Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (2 page)

We follow. Juanita falls in behind them leaving me beside twitchy Roy and Herbie, who are obviously not cut out for this sort of mission. Herbie is sweating so bad that every few steps he stops, his gun drooping down as he wipes one or the other sweaty palm on his cargo pants. Sad thing is, I’m betting that unlike John, this schmuck will have the self-preservation instincts to get if the going gets tough.

We reach the end of the hall. Before us is another locked metal door. If the schematics we poured over before we took to the lift are right, in front of us will be the mess hall for this floor. From there will be three other doors: one in the back that leads to the storage and service areas and one on each side to the living quarters.

“Ready?” John asks, his eyes dark and stoic in his camouflage painted face.

“Let’s rock and roll,” Convict says.

John pulls a key card out of the back pocket of his cargo pants and swipes it through the reader. Now that we’ve gotten past the blast doors exiting the lift, the cards we’ve been given should open the rest of the doors down here.

The light flashes green. John quickly bends down on his knee giving both Convict and Juanita clear shots above him, which leaves me bobbing to see around them. The panel slides back. Yup. There be zombies.

Rapid gunfire erupts, covering the zombies’ shuffling and moans. The two closest go down, then another, and another. The room is clear before I can even count them. John stands and moves into the room, the muzzle of his rifle dancing between the lumps of bodies on the floor. One must not be dead because he raises the barrel and pops off two shots into the head.

Maybe John Doe will last a bit longer in this movie than I thought.

“Secure,” John says, but doesn’t lower his gun. Convict and Juanita take a step inside, I squeeze in behind them, looking down at the nearest zombie. Definitely dead. Doesn’t stop my stomach from growling, trying to claw its way up my esophagus into my throat.

Down girl. Plenty more where these came from. And I prefer to feed in private if possible.

Juanita seems particularly interested in identifying the corpses, peering into faces and even patting down the bodies to find identification on the two whose heads have been blown off. She finishes with the last one and looks up at Convict.

“He’s not here.”

Convict nods. “We have a lot of area to cover. We’re going to have to split up.”

An uneasy hush falls in the room. Guess no one is stupid enough to not realize this is a risky tactic, no matter how necessary. That is, necessary if we hope to find any survivors holed up down here, maybe in a heating duct, or a locked closet or something. In general zombies are pretty stupid, acting on instinct alone. But when their stomachs are controlling those instincts there isn’t much that can stop them. We have to get in and get any survivors out and into quarantine. Quick.

“You’re with me, kid,” Juanita says, gesturing me over with her gun.

I curl my lip at being called a kid, but move up to flank the other side of the door she’s standing by. Her card isn’t working. Figures. That is going to make things definitively more difficult.

“Come on, Roy! You might have all day, but the survivors down here don’t!” Juanita says, then presses some more random buttons. Wow, a woman as blood-thirsty as I. Gotta love that.

Herbie and Roy are still doing their little back-to-back dance, sweat drenched and shaking. I glance in time to see them exchange a meaningful look, which is followed by a quick nudge to Roy’s doohickey. My eyes narrow. These boys are as tight as sticky Chinese rice, and I don’t trust them anymore than I would a hawker in Chinatown either.

Convict is considering them intently, his brows drawn together and his top lip sucked in between his teeth. Could it be that he isn’t completely incompetent? I’d say he knew these two better, but I am starting to think that at least Roy and maybe Herbie are not typically members of this team. Had to wonder who they’d replaced…and what happened to them.

Same thing that happens to everyone in this world, Eva. The big bite, or the big bang-bang.
Unless… I look across the dented metal at Juanita. Her face is drawn tight, emphasizing compressed lips and a feverish determination in her eyes. She knows someone down here.

“Roy!” she snaps again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“No.” The voice is deadly low, and carries more weight than all the cement and dirt above us. Everyone stills, eyes training in on Convict. “Change of plans. I want Herb with Juanita and Roy with Eva. John will remain with me.”

I eye my new partner warily. His nose is ticking again. Nope. I don’t trust Roy any farther than I can throw him. Which, since I haven’t fed in a while, isn’t all that far.

John looks at me, then Roy as if concluding the same thing—at least about my abilities. “Sir, with all due respect—”

Convict cuts him off, addressing Roy with an outstretched hand. “And give me the decoder.”

