The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured Read online

  Devoured

  The Hunger, Volume 1

  by Jason Brant

  Copyright © 2013 Jason Brant

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from Jason Brant, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editing Services Provided by Cynthia Shepp

  www.CynthiaShepp.com

  Cover Created by Phycel Designs

  www.phycel.com

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 1

  The tie around Lance’s neck might as well have been a noose.

  Yet another job interview went horribly as his career circled the drain. He looped a finger over the knot by his throat and pulled it down, letting out a long, depressed sigh. Fourteen years of hard work, certifications, and experience meant nothing anymore.

  When the economy lagged like it did now, businesses couldn’t invest money in a guy like Lance. A young, dumb, recently graduated college knucklehead could do his job for a quarter of the cost. They wouldn’t know what the hell they were doing, but since when did a corporation care about quality over cost?

  A decade and a half of setting up networks for government agencies and large corporate offices seemed like a waste of life now. Lance’s shoulders sagged as he meandered down the sidewalk, horrified at the idea of having to start a new career at the age of thirty-six.

  Traffic honked in the street beside him, people impatient to get past the myriad of one-way streets and rusting bridges that comprised Pittsburgh.

  Lance was the exact opposite—the last thing he wanted was to get home and deal with that situation. Telling his soon-to-be ex-wife that he failed to land another job was low on the totem pole of priorities. They rarely saw each other nowadays, but he knew she would be there tonight, ready to judge his latest failure.

  They still lived together, unfortunately, as neither could afford to move out. It made the entire situation unbearable. The nights they spent watching television together in the living room (the only one in their apartment), uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between them, made Lance want to throw himself down the stairs. Granted, that’s how most couples’ lives were, but having the end of their marriage dangling in front of them made it that much harder to bear.

  The warm, spring sun nestled in the clear sky above. Lance tilted his head back, closing his eyes, letting the soothing rays wash over his face. The smell of grilled burger he could no longer afford, wafted through the streets, making his stomach roll over. God, what he wouldn’t give to stop in a bar and blow what little cash he had left on a cheeseburger and fries.

  He bumped into someone, his legs tangling with theirs as he stumbled forward. The leather portfolio Lance held in his hand fell to the sidewalk, contents spilling out.

  “Watch where you’re going!”

  Lance regained his balance. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  The man he ran into brushed himself off and looked up at Lance, his forehead wrinkling. “Lance? Lance York?”

  “Yeah?” Lance recognized the man’s face, but he couldn’t place his name or where he knew him from.

  “It’s me. Don.”

  Lance stared at him.

  “Don Whitehead! We worked together for SysNet way back when!”

  Memories clicked into place. Lance remembered running parallel printer and USB cables alongside Don in his first job out of college. They were fresh-faced dreamers back then, talking about how far they would go and how many giant homes they would buy. The man before him only had a vague resemblance to the one Lance knew back then.

  Don wore a black, custom suit that fit his body perfectly. Aviator sunglasses rested in his freshly barbered auburn hair. The slight orange twinge to his complexion hinted at a spray-on tan. He was well put together—a man who had some money to spend on his appearance. Even his posture suggested a high level of confidence.

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” Lance said. “Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  Don slapped him on the back. “How’s it going, buddy? You’re traipsing down the sidewalk like someone kicked your dog.”

  “Just one of those days.” Lance didn’t want to stand there and talk about his shit life. “Listen, I’d love to catch up, but I have to keep going. Places to be and all that.” He didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day, other than feeling sorry for himself and sitting on the couch.

  He wanted to get drunk, but couldn’t afford the booze.

  “Hey, I understand. Until just recently I was a busy man myself. I’ll walk with you so we can catch up.” Don fell in beside him.

  Lance fought the urge to sigh. All he wanted right then was to wallow in his misery. No one wants to run into old acquaintances when they’re down on their luck. That’s why people skip their high school reunions.

  “Are you still contracting for the DoD?” Don walked with his chest out, arms relaxed at his sides.

  “Nah. I’ve been bouncing around for a few years now. The market for guys like us is narrowing.”

  Don bobbed his head. “I hear that. Who’s pulling your strings now?”

  “No one.” Lance decided that he really didn’t give a shit whether he impressed Don or not. He just wanted to get away from him. “I just came from a job interview.”

  “You don’t have a job? I thought you had places to go and all that?”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “I’m just fucking with you, man!”

  Lance wanted to slap him. He pictured a perfect backhand landing flush. “Hilarious.”

  “Believe me, I understand what it’s like to be down on your luck.”

