Fight the Hunger: A Hunger Driven Novel

by William Allen

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Colonel Northcutt looked like he should be selling insurance. For all I knew, that’s what he did before the dead decided to stop lying down. If that was his game, I figured the colonel was probably the best salesman in the state, if not the region. Not because he laid on the snake oil, but because he really seemed to listen when you spoke. I liked that about the man and tried to extend him the same courtesy, even when I didn’t like what he had to say.

  To my surprise, he barely mentioned the men I’d been forced to kill in Jasper. Instead, he launched into the matter that I thought was more important too. Those shitbirds had it coming, and no doubt in my mind there would be more to come. Sandoval seemed the persistent type, but I’m sure Dr. Gooden gave the colonel a much more in-depth assessment than I ever could. She was former military, after all. No, the colonel wanted to talk about the dead.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said, pausing to gather my thoughts. “You think the zombies are starting to get smarter. And you don’t know why. So you want me to go wrangle some more specimens for the good doctor and his crew to run experiments?”

  “See, Brad, you got it in one,” Colonel Northcutt quipped, and I knew he was playing me like a cheap fiddle, and I really didn’t care. Hell, I agreed with him. “That’s exactly what I need you to do. I don’t have to tell you this is big. Real big. If these bags of dead meat are starting to be able to remember past the five-minute limit, then we are going to have real problems.”

  “Yeah, that would put a crimp in your plans. I think that’s what happened with the horde we just saw in Jasper.”

  There. I said it. Not that I wanted to, but something in the colonel brought out the honest streak in me. Darn it.

  “Is that what Captain Shurman said?”

  “Begging your pardon, Colonel, but you know my opinion of Captain Shurman. I’m not sure what the captain thinks, or if he’s even realized the implications yet. I think the good captain needs a map every morning to find his own dick.”

  Northcutt actually laughed then. Not that fake “I’m doing this to humor your dumb ass” chuckle, but a full-blown belly laugh. He tried to stop it short, then just had to let it out. Regaining his composure in a few seconds, the military commander of our little slice of Heaven then fixed me with his steady gaze as he tried to fight a grin.

  “Brad, I think everybody is aware of your opinion regarding Captain Shurman. Whether he’s figured this out or not, you and I know something is wrong. Again. Not another First Wave”—the colonel looked up and mouthed a heartfelt please, God to his deity, and then caught my eye as he looked back at me—“but this could have long-ranging repercussions. And don’t say ‘your plans’ like that. You’ve sat in on plenty of meetings and willingly tossed in your own two cents.”

  I nodded soberly and ignored the colonel’s dig. This was big. Today it was remembering where they were going longer than five minutes. Tomorrow, it might be recalling how to open doors, or turn locks. Next week, they might remember how to start a car, or chamber a round. Of course, given their superior numbers and the difficulty most folks experienced hitting them in the melon with a bullet, we would all shortly be dead. Or undead.

  “How many you need? And how pristine do they need to be?”

  Colonel Northcutt clearly expected the first question, but apparently not the second one.

  “Doctor Singh requested twenty First Wave to start with,” the colonel replied, then paused before continuing. “Do I want to know what you mean by pristine?”

  I shrugged before explaining. “Last time, I just brought the doc some heads. Still animated and all, but with the lower mandibles removed for safety. Does he want them like that, or still intact? And do they need all the parts still working. Easiest way I can think to do this is drive around out in the wild and kneecap some dried out zeds, chop off their heads and throw them in a metal box. Going up from there increases the complexity and the risk. Also, if he wants them more intact, I would strongly suggest relocating the laboratory for our mad scientists to someplace outside the perimeter.”

  This time the colonel gave a smile, at least for that last bit.

  “Ahead of you for part of that. We’re securing an urgent care clinic down toward Goodrich, just about three miles outside of town on Highway 59. Canterbury Medical Center is the name. Know where that’s at?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t a military man, but didn’t like the idea of extending our lines that far. On the other hand, Goodrich needed a good cleansing anyway. We’d likely incorporated all the survivors that close to Livingston, but most of the businesses other than food related hadn’t been salvaged too hard. Officially, that is. I was trying to remember if they had a Walmart when the colonel interrupted my musings.

