Hunted (Collapse Book 2)

by Riley Flynn

  Alex looked up and down the road. His friends were in the car, coming toward him. Finally. They must have seen something. How had it taken them this long? He removed the gun from the holster, chambered a round, and slipped the magazine into his pocket.

  Reaching in through the window, Alex felt for a bloody hand. He picked up the man’s wrist, brought it up in line with the head. Placing the pistol in the man’s palm, threading the finger through the guard and on to the trigger, he pressed the muzzle up against the bruised temple and turned away.

  “Just pull-”

  The shot cut him short. The gas fumes faded, replaced by the sour smell of spent bullets and burned skin. A slow drip was drowned out by the sound of the other car.

  Alex kept his eyes focused on his approaching friends and felt for the dead man’s wrist. He untangled the gun, wiped it clean, fitted the magazine, and slipped it all into the holster. His ears were ringing, with both the car crash and the cracking slap of the pistol.

  “Come on, Finn. We’re leaving.”

  The car pulled up with Joan driving. It stopped and he crawled back across into the passenger seat.

  Alex took a long, deep breath. His nostrils burned, his ears thrummed with pain. It took all the willpower in the world not to wipe at his stinging eyes. Dirty hands wouldn’t do much good. He encouraged Finn up into the car and then sat in the driver’s seat.

  “What a world, man.” He stared at the wheel. “What a world.”

  Chapter 2

  “Careful, you gotta be careful.”

  The brittle steel hook clinked in the lock. Picking locks was an art.

  “I said careful, man,” insisted Timmy, blocking the light. “You’ll break it.”

  Crouched beside the road, the cold asphalt scraping his knee, Alex turned his hand. Hours after the car had nearly collided with him, it was nice to face a different problem. Positioning the hook just above torsion wrench, he listened for the sound. A tell. A sign that he was about to spring the lock. All he could hear was Timmy’s worried breathing.

  “If you break it,” Timmy said, “we’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no more lockpicks.”

  The ball pick clenched between Alex’s teeth stopped him from responding. Timmy fretted, bouncing from foot to foot. He might not have said anything, but that tense fidgeting was the same reason he couldn’t do anything with the picks. The Eko virus had taken his composure, along with everything else.

  “Come on, man,” he continued, “I want to see what’s inside. There’s got to be a reason this dude put a Yale lock on his trunk.”

  Alex felt movement inside the lock. Nearly there. A noise came from the trunk.

  Reaching out a spare hand, Alex pushed against Timmy’s leg, encouraging him out of the light. An autumnal sun, weak and without warmth. Yesterday’s weather. From across the road, perched against their car, Joan called.

  “You boys had better nearly be finished. I want to set up camp.”

  A shadow dropped across the lock as Timmy stepped back into the light, bent down, and whispered, “She’ll be thanking us when we spring this and there’s a trunk full of food.”

  Wiping his forehead, feeling a bead of sweat dribble through a two-week beard, Alex noticed the movement inside the car again. There was a reason this trunk had been locked. Too many dead bodies on the side of the road; too many violent men, armed with knives and curious natures, who might want to inquire as to what was inside.

  Asking the owner wouldn’t do much good. Still at the wheel, his gray skin and bloodshot eyes told the world what had happened. He must have been cruising along the freeway when the sickness became too much. He’d pulled over, joined the throngs of abandoned vehicles which lined every major road, blood cells bursting as they pumped through the arteries of America.

  “Come on. Come on, come on, come on.”

  * * *

  “You’re too excited, Timmy,” Alex told his friend. “Most people look down on grave robbers.”

  “Most people are dead.”

  Hard to argue with the facts. The lock clinked again.

  “Sun’s setting,” Joan reminded them. “If you’re not done soon, I’m leaving without you.”

  “She’s bluffing,” Timmy whispered, checking on their friend over his shoulder. “At least, I think she’s bluffing.”

  The wrench turned and the padlock opened. It gave a cold, lifeless clunk as it hit the road. The trunk swung upward and open. Together, Alex and Timmy looked down on their loot.

