The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured Page 6

  Her eyes grew large and she mouthed ‘no’ at him, grabbing his wrist. He nodded his head, pulling his arm away. They were out of options.

  He peered around the edge of the couch. It worked on the abdomen of the furthest soldier.

  Lance felt his gorge rise again and had to pause, holding a fist to his mouth. Now wasn’t the time to puke—that would come later. After he regained his composure, he inched into the open, carefully planting each foot to maintain silence.

  His adrenaline spiked, his system running all out. The sights and smells of the bodies assaulted his senses, threatening his already thinned grip on sanity.

  The creature’s jaw stopped working. Its ear, elongated and wider than a normal human’s, twitched.

  Lance froze, holding his breath, sweat stinging his eyes.

  Its head cocked to the side, perforated nose sniffing.

  Lance waited. His head swam from lack of oxygen, his lungs wanting to burst. He didn’t dare move, despite the creature not having eyes, for fear it could sense him somehow.

  It continued testing the air and Lance couldn’t take it anymore. The air burst from his lungs as he lunged for the gun.

  He stretched out, his fingers touching the barrel of the rifle as the beast reacted.

  It leapt in the air, clearing five or six feet in the blink of an eye. Its banshee wail smothered the sound of Lance bellowing incoherently.

  The dead soldier’s hand still clutched the trigger guard. Lance yanked it free, focusing on swinging the rifle around, refusing to look at the death flying through the air at him.

  There was no time to aim—he slammed the stock into his hip and yanked on the trigger. The concussive blows of the three-round burst knocked him backward, the end of the barrel angling toward the ceiling.

  It flew at him, arms spread out, snarling and wailing.

  The bullets punctured its chest and neck, peppering it in red splotches.

  Lance grunted as it landed on him, its torso oozing, limbs twitching. He squeezed the trigger again, three more bullets punching through, instinct taking over his actions.

  Its jaws clenched and relaxed twice more before it went still. The holes in its chest whistled as it exhaled its last breath.

  After staring at the ceiling for several seconds, Lance fought to push it off him, but found its weight too much. “Need a little help here.” His voice quavered.

  Concentrating on one task at a time helped him remain calm. Get free. Check for wounds. Make sure everyone is OK. To stand back and think about the implications of what just happened would have broken him.

  Don’s head poked out from behind the couch, his eyes wide. “Is it dead?”

  “I think so. It’s kind of crushing me though.”

  “Are you sure it’s not playing possum?” Don took a tentative step out.

  Lance’s hands shook as the adrenaline dumped from his body. His mind finally began to process the stupidity of what he’d just done, even as he fought to purge the thoughts. He’d killed a diseased monster that had been a man two days ago, watched as it consumed soldiers as if they were a three-course meal.

  He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. “If it’s playing possum, then we’re all fucked.”

  Don inched over, tiptoeing as if he was afraid of waking it up.

  “It’s hard to breathe under here,” Lance said. “Hurry up.”

  It reeked too. The smell reminded him of old meat left in the refrigerator too long.

  They counted to three and shoved the muscular carcass to the side. Don dry heaved as he touched the slimy skin and recoiled, wiping his hands on his pricey jacket. “Oh god.”

  Liz took cautious steps over to them as Lance got back to his feet. She stared down at the dead body. Her eyes blinked slowly, as if she expected the thing to disappear each time she opened them again.

  More shots echoed overhead as a gunfight raged on the floor above.

  “The hospital is FUBAR.” Lance pawed at the blood staining his shirt, the doctor’s admonition about staying away from the bodily fluids of the infected hitting home. “If we can get through the parking garage, we might be able to get to Liz’s car.”

  Neither Liz nor Don responded. Don put a hand on Liz’s shoulder. “Are you OK?”

  “That’s a stupid question. Look at this! How could anyone be OK at a time like this?”

  Lance watched them, hating that another man could comfort his wife better than he could. “Is anyone listening to me?”