  “We’re going to be rotating some of Captain Natushek’s boys through there, a squad at a time, as well as an equivalent-sized group from the militia. I figure the old guys can teach the youngsters a thing or two while they guard the setup.”

  Natushek was good people, and I’d worked with some of his men a time or two. Unlike certain other junior officers I could name, Miles Natushek listened when I had a suggestion or three. He didn’t always agree, but at least he made the effort to listen.

  “As for the condition, I’m going to say intact for now. And better make it half First Wave, and half of more recent vintage. I seem to recall the Doc asked for a mix so he can compare any difference.”

  I shrugged. More work, sure, but I understood. This was important. The colonel had more to share. I could read it in his eyes.

  “I’ll need help, then. A driver and a big cattle truck. Maybe another shooter. Do you still have some of those capture sticks I can borrow?”

  Colonel Northcutt nodded and made a few notes on his pad. “We have a few of those trucks from back when we moved the herds into the Safe Zone. You’ll need to arrange for personnel, but we can make sure you get compensated enough to cover your costs. We need to get right on this.”

  “Just how smart are we talking, Colonel? Right now, I mean. What has been reported?”

  Northcutt looked down, his face hardening as he thought about the news. “This is not for public consumption, Brad. We’ll break the news when the time is right.”

  Northcutt paused, steeling himself before he allowed the words to issue forth. “The Safe Zone in McKinney was compromised. No, that’s not right. Not compromised. Partially overrun is a better description. It happened last week, and we just got a report this morning. They lost about half of the survivors there. Over two thousand, all total, just gone.” Northcutt paused again, and I could hear his sigh come out nearly as a sob.

  “Near as we can tell, the horde followed a team returning from a supply run down into Fort Worth. The run went hot, as you can expect, but the scroungers managed to hit a food distribution center that was nearly untouched. A week later, they had over two hundred thousand dead bearing down on the walls of the compound. All coming out from Fort Worth.”

  Shit. Going hot, of course, meant using their guns. That happened just about every time we needed to take down any more than a handful. Using spears and crossbows might look cool on TV, but try taking on a horde with muscle-powered weapons and see what happens. I’ve cleaned up the results a time or two. The dead might be slow, but they are damned relentless and never get a cramp or need a time out.

  “They try to lure them off? Run the trucks to draw them in another direction?” I asked, dreading what else the colonel might reveal.

  “Captain Benjamin reported they sent out waves of trucks as soon as scouts reported the threat. He estimated they drew off over three hundred thousand from a horde numbering a half million. Of course, a lot came back when the compound had to go hot.

  “The base was split into four sections internally to help control an outbreak; you know, like we did here. Two of the four areas in the Secure Zone eventually fell. Since the detachment’s HQ was in one of the lost areas, they couldn’t report in for
days. Of course, their absence from the net was noted immediately, and we already knew the horde approaching was huge.”

  Jesus. I thought forty thousand was a chunk, but five hundred thousand zombies was nearly unimaginable. Against a horde that size, I would have run. That simple. Gather up my people and hit the road. We had a bug-out plan for it. The armored bus was fueled and ready to roll. No sane way to stand against those numbers, but apparently someone thought otherwise. The colonel wasn’t done yet, though.

  “They need any help retaking the lost sections?” I asked, not exactly volunteering. I would go if Northcutt asked. We both knew it, but the colonel shook his head.

  “They took it back. Got a few hundred guys over from Hood, in armor, to do the job.”

  I figured that would do it. Tanks could grind up large numbers of zombies, until, inevitably, the treads got gummed up. But if you have eight or ten, they could support each other if one went down. The biggest limits on using tanks were replacement parts and fuel, as well as having the enormous transport carriers needed to get the seventy-ton beasts to the battlefield. Supposedly, the massive stocks still left at Fort Hood could handle these problems for now.

