Fight the Hunger: A Hunger Driven Novel

by William Allen

  “Tommy Adair is the old man running the show, and he didn’t like the idea of moving around that much. Plus, he’s got some mobility issues. He’s in a wheelchair and doesn’t feel good about his chances out in the wild. He tried to get his family to go with us, but they wouldn’t desert him. Frankly, I was most worried about these people when we left.”

  Well, I could see that from both sides. He didn’t want to endanger his family, and they didn’t want to abandon their patriarch.

  “Then we should go there first,” Bill said, and I jerked my head at his comment. Nobody said the big dog was leading this mission, which might very well be a suicide run. Zeke Stackhouse, a retired Army lieutenant colonel and one of the other leaders in the militia power structure, said as much.

  Bill just waved his rough, calloused hand in the other man’s direction. “If I’m going to be any use around here, Zeke, I need to see what is happening out there. I’m going to take this mission to the colonel and get his blessing. He isn’t going to like it, but he will suck it up if we can bring him back some intel on what is happening down there.”

  “What about the last two groups?” Zeke asked, and I could tell he would go along with Bill’s decision. Crazy or not, this would yield some useful observations if we survived the trip. The old Marine made his pitch sound like he was solely interested in the activities of the zombies in the wild, but he was a wily one and I wondered if that was all he was looking for in this trip.

  Zeke’s question got a shrug from Mike before he answered. “I can’t tell you where they are located. Don’t know exactly where they are holed up. Just know we saw other groups out scavenging, and we figured they made their homes in the area. One group did make contact with us on the CB, using Channel 14, and we managed to avoid brushing up against them in a shopping center they were already cleaning out.”

  “Ya’ll have any problems?” Bill asked drily. Heck, our own scavenging crews weren’t above a little territorial muscle flexing, and we were all part of the same community. More or less.

  “No, nothing like that. We got a warning, politely worded, as we pulled into the parking lot. All I know is they had several heavy delivery trucks lined up in front of the store, and judging from the volume of gunfire we could make out, they seemed to be well-armed and still had ammo. Seemed like some real hard characters, but then, not many Boy Scouts made it this long.”

  That got a collective nod from the room.

  “What about this last group?”

  “We only saw them a few times, two or three people in a truck, but it was the same vehicle. They seemed skittish, so maybe it is a small outfit. We usually rolled in numbers, after all, and like I said, even teamed up with Bobby and Isaac’s families more than once. We never had any trouble, but I got no clue where they might be based. Hopefully we can make contact with them, but I’ve got little to guide us that way.”

  That would be difficult because, according to Bill’s input, we wouldn’t be sticking around long. Even Mike agreed that was the only way to minimize the risk.

  After that, we got down to discussing the details. Transportation would be easy since Mike volunteered the use of his vehicles for the return run. Still parked up outside the gate in Onalaska, these Maxed rigs had already proven to the be zombie resistant and offered plenty of space for not just our team, but also the anticipated survivors. We’d take his best five vehicles.

  After that, Bill went around the room and surveyed the crowd. In or out? It was a simple question. Casey said she was in, and so did I. In all, we had eleven commitments, including Mike and Bill. Then Mike added that three of the singles, two men and a woman, from his original group would also be returning, so we had fourteen in total. Given Bill’s lack of reaction, I assumed Mike had already confided in the older man.

  “Mac, you up for providing a distraction if we need it?”

  I nodded. When I took salvage jobs, that was typically my job. I could set up on a nearby building and draw off the zombies with an air horn or the like, and then cut down a couple hundred of the zeds who drifted over. Like I said at the overpass, one or two unsuppressed shots might make the monsters look up for a moment, but sustained gunfire drew them like a dinner bell.

  “I’ll be there to help,” Casey volunteered, and blushed prettily. “Brad’s been training me. As an exterminator.”

  Bill nodded but didn’t say anything. He knew what happened to the others, and I’m sure he wanted to open the book on how long Casey would last. He didn’t know this little lady might be as cold blooded and unaffected by the zombies as I was.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “So you’re really going? Back to Houston?”

