Hunter Wars Omnibus Edition (Books 1 - 3)

by SD Tanner

  Pax, who was watching from the observation room, bounced on the balls of his feet into the room and, leaning close to Mackenzie, he said fiercely, ‘Doan ya fuckin’ go to sleep on me, soldier!’

  Mackenzie’s eyes flicked open and he mumbled, ‘No, sir, I’m not sleeping.’

  ‘What the hell have ya been up to with that redhead?’ Pax asked loudly.

  ‘Nothing sir,’ Mackenzie replied fuzzily. ‘She came onto me sir.’

  ‘Got a way with the ladies do ya?’ Pax asked.

  ‘Not usually sir,’ Mackenzie replied, fuzzy, but still honestly. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘His mind is going,’ Lydia said matter-of-factly.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Gears asked.

  ‘It depends,’ Lydia replied bluntly. ‘In Ip’s case, she rebuilt new neural pathways to compensate for the parts of her brain she lost. Now, she has more neural activity than we do and she’s using parts of her brain we don’t. We don’t know why she was able to do that, but if she can it means others may react in the same way. Mackenzie could go the same way.’

  Turning to Farrington, Gears asked, ‘How did Ip respond when she was infected?’

  Farrington replied, ‘I wasn’t there but I was told by Doctor Ian Battersby she remained aware and conscious the whole time.’ Then he paused as if he seemed to be recalling something odd and said, ‘She doesn’t dream. Battersby had her wired up to read brainwaves. He said when she slept, she had reduced brain activity. It’s as if her brain switches off when she sleeps. Humans don’t do that.’

  ‘Why would that happen?’ Gears asked curiously.

  Farrington explained, ‘We believe humans process events of the day in their subconscious when they sleep. Dreaming is critical to integrating and letting go of events our rational brain has filtered and processed throughout the day. It could be that she functions from her subconscious brain, which means there’s no need for integration. She doesn’t have a rational brain filtering and processing when she’s awake. She only has a subconscious brain so everything is automatically integrated.’

  Rubbing the scar on his face, Gears said, ‘I dunno what that means.’

  Lydia answered, ‘It means she feels and thinks from the core of herself and not from any overlay of rationalization. She doesn’t have anything cluttering her feelings or decisions like the rest of us do.’

  Nodding, Gears said simply, ‘That would make her both honest and instinctive.’

  ‘You know her better than we do,’ Lydia said. ‘Is she?’

  Almost as if to himself, Gears smiled and without offering an explanation, he replied, ‘Yeah.’

  There was nothing left for them to do but wait. If Mackenzie and Chris survived they would be immune to the hunter virus and therefore able to kill hunters. It was a question of how much damage their bodies would endure before their immune system was able to stabilize the designer virus. It was a good sign that both Mackenzie and Chris were still alive, but everyone was painfully aware of Jen’s situation. She survived, but was dying slowly aboard the ship. There was no way to know how badly Chris or Mackenzie would be damaged.

  Gears patted the blanket covering Mackenzie’s leg and looking at Pax, he said grimly, ‘It’s time to go.’

  Clearly Pax was not happy and, still looking down at Mackenzie, he sighed and said to Lydia, ‘Keep us up to date will ya?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lydia replied.

  Waiting until they all left and it was just he and Lydia standing next to Mackenzie, he asked her gently, ‘Do you want me to stay?’

  Looking up at him, with tears forming in her eyes, she asked, ‘Would you?’

  Putting his arm around her shoulders, she leaned her head on his chest and he squeezed her gently and said, ‘I told you, I’m not going anywhere.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Haven and Hell (Survivors)

  Jamie woke up badly and, like every morning since his whole family were infected, he awoke to the sound of a snarling hunter. It was a Wednesday when the virus hit. Hump day his Dad used to call it. His Dad would tell him once you get past Wednesday, it’s a straight downward run to the weekend. That day he was on the train coming home from his one day a week working as an intern for a computer software developer. As part of his final year at Miami Dade College, all students were encouraged to work for free so they’d have something to write on their otherwise scant resume. The company paid him twenty bucks a day, but between the cost of parking his car, the train fare and a cup of coffee, he barely took home seven bucks for a day’s work. His Dad told him it was the day and age they lived in and he thought he was pretty unlucky to be graduating in the middle of a recession.

