Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (21 page)

One fuck up. One swipe across the mouth or an open wound or… crap, it’s so easy to cross contaminate bodily fluids if you’re not careful, and I don’t want to be having to kill a companion tonight.

Rodriguez and Matt seem all too willing to oblige. They give way, allowing me to take over with the slash and dash routine. It’s easier for me anyway since I’m not only fast, but I have a skinny knife. Easier to aim through the slim opening.

I glance over my shoulder and see Matt and Rodriguez scrubbing down with a cloth and the last of the water from one of the two canteens.

“You both good?” Brian asks, coming over to examine the areas they’re cleaning. He nods his head, then pulls a couple magazines from his supplies and hands them over.

I breathe a sigh
of relief. Brian wouldn’t have given them those unless he thought they hadn’t been contaminated.

I focus again on my task. I don’t kill the zombie the moment it starts clawing at the door, or rattling the heavy duty chain, but let it growl and groan and try to wiggle itself through first. Most often, a fellow zombie yanks it back, an angry fight ensuing as they fight over who gets the privilege of trying to find a way in. It’s much easier this way and creates less of a mound on the other side. The only time I actually kill one is if it gets too smart for its own good and starts trying to work its fingers between the sheet metal and the wood frame that holds it down.

To me the goal here is not to kill as many of them as I can, but to keep us alive and our options open—not that there are many. Now that they’ve found us, the zombies aren’t going to leave. And I certainly don’t want to have to dig ourselves out of a mountain of bodies when the time comes.

As I’m watching the show, I feel a presence behind me. I glance over and see Blaine standing a few feet back, his hands tight around his gun and his eyes hard as he stares at the pair of growling and spitting zombies currently fighting over rights to the door.

“Don’t come any closer,” I warn, thinking of the wealth of blood and spit that’s made it through the cracks and onto me and the floor around me.

“I won’t.” His gaze meets mine, his eyes grim as shadows. I know what he’s going to say even before he does. “You know, this is one of the things I could help with…if…”

I shake my head. Thankfully I don’t have to say anything more as Rodriguez draws our attention back into the warehouse.

“Hey, what do you think about stacking enough crates up here to get to the roof?” He’s standing on the other side of the warehouse, looking up at the wavy tin.

“How would you get through the sheet metal?” Brice asks, walking over to him.

“I still have those bolt cutters in my pack. That should get it started and then maybe…” he glances over at me.

I nod. I could pull a section of it back. I’ll probably cut up my hands, but it’s a small price to pay for the ability to take out the zombies from above. We’re going to need to make a path out of here when the time comes, and the little trick I used back at the helicopter isn’t going to work here. There, the zombies in that field hadn’t actually found us yet, just our scent. Here they know exactly where we are. I might be able to confuse a few of them with some sort of bait, but I won’t get them all, not even half.

“Eva.”

Blaine’s reminder has me spinning back around. A zombie is working on the padlock with a small bit of wire. Geez. This zombie must have been a natural thief in its past life, either that or spent a lot of time sneaking into his siblings’ off-limits rooms. For it to do that now, it has to be practically instinctual. I make short work of the zombie, slicing at its fingers until it roars and throws itself at the slit in the doors where I then jamb my knife up through its mouth into its brain.

Behind me there is a bunch of shoving and grunting. I can tell they’ve gotten one crate stacked upon another, but then there is a bunch of swearing as they realize they’re going to have to make steps of sorts.

“How’s your ammo situation?” I ask Blaine.

“Full. With two clips for back up.”

“Don’t waste them needlessly, and stay back out of the spray range.”

I run over to where Brian and Convict are sweating and swearing over another large crate. They’ve emptied this one and are trying to haul it onto the first step they’ve made so they can shove it to Matt and Rodriguez who are ready to help it to the top of the other.

“Out of the way.”

They drop it on a grunt. I grab the crate, bending at the knees as I shift and haul it over my head.

“Get down.”

Rodriguez and Matt scramble out of the way. I half pitch, half shove the crate up onto the other two. One more level and it will be tall enough if they stretch. I turn around to see they’ve already emptied two more crates and are shoving them across the floor. I leap down and help them get these up too, working to the occasional pop of Blaine’s gun.

