Fight the Hunger: A Hunger Driven Novel

by William Allen

  “And who is going to tell him, Charlie? You know the drill. Dead men tell no tales. By the time your friends get back, there won’t be anything left to point a finger.”

  I paused, giving Casey more time to haul additional bags back and dumping them into the hole. We hadn’t taken time the day before to explore the narrow corridor at the bottom of the short ladder down from the roof. Honestly, I didn’t want to risk my bad ankle on the stairs and I worried about Casey, so I only asked her to go check the far door. It had been shut but not locked. Now we needed more.

  I after I delivered my threat, Casey crawled over and I gave her a quick order. “Go check the store. Crack the door and listen. Don’t go through.”

  She nodded, then slid away. I turned back to Ishmael, having one more piece of disinformation to deliver.

  “So you heard the convoy sign off, did you? Did you wonder why Charlie One was willing to be gone for a week? That should have been your first clue. Tell me, were you in the military, before the First Wave fell?”

  The big man hesitated, clearly baffled by my responses to his threats. I’d been thinking about the other groups Mike Brady mentioned, and I remembered the efficient-seeming group of salvagers he reported seeing, cleaning out a warehouse. Well-organized, heavily armed, and with apparently strong leadership. Was this the same group? An offshoot? Or somebody else entirely?

  “No, but I have a bunch of battle-trained veterans fighting for me, Charlie. What about you? I think you are full of shit. A squad? Really? I think there’s just two of you.”

  I sighed, shaking my head theatrically. Hopefully, not too much so. “In pairs, Ishmael. Snipers work in pairs,” I responded slowly, like I was talking to a child. One with a severe learning disability, at that. “How else do you think we managed to kill over nine thousand infected in less than twenty-four hours? Oh, while you are talking that tidbit over with your military advisors, you might want to ask them about something else.”

  I stopped there, still intentionally drawing this out. Casey had most everything stuffed in the hole, and gave me a wave to get moving but I wanted to see if I could maybe get them to back off after all. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  I could tell Ishmael wasn’t enjoying how this conversation was headed.

  “Charlie, I’m starting to take a distinct disliking to you. Why are you wasting my time here? You and yours just give up already. Even if you have six men up there, we have you totally outnumbered and outgunned.”

  “I don’t think so, Ishmael. I wasn’t in the Army before, but I’ve learned a bunch since. Like, ask your communications person if they know what the range is on an AN/VRC-91? If they were in the Army, I’ll bet they can tell you. I radioed in your description to Base as soon as your trucks rolled up.”

  Ishmael’s eyes seemed to bulge from his head as he stared at me for a long moment, his anger boiling up at my superior-seeming attitude, but then he wrestled that emotion under control as he stuck his head back in the truck.

  “What are you doing?” Casey asked, tugging my foot to get my attention.

  “Lying to the man. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “What is a ANVRC?”

  “Army radio. One of those SINCGARS that the colonel guards like they are made of gold.”

  Casey thought about it for a second. “You want him to think you have radio contact with the colonel,” she finally said.

  “Bingo. Let’s see if he bites. Get back to the hatch and hunker down. Either they leave now, or it is about to get noisy.”

  Ducked down low like I was, I didn’t see where the bullet came from but it punched through the low retaining wall and erupted out the other side, leaving a puff of concrete dust about an inch from my face. Casey gave a surprised yelp, and I saw her crabbing back to put the big roof air conditioning unit between herself and the shooter. More shots rang out from the men in the parking lot, but the angle was bad and none came close. At this point, I was really missing my own dedicated sniper rifle, the M24 I’d hauled along and so far hadn’t even removed from its case. Well, time was short and decisions were made as I was picking what to haul from the Ford. Next time, I’d ditch some of the camping gear and snag the sniper rifle instead.

  I was moving back as well, the M4 snapping up to my chest on the single-point sling as I hooked my arm through the loops of the last satchel. On hands and knees I scrambled in reverse, drawing back to the big chunk of machinery that was the only real cover on the roof. I saw a splash of metal as the next shot impacted the cover housing the air conditioning unit, and then I was hunkered down again.