  The train was pulling into his station and wearing headsets playing his latest indie band, his head was bent while he texted his mate Jacko about their plans for the weekend. Still looking at his phone, he’d bent down to grab his backpack and realized he’d kicked it deep under the chair in front of him. He’d jammed his phone in his pocket, awkwardly knelt in the narrow gap between the seats and tried to grab the strap of his bag. Straining until he’d finally caught the strap in his fingertips, he’d yanked the bag out and when he looked up again, the train was stopped and he’d felt something warm cascade over his face. Blinking and wiping at his face, he’d noticed the fluid had a thick texture and a coppery odor. Staring at his hand, he’d seen that it was red and didn’t understand what he was looking at. Looking up again, he’d stared straight into the eyes of a dying woman. Her mouth was open, but with his headsets on, he wasn’t able to hear her. Blood was pouring from her like a stream and he was becoming drenched in her blood. Being below the line of the window he hadn’t been able to see what was happening outside. Inside the train the seats to his left had been empty. He’d felt thudding through the floor and instinctively made himself as small as possible, almost disappearing under the seat where his bag had been. As the woman had died above him, his music played on and on.

  He didn’t know how long he stayed hidden on the train, but it must have been at least an hour. He’d pulled his headsets out of his ears and climbed out from under the seat and seen the woman was slumped, head hanging down and her hair had swayed gently when he moved past her. Standing at the end of the long corridor of seats, he’d seen there were a few bodies, but mostly all he saw were streaks and pools of blood. Reluctantly looking back at the woman, he’d seen her entire spine was torn out from the base of her skull to her lower back. Backing away, he’d left the train in shock. The streetlights were on outside, but there had been no sound of cars or people. He’d dropped his pack and run for his car, fumbling the keys from his pocket as he went.

  While he drove the familiar route home, he’d navigated around cars that were either crashed or abandoned. Occasionally he’d seen people running, heard screams and the sounds of gunfire. Every instinct in him told him to get home and he’d stopped for nothing. His parents were not home when he got there and he’d quickly let himself into the house and gone straight upstairs to his room. Slamming the door, he’d pushed his wardrobe against it to seal the room and then sat on his bed, texting everyone he knew. His Dad was the only person to reply and texted that he was driving home and that he was to wait for him.

  He’d sat by the window all night waiting for his Dad to come home and tell him what to do. At some point he had fallen asleep and when he awoke, he’d seen his Dad’s car parked on the lawn next to his own. He remembered feeling a deep sense of relief and belief that he would be okay now. Excited, he heard his Dad banging about in the hallway and he’d pulled the wardrobe from the door. As he opened the door to his room, he’d heard growling, then the door slammed open and his Dad burst into the room with strings of bloody saliva hanging from his mouth and reached for him. Crazed with fear, he’d erupted with a violence he didn’t know he had and beaten his Dad’s head to a pulp using a ten pound dumbbell he kept in his bedroom.

  After that his life had been a blur. He’d met Liz and Michael as he scurried from one place to
the next, scrounging for food and water, hoping to survive just one more night. When they met the tall, well-spoken soldier, wearing clean ACU’s, speaking confidently about the island they were setting up, he felt like he’d found his Dad again. Cringing a little at the memory, he remembered crying with relief. The tall soldier had hugged him firmly and promised that he and his friends could spend some time on their safe island. True to his word, the soldier had taken them by helicopter to a ship and from there to the island. It’d been three weeks since then and he still awoke to the sound of his Dad growling, but each morning was a little easier than the last. Yawning, he waited for his consciousness to let go of the dream he could still hear in his mind. Mid yawn, he stopped. The sound of growling was not fading as it usually did. Rolling over in his bunk, he saw the door to their container was open. He blinked and the doorway was filled with a body vibrating manically. Shocked, he said, ‘No. Dad. Don’t.’ They were his last words.