A half dozen rounds later, and we have a working staircase. Rodriguez hands me the bolt cutters. I do my part, punching a couple holes with them in the roof and then tear an awkward swath in the roof to expose the sky.

“Pick off the ones in the back,” I tell them as I leap down, passing by Brian as he slings his gun over his shoulder in preparation for the climb.

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, it should keep more from piling up around us, and two, if we’re lucky, there will be a few hungry ones that will leave the group to go pick the bones clean.”

Brian nods, his mouth turned down into a weird quasi-smile. “Good idea, fangs.”

“Matt, go with him,” Rodriguez orders as he follows me toward the door. “Blaine, you help ready the truck.”

“Roy, you’re with Blaine. And get Juanita in there too,” Convict orders, then turns to Herbie. “Herb?”

“Close. Real close.”

Convict doesn’t settle in anywhere in particular, like an overseer he shifts from group to group checking on our status. Not that it’s subject to change. I’m back at the door, stabbing zombies when needed, Matt and Brian are now picking off the latecomers before they can join our admirers, Roy and Blaine have gotten Juanita into the truck, are packing our supplies, and scavenging for anything useful to bring with us, and Herbie is still swearing and grumbling.

And then all of a sudden: “I got it! I got it!” Herbie yells over the roar of the engine. As if we couldn’t tell.

“That’s nice,” Convict replies from his current perch atop the crates. “But we still can’t get out of here.”

Yeah, barreling through a wall of a hundred plus zombies is going to be difficult. Not without some momentum and to do that we’d need some space…All of a sudden an idea pops into my mind.

“Hey! Can you guys clear out an area just outside the door but leave one or two of them alive for me?”

Convict doesn’t even question me as he relays the message. Maybe there is some trust developing here?

It takes a few minutes but they do it.

“Not going to get much better than that!” I hear Brian’s yell without Convict having to relay it, though he doesn’t realize this and does anyway.

I glance through the slit. They’re keeping an irregular half-circle clear around the door. Excepting the one zombie currently rattling the chains within it.

I smile. “Perfect.”

I glance over my shoulders at Rodriguez, who will be my doorman, and Blaine, who’s finished packing and will be my back up. I’m guessing Roy is already in the truck. He made strides today, but old habits and fears…

“You guys ready?” I ask.

They nod.

“Remember, don’t freak out and shoot it. I need this one alive. You can kill anything else that comes near the doors though.”

I get another pair of nods.

I pick up the bolt cutters and work it through the slit and around the thick chain. It’s a tight fit. A human probably couldn’t snap through it. The zombie isn’t happy with my interference and tries to rattle the chain out of the cutters’ grip but I’m already bearing down. The cutters bend, the chain link bends. It’s a contest which will break first. The chain wins. Crap.

I sigh, tossing the useless cutters on the floor.

“Now what?” Rodriguez asks.

“Now I do this.” I slip my hands through the opening, and ignoring the clawing fingers of the zombie, grab onto the chain and twist, bearing down on the weak link. The zombie claws at me the whole time.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Blaine asks from behind me. I can hear the intrigue in his voice.

Heck yeah it hurts. The back of my hands are bleeding so bad now from the zombie’s untrimmed nails it’s making the chains slippery. I’m beginning to think this won’t work. That I’m too weak, too tired, the chains too thick, when it finally snaps.

The chain rattles through the handles. Turns out I don’t need Rodriguez to be my doorman, the zombie is perfectly capable of shoving open the door itself.

Come to Eva, said the vampire to the zombie
.

As it shoulders its way through the door, I reach out and snag its wrist. “Hold it there Rodriguez.”

Rodriguez bears down on the sliding door, trapping it. The zombie roars, its teeth snapping as it strains to reach me. I lift its wrist, holding its gaze. And bite.

This one is even weaker than the last. Starving, yes, desperate, yes, but no real will. Just instinct. I work my way in and have its mind wiped clean before I swallow twice. I am hungry enough to keep drinking, but I know this creature can’t take too much blood loss. Not and do what I need it to do.

I pull my fangs out, wiping my mouth off with my other hand. It stands there motionless between the sliding doors.