  “Benjamin also reported several soldiers spotted some of the zombies acting odd. Carrying things. He personally witnessed a zed trying to bash in a wall using a rock, Brad. A rock.”

  Not good. Tool use was one of the things we had going for us as uninfected. No, it wasn’t piloting an Apache or even firing a rifle, but still, this was an unhappy-making development. That made me think about something else.

  “So how is the napalm-making business coming along?” I asked, trying to make my voice sound normal. Not worried.

  In reality, I was suddenly seized by a gut-cramping wave of fear that seemed totally alien to me. Since that day, since the First Wave rose, I became accustomed to getting through life with only the most rudimentary of emotions. Sort of like Frankenstein’s monster in that kid’s movie, Hotel Transylvania. “Fire bad! Fire bad!” and that was about it. Fire bad. Zombies bad. Living people, not so bad. Full boxes of ammo, happy making.

  Thinking of that stupid movie opened a door, and I had to fight the tears as I remembered things. Remembered watching that damned movie with my wife and son. Sitting on the sofa, a big bowl of popcorn between us. Holding my little boy’s hand as the movie unspooled before us.

  I turned away suddenly and waited to hear what the colonel had to say. I needed to collect myself and get my emotions back in their box.

  “Well, okay so far. Walt has the formula as such perfected, and we have several hundred gallons already refined, if that is the right term.”

  He paused, and I listened even with my back to the man, pretending to look out the darkened window. The office faced one of the perimeter walls, and I watched as a lone sentry paced the battlements.

  “I never thought we would need it, to be honest. I mean, turning zombies into flaming torches is such a bad, bad idea. But, if we get hit with a superhorde, it might be needed.”

  I nodded. Zombies on fire could prove to be a bucket load of trouble. I saw it in Houston, in those early days. Large chunks of the city were burned to the ground. Sometimes by accident, and other times by desperate survivors trying to thin the ranks of the dead. I remembered how mindless zeds roamed the streets, aflame and still wandering in search of food. They were oblivious to the fire until the flames incapacitated them, or the temperature cooked their brains. In their wake, they spread the fire like windblown embers feeding a forest fire.

  “Risky,” I muttered, “but that’s another reason why your men cleared the areas around the fence line. Clear fields of fire and a break, in case we need to use the napalm.”

  Northcutt sighed and knuckled his eyes. Even after all these months, the pressure remained, and the colonel was not getting enough sleep.

  “But what is the goal, Colonel? I mean, sure, we want to know more about these changes, but what is Singh’s endgame? Is he still looking for a cure, or a vaccine? Are we any closer to even figuring out what caused this?”

  At these familiar questions, I saw the colonel try to hide a sigh. Not at me, I didn’t think. We all asked these same questions, all the time. Where folks used to talk about the weather, they now spent a few moments in line at the commissary, jawing about the zombies.

  “Shoot, Brad. Doc is going to find out whatever he can. And thanks to you helping us get another doctor, he can actually spend more time poking around. We don’t know what to expect, or what he might discover. That’s why we are going to need the First Wave zeds in as pristine a shape as you can manage.”

  Well, that was going to suck, but we both knew it, so no reason to bitch.

  “All right. I’ll rig up some more neck poles,” I agreed with a sigh. No rest for the wicked, I thought. “But if they are getting smarter, this might take a while.”

  “I don’t have to tell you to take the time to get it right. Get Roxy or some of them other layabouts at your place to help. In fact, I can send you some more willing hands if you’ll take them in for me.”

  I paused. I could use a few more people to help at the compound, but only if they were trustworthy sorts. The First Wave may have destroyed our way of life and turned humans into an endangered species, but that didn’t make us any better than we were before. Some ways, we were worse. Not just the raider scum, either.