  ***

  Pop was holding an M4 and he was firing methodically at the hunters. With over forty years hunting under his belt, he didn’t waste a single round. With Pop were eight other experienced shooters and they were standing in a circle surrounding the twelve terrified children. Holding back the hordes of hunters, they were gradually stepping their way towards the water between the two islands. Pop was determined these children would get off this island to the farming island alive. In front of him, Pop watched hunters tear into the flesh of the living who immediately rose as hunters and attacked the next living person within reach. People were screaming and running for the beaches and the safety of the sea. While they ran, hunters were tackling them to the ground, tearing into them and then moving on looking for their next living victim.

  Calmly, Pop called to the shooters, ‘Step back. Steady now.’

  Pop felt a small body behind him and, without looking, he said kindly, ‘Step back, honey.’

  Although a good shooter herself, Mom was in the middle with the children and she said, firmly, ‘Come here, pumpkin. Give me your hand honey.’

  The little girl turned away from the bloodshed she was watching and looking up at Mom, she put out her hand. Mom grasped her small hand and with her other hand, she ushered the children to stay in step with the shooters. Once they were near the shore, the shooters set up a semi-circle and four of them broke away, shouldered their weapons and each put one small child on their shoulders, then picked up two more until all twelve children were being carried to safety across the short stretch of water.

  ‘Go with ‘em,’ Pop said to Mom.

  Mom didn’t argue and said, ‘Love you, honey. See you over there.’

  Pop grunted and said, ‘Ya know how it is between you and me.’

  ‘I know,’ Mom replied, and blew him a kiss as she walked into the water following the shooters and the children.

  Pop and his remaining shooters continued to hold position, only now they were firing at hunters behind the people who were running for the water. As the people ran they shot the hunters so they could not attack the running people from behind. Pop could hear other shooters nearby and looking across the beach, he saw another team also firing.

  ***

  Jose was leading the team on the beach near the restaurant. He usually worked on the Marine supply base, but last week he sprained his ankle jumping out of a truck. He had wanted to join the Marines since he was a boy, but when he’d applied he was rejected for being overweight. Well, he hadn’t been rejected, but he was told to lose weight and reapply once he was down by 125 pounds. At six foot two inches he’d always been a big kid. His Ma was a great cook and he ate his way to obesity on only the best food. His father left when he was still in diapers and his Ma, her two sisters and Grandma raised him. Being the only boy in a household of clucky women, he was adored. He was a complicated kid and pined for a male role model, until he read a book on the history of the Marine Corps. From that moment on, his vision of the Marine Corps replaced his absent father. He was devastated when the recruiting Marines had kindly told him to go home and lose weight. Feeling admonished he was determined to qualify for the Corps. Within twelve months, he lost 134 pounds and gained a good amount of muscle. When he had reapplied to the Marine Corp fifteen months later, he was accepted immediately, but had to wait two months for the next intake of trainees. He spent the time working as a short order cook, working out and avoiding complicating his life with a girlfriend. He planned to have a career in the Marine Corps and he didn’t want anything distracting him from his first love, which was the Corps. On the Wednesday, when the outbreak started, he was flipping burgers at the local Checkers. Trapped in a hot, noisy kitchen he hadn’t realized there was a problem until Jenny, one of their regular waitresses, grabbed him and tried to bite him. Being strong, he easily pinned her down by the throat on the cutting table. While avoiding her snapping teeth, he saw the blood down her torn shirt and he’d looked through the serving hatch and seen people were being torn apart inside the restaurant. He’d hauled Jenny up and bodily thrown her through the serving hatch before running.

  Having spent over a year training his cardio, he was able to keep a good pace and ran through the town. Eventually he’d found a car with its door open and engine running, but no driver. Without wondering who it belonged to or where they were, he’d jumped into the car and tried to drive home. He and his mother lived in a two-bedroom apartment and his Aunts and Grandma also had apartments in the same complex. When he arrived in the neighborhood, everywhere he looked, people were attacking people, apartment blocks were on fire and he’d heard continuous gunfire. The violence was so extreme, he hadn’t been able to sit in his car contemplating his next move nor was he able to leave the car and expect to live. Reluctantly he’d driven away, promising himself he come back later.

