Dead Eye Hunt (Book 2): Into The Rad Lands

by Meredith, Peter

  “Inside!” Cole shouted. “Back inside!” They raced for the doorway, their radiation meters buzzing like angry bees, driving them on. They had a real fear of radiation that had been ingrained since childhood. It was the invisible boogey man that ate your face off and sent you mad.

  “What is it?” Hamilton demanded from the doorway. He was half-crouched, looking around with a scattergun in hand, expecting an attack. Before Cole could say anything, he jumped and gave a cry. In his hyper state he thought one of the Dead-eyes had somehow slipped up beside him. “What the…” he snarled, looking down at his side where his pocket was buzzing. Dawning horror struck him and he backed inside. “It’s a Cat storm!”

  Sergeant Phillips and Corrina hurried from the doorway and backed to the far end of the room. Normally, being that deep in a building would be enough to shield a person from the effect of the storms, but only a few seconds later they both jerked, their meters buzzing in their pockets.

  “It’s back here, too!” Phillips yelled, pulling his hands in, afraid to touch anything.

  “What’s behind that door?” Hamilton shouted.

  No one had looked beyond that first dim room and now Phillips and Corrina, panic swelling and rising in them, rushed to a wide metal door. Its hinges were frozen with rust and when Phillips pulled it open it screamed like a child being butchered. The sound spiked their fear to new levels and neither rushed through the doorway. They inched forward to stare into a much larger and darker open area that was part warehouse, part showroom. The building had once belonged to a granite and tile retailer and although most of the old inventory had exploded like glass from the nuclear shockwaves, there were still a few dozen long slabs of granite stacked vertically on heavy trolleys.

  “The fucking thing is still going off!” Phillips cried, his voice echoing around the large room. The radiation pouring from the western storm was coming down through the patchy roof, parts of which had fallen in years before.

  Corrina spied another door, ran to it and was shocked to find herself in someone’s kitchen. There was an immense refrigerator that gleamed dully at her. And a stove that was so large she could’ve climbed into the oven and curled up. There were fancy cabinets set on walls of granite. Although most of the slabs had cracks running through them, they were more or less intact. The room was weird, but safe. Her meter had stopped buzzing.

  Other than the cracked granite, the room was so perfect that she was drawn to the refrigerator. She even expected a light to blink on when she opened the door. It did not and worse, the refrigerator was empty. The sight of it sent a pain through her guts. At first, she assumed it was a hunger pain, but she wasn’t hungry, at least not for food. She had a sudden hunger for Mule. It was the first craving she’d had since entering the Rad Lands. Before this, her stark terror had driven even the want for Mule from her subconscious.

  “Anything in there?” Sergeant Phillips asked, the tiniest bit of hope on his otherwise fear-lined face.

  The hunger inside her spiked and for a moment her mind went to the dart gun. If I give myself a little poke, it wouldn’t kill me. It would take the edge off. She needed just a little fix, but couldn’t with him standing right there. “Naw, but the thingy ain’t buzzin’ in here.” She looked down at the meter, which sat dead in her hand, and all she could think about were the darts.

  She jumped when he yelled to the others, “Hey! It’s safe in here.”

  A few seconds later, Cole rushed in, dragging the Dead-eye by its manacles. Both she and Phillips put the granite-covered table between them and the zombie.

  “What’re you doing?” Phillips demanded. “That should stay out there.”

  Grunting, Cole hauled it to a corner before saying, “No way. I want to be able to keep an eye on it. For all we know, they hide from the radiation. Maybe too much of it will kill them too.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Phillips muttered as Cole left to help Hamilton move Brunker into the room.

  McGuigan came last, weighed down by packs and guns. He stared around at the room in wonder. “Did people used to live here? A house inside a building. I’ve never seen that before.”

  “You never heard of an apartment building?” Cole asked.

  “I meant, except for apartments, of course. It just seems weird, don’t you think? And right in the middle, too.” He also went to the refrigerator and looked inside. “It’s empty. It’s not even been used. Hmm. Seems kind of sad.”