  Roxy’s nervous tell was her left eye. She blinked, and her left eye seemed to go just a little bit faster. She was a good poker player, but I routinely cleaned her clock because I knew the odds and followed the cards. Okay, counting cards in a friendly game seems a bit much, but I am a competitive SOB at some things. So, don’t sit down at the Monopoly table with me unless you are ready to bring your best game. Let’s just say I had experience reading her face.

  “Not that far. Just into Conroe, and a little south. Bill’s running the show, with Mike’s input, and they both agree this is going to be a quick in and out. Really, I’m surprised anybody is still holding on down there. With the way the zeds are changing, we need to make the effort. At least make the offer of transport to the Safe Zone.”

  “Fine, but why do you have to go? There’s plenty of suckers out there willing to do stupid shit for the heck of it.”

  She had me there.

  “I don’t know, really. Sure, Casey wants to go, but I think I could talk her out of it. If I really tried. But, you know, it felt kinda good helping Doctor Gooden rescue those women, and guiding Mike Brady around the horde …”

  Roxy seemed to relax as her posture changed ever so slightly. “Feels good to help people, doesn’t it?” my friend said simply, and her hand reached out to lightly stroke my arm. Roxy was a tactile person, and no kitty, puppy, or small child was safe from her pats or ear scratches. Sort of embarrassing, sometimes.

  “Yeah, it does. I might be able to lend a hand, Roxy, and Casey is coming along pretty good, too. She’s a good kid.”

  “She is. But is she ready to take this kind of risk? To face these kinds of numbers? Another horde, maybe?”

  I shook my head before trying to answer. “I don’t know if any of us are. Mike said the zeds in Conroe were starting to mass up even before they left, and the zeds are showing the same signs we have seen here. Longer attention span, improved problem solving, simple tool use, and things like that. The biggest danger, though, is if the really large populations of monsters further south start to stir. If we do this right, though, they won’t follow us back. The route is too complicated, with too many turns. Bill made sure any tail we pick up will get lost in the woods.”

  “You need any help?” she asked with an impish grin. Roxy was a ball of fire concealed in the form of a sixty-plus-year-old woman. The exact number in that “plus” remains a mystery to almost everybody, and she was one of the few people I’d seen who actually seemed suited for the terrible challenges of this new world. As Roxy herself said more than once, she was a tough old broad.

  “No, honey, we got this,” I said, trying to placate the dragon. “But I want this place sewn up tight while we are gone. How are Kate and the other young ladies doing in their training?”

  “I’ll ‘honey’ you, you jackass,” she barked with a little grin. “None of our girls show Casey’s sheer bloody mindedness, if that’s what you mean, but even the little ones can squeeze the trigger. That Shelly is like a momma bear protecting her cubs, so she spends extra time at the range.

  “What was done to them, I just can’t imagine, but all of them have come out of the experience harder, and with an attitude. They will not be treated like property ever again.”

  “Wait, Shelly? Michelle? The school teacher? She’s like a Disney
character. I keep expecting the rabbits and squirrels to come out of the forest and lay a wreath at her feet while she sings a Rogers and Hammerstein number.”

  “Well, we schoolteachers can be hard-asses if you mess with us. Or our students. And you really date yourself with that reference. There are more modern composers, you know?”

  “All right, I give. Just stay safe here. Introduce the ladies to our go-to-hell plans, and close the gates for the duration. Heck, you know what to do. I’m never here anyway.”

  “Yeah, I know. It is a little easier now, with these girls here to help,” Roxy said as a parting shot, heading off to the kitchen to start on breakfast. As usual, we got our day’s duties lined out over coffee before the rest of the compound even started stirring.

  I thought about the upcoming trip as I went to find Casey and gear up. The colonel, as expected, wasn’t doing cartwheels at the prospect of a mission that deep into territory all but ceded to the dead. However, the idea of bringing out more than forty survivors weighed on him, as did the idea of picking up more intelligence about the area. Bill even reminded the colonel of a small Army Reserve center located off Interstate 45, just a few miles south of the most distant hideout.

