“Fifteen minutes—if you’re running for your life.”
“Can you get everyone inside the boxcars?” Luther’s frantic tone belied his external calmness.
“That’s the plan. Not gonna let them do what they did the last time. What about you two?” The lone rider asked as if it mattered. There was only one horse. The horse bucked. The putrid odor drifted in the wind.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Justin vowed. After another gulp, he handed the water bottle to Luther.
“Keep the water.” The rider tipped his hat and charged off. “Meet me at the third boxcar from the caboose.” His words trailed off behind him.
Justin and Luther squinted at each other in an awkward are-we-gonna-make-it moment, and then they took off running without saying a word. With a renewed fear, Justin pushed his legs harder. A long blood-curdling groan scared the crap out of him. Justin looked to his right. A rogue Z zoomed ahead of the hella-horde like some spastic Olympic runner dead-set on reaching the finish line first.
How’s that even possible? Justin reached for his gun. Bang. Bang. Bang. They fired several rounds into its skuzzy head. The Z faltered. It fell on its flesh-rotted face. Then, it clawed its way over the sand. Abruptly, it lunged back to its feet. Really? It reminded him of the Terminator after sucking down a six-pack of Monster. Holy shit!
“Don’t look at it. Run!” Luther shouted.
As fear took over and adrenaline throbbed through his veins, Justin found his inner strength. He focused on the people scrambling about Last Chance. He was close enough to hear the terror in their screams and close enough to see the terror on their faces as they scrambled into the boxcars.
The Zs were a few yards behind them. From out of nowhere a caravan of wagons appeared from the south side of the train. It looked like they were making a Hail Mary for the boxcars, right behind Justin and Luther. But the caravan must have underestimated the Z’s speed. The Zs made a beeline for the approaching caravan, buying Justin and Luther precious time. A new wave of screaming disrupted the madness.
“You made it!” The rider with the cowboy hat waved them on.
“Holy shit! Did you see that?” Justin said to the man as he jumped inside the boxcar?
“Did you get everyone to safety?” Luther panted.
The man slammed shut the boxcar door and padlocked the door from the inside.
“Did Sheena make it?” Luther’s voice faltered.
“You a friend of Sheena’s?” The man seemed surprised.
“Sure thing,” Luther said.
Justin looked around the boxcar. Sunlight streamed through the slits in the boxcar’s upper walls. On one end a large group of people huddled on the floor, whispering amongst themselves. At the other end were stacks of crates.
“Sheena split. Come to think of it, right after she shot a horse thief.”
“Sheena shot someone?” Luther seemed surprised.
“A lone refugee arrived from the west. No horse, no nothing. He tried to steal a horse. I told him, ‘can’t you read the sign? We shoot horse thieves.’ ” The man darted to the boxcar’s opposite door. He pulled on the lock. “Not even five minutes later, the young man tried to steal another horse. Sheena talked to him for a minute. Then, bam! She shot the dumbass.”
“Sheena shot Craig?” Justin gaped.
“A friend of yours?”
“Sorta,” Justin said.
“Where’d Sheena go?” Luther pressed.
“She took off with that Ella chick and the baby.”
“Wait—what?” Justin froze. Time stopped. Is this for real? Justin’s eyes felt like bowling balls. “Ella, and, and a baby?” Their baby?
“What of it?” the man said. “Guess we won't be making any money from that wagon train. What shitty luck to make it all the way to Last Chance during a horde attack.”
The howling morphed into shrilling shrieks. Then it stopped. Everyone looked around at each other as if asking why the sudden silence. “Uh, ye-ah, they’re feeding,” Justin whispered in a tone everyone heard. A sickening feeling festered in the pit of his stomach. The silence was stricken by a series of sickening splats and suckling sounds. The crackling-crunch of stepping on broken light bulbs made him want to puke because he knew it was the crunching sounds of—bones. A low, deep gurgling followed, like a satanic purring.
Justin snapped out of the grotesque moment. Ella and the baby . . . here! “How’s Ella?” Justin asked.
“She’s the sickly sort. Don’t know how she survived.” The man paced from door to door, triple-checking the padlocks.
“Is she with Father Jacob and his followers?” Justin said, trying to see between the boxcar’s slats.