  “Yeah, I’m about to fuckin’ cry how sad it is,” Phillips snarled. “Brunker’s over there fuckin’ dying and you think an empty fuckin’ fridge is sad! What about me? You sad over what happened to me?” His eyes were like twin lights, burning with anger; that is until he realized what he had just said. “Which is nothing, actually. I’m fine. I feel,” he paused and swallowed loudly. “I feel fine.”

  Despite the radiation storm, McGuigan was in a surprisingly good mood. They had their Dead-eyes. Now all they had to do was drag them back through the Holland Tunnel and they would be heroes. Maybe he’d even get his old job back—with a raise. It was too bad about Phillips and Brunker, but they had known what they were getting into.

  “I bet you are fine,” he said, “and when we get back, I’ll make sure you get a booster shot to keep you that way.”

  Phillips felt a glimmer of hope, which Hamilton crushed by snorting. “A booster won’t do dick when he’s already turned and you know it. No, if he turns, we’ll deal with that at the time. There’s nothing we can do now.”

  No one mentioned Brunker who was still wheezing blood in and out of his lungs. When he tried to talk, the blood poured in through a gash in his larynx, making him choke. No one knew what to do with him besides set him in the corner and lay a cut of rag across the wound to hide it from sight.

  Cole doled out water and counted ammo to make sure everyone had the same amount. Except for Sergeant Phillips, that is. He kept his hand on his Riker and wouldn’t let Cole touch it. “I know what you’ll do to me. You won’t give me a chance. You’ll kill me. Me and Brunker both. But I won’t let you. Do you hear me? I won’t let you!”

  “Sounds to me like you’re already infected,” Hamilton said, his own hand on the grip of his Riker. “I’m not saying you are, I’m just saying that you need to settle down or you’ll make us nervous. Hey McGuigan, he can’t be infected this fast, right?”

  “No. He’s just scared,” McGuigan said. At Phillips’ quick glare, he amended his remark, “Which is normal. We’d all be scared if we were in your shoes. But it’s going to be okay, right Cole?”

  They wanted him to lie. Thankfully, the dark hid his poor attempt at offering Phillips a warm smile. “Yeah. It’ll be cool, we just have to keep our heads until the storm blows over.” Outside, the radioactive wind picked up and began to howl. Everyone cocked an ear and listened. It went on and on. And on! Hours slipped by.

  Corrina stepped out to piss without an audience and when she came back, she was groggy and fell into a deep exhausted sleep. Cole scratched out an hour or two, though he never slept deeply and whenever anyone stirred, he opened an eye and clutched his Riker.

  Eventually, they all woke to a grey, sludgy sunrise. The clouds spat sporadic rain and crashed with explosive thunder as forks of lightning cut through the heavy sky, leaving behind the smell of ozone. The storm was so loud it even woke the dead.

  “Hhhhunnngy,” the thing under the hood moaned.

  They all gasped. Hamilton drew his gun, saying, “Did that thing just talk?”

  “Hhhhunnngy,” the thing answered, this time more forcibly. It began to strain against its chains, making grunting pig-like noises as it did. They watched in horror as it twisted and squirmed. Gradually the grunting was replaced with low hissing sounds that seemed too much like words: “Awwwfff. Geh awwff. Hhhhungy. Hhhhungy.”

  “That’s totally fucked up,” Hamilton said, and for once Cole agreed with him wholeheartedly. “What are we gonna do with it? Should we give it another dose of the t
ranquilizer? I mean, I just don’t know if I want to hear that thing talking all day long. It’s sick. It’s not right. McGuigan, I thought you told us they didn’t have any of their brains left.”

  McGuigan’s face had drained of color. “I don’t remember saying that. It’s still a Dead-eye even if it looks like that, which means when it’s sedated it retains some mental functions.”

  “I say we shut it up,” Sergeant Phillips growled. He was sweating and his eyes were rimmed red. “It’s giving me a fucking headache.” This statement was more alarming than hearing the Dead-eye talk. One of the first symptoms of being infected was a blinding headache which was followed quickly by barely controlled rage. It took Phillips a moment to realize that the silence in the room was because of what he’d said. “Stop looking at me like that! I don’t have a headache I was just, you know, giving you guys a figure of speech.”

  “Then maybe take your hand off your gun,” Hamilton said. He had his pistol out and although it wasn’t pointed at Phillips, the threat was real. Slowly, Phillips folded his arms across his chest. Hamilton gave him a cold-as-ice smile. “That’s better. Now, what should we do with that thing? Gag it?”