  A treasure trove. Box upon box of dried foods. Pasta. Rice. Jerky. Everything a growing boy would need. Timmy danced across the empty freeway, punching the air in celebration. Even after he beat the virus, he had almost wasted away, now as thin as his own shadow. This was just what he needed.

  Alex ran a finger across the tops of the cardboard boxes, checking dates and ingredients. Beggars pretending to be choosers. As Timmy sidled back to the trunk, he bowed theatrically to the dead man behind the wheel.

  “For what we are about to eat, may the Lord make us truly thankful.”

  Joan jingled the keys. They’d locked the dog in the car. She tapped on the window and Finn bounced around. He could see Timmy dancing.

  “You tell them, Finn.” Joan’s voice was growing impatient. “God knows who might be chasing us and they’ve stopped to spring a lock. And Timmy, you should not be exerting yourself like this. Hurry. Up.”

  “She’s right,” Alex told his friend. “Grab as many of the boxes as you can and let’s go.”

  Filling his arms, Timmy crowed. “We’re eating tonight, man. A real celebration.”

  He screamed, dropping the boxes in the road. The cardboard crumpled as it hit the ground, the packaging collapsing. No food spilled out.

  “What the hell?” Joan called from the road. “Come on!”

  Timmy brushed himself off, rushing back toward their car, even paler than usual.

  Alex turned back to the boxes. The cardboard moved. A gang of rats burst out and ran back beneath the trunk. Kicking through the discarded packaging, Alex found nothing. No food, just a waste of time.

  The sound of laughter echoed around the freeway: Joan bent double, holding the car for support. Already, Timmy had stuffed himself back into his front seat, fist rapping against the dashboard, urging everyone to move. Finn leaned over his shoulder and licked his face.

  Collecting his lockpicks, Alex stared down the road toward the setting sun. Cars filled with corpses and rats. The freeway might seem dead and bare now, but a small speck could emerge on the horizon at any moment. The speck would turn into a shape, into a specter, into an enemy, stalking them along the road to Virginia. He walked back to the car.

  Still howling with laughter, Joan had crawled back into her seat.

  “Did you see his face, Alex? Oh my.”

  Timmy sulked. The map sat across his lap.

  “We need to get moving,” he announced through gritted teeth, his hands shaking even more than usual. “Need to set up camp before sunset.”

  “And the dance he was doing?” Joan wiped away a tear. Her left pupil was gray, the mark of a survivor.

  Since waking up, the two had been in better spirits. Alex, still struggling to stay awake, started the car.

  “Can you see anywhere we can stop?” he asked Timmy. “We should pull over soon.”

  “I can drive,” said Joan, holding Finn on her lap. “Just say the word.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Just find us somewhere safe, Timmy.”

  * * *

  The freeway was exactly where they didn’t want to be. Alex guided the car along Route 77, heading south. Almost the right direction. Fuel light blinking, eyelids made of lead, the last of the daylight seeped out of the sky.

  In the passenger seat, Timmy turned the map around and around.

  “I don’t understand it; I thought we were here,” he whispered to himself. “The map must be wrong.”

  The red light in the dash blinked a furious rhy
thm. Whatever the fuel, the car was running low.

  The engine coughed. They had a jerry can of gas in the trunk. Spotting a turnoff, Alex made a decision. It wasn’t signposted. Hell, it was barely a road. But it seemed insignificant and isolated. He flicked the turn signal.

  “Are you seriously signaling?” Timmy asked, the life coming back into him.

  “Shut up,” said Alex. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Oh, you’re right. Better signal the turn to all those dead folks. If they hit you, you’re a worse driver than I thought.”

  Looking around for support, Timmy found Joan asleep. Without an audience, he sank, laying his head on his shoulder.

  “Wake me up when we get there, man.”

  The road was dark, trees rising up on either side. It was a bumpy ride but Timmy and Joan managed to sleep anyway.