“Who?” The man shook his head. “She hangs with a peculiar Lewis guy. Who turns out, is actually a woman. Sheena and them live in the caboose.” He stopped and slapped his knee. “Damn, you know what? The horse thief must have told her about the horde. That’s why Sheena took off. Leaving us as bait. Bitch!”
“Yo, watch your mouth!” Luther warned.
“You haven't known her long. Sheena’s a cold-hearted snake. You never know when she’ll just slither by, or strike you right between the eyes. Or in my case, in the balls.” His words were harsh. Was he right?
The satanic purring turned into growling murmurs. Then the howling took over again, causing a new outbreak of cries and sniffles in the boxcar. They must be done feeding. A new sound brought Justin to his feet. “Hear that?” Justin climbed a stack of crates to peer through the narrow slats. “I heard it last night,” Justin said.
“Drones,” the man said.
“Told ya,” Justin silently mouthed-off to Luther.
“That explains it.” The man took off his cowboy hat as if in respect for the latest victims.
“What’s going on?” Luther scowled.
“You didn’t hear this from me. Drones monitor the immigrant trails.”
“Texas is sending help!” Justin blurted with excitement.
“You’re dreaming,” the man scoffed and turned to the people huddled at the opposite end. They seemed occupied in their own hushed conversations. He walked to the opposite end of the boxcar, and Justin and Luther followed.
“I’ve been stuck at Last Chance for a while since I can’t get into Last State. Class-Z,” he explained. “Looks like you’ve got the mark of Z as well.” The man pointed to Luther’s mutilated, scarred arm.
Justin and Luther nodded in solemn acknowledgment.
“This is the third fricken’ time those freaks have sniffed us out. And every time, there were drones and men on dirt bikes.”
“Meaning what?” Luther asked.
“It’s taken me a while to figure it out. There’s an ugly rumor going around Boom Town. Have you heard about the fast and furious ones?”
“Dude, these Zs are faster than the Super-Zs in California,” Justin said in awe.
“Rumor is, they get a few of these fast and furious freaks and herd them to the large caravans. And just sit and wait.”
“Say whut?” Luther gulped.
“Boom Town’s shopkeepers are complaining about business. They haven’t had any caravans for several months. But Last Chance gets caravans every week.”
“Uh, I don’t get it?” Justin grimaced.
“Drones track the caravans. Somewhere between here and the Two-Hundred-Mile Marker, they sic the fast and furious freaks on the refugees.
“They must be getting impatient. We saw these voodoo Zs cross the Rio Grande,” Luther rambled.
“The Z-rustlers must be expanding their territory. Which means it’s shit city for Last Chance and practically every caravan on the trails.” The man shook his head in obvious disgust.
“Why on earth would anyone in their right mind do something so evil?” Luther asked.
“Zoat.”
“The hell? What’s a zoat?” Justin was beyond exasperation.
“In case you haven't heard, Last State doesn’t let anyone in or out. ’C
ept their devoted Enforcers. Think about it. Ever wonder how Texas keeps millions of people and zombies out? It’s a three-hundred-foot moat filled with zombies—Zoat! And now, they want to fill it with these freaks. ”
“Are you for real?” Just thinking about it made Justin want to crap his pants right then and there.
“Where were you when a horde wiped this place out in March?” Luther said in an accusatory tone.
“Hey, I don’t like where you’re going. I make a supply run to Boom Town about once a month. Get me a juicy steak, a few drinks, and a room with a real bed, and a red-head, brunette, or a blonde, and yadda yadda yadda. Anyways, when I got back, this place had been gutted. Some refugees made a run for the river. Sheena said some friendlies—” His eyes got that “aha” moment. “So, you’re the people she hitched a ride with.”
Justin nodded, wishing he would shut up. He needed to find Ella. She was so close. He looked out the slits. He couldn’t see the horde from his position. Then he saw it. His miracle. A bike!
“Guys, sorry to interrupt. I’m going for Ella,” Justin announced.
“Better hold off. It takes these freaks a few minutes to”—he shuddered—“to digest their food. They’ll be clawing all over these boxcars any minute now. We have to wait them out. If you make a run for it now, you’re next on the menu.”