  Cole, who was intrigued and disgusted in equal measure, said, “I’m not getting anywhere near its mouth, but if you want to, go right ahead.”

  Phillips found this funny, though no one else did. No one wanted to touch the Dead-eye, and as the storm was still howling outside, they were forced to listen to it babble on about how hungry it was. Gradually, it began to remember how to use its lips and tongue. “I shmell yous. I shmell yous blood! Give it. Give it me.”

  It repeated this for twenty minutes until Hamilton felt his own headache coming on. “Shut up, zombie boy, or I’ll kick your teeth down your throat.”

  “Froat,” it said. “Blood in froat. Give it me.”

  “Alright, that does it,” Hamilton said, getting up. “The governor never said anything about the zombies needing teeth.”

  Cole reached out and stopped him. “It’ll talk even without teeth. While you’re up, check the meter. The radiation might have blown over. This could be just a normal storm.” Hamilton refused, snorting at the idea. Cole cracked the door and stuck his arm out. Five seconds passed, just long enough to give him hope, then the meter buzzed. Cursing, he sat back down.

  “Fuuuuck,” the creature said in eerie imitation of Cole.

  Hamilton laughed. “Hey, Cole it’s your long-lost brother! He got the looks in the family. Ha-ha! What’s your name, handsome?”

  He was just sucking in a big breath to laugh when the creature said, “Shon.” Hamilton choked on the breath.

  “Did he say Jon or Shawn?” Corrina asked. No one knew or they were too stunned to answer. She came closer and asked in a loud, slow voice, “Did you say Jon or Shawn?” He answered and what came out was closer to Jon. “Jon? Is that your name?”

  “Jon.”

  For the moment, the hunger for Mule disappeared. “I never thought that the ones on this side of the river could talk. You know, because of all the radiation and stuff. Hey Jon, what’s your last name?”

  “Hhhhungy.”

  “Yeah, we know you’re hungry. What’s your last name? Jon what?”

  Under the hood, the zombie turned to face her. “Shon Ake-her.” Corrina turned to look back at Cole, her faux-tatted face screwed up in confusion.

  “He probably said Baker.”

  “Yesh,” it said.

  Sergeant Phillips suddenly yanked Corrina back. “Leave it alone. It’s not something to mock. It doesn’t want to talk to you. It doesn’t want you to treat it like a freak.”

  “Yesh. Talk,” it said.

  Corrina pulled her arm from Phillips’s grasp. “I’m not treating it like a freak. I’m treating it like a person. Who knows when the last time it could talk?” She turned her back on the man and had to fight from letting her shoulders twitch. In her book, Phillips was way scarier than the chained-up Dead-eye.

  McGuigan was a few steps away and wasn’t going to get any closer. “Ask it how old it is.”

  “He is a he,” Corrina said. “See?” She pointed at the ugly thing between its legs. It looked like a burnt carrot. McGuigan had been doing his best not to look at it and only smiled without looking at the carrot. Corrina rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll ask.”

  Jon didn’t know how old he was. His brain was mush and his memories were so jumbled that they made no sense. They were only pictures in his mind, flashing at him chaotically. He tried to form an idea of numbers but these were even more jumbled and he couldn’t have counted to three if his life depended on it.

  “Ask it where it’s…” McGuigan started to say but stopped at the girl’s sharp look. “Ask him where he’s from?”

  This brought out a series of gibberish syllables that no one could make sense of: “Ay-uh. Hi-o. Ain-i-ool.”

  Cole, who was frustrated with the storm, stepped forward and removed the thing’s hood. “Hi. If you try anything, I’ll let my friend kick your teeth down your throat and I’ll put the hood back on. Got it?” It’s black beetle eyes glittered hatred and if it could’ve gotten free, it would’ve eaten Cole’s face. Still, it was free of the hood and although its head thumped horribly, it could think a little clearer. No, he could think. The pictures in his mind were slowly coming into focus with each passing minute.

  Jon still couldn’t control the intricate movements needed for proper speech and so he nodded.

