The Hunger's Howl

by A. D. Popovich

  “Holy shit, what kind of gun is that?” Justin gawked.

  “The Meyers’ Special. Had it made by a gunsmith friend of mine before this shitstorm happened,” Meyers said proudly.

  “Wilcox, you take first watch. I rigged a tripwire around the perimeter while you were jerkin’ off. They’ll have a nice surprise waiting for them if they attempt an ambush.” Meyers’ smile widen.

  “Sure thing,” Wilcox said.

  After a quick dinner of canned baked beans and stale flatbread, they set up their sleeping quarters for the night. It was Luther’s turn in the sleeper, and Justin had the Trav’s backseat. “Want some company? Don’t think these old legs of mine can stand another sleepless night cramped in the front seat,” Dean said to Wilcox.

  “Sure. How about a smoke?” Wilcox shook a box of Marlboros under Dean’s nose.

  Dean stoked the fire, anticipating the first inhale. So what if the doctor at Immigrant Station told him smoking was off limits with his angina. Hell, he’d die not soon enough. A fellow could get bit or shot on any given Sunday. What harm were a few puffs?

  “Funny, how things work out,” Dean reflected, thinking about Mary.

  “Say what?” Wilcox said, eyeing the perimeter.

  “I quit smoking about a decade ago on account of my wife always nagging, ‘you’ll get cancer.’ Thing is, she’s the one to die of cancer. Now ain’t that irony at its worst?” Dean inhaled again, more deeply. Go on, kill me. I don't rightly care at this point. But he did. He wanted to find Ella first. And Kyle.

  Wilcox put the night vision goggles aside. In the firelight’s flickering glow, Dean saw the tears threatening the corners of Wilcox’s eyes. The past evenings with the Enforcers had been business as usual. Everyone, except Justin, had managed to keep their personal feelings aside. It looked like Wilcox was in need of a friend this particular evening. Maybe the two of them had made a cosmic connection in the desolate desert. No matter the rhyme or reason, he couldn’t deny the fellow the simple gift of friendship. They sat by the fire, enjoying their smokes. A coyote yipped in the distance, making the desert seem even more remote and forlorn.

  “So, my friend, why’d you take this trip? No one else volunteered ’cept Meyers,” Dean said.

  Wilcox kept his eyes on the perimeter. “Meyers volunteers for any chance to kill.”

  “I was getting that vibe,” Dean said.

  “He’s one bloodthirsty adrenaline junky. The only reason he’s breaking protocol is because he didn’t get to kill anyone yet.”

  “Don’t Enforcers have rules about drawing first blood and killing people?”

  “The Rules of Engagement are—there are no rules. If we feel threatened in any way. Shoot first and don’t ask questions. Says so right here in our creed.” Wilcox pulled out a small booklet tucked inside his jacket.

  “So, why’d you volunteer? You seem like a decent fella.”

  “I go stir crazy at Check Point Charlie. Can’t stay there for too long.”

  “Can’t you get reassigned to a cushy post in Texas?” Dean said, trying to make light of the subject.

  “I don’t go to Texas. Not if I can help it,” Wilcox stated firmly.

  The two shared eye contact for a moment. For a brief second, Dean felt as if they’d been lifelong friends. He didn’t want to invade the fellow’s privacy. He gave the Enforcer his space. Let him talk if he wanted. Dean was good at figuring out people. Most of the time. It was a skill he’d learn from his granddaddy.

  Dean grabbed the flask from his pack and offered the first swig to Wilcox. “Crown Royal?”

  Wilcox silently took him up on the offer. They smoked another round of cigarettes and sipped at the Crown Royal. Dean got the feeling the two of them might have been buddies in a different time and place despite the twenty-something age difference.

  “You want to know something funny?” Wilcox tossed a branch on the fire. “I didn’t choose this line of work. I was drafted.”

  “How’s that?” Dean encouraged.

  “I was in Texas when the deadly flu started. Had a franchise opportunity in Houston. I’m a professional fitness trainer. Had three extremely successful gyms in Shreveport, Louisiana. Anyway, I was in over my head with all the legal paperwork. I remember my wife calling me nonstop when they closed the schools. She worried about our two boys while I OCD’d over the franchise’s legal issues. I should have been there for them.”