“I’m so outta here. Unlock this door!” Justin drew his gun.
The man gave Justin a peculiar look. “Is this kid mental?” the man side-mouthed to Luther.
“I’m not a kid!” Why does everyone always think I’m a kid? He was sick of it. Sure, he was small and wiry. The norm for most half-Asian half-caucasian men.
“Yup, he’s got it bad,” Luther explained, ignoring Justin. “We’ve been from Nevada to Immigrant Station, searching for his girl.”
“You must be the baby’s father. Uh, you can put the gun away,” the man said, dangling a set a keys.
Justin holstered his gun, feeling like a bumbling outlaw. “Ye-ah. We were supposed to get married last—”
“Shit happens.” The man shook his head knowingly. “Before you do anything stupid, let’s check out the perimeter. Once I open the cargo door, you better move fast. I’ll watch the south and keep you covered. You, watch the west,” he pointed to Luther. “By the way, I’m Krasinski.”
“I’m Justin.
“Luther.”
“So, Justin, check out the bike before you try this suicide mission. Brad put a new set of those puncture-proof tires on it, and a new chain. Still, it’s just an old kid’s bike from the 70s.” Krasinski unlocked the door.
“I’m going with you,” Luther suddenly informed.
“There’s only one bike,” Justin said flatly. He honestly didn’t want to go alone. It was too chancy.
“You’re right.” Luther sighed. “Anyone have any water and food for my friend?” Luther asked the people huddled at the other end. “How long do you think it will take him to get to Immigrant Station on a bike?” Luther asked.
People tossed packages of food and water. Justin didn’t bother to see what it was. “Thanks, guys,” Justin loaded his pack, strapping it tightly to his back.
Krasinski shrugged. “Three hundred miles, maybe ten days. Stay clear of the drones and bikers.” He eyed Luther and Justin. “You ready for this?”
The squelching of the door dragging across the metal frame was mortifying. The huddled immigrants stared in wide-eyed horror. Waiting. What if the horde swarmed them? Sucking it up, he climbed out of the boxcar. The horde was sprawled out around the boxcars. The stench was unbearable; a symphony of belches and farts consumed his senses. He hadn’t known Zs could eat so much.
Luther and Krasinski silently motioned the all clear. Justin tiptoed to the bike, but it was going to take forever. His muscles tightened. Terror-stricken. He walked passed a group of Zs squirming on the ground in what could only be described as an enraptured state. Justin glanced back at Luther. He couldn’t take another step. Luther waved him back. No! I’m doing this. If he didn’t, he might not ever find Ella. What if Texas took her and the baby and not him? What if she was in trouble? A sharp pain pierced the middle of his forehead. It was like he envisioned Ella trapped in a bubble, crying and stumbling in the desert. Lost.
Justin waved to Luther and took off in a full run, nimbly jumping over the Zs like some goth-lover’s hopscotch game. He grabbed the bike by the handlebars and checked the pedals. Fine. He squeezed the tires. Fine. He hopped on the funny-looking banana seat. Their groans turned to howls. They were perking up. Luther and Krasinski let off a few rounds. Justin peddled-off eastwardly toward the blood-red mountains while the sun threatened to fade into sleep mode.
“Ella, I’m coming!”
Chapter 38
After the longest hour of her life, Ella turned around and followed her own footprints. I’m so stupid! She’d forgotten her pack when Sheena had taken off with baby Miguel. She hardly had any energy left, and she desperately needed water. It would be too dark to follow Sheena’s tracks once the sun slipped below the vista. And the throbbing in her lower belly warned she wouldn’t last much longer.
Ella lumbered along like a Z, all the while wondering why Sheena had taken Miguel, abandoning her in the middle of the desert—to die. So heartless. She plodded onward, scanning her surroundings, paranoid she might see the horde. A gentle wind caressed her over-heated skin, easing her tense body.