  The custom three-piece suit that Don wore said otherwise. Lance peeked at it as they walked. “That’s a nice suit you have there. Sears?”

  Don laughed, long and deep. “Hugo Boss. Things have been going really well for me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lance couldn’t care less, but Don didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.

  “Yup. Sold my business last year. Put quite a bit of coin in my pocket. Now I’m living the good life.”

  Lance bit back a gag. “Yet you’re still wearing a tie. I thought the point of cashing in was so you didn’t have to do that kind of shit anymore.”

  “The sweeter things in life come to those who dress nice. I’m looking to invest in a new startup now so I have to look presentable.”

  “Good for you.”

  “But hey, listen to me bragging. What kind of job are you looking for? Maybe I know of something.”

  Lance finally let the sigh out. “Anything at this point. Since the downturn, I haven’t been
able to find much of anything. Everyone wants to hire college kids.”

  They stopped at an intersection, mixing in with a small crowd waiting for the crossing signal to change.

  “That sucks, buddy. I’ll put a word in for you if I end up throwing some cash at this startup.”

  Lance peered over at his old co-worker and saw a hint of a smirk. He thought back to their relationship all of those years ago, wondering if they’d ever been as chummy as Don was acting now. Their conversation was weird and stilted, like Don was forcing something.

  “Well, at this point, I’ll mop floors if I have to. The bills are stacking up.”

  The light changed and people stormed across the street, heading to their jobs or lunches or loved ones. Lance followed, jealous that someone, anyone, waited for them at their destination.

  His life was shit and he knew it. He put in a lot of hard work over the years, yet he couldn’t seem to catch a break no matter what he did. One plus one equals him sucking at life. Even worse, he’d been feeling sorry for himself during every waking moment.

  He was caught in a never-ending cycle of self-loathing.

  Don cleared his throat. “How’s Liz?”

  Christ, Lance thought.

  If talking about his job situation stabbed him like a knife to the gut, then discussing Liz was akin to twisting it. He was surprised that Don even remembered her name. They hadn’t spoken in more than a decade. The man must have a memory like a steel trap.

  “She’s leaving me,” Lance said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “How could you know?”

  “Still. That sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  Lance hoped the uncomfortable silence between them would make Don get the hint and go away. It didn’t.

  “Has she filed the paperwork yet?”

  “What?” Lance stopped and turned to face Don, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it? I mean—”

  A woman stumbled past them, her skin ashy, spider veins running through her cheeks. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and vacant. Long blonde hair fell to her shoulders.

  Lance and Don shared a confused glance.

  “Ma’am?” Lance asked. “Are you OK?”

  He knew how stupid the question sounded before it left his mouth, but it was all he could think to ask. This woman couldn’t be further from OK. OK punched her in the face and skipped town quite a while ago.

  “So hungry,” she mumbled. Her toes dragged along the sidewalk, her steps short and labored. One of her shoes was missing. “So hungry.”

  “Can I call someone for you?” Lance took a step toward her.

  “Maybe we should let the paramedics handle this.” Don pulled his cell out and dialed 911. “Yeah, we have a woman walking down the sidewalk that needs some help. Ninth and Grant. She’s mumbling to herself and looks like she hasn’t seen the sun in a decade. No, she’s not bleeding. Look, she’s all kinds of fucked up. Send someone down here pronto.”

  She continued on, bumping into people, teetering on unsure ankles.

  Lance followed her, wanting to make sure she didn’t hurt herself, his problems momentarily melting away. The condition of her skin stayed front and center in his mind, the varicose veins bothering him more than anything else did. What could make someone look so horrible?

  The stench of soured dairy emanated from her pores.

  Don jogged to catch up to him, dropping his phone into the pocket of his expensive suit. “Ambulance is on the way. They were being a major pain in the ass about it.”

  “What do you think is wrong with her?” Lance asked.

  “Drugs, probably. What else makes you incoherent and turns your skin to shit?” Don frowned at the woman as they followed her. “Why exactly are we keeping tabs on her still?”

  “Because I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “Oh, sure. Yeah, me too.”

  “Besides, she doesn’t look like a drug addict to me.”

  “Lance, your powers of deduction suck. Look at her, buddy. She’s high as a kite.”

  Lance pointed at the back of her head. “Check out her hair.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s nice. She takes care of herself. Her jeans are designer and that is one huge ass diamond on her finger. This isn’t some crackhead turning tricks for her next fix.”

  Don inspected her. “I take it back—you might be on to something here. So what are we looking at? A woman who caught a disease or something?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Shouldn’t we stay away from her then? What if she has the bird flu or mad cow?”