Roy scoffs. “As if you’d know how to—”

“Now.”

Tense silence descends. I wait, the Jeopardy theme tickling the inside of my mouth. This would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

I sigh instead and swipe the decoder out of Roy’s hand. He yelps a “hey” at the abrupt move, but doesn’t shoot me so I figure I’m good.

Convict’s eyebrows rise. He wiggles his fingers. I ignore that too and jab the decoder into John’s chest instead. There’s a flicker in the impassive depths of his eyes, but he closes a hand around it and nods, confirming, in my mind, that I picked the right person. Out of all of the peeps here, John’s the only one level-headed enough to trust.

“What the…you little …. You think you can undermine my orders?” Convict makes a grab for me but I quickly scoot out of range. Just as quickly John is there, blocking his path.

“We doing this, or not?” he asks, offering the decoder to Convict.

I tuck my tongue behind my lips, unreasonably disappointed with John. Of course he would hand the decoder over. Convict may have been a bit of a jerk, but he was our quote, unquote leader and John obviously bowed down before authority. I’m thinking John must have been deep in training to be a “Sir, yes sir” grunt when the virus hit. Maybe I’m prejudice (having come from a family of scholarly sorts) but I’ve never understood brainless followers.

Sighing discontentedly I turn my attention back from my speculations. I don’t know if Convict actually answered or if the entire incident has just been brushed under the rug. He and John are bending over the decoder which is now plugged into the door Juanita was trying to get through earlier. Roy seems content to stand and watch, a sneer on his lips. The sneer falls off as the door lock clicks off.

“All right, Herbie.” Juanita pumps a round into her rifle. “Let’s lock and load ‘em.”

They disappear into the dim hall beyond, Juanita confident at point and Herb quickly falling further and further behind. I send her a dash of silent luck.

John moves to the back of the room and starts on the door to the service and storage areas. I note he has the decoder back in his possession and reevaluate the brainless label (though I still stand by the yes man bit). A few low beeps and the door clicks.

“You’re good,” he announces and moves over to the last door.

I shift my gaze to Roy. The skin around his nose is pinched, making the beak more pronounced. He’s also developed a twitch under his left eye as he looks longingly at the decoder in John’s hands. Oh yeah. Roy had been so ready to aid and abet Herbie on the skip town and lock us in down here plan.

If there is one thing I hate, it’s a back-stabbing coward.

I don’t even bother to wait for my “partner” but raise my Glock and reach for the handle. The door swings open, revealing the kitchen beyond. Something has gone down in here. Plates are scattered over the floor, various food stuff strewn across counter and tile, and though I can’t see it, somewhere a pot is still on its burner, as evidenced by the acrid smell of burnt vegetables filling the room.

I open my senses, blocking out the scent of scorched vegetable soup and tuning out Roy’s rasping breathing. No smell of blood. No decay, though it would be early for that. And the only heartbeats in the room are mine, Roy’s, and the fading pair of Convict’s and John’s as they move away into their own area to search. But there…

My feet pad silently as I move past a pair of tall kitchen carts, one standing, one not. The kitchen opens before me. Along the back wall are two doors. One looks like a vast walk-in freezer, the other I’m guessing is a wide door to the storage areas. There is nothing in the freezer. At least, nothing alive. But behind door number two: Pay day.

I glance over my shoulder at Roy. He’s yet to step into the room. In fact, he’s backed up slightly, his gun wavering between the three doors leading out of the mess hall.

I smile, tucking the Glock into my waistband as I cross the kitchen. One lone zombie and a chicken partner. What better opportunity will I have than this?

I don’t even have to pull out my card to see if it works, the handle depresses under my touch—someone’s going to have to talk to Marine about doing some maintenance on the systems down here. I push it open and stride into another hall lined with doors that lead to the various storage rooms, zeroing in on the source of the stuttering heartbeat.

It’s noticed my presence, the heartbeat is not only getting stronger but I can hear the muffled shuffle of its boots across the aged linoleum. Taking a deep breath to settle my thudding pulse, I push open the second door on the right.