  It was a place for forestry officials and lumberjacks. For hunters and their prey. As the road snuck deeper into the woods, picking its way between the trees, Alex lost sight of the sinking sun. The night fell and the treetops hid the heavens away. Down here, down amid the dirt and the damned, there must be somewhere to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  All roads lead somewhere. Even craggy, twisting paths which snake their way through the woods. No signs on either side, no road markings, no streetlamps, and no direction. The car labored along, eating up the last of the fuel.

  What had been a downward slope from the freeway had soon turned into an incline. Alex found himself urging the car up a hill, taking them deeper and deeper into the forest. They needed somewhere secluded. Somewhere defensible.

  As the fuel eked toward empty, Alex dimmed the lights.

  Occasionally, the road split. Left or right. Always head toward home, Alex told himself. Even out here. Even when running on fumes and fading electrons.

  Alex knew they’d have to stop soon. They didn’t have much choice.

  The trees were thinner up here, high up on a hill. In the distance, up along the path, the silhouette of a building sat sullenly against the night sky. Alex pointed the car upward and put his foot down.

  The path up to the building was not a road, just a stretch of dirt with ambitions. Rain and the wind had helped cut holes into the ground, rolling rocks and washing away the mud. Inside the car, the seatbelts strained as the rough ride woke up the passengers.

  “What the hell?” muttered Timmy. “Where are we?”

  Timmy fumbled with the map. He’d fallen asleep with it on his lap. “It’s so damn dark. I can’t see a thing. Joan, pass me a flashlight. Joan?”

  In the back seat, Joan was rubbing her eyes. Even Finn was awake. Like any dog in a car reaching the end of a journey, he could sense their imminent arrival. Excited, he scrambled around, trying to watch out of every window at once.

  “Quiet a moment,” said Alex, wrestling with the wheel. “We’re coming up on something.”

  “Is it on the map?” asked Timmy. “Joan, I need that flashlight.”

  “I don’t think we’re on any map. Not anymore,” Alex answered.

  The path stopped just in front of the cabin. The engine cut out. The lights, already dim, fell dark.

  Joan held out a flashlight for Timmy. Alex took it from her hand.

  “Wait here. When we’re clear, I’ll flash the flashlight three times. Got it?”

  Nods from the others.

  “Good.”

  Alex ran the flashlight over the beat-up walls of the cabin. Ramshackle and rickety. Not the log cabins from fairy tales. Just four walls to keep out the cold, a roof for the rain, and not much else. The weather had chewed away at the wood, leaving it pockmarked and scarred.

  Forty feet long, twenty feet wide. One floor and a chimney rising out of the sloped roof. Rot had set in and moss had crawled up to fill in the available space. A porch took up the long side of the cabin.

  Strange sounds came from all around. An owl, a rustle of leaves. The wind and the night. Everything seemed ten times louder, desperate for the attention of the new arrivals.

  Alex felt like an intruder in a lifeless world. Back in Detroit and in the countryside, he’d passed by hundreds of dead bodies. He’d turned a few men into corpses himself. But few places had felt as dead – as free from the perils of human presence– as the isolated rotten cabin perched on top of the forest hill.

  It was perfect.

  * * *

  Stepping back to the front of the cabin, Alex flashed the light at the car. Inside, he could see the movement. Looking at the vehicle now, it stood out like a haystack in a needle factory. Anyone passing by would spot the washed-out paint job. A problem for the morning.

  Alex opened the car door and Finn leapt out first. The dog’s paws hit the cold ground with a thud. He sniffed the air, spotted something, and ran off into the night.

  “Go get him!” Joan yelled as she climbed out of the car.

  Already running, Alex chased the dog through the dark forest. Night was settling in, and the ground was hidden. Full of roots and rocks, ready to trip him up. Might as well run with closed eyes.

  “Finn!” Alex shouted as he ran, the flashlight showing only glimpses of where to place his feet.

  The dog sped through trees and under bushes, leaping over fallen logs.

  Alex’s canvas sneakers strained with the speed. They weren’t built for sprinting. Not like this, with the stones and rocks and mud.

