The Hunger (Book 3): Ravaged

by Brant, Jason

  The smell of the salt water reassured Brown of how close they were to their salvation. He hadn’t been to the ocean in nearly a decade, but no one could ever forget the aroma of the sea.

  “I don’t recognize any of this. How much further?” Eifort asked. She peered in the side mirror incessantly, as if she expected the vehicles trailing them to give up and go in a different direction. “We’re out of time.”

  Brown didn’t bother with the map. He’d spent so much time staring at it that he’d memorized most of the streets within a mile of the dock. “A few more blocks. This road will take us right into it.”

  A torrent of wails from the infected resonated from all directions, signaling the end of the magic hour. Dusk was retreating, making room for the night.

  Movement flashed behind a burned-out bus.

  A glimpse of muscle and teeth and opaque skin.

  “Megan.”

  “On it.” Eifort flipped on the lights.

  In his mirror, Brown saw the RV behind them switch on their high beams.

  An overflow grate in the side of the road burst open, the metal clanging against the street.

  Vladdies climbed out and howled at the sky. Two of them ran sideways, crossing the yellow traffic lines.

  Eifort floored the gas pedal.

  The beasts fell under the grill in an explosion of gore.

  Blood splattered the windshield.

  Eifort turned on the wipers.

  Lights flashed on three blocks ahead, a small glow illuminating their way.

  “She made it!” Brown slammed his fist off the dash. He wanted to roll down his window and bellow his elation into the night. If not for the infectious, murderous creatures out there, he would have. “I knew Cass would pull it off.”

  A Vladdie leapt against his door, shattering the window and denting the metal. A clawed hand reached inside, the palm slicing on the jagged glass. It howled in pain, but refused to let go.

  A face, pale, distorted, and furious, slid into view.

  “Hold on!” Eifort jerked the wheel right, swerving to the side of the road.

  The truck hopped the curb, jarring them around.

  The foulness of the beast drifted into the truck as it shrieked outside the window. It reached in again, its claws digging into Brown’s chest. He cried out and twisted away, feeling his flesh lacerate.

  Eifort angled them at a street pole, driving close enough that it scraped against the fender. The pole connected with the Vladdie’s face, shattering teeth and bone, scraping it from the truck.

  It bounced clear, landing on the sidewalk in a bloody splat.

  “Did it get you?” Eifort guided them back to the center of the road, casting worried glances over at him. “Are you hurt?”

  Brown touched the slices in his chest, wincing at the sting. “They’re just superficial cuts—I’ll be fine.” Blood ran down his stomach.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m aware of that. Just get us to that dock.”

  Vladdies streamed from between the homes, filling the street from all directions like tributaries running into a river. They dove at the truck, most bouncing off and skidding in gooey streaks on the pavement.

  Others grabbed hold of the tank, beating against it with their meaty forearms.

  Brown reached into the backseat and pulled out a spotlight and a pistol. After looking at the gun for a second, he tossed it into Eifort’s lap and reached for a second light.

  The dock came into view a block ahead. The glow emanated from a boat lolling on the river.

  An infected leapt onto the hood of the truck, its feet denting the metal.

  It bent down in front of Eifort and shrieked. Spittle flew onto the windshield and dribbled to the hood.

  Brown lifted the light in his right hand and clicked it on, showering the windshield and dash in harsh rays. The beast wailed and lifted an arm to block the light from its face.

  Even in the madness of the moment, Brown wondered why it shielded its face. It didn’t have eyes. Was that a remnant of its previous life? An automatic reaction ingrained in its subconscious? Or was this part of their continuous mutation?

  With its hand held up to protect its head, Eifort seized the opportunity. She slammed on the brakes. The truck hitched, inertia throwing Brown into the dash, the side of his head striking an air vent, jamming it closed.

  The infected flew from the hood, landing in the street in a jumble.

  Eifort shifted gears and floored it again.

  The creature squealed as the tires crushed its body.