  Now, I learned a long time ago that armories were NOT stocked with firearms and ammunition. Same goes with this reserve center, apparently, but Bill wanted to see if any of the vehicles remained on the premises. I recalled driving past the center several times over the years since it was constructed, and I noticed the wide variety of trucks and haulers and other unfamiliar pieces of equipment parked just off the highway in the chain-link fenced and barbed-wire topped lot. I figured if we were that close, might as do a drive-by if the roads remained accessible.

  When prompted, Mike admitted, somewhat embarrassed, he’d never even gone by to check. Turns out, Mike spent four years in the Army after high school as a military policeman, and he said he thought he could figure out how to start anything useful left available. In his defense, he had just moved to the area shortly before all the killing and screaming and dying started, so was unaware the Army Reserve center even existed.

  As expected, I found Casey in the great room drinking coffee with her sisters, who were still trying to rub the sleep out of their eyes. I say sisters because of the way they hung together—a makeshift family forged out of horrible circumstances. All six had been sheltered at the Civic Center when the cartel came, so they knew each other even before their period as slaves. Kate really was the den mother to this group, as I had suspected, but Casey seemed like she might have been the enforcer and sergeant at arms. Shocker.

  “You ready to go?” I asked Casey, stomping my feet a bit as I walked up on the half dozen young ladies. That was so I didn’t startle them; no sense having a gun pointed in my direction this early in the day.

  “You shouldn’t go, Brad,” Kate said without preamble. She was plainspoken, that one. “Roxy needs you here, and if you feel the urge to shoot something, go take extra shifts at the trap.”

  Feeling slightly ambushed, I pointed a finger at Casey. “Blame that one. I’d just as soon hang out here and listen to you ladies discuss the merits of Justin Bieber versus Justin Timberlake as a performer.”

  “Ah, that’s not even funny, grandpa,” Casey fired back. “Your jokes are as old and broken down as you are. You really are an old man, you know?”

  I heard a collective gasp at the words, but I forced another one of my awkward smiles to show there were no hard feelings. I’d spent so much time around Casey lately, and apparently vice versa, that what we thought of as a simple morning greeting might be taken the wrong way.

  “Casey, don’t,” I thought I heard the youngest, Carly, hiss. She was a pretty little thing, with dirty blonde hair and large blue eyes that looked enough like Casey to have been her sister in real life. According to her paperwork, Carlotta Banks was sixteen years old, but she still looked like she should be running a lemonade stand. I also knew both of her parents had been murdered by the cartel thugs when they took the Civic Center. For trying to protect her, apparently. Once again, I knew bad things I didn’t want running around inside my head.

  “Jeez, guys,” I replied, trying to sound amused rather than sad. “I’m just kidding, and so is Casey. I know Justin Timberlake is, like, old and stuff. Probably over thirty, at least. Ancient.”

  Casey just shook her head, and I could tell she was regretting what she said. Not because it offended me, but because it made the others uncomfortable. I decided to try again.

  “Ladies, please don’t act this way. We are all friends here, and nobody is going to hurt you. Out there”—I waved over my shoulder, generally trying to express the idea of outside—“some jerks might try. But in here, inside these walls, we are safe. Casey was just trying to be funny back at me, but clearly she lacks my experience at witty banter. Not her fault. She’s barely hatched still. That sort of skill comes with age.”

  I finally got a nod of understanding from Kate and Shelly, but the younger girls still looked spooked. Give it time, I told myself.

  “You ready to go?” I asked, giving Casey my full attention and trying to speak softly.

  “Yeah, I’ve got my bag here,” came the equally subdued reply as she scooped up her Maxpedition backpack and followed me out of the beautiful appointed room. She returned the 1903A3 to me the day before for safekeeping, and I led the way back through the administrative area of the property management area to one of the rooms we’d set aside as an armory. Yes, one of the armories. Lots of guns on the premises, after all. Best not to keep all the eggs in one basket.

