The Hunger's Howl

by A. D. Popovich

  The screaming was deafening. He knew it too well. The mass of immigrants was a smorgasbord for the Zs. Maybe it would keep the Zs busy for a while. He dashed over to the next person trying to climb up the river embankment, gasping for air. He didn’t have time to talk to anyone. He just kept pulling people out of the water.

  He wondered why the heck no one was helping these people gasping for their final breaths in the middle of the river. He couldn’t reach them. He wasn’t a good swimmer, but he could save the ones who made it to shore, too exhausted to find their feet. He found himself getting madder and madder at Luther for not helping. Sure, Dean had to be careful, with his heart problem and all. But not Luther.

  Something whizzed past, tickling his ear. A gunshot. The man flailing next to him froze. Justin turned to help him next. “Dude!” A small red dot on the man’s forehead dripped to his nose. He’d just been shot in the head. More shots went off, whizzing by his head. Justin glanced back at the Trav. Why was Luther shooting in his direction? Killing people. Justin stopped and witnessed the mayhem unravel in slow-mo. People swarmed both sides of the river and bridge. A putrid odor penetrated the air. Wait—people and Zs? He turned around just as a newly-turned man pounced on him, knocking him to the ground. He unsheathed the zombie-slayer knife strapped to his leg. He didn’t hesitate. He de-activated the Z with one slash.

  Dean pounded on the horn. A mob of people ran toward the Trav. Too many people. The Trav sped off, southbound. “Oh, shit!” Dean left him; he had to, or their vehicle would have been overtaken by the mob. The Trav was the only thing saving them from the horde.

  “Help me,” a voice gasped. Justin grabbed his flashlight. He beamed it long enough to see he only had seconds before the newly-turned Z reached the man struggling to his feet at the shoreline. Justin sucker-punched the Z, knocking it back into the river and then dragged the man out.

  “You okay?” Justin yelled.

  Justin flashed the light into the river again. Hundreds of people were caught in its currents. Even Zs bobbled and slapped across the river, eating whoever happened to drift within reach. I guess Zs don’t drown. He’d have to rewrite his Z-COS (Zombie Code of Survival).

  “Holy shit!” A wave of Zs made landfall on his side of the shore. “C’mon,” Justin shouted to the guy he’d just pulled out, who had collapsed back to the ground, puking up water. He yanked the guy to his feet. He had to save someone.

  “Where?” the guy spluttered.

  “Follow me,” Justin said. He headed south. Somehow, he knew Dean and Luther were waiting for him, away from the craziness. The guy fell back down. “You have to keep up,” Justin urged. Justin flashed his flashlight three times, signaling. The Trav’s tail lights flashed back.

  “Yes! Almost there,” Justin promised. They ran. The backseat’s door flew open.

  “Get in,” Luther boomed.

  Justin and the guy slid into the cramped backseat. Luther was on top, riding shotgun, shooting into the horde tailing them. The Trav circled around and then headed east. The headlights captured the horror on the immigrants’ faces as people ran for their lives—and the not so lucky ones—turned. Their last emotions as humans: utter fear, knowing all too well it was the last moments of their lives. Their terror paralyzed him.

  “Sorry to say, we can’t save everyone.” It had been Dean.

  They drove for hours. The screaming and howling had stopped, but he wished he could turn it off inside his head. After dawn, when the sun woke up the sky, Dean stopped the Trav. They got out and automatically panned the horizon. Poor Dean, his face was ghostly white. Hope he took a pill, like three of them.

  “Who have we here?” Dean said, finally acknowledging the guy Justin had bailed out of the river.

  “Craig Baker. You guys are superheroes. Thank you so much,” he said as if afraid they might kick him out.

  Justin shrugged. “Sure.” He certainly didn’t feel like a hero. They should have saved more.

  Luther climbed down from the top rack. Red-eyed and haggard, he looked wasted. “What a ride. I thought you’d never stop,” Luther barked.

  “Had to stop. The Trav’s overheating. But didn’t want to chance stopping until daybreak. So, everyone look sharp. Let's take this opportunity to fuel-up, take a leak, and have a quick bite before we lose much time,” Dean said.

  “Sure thing,” Justin said, looking for the ammo can.