  “Now, how was a fella to know it was the end of the world?” Dean sympathized, knowing Wilcox needed to talk it out.

  “I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was in a board meeting in a fancy skyrise. My phone was vibrating nonstop. Lisa called me six times. After the meeting, a few of us celebrated at the revolving bar at the top of the skyrise. I saw it on the news first. Texas had sealed its borders!”

  “That can’t be legal,” Dean said.

  “I don’t think Texas cared.”

  “How’d they shut down the entire state so quickly?” A thing like that would take months of planning. As Dean recalled, back in the pre-outbreak days it had often taken days if not weeks to rescue people trapped in disaster zones.

  “Someone must have known something colossal was about to go down,” Wilcox said. He took another swig from the flask. “It was so surreal. I watched it all unfold on the widescreen TV. Wolf Blitzer sensationalizing it up in the Situation Room like so many other breaking news stories—like it didn’t affect me, like it was a disaster happening in another country. I had a few shots in me, you see. Celebrating the signing of my multi-million dollar franchise deal.”

  Dean nodded and waited for Wilcox to continue.

  “I finally checked my phone. Lisa was taking the boys to the coliseum for the new vaccine.”

  “That was a horrible thing,” Dean found himself saying as if he knew what Wilcox was going to say next.

  “You heard what they did to the coliseums,” Wilcox said, staring blankly into the fire.

  “It’s downright wicked. Luther told me. He sent his mother and baby sister to Levi’s Stadium. He got there just in time to see the stadium obliterated with some smart bomb.” Dean remembered the pain in Luther’s eyes when he’d talked about it.

  They sat there around the fire without talking, lost in thought. The coyotes howled in the distance, along with Meyers’ snoring. Another sip from the flask. Another stoke to the fire. Another drag on their cigarettes. Dean didn’t ask if his sons and wife had survived. The answer was written all over his grim face.

  “Certainly can’t blame you for not wanting to return to Texas,” Dean finally commented.

  Wilcox nodded. “I’d leave, but where else is there? I’m tormented everywhere I go. Believe me, when I say, no place east of Texas is safe.”

  “Tormented is the perfect word. All I want to do is go back to my fishing cabin in California on the off chance my son might be waiting for me.” Dean thought back. “Say, what’s this I hear about a secret tunnel to get into Texas?”

  “A few months after they sealed the border, immigrants stormed the Texan borders. To gain control, Last State created a three-hundred-foot-wide mote around its land borders.”

  “A moat?” Dean questioned. What an odd choice.

  “They call it—Zoat. It’s filled with the Infected.”

  Dean gasped. It was downright wretched.

  “So, that pretty much stopped people from sneaking in. Turns out we didn’t need the wall the last president huffed about. These days, you’re either escorted through the tunnel by Enforcers or heloed in.”

  “What about the Gulf Coast?” Dean inhaled his last draw.

  “Think Normandy times a hundred. That’s where most of our military is. Just in case a rogue militia decides to take us over or blow us up. According to intel, Z-virus is world-wide.”

  “Come to think of it, why’s Texas still letting people in? You’d think they’d be full-up by now.”

  “Oh, they’re extremely selective. Engineers, doctors, scient
ists . . . they can practically write their own tickets. The harsh truth is, Last State doesn’t need to waste their manpower thinning out the immigrants when the marauders and the hordes do it for them. They recently started manufacturing, so Texas needs to bolster their unskilled labor. Which, is probably the only reason they approved this mission in the first place. When those manufacturing plants fill up, it’ll be tough shit for all of these immigrants who’ve risked everything to get there.”

  “A pipe dream,” Dean said wistfully, thinking of Kyle and all the other loved ones he’d never see again.

  Chapter 19

  The enticing aroma of freshly-brewed coffee lured Justin Chen from his sleeping bag.

  “ ’Bout time your lazy ass joined us,” Meyers scolded.

  “What a butthead,” Justin mumbled, still too asleep to really care.

  “This is how it’s going down. We drive until straight-up noon. Then we head back.”

  Justin woke up quickly after hearing that. “Guys, what if we don’t find Ella?”

