Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (27 page)

“I’m sorry.”

He nods curtly. “So then it’s daybreak and we’re trying to sneak out. They’re all asleep. Unlike your average schmuck of a citizen, we can move like cats so we slit as many throats as we can without slowing down. We were hoping to get out of the city by nightfall, find an isolated spot somewhere to hole up, then press on until we were past the infected area. We weren’t the only ones with the idea. There were others out and about trying to get out of the downtown. Problem was we didn’t know who to trust, and who was already infected.”

“That really… sucks.”

“You said it. Long story short, we didn’t get out of there that day, nor the next. And by the time we did make it out, it was to learn that the entire west coast was compromised. We made a b-line for Beale Air-Force base, figuring that further north and inland would be the best option. They might have had time to get the proper safety parameters in place.”

“But by then the established safe zones weren’t letting anyone in,” I say, filling in with the history that I knew. “They were already afraid someone they let in would be carrying the slower strain and spread the pandemic inside.”

“Exactly.”

“So there you were, in the thick of things, thousands of people all desperately in need of help, and you didn’t know if you could or should help them.”

“It was ripping us apart. Mike and I couldn’t stand leaving all those desperate people behind, but José had gotten to the point where he’d rather slit their throats than try and help one only to have them turn again.”

“So what happened?”

“We met a man. He said he could tell who was infected and who wasn’t.”

“A were?”

“Yup, though we didn’t know it then. He just told us that he could smell the virus on them. Some “vaccine” he’d taken had heightened his senses, making it possible for him to distinguish the difference, even if they weren’t showing visible symptoms yet. The guy, Rick, stayed with us for a couple days, long enough to prove he could. And then he told us the how and the why. Once we got past the shock factor, we asked for more info. It seemed, if not a perfect solution, a solution nonetheless.”

“Only?”

“Only not everyone makes the transition. And of those that do, it tends to amplify your inherent characteristics. Mike didn’t make it. Just José and I. I was angry and upset but knew Mike would want us to press on. We went with the man back to his pack in the Tahoe National Forest. They were collecting human survivors. Those they thought could handle the change they offered to do so to, those that couldn’t they set up in a safe area or passed along to another pack who were said to be taking the survivors out of the area.”

“Sounds admirable, kind of.”

“Kind of, is right. By then there were no safe areas. The other pack was taking them and using them as virtual slaves. When I found out I was pissed. Rick said it was part of a territorial deal. The other pack was stronger. We couldn’t afford to rock the boat. José agreed.”

“But you couldn’t do it. So you found a way into Marine’s circle of influence and signed on.”

“Not right away. But yes, eventually. Regardless, that is why I don’t really have a were pack. And why you and Brice and the others are it.”

I shake my head, unable to make the link from no pack to a pack of humans. I mean, it isn’t like my team could ever be my hive. A hive is intense, in an intrusive and extremely personal kind of way. Convict and the others? No matter how different each of their personalities might be, being with them just seemed so… basic. How could that ever compare? Not that I wanted it to, but, “I guess I don’t understand.”

“Why not? It’s simple, Eva. Your pack mates are the ones you can trust. Your pack will fight alongside you, work for the same goals and be there by your side when the shit hits the fan. But most of all, when you have a pack, you will never find yourself alone.”

All of a sudden where I’m placing my feet becomes enormously interesting.

Yeah, okay, I get the message. John had obviously overheard the conversation between Blaine and I in the warehouse and is trying to tell me something. What I’m not sure of is whether he’s suggesting that I’m being pigheaded in my refusal to turn Blaine, or if he’s telling me that I’m not alone, and therefore should stand by my principles and not give in to manipulations. I’m about to ask him when he speaks, practically making me jump out of my skin.

“Tell me about your hive.”

“Why? I mean, what do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “I’m curious about the power structure. How big it is. How many others there are. Things like that.”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I wasn’t part of it long enough to get all the finer details.” Nope, I’d only been there long enough to learn my place—or, should I say, learn where the queen
thought
my place should be.