  “What can I do?” Craig asked.

  “I’d like to have two set of eyes on the perimeter at all times,” Luther said with the Bushnell’s kissing his forehead. “Ooh wee, don’t like this one little iota—I still smell those stinking nimrods. Those things make Super-Zs look like slugs.”

  “What bothers me, they didn’t blow the bridge. Meaning—” Dean started.

  “We’ve got to warn Last Chance,” Luther finished.

  “Dude, did you see that? Zs actually crossed the river!” Justin exclaimed.

  “That happened when we crossed the Colorado River.” Craig’s tone went flat.

  “Say whut?” Luther said. “I miss the good old days when they were just shamblers.”

  “Ye-ah,” Justin said, rummaging through their meager food supply.

  “Back at the California side of the Colorado River, they warned us to stay away from caravans,” Craig said. “I’m like right, only a moron treks to Texas without an entourage.” Craig seemed to be talking to himself more than to anyone in particular.

  Dean finished topping off the tank. “Didn’t Jackson say they had a forty-eight hour lead on the horde?”

  “The Dead don’t stop,” Craig croaked with a bad case of the shivers.

  “We’ve got to find Ella before it’s too late,” Justin reminded.

  “Find it hard to believe the horde crossed the river.” Dean shook his head in obvious denial.

  “There’s some serious voodoo shit going down. My mojo’s saying the hella-hordes heading straight for Last Chance. We’ve got to warn Sheena,” Luther insisted.

  Dean and Luther gave each other a long, hard look. A look that scared the crap out of Justin. They weren’t going back for Ella. It was clear. That’s why they’d been driving east all night.

  Dean turned to Craig. “You don’t happen to know an Ella or a Father Jacob, a religious fella?”

  Craig shook his head slowly.

  “That settles it. We go to Last Chance,” Dean decided. “They’ve already been wiped out once by a horde. Figure, we’ve got a good half-days start on ’em. Enough time to get everyone to safety.”

  A peculiar odor drifted in the wind. “We don’t stand a chance,” Craig whispered, but they ignored him.

  “Justin, forget about a hot meal. How’s about you pass out some of those power bars. Time to get on the road,” Dean said with a quiver in his voice.

  “Wait. You hear that?” Justin said at the unfamiliar sound.

  “Hunger’s Howl. I’ll never get used to it,” Dean said.

  “No. Something else,” Craig said.

  “Holy Mother of God!” Luther bellowed.

  Everyone pivoted toward Luther, who stood staring at the Trav. Luther threw his cup down to the ground in a fit of rage.

  “Naw, don’t tell me . . .” Dean’s mouth gaped open. The steaming sound whistled above the Hunger’s Howl. This sound even more life-threatening. “Shot a hole clean through the damn radiator.” Dean swore a string of curse words.

  “The machinegun fire—” Justin shared an uncomfortable glance with Craig.

  “Thought it was running hot ’cause I was pushing her too hard.” Dean fretted as if it were his fault.

  “Hey, it’s not like we could have stopped at the nearest gas station for repairs,” Luther said, grappling the hood with a towel. “It’s too hot,” Luther said, unable to release the radiator cap. Water from the radiator’s overflow tube bubbled out and sizzled and zizzled onto the sand. All four of them stared at the radiator.

  “So now what?” Justin freaked.

 
“Well, what we ought to do, is wait for it to cool down and try to patch it,” Dean started.

  “With what?” Justin groaned.

  “There’s a package of radiator repair goop in the toolbox,” Luther said, looking at Dean.

  Dean gave them a pale-faced stare. “We’re out of water. I was planning on boiling a batch yesterday. We’ve got a few bottles of drinking water, but not enough for the radiator.”

  “We could go back to the river.” Justin threw it out there.

  “Don’t even think it,” Craig hissed. “You guys don’t get it. They’re coming. They can smell human flesh for miles. I’ve been outrunning them for the last two weeks. They’ll be done with the people at the river. Fully-charged and ravenous for more human flesh.”

  “Now, Craig, we’ve got a good head start on ’em,” Dean said, trying to contain their fears. It wasn’t working.

  “Not anymore.” The terror in Craig's eyes scared the shit out of Justin.