“Let it go.”

Rodriguez eases up. Blaine is hovering, his gun lifted and ready. I give him credit that the gun is not focused on me or my new pet but the dark opening beyond. Luckily Matt and Brian are keeping the area clear.

I pull my Glock from my pants, look down at the dull metal. It needs cleaning and is just shy of a relic, but damn if I’m not attached. “Don’t suppose anyone else is willing to part with their gun?”

I glance around. Negative.

Grumbling, I put my Glock in the zombie’s hand.

“We still clear?” I yell.

“Not for long, they’re piling up out here,” Brian’s call, muffled by gunfire, wind and moaning, drifts down to me.

“Get on the truck and be ready to shoot like crazy,” I say to Blaine.

He scrambles onto the truck, gun ready, at the same time Convict scrambles down the crates and over to the other door, ready to open it. “Be ready to book it!”

I look over at the truck. Blaine is positioned to fire, gun braced as he hangs half out of the truck from the passenger seat. I’m surprised to see Roy has pulled back the tarp enough to shoot out past the driver’s head. As long as he doesn’t shoot Herbie, I admire his newfound gumption.

“Ready Herbie?” I ask.

He revs the engine in response.

“You only get one chance at this.”

“Open those doors, baby, and we’ll blow those fuckers away.”

I nod. Rodriguez and Convict slide the doors open enough for my zombie. I send it out and watch it march right up to the first zombie and put a bullet in its brain.

“Fuck yeah!” Matt yells from the roof, then he and Brian give my zombie an edge, popping the two zombies that rumble and dive toward it.

“Lay it down people!” I yell. Matt and Brian go crazy, their guns cracking at high speed.

“Open them wide!” I point to the doors.

Convict grabs onto the handle, Rodriguez the other, and together they grunt as we push open the heavy doors. As soon as they’re done, Rodriguez and Convict bolt for the truck.

Herbie guns the engine.

“What about Brian and Matt?” Roy yells, looking over anxiously at the stacked crates.

“I got them covered,” I say, grabbing up the broken bolt cutters. “Stop when you’re past the worst of them so we can catch up.”

“Go!” Convict orders.

I step out of the way. The truck takes the entire length of area that my zombie and Matt and Brian have cleared to get up to speed, but once it does, it barrels a path of destruction right through them. Zombies fall beneath the wide front grill, squashing beneath its thick tires. I stand for a moment in awe, then run out behind it, half a bolt cutter swinging in each hand as I de-brain those trying to get up after being mowed down.

“Time to move it, Brian, Matt!” I yell into the sky.

The gunfire from the roof stops, but is immediately replaced by that from the truck as the others try and keep both the path behind them and the area around them clear. They’ve stopped a few hundred yards past the ring of zombies that have encircled our warehouse, and now the tide is shifting, half of them heading toward the vehicle of mass destruction and the other half heading toward me and the open warehouse.

I still have my zombie, and I set it to shooting at anything that moves toward the truck as I keep the doors clear.

“Come on! Come on!” I yell to Brian and Matt as they slide and jump down the crate stairway.

As soon they’re clear of the building, they pause to lay down a quick round of cover fire, then, together, we start our sprint across the yard. I flank them, leaping over crushed and bleeding bodies, but never letting my attention slip. One zombie, still alive, and it could be the end of these two men.

Instinct more than true awareness is what has me pushing Brian off course. Just as I do a hand latches onto my ankle. I twist as I fall, driving the metal head of a bolt cutter half into the injured zombie’s eye socket.

“Goddamn.” This is from Brian, who has regained his footing and is looking at the zombie that had been about to try for a chunk of him. He blinks at me as if shocked I would actually save his life. Suspicious bastard.

“Run!” I yell out the reminder as I scramble back up.

We book it. Herbie is pressing the truck into a slow first, then second, then third gear. Gaining momentum, but staying slow enough for us to catch. Brian reaches it first and leaps onto the back fender, grabbing onto the metal pole that holds the tarp on. He reaches out, his hand ready for Matt as Matt strains to reach the truck that is now rolling at a steady clip. Matt yells, launching himself at the truck. Brian grabs hold and yanks him up.