The Hunger's Howl

by A. D. Popovich

  Sheena often complained the child was too weak and emotionally unbalanced for this new world. Sheena was correct to a certain extent. However, Twila had survived God knows how long on her own before Zac had found her, and she’d survived the five-month journey from California to Last Chance without ever so much as catching a cold. Twila was tougher than she appeared. Sensitive and demanding at times, but she was certainly a survivor.

  After several minutes of rocking the child lovingly in her arms, Twila returned from the place she escaped to when something traumatized her.

  “Mommy, I’m so sad for baby Miguel.”

  “He’ll be better soon,” Scarlett promised. “Tell me the truth. Do you really want to fish, or did you just want to get away?”

  “We can’t be there.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Promise you won’t get mad,” Twila pleaded.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “We have to leave for Texas this very second!” Her golden eyes flashed with terror.

  Scarlett didn’t respond; indulging Twila’s fear might cause more paranoia. Twila stood up abruptly and looked toward Last Chance, but the cottonwoods blocked the view. Twila tilted her head to the sky with outstretched hands and began humming. The sight was rather startling. She was by the girl’s side instantly. Twila brushed her back and began mumbling in a monotone voice. What is she saying? It was rather creepy.

  “The Silver Lady says we must leave now.”

  Twila’s words sent chills up and down Scarlett’s spine. And then the sky seemed to open and a ball of light levitated above them. The ball of light spun faster and faster. It burst open, and a barrage of pinpoint lights glittered around the Silver Lady’s wavering image, floating in front of them. Another lucid dream? Scarlett shook her head in an attempt to snap out of the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

  Silent words drifted through Scarlett’s mind, “My dear one, the time is now. Leave at once, or the course of events we meticulously planned lifetimes ago will have been all for not.”

  “You mean, man-ipulated,” Scarlett said with resentment.

  The Silver Lady smiled sadly. “The Akashic Records shall be written based on what you do next.” The mystical lady floated over the water. An array of electric-like sparks zapped the water and burst around her like pixie fireworks.

  “Great, the guilt trip. You’re blaming me for what happens next?” Scarlett was beside herself. “You’re the one meddling with fate? Besides, we all die in the end.” Scarlett was tired of the mysterious riddles always promising the impossible.

  “Death is only an illusion in your mundane three-dimensional consciousness. There is only rebirth. If you deny your Soul Mission, more will suffer. Believe . . .” The words evaporated into the mist as the Silver Lady’s image dissolved. And poof, like a popped bubble, she vanished.

  Stunned by her abrupt departure, Scarlett spun around, searching the horizon for signs of the Silver Lady. A low howling drifted in the windless sky. “What is that?” It was the same howling she’d heard at the gas station. What had Sheena call it?

  Twila snapped out of her trance and uttered, “The Hunger’s Howl—”

  A horde! Scarlett whisked Twila onto Willow and then hopped on just as the mare bucked and kicked, almost throwing them off.

  “Be brave, Willow,” Twila cooed to the mare.

  They had to warn Ella and Sheena! She urged Willow toward Last Chance. Once they reached the open desert, Scarlett’s heartbeat failed at the sight of the dust clouds billowing toward Last Chance. The howling reverberating in her soul told her it wasn’t a dust storm.

  Willow’s hooves pounded hard into the crusty-dried earth. Every hair on Scarlett’s body pinched with electricity. The center of her forehead quavered with warning. She closed her eyes and demanded a vision to appear. It came: Thousands upon thousands of hungry souls ravaged the planet like a plague of cannibalistic locusts consuming the earth, leaving nothing in its wake untouched.

  But, they weren’t locusts. The horde stretched across the horizon, charging across the desert. Next stop, Last Chance. She urged Willow faster, but Willow already seemed to know the camp’s fate was her responsibility. The mare galloped madly down an arroyo’s embankment, and Scarlett thought they might tip over head first.

  “Willow’s doing this for you,” Twila shouted.

  Surely, Sheena and the guards had already gathered the camp’s temporary residents into the boxcars. It was the camp’s official Horde Attack plan. Then it registered; the haggard caravan that had arrived this morning had been pulling out during Twila’s tantrum. Their horses needed rest before continuing the last three-hundred mile stretch. No rest was like signing their death warrants for the horses and the refugees. Had they known about the approaching horde? Why hadn’t they warned the camp?