  “Fellas, I’m not taking the heat for this decision. We’ll put it to a vote. Who’s in favor of waiting for the radiator to cool down, and who want’s to drive her till she blows a head gasket?”

  “What about peeing in the radiator?” Justin said, completely off the cuff. “Like, I saw it in a movie once,” he said in response to everyone's disapproving expressions.

  “We still have to wait for it to cool down,” Luther reminded.

  The Hunger’s Howl loomed louder in their wavering silence. “Alrighty then,” Dean said, rubbing his chin, “no one wants to own up to a decision. “The Trav goes about five to ten mph on this terrain. Figure a fella can walk an average pace of three miles per hour.”

  “Or more, depending on how motivated you are,” Luther added.

  “Either way we’ve got a good head start,” Dean reassured.

  Craig spoke up, “After they feed, this breed of Deads can run—faster—than people.”

  They all turned to the west as if expecting to see the horde.

  “You messin’ with us?” Luther glared.

  “I’ve seen it. It’s like they’re fertilized with Miracle Grow. These Deads are hella fast. Tell them.” Craig pointed to Justin.

  “Guys, last night, I saw them—eating on the run.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s voodoo. I’m wishin’ I had my crazy Aunt Matilda’s ju-ju beads right about now,” Luther said, panning the western horizon.

  Dean’s hand went from rubbing his chin to rubbing his chest. “Reckon we don’t have a choice. Time to skedaddle. We’ll run the Trav into the ground.” Dean closed the hood with the towel.

  “And then what?” Justin freaked.

  “R-run like h-hell,” Craig stammered. “What’s so safe about this place we’re going to?”

  “Who said it was safe. Luther just wants to save his wannabe girlfriend,” Justin spouted as they scrambled into the Trav. Luther scowled at him in the rearview mirror while Dean fiddled with the keys. I get it. After they took Sheena to Last Chance, they had stayed the night in the boxcars. Luther and Sheena must have had a fling. That’s why he wanted to go back to Last Chance. Luther wasn’t going back to California. It was vividly clear to him.

  Dean tried the engine. It stalled. No one said a thing. Dean waited a long minute. Finally, the engine caught. The thermostat needle swung to the red zone. Dean leaned in and tapped on the gauge as if the needle was stuck.

  “I’m taking her nice and easy,” Dean said. “A steady five miles per hour ought to maintain our head start. Givin’ us plenty of time to get everyone to safety.”

  “Sure as hell better be,” Luther mumbled under his breath.

  Justin sat in the backseat, fuming. The smartest thing would be to follow the river south until they found a place to cross. They might bypass the horde completely. Dean and Luther treated him like a dorky teenager, but he was going on twenty-three. He was tired of it. More frustrated than ever, he pulled out the pearl earring and stared at it like a crystal ball. Ella, I’m not giving up.

  “Hurry,” a faraway voice whispered.

  Justin looked at Craig to see if he had said something. Craig had a bad case of the twitches while he gaped out the backseat’s windows, oozing with fear.

  Chapter 34

  “Come on. You can do it,” Dean sweet-talked the Trav. From his side mirror view, he saw a puff of white smoke squelch out the tailpipe. “There she blows.” Dean threw up his arms in despair. White smoke meant she’d blown a head gasket.

  “The Trav treated us good.” Luther rubbed the dashboard.

  “Got a few more miles out of her, anyhow. Alrighty folks, let's take five and gear up. Only take what you need. Should make it to Last Chance in three to four hours.”

  “We’d better get there before dark,” Craig’s voice trembled.

  Dean slashed opened the last case of MREs he’d been saving for an emergency. He divvied out two each while Luther topped-off their canteens.

  Dean prioritized as fast as he could. “Does everyone have a flashlight?” He grabbed the stash of batteries. “Batteries anyone? Keep your pack light. If it slows you down, leave it. We can always come back.” Dean wondered how long he’d last. He wouldn’t mention anything—yet.

  “Good God Almighty!” Luther bellowed. He dropped the binoculars, letting them swing from his neck.

  Craig swung his head around to the western horizon. The look in the young fellow’s eyes scared the living daylights out of Dean.

  “Now what?” Justin muttered, going through his pack.

  “You gotta see this,” Luther croaked.