  In the mirror, barely visible through the trailing headlights, Brown saw the RV covered with the infected. They climbed over the body like flies on a dead carcass.

  An arm crashed through Eifort’s window. Its hand scrabbled around the steering wheel, its claws scraping across her forearm. She cried out and lost her grip on the wheel, sending the truck careening to the left.

  Brown jammed the spotlight in the Vladdie’s face and yanked on the trigger. It screeched and released the window, falling away into the darkening street.

  The light blinded them both until he clicked it off.

  Flashes filled Brown’s vision for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again.

  That was when he saw they were barreling toward the dock.

  “Stop!” Brown dropped the light and grabbed the leather handle above his door. His other hand went to the dash as he braced for impact.

  Eifort slammed the brakes again and grabbed the wheel with both hands. It shook in her grip, vibrating her upper body. “Hold on!”

  Cass stood on the stern of a large boat, its cabin lit up behind her. She waved her hands over her head, urging them to stop.

  In his mirror, Brown saw the tank jackknifing around to the right. They drove onto the dock, sliding past the first boat. The tank’s tires skidded over the side.

  The metal body sparked on the concrete.

  They shifted sideways as the rest of the tank slid toward the water, pulling them in.

  The truck tipped over, balancing precariously on its wheels.

  In the split second they were held there, Brown looked up and over at Eifort, who was now sitting slightly above him. She peered down and reached out, taking his hand.

  The truck flipped off the dock and cool, dark water spilled in through the windows.

  Brown slammed into his door, then rolled to the ceiling as the truck roiled on the surface of the water. Eifort’s seatbelt held her in place. Her long hair fell down, floating on the water beside Brown as he slid over to her.

  The water rose past his waist as he finally got his bearings and reached up to Megan.

  “I’ll hold you, get the buckle.” Brown grabbed her around the middle of her chest and braced himself to catch her weight.

  She pushed the button, and the belt snapped free. Her body fell into him, knocking both of them back to the ceiling. His head submerged, and water streamed up his nose.

  Brown sat up, gagging and sputtering.

  Eifort was already at the window. She turned back to him as the water rose to her shoulders. “Come on!”

  The truck rolled again, throwing them off balance. The wheels came around until they were underneath the truck, flipping them right side up.

  Even more water gushed through the windows, rising up to Brown’s chin.

  Eifort dunked under the surface and put her hands on either side of the broken-out window frame. Her legs kicked and her arms pulled as she swam through the hole. Brown followed, giving her enough space so she wouldn’t kick him in the face.

  His face broke the surface and he gasped, snapping his head to clear his eyes.

  Cass stood on the boat a dozen yards away. She held a dark bottle in each hand, white rags sticking from the necks. A cigar jutted from between her teeth.

  She took a drag on it, and the cherry on the end blazed. When she touched one of the cloth strips to it, the Molotov cocktail lit. “Heads up,” she shouted thr
ough her gritted teeth.

  As she reached back and tossed the bottle, Brown spun in the water, watching it arc through the air. The flame flickered in the wind, cutting through the night.

  Two RVs and the other tanker pulled to a stop by the edge of the water, their headlights illuminating the sinking truck. A Vladdie was hip deep in the windshield of the closest RV. Screams of agony came from inside.

  The Molotov burst on the road to the left of the tanker. Flames licked the concrete, spreading out as the alcohol splashed from the broken bottle. The flash from the fire illuminated a dozen vampires closing in on the truck.

  The beasts jumped back, baying their frustration.

  Cass lobbed the other Molotov even further, and it crashed against the side of the rightmost RV. The outside, crawling with the infected, burst into flames. The Vladdies screeched and fled, their flaming bodies disappearing behind the empty buildings.

  “We have to get the people out of the tank!” Brown swam freestyle, his fatigue devoured in a surge of adrenaline.

  The tank had two hatches on the top, one toward the front, the other in the rear. The backmost hatch hadn’t submerged yet, though the water was inching its way closer. Eifort beat him there and grabbed hold of the handle, twisting it clockwise.

