildings?”

  I shake my head. No, I can’t tell, they are too far, but I know. Nobody has survived this. Those that did have doubtlessly been taken; harvested, if you will. Or massacred by whatever other monster had a hand in this.

  “All right. Let’s head out. There’s nothing to do here and Commander Derwood will be expecting our report.”

  My gaze is drawn back to the bodies strewn throughout the room. It seems sacrilegious to leave them. In a more civilized world we’d bury them, or do something to mark their passage, but this world is no longer civilized.

  I turn with the others, making my way through the sticky pools of blood back toward the door.

  “Wait,” John says.

  As a unit we swivel around. His arm is raised high, his head cocked to the side. I tip my own head, straining my ears. Damn, is that…?

  There is a loud explosion that shakes the entire building. I reach out, steadying myself on one of the lone chairs that hasn’t been tipped over.

  “What the hell is that?” Roy squeaks, slithering in behind Herbie, who, ironically is trying to angle in behind me. We’ve come a far ways from our first meet.

  I close my eyes, wanting to smack myself in the head for being stupid. “Crap.”

  Convict spins, pinning his stare on me. “What?”

  As if he really needs to ask. Only one thing out there, and now that no one is at their posts to hold the line, they are coming. Zombies.

  13.

  Boots pound on the cement stairs, treads gripping and scuffing on the metal edges. We are in a stairwell that will hopefully bring us out on the roof. A back door would be preferable, sure, but finding one?

  Through layers of cement we can still hear the occasional blast of another perimeter mine going off. More zombies, drawn by the scent of blood and fresh flesh. The mines are a deterrent, but not enough to stop them. They were never meant to be the only measure of defense. Airstrikes, ground guns and snipers. These are the barriers that are missing now. The building is already swarming with zombies. We tried at first to use Roy’s electronic gismo to lock the doors behind us but either they’ve found a way around or have managed to break through the rather insubstantial hollow metal. Our best bet now is to find a way out and then hope our helicopter isn’t completely overridden.

  “This is it,” John calls from the front of the line.

  I’ve been assigned to rearguard, I hope because I can sense how close the predators behind us have gotten and not because Convict is eager to have me picked off.

  There is some swearing as Roy is shuffled up to the front of the line. I shift back down the stairs to the last landing, listening. They are drawing closer but haven’t stumbled upon the stairway, yet.

  Two floors. That’s all that’s between us and dozens of starving zombie bellies.

  The waft of air is what first announces that the door to the roof has been opened. Unfortunately it also carries our own sweaty scents down into the bowels of the building. There is a muffled series of grunts and growls from below.

  “Make it fast people, we have company coming.” I spin around, booking it up the stairs. By the time I reach the top, Brian—the other rearguard, or perhaps the guard assigned to me—is squeezing through.

  I follow him out into the night, grabbing onto the edge of the door to slam it closed.

  “Out of the way.” Rodriguez shoves me aside before I can. I watch stupidly as he pulls the pins out of first one, then a second grenade in his left hand. With a negligent toss they’re bouncing down the cement stairs. The door slams closed before the percussion from the explosion can be heard.

  “All right.” His arm snakes out, his finger pointing at Roy. “Let’s lock this baby back up.”

  Roy races over, doing his thing. Maybe he’ll turn out to be useful after all.

  “Herbie, Juanita. Split up and see if there is something to brace the door with,” Convict orders, his lips pulled tight as he strides across to the back edge of the building. He’s come from the front so I have to assume he’s already assessed the situation there. And when he reaches the back and his scowl worsens, I have to assume it’s not much better on this side.

  I slide up alongside him, looking down. Nope, Convict is not happy. One glimpse and I can see why. It’s free of zombies—so far—but unlike the four story building that stands a good thirty feet away, this one has no way to scale down this side of the wall. No ledges, no cracks or crevices within the brick facade, and at almost twenty feet in height, it’s a bit far for a human to safely jump.

  “Did any
one think to grab a rope?” I ask. I know I’d seen a couple in the helicopters storage bins.

  No one volunteers a happy yes. They do, however, come over to assess the situation for themselves.

  Juanita rounds a set of air conditioning units, arriving back from her explorations of the back side of the roof and steps up between me and Rodriguez. Huffing out an exasperated breath. “Nothing for the doors on this end.”