  Fine, I thought with my old anger at the world flaring up bright. Noisy it is. Fishing out two of the fragmentation grenades, I carefully removed the retaining clips, then extracted the pin from the first. Using a powerful, overhand lob, I let it fly, followed closely by the second, minus the pin. I was aiming for about thirty yards out from the edge of the building.

  Casey stood at the bottom of the ladder, frantically gesturing for me to come down. But I waited, crouched low, and listened. From sounds of the resulting explosions, I figured I hit something. Several somethings. Time would tell. Satisfied for the moment, I gimped down the stairs and wondered if I’d been making my last stand here.

  I was ready to die. I just hoped I could figure out a way to get Casey out of harm’s way. She was a pain in the butt and a sarcastic little harpy, but somehow she managed to grab a part of my bloody, abused heart. Shit.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Casey listened, ear pressed against the metal fire door. Not able to make out anything, she cracked it and gave me nervous look back, shaking her head. In the dim light of the narrow walkway, she looked very concerned as she tiptoed back to me. The night vision monocle made her look like some kind of alien cyborg as she approached.

  “Sounds like a herd of infected crashing around out there, but I could see from the doorway. The door leads into what looks like a breakroom, then some sort of office space. That’s all I could tell from the doorway.”

  I nodded, which I knew she could see with the monocle. “All right. We want to draw as many of them into the building as possible, then go over the side using the escape ladder. Which you are going to find in that mess,” I said, gesturing to the pile of gear next to the roof access ladder.

  “Won’t they be looking for that? Have one of the trucks circling the building or something? That’s what I would do.”

  “Yes, but you are smarter than the average bear, Boo-Boo,” I pronounced, getting a frown from my assistant. “You are correct, but if we can make it hot enough in here for them, hopefully Ishmael will send in reinforcements. Drawing off the watchers.”

  “Or burn down the building,” Casey replied.

  “Or burn down the building,” I agreed. “Hopefully he will go for Door Number One. Depends on what I took out when the grenades blew. Anyway, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. For now, find the ladder and see about consolidating some of those bags. Focus on ammo and water.”

  “Where are you going?” Casey asked, but she already knew the answer.

  “I’m going to go help the zombies, of course. Isn’t that how this movie goes? The enemy of my enemy …”

  “Is still your enemy, old man,” Casey supplied the proper ending for the old aphorism, “so don’t get shot. Or eaten.”

  “Duly noted. I do need to see about drawing the rest of Ishmael’s men into the store, though. Be prepared for some shooting, but don’t come running. I need, we need, you to stay here and cover our retreat.”

  “Do you want me to try something with that sniper?”

  “Fuck no,” I replied, trying to keep my voice soft in the dark. “We got lucky twice. He was probably shooting from 2,000 yards out and not used to the drop. He’ll do better next time, Case. Just keep your eyes open and radio me if you hear them stirring on the roof. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  Casey looked down significantly at my braced ankle and I just shook my h
ead. Flash was maybe not the right word, but “I’ll be back in a stumble” just doesn’t sound as good.

  I limped down the hall, fumbling on my full-face NVGs as I went. These were the real deal, fourth generation, do-not-distribute-to-civilian-purchaser military gear used by Army Special Forces, the Secret Service and apparently, small town police departments. I actually forgot who brought these in to the trading post in town, but I scooped them up for a princely sum of two carton of Marlboro Lights and a fifth of Jack Daniels Black Label.

  Anyway, I carried the NVGs in a locked, shockproof case that resembled a hatbox whenever I went out on a particularly demanding job. I almost left them behind this trip, but Bill’s reminder about the possibility of this operation going to pieces with a huge audience to tear me apart struck a nerve. So I made room and packed it at the last minute. If I survived, the grouch was getting a big wet, sloppy, pat on the back from me in thanks.