  “I hear you,” Don said, though he continued to look at Liz. “But I want to make sure Liz is still with us.” He stepped closer to her.

  Suspicion settled in the pit of Lance’s stomach. Was Don making a pass at his wife, right in front of him? At a time like this? There was a dead monster on the floor.

  “Just get me out of here.” Liz continued to stare at the diseased man. “And what is FUBAR?”

  “Fucked up beyond all recognition.” Lance grabbed an extra ammunition clip from one of the soldier’s bodies, gritting his teeth, pretending he couldn’t see the vacant stare in the dead man’s eyes. The idea that he would steal bullets from a corpse would have been asinine only yesterday. Now it was just the next logical step in survival.

  He handed the clip to Don because his hospital gown wasn’t exactly utilitarian. “Stay close and keep quiet.”

  They stepped over the bodies and moved to the row of glass doors that led to the garage. The automatic sensors didn’t work, so they pried them open. Lance stood between the doors, keeping them from closing, as Don and Liz ducked under his arm and stepped through.

  Frightened screams came from behind them. Lance held his position, squinting through the lobby, waiting for movement of some kind.

  “What are you doing?” Don asked.

  “Someone’s screaming back there.”

  “I hear them, but what are you doing? You said it yourself—we need to get out of here.”

  Lance bit back a snarky comment. “You wouldn’t want me to leave you here, so shut up for a second.”

  They listened, every breath that escaped them thunderous in the silence.

  An infant cried out.

  Lance turned back to Don, handing over the rifle. “Here. I’ll meet you guys on the first floor, by the exit. Don’t let any of the soldiers see you. I can’t tell if they’re on our side or not.”

  Don looked at the gun like it might bite him. “I don’t know how to use this thing.”

  “You see the barrel with the hole in it? That’s the dangerous end. Point and pull the trigger. Be judicious with your shots, or you’ll blow through all of your ammo.”

  “What are you doing?” Liz asked. “Please tell me you aren’t going back in there.”

  “I am. Just meet me down by the exit.”

  “Lance Arthur York, you will not—”

  Lance stepped backward into the lobby, letting the doors slide shut, cutting her off. Her mouth continued to work on the other side of the glass, but her words were muffled and unintelligible. Lance didn’t even try to hide the grin that spread across his face.

  She didn’t use his full name often, saving it for when she needed to give him a massive raft of shit. The last thing he wanted to hear just then was a lecture. He gave them a wave and pointed into the overpass beyond, mouthing ‘go’.

  After grabbing another rifle from the floor, and a clip from the partially devoured soldier, Lance plodded his way across the lobby, summoning what little courage he could. His body was on sensory overload, the violence and mutation surrounding him assaulting his mind like a night terror.

  The baby wailed again as he approached the intersection of the hallways. A woman tried to hush the child, the cries muffling as if by hand or pacifier.

  More gunfire rang out overhead.

  Lance flattened against the wall and peered around the corner. The hallway was empty, save the blood on the floor.

  What the hell am I doing? I’m no hero. Hell, I can’t even hold a job.

  The crying stopped as he moved into the hall, crouching low, staying close to the right side. He glanced in the first room, seeing nothing, and continued on.

  “Hello?” he whispered.

  No one answered.

  The next room was also empty, the bed knocked on its side, sheets strewn across the floor.

  Where did all the soldiers go?

  He crossed to the other side of the hall, stepping carefully so his bare feet wouldn’t slap at the floor. The light in the third room was turned off. Lance stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness within.

  He started to move on when smothered sounds came from inside the darkened area. A couch on the other side of the room sat in front of the corner, a large gap behind it. He stepped inside, rifle raised, goose bumps prickling out on his arms, fear spiking.

  The sound came again, like someone struggling to breathe.

  Unable to force himself to go any further, Lance stopped by the bed. “Is someone in here? Behind the couch? I came to help.”

