Dead Alive: Eden Lost Book Two (Hunter Wars 8)

by SD Tanner

  “Shit, they’re tougher than I remember,” a shooter said, clearly still in shock.

  Marcus nodded. “Yeah, this coulda turned out a lot worse. I'm kinda surprised it didn't.”

  Hunkering down next to the woman, he gently took her hand and began to inspect her wounds. The claw marks on her arm had already stopped leaking thick, red blood. Pulling a cloth from his ACU pocket, he wiped her arm clean, only to find the deep rends were already sealing. They would leave a vicious scar, but no real harm had been done. The woman rested her elbows against her knees and her head hung down. Her hair tumbled over her face, and although he couldn’t be sure, she seemed to be distressed by her condition. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was crying. This new breed of hunter was very different from the first, and he felt as much concern for her as he did any living shooter.

  Not knowing what else he could do to comfort her, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “It’ll be alright. There’s more like you. You won’t be alone.”

  Mackenzie had joined them at the front of the row, and he crouched down next to the woman, bending low until he could see her face. Suddenly she looked up and her unhappy expression changed to one of awe. She didn't smile exactly, but her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Are ya talkin’ to her, Mac?”

  “Yeah, I’m showing her how the stars work.” Breaking away from the woman’s gaze, he added worriedly, “A lot more have just turned up. I don’t think this was an isolated attack.”

  “Okay, but we need to get into these containers and secure the sleepers before they reanimate. Get your squads ready. We’ll take ‘em one container at a time.” Nodding at the woman, he added, “If she goes in first, we’ll follow her and take down any that are awake and hostile.”

  Knowing there were other attacks worried him, but he needed to take care of his own base before he could offer any help. Taking a swig of the Water of Life to heal his arm, he prepared for more hand-to-hand combat with the new and more capable hunters.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Greg

  Refinery town

  Since he’d almost lost the refinery town to the Crusaders, he didn't have as much confidence in his leadership skills. Rodrigo was the one to point out his mistake, and had helped him save the day with Gears and Ted. He didn’t have the same ruthless aggression that seemed to come naturally to Rodrigo. The man had an innate cunning, and he didn’t believe he could learn how to think that way, it was something you knew how to be or you didn’t.

  During the battle against the Crusaders, it was Rodrigo’s idea to have an execution squad. They’d gone in under the cover of darkness and killed the Crusaders one-by-one, while wrecking and stealing trucks and weapons. Rodrigo had targeted the commanders and squad leads, quietly slaughtering them and then disappearing into the night. Under his command, not one of his team were even injured, and he’d considerably weakened their enemy at no cost.

  After the Crusaders were defeated, Pax had assigned his wife, Tess, and another forty shooters to the town. He and Rodrigo now managed the sixty strong team defending the base, but nothing much had happened since the attack. There’d been no further problems, which was lucky considering how inexperienced his shooters were.

  At night, they assigned twenty shooters to act as sentries around the refinery and the town. Harry was less concerned about the oil fields. He said there was more oil under the ground than they could ever use, and he could easily find another if the one they were using was destroyed. During the day, he and Rodrigo trained the squads in weapons and combat missions. He didn’t really have enough experience to train them in military tactics, but Rodrigo put them into squads of five and made them practice covert missions. His choice of training had made him wonder about Rodrigo’s history.

  Even though it was three in the morning, he and Rodrigo were on the outskirts of the town checking on the sentries. It was always touch and go whether the sentries would even be awake. Instilling discipline in paradise wasn’t easy, and there wasn’t much they could do if the shooters refused to work. His operation lacked heart, but he didn’t know what to do about it. With only the distant and mostly absent enemy in the Crusaders, there wasn’t any way to keep the shooters focused. They were bored and he wondered how many would eventually leave in the absence of anything to do.

  Rodrigo was smoking a self-rolled cigarette filled with the dried leaves of something that was used as a substitute for tobacco. The smoke smelt slightly sweet, and it blended well with the dampness of the forest. The fuel transport truckers traveled far to deliver gas, and they were always welcomed wherever they went. It wasn't uncommon for them to bring back supplies, frequently given to them as gifts. If there was a way of measuring wealth in Eden, then the refinery town was one of the best places to live. It had a continuous supply of alcohol and tobacco substitutes, food, fabrics, furniture, collectibles and power. Of all the towns he and Tess had visited, this one was the most comfortable and well provided for.

  Having confirmed the sentries were in position and awake, they were standing by the truck preparing to check the next post. Pulling open the door to the truck, he thought he heard the distant crack of a gunshot.

  “What was that?”

  Rodrigo shrugged and took another drag on his limp looking fake cigarette. The sound happened again, only this time it repeated and grew louder.

  “Shit.” Rodrigo threw his cigarette to the ground and they both climbed into the truck.

  Through his radio, he asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Hunters,” a tinny voice replied. “They’re in the town.”

  “All shooters head to the town. Meet me at the top of the main road.”

  They were less than a mile from the small center, and already a stream of vehicles were leaving the town. Their headlights flashed in the dim light of early morning as they quickly made their way along the road. As one truck went to pass them, Rodrigo slowed down and both drivers wound down their windows.