  The hatch burst open as the water level broken even with the lip, spilling the cool sea inside.

  A young teenager’s face appeared from the darkness below. Water splashed in her eyes as Brown grabbed her shoulders and hoisted her out.

  “Swim to the boat.” Brown stuffed his hand into the hatch, his fingers splayed. Someone grabbed hold, and he heaved against their weight.

  “Doc! Heads up!”

  Brown snapped his head around in time to see a Vladdie charging down the dock on all fours, flames trailing from its back.

  Its maw distended as it lunged at him.

  Chapter 37

  Lance stood at the top of the boat, above and behind Cass.

  He manipulated a large spotlight attached to the railing. It cast a bright beam across the dock, cutting through the swarming Vladdies. One broke away from the burning RV and charged down the concrete toward the sinking tanker.

  Lance shouted, “Doc! Heads up!”

  As the beast leaped into the air, it was blown sideways, its chest bursting in a bloody explosion.

  Lance spun the spotlight further up the dock and spotted Paul storming toward the tanker. He held a Spas-12 shotgun in both hands. Smoke trailed from the barrel.

  “Get the goddamn light off me.” Paul motioned at the end of the dock. “I need to see the bastards coming, for Christ’s sake.”

  Cass lit another Molotov and lobbed it between the vehicles.

  Adam appeared beside Cass, a pistol in his hands. He’d been in the front of the cabin, sorting through supplies. “Holy shit!” He aimed at the group of infected climbing across one of the RVs and fired off a round.

  A handful of people piled out of the burning RV, shooting pistols at the surrounding Vladdies. Lance angled the spotlight past them, searing the flesh of the infected giving chase.

  Two men climbed from the back of the rear tanker. A Vladdie leapt at them as they dropped to the ground. It pounced on one of them, its claws tearing into his stomach before they’d collapsed to the concrete.

  Even the burning spotlight on its head and shoulders couldn’t tear it away from the dying man.

  Brown pulled two more people from the sinking tanker, shouting for them to get to the boat. The first of the swimmers, Greg, reached Adam. He choked and spit out water, holding his hand out to him. Adam grabbed his shirt and arm, helping Greg get aboard.

  “Thanks, bro! I thought I was going to drown in there! I—”

  “Get the hell out of the way, Greg.” Cass shoved him away from the ladder and reached for another survivor. She and Adam hauled more people out of the water, one after the other.

  Lance spun the light to the rear of the parked tanker, hoping to give the people climbing out enough time to get to the water or dock. Vladdies swarmed around it, thrashing against the metal.

  The shotgun barked again, obliterating the torso of another infected. Paul worked his way forward until he was even with Brown. “Hurry the hell up over there! I’m running out of shells.”

  Three women ran from the burning RV, shielding their mouths and noses from the smoke billowing around them. Paul ran to them, shotgun held at hip height, blasting into the semi-darkness beyond.

  “Is everyone out of the back truck?” Cass yelled. She grabbed two more Molotovs from the back of the boat and tried to light them on the cigar. They didn’t catch. “Shit.”

  Cass had found the cigar in the cabin and decided to give it a try. She’d wanted to see what the fuss was about, and had been complaining about the stench when they’d heard the convoy barreling down the street.

  She spit the cigar into the water and stuffed her hand into her pocket, producing a tiny lighter. After lighting both, she faced the truck again. Vampires climbed all over it, denting the sides and tearing at the hatches. “Is it clear?”

  A man climbing into the back of the boat nodded. “I was the last one out.”

  Cass heaved both bottles at the cab of the truck. The alcohol set it ablaze, brightening the area. Adam fired again, hitting one of the infected in the leg, knocking it from the top of the tank.

  “Let’s go, Doc!” Lance put the spotlight on Brown and Eifort again. He was lightheaded, his arms feeling weighted. He sat in a hard-plastic seat and reached for a bolt-action rifle sitting in the corner.