  Some folks—hardworking, upstanding citizen types before—had gotten a taste of the apocalypse and decided they liked the flavor. No cops, no laws, and no rules. No, they might not kill you in your sleep, but they still might take off with everything not nailed down and light off into the wilds. Load up a truck in the middle of the night, and then eat your carefully salvaged food and shoot up your hoarded ammo. If you lived outside a Safe Zone, this might just turn out to be a slower form of murder.

  “Pass,” I said after a moment’s thought. “I don’t have time to vet them right now, colonel. I’ll just make do with what I got at the moment.”

  “Well, they did seem a mite bit appreciative, Brad. You did rescue them, after all.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, holding up my hands. “Not no, but hell no. I wouldn’t want to deal with that headache on a good day, colonel.”

  “Why? What’s wrong? Some of those girls think real highly of you. And they seem to be in good health and have some real useful skills. I mean, even in addition to Doctor Gooden, of course.”

  I shook my head. “Colonel, you know I don’t like folks much. Excluding present company, of course.”

  “Of course,” Northcutt agreed, mockingly. I could tell he was enjoying himself, finally. Colonel Northcutt dealt with death and horror every day, and finding something he could joke about and not look like he was plucking the wings off flies was a rare treat for the man, I reasoned. That was my reasoning for not acting more butthurt from the teasing, anyway.

  “I live where I do to avoid having to deal with most of these yahoos you have here. Bunch of worthless mouths to feed. Barely willing to lift a finger to help themselves without you having to halfway force them. Don’t even get me started on how bad they are in a fight, either.”

  Northcutt gave me another of his “poor, put upon me” sighs and shrugged. “What do you want me to do with them, Brad? I have six traumatized women who can barely be in the same room as my men, and all of them are asking how they can find you. Somehow, you are the only man who they seem to think they stand to be around.”

  “Really? What, is it my metrosexual charm? My dashing good looks, convincing them that no man as handsome as I am can be straight?” I said, and even I had to chuckle at the idea. I was tall and muscular, in fit enough shape, but that was about it. Nearly bald, with plain features and muddy-blue eyes, I was lucky to pass for average in the looks department. Add my total lack of charm or even what passed for warmth these days, and I was nobody’s idea of a good catch. I had the reputation as the curmudgeon I worked hard to project. No, I didn’t like most people and didn�
��t bother to hide my disdain. This wall I maintained kept most folks at arm’s distance, which was right where I wanted them. In short, I was a right bastard as the Brits might say.

  So even Northcutt had to laugh at that one. “Well, whatever the source, Mr. Personality, they want to see you.”

  Shoot.

  “You could just pretend I didn’t come back.”

  “Real mature, Mr. McCoy,” the colonel said with an eye roll, and I held up my hands in mock surrender.

  “You win, Colonel. Anything but the eye roll. You shouldn’t be allowed to do that without getting a clearance from Dr. Singh first. You might strain something.”

  Northcutt barked a short laugh and nodded, taking my surrender for a real thing.

  “Look, Brad. Just talk to them. I know you don’t want to hear their story, but listen to what they can bring to your little compound. One of them was an electrical engineer, for God’s sake. You can’t tell me that skill isn’t in demand. And don’t condemn them for something that wasn’t their fault.”

  That was a shot below the belt, and we both knew it. Still, he made his point.

  “All right. I’ll talk to them.” I paused before continuing, getting back to the meat of our discussion. “Before I do that, though, I need to get started on this new project you laid on me. Let me round up some help while you line me up a stock trailer or two. After that, I’ll get to filling your order for some First Wave zeds.”

  Northcutt sobered, and I knew he was thinking about all those survivors lost up north. I didn’t know for a fact, but I suspected he knew some of the men and women who died there. The Texas Army National Guard wasn’t that big of an organization, I gathered.

  “Thank you,” he said, more soberly. “We have to get a handle on just how bad this is going to get.”

  “Colonel, if those fucking things are getting smarter, you know how bad it could get. I’ll get you the stiffs, but make darned sure Doc makes good use of them.”

  “And about the other half-dozen items?” he asked diffidently.