  “Clearly, you didn’t get the memo. Last State hired us to recon immigrant activity within The Zone—not to find your girlfriend,” Meyers said while loading an army-green duffle bag into the back of the Hummer.

  Luther lobbed him an MRE. “Thanks, dude.” Justin frowned. He absolutely hated MREs. He wondered what was in this one. He didn’t bother reading the label. It reminded him of Mom’s vegan casseroles. There was no point knowing what was in it because it was going to taste like crap anyway.

  After they loaded the vehicles, Dean announced he was driving first. Justin scooted into the seat next to him, and Luther sat in the backseat.

  Wilcox slapped the Trav’s hood. “We’re set. Keep your eyes peeled on the valley and the canyon. See anything—tap the horn. We don’t want any surprises.”

  Justin anxiously panned his side of the desert. “Are we really turning around at noon?” Justin asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

  Dean stared at Luther in the review mirror as if waiting for Luther’s response.

  “Guys?” Justin said.

  “Reckon it all depends,” Dean hinted.

  “You know where I stand. Texas isn’t on my agenda. Dean, I’ll just throw this out there. You could hitch a ride back with Wilcox and Meyers, that way Justin and I could continue west if you don’t mind giving up the Trav.”

  “Not a chance! I’m going where the Trav goes.” Dean revved the engine.

  “So, that means we’ll keep searching?” Justin said relieved and unsure at the same time.

  “Let’s play it by ear. I had a long talk with Wilcox last night. He’s the reasonable type. On the flip side, Meyers is the trigger-happy sort. The kind that goes lookin’ for trouble. Justin, don’t go antagonizing him. We don’t want to end up dead,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

  Justin pressed his eyes against the binoculars. “Guys, guys, covered wagons.” He fiddled with the dials for a clearer picture.

  “Yup. People,” Luther confirmed.

  Dean tapped the horn.

  The Hummer slid to a stop on the sandy desert floor. Dean swerved to avoid hitting it. Wilcox and Meyers were already outside, scanning the area.

  “It’s a multi-wagon caravan,” Wilcox said with excitement.

  “Hang back. Enforcers are required to initiate first contact,” Meyers ordered.

  “Wait for the all clear,” Wilcox shouted, looking from Dean to Justin to Luther, before hopping into the Hummer.

  “Better let them do their thing. That’s what they’re trained for,” Dean said calmly when Justin threw his hands up in the air.

  Justin zoomed in on the covered wagons. He spotted two men wearing hip holsters. No women. He was getting the feeling Ella wasn’t with them. The Hummer came to a stop. Wilcox, Meyers, and the two men stood around talking for the longest time. Wilcox finally waved the all clear.

  “There’s something ’bout this I don’t like.” Dean rubbed his chin. He parked the Trav behind a wheelless wagon stranded in the sand.

  Dean and Luther were in the middle of a weapons check when Wilcox started yelling something. Justin’s arms broke out in a rash of goosebumps. He shook himself out of the freaky moment. Something zoomed past them. A split-second later the Hummer disintegrated into a fiery mass with shrapnel flying everywhere. “Holy shit!” Someone bodyslammed him to the ground. It was Luther.

  The serene silence of the morning erupted into a chaotic chorus of gunfire. Wilcox dashed toward them and ducked behind the wheelless wagon. “Marauders in the canyon. Cover us. We’ll flush them out. And don’t shoot the immigrants!” Wilcox yelled, sprinting toward a wagon near the tree-lined river.

  Luther and Dean started firing off rounds.

  “So, like who am I shooting at?” Justin rambled.

  “Hell if I know. The marauders are buttoned-up pretty tight. Just keep shootin’ at the canyon,” Dean said.

  Without warning, Luther jumped into the Trav and drove all Road Warrior like toward the river below the canyon. “What the hell?” Justin gaped. A rocket of some sort exploded in a stand of trees. Wilcox and Meyers used the flaming Hummer for cover while they reloaded and then sprinted closer to the river.

  “What’s Luther doing?” Justin shouted.

  “Providing the distraction while the Enforcers rush them—don’t you watch Westerns? Keep shooting,” Dean shouted.

  A wonky thought had him thinking they’d time-traveled back to the O.K. Corral. Until he ran out of ammo. Then it was all too real. Dean must be out too; he wasn’t shooting back. They both looked at each other in a “now what” moment. Another wagon went up in flames. The gunfire raged on without their help.

