Fight the Hunger: A Hunger Driven Novel

by William Allen

  She colored again as she paused, and I had to laugh. Unlike how it usually came out, this one actually sounded halfway amused.

  “Even the ones that don’t like me, right? Well, I’ve never cared to win a popularity contest, and the end of the fucking world hasn’t changed me that much. And again, you are welcome. They get you squared away here okay? I see you made it through quarantine.”

  “They are ecstatic to have another doctor, frankly. And I opted for the bite check instead. I don’t have anything they haven’t seen before,” she added a bit cheekily, “and I was glad to see the vigilance the medics have seen fit to enforce. We had a few outbreaks even in Sandoval’s headquarters, but I couldn’t get the dumbasses to listen to me.”

  “We’ve all had to learn as we go, doc. And I am glad you are fitting in okay. Like I told you, we have some assholes like Shurman, but overall, I’d say we are doing pretty good here.”

  Kelly goggled at me a moment before she spoke. “Pretty good? Do you have any idea how bad it is out there? I can’t believe we can walk around outside like this. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to be attacked at any moment. No one went outside willingly in Beaumont, Brad.”

  “I know. Not how bad it was there, but I get the idea. That’s where I spend most of my time, doctor. Outside these walls, and away from the people. That’s the only place for men like me.”

  I said that last bit softly, but she must have heard. I felt Kelly’s eyes on me with a look I couldn’t fathom.

  “What kind of man are you, Brad?”

  I shrugged and turned to walk away. I didn’t want to say what was on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t want to admit that I was the kind of man who let his family die, and then killed them all over again. I’d let slip as much to Natushek earlier, which was entirely out of character. We didn’t share our pain, but instead hid from it and tried to cover over our weakness in other ways.

  “I’ll see you later, Doc,” I said instead and headed for my next meeting at the quarantine station. I needed to quit wasting time and get back to doing what I did best. Killing zombies. That was the job I signed on for, and the only thing I was really good at in this new world of pain and death. Interacting with the living was just too much trouble.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Interviewing Michelle Considine was like talking to the Julie Andrews character in The Sound of Music. I always hated trying to watch that movie all the way through, even though I found Julie Andrews strangely hot when I caught several scenes on cable. I think it was the whole sweetness that made her so strangely desirable.

  They didn’t look alike, mind you. Shelly was a brunette where Julie was blonde, dark where the aging actress was light, but the impression she made on me was similar. Not in a sexual way, though. She was attractive, which just meant I worked extra hard not to give off that vibe.

  I don’t know what kind of terrible shit the slavers may have done to this young lady, but she was handling it as well as could be expected. Shelly seemed willing to put that horror behind her and focus on the future, and for her, that meant teaching youngsters. Even now, though, I could see a darkness behind those eyes, a wariness that you might see in a caged animal that had been abused.

  She was fighting it. Winning, too, as far as I could tell. So I expected her to burst into song when I told her we already had some kids at the compound just waiting for a teacher to come along and lead them in reciting their ABCs or some such.

  She was undaunted when I was forced to admit I didn’t know what grade level our little darlings were reading at, or how they performed on their state-mandated skills testing. I knew of such things, of course, but I had made a conscious decision to let Patty and Roxy deal with the kid issues. I was there to provide security and supplies, and that was as far as it went.

  I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. I would do all in my power to protect the little ones, but ultimately they were the chewy goodness the undead monsters craved. That I knew their names, the names of the orphan children that Roxy demanded we take in, was bad enough. I would let others learn this lesson the hard way, like I did. And I could pretend they were strangers to make me feel less connected.

  So Michelle was a definite keeper if she wanted to go. I told her as such and like Kate, she made a commitment contingent on the group staying together. I said we would have to see but nothing was causing any strikes against them at this point. Actually, between what Kate could do for our energy and infrastructure needs and Shelly could offer in the educational department, I was willing to take the rest on their word. I would interview one more.