  A woman’s face inched up from behind the cushions, her brown hair disheveled and knotty. She peered at Lance from swollen, red, fearful eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Just someone trying to get the hell out of the hospital.”

  “Why do you have a machine gun?”

  He looked at the weapon in his hands. “I took it off one of the soldiers down the hall.”

  “You killed him?”

  “No, he was already dead.”

  “One of those things got him?”

  Lance nodded. “Yeah.” He gestured for her to come out. “I’ll take you to the parking garage—I have friends waiting out there for me.”

  She watched him for several seconds, appraising him. “Promise you won’t hurt us?”

  “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already. What’s your name?”

  “Ashlee.”

  “What’s the baby’s name?”

  “Theodore.” She stood up then, a bundle of blankets held in her arms. Her hand covered the child’s mouth, his face contorted in anger.

  “Let’s get Teddy out of here. You can’t let him cry though, OK? If those things hear us...”

  Lance walked to the couch and pulled the end of it away from the wall, letting Ashlee slink around it. She wore a t-shirt and torn jeans. Her light brown hair rested on her shoulders, sweat wetting the roots. Lance couldn’t tell if she was even old enough to drink.

  The baby had no hair and large, pissed off eyes. Judging from the few extra pounds that Ashlee still carried around her hips and midsection, Theodore was little more than a newborn.

  She caught him looking down at her child and turned him away.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Lance said. “How old is he?”

  “Five weeks.”

  Shit.

  The idea of sneaking through the halls with such a young baby made Lance’s blood pressure spike.

  Pounding boots approached the door. Lance ducked behind the bed, pulling at Ashlee’s shoulder. She dropped down as a group of soldiers stormed by the door, not slowing to look in the room as they ran past.

  One of them said something about an evacuation.

  Lance wiped sweat from his eyes and stood up slowly, waiting until he couldn’t hear the men anymore. He went back to the door and made sure it was clear before motioning for her to follow him.

  He kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry Ashlee any more than necessary, but his concern over the idea of an evacuation gnawed at him. If they were evacuating, why weren’t they checking the rooms for patients?

  They went back to the lobby, flinching every time a gun went off somewhere nearby. Sobs hitched Ashlee’s shoulders. Teddy cried against his mother’s hand.

  “Close your eyes,” Lance said as they walked past the reception desk.

  “What? Why?”

  “There are dead bodies by the doorway. You don’t want to see them, trust me.”

  She started to argue with him when she caught a glimpse of the dead creature on the floor. Her eyes slammed shut, face scrunched. “Don’t let me fall.”

  “I won’t.” He guided them around the deceased in a wide arc, avoiding congealing blood on the floor. The smell had worsened in the few minutes he was gone and the entire room reeked of spoiled meat.

  He angled her toward the doors, warning her not to turn around while he pried the exit open again. “Go through.”

  After she went by, Lance cast one last glimpse into the hospital, hoping he was making the right decision.

  Death held sway in the building—but what waited for them outside?

  Chapter 7

  They found Don and Liz hiding behind a large F150.

  Her head rested on his shoulder, their fingers interlocked. Slow, deep breaths came from them as they relaxed together, whispering quietly back and forth, eyes closed. The rifle sat on Don’s lap.

  Lance stared at them for several seconds, swallowing the ball of rage forming in his gut, before nudging Liz’s shoe with his foot.

  “Time to move.”

  She started, eyes popping open, free hand grabbing Don’s bicep. “What?”

  “We can’t stay here.” Lance nodded to their newest companions. “This is Ashlee and Teddy.”

  Don stood, stretching his arms, acting as if nothing had happened. “You brought a baby? How the hell are we going to get out of here with a baby?”

  Lance snapped his fingers. “You’re right, Don. I should have left the infant back there.”

  They locked eyes, neither turning away, before Ashlee spoke up. “We won’t be a burden, I promise. I can keep up.”