  “There’s nothing on the front side either,” Herbie announces as he joins the rest of us as we stare over the lip of the building. One glance over the side and he pales. “No way we’re going to make it down that way.”

  “Come on. It’s not that far.” Juanita crouches as if ready to jump. I’m too stupefied to do anything to stop her so it’s Rodriguez who grabs her arm.

  She rounds on him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Hey!”

  His eyes narrow, the moon reflecting off his dark pupils. “Don’t be stupid. And wait for your team leads command, soldier.”

  Juanita glowers but remains silent.

  Satisfied, Rodriguez turns to Convict. “Well, any ideas?”

  Convict shakes his head.

  Behind us the door into the building rattles. Either they’re done with the bodies, or the smell of fresh flesh is just too enticing.

  “We better come up with something soon or this building is going to be surrounded.” This comes from Brian who has moved closer to the other edge and is peering over the side.

  “John?” Convict asks.

  John is studying the drop, his gaze traveling over the natural alley that is created between the two buildings. I could tell him what is there. Nothing but the ground. Hard as a rock, and no dumpster or anything to make the fall a bit softer.

  There is one solution, but I’m betting no one here is going to like it much as it requires more than a little bit of trust in me. I have to offer though.

  I take a deep breath and then say, “I can jump you down.”

  “What’s that, Private Harper?” Convict asks.

  I take a step back so he can see me without craning around the rest of the team.

  “I can jump you down.” I wave my hand behind me. “The drop is nothing for me. I can hold one of you at a time and jump down, then climb the building across the way and come back for the next team member.”

  His eyes narrow. Then he turns to Brian. “What do you think?” i.e. do you think she can do it.

  Inside I fume. Of course I can, I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t. But here is that trust thing, and after what we found inside, I guess it’s too much to ask.

  Brian shrugs, then in a move that drops my jaw, slings his rifle over his shoulder on its strap and takes a step toward me. “Well, fangs. Let’s give it a shot.”

  Mutely I nod and link my arm around his back. John steps back and out of the way. With a heft and a grunt I take on Brian’s weight, scooping my other arm under his knees as he leaps into my arms.

  Before I can decide that maybe this isn’t such a hot idea, I turn around and jump. The ground rushes up. My feet hit, smacking into the hard-packed earth. I stagger forward with the gracefulness of a lumbering turtle, trying not to dive onto my “precious” load. I must have bent enough for Brian’s feet to touch the ground because he’s struggling out of my hold. I release him. He lunges up and sprints across the expanse, squeezing himself against the opposite building, his rifle already up and at the ready.

  I stand there rubbing my knees. He glances over at me. “Well, get to it, fangs. They come around the corner and I won’t be able to hold them for long.”

  I growl but break into a run. Ten feet from the other building I thrust off the ground and manage to grab the bottom of the second story window ledge. Not bad. Seconds later I’ve managed to scramble my way to the top. I’d considered trying to leap from the third floor, but the narrowness of the window ledges convinces me otherwise. Better to have a bit of a running start. Angles and distances and all that. Who knew trigonometry would actually be useful in real life?

  I make it to our rooftop, tucking and rolling to absorb the impact. Better to save my knees for the real fall. I spin around. Rodriguez points at Matt with a sharp cut of his arm even as he maintains his rifle on the ground below. Matt looks a bit pale but he readily obliges, though he insists on going piggyback. Guess riding down in my arms is too much like the bride and threshold thing.

  So this is how it goes. Three more jumps in rapid succession—Rodriguez, Herbie, Roy—my legs protesting more and more each time. Thankfully a snack is just around the corner, literally, though hopefully they won’t sniff us out until we’re all down and ready to bolt. When it’s Blaine’s turn, he leaps into my arms without hesitation, letting out a whoop that vibrates between the two buildings. This is met with a hand cuffing from Rodriguez when we touch down.

  I scramble back up the second building, take my flying leap across. Convict, John and Juanita are all that are left. Still, I feel we’re running on borrowed time. The door will only hold so long and those zombies sniffing around the front for another entrance will eventually catch a whiff of the fresh meat in the alley.