  “What are we taking?” Casey asked, all business.

  I stopped, my hand on the door knob as I turned to regard the young lady. “Guns, Casey. Lot of guns,” I announced as I swung the door open with a flourish.

  And indeed, the room boasted lots of guns. Plus, ammunition by the case and several five-spot filing cabinets full of spare magazines for every variety of firearm. All arranged by manufacturer and caliber, of course. What drew the eye, though, were the wall-mounted cabinets and free-standing rows of gun racks arranged in neat little rows placed back to back and running the length of the room. Off to one side, a computer desk, monitor, and tower seemed out of place for the setting.

  Casey stared. She was familiar with the walk-in gun closet we all used, a former break room for the resort employees converted to hold our everyday carry pistols and rifles. With so many kids around, using the other room for temporary storage just made sense. This room, however, was four times the size of that area and featured a dizzying array of firearms of all descriptions.

  “Where? How on earth?” The young lady stood, stunned, until I cleared my throat.

  “We put this room together over the winter,” I explained, and didn’t fight the pride in my voice as I spoke. Outside of our little group, no one would ever see this room. “Not a lot to do otherwise, except kill zombies. Roxy thinks I went overboard, but I like having all these options. Plus, never know when you will need to equip an army.”

  “Is that a machine gun?” Casey finally asked, pointing to the object in question, conveniently hung on the wall with pegs.

  “Yes, that’s an M-249. A Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW as Ken calls it. Not really effective against the zeds, but it has some uses. Not taking it with us, though. We have several automatic weapons, but that is really designed to provide cover fire for a squad of soldiers, I would hazard a guess. Hence the name. We won’t be taking that with us, but like I said, we have several rifles that can set to fire fully automatic. Don’t like it, normally, but better to have the option than not.”

  As I spoke, I picked out a pair of Colt M4s, setting them aside on the work table as I continued to shop. All four boasted suppressors already installed. Next, I pulled out two shotguns, Mossberg 930 SPX models, and bandoliers preloaded with shells. The handguns were more of a personal decision, so I waved for Casey to go ahead. Instead, she frowned and moved over to examine the Moss
bergs I selected.

  “I prefer my other shotgun,” she said cautiously.

  I nodded. “Probably a better fit, seeing as how accustomed to you are to that model. These are good. Tactical choices though. Please try this one out when we get back?”

  “Sure; they just look really, uh, complicated compared to what I am used to. Are you bringing a long-range rifle, too?”

  I nodded then gestured. Like the SAW, the long-barreled sniper weapon system rested on pegs driven into the wall. With attached bipod, scope, and adjustable stock, the rifle looked lethal just hanging there.

  “What the heck is that?”

  “That is sixteen pounds of trouble. Designated as the M24 for military and police use, it is a tricked-out Remington 700 with all the bells and whistles. I have a civilian version that I love, but I’ve spent enough time on that one to get proficient as well. Accurate out to about nine hundred yards.”

  “I didn’t think you used this kind of stuff for zombies.”

  “Oh, that is a different loadout all together. This is for the living. I don’t have to tell you, Casey. They are way more trouble than the dead.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The trip into town took very little time, and Casey held her silence as we pulled into the parking lot laid out in front of the Safe Zone. Vehicles could be cleared through to the Zone, of course, but I usually just parked up and walked in, unless it was a Trade Day and I needed the truck.

  Today, I was here to haul a cargo, not drop it off. We would use Mike’s trucks for the trip, but the group needed transport to Onalaska, so Bill Harrington and I planned to offer a taxi service. Between my King Cab truck and Bill’s hardened Suburban, we had enough seats for the fourteen of us going, but some would have to ride in the bed of my truck.

  I parked next to the group standing by Bill’s truck. From the gear bags and packs, I was glad to see others were taking this little jaunt seriously. I’d told Bill and Mike the compound could spare some weapons if needed, but everyone I saw had a slung rifle or shotgun as well as a holstered pistol or two.