  “Good.” Cole leaned against the granite counter and looked down his long form at the creature. “Are you from New York?” A shake of the head. “Boston?” Another shake. “DC? The Carolinas? Texas?” It took him a moment with each city as his brain processed the word.

  “Nah-o. Gay-un Hi-o.”

  McGuigan leaned around Cole and asked, “Ohio?” The Dead-eye nodded.

  “Where’s Ohio?” Hamilton and Cole asked at the same time.

  “It was a state,” McGuigan replied. “One of the middle ones. By Colorado, I think. But there’s no one there now. That’s what everyone says. Ask it if there’s a city there.” The answer Jon came up with was Gay-un. McGuigan had never heard of Gay-un, Ohio.

  Hamilton yawned. “Who cares? There’s nothing in Ohio that ain’t in New York, am I right?”

  He’d asked this of Sergeant Phillips, giving him a companion-like elbow. “I don’t know, Ham. What if the governor was lying about us being heroes? What if he doesn’t let all of us back in the city? What if we got to go to Ohio? How far is it?”

  Jon had no idea. They asked him more questions: where his parents were. How had he gotten to the Rad Lands? How he had become infected, and so on. For the most part, they could not get comprehensible answers from him and he only understood half of what they were asking. Still, it passed the time as the storm howled.

  After a few hours, Corrina was nodding off again and Cole was losing interest in the conversation when McGuigan tried to pin down what Jon had done for a living before turning into a zombie. He kept answering, “Eye Ool.”

  “It sounds like he’s saying high school,” McGuigan said, sounding amazed.

  “And what’s that?” Cole asked. “Like where the vamps go to school?”

  McGuigan’s mouth hung open as he shook his head. “No, it was like a second school people went to if they were smart.” Cole was unimpressed with the answer. Overly smart people rarely impressed him as much as they seemed to be impressed by themselves. Cole’s lack of a response made McGuigan laugh high and crazed. “You don’t get it. There’s no high schools anymore. They were all from before the bombs. That means Jon is over a hundred and fifty years old.”

  Now it was Cole’s turn to let his jaw drop as he studied the creature. He was long with ropey muscles. He had no toes and four of his fingers were mere nubs. Other than that, he radiated a hideous vitality. “A hundred and fifty. Wow.”

  “No! Not wow. It’s horrible.” This wasn’t from Sergeant Phillips. Brunker stood with one han
d clutched at his bloody throat and the other pointing at the zombie. “Kill it! Put it out of its misery. Who would want to live forever like that?”

  Jon grinned, showing off jagged shark-like teeth. “I shmell yous blood. I shmell it. It dir-ee. It dir-ee blood.”

  “What? What did you say?” Brunker screamed. “Did you just call me dirty? I’ll fuckin’ kill you for that!”

  He rushed at the creature and Hamilton started to intervene, when Cole stopped him. “Don’t. He’s infected for sure.” Cole pulled his dart gun and shot Brunker in the back with it. Brunker was so enraged he didn’t feel the sting of the dart and for twenty seconds he continued to pummel the Dead-eye. Then one of his legs buckled and he gave an odd twist to his hip so he was part way turned around.

  “Wha?” he said a moment before he collapsed next to Jon, who immediately tried to take a bite out of him.

  “Get away from him,” Cole snarled, pulling Brunker back by his boot. When he straightened, he came up with his Riker in hand and pointed it at Phillips. The sergeant had been watching the interaction with a mildly interested expression on his face. Now his mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Slowly he lifted his hands in front of his chest. “Hey, don’t. That’s not me. I’m not going crazy here, okay? My head ain’t even hurting.”

  Hamilton drew his dart gun and then shrugged with a what-can-you-do look. “I think maybe we don’t take our chances. And really, what’s the harm? You take a little nap and if you wake up still a man then we got no issue. Where do you want it? In the ass?”

  “Hold on,” McGuigan said. “Don’t shoot anyone.” Jon had rolled and was once more trying to eat Brunker. With his hands behind his back, it was a bit like trying to bob for apples and he couldn’t get his teeth into Brunker’s cheek. McGuigan had tried to slide Brunker further away and noticed something unpleasant about him.

  His eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling.

  “Yeah, don’t shoot him,” McGuigan said, poking Brunker in the face. “Cole, I think you killed Brunker. I think you killed a human.”