  “Holy shit! They’re tracking us?” Justin blustered.

  “It’s what they do.” Craig cringed. “See ya.” The young fellow took off east in a dead run.

  “Hey, wait for me,” Justin yelled and jogged after him.

  “Well, my friend, I’ll match your pace for as long as I can while those young whippersnappers leave us in the dust,” Dean said half-heartedly, trying to lighten up the tense mood.

  Luther tossed Dean’s pack over his shoulder. “We’ll be fine. How far of a head start do you think we have?”

  Dean rubbed his chin. “Reckon a good five miles or so. Hard to say.”

  “Got your medicine?” Luther said, eyeing Justin and Craig.

  “You betcha.” Dean patted his front shirt pocket; he’d been out for days. He dreaded the moment of truth, the moment he’d have to fess up to the cold-hard facts.

  They walked without words for a while, falling farther and farther behind Justin and Craig. Dean wanted to chat with Luther since this was their last opportunity to visit, but Luther was far too tense. Instead, Dean enjoyed the afternoon sun heating his back, no longer worried about sunburn or heatstroke.

  The New Mexico sky sure didn’t look like he remembered as a kid. The vivid azure-blue had washed-out like an over-exposed Polaroid photo. Justin might be on the right track thinking all those chemtrails crisscrossing the skys had something to do with the flu outbreak. Dean had never been a tin-foil hat believer himself; all that conspiracy rhetoric was just a pile of bullcrap. ’Til now. He was getting a gut-wrenching feeling mankind had gotten too big for its britches. Perhaps the flu outbreak was Mother Nature’s way of stopping us dead in our tracks, so to speak, keeping us in our humble place.

  “Reckon I got a dinner date with my wife on the Twinkle Me Mary.”

  Luther stopped in mid-step and gave Dean an odd look. “Say whut?”

  “Did I just say that out loud?” Dean stopped. He hunched over and rested his hands on his knees.

  “I think you need to take one of those pills?” Luther blathered.

  “Truth is, I’m about done in.” Dean glanced wistfully at Justin.

  “You’re joshing. Right?”

  Dean shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  Luther looked at him with knowing eyes. “Good God, you knew before we left. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Fact is,” Dean paused, holding his chest, trying to
catch his breath, “didn’t think I’d get you all to leave without me. You fellas have a fightin’ chance without me.”

  “Justin!” Luther hollered and motioned him to join them.

  “No use gettin’ him all riled up about it. Go on. I’ll just sit a spell. Catch up with you all later,” Dean lied.

  “I’m not leaving you for those stinking nimrods—”

  “Guys!” Justin yelled back at them, waving frantically.

  Dean waved him on. And Justin continued east toward Last Chance. “Justin’s still a kid at heart. Take care of him, will ya? If he doesn’t find Ella soon, grant an old curmudgeon like me a last wish. Make sure he gets into Texas one way or the other.”

  “I’m not leaving you—”

  “Afraid you have to. You’re responsible for Justin now,” Dean said, trying to sidetrack him. “Best you be gettin’ on.” Dean offered his hand for a shake. Luther grabbed it and then gave him a tear-threatening bro hug. “Go on, now. Leave me some dignity. You don’t want to see a grown man cry.”

  Luther shook his head from side to side and handed Dean’s pack to him. “Sorry, man.” Luther hesitated and then took off in a light jog.

  Dean rested on the sun-baked sand and watched Luther’s strides grow longer, faster. He let his mind drift, remembering the good times growing up on Grandaddy’s ranch in Las Cruces. He kicked himself for not taking the time to visit it. Reckon they had more important things to do than revisit his old memories.

  ***

  Dean woke with a start. Had he touched down for a few seconds or minutes? Time seemed to swim around him. The next thing Dean knew Justin was next to him. Shouting.

  “Dean!”

  “What in tarnation?” Dean glanced at the dust storm.

  Justin dropped to his knees and dumped the contents of his pack onto the ground. “I should have told you. I have your pills! I traded my Batman collection for a bottle when I was working at the shop in Boom Town.” Justin frantically held up the bottle.

  “Even with the medicine, I can’t outrun those things.”

  “You knew all along, and, and you didn’t tell us?” Justin panted.