  “Juanita!” Convict calls, motioning her over.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll stay with John.” She says this, but she doesn’t really seem concerned about John. Her gaze is on the dented door in front of her, eyes gleaming an unholy light as she strokes the grip of the rifle in her hand. I can practically hear her sanity shattering.

  Convict sucks in a breath, turning to John. “You got this?”

  I blink. What happened to the captain going down with the ship? Shouldn’t it be Convict here holding the line until the end? I thought that was the whole point of Rodriguez going down early on. Keep each group with a team lead. Yet I guess it isn’t all that surprising. Convict is third only to Roy and Herbie when it comes to saving his own skin.

  Stop that, Eva. John wouldn’t follow him if the guy were that much of an ass.

  Still I look to John, trying to see if he is okay with this. John must be. He inclines his head in answer, his eyes fixed on Juanita who is now licking her lips.

  With a muttered string of swear words to get on with it, Convict grabs my attention back. This is not the time to question his reasoning. Each second is ticking us closer to a disaster in the making.

  “Arms or back,” I ask, trying to keep my voice flat and emotionless.

  He twirls his finger. I turn and brace myself for his heavy weight. As soon as he’s settled I jump. His arms tighten around my throat, threatening to cave in my esophagus. In an arm wrestling match, he just might beat me, unless I’ve just fed.

  As soon as we land he leaps off, his rifle rising and pointing down the alley. I swivel my head to see what he’s looking at and watch as the first zombie bites the dust. After biting someone’s bullet that is.

  “Get ‘em down from there,” Convict yells, jerking his head toward the roof.

  I bolt, leaping for my handhold on the second level. Gunfire echoes between the two buildings making it difficult to discern who’s firing. I think some comes from the roof though.

  Not good.

  “Back up, Juanita!” I hear John yelling between the measured blasts of his semi-automatic. “It’s time to go. Now!”

  No, not now. They won’t make the jump without breaking something—like their necks. If they’ll just wait five more seconds!

  I scramble up to the next level, crane my head over my shoulder, and see why they can’t. The roof is swarming with zombies. They’ve broken down the door and are stumbling across the black tar surface toward their prey. I might be able to get Juanita or John down, but not both. Not unless I try to leap down with two of them at once. My aching legs scream at me for even thinking about it.

  Come on, Eva girl. I know you, you’ll find a way.

  The echo of a memory, my dad’s encouraging words, bolsters me. I twist around, hands digging into the casing of the window as I brace myself for the jump. One chance, I have to mak
e this. And not tumble into John or Juanita who are practically standing on the lip of the building.

  I take a deep breath at the same time that Juanita lets out a war cry, twisting to shoot at a zombie approaching from the side. Her foot slips and she falls back into the open air. Five feet and too far away, John swears and lunges for her. And I? I can only watch in horror as they both plummet toward the unforgiving ground below.

  14.

  There is a sickening crunch as they hit the ground. I am still clinging to the window ledge, my mouth open in a silent scream. John grunts, tumbling forward and rolling over his shoulder and onto his back. Juanita doesn’t. She screams, her hands clasping at her crumpled left leg and the shattered bone that’s sticking out of it.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  I let go, falling into the alley not five feet from her. John is already at her side ripping his belt off his pants and cinching it down into a tourniquet on her upper thigh.

  I slide in beside him, my hands trembling as I pull back her cargo pants to get a good look. Her femur has snapped in two, exactly halfway between her hip and her knee. This is bad, but not as bad as the fact that even with the tourniquet she is bleeding like a stuck pig. And whimpering. Damn.

  “Can anyone here set it?” I yell, though I’m not sure anyone hears with all the gunfire going on. The slow trickle of zombies around the corner has turned into a steady stream. We have moments, maybe less, before we’re overrun.

  “I can,” John says placing his hands on either side of the leg below the break. I must blink because I don’t even see what he does, all I know is Juanita screams again and there is a sick sucking sound as the bone slides back beneath the skin.

  “We got to move people!” Convict commands.

  “Keep them off of us for one minute!” John hollers back. As if that would be enough.

  But one minute makes it to two as I strip off my belt, pulling my knife from its sheath; the leather holster is stiff enough to work as a splint. With John’s help I place the sheath alongside her leg and am about to wrap the belt around it when I hesitate.