  I skipped Beverly Jansten, age nineteen, when I saw in her entry notes that she was a nursing student. That was an instant pass, so I didn’t even bother bringing her in for a talk. She could be a real pain in the ass and still earn her spot with those half-trained skills.

  So I sifted down and found the next oldest, at the ripe old age of eighteen. Casey Parleski, according to her file, and saw her past employment listed as waitress. I then went to the door and asked the guard on duty then, an older matronly lady named Kenzie, to please bring in Miss Parleski for her interview. I was thinking maybe she could help out in the kitchen.

  The tall figure in the baggy camouflage pants and sweatshirt who stalked into the room didn’t resemble any of the young ladies from my brief memory, but then something about the way she held herself struck a recollection. She strode over to the other seat and dropped into it without a word, and I also belatedly remembered Kate Harsted’s admonition. About Casey not being as much of a hard-ass as she pretended.

  After the door shut, we sat silently for a few moments. Each of us just taking the measure of the other. She was a tall girl—young woman, I mentally corrected myself—with butched off, short, honey blonde hair and dark blue eyes. No makeup, of course, and on her fresh-scrubbed features, I could make out a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  “So you got out alive after all,” she finally drawled, giving me a nod of recognition. “Some of the girls said as much, but I didn’t know if I believed them. They tend to be easily confused.”

  I had to laugh at that. She was not-so-politely calling Kate and company a group of airheads. Unless she meant the younger girls, of course.

  “Yeah, I made it out all right. It took me a minute to place you, though. You cut your hair and don’t have your crowbar anymore.”

  At our last, brief meeting, the honey-colored mane spilled down to the middle of her back. She had also hefted the two-foot metal bar like she knew how to use it.

  “Yeah. I plan on doing some hunting, and I don’t want it to get in the way, you know? I saw a girl get drug down by her ponytail. I had to listen as they ate her, too.”

  “They” were the ever-hungry dead, and never satisfied.

  “Probably good thinking. You want to join the Guard or going civilian salvaging crew?”

  “Civilian. My dad was in the Army, back before I was born. He didn’t seem to have liked it much, so I doubt I would either. Plus, I don’t want to be watching my back all the time, you know?”

  Jeez, what kind of soldiers was she accustomed to be around? I wondered, but held the question. Instead, I nodded. “What kind of hunting you got in mind?”

  She shrugged before answering. “I need to get a stake first. Salvage to start with, like I heard talk about. I’ll do my share, provide for the younger ones, you know, but eventually I plan on moving on.”

  “You have things to do and people to kill?” I guessed, and from the way she blanched, I’d guessed right.

  “What business of it is yours? I’m a grown ass woman, and I can do what I want.”

  “Not for me to say at all, Ms. Parleski. Just an observation. I understand the urge. Revenge is a powerful motive. I’m not going to insult you by giving you some bullshit platitudes about turning the other cheek either. I’m more Old Testament in my beliefs. The big question is can you shoot?”

  That got a smirk. “Yes, I c
an shoot. I got pretty good at it, guarding the Civic Center. Had my own AR. Well, it belonged to my dad, until he didn’t need it anymore.”

  I could tell there was more to the story but I didn’t push. Again, I did not want to know her story. Let her tell it to someone else.

  “Well, I can get you another one, and some ammo. As a loan. Use it to guard the compound and that will be a good start. The rule is, everybody works and nobody is a princess, all right?”

  “Including you?”

  “Especially me. I likely won’t be around much. You saw what I do. I do extermination work for the National Guard, clearing areas they want to use or salvage. I sometimes take on private work as well, but I’m picky about the jobs I take. If you are interested in salvage like you say, I can ask around for you.”

  She seemed to consider that offer for a moment and then nodded. “I might take you up on that. So, when are we getting out of here? I mean, they are nice enough about it, but this isn’t someplace you want to hang out too long.”

  I agreed with the young lady. The Q was better than most folks had seen in a while, but the confinement could get depressing.