Finally, she reached the cottonwood-dotted bank where her pack awaited her. Actually, it was more of a creek, with only a few trees. She dumped her pack’s contents, wondering what was left. Had Sheena taken everything? Water. She snagged the plastic thermos, quenching her thirst. A package of Scarlett’s fish caught her attention, a hunting knife, first-aid kit, glow stick, matches, baby supplies—Father Jacob’s tea! She had thrown the tin in the pack at the last second. The tea had saved her through the pregnancy. She knew it because all the other pregnant women they’d found died before they had the tea. And yes, she knew she was loco, but if demons and zombies existed, then why not angels and miracle tea? Would it miraculously heal whatever was wrong with her body?
“Stay focused,” she uttered. She needed to find a safe place for the night. Before the horde found her! OMG. What was she thinking? How could she survive the night with those demons? I have to if I want to hold my baby again.
She sat there with the contents strewn about. Hmm. Could she climb a tree? But they’d still detect her scent. Another stream of blood trickled down her inner thigh. The blood. The idea came to her in a brilliant flash. Quickly, she gathered downed limbs along the bank, saving the larger ones to use as a ladder. After selecting the easiest tree to climb, she built a small fire near the edge of the creek bank.
With a diaper, she gently wiped the dripping blood from her inner thighs and held it there until the diaper was saturated. She draped the bloody diaper around the tree closest to the fire. The smell of blood and the fire should lure the demons; meanwhile, she’d hide in a different tree, out of their reach—if she could climb. She rummaged through the first-aid kit. What about the alcohol pads and the antiseptic cream? Would it disguise her alive-human scent? She slapped the alcohol pads to the tree she had selected to climb and then smeared the antiseptic cream on the tree bark.
Ella added a scoop of the special tea into the thermos. On impulse, she soaked a sanitized gauze pad with the tea and twisted it into a tampon. It might stop the flow, and it might even heal her. She checked on the fire. Shoving a limb into the coals, she stoked the fire until a flurry of sparks puffed into the darkening night. OMG, it’s almost dark. She added more branches to the fire. Next came the hard part. Climbing the tree. A blood-curdling cry electrified the tiny hairs on her skin. A demon! She tossed everything back into the pack. Flinging it over her back, she dashed to the tree where she’d stacked the limbs.
Gingerly, she checked the sturdiness of the limbs. Snap. She restacked it until her hands reached the lowest limb. Got it. Her arms wer
e strong. She pulled herself up to the lowest limb. Then she rested. But it was dark. Another groan sent shivers down her spine, motivating her. She activated the glow stick and held it with clenched teeth while climbing up the next level of limbs. She climbed until she reached a small crook of limbs she could lean against and sit without falling.
Another groan. And another. It didn’t sound like an entire horde. Stragglers, she thought. It wasn’t the beastly Hunger’s Howl. Quickly, she stuffed the glow stick under her bra strap for easy access and grabbed the thermos. She had waited to drink the special tea, knowing the euphoric feeling that shortly followed. She took a sip, willing herself to tune out the demons already scratching at the cottonwood tree near the fire.
She closed her eyes, refusing to see them.
Justin, save me!
Chapter 39
Justin was finally used to the odd but comfortable banana seat, and the way the tires spun and stalled in the sand, and the way the pedals slipped out from under his feet. He stopped pedaling and scanned the empty desert. The huge orangish blob in the dust-covered sky had finally fizzled out. Total darkness descended. He reached for the flashlight. Justin was devising the best way to secure the flashlight to the handlebars since it took two hands to maneuver the bike through the sand. Duh! He turned the knob to the light switch on the handlebars, which he hadn’t noticed. It lit up the area before him.
Realistically, how long could he ride? At night.
As long as I have to.
A whispering wind brought with it a rank odor. His feet found the pedals, and he followed the horse tracks. A sinister westwardly wind dissolved the tracks as he pedaled against time. They could be anyone’s tracks. Still, he followed them.
Another hour passed. He stopped for a drink and munched on the smoked fish the immigrants had given him. What is that? It whinnied. Definitely a horse. Was he close? He shot on his bright-beamed flashlight, gun cocked. Something lunged at him. He let off several rounds into the body as they both fell into the sand. The handlebars blocked the Z from ripping out his throat. They struggled. The bike’s light revealed a tangle of braids. He fired into its head until the bullets stopped. A series of pathetic cries continued. “Holy shit! How do you kill these things?”
The Hunger's Howl Page 36