  Finally, it was silent. Too silent.

  “Talk to me, son. What do you see?” Dean asked with a heavy breath.

  On his belly, elbows sunken into the sand, Justin scanned the area. “Luther. He’s on the ground, behind a wagon wheel. Holy shit, I think he’s shot!” Justin didn’t wait for Dean to stop him. He took off for Luther. He did a winning home-base slide, sliding right next to Luther. Luther had this wild expression in his eyes. “Are you shot?” Justin’s voice cracked.

  “Nope. Meyers is dead. Wilcox doesn’t look so good,” Luther said, looking under the wagon.

  One of the wagon wheels’ spindly spokes protruded from Wilcox’s chest, pinning him to the undercarriage. It was too close to his heart. “Holy shit, what do we do?” Justin freaked.

  “Stay with him. I need ammo,” Luther said, crouching to the Trav.

  “Ye-ah, like me too!”

  Luther returned with two cases of ammo. “There’s one sniper left. And I know where he’s hiding. Keep me covered while I flank his sorry-ass.”

  “Dude, like how?” Panic took hold.

  “Act like this is one of your shoot ’em up Xbox games and keep shooting—only don’t shoot me!” Luther jabbed with a boom of his laughter.

  Justin scrunched down in the sand on the opposite side of the wagon where Wilcox groaned. Justin didn’t have time to help him. He shot into the canyon’s rocky hillside until the bullets ran out, and then he reloaded. Other shots joined in. Apparently, the immigrants were shooting into the canyon as well. Luther has a chance.

  The gunfire finally stopped, but his ears still buzzed. Justin nearly freaked when he realized Dean was beside him, talking to him. Luther stood up from behind a boulder and waved the all clear.

  “What’s the word?” Dean asked, clutching his chest.

  “Uh, you’d better take one of your pills,” Justin reminded.

  A shadow hovered over them. Justin looked up from where he was sitting. A blood-smeared face growled at him. It pounced. Justin let off several rounds in a matter of milliseconds. He rolled over, inches from where the reanimated Meyers collapsed to the blood-soaked sand.

  Dean collapsed on the other side of him. “Dean, Dean—” Justin shouted. He rummaged through Dean’s pockets until he found the bottle of pills. Nitrostat. His trembling
hands fumbled with the kid-unfriendly pharmaceutical bottle.

  Luther was there and propped up Dean’s head. “Put the pill under his tongue,” Luther said, calmly.

  With his ears still buzzing and Wilcox’s groans Justin couldn’t hear much. The next thing he knew, two men towered over them. He glanced at them only long enough to see they hadn’t turned. “Dean, don’t die on me,” Justin pleaded.

  The barrel of a shotgun butted Dean’s head.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Luther reciprocated with a click of his gun.

  “It’s better to shoot ’em before they turn,” one of the immigrants said.

  “Better for who?” Luther’s voice warned.

  “Guys, Dean’s okay. Really. It takes a few minutes for his heart medicine to work,” Justin said, but he really wasn’t sure.

  Wilcox moaned louder.

  “What about that one?” Another gun clicked.

  “Guys, look, we saved your asses. Give us a freakin’ break,” Justin snapped.

  “That one’s a lost cause,” a man said, pointing to Wilcox.

  “We’ll take care of it,” Luther said, leaving no room for argument.

  Dean was coming to. Luther held a canteen to his lips.

  “See, he just has a heart problem,” Justin explained.

  “What happened?” Dean said, looking around in bewilderment.

  “Good God Almighty, glad you’re all right,” Luther let out.

  “We got the marauders. And uh, they got Meyers. Wilcox isn’t looking so good,” Luther reported.

  “Alrighty then,” Dean said, trying to get to his feet.

  “Give it a rest, “ Luther said.

  “What are Enforcers doing this far out?” the man with the fuzzy beard said.

  “A recon mission. We’re looking for missing immigrants,” Luther said.

  “Did you say missing immigrants? That’s the best frickin’ joke I’ve heard since the Super Summer flu.”

  “Dude, we’re serious,” Justin was pissed with their careless attitudes.

  “What mode of transportation?” the bearded man inquired.