  “It’s my fault!” Scarlett screamed into the wind. She had been warned. She had chosen to dismiss it, thinking she was behaving irrationally. She and Twila were the ones with the strange visions, and yet Scarlett consistently refused to heed their warnings. Dammit! What’s wrong with me? I have to accept it. Whatever it is. Someone is watching over Twila and me.

  “B e l i e v e . . .”

  The sharp metallic taste of blood cut into Scarlett’s lips. She saw them. Running! The X-strain horde. Willow lurched to a stop as if spellbound by evil. It was too late. Scarlett and Twila were trapped between the horde and Last Chance. The horde was almost upon them. Twila’s screams penetrated the horde’s hideous howls. Scarlett’s limbs went limp, engulfed in the horde’s undying hunger-lust to turn the rest of humanity into one of them, for they detested the living.

  The mare bucked wildly, knocking them both to the ground, and then she darted a few yards ahead. Willow swung her head back at them as if in slow motion, her chestnut mane gracefully swaying with her.

  “My time here is done.” It was Willow’s voice.

  Scarlett met the mare’s gaze. Beyond the windows of her soul, she witnessed Willow’s birth, watched her cantering through the flowering meadows in wonderment, felt her passion for her mate, felt her pain and love at the birth of her foal, and saw her happy life at the Padilla’s ranch—until the creepers came. But what was most unbearable was the mare’s terror for what was about to happen.

  “Willow, Run!” Scarlett’s heart sank.

  Willow surrendered with her head hung low and her soul-light wavering.

  The first of the horde swarmed Willow. She didn’t know horses screamed. The high-pitched, human-like screams pierced her heart. And then . . . then Scarlett shot her. The most horrid yet humane thing she’d ever done. Scarlett grabbed Twila in her arms, a futile attempt to protect her.

  “Help us!” Scarlett cried out to the Silver Lady.

  Twila’s golden eyes delved deep into Scarlett’s, and for a second she had the odd sensation their souls were eternally bound to one another. Twila twisted away and raised her hands up in the air. The first wave of creepers lunged for the two of them. They parted miraculously . . . leaving a narrow space around them, an invisible forcefield.

  Twila held up a star-shaped crystal up to the sky. “Merkaba,” a voice whispered directly into her mind. Scarlett stared in disbelief as the entire horde raced around them like raging flood waters detouring around an indestructible building. A second after the raging horde had passed, Twila collapsed to the ground.

  “Twila!”

  A humming sound. She darted around looking for the source. “What?” A drone. Another one. And another one. The drones circled over the humongous horde. The buzzing sounds of dirtbikes filled her ears. It must be the bikers who had herded the X-strain.

  It was too late for the camp. She dared a glance back at Willow. Consumed bite by bite, all that remained was the skeletal shape of a horse, the bones gleaming in the sunlight. Willow hadn’t deserved such a horrid death.

  The screaming of the refugees flooded her eardrums. Unbearable. All she could do was pray Sheena, Ella,
and the baby were inside the caboose. Twila was in a comatose-like state. She checked her pulse and noticed the clear crystal merkaba still clasped in her fingers. Scarlett held it gingerly with trembling fingers. It was hot. She awed at the lights dancing around it, feeling the mysterious crystal’s power. Had the Silver Lady given it to Twila? Or had Twila had it the entire time? If the merkaba had protective powers, it would explain how Twila had survived on her own until Zac had found her.

  Think! They couldn’t stay in the desert without any shelter, and they couldn’t go to Last Chance. Not now . . . Night would arrive too soon without Willow to take them to safety, and Twila was still unconscious. She gently laid Twila on the ground. Apprehensively, she walked back to Willow’s shell of bones. Nothing but a carcass, not the dear friend she had ridden the past several months. Diverting her eyes, she grabbed everything from the saddlebags and stuffed them into her backpack. With a newfound strength and determination, Scarlett lifted the girl over her shoulder, and hurried to the river, blocking out the refugees’ screaming, the gunshots, and the horrid howling. She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 36

  Ella strutted to the caboose with baby Miguel against her chest. His raspy breathing and barking cough had her worried. He hadn’t kept anything down all day. Sheena had taken them to the nurse, who’d just leased one of the boxcars. The nurse thought he had the croup and advised he needed moisture. Ella was suppose to cover his face with a damp washcloth for a few minutes every hour since they didn’t have a humidifier in the crappy desert.