  He leaned across Rodrigo to look at the woman at the wheel of the other truck. “What’s going on?”

  “Dunno, but there’s hunters running the streets. Some people have blockaded themselves into the buildings.” Flicking her thumb behind her, she added, “I’ve got eight kids in here.”

  “Go. Pull over a few miles away and stay in the truck. We’ll come and find you when it’s safe.”

  The woman nodded, and winding her window up, she immediately pulled away. “How can we have hunters?”

  Rodrigo’s hooded eyes blinked lazily. “Does it matter?”

  It didn’t and he asked, “How do we play this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  It was one of the first times Rodrigo seemed lost for a solution. “But you always know.”

  “I know how to fight men. Hunters aren’t the same.”

  “We’re gonna need a shitload of fire power.”

  “Depends on how many there are.”

  He shook his head adamantly. “No, it doesn’t. It only takes one to infect everyone.”

  The main road through the town was lit up. Since it was a refinery town, power was always readily available through the gas driven generators. There was plenty of it and they used it liberally. Every house and building had working lights, and the entire road was glowing brightly thanks to the streetlights. He was about to say the lights would offer some protection, when a man covered in blood ran into the middle of the road. Although he didn’t have the bald, lean trademark look of a hunter, his head was vibrating manically. Moving in rapid jerky steps, he seemed to be looking for something. Zig zagging indecisively across the well-lit street, the building opposite the small town hall appeared to catch his attention.

  The hunter had turned to run towards the building, when gunfire erupted from both sides of the street. The man jerked again, only now it was from the high caliber bullets. He peered through the windshield at the shooters on the second floor. That floor of the
town hall was used as quarters for his troops, and there should be forty men and women in their makeshift barracks. He needed them to form into squads.

  The hunter had collapsed to the ground, but the firing didn’t stop. Realizing they were wasting ammo, he said into his headset, “Alright, I think you got him. Stop wasting ammo. Get into your squads. I want two squads left in the barracks to monitor the street. The other six need to get out here.”

  Tess spoke through his earpiece. “Where do you want me?”

  “Stay with the barracks teams. I want the main street covered.”

  “What about the homesteads?”

  “I’ll get Rodrigo to take four squads out to check on them.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “We need to check the buildings in the town are clear.”

  Tess paused. “Umm, you should know the hunter wasn’t blinded by the lights, and I think he came from the building with the oil workers.”

  The refinery used the building at the end of the road as accommodation for the refinery workers living outside of the town. Harry had them on a two-week rotating shift, and at any given point in time, there’d be around a hundred people sleeping there. If a hunter had attacked the sleeping quarters, then he could have a lot of hunters to deal with.

  “Okay, we’ll check the building.”

  While he spoke to Tess, the squads had assembled onto the street in their teams. He gave four squads to Rodrigo as promised and took two with him. Tess had a good view of the street, and she could give them cover as they checked the status of each building. Second story windows were already opening, and people were calling to one another.

  He looked up at the building opposite the town hall. “You okay in there?”

  A woman at the window gave him the thumbs up. “Yep, we’re secure.”

  With people hanging from the windows while they watched them make their way down the street, it felt more like a street parade than a fight. As they passed each window, someone would call down to tell them they were safe. Almost losing the town to the Crusaders had done little to cow them. If anything, they'd used the incident to shore up their defenses and learn how to protect themselves better.

  While they walked the short street, people were hanging out of the windows, cheering them on and shouting words of encouragement. They'd never did blame him for telling them to go to the refinery during the Crusader attack. When he'd tried to apologize for his bad decision, Harry had said in blunt way that he and his squads had risked their lives for them and he should be proud of himself. Nothing more was ever said, but they were always given anything they asked for, and he noticed they were never expected to pay for their tab at the bar.

  “Maybe there was only one,” a shooter suggested hopefully.

  “There’s never only one,” he replied grimly. “Hunters kill or infect. They never sit around doing nothing.”

  “Why wasn’t it blind in the light?”

  “It means there’s a super hunter somewhere.”

  The sleeping quarters was a single story building, once used as a small warehouse. All the fixtures and fittings had been removed, and it was filled with long rows of beds, each with their own side unit. People only used it to sleep and they washed in the nearby river. Their toilets were no more than a hole in the ground that they filled with lime. It wasn’t a luxurious way to live, but they didn’t have enough running water for so many people living along the street. With it having originally been a warehouse, there were few windows and only large double doors at the back, with several smaller entrances on each side.

  Deciding the large doors would allow more shooters into the site quickly, they walked to the gloomy back of the building. One of the large double doors was already ajar, and there was no light coming from inside. It seemed odd they would have heard gunfire coming from the building, but no one had turned on the lights.

  Looking at one of his shooters, he said, “Open the door. Everyone else take position on either side, and shoot anything that comes out like a hunter.”