And there he is. Still dressed in his fatigues, he looks like any other soldier—buzz cut, chiseled features, sculpted muscles—but for the bloody chin… and the eyes. I hate their eyes. Some people say a zombie’s eyes are blank, devoid of all human emotion. The unresponsive pupils, the way they stare at a victim without seeing. I disagree. What I see when I look into them is a fixed madness. As if the person within is merely trapped. I almost believe that if I could delve deep enough into their brain, I could actually find the secret compartment their real self has been stuffed away within.

I see that now on this man. The crazed look that says he’s about to eat me… but somewhere deep inside he’ll be screaming the whole time.

Me first.

I reach out, grab his arm. Next second I have it behind his back, twisting it in such a way that he either needs to fall to his knees or let me break it. Only problem is that zombies don’t really seem to care about pain. The arm snaps out of joint, dangling uselessly in my grip. Sucks. As does the fact that the zombie is now able to twist back around. It rumbles an inhuman growl, its jaw spread wide as it lunges for me. I know I can get out of range, but my stomach has other ideas and I go for a flip move instead. It works. The zombie ends up on the floor before me, but not before his teeth graze the length of my arm.

“Ouch! Dang it.” Ticked off that I let it have a nibble, I yank the zombie back up and bite into the rotting flesh of its neck, sucking down a long swallow—
Halleluiah
, my hollow stomach rejoices—right as someone begins to scream. Roy. Must have followed after all.

Crapola. This isn’t good.
Just what were you doing with that zombie, Eva?

I toss the zombie aside, reaching for my Glock to perform the double tap, when behind me explodes an eardrum crushing series of reports. Slicing agony slaps into my back, sending me to the floor.

Frig. A-hole is shooting at me.

I roll, pulling my legs under me and lifting into a braced crouch. Stabbing pain erupts along my temple, sending me to my butt. And now I’m going to have a massive headache.

My furious gaze hones in on the beak-nosed guy who is still screaming as he shakily attempts to reload his weapon. Of course I pulled the short straw and got the twitchy one, the one prone to muttering to himself and sweating bullets at any slight noise.

“Really, Roy. You can stop that now.”

Booted feet thud in the hall, coming closer. Convict and John appear, skidding to a halt as they see my trickling head wound. Thankfully it’s just a graze. Otherwise I’d be out cold. ‘Course, if I were out cold they’d probably just leave me for dead and then I wouldn’t have to deal with Roy’s hysterics.

“Fuck. Oh fuck! I can’t kill her!” Roy exclaims, his hands shaking as he attempts to jam in a new magazine.

Three sets of eyes now. Widen. Three guns. Lift.

“Go ahead, boys,” I say, curling my lips back to expose my pointy little fangs. “Just remember I told you it was a waste of ammo. ‘Cause you can’t kill what’s already dead.”

2.

Eighteen months ago…

I clutched the strap of my backpack in a two handed grip, my eyes on the tiled floor I was dragging my feet over. The bell had rung over five minutes ago but I didn’t care. I was hoping to be late enough to obtain a one way trip to the principal’s office. I was not a bad student. Far from it, in fact. I just really, really didn’t want to go to biology class today.

The wooden door with its reinforced glass window loomed up before me. I fidgeted with the end of the nylon strap, staring at it without going in. How much could I stall? My answer came when the teacher stepped into view, his eyes honing in on me immediately. Crap.

I sighed, pushing open the door and braced for the command to take my butt back out of the room and go to the office. Mr. Shepard didn’t tolerate tardiness, no matter the excuse. Not that I had one.

“Miss Harper. You’re late.”

I nodded.

“You’re lucky we haven’t gotten started yet.”

My jaw dropped to the floor. He wasn’t going to send me to the office? Why the heck wasn’t he going to send me to the office!
Please
send me to the office.

“Come on now. No dallying.” He jerked his head toward the rows of black topped lab tables. “Find a partner and get your tools out.”

I looked around the room. Carrie, my normal partner had already partnered with the new girl. Carrie gave me a sympathetic look and a shrug. Yeah, I know. My fault. Carrie had warned me that my plan wouldn’t work. Even if I had gotten out of lab today Mr. Shepard would have insisted I make it up. She was right, only I’d planned to miss the make up too, no matter what it took. I continued my sweep, my chest tightening when I realized that anyone I would not have minded being partnered with was already paired up. The only one not was…