  “Tomorrow morning. I got the keys back for my van, so we will be using that.”

  “All right. Just remember, we are trusting you, Mister McCoy. We didn’t leave that asshole Sandoval to end up getting fucked around by some other asshole.”

  “Charming,” I said in response to Miss Potty Mouth. I couldn’t complain though, and she had a point. Surprisingly, I realized I wanted to earn her trust. That was something to think about on the drive back home. Why did I care? What difference did it make in the end?

  I walked back through town and out the gate, then jogged over to where my truck was parked. The Ford started easily enough, and I navigated through the rows of cars and back toward the road south. The parking lot also featured a chain-link fence and an elevated guard tower, and I waved at the man standing watch there. He didn’t wave back, but then, he owed me money. Well, a box of 7.62x39, but same thing. I wouldn’t make a big deal of it for now, since he would eventually come back to me looking for more cigarettes. Mikey was too chickenshit to go out and do his own salvaging, and he came up a little short last trade day. Next time around, he could either make it right or learn to do without.

  All the rest of the way home, I thought about the plans the colonel must already be slaving over. I’d fill his order for thirteen more First Wave zombies and then see what else I could scare up for work. Well, I’d make it fourteen. I wasn’t superstitious, but thirteen was unlucky and I’d just as soon not risk it. I had a feeling I’d soon be needing all the good luck I could get directed my way.

  After I corralled the First Wave, finding twenty newer zombies would be cake. I wasn’t being over confident, but most of the zeds still acted like the brain dead drones we’d learned to death over the months. Getting them into the truck might be as easy as lowering the ramp and backing up to a crowd. More likely than not, they’d just tumble in and keep looking for something to bite.

  I had an uneasy feeling about the days and weeks ahead, and first thing in the morning, Patty, Ken, Roxy, and I would have another of our contingency planning sessions. We hadn’t survived this long leaving shit to chance, and I was determined our group of four would have at least three fallback alternatives worked out before bringing in this influx of temperamental and likely deeply disturbed girls. Okay, young ladies. I can almost hear Roxy barking at me to change my tune to young ladies. Whatever.

  Pulling up to the gate, I was not surprised to see a zombie greeting line waiting for me. The number, though, was a bit disconcerting. I counted thirty, and from the lumps scattered in a starburst pattern around the entry way, there had been many, many more. Remembering I had the radio, I put in a call on the CB to my crew inside.

  “Roxy, you got your ears on?”

  “Breaker, breaker, good buddy,” Roxy boomed in that nasal accent of hers. “I read you five-by-five. What’s your twenty?”

  I realized Roxy was fucking with me, using her CB lingo she probably picked up from watching Smokey and the Bandit and Convoy too many times. Well, she was an old woman with too much work to do, so I wouldn’t complain about feeble efforts at amusing herself.

  “Right outside the gate. I see we got more uninvited guests lined up. Give me five to clear them out and keep everybody inside, just in case.”

  “Roger that, Big Boy. I’ll pass the word. Over and out.”

  “Out,” I replied and hung up the microphone, backing away from the gate area at a roll as I spoke. Several of the zombies responded to the sound of the engine and headed my direction, and gradually they all started following. I led the party a few hundred feet back from the gate and came to a stop after pulling around behind a small depression Ken excavated for me that morning.

  This was an experiment of sorts. We wanted to know if the sounds of the compound really were attracting the dead or if the scent might also play a factor. Conventional wisdom, zombie lore, indicated that zeds possessed a keen sense of smell as well as their hearing. I wanted to test it with pile pits to see if the stink of their own burning dead would keep them away.

  Roxy brought it up when she said it was a damned shame we had to haul the corpses to the burn pile instead of figuring out a way to lure them into the area. Because zombies didn’t seem to wander around where we did the burning. As Gru was known to utter in Despicable Me, I blurted out that catch phrase of his.

  “Lightbulb!”