  With his gun pointed, he waited for the shooter to pull the six-foot wide door open. As he expected, the light outside showed a dormitory of beds on either side of the large room, fading to darkness where the brightness failed to reach. The crumpled lumps on each bed suggested they were still occupied. No one seemed to moving, and the silent, dark cavern filled with bodies felt threatening. Nothing was making sense. If they were alive, then why weren’t they moving? If they were hunters, then why weren’t they attacking? If they were dead, what had killed all of them in their beds at the same time?

  He pulled his flashlight from his belt. “I’m gonna look for the light switch. Keep me covered and don’t shoot me.”

  Playing the flashlight low against the floor inside the room, he kept his back to the wall and quietly slid along, using it to guide him. Somewhere along that wall he should find a light switch. Once he was deep inside the room, the complete silence began to worry him. He couldn't hear anything at all, and he wondered if they were all dead. The gloominess was getting to him, and he imagined he was skirting around a morgue filled with corpses. The little light from outside was throwing much of the room into deep shadow, and he continued to listen intently for any sound of movement. How could they have all been killed in their beds at the same time, and what happened to the people who were firing their guns?

  Eventually he located a switch next to one of the side entrances near the main doors. He flicked it on and the room lit up with a white, overly bright light. He blinked in the sharp glare trying to understand what he was seeing. People were lying on their beds, some were hanging over the side, and others were curled up as if they were still sleeping. He still couldn't work out what had happened to them. There were some streaks of blood on the bedding and bodies, but nowhere near enough to have killed them. They couldn’t be asleep, and yet he wasn’t sure they were dead either. There simply wasn’t enough blood for there to have been a massacre that killed everyone at the same time.

  Moving to the first bed, he flicked back the covers. The man was wearing boxer shorts, and he had his knees tucked into his chest. The only indication he wasn’t sleeping was a bite mark on his jawline. It tore a ragged line to his chin, as if the hunter had been moving while it bit him. Pulling off his assault glove, he touched the man’s neck, only to find it was still warm. Leaning down to his mouth, he felt a whisper of breath against his ear. Under his fingers there was a feathery pulse, but it wasn’t strong or regular and he suspected the man was dying.

  It was only then he realized what was happening and his jaw dropped in shock. Almost every bed was occupied by a sleeper, but none of them were asleep. They were dying, and when they woke up again they’d be hunters. With the lights on, several shooters had walked inside the entrance and stood in stunned silence.

  He glanced at the fully armored and armed shooters at the door. “They’re infected.”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “We have to kill them now.”

  He shook his head at the shooters, and Tess’s calm voice was heard over his radio. “What are they doing?”

  “Nothing. It’s like they’re sleeping.”

  “You can’t kill them. We can’t assume they won’t recover. Maybe the infection is different, and that’s why the guy we just shot could see in the light.”

  Everyone could hear Tess speaking, and he felt his anxiety begin to subside. She was making sense. They couldn’t kill nearly a hundred people, on the off chance they might wake up as hunters. It would be murder. They needed to tie them up and then try to wake them.

  He turned to his squads. “She’s right. We can’t kill them. We’ll zip tie them and secure them to their beds.”

  “Some of the beds are empty,” a shooter pointed out.

  He’d already seen that at least thirty of the beds were rumpled, but empty. “I know and Rodrigo is checking the homesteads. If we’re lucky they just ran away.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY: Jack
/>   Air base

  Something had just walked into his room. Sometimes being small was useful, and with only one arm, he was definitely half the size he used to be. His buddy, Paul, who’d ended up dying from the same kind of IED that had left him profoundly wounded, would always joke he was now only three feet tall. He’d been proud the day he could finally use his prosthetic legs and regain his full six foot height.

  The gunner who’d almost burned to death in the battle against the Crusaders was sleeping next to him. Her name was Tilly and they’d been together since the day he’d poured the Water of Life onto her wounds. Unlike other women he’d been with since he was injured, she expected no less from him than any other fully limbed man and her attitude made him feel completely at ease with her. Her down to earth ‘get it done’ take on life gave him the extra drive he needed to keep going in spite of the growing pain in his stumps. Every evening, she would massage the Water of Life mixed with oil into what was left of his legs. In her practical way, she alleviated his pain while giving him the strength to get up the next day.

  Having no legs, he didn’t sit up. The baseball bat someone swung at his head whistled harmlessly through the air, landing against the wall behind the bed with a loud thump. When you only have one arm and no legs, you didn’t sleep without a weapon handy. The noise of the bat hid the sound of the bullets leaving the chamber of his Desert Eagle handgun. He always had it tucked under his pillow, and sleeping with it every night made him believe he could take care of himself.

  The sound of the baseball bat had woken Tilly and she reacted immediately. The room lit up instantly with tracer fire, making visible the bald hunter vibrating manically in the doorway. Her M4 was alive with continuous gunfire.

  “Keep firing!”

  Whoever he’d shot earlier had fallen backwards to the floor, and the hunter was jerking wildly under Tilly’s unceasing assault. A siren had started to wail outside, and it meant help was on its way. Still holding his handgun, he shuffled across the bed, using his damaged arm to heave himself forward. Dropping to the floor with a painful thumb, he braced himself against the frame of the bed.