  The NVGs mated to a standard Army helmet, so I left them connected together rather than mess with compatibility issues when I need to see clearly in the dark. Hence the tactical hatbox. Hey, it was hard plastic and I spray painted in matte black.

  Unlike other systems, this latest gen model allowed me to see almost as well as under daylight conditions, with none of the muddiness or fadeout common to the older models. It also automatically dampened for flash, so shooting in the dark didn’t automatically blind the shooter.

  Once the new helmet was secured and I checked all my magazine pouches for the proper caliber, doing so by feel rather than wasting time looking, I eased the door open and crept through to the lounge area. The place looked trashed, like the scene of a struggle rather than any looting or scavenging that might have taken place. Whoever participated in that scuffle was long gone, but I gingerly stepped over a dismantled wooden chair and around a broken Formica-topped table.

  The door leading out was also wrecked, but I didn’t need to step into the hall to hear the sounds of scrambling feet or creaking shelves. No way to tell how many zeds started off in the dark store, and how many stumbled in during the recent extermination, but I was betting there was a house full. Then I heard the shooting start, and I knew that was my cue to get it in gear.

  The hallway from the breakroom led past several closed doors that I took for offices, and I was itching with anxiety as I bypassed them rather than checking. Who knew how many zeds were nesting in the dark rooms? I worried about getting taken from behind, but the sounds of gunfire in the direction I took for the front door had me more concerned at the moment.

  The team was just clearing the zeds from the cashier area as I emerged from the office area to a small open balcony over the sales floor, finding the raiders about half the length of the store away from me. I ducked back, sheltering in the mouth of the hallway, as I saw six heavily armored individuals moving in concert, clearing their areas with single, aimed shots. They also wore night vision in the gloomy space, and as they moved further from the dull light of the broken front doors, I started to formulate a plan.

  Clearly, these raiders wanted a piece of us, and I was unwilling to go down without a fight. Examining the store from my elevated position, I noted the only way down appeared to be a set of stairs on the back side of the balcony, leading down to the rear of the store. So the attackers needed to find a way up, and I knew which way they would be coming. First, though, I needed to cut their numbers a bit.

  I threw two fragmentation grenades because that was all of them I had, but those weren’t my only grenades. Things like that were difficult to lay your hands on, but every small town Special Tactics or SWAT team had something else, and I made of point of collecting these little jewels whenever I had the chance. Again, I only packed two of them, but I hoped it would be enough. They didn’t do much for zeds except create a bit of confusion, but on living, breathing people, I thought I might have better luck.

  I watched and waited, observing the way the team methodically cleared the aisles, and I picked out the old dogs from the newbies. The experienced hands used one shot and done with the zeds, while the newer, less seasoned clearance men took a second and sometimes a third shot to take down their targets. I marked my own targets and felt almost guilty as I primed the device in my hand. They might be scumbag raiders, but they sure did a nice job killing zeds, too.

  The flashbang bounced once before exploding about two feet from where I was aiming. Well, close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades. I saw the true meaning of that expression, or at least got to witness the aftermath. I kept my head shielded for the bang.

  Slightly off target or not, the eardrum punishing, stroboscopic light effects did their work. These men were momentarily fried, and I heard screams erupt from the crumpled forms as I began shooting.

  Two shots to the body, one shot to the head. I knew these guys were wearing armor, but I didn’t know what level and took no chances. My minutes invested watching these men paid off and after I took down the first two raiders, the remaining four still had no idea where I was.

  They sprayed and prayed, emptying magazines in a frantic effort to find their attacker. Fortunately, none of them bothered to look up until I’d taken out two more, one presumably dead, and the other one screaming bloody murder. Then the particle board over my head exploded and I knew someone saw my last muzzle flash.

  Rolling away to change my angle and get a bit more cover, I changed magazines and focused on the area around the front door. Thumbing my selector switch, I waited as four more fighters blocked the sunlight to come sprinting into the fray, and I sprayed the confined space with a full magazine of hate.