  He jammed it against his shoulder and peered through the scope. They’d placed metal gas cans along the end of the dock for this moment. When everyone was clear, Lance was to shoot them, sealing the dock and boat off in a wall of flame.

  The fire from the RV flickered off the rusted metal cans, giving him a clear line of sight. He wasn’t the best shot, but it was close and the river was calm. The boat barely moved.

  He fired. The kick from the rifle sent a bolt of pure agony into his chest. The gun fell from his grasp, clattering on the floor of the boat. He doubled over and spit up more blood.

  There was no great explosion. No ball of fire.

  A dozen Vladdies ran past the cans, moving closer to Paul.

  The Wildman taunted them and fired, dropping two.

  Lance reached for the rifle with a groan. Blood poured down his chin. The front of shirt was warm and slick, sticking to his skin. He sighted the first can again, shocked that he’d missed such an easy shot.

  Except that he hadn’t. A hole was punched in the metal, gas flowing freely from it, pooling at the end of the dock.

  “Shit.” He thought for certain that shooting the can would make it explode. It always worked in the movies. “I should have watched more Mythbusters,” he mumbled to himself. “Cass, throw a Molly at the gas cans!”

  She looked up at him, shaking her head. “I can’t hit them from here. I don’t have an angle.

  Paul shouted again and fired. “I’m out!”

  Lance pointed at the end of the dock. “The gas is leaking out of the cans. Just throw one!”

  Brown and Eifort stood on top of the tanker, though it was no longer visible under the surface of the water. They were hip deep, having to submerge to search for more survivors.

  The last two Molotovs flew through the air, lobbing over Paul’s head as he retreated down the dock.

  The area in front of the first RV exploded in a flash of light. A ball of fire swirled into the air, illuminating hundreds, maybe thousands, of Vladdies pouring down the street toward the water.

  Innumerable shrieks filled the night. The flames spread, engulfing the RVs and tanker. The closest vampires, those standing in the pooled gasoline, caught fire. They fled, their flesh charring and bubbling.

  Paul jumped from the dock and landed beside Adam. His feet slid on the slick surface, and he fell to his ass. “Goddamn it.”

  Lance gathered what little energy he h
ad left and stood. He turned around and climbed down a short ladder to the next level. The boat’s engine idled, supplying the power to the lights. Lance settled in behind the wheel and put his hand on the throttle. “Let’s go! Get everyone on board.”

  Liz sat in a chair beside the wheel, ripping strips of cloth from a shirt and stuffing them into alcohol bottles. Her hair was frazzled, eyes wide. “Are we going to make it?”

  At that moment, Lance realized the depths of the changes he’d gone through since that day he’d awoken in the hospital. He wasn’t the man he had once been. His wife, or ex, depending on your definition, didn’t view him as the same loser she’d abandoned for another man. She looked to him for courage now, for protection.

  He’d become the last sheriff of mankind.

  “I’m a man of action,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Brown dunked his body below the surface again. Eifort grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back up.

  “That’s everyone,” she said and tried to tear him away from the hatch.

  “We don’t know that for sure. I have to—”

  “No! We’re out of time.” Eifort turned to the boat and dove into the water. She swam to Cass and grabbed her hand, pulling herself up.

  Brown hesitated a moment, staring into the dark river. He followed her then and joined everyone at the stern. He took in the shivering people surrounding him, his head nodding as he counted. “How many did we lose?”

  “I don’t know,” Eifort said. She brushed sopping hair from her face. “At least three, maybe more.” She turned and walked to Cass, her arms held out.

  “When the sun went down, I didn’t think you were going to make it.” Cass embraced her, smiling despite the cries of the infected filling the air like a rock concert of the damned. She waved for Brown to join them.

  Lance turned back to the controls and eased the throttle up. The boat pushed forward, and he cut the wheel right.

  The river went through a tight corridor about fifty yards wide that ran for more than a mile before opening into the ocean. Once they cleared the river, they would be safe.