  Ella knew he didn’t have the croup. Something else was wrong; something she would never speak of. Only Father Jacob’s tea would help. She’d been anxious to return to the caboose and boil the water, but Sheena had ordered her to open Scarlett’s boxcar because a group of frantic immigrants had just ridden in, demanding food. That was another thing, where the heck was Scarlett and Twila?

  Scarlett only had a few cases of can goods left. And the immigrants were ranting and raving and fighting over it. Finally, Ella just left the boxcar unattended, worried for baby Miguel. So what if Sheena gets mad at me. Such an alpha, she’s always pissed at someone. Ella’s frustration and concern had turned into a panic of fear, and she hastily boiled the water. There wasn’t much of the special monoatomic tea left.

  She rocked Miguel in her arms while the tea steeped. She didn’t always use hot water, but they had to boil all their water since a new flu was going around. A gunshot nearly caused her to drop the glass bottle and sent baby Miguel into another whiny fit.

  Ella rocked Miguel and noticed a slip of paper on the floor. “Shhh, it’s all right mijo.” She was about to pick up the paper when the door to the caboose burst open.

  “Two minutes to pack!” Sheena ordered, grabbing the spare pack off the hook and tossing it to her.

  “Huh?” Ella let the pack fall to the floor. “I’m busy. Baby Miguel’s pitchin’ a fit.”

  Another torrent of gunshots went off outside. “Hear that? Trouble. Move your skinny ass!”

  “What about Scarlett and Twila?”

  “Have you seen them? No! Your friend, little miss goody two shoes, deserted us,” Sheena raged, slamming drawers and stuffing her own pack. “Back with a horse. Only take what fits in your pack.” And Sheena left.

  Meh, everyone's loco today. Screaming? Ella realized something was really wrong. Gunshots were the norm but not screaming. Were they slaughtering another cow? She opened the door. People ran. Everywhere. Terror stuck through her very core of existence. Something’s wrong. Scarlett? Twila? OMG, are they all right? She rubbed her jade rosary beads and mumbled a quick prayer.

  She stuffed the pack with baby supplies, trying to make sense of all the shouting. It was a bunch of blah blah blah—until she heard the word: horde. Her heart thudded. She strapped on the backpack and then slipped the baby sling carrier around her neck. She nestled baby Miguel into the sling she had fashioned from a soft blanket and pieces of tarp sewn in for support. She had her hand on the door and then turned around for the gun Scarlett had trained her on.

  Ella froze at the caboose railing. An apocalyptic-orange cloud approached from the west. The Hunger’s Howl! She focused in on a group of new arrivals making a run for the camp. Would they make it? The camp scrambled for safety, jumping on horses, hooking up wagons, and running inside the boxcars.

  The horde intersected a wagon train barreling toward the camp from the south. Zs lunged for the horses and the wagon. Why hadn’t the caravan gone the other way? They were probably trying to make it to the boxcars, she thought. But, they hadn’t made it. The dust cloud mushroomed closer. The first Zs flailed in front of the dust cloud. Zs—running? Impossible. Zs were slow-moving slugs. Then she remembered the Super-Zs. No, these are way faster than Super-Zs.

  Sheena’s horse came to an abrupt stop in front of her. Ella used the caboose’s steps to mount the horse. “Hang on. Yah!” Sheena whooped.

  Ella leaned into the horse, holding onto the horn of the saddle, careful not to squash Miguel. They charged toward the Sangre de Cristos, translated, Blood of Christ. How horribly fitting. With closed eyes, she foresaw the bloody aftermath the horde would leave in its wake. How could this happen? The guards were paid to warn them of hordes.