  Dropping the empty magazine, I fumbled for a fresh one on my chest rig. Then I felt something land on my back, and over the ringing in my ears I could make out the faint sounds of something sniffing at my neck. Knew I should have checked those doors, I thought as the biting started.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Rolling away from the hands grasping at me, I met a set of legs coming my way and from the way they were filmed over with the dark-gray spray of old gore, it wasn’t Casey. A nasty, finger-bitten hand reached out to take hold of me, but I slapped it away and bull rushed the creature while still carrying the first one on my back like a stubborn leech.

  The zed toppled and I noted in passing, as I stepped over, that what had once been a little old lady with the frizzy grannie hair to match was missing her other arm at the shoulder. Then the zed on my back snaked an arm around my throat, and I was all about dislodging this thing from my body.

  From the pressure on my back, I was guessing the infected freak was discovering how hard it was to get a good bite through the lining of the thick coveralls. My neck, however, was not so well protected in this outfit with the military style helmet, so time was short.

  Slamming into the walls did nothing but stir more zeds from their resting places, and I counted one, two, three new hungry dead shambling into the hall from doorways I swore were closed. My pistol was an option, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention from the living at the moment, so I went for the knife instead as the starving monsters closed in on me.

  Pop, pop, pop. Three shots, all muffled by a suppressor, sounded in the narrow hallway, and the three approaching zeds crumpled to the floor, not even twitching. At the end of the way, I saw a wide-eyed Casey watching, her face horrified and jade hued in the night vision.

  “Brad,” she whispered hoarsely, “did I get them?”

  Fighting with the cold, dead arm constricting my throat, I managed a low “uh-huh” as I brought both hands up to grasp the rail-thin limb trying to strangle me.

  I glanced up to see Casey raise her pistol again and with desperate strength I croaked out, “Don’t shoot.”

  Pissed now, I pounded on the locked elbow with my gloved fist until I felt the arm slacken for a second, and then I ducked quickly, slinging the persistent ghoul over my shoulder to land on the cushioning mass of another dead thing. Now, knife free, I slammed the blade down and buried it up
to the hilt in the creature’s face. Once a child’s face, I noted with a shuddering chill. A little boy, not much older than …

  “Brad, are you okay? I can barely see you,” Casey hissed, and this time she lowered the pistol and took a step forward.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I said louder than I intended. “What’s happening up top?”

  “Nothing, so far. I heard the shooting, so I came to check on you,” she said, suddenly defensive. “I know you wanted me out of the way, but I can help down here, too. Not like I’ve never killed the living before.”

  I nodded, and realized she probably couldn’t see the motion. “How in the heck did you know where to shoot? It’s pitch dark in here.”

  “Not so bad,” she protested. “Once my eyes adjusted, I could see some. I could tell who you were by those round tubes on your face. I just shot anything else that was moving.”

  “Good deal. Now, get back on watch. I’ve definitely stirred them up, and I’m sure somebody down there heard those shots.”

  “All right, but I’m getting my NVGs too, just in case.”

  “That would be great. Now scat.” I paused, before continuing. “And thank you.”

  Casey laughed. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Thanking your partner, I mean.”

  “Trainee, and you better get back to it.”

  Turning, I paused long enough to spike the one armed used-to-be little old lady in the cranium, wipe of the blade, and kneel back down. Creeping back to the entryway to the balcony, I strained my senses to work at their peak. Despite the continued shooting down on the ground floor, I’d lost track of the players and feared they were already on the stairs. Or worse, already waiting for me.

  Hunkering down, I risked a glance over the side of the balcony, peeking through the security rails, looking for the source of those continued shots. Fortunately, the zeds remaining in the store seemed to be doing part of my job for me, as I saw several piles of zeds busy feeding on fresh corpses. Some were those I’d shot, but the screamer was now silent as well. The odd green light of the NVGs showed two more gunmen still upright and moving together toward the back of the store. Good, I still had time.