  When he’d returned a day later, no one was left alive and the apartment blocks were teeming with shamblers. He’d stood on the dusty, scrubby land in the middle of the blocks and looked at the windows of his families apartments. Calling and throwing rocks at the windows, he’d successfully smashed several, but never got any response and assumed his family were now shamblers haunting the corridors of the apartment blocks. He’d left the town looking for any sign of the Marines, hoping they would see him as one of their own and let him join them. After searching for weeks, he hadn’t found any, but he did find Mickey and Langdon. The three of them shared the same hope of finding the Marines and they’d moved with him from town to town looking for them.

  Although avid computer game players, none of them were able to use a real gun with anything remotely like skill. Together they learned to move during the day, hide at night and he’d become pretty handy with a machete. Along the way they were joined by Marcy, Kev, Judy and Davina. Between the seven of them they muddled along, until the hunters came. Over a period of two weeks, one by one, they lost their small team until only he and Mickey were left.

  He’d met TL over four months ago. Pax trained him and Mickey to become combat shooters, a role he loved and he often worked side by side with Pax, TL and Gears. He was ecstatic when Captain Ted arrived and took over the Marine supply base. He knew it was a bit puppy-like, but he followed Captain Ted around, eager to learn everything he knew about the Corps. It was Captain Ted’s fault he sprained his ankle. They were messing about in the armory and Captain Ted bet him an early rotation to the island for furlough that he couldn’t lift a Hellfire Missile off a truck. Determined to prove him wrong, he’d picked up the missile and stepped awkwardly off the platform of the truck and twisted his ankle. He figured he both lost and won the bet when he was sent to the island, but had to work in the kitchens.

  His ankle was irritating him now as he stood on the loose sand firing at the attacking hunters who up until a few hours ago were his fellow survivors. People were screaming and running past him into the sea to escape the newly born hunters and looking ahead, he saw a young boy running towards him. He couldn’t have been more than eight and with his short legs, he w
asn’t going to outrun the hunters closing in on him. Without thinking, he ran towards the boy and scooped him up with one hand while firing with the other. He was still holding the boy and running towards the water when he felt something hit him from behind. He dropped the boy and reached for him with his teeth bared, but the boy was snatched from his grasp. Howling in frustration and seeking prey, he bit hard and felt the fresh blood of the living fill his mouth.

  ***

  Inside the container Will was smashing Vernon over the head with a saucepan and Tracey was lying on Vernon’s back, trying to pin him to the ground. They were stuck inside the container, not daring to go out and join the screaming. Vernon was one of their bunkmates and at sixty-five years of age, Vernon was one of the oldest survivors on the island and was a street vendor in his former life. Will and Tracey only recently hooked up and were cuddled up on his bunk when all hell broke loose. Vernon had a weak bladder and made one of his regular nightly trips outside to take a leak. He would stand at the door and urinate onto the ground directly outside their door. The smell of Vernon’s pee was disgusting and this bad habit of his meant they couldn’t leave their door open at night. They’d asked him to stop peeing outside the door, but he just swore at them. They asked Kat to talk to him, but Vernon had sworn at her too. Kat promised to reassign Vernon to another group, but accommodation was tight and no space was available.

  Somehow Vernon was bitten, but he hadn’t realized he was bitten when he staggered backwards into the room and simply slammed the door shut behind him. Now they were trapped inside their container with Vernon, and he thought Vernon was just as disgusting as a newly born hunter as he was as a roommate. Slamming the flimsy pot down onto Vernon’s head, the handle broke off and he yelled, ‘Fuck!’

  Tracey was no longer a big girl. She told him that before the virus hit she was 250 pounds, but now she barely weighed 120 pounds and Vernon didn’t need the additional strength of being a hunter to toss her aside. Back on his feet, Vernon roared angrily and grabbed for him. He rolled under the bunk bed away from Vernon, desperately looking around the floor for another weapon while Tracey screamed. Peeking under the bottom bunk, he saw Vernon was kneeling on Tracey’s back calmly tearing flesh from her now slender buttocks. Seemingly content, Vernon pushed a chunk of Tracey’s flesh into his mouth and sat chewing. He realized Vernon hadn’t bitten Tracey and she hadn’t turned into a hunter, but was still alive squirming feebly under Vernon’s weight. Unable to breathe easily, she’d stopped screaming and was grunting in pain.