  Finn ran with his shoulders low. A determined dash, his muddy brown and black coat lost in the night.

  “Finn! Hey!”

  The cold air hit the lungs hard. Shouting was painful. Alex kept his eyes searching furiously for the dog.

  “Finn! Stop!”

  The dog halted. His haunches rigid, every fiber of his muscles were poised to continue the chase.

  Alex slowed his run as he neared the dog, reaching out a hand and grabbing on to the scruff of Finn’s neck. Still a puppy, there was more than a handful of loose skin. All that space to grow into.

  “What the hell?” Alex knelt down beside his dog, trying to look him in the eye. “What are you chasing?”

  But Finn looked past him, over Alex’s shoulder.

  “There’s nothing out there. We’re alone. Come on.”

  Alex tried to drag the dog back toward the car. He could just about see the distant dim light of a flashlight. He hoped it was Timmy. Finn didn’t move.

  “Come on, boy.” Alex pulled harder, almost dragging the dog along.

  Still, the dog refused to move. Alex stood up straight.

  “Finn. Move. Now.”

  Even in the dark, Alex knew the dog was looking up at him. Big, baleful eyes. Finn whined and tugged toward the depths of the forest. Tiredness had overtaken curiosity. Weariness had overtaken fear.

  “No. Finn, come on. There’s nothing out there. We need to get back.”

  A sound. Rustling. Movement. Somewhere in the darkness.

  Alex reached for his hip. Nothing there. He’d left the gun back in the car. Rookie mistake. He could taste the fear in his mouth, rising up from the back of his throat. Sour. Metallic.

  Silence reigned. The movement had stopped. Alex held his breath and listened. He tugged on the dog’s neck again.

  “It’s nothing, Finn.” Alex could hear the hope in his own voice. “Come on.”

  Even Alex was surprised when the dog obeyed. Finn turned at the heel and began trotting along. Together, they walked back to the car.

  With every step, Alex shot a glance over his shoulder. But nothing followed them.

  When they returned, Timmy was rummaging through the trunk.

  “What happened?”

  “Not sure. Finn saw something. He chased after it.”

  “Hell, man, could be anything out in this forest.” Timmy said.

  “You mean that? We should be worried?”

  Alex had thought about the question. But he’d convinced himself that there was nothing to be worried about. Now he had to convince Timmy, too.

 
“No, no. I mean, like, rabbits or squirrels or something. Poor boy’s been cooped up in the car all day, probably saw dinner and chased it.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah. Luckily, we got these.”

  His hands re-emerged, gripping a few of the readymade food packages. The military issue nutrition packs were designed to offer every single thing a healthy human being needed. Almost everything, thought Alex, except flavor.

  “Ah, come on, boss, don’t pull that face. They’re not so bad. In fact, I kind of like them.” Timmy squinted, trying to read the packaging by the faint starlight. “See here, it’s all in Spanish. Could be anything. Don’t tell me you’re not curious. Come on, forget the dog. Let’s go in and have a look.”

  A word had caught in Alex’s mind. Something Timmy had said, demanding attention. He’d said boss. The word sat uneasily in his thoughts, far more than the phrases Timmy usually threw around. The way he’d said it. Almost militaristic. Almost like he was obeying an order.

  Alex didn’t feel in charge, but maybe the others felt differently.

  “Hey, grab this, would you, man?” Timmy was teetering this way and that, the collection of meals in his weakened arms too unwieldy.

  The cardboard boxes weren’t heavy. They were designed to be carried by soldiers across battlefields and the trunk was full of them. But they were awkward to grip.

  “I got it,” said Alex. “Pass them here.”

  The porch creaked as they walked across the loose boards. Nothing quite fit together. Gaps, spaces, cracks, and holes could be seen between every board.

  The door was locked using a rusted old turn-key mechanism. Somewhere, there was an equally rusted, equally old key that would let them inside. A quick check of the porch and the cabin walls turned up nothing.

  “You think the picks will work on this?” asked Alex. “I haven’t tried them on anything this old.”