Hunted (Collapse Book 2)

by Riley Flynn

  Hunted

  Collapse: Book Two

  Riley Flynn

  Syndicate Press

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Thank you from the Author

  Chapter 1

  The pillars of smoke stitched themselves into the blacked-out sky.

  Alex Early watched them rise, driving with the world in his rear-view mirror. How quickly everything could break, he thought, the whole world rusting and ruined in just a couple of months. All he could do was drive, his mind focused only on Virginia.

  The gas tank choked again, gasping at fumes.

  Tapping his finger against the fuel meter, feeling the pang of hunger in his own stomach and the burn of tired eyes, Alex knew they had to stop soon. But every second he stayed awake and on the road meant more distance between them and the dead, the disease, and the rotten bodies.

  “Listen,” Joan had said, “if you get tired or need a rest, just pull over and let me drive.”

  That had been eight hours ago. Now, she slept in the back seat, her head resting against the window, one hand laid across her midriff. Her baby was going to be born as the world ended, opening its eyes on the next age of humanity. If humanity survived that long.

  Joan slept with the dog on her lap. Finn was squeezed into what was left of the backseat, head balanced on her thigh. After they’d ripped out one of the seats and welded a container in its place, the dog had no choice but to find space in the middle.

  The trunk was empty. Alex knew the dog didn’t like it there. He turned to look at Finn, who cocked his head, licked his lips, and fell asleep again. Still a puppy, barely a year old, he liked to be near people. As he grew a little larger every day, there was less and less room in the car.

  “I’ll do that,” Alex had told her. “I’ll stop when we need to.”

  He hadn’t stopped. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Timmy’s head lolled on his shoulder, his seatbelt holding his body from falling forwards. He slept like a corpse. Only a spluttered half-snore every twenty minutes reminded the world that Timothy Ratz was still alive.

  Only just, Alex noted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Timmy’s wrists. Thin, weak. The disease had left him half the size he once was, not that there had been much of him to start with. The man desperately needed bed rest and medicine. They could offer him neither. So he slept instead.

  Alex tried to push his concern down into the depths of his mind. He was focused on saving his friends but plagued by inexperience. It felt better not to think about the dangers ahead, but the doubts always took on a physical form.

  And Alex drove, beads of worried sweat pooling on his palms.

  * * *

  “I just need a moment, man. Please, you gotta pull over.”

  Alex looked up at the sun. Hardly noon and they’d stopped three times already.

  “You’re sure? We need to make up time, Timmy. We’re never going to get to Virginia at this rate.”

  Timmy had one hand over his mouth and waved the other urgently.

  Alex bit his tongue and scanned the road ahead, looking for somewhere to stop. They pulled over so often, he knew what he wanted. Empty space. Visibility. A tree line in case anyone needed privacy. This spot wasn’t so good. A bend in the road ahead obstructed his view. The car slowed to a stop.

  “Quick as you can. We need to hurry.”

  Timmy let himself out of the car and walked, trembling, to the side of the road.

  Even if he’d pulled through the worst of the sickness, Timmy wasn’t in the clear. Nausea, vertigo, and coughing headed up a long list of symptoms he could tick off on his fingers.

  “You think he’s getting better?” Alex drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at Joan in the mirror.

  She winced and watched Timmy through the window. He leaned up against a tree, dry heaving with buckled knees.

  “He needs time. Time and rest. And a good meal. Everything we don’t have.”

  “Sure.” Alex noticed she hadn’t answered the question. “But you managed to pull through it and you’re… you know…”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Yeah. You got over it, right?”

  “I was crouched in the back of a drug store, surrounded by dead bodies, convinced I was going to die. I wasn’t trailblazing across state lines getting chased by gangs. He needs to rest.”

  “We can rest at the farm.”

  “If we ever get there.”

  Alex looked down the stretch of road. There was a curve ahead and a collection of wrecked cars.

  The vehicles were a feature of the highways these days. Each one had a story and no one left to tell it. People who’d run out of gas or who had fallen sick mid-journey. They’d abandoned their cars and carried on another way. Some people had stayed behind, their bodies left to rot at the wheel. The long commute.

  “Timmy might be some time. I’m going to take a look around. It looks blocked up ahead.”

  Alex checked his holster. He unclipped the button holding the pistol in place, an absent-minded tick.

  “Take the dog.” Joan leaned across the car and opened one of the rear doors, pushing the young German Shepherd out into the road. “He needs a walk, I think.”

  Closing the car door, Alex whistled and Finn followed. It was always interesting to test the limits of the dog’s training. There was no way of knowing what he’d learned before his previous owner had abandoned him. Timmy had ideas, though. Train him to attack on command, he’d said, train him to really help us out. Teaching a new dog old tricks. Wear three sweaters and see if he’ll bite an arm. It might save a life. No one was volunteering. Not all of Timmy’s ideas were great.