  Lance recognized his opportunity. “Good idea. Why don’t you hang back and I’ll take care of this? You can make sure the ambulance finds us. It was nice catching up.” He really hoped that Don would finally leave him in peace.

  “Shit, buddy. I can’t leave you alone with her. Besides, you never told me what happened with Liz.”

  Damn it.

  She staggered sideways, brushing against a man eating a hotdog. The food fell from his hand, landing against his white shirt and green tie, ketchup and mustard staining everything.

  “Goddamn it!” The man scowled at his shirt in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing, lady?” He turned on her, his mouth falling agape as he took in the cobweb of veins running through her face. “Jesus!”

  “Just stay back!” Lance said as he walked up to the man.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “No idea, but I wouldn’t touch her if I were you.”

  The man wiped at the condiments on his shirt. “Too late for that, bro.”

  Lance and Don continued walking, staying five feet behind her. People gave her a wide berth now, wary of coming anywhere near the sickly woman. She seemed oblivious to everyone’s presence, careening along as if she were alone on the sidewalk.

  A teenager with ear buds in, his head bobbing to music, jogged across the street, his eyes turned to look for traffic, and plowed right into her. They both fell to the ground, limbs sprawling across the concrete. An iPhone fell from the teen’s pocket, scraping along the harsh surface.

  The kid’s head snapped around, lips curling in anger. “You stupid—”

  He cut himself off when he saw her complexion, his rage shifting to fear. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his cell and sprinting away, throwing a concerned glance over his shoulder.

  The woman, now scratched and bleeding, worked her way back to her feet, muttering to herself about her hunger.

  “She’s completely out of it, buddy,” Don said.

  Lance wanted grab her arm and force her to stand still until the paramedics arrived, but he was afraid of catching whatever she had. Instead, he did his best to warn people away, shouting every few seconds at someone else who wasn’t paying attention.

  They crossed half of a block when Don stopped, shaking his head. “I’m done. No way am I going to risk getting sick. She’s all messed up and we’re crazy if we keep following her.”

  “I’ll take it from here,” Lance said, turning back. “It’s not like I have anything else to do today.”

  “I’m sorry, buddy. Diseases scare the hell out of me.” Don’s eyes cut from Lance to the woman and back again. “I feel like a real shit leaving you.”

  Lance looked him over and felt that his old co-worker was being sincere. He softened a little, wondering if he might have overreacted to Don when they first bumped into each other. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  “Don’t worry about it. Good luck with your investment or whatever.”

  “Sorry for prying about Liz too. That was uncalled for.”

  “Again, don’t—”

  “Shit!” Don pointed over Lance’s shoulder, his face reddening.

  “What?” Lance spun around and saw the woman stepping off the curb, teetering into the bustling street.

  Don cursed but didn’t move.
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  Lance jumped forward, ten feet away, unsure if he would make it to the woman before a car flattened her like a pancake.

  Horns blared.

  People shouted.

  She kept going, wandering blindly across the painted lines.

  Lance ran around the back end of a parked car, swearing under his breath as he closed the distance.

  A cab swerved around a stopped water truck, the driver slapping at the horn in impatience. The man was too busy glaring at the truck to see what lay ahead.

  Lance saw it coming at the last second, having little time to react.

  He reached the woman and shoved her as hard as he could, lifting her feet from the ground. He felt her frailness through her shirt in the split second before her body flew away from him.

  There was no time to brace himself for the inevitable.

  Pain registered for a moment before everything went dark.

  Chapter 2

  Raucous laughter pulled Lance out of the fog.

  His head pounded as he struggled to open heavy eyelids.

  More chuckling.

  Bright overhead lights hurt his eyes as they adjusted, shapes taking form around him. White paint covered everything except the television in the corner of the room and the pants and shoes elevated on his bed.

  Friends played on the TV, the audience roaring every few seconds.

  Lance followed the legs and groaned when he saw Don sitting beside him. He slouched in a seat beside the bed, his legs propped on Lance’s sheets, a small bag of Cheetos resting in his lap. He laughed almost as much as the audience did.

  One at a time, Lance wriggled his fingers and toes, making sure he felt every sensation.

  “Thank God,” he whispered.

  “You’re awake!” Don retracted his legs so quickly that the half-empty bag of Cheetos spilled on his fancy suit. “Damn it.”

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “You’ve been in and out for a while. We spoke a couple of times too, but I’m guessing you don’t remember that,” Don said, brushing cheese powder from his chest. “Christ, what a mess.”

  Lance pushed himself to a seated position with a herculean effort. “I feel like I was run over by a car.”