“You said something about a queen once.”

“Yes. There is a queen. She rules all within her hive.” I have to force the words past my chest. Just speaking about her is difficult. A betrayal. Even though I’ve already done it, some instincts are hard to break. And not betraying your queen is ingrained in the DNA of every vampire who ever lived.

“I get the impression your queen and you didn’t get along.”

I curl my mouth up in a rueful smile. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“So why is that?”

“Lots of reasons, number one being she’s a self-serving sadistic killer. And that’s on her better days.”

I clear my throat, and try to steer the conversation away from the queen and my particular hive. “I got the impression our hive was a fairly small one for the amount of area it covered. And because of the large area, I’m really not sure how many or how big the others are. Maybe they ran into each other more before, but in the short time I was there, we didn’t have many visitors. Frankly, I got the impression they’ve all taken on a wait-it-out attitude regarding the whole zombie apocalypse thing.”

“Didn’t seem to be the case at Nellis.”

“No. Not at Nellis.” I frown, thinking again of the mutilated bodies, the tuft of fur I’d found on the woman. I spin around, grabbing his arm. “Wait! Your story about the were that turned you and what the pack was doing with the survivors…”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Would they ever work with someone else? You know, to harvest more slaves?”

“Harvest. That’s what you were talking with Brice about. How the vampires were harvesting humans for herds so they’d have a supply of food?”

I swallow, nodding.

John looks thoughtful. “Crap, I bet you’re right. I wondered why a pack of weres would ever band together with vampires, but that makes sense. They’re splitting the spoils. Neither one is probably strong enough to take on a base like Nellis on their own, but together…”

“Did you know? That there were werewolves there?”

He doesn’t answer. Duh. Of course he knew. Just like I knew there had also been vampires. “Did you tell Brice this?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t figure it out. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” He swears, paces a few steps away, comes back, stopping before me. “We need to tell Commander Derwood.”

“Yeah, good idea. Just one problem.” I stare pointedly at the seemingly endless desert.

He looks at the sky, marking the path of the waning moon. “We better hurry.”

With new urgency clipping at our heels, we press onward. I don’t remember much about the first trip from the helicopter to the storage facility other than that it was hot, windy, and I was fading fast. This mandatory march isn’t much better. It’s not nearly so hot—downright cold in fact—and the wind has died down, but bloodbath or not, the amount of bleeding I’d done during my fight with the wolf-zombie has taken its toll.

I trust John knows where he is going. I didn’t even know we were passing by the storage facility until I’d looked behind us once and saw the dots of warehouses glimmering like a mirage in the distance. And he seems confident of where he’s heading.

So it’s alarming when he slows down and then finally stops altogether, spinning in a circle as if to get his bearings.

“Are we lost?”

“No, not lost. I just wanted to be sure.”

“Be sure of what?”

“That this is the spot.”

“The spot?” I scan the barren sea of sand around us. “The spot for what?”

“The spot where we left the helicopter.”

Cold seeps down my spine and into every extremity. “John, there is no helicopter.”

“I know. They must have come for it already.”

Come for it. As in come and gone. Without us. “So.” I swallow, staring out across the miles and miles of barren desert around us. “How’s that pack theory holding up for you now?”

John’s lips thin, but he doesn’t say anything as he begins to walk a grid across the area where the helicopter had been. I think he’s crazy, or maybe mad, the way he’s shuffling and kicking his feet in the sand. Then all of a sudden he crouches down, his hands working to brush away the sand from a small lump on the flat desert floor.

My mouth drops open as he unearths a large camouflaged pack. He smiles, holding it up to show me before he delves into the supplies. Two full canteens, a half dozen dehydrated dinners, a handgun, ammo, a map and compass, and a shirt—for John. Guess he does have a pack. I, on the other hand, am still persona non grata. Disobeying direct orders will do that to a girl. Especially after our discovery at Nellis.

I watch as John stuffs everything back in, straightens, and hikes the pack onto his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

And I’m yet again scrambling to follow. I catch up and fall into step beside him. I decide not to give in and ask if he knows where he’s going—he does have a map after all, still, he is a guy, so I worry—and ask instead, “Was that from Convict?”