  * * *

  Behind them, the road was long and quiet. Ahead – around the bend – Alex couldn’t see yet.

  Probably more of the same. Weaving between parked cars, stopping every few miles for one reason or another. Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a change. Insanity or practice, two sides of the same coin.

  It was still morning and the shadows were short. The bend in the road had been cut into a hill, a concrete face plastered over the flat surface where the incline used to be.

  Even from thirty feet away, Alex could see more cars than usual, a congestion of crashed vehicles which could slow them down. Getting to the farm was all that mattered. That’s what he’d been telling himself. This clot of cars was an obstruction, the latest in a long list.

  “Smell anything good, boy?”

  Finn had his nose pressed down on the asphalt.

  “Can’t be much more than exhaust fumes and rubber, you fool.”

  The light gray concrete ros
e up some twenty feet, the crashed cars grouped together in two banks on either side of the road. Maybe ten of them, five on each side. One red truck sat in the middle.

  “Guess driving’s a contact sport these days.” Finn didn’t look up. “My jokes are wasted on you.”

  Alex looked back. He could just about see his friends. Timmy was still in the woods. Joan sat inside the car.

  “Let’s take a look, Finn. Come on.”

  The dog had caught a scent. He followed it, zigzagging across the road, chasing the ghosts of people past.

  “Someone been here recently?” Finn looked up at Alex. “Smell something good?”

  The dog pushed his nose back down on the road, following the scent right up to the abandoned cars.

  Alex leaned down and tried to size up the gaps on either side of the truck, squinting at his thumb to try and judge the space available.

  “Damn. Not much chance we’re going to get through here, huh?”

  The road was blocked by a battered Ford truck. Cars on either side hid most of the road but this truck had been parked sideways, right in the middle of the freeway. A blockage. Finn barked.

  “What is it?” Alex looked down the road. “Hear someone else?”

  The dog sat on his haunches, his wagging tail sweeping the asphalt. Whenever they stepped outside, Finn chased mice and tumbleweed, barking all the time. Happy to be out of the car. They’d have to train him to bark at people, to act as a warning sign. Right now, he was crying wolf.

  “If you hear someone, you tell me.” Alex examined the car in the road. “We got to get past this. End of the world and people still can’t park worth a damn.”

  The truck door creaked as he tried to open the passenger side. Nothing doing. The crumpled metal was sealed closed. Alex crawled over the hood and slid in awkwardly through the open driver’s side window. He tried the handles from the inside. They stayed shut.

  His skin rippled with a shiver as he realized how stuck he was inside the car. A metal coffin with the keys still in the ignition. The dog stayed outside, exploring the edges of the road. Swallowing his worries down, Alex tried the key.

  “Come on.” Alex willed the car into life. “Come on, come on. Get moving. We need to hit the road, fast.”

  Finn barked.

  Head twisting to see, Alex’s hand reached down to his hip, leaving the ignition alone for a moment. The anxiety had already begun to bubble up inside his stomach. Focus on the positives. If the dog had spotted someone, maybe they could help him move the truck. Friend or foe? It might be easier to just drive it forward, clear the space for anyone using the freeway. Either way, he wanted to act fast. They needed the space clear, no matter what.

  “Yeah, boy, I heard you. I’ll look in a moment.”

  The key turned and the engine creaked.

  Old school. Probably got no gas at all. It just needed a wisp of vapor: anything to get the car started and out of the way. The entire vehicle shuddered and groaned as the engine tried to spark.

  The dog barked again. And again. It had to be serious. But they needed that escape route.

  Alex looked up, hearing a distant rumble at the same time. Another car. A stranger in a silver sedan, speeding toward him. Any positive thoughts had vanished. He looked back down the road, hoping Joan or Timmy were coming to catch him up with him. Meeting new people was tough enough these days. Backup was essential.

  The rumble grew louder and closer. Alex embraced his pessimism. The doors were closed. No time to crawl out. He’d be a sitting duck. He had to get this car moving.

  To his left, straight through the driver’s window, he could see the car coming from the far side of the barrier. He turned the key again.

  “Come on, come on. Start, you bastard.”

  The car was hurtling down the freeway, picking up speed. Silver and covered in dust. The front fitted with bull bars and shock absorbers. A battering ram. A white spiderweb crack had spread across the windshield.

  Alex felt his lungs stop. This was bad. The car was headed straight for him, the hood aiming like an arrow at his driver’s side door. Even if he tried to jump out, he’d be an easy target, silhouetted against the side of the truck. The passenger’s side was too far away. He was all alone.

  “Come on, start. Start!”