  So now, we would see what we would see as I busily set about taking out the trash.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, taking a quick peek over the side of the building and looked to the south. I was using a cheesy plastic periscope I’d nabbed in a military surplus store in Corrigan, and I couldn’t believe how many times the little fake tactical device had come in handy. Now I was seeing a mass of bodies packed tight on the road, spilling out along both sides of the divided highway and onto the shoulder. Zombies were coming, and they numbered in the thousands. Really, in the tens of thousands. It reminded me of the horde I saw in Jasper; the one that threatened to overrun Captain Shurman’s company. Upwards of forty thousand, I guessed as the parade of the dead continued their halting advance.

  “They are gonna have to blow the bridge if that crowd gets too much bigger,” Ken whispered, and I knew he was right. Damn it.

  Shepherd used to be a nice little town. Straddling Highway 59 about twenty miles south of Livingston, the town had been one of our tripwire locations up until the last week, when the colonel pulled back all but the very few scouts left to monitor the situation. Scouts like the two of us.

  I didn’t want to be here. Actually, that is not quite true. I didn’t want to be stuck here watching a Zombie Pride parade big enough to fill up Reliant Stadium (or was that NRG Stadium?), but I had volunteered. Yes, I know, I’ve seen all those military action movies where the grizzled old sergeant warns the young privates to never volunteer. Hell, I was just a civilian contractor.

  The compound was still getting accustomed to the presence of six newcomers, and all of them were wary. Like cautious cats, the ladies scurried from here to there as they went about their assigned duties, but each one had that air about them. The distrust there would take time and distance to heal. Roxy, of course, had them eating out of her hand in just a few hours, but as the males of the species, Ken and I felt their watchful gazes.

  “You sure about this?” Ken asked me one evening as we sat in the great room of the resort. Now converted into our dining hall, the great room boasted a lovely view of the lake as well as a nice venue for movie night. We had hundreds of Blu-Rays, salvaged from nearby stores, and the newcomers delighted in watching their shows after the evening meal was done. Yes, turns out I was one of those looting assholes hauling a humungous flat screen out of the Walmart. At least nobody posted my picture doing it on social media. So it really didn’t happen.

  “Not really
,” I replied. “I am glad we got Kate, though. She knows her stuff when it comes to the solar and battery systems. I can’t believe we were so stupid. We just needed larger inverters was all. Well, and a larger battery bank, but heck, we were going to expand that anyway.”

  Yes, as soon as we had more time. Or more willing hands.

  “Having a nurse, even if she is only partly trained, is a relief, too,” Ken admitted. “The others aren’t so bad, but I hate being glared at all the time.”

  Well, maybe not glared at, but I knew what he meant. We had penises, so we were still on the suspect list for now. The biggest surprise, or maybe not, was how well Casey fit in with us on the last two days of the zombie rodeo. When we explained what was coming up, she volunteered instantly to come along as another gunhand.

  I was dubious but took her to the range to see her work. She was good with the rifle, passable with a pistol, but pure murder with a shotgun. She worked the twelve gauge like a professional, and I wasn’t shocked to learn her favorite sport was skeet shooting. On close support, she was using slugs but that didn’t seem to slow her down any. We managed to get our remaining thirteen First Wave zeds and another five just for the heck of it. I figured the Doc could use the extra test subjects.

  “Casey is a keeper, Ken. She’s strong and got good instincts. Never had a problem with her working security.”

  “Yeah, but she is always got the attitude going. Twenty-four seven.”

  “There is that,” I agreed, though she seldom directed her ire my way. I think we understood each other pretty good, and she was not going to let her personal feelings get in the way of getting the job done.

  “So. You want to take a road trip?” I asked, and Ken, for once, agreed. I couldn’t blame him.

  Ken wasn’t scared of the zombies. He respected the threat, and acted accordingly, but five months of killing and almost non-stop action gave him the confidence I wanted in a traveling companion. Always before, though, we had to keep one of us at the compound at all times, as sexist as it sounded.