  “What do you think, Don? Should we just lay the baby on the concrete right here? Wish it good luck?” Lance kept picturing Don and Liz holding hands and felt his anger building. He had more important things to worry about, like staying alive, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been had somehow.

  “Fuck you, Lance.”

  Lance stepped forward, glaring up at Don, thinking about throwing a punch, when the glass doors separating the garage from the hospital shattered.

  “Get behind the truck!” Lance grabbed Ashlee by the arm and pulled her along. They ducked by the headlights, peering over the hood.

  A half dozen soldiers ran through the broken doors. They sprinted down the ramp, heading straight for the back of the F150. Two of them were covered in blood and gore, but they moved well, so Lance guessed it wasn’t theirs.

  Doctor Brown followed them, lagging behind with Eifort in tow. His white coat was maroon.

  Eifort’s gas mask was gone, exposing her soft features. She appeared younger than Lance had initially pegged her for—maybe thirty.

  The first group of soldiers banked right, following the exit signs that led to a stairwell.

  “Doc,” Lance whispered as Brown jogged by the truck. “Over here.”

  Eifort lifted her weapon, swinging it around until she locked on Lance’s face. “You!”

  “Come on! Hurry up!” Doctor Brown waved them out. He kept looking over his shoulder as he waited for them. “They might be following us.”

  Lance stepped on a sharp rock as he followed Ashlee and had to bite his lip to keep from shouting obscenities. He needed to find a pair of shoes.

  And some pants.

  “Where did you get those guns?” Eifort asked as she lowered her own.

  “From the soldiers just inside the door there. One of those... things killed them.”

  “We should talk about this outside where it’ll be safer,” Brown said.

  “Lead the way, Doc.” Lance gave Don one last glare before falling in line behind the doctor. He watched for rocks as they walked, his feet and shins sore.

  They approached the stairwell when one of the shrieks came from somewhere behind them. The echoes of the parking garage made it impossible to judge the distance it came from. Lance didn’t turn to look for it, running to the door instead, holding it open and waving everyone through. He slammed the door shut and followed behind, finger caressing the trigger of his rifle.

  “Hurry!”

  Ashlee took her hand from the baby’s mouth to hold onto the railing. His cries were immediate and shrill—a homing beacon for the nightmare that followed them.

  They piled through the door on the first floor as something crashed into the stairwell above. Claws clattered on concrete, unseen, but nerve-wracking as they came down the stairs.

  Dozens of guns pointed at Lance as he ducked under the wooden gate arms blocking the entrance to the parking garage.

  “Halt!”

  Lance stopped, glancing over his shoulder, knowing they didn’t have much time before it would be on them.

  “Drop your weapons!”

  Lance and Don tossed their guns to the ground. The glare from the sunlight outside made it difficult to see who they were talking to.

  Eifort stepped forward. “They’re with me!”

  “Civilians are not authorized to leave the hospital. Go back inside, now!”

  “The hospital is overrun with—”

  The door to the stairwell burst open.

  It cried out as it stormed forward in unbridled bloodlust, teeth and claws grinding.

  Lance grabbed Ashlee by the shoulders and spun her around, dragging her off to the side behind a concrete pillar. “Get down!”

  The others scattered, running to safety as the garage filled with the deafening thunder of war. The hard surfaces of the building gave the gunfire a cavernous echo.

  Lance saw the creature coming, closing the distance between them in three leaps. It was a woman, or used to be, its body distorted like the others. Its eyeless face expressed nothing but ravenous desire.

  It was cut down before it reached them, dropping to the ground in a hail of bullets. Exit wounds showered the pay station and gate.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  The gunshots waned, then halted. The air reeked of gunpowder. Lance wiped black soot from his eyes.

  Theodore cried harder than ever, his tiny cheeks an angry red.

  Lance peered around the pillar, making sure no one would shoot them when they stepped out. “We’re coming out! Don’t shoot!”