  His shoulders bounced back and forth, his whole-body rocking. A look to the left, the car still coming. He turned the key again and again, fumbling at the fob like it was a rosary, trying every angle.

  The silver bullet was moving too fast. Finn barked.

  Alex’s voice was hoarse and quiet, his throat dry.

  “Please. Please. Please!” He turned the key again, quicker and quicker.

  The car was twenty feet away, fifteen feet, ten. Travelling faster.

  Alex closed his eyes. His legs tensed, bracing against the footwell beside the pedals. But the hand on the keys never stopped moving, trying to find a spark.

  The engine burst into life.

  Alex opened his eyes. His foot pressed down without any thought. The truck flew forward, pulling out of the space as his hands held steady on the twisting wheel.

  The silver car smashed into the back wheel of the truck, whirling it around in an arc of screeching metal. The world spun, every color smudging into one long, loud blur. And then the truck stopped as the ramming vehicle curled through the empty space and skidded into the concrete wall.

  Every feeling came back at once. The taste of the gasoline in the air, the ringing in the ears. Every hair on his arm standing to attention. Alex flung himself out of the car and wrenched the pistol from his holster.

  The silver car had crashed, its passenger side beaten against the concrete wall. The hood, dressed up to ram a victim, was fine. The rest of the car was totaled. The driver had never expected to hit empty air.

  Alex could hardly feel his feet; they were moving on autopilot. Safety off. Joan was shouting something in the distance. But there was no time to listen to her. He ran toward the driver’s door and ripped it open.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The airbag had blown up, pressing the driver back up into his seat.

  The stench of gasoline in the air, the taste of it on the tongue. Alex could hear liquid dripping. A thin white powder crept up his nose, clung to the roof of his mouth. He pointed the gun at the driver.

  “Get out! Now!”

  The man groaned. As the rubber cushion began to deflate, Alex could see the face. A man, middle-aged. Gray-skinned and stick thin, his pencil neck and spindly arms showing the world how hungry he was. A mottled face, flecked with blood and the strewn strands of a comb-over sticking to his forehead with sweat. The man looked sideways out of the car and said nothing.

  Alex stepped back. Too many sick people on these roads. This man was dead. If the accident didn’t kill him and the hunger hadn’t taken its toll yet, the blood shot eyes and pallid complexion revealed the truth. An Eko victim, well on the road to death.

  As the airbag emptied, the man slumped across the wheel. A gargled sound came from his throat. Choking or laughing. It didn’t matter much. His seatbelt held him half-upright, his body hanging forward.

  “Get out the car!” Alex waved the pistol. “Get out, now!”

  Then he saw the passenger. A woman. Dead already. Her open eyes weren’t watching anything. Doll eyes of different colors.

  Alex could feel the cogs whirring in his mind, putting together the story. The gray gave her away. She’d died first and he hadn’t been able to leave her, picking off drivers on a deserted road to try and stay alive. Tempting them in with a blockage and smashing them out of the way, ready to collect their possessions. Food. Guns. Drugs. True love in a tough time.

  Finn growled at the dying man.

  “Leave him alone, Finn.” Alex lowered his gun, flicking the safety on.

  A strangled muttering emerged from the car.

  “What?” Alex was about to return to his friends. “What did you say?”

>   “Kill me.”

  Alex looked at the shattered man, a perfect effigy of the desperate new world. Sick and stuck inside the crushed shell of his killing machine.

  “How many people were here before me?” Alex asked, waving the gun at the collection of crashed cars.

  Blood bubbled inside the man’s lungs. A feeble sound instead of words.

  “I can’t kill you.” Alex holstered his pistol. “You’re dead already.”

  It might have been kinder to kill the man. But, in his mind, Alex had been replaying his actions ever since leaving Detroit. He’d taken lives. Too many lives. People had been trying to kill him, sure. But every single time his finger brushed along a trigger, he felt a pang of fear and guilt punch into his gut.

  It was better to let nature take this man. Alex didn’t want another death to haunt his dreams.

  The engine hissed under the hood. The crash had cleared a gap in the barricade, an empty space to squeeze through.

  The blood pumping around Alex’s body slowed down, and the anger ebbed away. He couldn’t look at the dying man. He couldn’t kill him, either. People were desperate for all sorts of reasons.

  The man raised his head, blood dribbling down his cheeks.

  “Please.” His voice shivered.

  The words stopped Alex. He couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t kill the man.

  “You just tried to kill me – to take my food or my car or whatever – so why should I help you?”

  A pair of baleful, bloodshot eyes looked up.

  They cut through the gasoline smell and the hiss of the steam, staring right through Alex’s skin, his muscles, his bones, and right into his heart. There was another option. But it wasn’t one Alex liked very much.