“Him and Commander Derwood. Brice and the others must have gotten in sometime this morning. Guess the wind was calm enough by then to send out a team for the helicopter.”

“Why didn’t they wait for you?”

“The Commander probably expected me to be here already.” He shrugs, throwing me a sheepish grin. “I normally don’t indulge in the nap afterward. I’m guessing they waited until night fell and then left the pack for that just-in-case, I-was-running-late scenario.”

In other words, they probably think he’s dead. Though I still can’t believe Marine would expect John to have made it back to the helicopter so soon after changing back. I’d seen the sort of shape he was in afterward and couldn’t imagine him being functional any earlier than a good long nap afterward. Of course, this is John. And there is also that whole y-chromosome factor weighing in. Yup, he’s just the sort of masochist who would force himself right back into action after undergoing the entire rearrangement of his internal and external parts.

I still have another point to harp on though, and since I’m in a bad mood and need the outlet… “I still can’t believe Convict let you run out of there. Why didn’t he stop you? Would it have hurt the others to know what you are?”

“Juanita knows.”

“And Convict? He is aware of your furry other-self, right?”

“Yeah, he knows.” John pauses, his mouth skewing into a considering pucker. “Keep in mind that when I first turn, until I get something in my belly, I’m dangerous. Brice knows this. He knew the only option was for me to leave. Just as he knows all I’d expect from him is a chance,” he lifts the pack, “to get home.”

“You have a lot of confidence in him.”

“Brice, despite his faults, is a good guy. Not many people would accept a werewolf on their team.”

I consider this and how it applies to me. “So is that why Marine put me on Convict’s team? Because Convict is cool with the…” I wave my hand helplessly “…creature thing?”

“I’m sure in part.” John glances over at me, his mouth pulled down at the corners. “It was a mistake on Commander Derwood’s part not to tell Brice from the start about what you are though. It almost got you killed that first mission.”

I scoff. “Roy couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” Still couldn’t, though hopefully he would at least be willing to engage in some serious training now that his base level fear seems to have passed.

“No, but Brice can and I can.”

I glance sharply at John, “You would have shot me? Even if I hadn’t attacked you?”

“If Brice had told me to.”

My chest tightens into a ball, but I manage to press out a, “Why?”

“Because no matter how intense the pressure is, Brice seems to always make the right choices.” He shrugs. “Hard to believe, given some of his, well, idiosyncrasies, but it’s true. He even has a nickname, though no one dares call him it when he’s around.”

“Oh, what is it?” I can’t believe I care to ask. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.

“The magician. You know, things get tough and all of a sudden he’s pulling a miracle out of his…um, hat.”

I arch an icy brow. “A were is a miracle?”

He glares at me, though there is a tug at the side of his mouth. “Trust me. I’ve never been acquainted with Brice’s…hat.”

“You’re disgusting.”

His smile widens. “I’m a guy. Anyway, Brice had his name before I was put on his team. So it’s not only the fact that he had me to call on.”

He holds up his hand, drawing up short. “Hold on, I want to grab my shirt. It’s cold tonight.”

“And you no longer have a fur coat.”

He chuckles, swinging the pack off to rummage through it. He pulls out a canteen, sets it at his feet, shuffles the map to the front pocket. The gun he takes out and hands to me. Finally he unearths the shirt and pulls it first on one arm and then the other. Then he picks back up the canteen, which he slings over his shoulder, rather than putting it back inside.

I look down at the gun. It’s a Taurus 709 Slim, better than my old Glock. I sigh, stroking the smooth metal. “Must be nice. Having a pack.”

“What are you talking about?” He buckles the backpack up, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Water, a gun, a new shirt. Convict must really care.” I hold the gun out on my palm, sure he’s going to take it and stuff it into his cargo pants.

He shakes his head, stepping over. “Eva.” He takes my hand in his, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal of the handgun. “The gun is for you.”