  “What about everyone else?” Ella shouted, her voice muted by the thudding of hooves beating across the desert. Please make the screaming stop!

  After God knows how long, the horse finally tired. They rode to a valley of cottonwood trees next to a creek. They had escaped the horde. It would remain at Last Chance until it had turned everyone into a demon. All those people . . . She couldn’t think about them. She had her baby to think of. She hadn’t given Miguel the tea!

  “Rest, pee, whatever you gotta do,” Sheena said, eyeing though a pair of binoculars.

  “Do you see anything?” Ella asked.

  “Think they’ll be there for a while.” Sheena’s statement made her want to puke.

  Poor baby Miguel, his face was red from all the crying. Or was he overheated? He wasn’t usually in the sun. She sat under a cottonwood tree to feed him the bottle of tea, but he was sleeping so peacefully, she wanted him to rest.

  Sheena went behind a tree, probably to pee. Ella gingerly patted baby Miguel’s face with a damp cloth. He opened his eyes and gave her a goofy grin. Her heart sang. Having a newborn was the most precious thing ever.

  “He’s doing better,” Ella said, elated.

  “Did you bring your gun?”

  “Sure,” Ella said, kissing Miguel’s belly. He giggled, despite his fever.

  “I should make sure it’s fully loaded,” Sheena said hesitantly.

  “It’s in my pack.” Ella rejoiced in Miguel’s burst of playfulness.

  “You should pee,” Sheena nagged.

  So bossy. Ella found herself rolling her eyes. She didn’t need to go.

  “No more stops,” Sheena warned.

  “Fine. Will you watch him a sec?” Ella didn’t really like Sheena. She was too pushy and not so nice, making her the perfect person to run Last Chance. After she had finished her business, Sheena was already on the horse with baby Miguel.

  “You’re gonna hate me.” It was all Sheena said. Then, Sheena kicked the horse and took off—with baby Miguel—leaving Ella gaping in disbelief.

  “Wait—”

  “Stop!”

  “Why . . .”

  Ella followed, running as fast as she possibly could until her knees gave. She fell into the hot sand. She stood up and ran again, not lasting long this time. She collapsed. The sand clung to her sweaty body. She forced herself up on trembling legs. Her body had never recovered from the delivery. She knew something wasn’t right inside. A trickle of blood ran down her inner thigh.

  “Noooo. If there’s still a God, please save my baby!” Ella pleaded to the cruel desert.

  Chapter 37

  Justin kept glancing back at the mile-wide dust cloud shrouding the afternoon sun. Each step gave him an ee
rie sensation: unable to exit a never-ending escalator bound for Hell.

  “Take five. Well, maybe one,” Luther croaked.

  Justin reached for his nearly empty canteen, tipping his head back for the last few drops.

  “Thought you were about to pass out on me,” Luther ribbed.

  “What about the horde?” Justin refused to look back while he worked on controlling his breathing, slowing it down.

  “We were losing them the last I checked. Luther turned to the west. “Good God Almighty! Not anymore. They’re gaining on us!” Luther gasped.

  So, it hadn’t been his super-active imagination. Their midnight river snack must have turbo-charged them.

  Luther put the binocs in his pack. “Time to jet. These muthas are a hellofa lot faster than the Bay Area’s Super-Zs.”

  “Think Dean made it?”

  “Yup, he made it to the Trav all right,” Luther said, avoiding the real question. “Ready?”

  “Dude, how can you keep running?”

  “Strong survival instincts. Always was an adrenaline-junkie. Thrived on it. I was a linebacker for a while. Despite my body mass, I’m in great physical condition.”

  “No kidding,” Justin spouted. “Look. A rider.” Justin waved frantically, hoping to get the horseback rider’s attention. The rider waved his hat in the air and took off toward them.

  The man approached them cautiously. “Looking for Last Chance?”

  “Ye-ah, trying to outrun the hella-horde,” Justin shouted.

  The man handed Justin a water bottle from the saddle. “I was hoping it was a dust storm. Then I heard the Hunger’s Howl.”

  “Did you come from Last Chance?” Luther asked.

  “That’s right,” the rider said.

  “How long will it take for us to get there?” Justin was afraid of the answer.